Texas treasure, p.16
Texas Treasure, page 16
part #1 of A Lady and the Cowboy Romance Series
She did see it, but his earlier remark about her being a “real lady” brought back memories of what else had happened that night. She could forgive him for the dance and the bet, but she could not forgive him for her response to him. The recollection brought her to her feet.
She found it entirely too difficult to be angry when he was so close and so conciliating. No, she would not forgive him just yet, she decided, trying to take a step backward but finding her chair was in the way. He had other things to apologize for, although how she would remind him was a problem. Could she accuse a man of taking liberties when she had been perfectly willing at the time? “Your... your conduct was... ungentlemanly,” she reminded him falteringly.
She need not have spoken at all. He could clearly read her thoughts in those expressive brown eyes, and he knew all too well what she was thinking, what she was fearing. “The bet was only that I could get you to dance. That’s all,” he assured her. “The rest... what happened... just happened,” he lamely excused himself. It was bad enough that she thought him a “boorish ruffian.” He didn’t want her to think him a complete cad, a man who would wager a woman’s honor.
In spite of the fact that she had convinced herself he would not have done such a thing, she felt the surge of relief that followed his assurance. It brought a brittle laugh to her lips and she asked recklessly, “You mean you didn’t profit from that, too? Why did you even bother?”
She realized, too late, what a provocative question it had been as she saw his eyes kindle and flame into the blue fire she had found so dangerous in the past.
Helplessly, she watched his strong fingers crush the brim of his hat and then fling it onto the top of the desk.
“You know why,” he whispered hoarsely as those fingers closed around her waist, drawing her toward him.
Totally against her will, her face tipped up to meet his kiss, and the awareness she had known before flared into the wild desire she always felt in his arms. His kiss was seeking, and she did not disappoint him, parting her lips at his gentle insistence, meeting his tentative thrust, drawing a groan from him as her tongue tangled with his in a sweet duel. His hands were everywhere, exploring her back, her shoulders, the curve of her hip, and finally cupping the softness of her buttocks to draw her into intimate contact with the hard evidence of his desire.
As always, her mind ceased to function as she surrendered to the realm of sensation, glorying in his hands, his lips, the male hardness of his body. Answering her unspoken request, he palmed her thrusting breasts, feeling the pebbled suggestion of her arousal even through the material of her dress. The heat from his hands swept through her like wildfire, melting her very bones, rekindling the blaze that he had started before, that all-consuming fire that burned within her loins and demanded to be fed.
It hadn’t been a dream, he realized with wonder as he fumbled with the buttons on her dress. She had responded to him that night, just like this. He’d been afraid that the whiskey and the darkness had exaggerated his recollections, but no, she had been just like this, wild and passionate and eager and... just like he’d always imagined it would be when he met the woman, that special one. The buttons freed at last, he pushed past the silk and lace, seeking and finding the cushioned softness of her breast, teasing and tormenting until he heard, no, felt that strange, ecstatic sound she made for him. Only for him.
Once again Priscilla heard that soft moaning and was mildly surprised to know it came from her own body. But only mildly surprised. She was incapable of any emotion stronger than the need to feel his hands on her, all over her, and she threw back her head as his mouth left hers, offering him the white column of her throat, to which he paid eloquent tribute before continuing on to scale the peaks of her breasts with ravening greed. Back and forth, first to one and then the other he went, tasting, suckling, until both tips sparkled rosily and Priscilla was gasping with pleasure. His hands had locked onto her bottom, cradling her against his hips, urging her into the pulsing tempo that would give them the assuagement they both were seeking.
Still holding her against him with one hand, his mouth still feasting on her velvety flesh, he disposed of a few more buttons, and finding the spot where her chemise disappeared into her waistband, he followed it down, down beneath the silken covering that had hindered him before, until he had the warm, moist core of her, and then he knew. She was the one; she was ready for him, for only him. He had known it. He had always known it would be like this.
