Kentucky Heat Page 5

  “I can’t go slow.”

  “I can.”

  And she did, rocking back and forth gently, intentionally making him suffer. And what a sweet suffering it was. Could he hold out for her?

  Her movements increased. He saw it in her open eyes as she stared down at him, consumed by her own run-away passion. She bore down on him as he fought to hold on. He grabbed her butt, pushing her down on him even harder.

  She screamed then, calling out his name, climaxing in a long shudder of ecstasy.

  “Raylynn!” he shouted and joined her with his release, enveloped in the pure perfection of their lovemaking.

  She held her pose, back arched and rigid, for a minute after his climax while her own panting subsided. Then she collapsed upon him, with him still inside, and he put his arms around her, hugging her.

  Gently he kissed her earlobe and whispered, “Thank you.”

  She snuggled up against him, never saying a word. But she didn’t leave him. She stayed with him the rest of the night.

  Chapter Eight

  When Hank’s six o’clock alarm clock went off, he opened his sleep-clouded eyes and yawned. He stretched the full length of the daybed and then turned on his side.

  Raylynn was up and dressed, standing in front of her portrait. Her skirt was crumpled, and she already wore the yellow boots.

  “I’ll paint you in the nude,” he said flushed with male pride. After all, he’d managed to do it twice more after the first blow out. His stamina had surprised even himself.

  She twirled around, still buttoning her shirt. “No you won’t!” Coming toward him, Raylynn looked about as rumpled as he felt without a morning shower and coffee.

  She squatted by the bed. “Don’t you dare paint me that way!”

  He reached up and cupped her face, pulling her toward him and kissing her as if he couldn’t let her go. “I won’t do that. I want you all to myself. Besides, the reality is better than the dream any day.”

  “You don’t know the reality,” she warned and sat back on her heels. “I’ve got to go. I’m late.”

  But he didn’t want her to leave him. “When will I see you again?”

  She stood. “Like this? To have sex?” Raylynn picked up her coat, scarf, and keys. “I don’t know.”

  Hank scrambled to sit up on the side of the bed. “I like to think it was more than that,” he stated.

  Panic gripped him. She was leaving, and her eyes held a finality he didn’t like. Had he lost the last round?

  He stood and strode toward her, aware that he was naked, and she was not. Aware that she looked him up and down slowly, taking in the full length of his body.

  “Last night meant a lot to me,” he told her reaching for her again. “More than just sex.”

  She sidestepped him. “I know.” He must have looked as crummy as her reaction made him feel. She rose up on her tiptoes, and this time cupped his face. “I am not sorry, Hank,” she whispered. “I don’t dislike you. I just don’t know what I feel about you. There may be another time. I just don’t know when.”

  “Will you go to my dad’s party with me, then? It’s in February.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She kissed him as if she was leaving him forever, not promising a tomorrow, no matter how vague a promise it was.

  “There is one thing I am going to do,” she said, stepping back and giving him a challenging wink. “I’m going to find a way to make you show those paintings of yours. You have talent, Hank. You shouldn’t hide it away like you do.”

  “I can say the same about your singing,” Hank pointed out.

  “That’s different.”

  Raylynn opened the front door and walked out leaving him in the middle of the room confused by her departure, but ready for much more than a one night stand.

  * * * *

  “I have an announcement.”

  His father was always making pronouncements as if he sat in a corporate boardroom, not at Sunday dinner with his family.

  Hank paused in slicing his steak and looked, as was expected, toward the head of the table. Aimee sat across from him, and she took Cam’s arm, leaning on her husband as they both turned curious gazes toward Hal.

  “What is it, dear?” Ginny asked from the opposite end of the table.

  It had been two weeks since his night with Raylynn, and as she predicted, they hadn’t been together since. He’d seen her at Pappy’s, but that was all. Was she avoiding him? Did she regret that night? He couldn’t get a read on her.

  For the first time in his life, he was sorry he didn’t have a job, a house, a means of supporting a woman like Raylynn.

