Lone Star Bride, page 8
He bent and his mouth touched hers, briefly, but with a trace of possessiveness that made her flush again. And then, as if he’d changed his mind, and needed more than the brief caress he’d offered, he caught her off balance and hauled her into his embrace. He bent to kiss her again, a hot, wet laving of her mouth that did not sit well with her, if her hands pushing against his chest were any indication.
“Let me go,” she insisted, her voice trembling, her lips damp and a bit swollen.
He touched the upper lip with his index finger and rubbed it dry. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No, and I won’t give you a chance to. But I bruise easy. I make it a practice not to let any man hurt me, boss. I learned that the hard way.”
“Well, I won’t be so rough the next time I kiss you. I acted before I thought and I apologize. I’m afraid you’re mad at me with good reason.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she said curtly, pushing his hand away from her mouth.
James looked long and hard at the rosy lips, swollen from his attentions and again tempting him to taste the sweetness of their owner. “Don’t count on that,” he said, his voice a low growl. With easy movements, he stepped closer to her, and his arms were gentle as he clasped her in his embrace. His mouth was gentle now against hers, his tongue a tool of healing as it traced the swollen line of her lip, and he offered a warmth and tenderness he’d withheld before.
She stiffened against him, and then with a sigh that might have signified surrender, she leaned into him, perhaps enticed by his kiss, he thought. At any rate, he recognized the submission to his greater strength implicit in her movements, for she seemed to glory in the firm embrace that enclosed her. Her arms circled his neck and she pressed her head against his shoulder, turning her face upward to his. His mouth touched her closed eyelids, the soft skin of her cheek and again the temptation of her mouth. But he was gentle, careful not to do as his body demanded of him.
For now, this was enough. For today, he would be a gentleman. And as he released her and watched her walk away, he smiled at the confusion that colored her face.
The girl didn’t know, didn’t have a clue, he thought.
Chapter Five
Mick Jenson entered the saloon and took a quick look around, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw no one he recognized. Except for the barkeeper.
“What are you doin’ around here, Jenson?” the white-aproned man asked, wiping the moisture from the polished walnut wood before him.
“Maybe looking for a job,” Mick answered quietly.
“Doesn’t sound like a wise idea to me,” the bartender said with a laugh. “You’re not exactly a favorite with the folks hereabouts. I suppose you came in lookin’ for a drink,” he said with little humor. “What’ll you have?”
“Whiskey,” the cowhand said briefly, then turned to look again at the scant number of men who inhabited the saloon in the middle of the afternoon. “What’s new in town?” he asked, in what appeared to be a subtle query for information.
“Not much. Lula doesn’t work here anymore. Got a rancher to marry her and moved on. I heard she’s playin’ mother to his kids and gonna have one of her own pretty soon.” Sliding a glass of whiskey before his customer, the man continued.
“Oh, and there’s a new place in town, a fella from up north says he’s gonna sell horseless carriages. Sounds like a scam to me, but I reckon you never know.”
Mick leaned with casual ease on one elbow, lifting his drink to his lips. “Anything goin’ on out at the Clark place?”
“You got a one-way ticket out of town a year or so ago from a couple of men out there. Doesn’t seem like you’d be lookin’ to be hired on again. I doubt the new boss would welcome you like a prodigal son.”
“New boss? What happened to Hank Powers?” Mick asked.
“He’s still there, but when the old man died, the place was left to his first grandson, and there’s a fella there running things for the boy.”
Mick tossed back the rest of his whiskey and shoved the glass toward the man behind the bar. “Fill it up again.”
“You haven’t paid for the first one yet,” the barman told him harshly. “Let’s see your money.”
Mick dug in his pocket and found a gold piece. “I reckon this’ll buy all the booze I can drink in the next hour.”
Without protest, the bartender poured another shot of whiskey in the glass and put the bottle back against the wall. “Just as a friendly gesture, I’d suggest you stay well away from the Double C these days, Jenson.”
“If I want a job there, I’ll get it,” Mick said with a triumphant laugh.
“Just a friendly warning,” the bartender said quietly. “You’d do better to stay away from the place. If I remember right, it was trouble with Hank’s girl that got you shipped out of there once before.”
“Yeah, and somebody’s gonna pay for that mess, too.” Lifting his shot glass, Mick slammed it down on the gleaming walnut slab and growled his order. “Fill it up.”
With a shrug of studied nonchalance, the bartender did as directed and then took the gold piece from the bar and made change from beneath, placing the coins before Mick.
“Here you go, Jenson. But, if I was you, I’d take it easy on the hard stuff. You’ll end up drunker than a skunk, and out like a light before suppertime.”
“I can handle it,” Mick said with a sneer. “I got plans to make, and I think better with a little rotgut in my belly.”
Chet Dawson stomped up the steps to the back porch and rapped twice on the screened door. From the kitchen table, Hank answered with a call of welcome.
“Come on in, Chet. What’s up?” He motioned to a chair. “Have a cup of coffee. Ellen here just made a fresh pan of cinnamon rolls. Have one.”
“Let me wash up first,” Chet said with a sidelong look at the new cook. “I’m kinda partial to sweet rolls. Don’t mind if I have one, ma’am.”