Priscilla cried out in alarm at his intimate intrusion. As much as she had wanted it, craved it, his touch was a violation that shocked her back to consciousness. Only then did she hear and understand the words he was muttering against her quivering skin.
“I knew it,” he said, unaware that he had spoken aloud. “I knew it.”
What did he know? she wondered and then went rigid as the truth dawned on her. Of course! He had known that he could convince her, charm her, and then make love to her, if he just put himself to the task. She had been so easy, too, a willing partner in her own conquest.
Feeling her sudden stiffness, he raised his face to read her expression, ready to coax her past her understandable reluctance, but she broke free of him, wrenching his hands away from where they had trespassed. Desperately, she pulled her dress together, backing away from him while clumsily working a few of the buttons back into their holes. He stared stupidly at her furious face and heaving breasts, unable to fathom her sudden change of mood.
“You knew it, did you?” she gritted, trying to still the trembling of her hands and the pounding of her heart, her face scarlet with shame and indignation.
“What?” he asked blankly, trying to make sense of her sudden withdrawal, wanting nothing more than to have her back in his arms.
“You knew that I would fall victim to the famous Rhoades Charm! That’s it, isn’t it? Just like at the dance, you come down here and wheedle and cajole and worm your way into my affections—” She could have bitten her tongue. “Affections” was the last word she should have uttered, but she went doggedly on. “But this time it isn’t going to work, Mr. Rhoades.” She gloried in the way he flinched every time he heard that “Mister” and this time she reveled in it. “Oh, your apology was very well done. Your ‘heartfelt’ was excellent, although your ‘humble’ could stand some improvement.” She stopped for a moment as she saw something that looked suspiciously like pain flicker across his face, and for just that moment she was willing to forgive him, yes, follow her heart and forgive him completely and be grateful for the opportunity. But then she saw his expression harden into the more familiar animosity, and she hardened her heart accordingly. “I am amazed at your ability to apologize while at the same time managing to appear completely innocent of wrongdoing. It is a remarkable characteristic,” she added.
Dusty stretched his lips into a mirthless grin. “I’m a remarkable fella, Miss Bedford,” he informed her. But not remarkable enough to figure you out, he added mentally. Where on earth had she gotten that business about the famous Rhoades Charm? And as far as his being humble was concerned, he was getting quite a bit of practice at that every time he ran into Miss Bedford, but he’d never let her know it. “Then you won’t accept my apology?” he asked harshly, with a meaningful glance at the desk.
“Oh, I’ll accept your apology,” she said with her own significant look at the desk. “It would cause too much ill will and... gossip,” she admitted reluctantly, “if I did not. But,” she told him, “rest assured. I know you now for what you are, and you will not get around me so easily in the future. In fact, you won’t get around me at all!” Dusty’s lips thinned in the effort to contain the words he wished he was not too much of a gentleman to say.
What on earth did she know him to be now, if he’d been a “boorish ruffian” before? What did a man have to do, anyway? Get down on his knees? He’d already spent almost all his winnings on the desk, just to make it up to her, and then he’d apologized, pretty humbly, too, no matter what she said. Any other woman would have... Well, who needs her, anyway? He’d thought for a minute there that she was something special, but he’d been wrong. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a mistake about a woman, but no harm was done. There were still plenty of women out there who appreciated him. He’d just go find one. The hell with Priscilla Bedford. Retrieving his hat from the desk top, he smashed it down on his head. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Bedford,” he said sarcastically, and turning on his heel, he stomped out.
Watching him go, Priscilla tried to enjoy her moment of triumph but found it rather hollow. Win or lose, it was not fun to argue with Dusty Rhoades. And, she had to admit to herself, that very strong physical attraction that had caught them both several times before was still in operation, no matter how at odds they happened to be. It was unnerving and a little frightening to recall how she melted at his touch. The only solution seemed to be staying away from him completely, something she guessed he would assist her in now that she had wounded his pride. The thought should have consoled her, but instead she felt strangely bereft.
