“No, this is perfect. I’d like a little peace and quiet, maybe take a nap since I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She shivered a little in the cool air. “You did bring blankets I hope.”
“I remembered everything with no help from you.”
She flashed a sassy grin at him. She hadn’t helped him pack for the picnic because she’d been trying to come to terms with the fact that Jess was more than a Navy SEAL; he was part of a GhostWalker team. It explained everything, especially why she could so easily be in his company. She had never been able to tolerate being around people for very long until she was with Jess. He was definitely an anchor and he drew energy away from her. She should have known. Well, on some level she had known; she just hadn’t wanted to bring it out in the open and examine it.
They made their way to a secluded area near the stream, where water bubbled over rocks and where they had a good view of anyone approaching them. After spreading the ground sheet out at the bottom of a thick tree trunk, Jess slid from his chair and sat with his back propped against the tree, blankets-and gun-within easy reach.
Saber sat a foot away, facing him, the wind playing with her hair. “I could stay here forever,” she said softly. And she wanted to stay with him.
“That could be arranged,” he agreed.
Saber pushed silken strands from her face. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re serious or joking.”
“I told you, honey, I take you very seriously.”
His black gaze bored into her, causing her womb to clench. She looked away. “Can you imagine all this a hundred years ago? The battles fought in this country? The famous Indians and frontiersmen who walked this ground?”
“Red Cloud, Chief Dull Knife, Little Wolf,” he recited.
“General Cooke, Captain Fetterman, Jim Bridger,” Saber listed, not to be outdone. She knew her history. She could read a page and recite it verbatim.
Jess sighed. She was probably going to relate every historical event that had ever taken place in Sheridan County including the building of the Sheridan Inn and the stories of its resident ghost. He liked history but not right now. Saber was running from him just as surely as if her feet were burning up the pavement.
“Are we going to talk about the Fetterman Battle or about us?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“The Fetterman Battle.” Saber sent him a quick, almost desperate smile.
“How did I know you’d say that?”
Saber shrugged. “We could talk about cooking or restaurants.”
“I could shake you.”
“Restrain yourself.”
“Family, baby,” he suggested. “Let’s talk about family. Are your parents alive? You’ve never mentioned them.”
Saber scratched at the ground sheet, avoiding his probing gaze. “I grew up in an orphanage,” she said abruptly. “There’s not much to say, is there?” It was almost a challenge, as if she were daring him to push the issue.
She was going to run if he pushed; he could see the wariness in her eyes. Jess allowed the subject to pass, leaning with deceptive laziness against the tree, staring up at the clouds in the sky and then allowing his gaze to search every square inch around him that he could see. The ground. Brush. Even the trees.
Saber yawned, quickly covering it with her hand. “It was a good idea to come here, dragon king. It’s peaceful.”
Jess’s hand snaked out and tugged at Saber, unbalancing her. With a little squeak, she fell over against him, her head pillowed in his lap. His hand came up to caress her silky hair, lingering in the abundance of curls.
“Take a nap, angel face,” he coaxed. “I’ll watch over you.”
She relaxed against him, smiling as he tucked a blanket around the two of them. “You know, Jess, I love your house. If I haven’t told you that before, thank you for all the remodeling you did to make it perfect for me to live there. It was thoughtful of you and not at all necessary, but I’m so glad you did.”
“I thought it was our house now,” he replied mildly, intrigued by the blue highlights the sun was putting in the black of her hair. “It feels like our house.”
Her soft mouth curved. “It does, doesn’t it? I’ve been happy these last months, happier than I’ve ever been. You’re a good friend.”
His fingertip traced the velvet outline of her lip. “Is that what I am, honey?” Amusement colored the deep timbre of his voice. “A good friend? You’re beginning to sound as if you’re delivering a eulogy. ‘It’s been great, Jess, but I’m out of here.’”
Her teeth nipped his finger. “It’s not at all like that and you know it.”
“So tell me what it’s like.” He was careful to keep his voice quietly bland.