Authors: Jodi Thomas,Linda Broday,Phyliss Miranda
A Texas Christmas (22 page)
Sloan Sullivan was going to kiss her. Her pulse raced.
He released her hand and tenderly ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. Cupping her jaw, he drew her against the length of him. She fit easily into his embrace, her palm resting lightly on the hard plane of his chest.
His warm breath teased, cajoling her.
Then silky little nibbles at her mouth prepared her for the fiery, passionate kiss that knocked her world off-kilter.
A slow sizzle tingled along her nerve endings, vibrating under her skin. This was what she’d waited her entire life for.
Tess sighed deeply, enjoying the gamut of emotions his kiss unleashed.
Chapter 6
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Sloan dropped his hands to his sides, trying to remember all the reasons why he couldn’t possibly entertain thoughts of letting Tess get close to him. “You have a way of tempting a man.”
“Rule number one,” his mother had preached with her dying breath. “Stay away from Jezebels and strumpets. And give a wide berth to women of privilege. Ain’t nothing good can come of falling in love with someone outside your class. We’re poor people and we don’t know the ways of people with money. Remember where you came from and you won’t get your heart broke.”
Kissing Tess had sure felt good though. Her lips had been soft and pliable, her hair strands of spun gold.
The problem was those damn silky undergarments in her trunk. Every time he closed his eyes, that’s all he saw. And he couldn’t look at Tess without wondering what she wore beneath her dress.
Tess quickly turned away. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Sullivan. Good heavens. We’re not children.”
Sloan ran his fingers through his hair. “I reckon you’ve been kissed more times than you can remember.”
She spun around with fire in her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I’m a loose woman? Do you think I run around tackling men on the street and kissing the daylights out of them?”
Oh Lord, how to get out of this mess. The little train car had grown extremely warm. Sloan tugged at the neck of his shirt, trying to loosen it. “Absolutely not. It’s just that you’re a very beautiful woman. You must have your fill of suitors. I didn’t mean to suggest anything.... Let’s just forget this whole conversation.”
But he didn’t want to forget the heady kiss that curled his toes. He knew it’d fill his dreams for days and weeks to come.
“Fine.” Tess plopped down in the chair beside Ira.
“Fine.” He turned, threw open the door to the metal landing between the caboose and passenger car, and stomped out into the cold. Without his hat or his coat. She had made him forget all about the frigid temperature.
Now he was stuck. He couldn’t very well go back inside. Neither could he go into the passenger car and wake those sleeping travelers. And he couldn’t stay outside for long, although he welcomed the coolness at the moment.
A moment or two later, the caboose door opened and his heavy coat lined with sheep’s wool came flying out. He caught it before it could land in the snowdrift that stood as high as the platform he was on. Sloan took that to mean he’d just been evicted.
Tess Whitgrove made him madder than a castrated bull at finding out with one cut of the knife he was now a steer. The high-spirited filly could be so pigheaded. He grinned.
And so desirable.
And kissable.
Sloan groaned in frustration.
While he pondered his predicament, the door to the passenger car eased slowly open so as not to make noise. The mysterious stranger, Deacon Brown, stepped out onto the landing. The surly man was so engrossed in making sure the door didn’t make a sound that he hadn’t noticed Sloan. Deacon jolted in surprise when his gaze swung around and slammed into Sloan’s.
Sloan straightened away from the handrail where he’d propped himself. “Mind explaining yourself, Mr. Brown? What are you doing out here?”
“I was just . . . I was . . . I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to smoke.”
“Likely story. Why is it that you’re always sneaking around this train?”
Deacon’s eyes hardened into bits of black flint as he fished cigarette makings from his pocket. The red-bearded man made a big show of measuring tobacco onto a thin paper. He rolled the paper around the crushed leaves and licked the edge before twisting the ends and sticking it in his mouth. He reached inside his buffalo robe for a match. The odor of sulfur crossed the space between them when he struck it on the railing.
Cupping his hands around the flame to protect it from the brutal wind, Deacon touched the match to the rolled cigarette before he spoke. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Sullivan?”
Sloan snorted and slipped his arms into his coat. “And you figured that out all by yourself? I have nothing against an honest man. It’s sneaks and liars I have a problem with. I’ve met your kind before.”
Deacon shrugged. “Reckon you can believe what you want. It’s a free country.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “That it is.”
He didn’t buy the man’s story any more than he could dig out the train from its snowy bonds by himself. Deacon was a man with secrets and would rather lie than tell the truth. Sloan’s initial instincts about him hadn’t changed. In fact, they’d grown stronger with each passing moment.
Deacon inhaled, then blew out smoke that got swallowed up in the night. “How’s the sick passenger?”
“Is that why you’re out here? To check on Powell?”
“I told you, I came out here to smoke.”
“So you said. And you’re trying mighty hard to convince me that’s your reason. You’re a day late and a dollar short for that.”
Silence reigned until Deacon finished his smoke. When the man turned to go back inside, Sloan followed on his heels, dusting the snow off his coat as he entered.
There’d be no sleeping for Sloan. He meant to keep the red-bearded stranger in his crosshairs. Sloan took a seat at the rear of the car and got comfortable. With the stove at the front of the long row of seats, it was a little nippy where he was, so he left his coat on.
Deacon dropped into a seat a few rows up. The conductor had stretched out on a bench seat and was snoring. Rollins was fast asleep, his head lolled back against the velvet cushion of his chair. No wonder Deacon had been able to slip past the two men.
In fact, there was no one awake except him and Deacon.
