She was too sweet to give her anything less.

"Been awhile, has it?" he asked softly.

She laughed and rolled her eyes, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. "Eight years."

"Eight years?" he repeated.

"Isn't that pathetic?" She pushed nervously at her hair, took a deep breath, and then met his gaze again. "Maybe we could just skip this part."

Ryan chuckled. "Not on your life. I've been burning to kiss you all evening."

She rolled her eyes again. "I seriously doubt that you-"

He cut her short by grasping her chin. She was so damned beautiful. He knew she thought that all he saw was the wheelchair, but he was far more aware of the woman in it. The front of her jacket lay open, teasing him with glimpses of her figure, the shape of her small but full breasts showcased in the V. Her scent, a simple blend of soap, shampoo, talc, and feminine sweetness, worked on his senses like an intoxicant.

As had happened earlier in the stable, he wanted her, and his thoughts veered off track, making him yearn to peel away the parka and explore the woman hidden underneath it. He didn't know what it was about her. Something. He'd felt it the first time he saw her, been unable to chase her from his thoughts all week, and now the feeling had grabbed him by the throat.

He moved in, determined to show her just how hotly he burned. Taking control in a way he never found necessary with other women, he tipped her face to an accommodating angle. When her mouth remained closed, he applied gentle pressure to force it open.

Her lips trembled beneath his-a shy, startled, uncertain surrender, her lungs grabbing convulsively for breath. He shared his own, angling his head to deepen the kiss, dipping into the recesses of her mouth for a taste. Sweet. That one word kept circling in his mind. Wonderfully, incredibly sweet. He felt the jolt clear to his boot heels.

Damn. Was he saying good night or hello? He no longer knew or cared. She had the most fantastic, intoxicating little mouth, and her shyness only prodded him, making him want to delve deeper, to taste every honeyed recess. Silk on silk. He brushed his lips lightly over hers, nibbling, coaxing with flicks of his tongue, urging her to relax.

Finally she sighed raggedly, and her breathing changed, the intakes shallow and urgent. He felt her slender fingers grasp the front of his shirt. She sank against him, no longer counting on the chair to support all her weight. She was a welcome burden-a soft, delicate burden that seared his skin at every pressure point. Oh, God. He couldn't believe this, had never experienced anything like it. He slipped an arm around her, drawing her even closer. All that prevented him from lifting her out of the chair was a purely instinctive reluctance to rush her. Her lips went malleable beneath his. Her mouth opened for him. Her tongue engaged with his in a shy, hesitant dance of touch and retreat. Ryan's head swam. She moaned, the sound a hushed throb of pleasure at the base of her throat that inflamed him. He moved his hand from her chin to curl it over the back of her head. He needed to be in complete control-to orchestrate her movements, to thrust more deeply, male into female, the urge as old as mankind and so primal, so compelling he was powerless to restrain it. His. He wanted to possess her. Learn the feel of her. Lay claim.

His thoughts swirling in a molten eddy, he barely realized what he was doing when he slipped his left hand beneath the parka and settled his palm at her waist. Softness. He explored the shape of her, gently probing the thrust of her hipbone through the denim of her jeans. Then he skimmed his fingers upward over her blouse, tracing the line of each fragile rib. She jerked with every pass of his fingertips, her breath catching and becoming a mewling sound in her throat, the soft cries telling him she was as lost to the sensations as he was. One fine-boned hand slipped into his hair, made a fist, clinging to him, the urgency in her transmitting itself to him through every pore of her skin.

Ryan ran out of ribs to trace. His fingertips nudged the underside of her breast, the swollen heat and softness calling to his hand. He imagined the generous softness of her cupped in his palm, knew it belonged there and that the weight of her would feel right, absolutely right, filling the emptiness in him that suddenly clawed at his guts. Bethany.

Only by supreme force of will did he resist the temptation. Anchoring his palm on her side, he allowed only his fingertips to touch the beginning swell of her breast-light, coaxing glides that made him yearn to do more. She moaned into his mouth and pressed closer, the invitation explicit, her nipple thrusting forward until he felt the hardened tip graze his shirt, tracing lines over his skin like a red-hot pointer.

