“All that,” he said after a moment, “from one round in the sack?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve lost count of the shoes I’ve had to throw away because the soles were stained with the bleeding hearts I’ve crushed along the way.”

“That’s a fair warning. I’ll risk it.”

He rolled over, took her mouth.

For a moment, she thought the top of her head simply shot off. Explosions, heat, eruptions burst through her body like a fireball. She lost her breath, and what she thought of as simple common sense, in the wicked whir of want.

She arched up to him, her hands shoving under his shirt—eager to feel her need pressed to him, his skin, his muscles under her hands.

There was a wildness here. She knew it lived inside her, and now she felt whatever animal he caged in leap out to run with hers.

She made him crazy. That lush, greedy mouth, those quick, seeking hands, the body that moved under his with such strength, such purpose, even as, for just a moment, it yielded.

Her br**sts, full and firm, filled his hands as her moan of pleasure vibrated against his lips. She was sensation, and bombarded him with feelings he could neither stop nor identify.

He imagined pulling off her clothes, his own, taking what they both wanted there, on a borrowed blanket beside a shining pond.

Then her hands came between them, pushed. He gave himself another moment, gorging on that feast of feelings, before he eased back to look down at her.

“That,” he said, “is the next step in a traditional picnic.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. And it’s a winner. It’s a good thing I got off on that fudge cake because you definitely know how to stir a woman up. In fact...” She wiggled out from under him, grabbed what was left of the cake and took a bite. “Mmm, yeah, that takes care of it.”

“Damn that Marg.”

Her lips curved as she licked chocolate from her fingers. “This was great—every step.”

“I’ve got a few more steps in me.”

“I’m sure you do, and I have no doubt they’d be winners. Which is why we’d better go.”

Her lips had curved, he thought when they began to pack up, but the smile hadn’t reached her eyes. He waited until they’d folded the blanket back into the well-depleted hamper.

“I got to second.”

She laughed, as he’d hoped, then snickered with the fun of it as they started the hike back.

10

Lucas poked his head in the kitchen of the cookhouse.

“I heard a rumor about blueberry pie.”

Marg glanced back as she finished basting a couple of turkeys the size of Hondas. “I might have saved a piece, and maybe could spare a cup of coffee to go with it. If somebody asked me nicely.”

He walked over, kissed her cheek.

“That might work. Sit on down.”

He took a seat at the work counter where Lynn prepped hills and mountains of vegetables. “How’s it going, Lynn?”

“Not bad considering we keep losing cooks.” She shot him a smile with a twinkle out of rich brown eyes. “If you sit here long enough, we’ll put you to work.”

“Will work for pie. I heard about the trouble. I was hoping to talk to Rowan, but they tell me she’s on a picnic with the rookie from California.”

“Fast Feet,” Lynn confirmed. “He sweet-talked Marg into putting a hamper together.”

“Nobody sweet-talks me unless I like the talk.” Marg set a warmed piece of blueberry pie, with a scoop of ice cream gently melting over the golden crust, in front of Lucas.

“He’s got a way though,” Lynn commented.

“Nobody has their way with Rowan unless she likes the way.” Marg put a thick mug of coffee beside the pie.

“I don’t worry about her.” Lucas shrugged.

“Liar.”

He smiled up at Marg. “Much. What’s your take on this business with Dolly?”

“First, the girl can cook but she doesn’t have the brains, or the sense, of that bunch of broccoli Lynn’s prepping.” Marg waved a pot holder at him. “And don’t think I don’t know she tried getting her flirt on with you a time or two.”

“Oh, golly,” Lynn said as both she and Lucas blushed to the hairline.

“For God’s sake, Marg, she’s Rowan’s age.”

“That and good sense stopped you, but it didn’t stop her from trying.”

“Neither here nor there,” Lucas mumbled, and focused on his pie.

“You can thank me for warning her off before Rowan got wind and scalped her. Anyway, I’d’ve butted heads with L.B. about hiring her back, but we needed the help. The cook we hired on didn’t last through training.”

“Too much work, she said.” Lynn rolled her eyes as she filled an enormous pot with the mountain of potatoes she’d peeled and quartered.

“I was thinking about seeing if we could bump one of the girls we have who helps with prep sometimes, and with cleanup, to full-time cook. But then Dolly has the experience, and I know what she can do. And, well, she’s got a baby now.”

“Jim Brayner’s baby.” Lucas nodded as he ate pie. “Everybody needs a chance.”

“Yeah, and that bromide ended up getting Ro’s quarters splattered with pig blood. Nasty business, let me tell you.”

“That girl’s had it in for Ro since their school days, but this?” Lucas shook his head. “It’s just senseless.”

“Dolly’s lucky Cards was there to hold Ro back long enough for some of the other guys to come on the run and wrestle her down. It would’ve been more than some oinker’s blood otherwise.”

“My girl’s got a temper.”

“And was in the right of it, if you ask me—or anybody else around here. And what does Dolly do after L.B. cans her?” Marg’s eyes went hot as she slapped a dishcloth on the counter. “She comes crying to me, asking, can’t I put in a word for her? I gave her a word, all right.”

Lynn snorted. “Surrounded by others, as in: Get the word out of my kitchen.”

“I’m sorry for her troubles, but it’s best she’s gone. And away from my girl,” Lucas added. As far as he was concerned, that ended that. “How would you rate the rookies this season?”

Marg hauled out a couple casserole dishes. “The rook your girl’s eating fried chicken with, or all of them?”