Page 73 of Cherry Tree Ranch

He goes in one more time, but I splash a handful of water at him, accidentally spraying it in his face.

“Oh, now you’re really in trouble,” he teases.

I push off his waist and turn to my stomach, taking quick strokes towards shore. I giggle and swim as he paddles quickly after me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I hadn’t noticed it before, but he and Cash have the exact same eyes. I’m on a black-and-white paint horse and the barn is behind me. When I turn, I see the white writing on my saddle – Daisy.

“Daisy?” Joaquin asks. It’s perfectly clear to me now that he’s Joaquin. I remember his face, his voice. He’s the man with the brown felt hat, the man who stood by the photographer.

“Joaquin?” I say. “How did we get here?”

He looks me up and down. “We’ve been here this whole time, Daisy. We’re on your ranch.”

I take my hands off the reins and rub my eyes. I pull at my curly blonde hair; the pain of each strand grabs at my scalp. I shake my head and try to see the barn, try to see Cash and the documents.

I turn my horse round and round. The cliffs are to the north, but they’re tan and white, not crimson. The house is down below and the barn, its paint a fresh bright red, is just up from there. “Am I imagining this?”

Joaquin rides up next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “He’s getting to your head, Daisy.”

“What? Who?” Panic rises in my chest.

“Earl and his cattlemen,” he says. “They want you to feel like you’re a lunatic. The threats, the blackmail… I promise you, mi flor. I’ll protect you. I’m here.”

I’m here. The words reverberate in my head. And then the scene begins to melt away.

I wake up to a soft, cool breeze gliding over my skin. Cash and I are lying under the Peruvian blanket on the barn floor, folded up like a taco.

Cash caresses my cheek. “Dahlia, it’s OK. I’m here.”

We’re both still in our underwear. Lying side by side.

“Cash?” I whisper.

“You were talking in your sleep.” He runs a finger over my earlobe. “You sounded upset.”

“I was? Sorry. I was … dreaming.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, OK?”

I tip my head down, ashamed of my habit. It’s the workings of my childhood, rearing its head again. Saying sorry means keeping the peace. “OK, thank you.” My shoulders relax and I blow out a slow breath.

“Welcome.” When he leans back, his gaze moves to my mouth. He straightens a leg, pushing it out of the blanket, then wraps it round me and pulls me closer.

I’m breathless, and weightless, and my stomach flips. My heart beats fast enough to fly out of my chest. Cash does the same things to my body as anaphylaxis. His dark hair falling over his forehead, he tips my chin up with his thumb. Then he runs his thumb across my bottom lip. My head gets dizzy and my heart won’t stop thrumming. He leans in further. Heat surges through my body as our noses touch.

Delicately, he runs his hand down my arms to my waist until he finds my bare thigh. My insides tingle with a delicious heat. He keeps his hand there, lightly moving from my knee to my hip and down again. I’m tempted to slap him because it tickles. I push my fingers through his hair and pull his face closer.

He moves his lips over mine, teasingly, barely touching. My eyes close as he runs his hand across my cheek and grazes his thumb over my temple. I play along and nip at his swollen bottom lip. Finally, he takes my mouth in his.

Our heavy breaths fall into each other and it’s just like the kiss in my dream when my hair was blonde. I run my palm down his back muscles and find the edge of his boxer briefs. I trace the elastic back and forth as we kiss. His rough hand moves to my back and he slides a finger under the clasp of my bra. He doesn’t go any further, doesn’t unhook it, but runs his palm across my ribs and holds me tight.

“I’m not sure we should be doing this,” I say with an impish grin.

“Why?” he asks, pulling my hair to the side. He looks like he wants to nibble off the middle of my lip.

“You kind of work for me,” I tease.