With each pass, a jolt went through her, making her slender body jerk. Oh, God, she ached to be touched there. He wanted to take over, to do it for her and do it right, to give her what she so obviously needed. Only when he started to move his hand higher, warning bells went off. He didn't know why, couldn't think clearly enough to examine his reasons for holding back. It would only be a touch, after all, and through the layers of her blouse and bra, which didn't constitute a daring intimacy.

But, no ... Not now, not yet. He remembered in a flash how this had begun, with her mouth closed against him. In years and life experience, she was a grown woman and a fair mark, but when it came to sex, she was obviously a novice, and he should take it slow.

Ryan knew his limits. One more pass of that throbbing nipple over his shirt, and he was going to lose it. He tried to end the kiss, drawing back marginally. Her hot, eager mouth clung to his, the still shy and inexperienced forays of her tongue gliding lightly over his bottom lip. His guts clenched. He reached up to grasp her face between his hands and forced their mouths apart.

Gazes locked, they stared at each other, both of them breathing raggedly, the reality of how they both felt and what they might have done-what both-of them still wanted to do-rising around them like an electrical field. Her eyes were cloudy and confused, the pupils large and liquid black. Looking into those eyes, he knew the exact instant when awareness began to return to her.

Her first reaction, which he also read in her eyes, was shock, quickly followed by dismay that brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks.

"Wow," he whispered, bending to kiss the tip of her nose, a tender smile playing over his lips as he tried to bring her down gently. She was such an enigma, an intriguing blend of maturity and inexperience. Kissing her had aroused him yet made him feel protective of her as well, forcing him to slow down when what he really yearned to do was speed forward. "That was-something else."

She made an odd sound in her throat. He curled his hands over her shoulders to prevent her from falling because she'd leaned so far forward in the chair. Holding her breath, she stared at him. His own breathing was ragged. He could see the pulse at the base of her throat, a telltale sign that she was as aroused as he was.

She gulped for breath, sat back in her chair, and said in a strained voice, "I think you'd better go now, Ryan." Hugging her waist, she gazed at him with accusing eyes. "Thank you for a wonderful evening. I'll never forget it."

Just like that, he was supposed to leave? After what had occurred between them? He'd never felt like this. Never. There was something very special at work here. Something he'd never even imagined might be possible. How could he turn away from that, no questions asked, and simply walk out?

He rocked back on one boot heel. Still crouched at her eye level, he stared hard into those beautiful, expressive eyes. She was angry, her polite thank-you only a smoke screen. She had enjoyed the kiss, no question there, so he knew that wasn't the problem. He'd lost it for a second, but nothing had happened, so that couldn't be it, either.

"Bethany, I-"

She shook her head and held up a silencing hand. "Don't say anything. Just go. Please."

He pushed to his feet. No mistake. That was definitely anger in her eyes. Over the years, he'd made his share of mistakes with women and been on the receiving end of their anger a few times, but he usually knew what he'd done, at least.

"Honey, I'm-"

"Just go," she whispered, her tone fierce. "I mean it, Ryan. I want you to leave. Now"

He went. What else could he do?

Once in his truck, he sat in the darkness with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. Just go. Oh, God. She was royally pissed, and he hadn't a clue why. Granted, he'd gotten a little carried away, but he'd stopped. You couldn't hang a guy for thinking about it.

He lifted his head and dragged in a steadying breath. Whew. The suddenness of it was what had gotten him in trouble. He'd started out trying to refresh her memory on the fine art of kissing, and the next thing he knew, she had been teaching him a few things-like how it felt to lose his head over a woman.

Badly shaken, Ryan drove home, lecturing himself the entire way. He needed to think and be damned sure what his intentions were before he took this an inch farther. A girl like Bethany couldn't be tried on for size and then tossed aside if there was a pinch.

Bethany ripped off her parka and threw it with all her strength. The zipper tab hit the wall with such force that the sound reverberated like a rifle shot. She covered her face with her hands, her chest aching with stifled sobs, her stomach lurching. Oh, God. Never had she been so humiliated.