On the fourth day of school, a new student appeared. At least he said he was a student. He stood half a head taller than Priscilla and was rather broad shouldered, although he was otherwise skinny and gangly. He was smiling and very polite, but something about him made Priscilla suspicious. And a little leery.
“My name’s Judd Slaughter, ma’am. I shore could use some larnin’,” he said, clutching a poor excuse for a hat tightly in both hands.
“How old are you, Judd?” she asked.
“Sixteen, ma’am, but I ain’t had much schoolin’.”
“Well, Judd, I won’t turn you away if you really want to learn. Find a seat in the back, please.”
The morning passed uneventfully, except for a strange undercurrent in the classroom, something more felt than seen or heard, a sort of general restlessness among the children. At one point, Katie Steele whispered to her, “Watch out for Judd. He’s a bad one.”
Twice Priscilla caught him staring at her, almost leering, and he hadn’t bothered to look embarrassed when she caught him either. When lunchtime came, the children scrambled outside into the warm spring air. Priscilla watched them from the window, in case Judd tried to bully anyone, but he did not. In fact, the younger boys gathered around him, almost in admiration, and he was talking to them about something that had their complete attention. Priscilla couldn’t hear them, but she watched for a while and then went to eat her own lunch.
“She ain’t skeered of nothin’,” young Ben Steele said, “I put a snake in her desk an’ she didn’t even scream, just picked it up and threw it out the window.”
“I kin skeer her,” said Judd knowingly. “You just wait. I’ll skeer her ‘til she starts bawlin’ and screamin’ and carryin’ on. You’ll see. Right when we go inside, first thing, I’ll do it. Then there won’t be no more school fer the rest of the day.”
The younger boys continued to argue but Judd was unmoved. At last Priscilla rang the bell and they all filed in, all except for Ben junior who slipped away over the hill to the ranch house.
All the children took their seats, a bit quietly Priscilla noticed, except for Judd who walked right up to her desk and leaned over it, grinning at her.
“Please take your seat, Judd,” she said, a little taken aback by his boldness.
“You know, Miss Bedford,” he said in a low voice that only she could hear, “you’re quite a woman. Why, I’ll bet, you bein’ a teacher an’ all, there’s all kinda things you could teach a man. Maybe there’s even some things I could teach you. Why don’t you send all these younguns home so you an’ me kin have us some fun.”
The shock went over Priscilla in a wave, but except for the two spots of color that appeared in her cheeks, she managed to maintain her poise. “Judd, I think you’d better leave,” she gritted in a low voice.
Judd’s homely face creased into a scowl. “Maybe you think I’m just a kid. You’re wrong, though. I’ve done it, done it lots a times. You won’t be sorry.” He grinned confidently as he rubbed the telltale bulge in his pants. “You’ll see...”
“Judd,” Priscilla’s voice held a warning that went unheeded.
“You want it. All women want it. Don’t pretend you don’t. Get rid of these kids and I’ll show you,” he whispered urgently. He went on, but she was not listening. She had remembered something—something that had been in the old desk when she arrived, and without knowing why, she had transferred it to the new one. She eased open the drawer. There it was under her hand. He was still talking, whispering, saying ugly things, things she did not understand or would not let herself understand. She was not frightened, only angry, furious that this monstrosity could invade her school and presume to insult her, terrorize her. Her hand closed around the riding quirt in the top desk drawer and without wasting a motion, she brought it up and slashed it across his face. His look of pained astonishment was almost funny, but it quickly changed to rage. She hit him twice before he grabbed her hand and tried to wrest the quirt from her. She jumped to her feet, sidestepping the desk to clear the space between them.
Ben junior reached the ranch yard just as the hands were saddling up fresh mounts for the afternoon’s work. Dusty was the first one he saw. He was out of breath from running, but he managed to gasp out his message: “Judd Slaughter’s gonna hurt Miss Bedford!”
In an instant, Dusty was in his saddle, racing for the schoolhouse.
