If You Believe

It was still in the hour before dawn, preternaturally quiet. No crickets chirruped their mating calls, no frogs called out from their hiding places in wet thickets along the river, no birds chattered to one another. The darkness was unbroken, a black blanket thrown across the rolling fields.

A whistle cut through the silence, riding gently, lightly, on the air. Then came the quiet crunching of bootheels on the loose rock path.

Her stomach tig

htened, anxiety spilled through her. Reluctantly she lifted her head and looked up, trying to see Mad Dog in the darkness, but she couldnt. She could hear his footsteps, imagine that easy, loose-hipped walk of his. Then the footsteps stopped.

"Helluva goddamn time to get up," his said in a scratchy morning voice. "That coffee I smell?"

She nodded stiffly. "I packed a flask. "

"And you filled it with coffee?" There was a pause, and Mariah was somehow certain that he grinned. "Tequila warms you a lot quicker. "

Mariah laughed in spite of herself. "I dont believe I want you that warm, Mr.

Stone. "

He moved toward her. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Her gaze narrowed, tried to pierce the darkness, but he was no more than a shadow against the night, a presence felt but unseen. "Too late, Mariah," he said in a voice so intimate, it sent shivers down her spine. "Im already hotter than you want me to be. "

His silken words caused a red-hot shudder of response. Deep inside her, where no man had touched in years, and no man genuinely, she felt something. A spark of emotion that was powerful, but completely foreign—need, desire, she wasnt sure what.

Yearning, she realized suddenly. Thats what it was. Deep down she yearned for something, for someone. She always had.

And you always will, she reminded herself sharply. Mad Dog Stone, drifter-vagabond-boxer, was not the man to fill the void in her empty soul. He didnt want anything from her that he couldnt get from a dozen women. And he wouldnt stay long enough to find out what she wanted.

Somehow, that made her sad. Then angry.

"Mr. Stone," she said tightly, "I cannot stand this constant banter. Will you please save it for a woman more interested in hearing it?"

There was a breath-laden pause before he answered. "I think you like to hear it, Mariah. "

Her heart skipped a beat. And that second of reaction made her angrier still.

"Obviously youve made a mistake, Mr. Stone. Youve confused me with one of the big . . . built, easy women with whom you no doubt spend your time. "

"What makes you think I like big tits?"

Mariah knew immediately that shed erred. "I really do not want to have this discussion with you, Mr. Stone. "

He climbed another step.

Mariah steeled herself for his sensual assault. Her arms curled around her knees and locked hard.

He stopped. She heard his breath, just above her head, slow and easy, each breath a silent invitation.

In the distance, the horizon caught fire. A low, hazy line of red-gold sunlight blurred through the black night, sending feelers of warmth through the dark sky.

Slowly he dropped to one knee in front of her. The step sagged beneath his weight.

"It so happens I like smaller breasts, Mariah. " Her name fell from his lips in a whispered, disembodied caress. "With pale pink nipples that get hard when I—"

"Stop!" She lurched to her feet so fast, he was caught off guard.

With a muttered shit, he half fell, half stumbled down the steps and landed with a thud in the flowers.

Mariah spun around and picked up the fishing gear. Ramming it under her arm, she yanked up her skirts and headed down the stairs. She was almost to the wash-house when she heard him call her name.