Without reply, Ellen poured a cup of coffee and cut Chet a generous portion, placing it on the table in front of the chair he would occupy. He scrubbed his hands quickly at the sink and returned to the table. “Looks good,” he said, spreading butter lavishly.
“You got some sort of problem?” Hank asked. “It’s not like you to come to the house so early on.”
“I don’t have a problem, but you just might, Hank.” Chet took a bite of his roll and a swig of coffee, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What’s up?” James asked, watching the man closely. And if it had Alexis’s name attached, he’d handle it, he decided.
Chet tossed him a quelling look and then at Hank’s glare, seemed to change his tactics. With a quick grin, he stated the facts he’d heard as the gospel truth from two of the ranch hands.
“A couple of the boys were in the saloon last night, the Red Rose, you know, where Gracie works.”
Hank waved his hand impatiently. “Every man in the county knows where Gracie works, Chet. What did the boys hear that was so important.”
“Mick Jenson’s in town.”
“Jenson’s back?” Hank stood to his feet, his chair hitting the floor behind him.
“Are you sure?” James asked quietly, picking up Hank’s chair and pressing him back down in it, one hand on the man’s shoulder.
“The barkeeper told the men that we’d better keep a watch out. Said Mick was layin’ plans.”
“What sort of plans?” James asked.
Chet looked at him, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Must be you haven’t heard about Mick and Alexis. It wasn’t a pretty story.”
“I’ve heard,” James said shortly, earning a quick glance from Hank.
“What did Mick have to say to the bartender?” Hank asked.
“Just that he was lookin’ for a job, and he’s got plans to make.”
“Sounds like trouble to me,” Hank said. “Pass the word that if any man on the place sees him, I want to know about it.”
“What does he look like?” James asked.
Chet finished his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Kinda big fella, tall and husky. Dark hair and a heavy beard. Big hands with a lot of hair on the backs. Thinks he’s a real hand with the ladies.”
“Does Alexis know about this?” James asked.
“She does now.” From the hallway, Alexis answered the question for herself. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” she said confidently. “I know enough to stay out of Mick’s way. I’ll carry a gun if I have to.”
“And what would you do with it?” Hank asked. “I can’t see you shooting a man, Alex. You’re too soft-hearted for that.”
“If I see Mick hereabouts, I won’t hesitate,” she told her father. “He’s bad, all the way through.”
“I don’t want you up on charges if you kill him,” Hank said sternly.
“You think the sheriff would take her in?” Chet asked. “Sounds kinda doubtful to me. Not with Mick’s past history on record.”
“I’d rather not have a man’s death haunting her,” Hank said stubbornly.
“I agree with that,” James said. “But I don’t think it’s a bad idea for her to carry a gun for her own protection. I just don’t think she needs to shoot the man unless he tries to give her trouble.”
“Why don’t the two of you just let me take care of myself?” Alexis stood, hands on hips, feet apart, her cheeks flushed with anger.
“You’re a woman,” Hank said shortly.
“I’ve heard that before,” Alexis said, tilting her chin and facing her father without fear of his anger.
“It’s still as true as it was the last time he told you that,” James added. “A woman doesn’t stand a chance against a mad man. And from what I’m hearing, Mick Jenson qualifies.”
“He’ll bleed just like anyone else.” Alexis was as stubborn as her father, James decided, hiding his smile. She was a piece of work, all right. Hardheaded as the day was long.
With a flip of her long braid, she left the kitchen, having had the last word, and Hank shot James a look of sympathy. “I’m glad you’re the one gonna be handling her today, son. She’s fit to be tied.”
“I can handle her,” James said, hoping he was right on that count, and wondering what the day would hold.
When he reached the corral, he found out, for Alexis had one of the three-year-old mares saddled.
“You haven’t got her to the point of holding your weight yet,” James said firmly.
“That’s just your opinion,” Alexis said, her back to him as she adjusted the stirrups.
“And my opinion is what counts here. She isn’t ready for this.”
“I’ve fiddled around with her for a week. I think she’ll let me on without any trouble.”
“I thought you had a future as a trainer, but if you’re gonna go off half-cocked just because you had an argument with your father, you’re already a failure at the job, Alexis. We aren’t going to argue about this.”
“Damn right we’re not.” She exploded, turning to face him with a quick twist of her body. “This horse is ready to ride, and I’m going to ride her.”
“If you get tossed, your father won’t let you out here again.”
“He’s not the boss here anymore.”
“I’ll stand behind him on this one,” James told her firmly.
She tossed him a look of arrogance. “Then I’ll have to be certain I stay on, won’t I?” With soft words to the horse she’d saddled, she led the animal toward the opposite side of the corral. James watched as she alternately petted and spoke to the horse, running her hands over the mare’s neck and head, whispering praise in the velvet-textured ears. She darted a triumphant look at Jamie, as if she dared him to intervene, and it was all he could do not to interfere. Only the look of total confidence in the woman’s eyes halted his natural inclination to keep her from harm.