Thinking back over the kiss, she remembered how he'd tried to pull away and how she'd clung to him, begging for more with her mouth and body. She had never felt like that before, had never even allowed herself to get in a situation where she might feel like that. Why put herself through the unnecessary heartache? According to the specialist in Portland, she shouldn't try to have children, and chances were, she'd be unable to enjoy sex. There was also the inescapable fact that most men took one look at her wheelchair and ran in the other direction. Why explore that side of her nature, why open up all those feelings and be forced to deal with them, when she knew they'd probably never have an outlet?

Now, without half trying, Ryan Kendrick had jerked the lid off the Pandora's box of her sexual awareness, making her want things she could never have. No, want wasn't the word. He'd made her ache, damn him, leaving her aware of needs and yearnings she'd tried to ignore or pretend didn't exist.

She rubbed furiously at her mouth, trying to get the taste of him off her lips. It clung tenaciously, a bitter reminder of how she'd behaved, moaning and trembling and throwing herself at him. She still trembled with yearning. The feeling had hit her like a bulldozer, obliterating her sense of self, sweeping aside her pride.

Never again .. . never. If he hadn't pulled away, putting a stop to the madness, there was no telling what might have occurred. He might even have done her the ultimate kindness and made love to her, not because he really wanted to, not because he'd been planning to, but because he felt sorry for her. The poor paraplegic who never got any, so needy that just a kiss had her panting for it. What was a guy to do but give her what she wanted?

Tears stung her eyes. Her face twisted as she fought not to shed them. Just the thought that it could have gone that far made her feel sick. This was exactly why she'd always avoided this kind of situation. Given that she wasn't even sure she was functional in that way, what was the point? She'd only end up getting hurt. Sex was the number one priority for most men, barring all. Her boyfriend Paul had taught her that lesson well, and if she allowed herself to start hoping otherwise, she deserved whatever she got.

She wiped her cheeks. Eight years ago, she'd sworn that no man would ever have the power to make her cry again, and now just look at her. Well, she'd never cry over one again, mark her words. The next time a man-any man-asked her out on a date, her answer would be an unequivocal no.

Chapter Five.

A night hawk cawed somewhere along the lakeshore, the sound lonely on the icy wind that blew in off the water. Sitting with his back braced against a lone pine that grew on a slight knoll, Ryan hunched his shoulders inside the lined denim of his jacket. He smelled a storm moving in, though he guessed it might be a couple of days yet in arriving, and his instincts told him it would bring snow. Typical. Officially, it was spring, but that meant diddlee squat at this elevation.

He sighed, not really caring if old man winter dumped more white stuff. In Crystal Falls, the occasional late blizzard was expected. The crops were in, but this early on, even a hard freeze wouldn't do that much damage.

The sound of pounding hooves drew his attention. He turned and peered through the moon-silvery darkness. After a moment he made out the silhouette of a horse and rider. Glancing at the luminescent dial of his watch, he saw that it was ten after eleven, late enough to make him wonder who was out riding.

"Howdy-ho!" a feminine voice called.

"Mom? What the Sam Hill are you doing out here?"

Her mare, Sugarplum, decreased speed and fell into a trot, throwing up sandy lake soil with her shod hooves. "When I looked out my kitchen window and saw you under your thinking tree at this time of night, I figured something was up. I thought maybe you needed to talk." Ryan sometimes wondered if his mother had some sort of maternal telepathy. "What did you do, scan the lakefront with an infrared scope? It's dark. You couldn't have seen me from your window." "The outside lights are all on up at your place. I could see your silhouette. A man in a Stetson casts an unmistakable outline." Ryan knew that the ranch foreman, Sly, had been stopping in every hour all evening to check on Rosebud. "How'd you know it was me and not Sly or one of the hired hands?"

"Process of elimination. No one else would be fool enough to sit out here in the freezing cold."

She drew up in front of him and swung off her horse. Leaving the reins to dangle, a method referred to as ground tying in their neck of the woods, she stepped to her saddlebag. Ryan heard glass clink. He narrowed his gaze. As his mother came up the incline, he saw that she was carrying a half-gallon bottle of wine and two goblets.

"Want to share a nip or two with me?"

He ran a thoughtful gaze over her slender figure. Petite and blond, she was still a beautiful woman, even at sixty. "You and Dad fighting?"