  Hal cleared his throat. “Hank, I want you to know that the country band you recommended has been engaged for our party.”

  Hank lay down his fork and knife. A flush of appreciation warmed his face. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Hal leaned back in his chair and made a steeple of his fingers as if unconsciously creating a barrier between them. “My event planner saw them perform. She said the act was good, and I agreed to hire them to entertain before dinner.”

  “What are they like, Hank?” Ginny asked.

  Hank turned toward his stepmother. “The band itself is quite ordinary, Ginny, but the lead singer has the most marvelous voice.” He leaned forward, a rush of excitement surging through him. “They do old-fashioned country music, and I’d swear if you didn’t know differently, you’d think Patsy Cline was up on stage singing. Raylynn is that good.”

  “You must like Raylynn a lot,” Ginny said in a quiet voice. She had a tiny smile on her face, and Hank read the understanding in her eyes.

  He ducked his head. How had she understood his secret so easily? Sitting back, he picked up a glass of wine. “I think she’s a good singer, that’s all.” He took a sip to wash down his little white lie.

  Their exchange totally passed Hal by. His father lacked the sensitivity of his wife, Hank thought, as Hal cleared his throat again, drawing attention toward his end of the table.

  “My other announcement is that I’ve decided to add a charity event to the party.” Hal glanced at Aimee. “Thanks to my dear daughter-in-law’s suggestion, we’re going to include a fund raiser for The Hope Center.”

  “A silent auction,” Aimee said quickly, glancing around the table and then directing a pointed look at Hank. “I’ve already started collecting items for the auction.”

  “That’s wonderful, Aimee,” Ginny said. “What kind of items are you collecting?”

  “I have a weekend in a Cincinnati hotel, and a week in Orlando. Jimmy Burke has donated four horseback riding lessons. There is a photographer offering a portrait of your pet.” She paused, thinking. “There are a dinner for two at a downtown restaurant and two tickets to Actors’ Theater. But we need more items.” She leaned on the table, peering at Hank. “Do you have any paintings, Hank, anything that you could donate to help The Hope Center?”

  She knows. Hank shot Ginny a quick glance. Ginny lowered her gaze, bowing her head, and shook her head no. It was a small shake, hard to discern if he hadn’t been aware of her meaning. Ginny hadn’t revealed his secret. But Aimee knew he volunteered at the center. He read it in her flashing eyes. Of course, the woman who took Aimee’s place as program director in charge of the volunteers must have told her.

  No one but Raylynn knows about my paintings.

  Yet there was an undercurrent of something going on here. He searched Aimee’s face, probing into her thoughts.

  “What about it, Hank? Donate something,” Cam urged.

  His gaze flickered toward Cam, and then he gave his sister-in-law a grudging nod. “I have a few paintings that might work.”

  Of course they would work. He had painted the horses and the children who rode them. He had captured what it meant for him to give of his time to such a worthwhile cause. Unfortunately, his volunteering was nothing his dad would like. It wasn’t business. He didn’t make money at it. Helping at The Hope Center was a time-w
aster to Hal Brennan, who used his position in society as a fund raiser, not to connect one-on-one with someone in need.

  Least of all his own son.

  “That’s wonderful, Hank,” Aimee exclaimed. “You don’t know how much this will mean to the center.”

  “I can guess,” Hank replied with heavy irony, thinking about Raylynn whose vow to get him to show his paintings had mysteriously come to pass.

  In three weeks’ time, Hank Brennan would display what he had been hiding for years. The group of paintings would show his passion and caring, and for better or worse, his talent. The question was, would that be enough for the man who sat at the head of the table?

  Chapter Nine

  Holt Stables

  Near Simpsonville, Kentucky

  Giving the dainty mare her head going around the end of the indoor arena, Raylynn clucked once coming out of the turn and headed down the straight-away at an extended trot. February air stung Raylynn’s face. Her fingertips, hidden beneath winter riding gloves, tingled from the cold. One more horse to train, and her morning routine would be finished.