Sloan’s thoughts turned to the irritating, exciting woman he’d just left.
Lord give him strength to keep from strangling her!
After all, it was Christmas, he reminded himself, a season of glad tidings, peace on earth, and goodwill to men.
But he wasn’t feeling that charitable at the moment.
Bright and early the next morning Sloan felt eyes watching him. His glance swept the rows of seats but he didn’t see anything amiss. All of a sudden he caught a furtive movement in the seat in front of him. Then four sets of eyes popped up over the back of the seat.
“Hi, mister,” the children chimed in unison.
“Hey there. Did you sleep okay?” Sloan gently touched the back of the little girl’s hand. She giggled.
All four nodded.
“Milk,” said the small two-year-old.
“Oh, you want me to milk the cow. I see.” Sloan stretched and yawned. “I’ll have to get busy doing that. Are you hungry?”
“Uh-huh.” The second oldest boy was quick to answer.
“We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” Sloan ruffled the top of the towheaded boy’s hair.
The door to the passenger car opened then. Tess entered carrying a steaming pot. Sloan jumped to his feet to take the heavy pan from her. Their hands touched in the process of transferring it and Sloan felt a jolt run up his arm.
“I found some oatmeal and added some dried apples to it.” She met his gaze unflinching. “I think it’ll be quite filling.”
Sloan opened his mouth to apologize for last night, but the maddening woman swung away from him before he could get a single word out. He ground his teeth.
“Hello, children. How are you this fine day?”
“We’re good, Miss Whitgrove,” said the oldest boy. “Mr. Sullivan’s going to milk the cow so we can have some milk.”
“That’s excellent. That’ll fill those empty bellies. I hope you like oatmeal and apples.”
“We do.”
“Okay, we’ll have everything ready before you can shake a stick twice.” Tess winked at them and returned to the caboose for the pot of coffee and the tin plates and silverware she’d washed up early that morning.
Omie Powell entered as she was gathering everything up. “How’s my Ira?”
“He had a passable night. I managed to get his fever lowered and he took some sips of water. I’m going to thin the oatmeal down until it’s soupy and see if we can get some of that into him. I think if we can get him to eat he’ll do better.”
“You shouldn’t have left me asleep last night. I intended to help you with him.” Omie smoothed back a worrisome strand of white hair that had escaped from her bun.
Tess kissed the woman on the cheek. “You were exhausted. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I did just fine by myself.”
Fine if you didn’t count the kicks she’d given herself over the turn of events last evening. Not for the kiss though. That had definitely set her head awhirl and her pulse racing.
What she regretted with all her heart was the words she’d had with Sloan afterward. And every bit of it was her fault. If she hadn’t gotten her nose out of joint so easily, the cattleman would’ve spent the night with her in the caboose.
Not that anything would’ve happened.
But having him near, listening to his soft breaths would’ve been glorious. The thought of such intimacy should’ve scandalized her, but it didn’t. She was getting quite long in the tooth at twenty-two and would soon be considered an old maid if she wasn’t already. She longed for a husband and children of her own before that day came.
Suitors had come calling over the years, but Tess always had the feeling they were more enamored with her money than with her. It was different with Sloan. He saw her money as a stumbling block rather than an asset. She got the feeling he’d be more interested in her if she’d been a penniless pauper.
Omie leaned to touch her lips to Ira’s. “Good morning, you old fool. I’d sure like it if you’d wake up and chat a spell. I’ve missed our talks. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and here you are sleeping the day away.”
Tess watched the tender way in which Omie caressed her husband’s face. Tears filled her eyes. Omie and Ira were so much in love. It wasn’t fair, what was happening to them.
With her vision blurred, Tess gathered up the coffee and the eating utensils and left the caboose. Taking it slow to keep from slipping on the ice that coated the platforms separating the two cars, she glanced at the overcast sky. White flakes were still coming down, but not as hard as the previous day. At least the wind had let up, even though everything was buried under a mountain of snow.
Rollins had estimated that they were probably ten miles outside of Kasota Springs. Perhaps folks from town would be able to get to them by tomorrow. She said another prayer that Doc Mitchell would be with the rescuers.
A short while later, everyone gathered around in the warm passenger car and shared oatmeal, milk, and coffee. It was just a simple meal but one that everyone seemed to appreciate, even the waspish Mrs. Abner.
Tess happened to glance up and fell headlong into Sloan’s brooding gray stare. She quickly found something to ask the oldest orphan girl. When she next looked up, he was involved in a conversation with Roe Rollins.
She rose to gather up the dishes and silverware, enlisting the help of two of the children. They seemed delighted to be of assistance, probably glad to have something to do for a few minutes. She thanked her little helpers. But when she turned to head to the caboose, Sloan blocked her path. Without saying a word, he took the box of dirty dishes from her.
“You’re avoiding me.” he stated softly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Tess pulled her coat closed as they stepped onto the platform.
“Just listening to me would be a start. I want to apologize. I made you angry and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how. I never said or meant to imply that you’re a loose woman.”
Tess sighed. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s mine. I’ve been so accustomed to defending my every move that I reacted before I thought. I regret that such a pleasant evening ended on a sour note.”
“Then you don’t mind if I kiss you again?” His deep, smooth rumble caused her breath to catch.
“I would be most happy to have you kiss me.” Breathless, she tilted her face.
“Pretend that a big clump of mistletoe is hanging over your head,” Sloan whispered close, fluttering the wisps of hair at her ear. He nuzzled the curve of her neck before capturing her mouth.
Had the searing kiss landed on the platform instead of her lips, it would’ve melted the ice.
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