The Durango Affair - Brenda Jackson [1]
There was definitely nothing scientific about his prediction but still, even with a clear blue Montana sky, he knew he was right. A man didn’t live in the mountains unless he was in sync with his environment. The mountains could hold you prisoner in the valley whenever a snowstorm hit, and their snowslides struck fear in the hearts of unsuspecting skiers.
These were the mountains that he loved and considered home even on their worst days.
Durango’s thoughts shifted to another place he considered home: the city where he was born, Atlanta. He often missed the closeness of the family he had left behind there, and although he would be the first to admit that he liked his privacy—and his space—it was times like this when he missed his family most.
He did have an uncle who lived near, although definitely not a skip and a hop by any means. Corey Westmoreland’s breathtaking monstrosity of a ranch was high in the mountains on a peak that everyone referred to as Corey’s Mountain. However, now that Corey had gotten married, he didn’t visit as often. So Durango had become somewhat of a loner who was satisfied with enjoying the memories of his occasional visits home.
One such visit was still vividly clear in his mind. It was the time he’d returned to Atlanta for his cousin Chase’s wedding and had met Savannah Claiborne, the sister of the bride.
From the moment their eyes had connected there had been a startling attraction. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so taken with a woman. In no time at all she had turned his world upside down. She had actually charmed her way past his tight guard and his common sense.
Later that evening, after seeing the bride and groom off, everyone, still in a festive mood, had remained in the hotel’s ballroom and continued to party, intent on celebrating the night away.
Both he and Savannah were more than a little tipsy and pretty wired up when he had walked her to her hotel room at midnight. And at the time, accepting her offer of a nightcap had seemed like the right thing to do. But once alone, one thing led to another and they had ended up making love.
That night his total concentration had been on her. Even now the memories of their one night together were tucked away and reserved for times like this when the claws of loneliness clutched at him, and made him think about things that a devout bachelor had no business thinking about—like a woman in his life who would always be within arm’s reach.
“Damn.”
He shook such foolish thoughts away and blamed his uncle’s recent marriage for such crazy notions. Durango quickly reminded himself that he had tried love once and it had earned him a scar on his heart. That wound was a constant reminder of the pain he had suffered. Now he much preferred the easy life with just him and his mountains. He kept women at arm’s length, except for when he sought out their company to satisfy his physical needs. Emotional need was as foreign a concept to him as sunbathing in the snow-covered Rockies. He had risked his heart once and refused to do so ever again.
But still, thoughts of Savannah Claiborne clung to him, did things to him. And no matter how many times he told himself she was just another woman, some small thing would trigger memories of that night, and along with the memories came the startling realization that she wasn’t just another woman. She was in a class all by herself. At those times he could almost feel her lying beside him, beneath him, while he touched her, stroked her and coaxed her to take him deeper while he satisfied the pulsing ache within him….
Needing to get a grip, he forced his breathing back to normal and compelled his body to relax. He turned around and headed for the phone, deciding to call the rangers’ station. They were down one