She laughed as she sat beside him. Moonlight played over her face, the gentle glow concealing her few facial wrinkles. The gray of her eyes shimmered and shifted like quicksilver. "Your dad gave up fighting with me years ago." She handed him the wine bottle and a corkscrew. "He never wins."

Ryan chuckled as he set himself to the task of opening the bottle. "Only because he pulls his punches, and you don't."

"He also has difficulty articulating when he's furious, which I've learned to use to my advantage. In answer to your question, no, all is fine on my home front."

She braced her forearms on her upraised knees, a waiting goblet clutched loosely in each hand. Ryan popped the cork and filled the glasses she extended.

"That bottle is going to be a dead soldier before I leave," she announced.

"Uh-oh. You feeling a need to tie one on?"

"No, but I think you are. You've been a bit distracted the last few days."

"Distracted?"

"As in staring off at nothing and not answering when we yell your name three times. Tell your mother what's eating you."

Ryan knew he had been preoccupied. Since first meeting Bethany, he'd been unable to get her off his mind. "Nothing's eating me. What makes you think that?" He took a sip of wine, swallowed, and nearly choked. "Jesus! What is this shit?"

Ann took a taste and grimaced. "It's Hazel Turk's homemade plum wine. Dad says it's got the kick of a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun." She thrust a hand toward him, palm up. "That's twenty you owe to the college fund."

"Ah, Mom, come on. Jaimie's at home in bed asleep."

"Pay up. Two cusswords, ten apiece. Those are the rules. If you don't follow them when he's not around, you'll slip when he is. My grandson is not going to be expelled from preschool for using bad language. Only 'damn' and 'hell' and a few other bywords are allowed, end of subject."

Ryan handed her his wine while he dug in his pocket for his money clip. He peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and traded it for the return of his goblet. She squinted to see. "This is way too much." "I'm not finished yet. That gives me eight on account." "That bad?" Ann laughed and stuffed the bill in the pocket of her Wranglers jacket. "Okay, spit it out. I knew you were upset about something."

Ryan took another sip of wine, shuddering as he swallowed. "This stuff tastes like cough syrup."

"I understand that Hazel's wine can give you such a case of the squirts, you don't dare cough. I suppose it could do double duty as a cough remedy."

He gritted his teeth, curled a lip, and stared at the dark liquid.

Ann took a big gulp. "Be brave. Hazel's a dear. Sunday night at the ranchers' association dinner, I want to tell her I drank this and enjoyed it."

Ryan groaned at the reminder of the dinner. He was required to go as well. He'd meant to line up a date, had become distracted by a certain brunette, and completely forgotten. "How drunk do you plan to get? That's what it'll take to enjoy this crap. Besides, if you tell Hazel you like it, she may give you more."

"Oh, my, I hadn't thought of that. Ah, well, I'll just come visit you."

"Thanks." He took another sip. "It tastes better after the first shock."

They both fell to gazing across the lake. While they sipped the wine, they talked about the weather, decided they both smelled snow on the air, and then chatted about Rafe's family. Ryan was on his second glass and started to feel the tension flow from his body when he finally said, "I met her this week, Mom."

"Ah," Ann said knowingly. Then, "Her, who?"

"Her. Miss Right. The girl of my dreams, the one I've been waiting for. I took her out on a date tonight."

"Oh, Ryan, that's wonderful. I told you it would happen, sooner or later." She twirled her goblet, watching the crystal sparkle. Then, frowning, she said, "If you just took her out, and she's Miss Right, why on earth the long face?"

"I kissed her, and everything went wrong. She got upset and told me to leave."

"What happened to make her upset?"