Judd Slaughter was strong, stronger at least than Priscilla, and he had caught both of her hands now. She realized it was useless to struggle, so she began to kick him in the shins, again and again, first one and then the other, over and over, until he released her hands and turned to escape. She laid the quirt across his back several times as she chased him down the aisle, her fury making her oblivious to the other children’s shrieks of terror. He fell down the front stairs but was instantly on his feet again and running, limping a little she noticed irrelevantly as she stopped at the doorway. She stood on the step watching his escape, absently slapping the quirt against her skirt and allowing her anger to drain slowly away.
“Afternoon, Miss Bedford,” Dusty called. He had pulled up about a hundred feet from the school to witness Judd’s exit and now was walking his horse closer to the school. She sure is pretty when she’s mad, he thought, for once enjoying the sight since it was not he toward whom her anger was directed. He had taken no time to consider his motives when he had made the decision to ride down here, but seeing her again made him painfully aware of what those motives were. Of course he had feelings for her. You couldn’t kiss a woman the way he’d kissed her and not have some feelings for her. It was only logical, and if he didn’t really want any more to do with her himself, he surely didn’t want to see her hurt, certainly not by Judd Slaughter, although he now realized that Priscilla Bedford was more than a match for the likes of Judd.
Priscilla was mildly startled to hear Dusty’s voice, and it was the surprise, she told herself sternly, that caused her pulse to quicken. What was he doing here anyway? she wondered. Her anger had abated somewhat, now that Judd had so unceremoniously removed himself, and as she took a calming breath, she allowed herself the pleasure of watching Dusty Rhoades ride closer. It was the first opportunity she had had to observe him on horseback, and she marveled at the easy way he sat his horse, as if he had been born to the saddle, his long, muscular legs gripping the horse with a powerful ease. He was grinning that boyish grin he had, and she felt something inside her melt. It simply wasn’t fair that he could look so appealing today and make her forget what had happened just the day before. She took a last calming breath and managed to ask with creditable coolness, “Did you come for some lessons, Mr. Rhoades?”
A look of mock alarm crossed his features as he stopped his horse by the schoolhouse porch. “Oh, no, ma’am,” he assured her with a meaningful look at the quirt. “I ain’t too sure I like your way of givin’ lessons.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction in which Judd had disappeared. “I just heard a rumor that there was trouble down here and that you might need some help. Guess I shouldn’t be listening to no rumors,” he added, leaning forward and crossing both hands on the pommel of his saddle.
Priscilla slapped the quirt against her leg one last time, annoyed at her desire to step closer to his horse and rest her hand on that well-muscled thigh and smile up into those twinkling sapphire eyes. “That’s right, you shouldn’t,” she told him, a little more sharply than was necessary. “I’m perfectly capable of handling unruly students myself. If I ever need your help, I’ll let you know.”
Her curtness did not seem to bother him at all. In fact, he relished it. It gave him an opportunity to indulge himself in looking at her without being tempted to take her in his arms. At least, as long as he stayed on his horse, he was safe. “And just how would you let me know, ma’am?” he goaded, reluctant to let the conversation drop, because then he would have to leave.
He was teasing her, she knew, and she was irritated because she was enjoying it. “Wellll...” she considered, casting about for an answer, and then she noticed the bell-rope which was still swaying slightly from when Judd had brushed by it. “If I’m ever really in trouble, I’ll ring the bell, loud and long. Then you’ll know to come running.” The thought of Dusty running to her rescue brought a small smile to her lips, and then she realized that that was exactly what he had been doing just now. Why would he have done a thing like that? He didn’t really care about her. No, she was just a challenge to him, a threat to his masculine superiority. That was it. He had come to help her today so that he could prove that superiority. Well, if that were true, she’d certainly shown him! She smiled a bit more. “Then you’ll be able to perform a genuine rescue. I’m sorry you wasted your time today.”
If he was the least bit frustrated, he did not show it. Instead he contorted his fine features into a parody of solemnity and informed her, “It weren’t no waste of time, ma’am. Why, watchin’ you in action is an education in itself. It purely is.”
