Free Black Hills by Nora Roberts Page B

too.” She tried out a bright smile. “You could be sheriff of Deadwood one day.”
    He laughed at the idea. “First I have to get through the academy. A lot of people wash out.”
    “You won’t. You’ll be great. You’ll help people and solve crimes, and I’ll study and get my degree and save wildlife.”
    And they’d find a way, she thought.

    SHE LED the way to the spot she’d chosen. She’d wanted it perfect—the day, the place, the moment. She couldn’t let the future, the uncertainty of it interfere.
    They had the sun, and it filtered through the trees to sparkle on the waters of the fast-running stream where purple dame’s rockets danced in the light breeze. More wildflowers bloomed in the light, and in the shadows, and the birdcall was music enough.
    They dismounted, tethered the horses. Lil unstrapped her pack. “We should set up the tent first.”
    “Tent?”
    “I wanted it to be a surprise. We’ve got two days. It’s okay with your grandparents, with my parents.” She set the pack down, laid her hands on his chest. “Is it okay with you?”
    “It’s been a while since we camped. Last time your father and I shared a tent.” Searching her face, he rubbed her arms. “Things have changed, Lil.”
    “I know. That’s why we’re here, with one tent and one sleeping bag.” She leaned in, keeping her eyes open as she brushed her lips over his. “Do you want me, Cooper?”
    “You know I do.” He pulled her closer, took her mouth with a sudden and fierce possession that arrowed heat straight to her belly. “Jesus, Lil, you know I do. No point in asking if you’re sure, if you’re ready. You’re always sure. But . . . We’re not prepared. A tent’s not enough for what we’re talking about. At least, the kind of tent you’ve got in that pack.”
    It made her laugh, and hug him tight. “I have a box of tents.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Condoms. I have a box of condoms. I never go camping unprepared.”
    “A box. That makes the one I’m carrying in my wallet kind of unnecessary—and okay, thank you, God—but where the hell did you get condoms?”
    “My mother gave them to me.”
    “Your . . .” He closed his eyes, then gave up and sat on a rock. “Your mother gave you a box of condoms, then let you come out here with me?”
    “Actually, she gave them to me a week ago, and asked me to promise to be sure and to be careful. I did, I am. I will.”
    A little pale, Coop rubbed his hands on the knees of his jeans. “Your father knows?”
    “Sure. He’s not home loading up the shotgun, Coop.”
    “It’s weird. It’s just weird. And now I’m nervous, damn it.”
    “I’m not. Help me set up the tent.”
    He rose. They worked quickly, efficiently, securing the small, lightweight tent.
    “You’ve done this before, right?”
    He glanced over at her. “You don’t mean camping. Yeah. But I’ve never done this before with someone who hasn’t—done it before. It’s probably going to hurt you, and I don’t know if it’s even any good for a girl the first time.”
    “I’ll let you know.” She reached out, laid a hand over his heart. All she could think was it was beating for her now. It had to be. “We could start now.”
    “Now?”
    “Well, I’m hoping you’ll get me warmed up first. I brought an extra blanket to spread out.” She pulled it out of the pack. “And since you’ve got that condom in your wallet, we could start with that. Otherwise, it’s all we’re going to think about.” Steady and sure, she took his hand. “Maybe you could lie down here with me, and kiss me awhile.”
    “There’s nobody else like you in the world.”
    “Show me, will you? You’re the only one I want to show me.”
    He kissed her first, as they stood in the sunlight beside the blanket, and put everything he had that was soft and gentle into it.
    He knew she was right. It should be here, in the world that belonged to the two of them, the world that had brought them together, and linked