  “Hup there! Get on with ya!” Jimmy Burke stood in the center of the unheated arena and popped a whip on the tanbark flooring as the bay mare sprinted along the wall.

  Raylynn bumped the left rein once, urging the American Saddlebred mare to lift her head. Then she released the pressure and held the reins lightly between her fingers. Gazing between the mare’s pointed ears, Raylynn never used the riding crop in her hand. She was satisfied with resting it on the powerful shoulder that moved beneath her.

  Horse and rider trotted at high speed around the arena two more times, then Jimmy ordered, “Bring ‘er on in.”

  Raylynn tickled the reins and put her weight in the saddle, slowing the mare down to a collected walk. They circled the arena at a walk once and then came into the center to stop in front of Jimmy.

  “Good job,” her uncle said taking the riding crop from her hand. “Next one is Bliss, but Aimee’s come to ride her.”

  Raylynn glanced up to see Aimee standing at the rail by the office. Her friend waved, and Raylynn lifted her hand in a silent hello. She dismounted, gathered the reins in her right hand and led the mare from the arena into the attached stabling area and then into the empty stall.

  “You looked wonderful up there,” Aimee said from behind.

  Raylynn turned and showered her friend with an appreciative smile. “You do too! Motherhood hasn’t hurt you one bit.”

  “Ugh.” Aimee came into the stall. She took the bridle after Raylynn removed it. “I feel as big as a horse,” she said.

  “Well, you don’t look like a horse.” Raylynn fitted the halter over the mare’s head and buckled the cross-ties. She then lifted off the saddle and handed it to Aimee. “Where’s Alec?”

  “Ginny is watching him for me. I just had to get out of the house. I never realized how tied down a baby makes you.”

  Raylynn tossed a wool cooler over the mare. “Better you than me. My life is too busy for a child.” She ducked under the cross-ties and came out of the stall.

  The two women walked between the rows of stalls to the tack room where they exchanged Raylynn’s tack for Aimee’s saddle and the bridle Bliss wore.

  Raylynn had taken Aimee’s place as Jimmy’s assistant after Aimee quit and married Cam. Jimmy and his wife Toady had raised Raylynn, and riding was as natural to her as singing. However, Raylynn didn’t go to college to be a horse trainer. Psychology had been her major, but when Jimmy needed help, she had taken the job.

  “I’m glad you’re going to show Bliss this season,” Raylynn commented as they walked up the aisle again to the stall of Cam and Aimee’s big gelding named Wedded Bliss. She caught the horse’s halter and snapped the cross-ties.

  “That’s the plan, isn’t it big fella?” Aimee rubbed the warm nose with affection. “I couldn’t let Cam sell him. After all, this horse brought us together.”

  “A happy ending,” Raylynn remarked, hearing the sarcasm in her voice. Fortunately, she didn’t think Aimee heard it. Raylynn drew her lips into a straight line. It was all too easy to envy Aimee’s life. A green-eyed monster reared its ugly head upon occasion, and Raylynn struggled to beat it down.

  After a few quiet moments while Raylynn groomed the gelding, Aimee glanced up and said, “Oh! I wanted to tell you my father-in-law is going to have a silent auction for The Hope Center.”

  Aimee had confirmed Raylynn’s suspicions that Hank worked at the center with the new program director. Turns out according to the director, Hank was one of the center’s most loyal and trusted volunteers. Go figure.

  Raylynn adjusted the saddle on the horse’s back. “What about Hank?”

  Aimee put on the bridle and slipped the bit into Bliss’ mouth. “Hank has agreed to donate ten paintings.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “No, but if they are as beautiful as you say they are, we’re in for a treat.”

  “You didn’t let on about Hank’s volunteer work, did you?” Raylynn asked.

  Aimee shook her head. “No, but I’d love to tell Cam about his little brother’s secret.”

  “Please don’t,” Raylynn blurted. “I don’t want him to know how you found out. He may make the connection that we’re friends. He’ll know I told you.”

