center. My mental health matters, too, so if I need a longer break I can take it.”
“Take it,” he suggested.
God, that warmed her. She tilted her head, trying to see his face, but got a view of his chin.
Maybe that was for the best. Wrapped in this glow, she suspected they weren’t being entirely realistic. They hadn’t known one another that long, an incredible number of things could go wrong. These moments would pass and reality, with all its hard edges, would return.
Besides, he liked his isolated forest. She doubted he would ever want to leave. Her life was more than half a continent away. She had patients she needed to return to. Friends she would miss.
But for now it was just fine with her to live in the spell of the moment. Time enough later to deal with all the hard edges.
“I should feed us,” he remarked. “Make us some coffee. Find something to cover you. Rebuild the fire.”
She listened to the list and didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. She didn’t want him to move away. She didn’t want food, and the cabin was still warm enough.
Lying naked with him, all tangled together, felt incredibly good and she didn’t want to let go of the feeling.
Apparently he didn’t either, because he stirred only to wrap them closer together.
The ceaseless rain continued to hammer on the roof, making Sky feel as if they were ensconced in a cozy cocoon. Having Craig wrapped around her only enhanced that feeling.
“I could get used to this,” she remarked.
“Me, too. Too bad life doesn’t operate that way.”
“Well, sooner or later we’ll have to get up.”
He laughed quietly. “We’d look pretty funny mummified like this.”
She laughed, too, experiencing for the first time in her life being able to laugh with her lover after sex. It added to the glow she was feeling, and she wished she could hang on to these moments forever. Knowing that couldn’t be, she tried to engrave them permanently in her memory, the sound of the rain, the smell of the cabin, the way her skin felt all over, the way he felt against her, his strength.... Oh, she hoped she would never forget even the least detail.
He turned toward her, sprinkling kisses on her shoulder. “And with that, darlin’, I’m going to have to get up. Some things just can’t wait. But don’t run away. I have devilish plans for later.”
She hated to let go of him, and when he rose, she didn’t want to move. He went to his saddlebags in the corner, and pulled out a flannel shirt. With a smile, he spread it over her. “I hated to do that, but you may not have noticed it’s getting chilly in here.”
It was, and he was right, she hadn’t noticed until he’d removed his heat from beside her. That man was practically a furnace.
He tossed some more wood into the stove, then, much to her dismay, began to dress. “Dusty,” he said. “I didn’t give him much of a chance to stretch earlier, and by now he’s probably run around the corral enough to have six inches of mud on each hoof.”
The things she didn’t think of. Sitting up, clutching the shirt around her for warmth, she watched him finish dressing, then head outside as he pulled on his slicker.
She realized she needed to do something, too. The idea of lazing all evening was an attractive one, but not one suited to her. Even when she was holding still, she needed to accomplish something, usually painting, sometimes reading.
She dressed, opened her art case and pulled out a sketch pad and some charcoal. She might not be able to paint in this light, but she could draw.
Almost before she knew it, she was sketching Dusty and Craig as they had appeared the first time she saw them. Quick lines created the shapes and the feeling of movement. She propped the pad up and stepped away from it, debating whether to add shadows and more detail, or leave it minimalist.
Right now it looked like a quick Picasso sketch, though of course she would not put herself in that kind of class. Picasso had a magic she could only wish for.
She decided to go for more detail. Why not? She had time and it would occupy her far better than sitting here thinking of newly budding hopes and dreams that scared her.
She had to be practical. For all she was enough of a dreamer to pursue her art, she