Ryan rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, now, there's a question. I was just going to kiss her good night, an old-fashioned, first-date kiss, the kind of thing a guy does on the doorstep. Only things got a little out of hand." He felt a flush creeping up his neck. He and his mother were close, but even so, there were some subjects he felt uncomfortable discussing with her. The particulars about his love life ranked near the top of that list. Ann's eyes widened. "Wow. It must have been some kiss." "Yeah, wow. I lost it, she lost it." He clenched his jaw, shook his head. "After all the women I've dated, I ask you, what were the chances that I'd run across a half-pint girl with big blue eyes who kisses with her mouth closed, and she'd blow my socks off?" "One in a thousand, maybe?" Ann studied him, her expression thoughtful. "She kisses with her mouth closed? How old is she?" "Twenty-six." "Is she religious or something?" "No, Mom, not fanatically or anything." Ryan propped his elbows on his knees. "She's just-it's been a while for her, and I suppose you could say she's also a little green." "At twenty-six?" "Yeah. I should have handled the situation with more finesse." He drained his glass of wine, then refilled both their goblets. "I sensed that she was wary." "Wary of you?" "Yeah, sweet and friendly, but a little standoffish. I think she's been through a bad relationship, gotten hurt. That's my guess, anyway." "Hmm." Ann shook her head, her expression bemused. "I think she's as attracted to me as I am to her," Ryan added, "but she's afraid of getting hurt again."

"Ah," Ann said knowingly. "How'd you come up with that?"

"Because when I kissed her, she was right there with me until I pulled away, and then, bang, she looked at me like I'd punched her." He sighed. "Sometimes I think men and women come from different universes. I don't suppose you have any insight to share on the female psyche?"

Ann smiled. "Sweetie, we aren't all designed by the same blueprint." She raised the toes of her boots and slowly lowered them to point downhill again. "Is your bewildering puzzle pretty?" "Beautiful," he whispered. "She's got the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. I swear, they're the biggest thing about her-so brilliant a blue, they put me in mind of Johnny-jump-ups."

"Uh-oh. That's as close to poetic as I've ever heard you get. A bad case, huh?"

He sighed and said, "I just-yeah, a bad case. The first time I saw her, I felt thunderstruck. And it's not just her looks. Pretty women aren't scarce in a town as large as Crystal Falls. It was something else- almost a sense of recognition, like I'd been waiting to find her all my life, and there she was. I can't explain it."

Ann smiled sympathetically. "Honey, no one can explain the mystery of love." She grew thoughtful again as she sipped her wine. "You say you think she's been through a bad relationship? How on earth did she manage that without learning how to kiss?"

Ryan's jaw muscle knotted. He stared sightlessly across the lake. "I didn't say she doesn't know how, but that she's out of practice and a little green. I'm only guessing, but I think she was very young at the time she had the relationship and probably a bit of a tomboy. Seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. The sort of thing that never went much farther than handholding and clumsy kissing with a boy who had little more experience than she did."

"And she's never been involved with anyone else since?" Ann asked incredulously.

"She's a cripple."

"A what?"

"A cripple." The word came hard, catching at the back of Ryan's throat. "Not the politically correct term, I'm sure. Paralyzed, Mom, a paraplegic. She was injured eight years ago in a barrel-racing accident."

Silence.

A bitter taste washed over Ryan's tongue. "I don't think men have been standing in line to date her since then. A wheelchair has a way of dampening the male ardor. I don't know who the guy was that hurt her, but he was probably some immature little jackass she knew in high school."

"Oh, Ryan." Ann's eyes darkened in the moonlight, looking like splotches of charcoal in her suddenly pale face. She frowned thoughtfully and gazed across the lake for several seconds. "Not saying you aren't right," she said softly, "but having worked in a rehab center, I'd say it's just as likely that she has faced so many rejections and restrictions since her accident that she's become wary and distrustful. When a woman is found to be lacking countless times by the opposite sex, she protects herself in any way she can, and that might make her seem wary."

"Could be," Ryan conceded. "Going by things she said, I got the feeling that most men run the other direction when they realize she's in a wheelchair." He shrugged. "Hell, to be honest, when I first realized she was a paraplegic, I wanted to run myself, only I'd already asked her out, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. If I'd started crawfishing, it would have been obvious why." He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. "So I took her on a date, thinking it'd only be for an evening, and that afterward I could do a graceful fade-out."

Ann said nothing, which prompted him to continue. "I got to her house late," he said gruffly. "Rosebud went into labor, and when I tried to call her to explain, her phone was off the hook, and I couldn't get through. She thought I'd stood her up, and I could tell she'd been crying. I felt like a skunk. When I told her I'd been held up by a horse, I ex pected her to be pissed. Instead, she was a real sweetheart about it." "That's a nice switch," Ann said with a smile. "Most times, don't your dates get miffed if you're late because a horse requires attention?"