The Judge and the Gypsy by Sandra Chastain Page A

the tent the sky had cleared and the sun made little diamonds of light on the water. Rasch was whistling. She heard him before she crawled out of the tent and searched the area, finding him standing beside the water holding a handmade fishing pole.
    At the sound of her movement he turned around and smiled. “As much as I like you that way, Gypsy, you’d better put on your jeans and shirt. It’s pretty nippy out here.”
    Savannah could have tried to cover her nudity as she retrieved her pillowcase, but it seemed a bit late for modesty. Besides, she liked the idea of him staring at her body, responding to her as she knew he was. The magnetism was as strong between them now as it had been in the truck when he’d first invited her to get in. Almost reluctantly she pulled onunderwear and her new clothes. She sat and donned her red socks and boots, feeling the heat of his gaze with every move she made.
    Her plan was definitely working—perhaps too well. There was a danger in that. It was Rasch alone she wanted to fall in love, Rasch alone who was supposed to become besotted, not her.
    Something tightened in her throat. Fear? Desire? She didn’t know how to deal with that kind of emotion. She’d never been tested like this before. She had to slow things down, put some distance between them.
    “About what happened, Crusader, I think we ought to talk about it,” Savannah said hesitantly.
    “What about what happened?” Rasch asked warily.
    “It’s understandable. I—I was afraid. We were caught up in the emotion of the situation, that’s all. I don’t think we ought to let it happen again.”
    That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “I disagree,” he said honestly. “Of course I know we were caught up in the fear of the moment, but personally I thought our lovemaking was”—his voice dropped lower—“was spectacular.”
    “Please, Crusader. I should never have yielded. I’m wrong for you. I’m a temporary kind of woman. And I think that you’re a very permanent man.”
    “I thought you were a Gypsy, Savannah. A Gypsy doesn’t question fate. How can you know who belongs together and who doesn’t?”
    “I don’t know, Crusader. I’m just a simple voyager, a traveler, sharing your trail for a while. I don’t have any answers. But I think we need some time, some distance …”
    Rasch looked at her, noting the confusion in hereyes, the way she folded her arms across her body and hugged herself, as if she were trying to hold back the natural feelings that they’d shared. He didn’t understand her reluctance or the distance she was putting between them after this morning, but he couldn’t force himself on her.
    Making love had to be her choice, made freely. For now he’d wait. There was still much he would learn about his mystery woman, and learn he would, sooner or later. They still had nine days, and he didn’t believe for a minute that she could stay out of his arms.
    “Have you caught anything?” she finally asked, trying to curtail her response to his signals as she came to stand beside him.
    “Our breakfast, or, rather, considering the time, our lunch.” He took a deep breath and stepped away. Giving her time was very hard to do when she was so close.
    “I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”
    “Hell yes. You disturb me continuously. You turn me inside out just by standing there.”
    “I’m sorry. I’ll go back to the fire.”
    “No. Stay. It isn’t your fault that all I want to do is kiss you to smithereens and feel you against me.”
    “Yes, it is,” she answered honestly. “But you have a quest, and so do I.”
    “At this moment, Gypsy, I think I could cheerfully spend the rest of my life right here on this riverbank. But unfortunately I have to be in Asheville in nine days. I restarted the fire. Why don’t you check on it while I clean the fish.”
    But the lightness had gone out of the day. Savannah didn’t want to think about leaving. She didn’twant to think about