  Aimee favored her with a puzzled look as Raylynn led Wedded Bliss from his stall. Aimee fell in step beside the horse. “You like him, don’t you?” she asked.

  Raylynn’s heart jerked. She stopped in midstride and turned to stare at Aimee. “What?”

  “You like Cam’s stepbrother.” Aimee repeated with more confidence. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Maybe a little loving will be good for Hank, just like it was for me.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Hank and I are a lot alike.” Aimee’s expression grew thoughtful. “It took Cam’s love to help me realize I’m more than my daddy’s money. Maybe you’ll be the one to help Hank realize the same thing.”

  Raylynn didn’t reply. She clucked to the horse and led him into the arena. The next few minutes were spent helping Jimmy adjust the girth and bridle. Then Raylynn held Aimee’s right stirrup steady as her friend mounted from the left side. After Aimee and Bliss stepped off toward the rail, Raylynn left the arena. She hugged the railing and watched, but her mind was miles away.

  Did she care about Hank? Sure she did. There was much to like. He wasn’t the kind of guy to advertise his evident compassion and caring. He was someone to be counted on. His work at the Hope Center proved both.

  But there were also many reasons why she should stay the hell away from him, as she had tried to do for several weeks. He had no visible means of support. His life was at loose ends, lacking direction, as if he was caught in adolescence.

  Yet she’d had sex with him—on a whim maybe—but the impact of that night had left her shaken. Hank was danger. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

  Raylynn gripped the railing as a sudden fear rolled through her. She did like Hank. Too much. It would be too easy to get involved with him. To love him.

  But whenever she had opened her heart in the past, she had been hurt—from the abandonment of her mother, to mistreatment by the few jerks she’d been attracted to as a teenager and young adult. Jerks drew her in. She’d tried to save too many of them only to be burned in the bargain.

  But none had been like Hank.

  She and Hank had a lot in common. His dream was unfulfilled, just like hers. She’d never make it to Nashville, but Hank had a good chance of sharing his gift with the world. He was an artist deep down to his core. By exhibiting his paintings at his father’s party, Hank was going to prove it to himself and his family.

  Where she fit into the equation, Raylynn had no clue.

  Was she too scared to find out?

  Chapter Ten

  The Grand Ballroom

  The Galt House, Louisville

  I fall to pieces
each time I see you again. I fall to pieces. How can I be just your friend?

  Hank stood off to the side of the stage set up at one end of the Grand Ballroom. The room was peppered with people, all dressed in tuxes or long, flowing gowns. This black-tie affair was the place to see and be seen by local society and business elite. True to his word, Hal Brennan had pulled off a fine celebration. As usual, he did nothing half-way and had spared no expense.

  Required to wear a tuxedo, Hank had chosen to be different. His two-button tuxedo jacket and matching black trousers were nothing unique. It was his black shirt with the mandarin collar that made him different—like Johnny Cash, a man in black.

  His difference was more than his choice of clothing. He felt at odds with these people to whom power and money were so important. The all-mighty dollar was only important to him in so far as it paid the bills. Time was his idea of wealth. Time to paint and volunteer.

  Time to make love to Raylynn.

  Which he hadn’t done for weeks, not since their night together when he showed off her portrait. She was obviously avoiding him.

  Raylynn’s voice reached down to him from the stage. “You want me to act like we’ve never kissed,” she sang.

  I can’t. I am falling to pieces, he thought.

  The intervening weeks had only intensified Hank’s longing for the beautiful woman who stood on stage in her outmoded cowgirl costume belting out soulful renditions of old Patsy Cline songs.

  Turning on his heel, Hank escaped to the long hallway outside the ballroom. Aflame with desire and unanswered love, he couldn’t stand by the stage and watch. A raw and primitive grief overwhelmed him. Walking the length of the hall, unnoticed among the growing crowd, Hank camouflaged well the deep despair of loneliness he felt.

  “Those paintings are beautiful!” A bejeweled woman cried out over the chatter of the crowd.

  Hank paused, becoming aware of his surroundings. He had wandered into the throng around the silent auction tables.