Angel Creek (11 page)

He walked out, leaving her lying on the bed with her shirt unbuttoned and spread open, her bare breasts heaving with the violence of the response he had stirred in her. A moment later she heard him ride away. “Damn you,” she whispered, and she would have shouted it if she thought he might hear her. She was shaking with anger—or was it from the empty torment he had aroused in her body? Perhaps it was both, though the whys didn't really matter.

She had never before been vulnerable to a man, but she was to him. That was the most frightening thing she had ever faced in her life, far more frightening than being left alone to fend for herself. She had never doubted her ability to survive, but she was terrified of what Lucas could do to her.

Losing first one parent and then the other had shaken her to the core. She had been afraid, so horribly afraid, but she had had to go on. She had been forced to recognize, with brutal swiftness, how fragile life was, how easily it could be taken. She had pulled deep inside herself, unwilling to trust her emotions to anyone else because she simply couldn't bear any more pain and couldn't take the risk of losing someone else she loved. Devoting herself to the garden had saved her sanity, given her a sense of life again, because the earth was so giving. It, at least, was eternal. It would be there long after she herself had died. She could trust the warm soil, the cycles of the seasons, the renewal of life each spring. Except for Olivia, she hadn't even been tempted to let anyone close to her again.

And now Lucas was shattering her mental wall of remoteness. He could destroy not only the life she had built for herself but her very self-respect. If she let him mean too much to her, he could reduce her to someone she would despise, without will or spirit, willing to do anything to keep him happy. Wanting him hadn't blinded her to his nature; Lucas was strong and arrogant, ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted. He wanted her, and he wouldn't listen to any of her refusals. It wasn't that she feared he would force her, for his own ego wouldn't let him do that, but rather that she would lose her own will to tell him no.

He had demonstrated to her very aptly how weak she could be when he wanted to make love to her. And he hadn't even done that much—kissed her, and touched and kissed her breast—but she had been on the verge of pleading with him for more. It was humiliating to realize he could handle her so easily.

Though anger had motivated her to tell him not to come back, now that she had calmed down she realized it was only common sense, and the best thing for her. The question, though, was if Lucas would obey.

She had her answer early the next morning when she heard hoofbeats approaching. She looked at the shotgun but admitted that it was a futile threat, right now at least. Though she had managed to dress herself in a fashion, she still wasn't capable of lifting the heavy weapon and firing it with any sort of aim.

Without knocking he opened the front door, which had been left unbarred for the past two days. Dee turned from the stove to look at him, a stinging rebuke on her lips that she forced herself to swallow; after all,
the door had been left unbarred for that precise reason.

It gave her no small measure of satisfaction to see his black eyebrows snap downward in a scowl when he saw her standing at the stove turning bacon with a fork.

“You shouldn't be doing that.”

“I told you, I'm feeling better. I can manage this.”

“But not putting on your shoes,” he observed, looking down at her bare feet.

She had tried but hadn't been able to bend down far enough to pull on her stockings or shoes. It was also true that she still wore his shirt, but it served well enough as a blouse. She had struggled until she had donned her underdrawers, a petticoat, and her skirt and tucked the shirt in. After two days of being bare or almost so, the heavy clothes had given her a certain sense of comfort.

He tossed a small package on the table. She looked at it, then lifted her brows inquiringly at him. “It's a nightgown. To replace the one I cut off of you.”

She was glad that he had thought of it, for she only owned two. “I'll wash your shirts and return them.”

“No hurry.” He was watching her so intensely that she began to feel uncomfortable and had to resist the urge to check if all of her buttons were buttoned. But he only reached out to take the fork from her hand and said, “Sit. I'll finish this.”

Lucas was very aware of the short pause before she did as he said, and he didn't relax until she was safely sitting down. He had ridden up to the cabin with every nerve alert, waiting for a shotgun blast at any second. He had pushed her too hard and too far the
day before, and he knew it. With most women—hell, any other woman—he would have expected nothing more than a temper tantrum at worst, and more likely tears or sulking. But Dee was likely to do just as she said and greet him with buckshot. Which was, he thought grimly, just what he deserved for having been so stupid. He had been thinking with his gonads, not his brain. Just because he had been hot and hard and frustrated he'd let his temper get the best of him.

After breakfast he knelt and slipped plain white stockings on her feet, smoothing them up her legs and tying the garters just above her knees. After the past two days such a service didn't even bring a blush to her face. Then he laced her into her sturdy work shoes, and his face became grim again as he thought of the dainty cloth slippers she could wear if she didn't insist on working like a horse. This time, however, he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

He took her outside to walk around, her first trip past the cabin door since the morning after she had fallen. She insisted on inspecting the garden plot she had plowed, and she told him what she planned to plant. “Corn, of course, and peas. 1 had good luck selling squash last year, so I'll add another row of it this time. Here I'll make the beds for the onions and carrots, and a few pepper plants. And I think I'll try potatoes this year. Mr. Winches always has them, but I imagine he pays a pretty penny having them shipped in.”

Her eyes were shining as she looked at the plot of raw earth; she saw green food-bearing plants, plants that fed her through the winter and gave her a means of living. Lucas looked at the same earth and thought
of the work she would have to do, first planting, then the daily battle with weeds and insects, and finally the harvesting days, when she would have to work the hardest, for she would not only be doing her normal chores but working in the kitchen to put up in canning jars the vegetables she would need over the winter. A farm woman didn't have it easy at the best of times; a farm woman on her own was likely to work herself into an early grave. Unless she had sense enough to sell out.

