The Rancher Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides Book 1)

her foot, she felt herself catapulting through the air.
    At the last possible second, Travis twisted her body so that she fell on top of him. They hit the porch with a thud, sending the swing flying out of control, precariously close to their heads.
    "Keep your head down," Travis gasped as the swing came flying by. "Are you hurt?"
    For a moment Rose was stunned. They'd fallen out of the swing onto the hard surface of the porch, but Travis had taken the brunt of the fall. She had landed on hard muscles that had softened the blow, cushioned in the safety of his arms.
    A giggle surfaced. How totally ridiculous they must look, half lying in a swing, pushing aside clothing only to come tumbling out while in the midst of a passionate kiss.
    Rose giggled out loud, trying to hold it in, knowing she should ask about Travis, fearful she had crushed him during the fall.
    Her exhaustion had colored her perspective of the world, making everything appear funny. She would have laughed at anything, at this point.
    "Are you all right?" She giggled.
    He was silent. "Yes. I'm fine. My pride is slightly bruised, but I'm not harmed."
    She laughed, and soon he was laughing with her. The sound was intoxicating to her ears. "We must look very silly, lying here on the porch, the swing going back and forth over us in the dark.''She paused. "I guess you've never tried this with anyone else."
    He rolled her off him to his side and positioned himself facing her. "No, you're the first I've fallen out of the swing with."
    She smiled. "You need to perfect that maneuver if you plan on using it again," she whispered in the dark.
    He reached out and smoothed away a curl that had fallen around her face. She swallowed, trying to calm her erratic pulse. A couple of minutes longer would have found them with their clothing shoved to the side, their bodies joined together. But the fall from the swing had cooled their ardor somewhat, though not totally.
    And Rose wondered if it would always be this way between them.
    "I ... I really do need to go in. Rehearsals start at ten in the morning and will go late tomorrow. I need to get some rest."
    Travis ignored her remark, his hand tracing small patterns on her back. His fingers reached out, touched her chin, and gently turned her toward him. His lips brushed against hers in an exploratory kiss that held so many promises and unspoken desires. He gently sucked on her bottom lip, teasing the edges with his tongue.
    Her breathing grew harsh and she put her hands between them and gently pushed, breaking the kiss.
    "I really must go to bed."
    She sat up and brushed aside the curls that had come loose with her fall. She glanced down at Travis, who was still lying on the porch. "Thanks for apologizing. I didn't understand and thought that maybe I had done something wrong that morning at the pond."
    He reached up and touched her cheek. "You did nothing wrong. It was me. I . . . didn't know what to say. So I ran. Sometimes I feel like I'm still running."
    ***
    Three nights later, Rose stood behind the makeshift curtain and looked out at the growing crowd. It was opening night, and the benches were rapidly filling up with people. Two rows of Burnetts sat close to the stage, and Rose couldn't help but feel nervous. Not only was this her first public performance, but Travis's entire family for miles around had come to show their support.
    While it was a nice gesture, it didn't help her jitters, and she had a bad case of nerves. Sometimes she felt as though she was going to throw up, and other times she felt like laughing.
    Everyone was ready backstage and wandered around with a half-dazed look on their faces. Rose could only imagine that they also suffered from stage fright. She watched a young man walking around the scaffold, lighting the lanterns. The audience was almost seated, and soon the curtain would open.
    Rose glanced out the curtain one last time and spotted Travis and his family sitting on the fourth row. His shirt was fresh, and his hair was combed so perfectly that she wanted to run her hands through it and muss it up. Handsome was not a strong enough word to describe the virile cowboy.
    She hadn't seen much of him since that night out on the swing, but somehow she felt a sense of calmness about their situation and even a sense of hope that he would soon realize she could never steal his mother's ring.
    After the play was finished, she would be moving on, and somehow the thought of leaving Travis behind saddened