With care, moving slowly, she moved to the horse’s left side, tugging at the stirrup, letting the mare feel her weight against it. The pinto side-stepped, her ears back, and Alexis moved forward again, standing at her head, speaking softly, her hands never leaving the animal’s body.
Again, she approached the mare’s left side, and in a quick movement slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The mare shivered, a visible movement, and Alexis bent low over her neck, speaking softly. Then, as if demon-possessed, the horse scraped against the corral fence, trying to dislodge the weight on her back.
Her head went down and James knew he was too far away to snatch at the bridle, not near enough to pull the horse from her position. Even as he moved toward her, the mare left the ground, all four feet tucked up beneath her as she twisted her body to dislodge the woman who clung to the saddle.
“Get back,” Alexis called out to James. “Let me handle her.”
“Son of a gun,” James snarled. “Get off that mare, Alex. Hold her down and let me help you.”
“No.” Her hands were full with the bucking horse beneath her, and wisely, James backed off. If he distracted her further, she could very well hit the ground, and that was the one thing he dreaded having happen. So he watched.
The mare bucked again, side-stepped and twisted beneath Alexis, and the woman clung to the saddle like a burr. By the time two or three minutes had passed, the corral fence was lined with the men who had been working near the barn, all of them silent as they watched, two of them already sitting on the fence, as if they waited for Alexis to hit the ground and were prepared to move to her side to protect her from the horse.
And then the mare settled down, shivering and tossing her head, her tail swishing, her hooves shifting as she stood spraddle-legged in the center of the corral. “Good girl.” Alexis bent to pat the mare’s neck and in a quick move, slid from the saddle, only to lead the horse to where James stood, holding the bridle in one hand, brushing back her windblown hair with the other.
“She’ll be fine the next time,” she told James, and then as if she’d only now noticed the men who’d lined the fence, she grinned. “The show’s over, fellas. Get back to work.”
As one, they clapped and cheered, and Alexis blushed at their praise. Then with a quick look at James, she led the mare to the gate and after exchanging her bridle for a halter, and loosening the cinch and sliding her saddle off, she reached for a rough towel hanging on the gate and rubbed over the animal’s back and neck. With another quick word of praise, she released her into the pasture.
James stood without moving, watching the woman, angry with her, even as he could not help but admire the skill she’d displayed. And then he moved, following her into the barn. His hands were rough as he turned her to face him.
“I’ll have bruises tomorrow,” she said, frowning down at his grip on her arms.
“Ask me if I care. You’re lucky you didn’t take a spill out there. You could have broken a leg, or even worse.” His mouth twisted with an emotion akin to fear, and he gripped her tightly, then shook her, taking her off guard.
“Don’t push it, boss,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Well, you’ve pushed me far enough for one day. I’m tempted to turn you over my knee, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown woman. And I knew what I was doing out there,” she said with a trace of arrogance that angered him even more.
“I know you’re a grown woman, but you acted like a stubborn child, riding that mare and refusing help.”
“I didn’t need any help.” She lifted her chin and threw another look of chilled disdain his way.
“That does it,” he said, turning her toward the tack room, shoving her inside and closing the door behind them, turning her toward it with a quick shove, catching her off guard. His fingers pressed into her flesh, his body was a wall of stone as he pushed her up against the door, and then he bent his head, taking her mouth without care, with none of the tenderness he’d been wont to spend on her flesh.
His anger was manifest in the harshness he dealt her, and her own was apparent in her failure to fight him. She hung in his grasp, her jaw set, her mouth taut and her eyes wide as he pressed his lips against hers. And then she lifted her knee in a quick movement. It was only his suspicious mind that saved him from serious pain, as he twisted away from her, taking the glancing blow against his thigh.
“That won’t work with me,” he grunted, shaking her in his grasp. And then he turned, hauling her with him to the cot against the far wall. He lifted her and then with a thump, deposited her there and loomed over her.
“You’ll break the cot this way,” she said, her voice trembling, but fury shining from green eyes that were dark and forbidding.
“Who the hell cares?” He felt reckless, swept by the desire he’d allowed to be set free in his body. His fingers were nimble on the buttons of her shirt and he parted them, exposing a thin, white vest beneath. Pearl buttons held it closed and he exhibited his prowess quickly, the tiny fastenings obedient to his touch.
Her flesh was mere inches from his hands, the pale skin tempting his fingers to lower to the surface, where blue veins were formed beneath the surface. He lowered his head, his mouth breathing heated air against her, and then his tongue touched the upper rise of her right breast and he tasted the sweetness there.
“Jamie, you’re angry with me. Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please, don’t.”
He lifted his head to look in her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you, Alex. This isn’t the time or place for us. But you’ve got me in a twist, and it’s either this or I’ll say things I’d be sorry for later. I’m gonna kiss you a bit, taste your skin, sample your flesh a little.”
“I don’t want you to,” she protested, wiggling beneath him.
“You’d better lie quietly. Too much wiggling and I may change my mind.”
Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining with anger and her lips still damp from his kiss. He thought her the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. An image of Alexis in his bed, hair undone and loose upon his pillow, entered his mind and he swallowed the temptation it extended in his direction. The time would come. But not today, and not in the tack room.