Dee was strong, her slim body lithe and well muscled, but eventually the work would get to be too much for her. Lucas looked down at her, with her hip-length hair flowing down her back and her exotic face lifted to the morning sun, and he swore to himself right then that he would get her off the farm before it killed her or made her old before her time. He'd have to fight her every inch of the way, but that would keep him on his toes.

Before he thought, he bent his head and kissed her, his hands on her waist to pull her close against him. Her green eyes widened with surprise, then slowly fluttered shut as her mouth opened gently for him. Her lips were soft and full, the lower one still slightly swollen from his roughness the day before. He treated her with more care now, keeping the pressure light even though his tongue probed sensually. This time she tilted her head and met his advance with first a hesitant touch, then a tender searching with her own tongue that made his senses reel. His hands tightened momentarily on her waist, then he slid one arm behind her while his other hand moved up to close surely over her breast.

Immediately she tried to pull away, a protest sounding in her throat. Lucas held her, his long fingers kneading the rich flesh, rubbing at her sensitive nipple. “I'm not going to do more than this,” he muttered as his mouth moved roughly down her throat. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He made her feel too good, Dee thought in despair, and it all happened too fast. One kiss, one touch, and she wanted him to do everything. She even wanted to open her legs to that hard length she could feel pressed against her belly, and that would never do, because it would be such an enormous error to give Lucas that sort of hold over her.

She couldn't push at him, but she found enough strength, enough sanity, to turn her head away and say, “No, Lucas. No. I don't want you to do this.”

“Liar,” he said, but he raised his head. His lips were shiny from kissing her, the set of them a little cruel. She was totally at his mercy and she knew it, but she wasn't certain he had any mercy. If he chose to continue making love to her, she would not only give in, she would join in, even beg him if necessary.

“I'm not lying,” she insisted before he could kiss her again. Honesty impelled her to add, “I didn't say that I don't want you. I said that I don't want you to treat me like this.”

“Even in that, you're lying.” But he slowly let her go, and that was what she had intended.

She felt as if all of her clothes were awry; it was disturbing to look down and find that nothing was disturbed after all. All of the turbulence had been inside.

“You wouldn't do this if I were anyone else.” Her voice was low as she made the charge. “You wouldn't treat Olivia like this.” She remembered the day she had first seen him since his return, how civil he had been to Olivia and the giggling young women grouped around her. He would never handle any of them the way he had been touching her.

Lucas's gaze sharpened. “Like a woman, you mean? Maybe you're right. But don't accuse me of treating you like a whore, damn you, because we both know different.”

“A whore is what people would call me.”

“How would anyone know? What's between us is private.”

There was nothing more to be said, it seemed. She turned to go back to the house, and he fell into step beside her, his strong hands helping her up the steps when her back muscles protested. He kissed her again, then left her to attend to the chores.

She was alone that night when, more out of curiosity than for any practical reason, she opened the package that contained the nightgown, as she was still confined to sleeping in his shirt. The garment that was revealed had nothing in common with her practical white sleepwear, not even intent, for surely this wasn't meant to be worn
in
bed, merely
to
bed, where a lover's eager hands would remove it.

She trailed her fingertips over the sheer silk, noting the exquisite workmanship. The part of her that appreciated the luxuries of life marveled at the beauty of it, and at how well the pale, shimmering pink would complement her coloring, but the practical part of her
was furious with him for depriving her of something she had needed, and trying to replace it with this highly impractical gown. Of course there was no mistaking his intention—that she would wear the gown for him.

He would have made her less angry, she thought, if he had bought
two
gowns, one to replace the gown he had destroyed and this bit of froth for his own amusement. Let him think what he liked, but she truly needed another warm nightgown.

She said as much to him the next day, starchily adding that she might as well continue wearing his shirts, which at least had sleeves. He grinned at her, a devilish glint in his blue eyes. “I like you in either one,” he said.

It was two more days before she was well enough to dress herself completely and do the chores, albeit with much less dexterity and speed than normal. The last day, having made a deliberate effort to be up and about early, she was already milking one of the cows when Lucas arrived. He said nothing, merely helped her finish with the milking, then carried the milk inside for her. Both of his shirts had been washed and neatly ironed and were folded on the table for him.

He went outside and came back in with another package. “Just to keep you warm when I can't,” he said, grinning as he tossed it to her.

She opened the package, half afraid this choice would be even more inappropriate than the other. But the soft white cotton gown was all she could have asked for, long-sleeved and high-necked. The bosom was set with tiny tucks, and the buttons extended
down almost to the waist. She would be able to step into it, she realized, and she gave him a truly warm smile for his consideration. Her shoulders and arms still protested if she pulled anything on over her head.

“I wonder what Mrs. Worley thinks about you buying so many nightgowns,” she mused, trying to picture that stern lady's face when Lucas purchased the silk confection. Come to think of it, where
had
he bought the silk nightgown? She couldn't think of any merchant in Prosper who carried such goods. He would have had to special order it from the East, or from San Francisco, and certainly he hadn't had enough time for that.

“Mrs. Worley doesn't think anything about it,” he replied maddeningly. “The cotton gown was my mother's.”

He didn't say where he had gotten the silk, she noticed.

He had been ignoring his own work to attend to her, and now that she was on her feet again he would have to spend the next several days seeing to business. “I won't be able to check on you for a while,” he warned. “For God's sake, be careful.”

“I am careful. After all, that's the first accident I've had.”

“And it could have been your last, if it had broken your neck.”

“What? And deprive you of a reason to complain?” she said sweetly. “I'd never do that.”

“The spring picnic and dance is next week,” he said, thinking ahead and ignoring her jab. It was such a busy time at the ranch, with all the spring branding
and castrating to be done, that the picnic would probably be the next time he'd see her. “If I don't get by before then, I'll see you there.”