Cassandra Austin (11 page)

Cally blinked. The woman thought that made sense? She pictured a flower bending its stem to avoid a bee and caught herself before she grinned.

Noella didn’t seem to notice. “Men aren’t entirely to blame, you understand. It is simply the way they
are made.” Her voice grew more stern with every word, and Cally was afraid she was becoming truly angry. “They cannot help themselves and, quite frankly, are not expected to try. Society leaves it up to women to be constantly vigilant.”

What this had to do with her being late, Cally had no idea. Did they think she had been with a man? Were they going to tell her she couldn’t go to Andrew’s to do her chores anymore? She wanted to look at Easter for encouragement but was afraid to take her eyes off Noella.

“When you wear pants,” the woman continued, striking her fist on the table, “you remind every man who sees you that you have two legs. If he thinks about the fact that you have two legs, it will naturally bring to his mind where they meet. You, young lady, are inviting disaster every time you wear pants where any man can see you. I can be excused if I find it truly shocking!”

With this final pronouncement, Noella rose shakily to her feet. “Strain the milk, change your clothes and start our breakfast. I will see to burning those vile pants, myself.” She turned and left the room.

Cally stared after her in disbelief. Could this have anything to do with tingling kisses? But Andrew had kissed her first when she was wearing her nightgown. According to Noella’s explanation she should have been safe then. Besides, as she walked around town she saw women in dresses, and they had husbands and babies. She wondered if Noella knew anything at all.

Then she remembered how the fever had come over Andrew in her cabin and had taken possession of her
as well. Perhaps there was something to what Noella said.

Easter was still at the table, watching her sympathetically. “I know Noella seems angry, dear, but she’s just worried for you. Once a reputation is ruined, it can never be gotten back. And in spite of what they might say, a man never marries a fallen woman. Miss Noella just wants to protect you.”

Cally noticed that both Noella and Easter had protected themselves clear into spinsterhood. She made one last effort to save her pants. “She thinks my pants are going to make some man want to make a baby?”

“Oh, dear child, men never want to actually make a baby. Well, I suppose some do, but usually they don’t. They just want…the nectar.”

“Like the bees?”

Abruptly Easter smiled. “You understand now, don’t you?” She patted Cally’s hand and rose. “You can go about your work now.”

Cally sat at the table for a full minute after Easter left. The old ladies were batty. All the same, she was going to be in trouble with the Gwynns if Andrew came to see her. And she had just told him he could come. She would have to get away after breakfast and go to him first. If she couldn’t sneak out, she would have to think of some believable excuse like shopping for an appropriate dress to do the milking in.

Andrew had already sent a few telegrams. The pictures of Francine Wells would follow by mail. One of the sheriffs or someone in the U.S. marshal’s office might recognize the woman and know if there was a connection between her and either Stedwell or Terris.

That was why Andrew tried his best to remember the woman’s face exactly. He had an artist’s eye for detail, and Francine was very attractive. He was sure that his drawings would be nearly as good as a photograph.

When he heard the door open, he took a last few strokes on her pointed chin before he looked up. “Cally. Is everything all right?” He dropped the pencil on the desk and came around to stand near her.

“Yes, mostly,” she said.

He watched her stroll around his office as if putting off what she had come to say, or perhaps to move farther away from him. When she glanced at his drawing on the desk, she turned away quickly, flustered. He found it completely charming. Not at all the effect he had hoped for.

Finally she quit wandering and faced him squarely. “I came to tell you not to come visit me at the Gwynns’.”

She had stopped where the sun streamed through the window, and he had a feeling he could count the freckles on her nose. He grinned when he said, “I planned to offer them some squash, fresh from the garden.”

Her response was a scowl. “Stolen from me, you mean.”

“Confiscated,” he corrected.

She shook her head. “Anyway, you can’t come to the Gwynns’ house.”

She was truly upset about something. He found himself reaching out to her but quickly dropped his hand. “Why not?” he asked gently.

“Because you’re…” She stopped. He raised his
eyebrows to prompt her, but she only cleared her throat.

Andrew took a step toward her, stopping himself before he touched her. “I’m what, Cally? You can talk to me.”

She took a deep breath and said in a rush, “Because you’re a man, and they don’t like men. At least they don’t seem to. I know I’ll be in trouble if I let you come see me, so I don’t want you to come.” She took another deep breath as if satisfied with her explanation.

Andrew wasn’t. “Why would you be in trouble? Cally, they’ve never acted like they didn’t like me.”

Cally cringed. “They don’t not like you exactly. They just won’t like you coming to see me. Oh, I can’t explain it! Just don’t come!” With that, she darted out his door.

Andrew found himself chuckling by the time the door had closed behind her. What had she really come to say? He was certain that the sketch of Francine was what had prompted her silly statement. He wasn’t going to take it seriously. It was important that he spend as much time as possible with her in order to cure himself of his infatuation. He smiled as he returned to his drawing. He already looked forward to their next encounter.

It was well past midnight, and Cally couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the picture of the woman on Andrew’s desk and how close she had come to calling him a bee. She felt the color rise to her cheeks even now. She hadn’t said it, but he had laughed at her anyway. It seemed she never said or did anything
right. She bet that beautiful woman knew just the right thing to say to get Andrew to…

To what? What was it she wanted from Andrew? Could she be falling in love with him? Could that be what this fever really was?

She wished she had someone to confide in. It seemed she was more lonesome in town surrounded by people than she had ever been on her farm.

When I’m with Andrew I don’t feel lonely.

She tried to brush the thought aside. She didn’t want to be less lonely when she was with Andrew. She rolled over, giving her pillow an angry punch. It had all been so much simpler when she hated him!

She had to admit that she didn’t hate him anymore. In fact, remembering how she used to hate him made her feel ashamed. He had helped her bury her father, given her animals a home, found a place for her, and all the while he had treated her kindly. And just thinking about his kisses made her tingle down to her toes. She sighed and stretched under the covers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar bark.
Royal!
Cally threw off the covers and ran quickly to the back door. Outside she clamped her hands around the dog’s muzzle for a moment to keep him from barking again. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Royal panted cheerfully.

She didn’t think she could risk keeping him inside another night. She had gotten into enough trouble this morning. “I have to take you back.”

Cally was afraid to go inside even to dress for fear Royal would bark and wake the sisters. “I shouldn’t have let you in last night,” she whispered as she
started through town clad only in her nightgown. “I knew better, too, but I missed you so much.” She stopped and hugged the dog, then hurried on.

She was shivering by the time they got to Haywood’s backyard. “Oh Royal, what am I going to do with you?” She knelt on the ground to hug the dog again, as much for warmth now as affection.

“I might ask the same thing of you, Cally.”

She sprang to her feet as Andrew wrapped a warm coat around her shoulders. “Royal,” she protested as he led her toward the house.

“He won’t leave the yard as long as you’re here,” he said. “Come inside before you catch your death of cold.”

They stepped over Queen, and Cally let Andrew hurry her inside. He led her through his dark house, keeping her close beside him to avoid furniture she could barely see. Finally he stopped and lit a lamp revealing a cozy room cluttered with tables, chairs, books and all manner of other things. Andrew’s things. Cally wanted to wander around and study each and every one of them.

“I’ll have a fire going in no time,” he said, drawing her attention.

Cally stared. Andrew wore only pants. His chest was sprinkled with fine curly hair. He turned away from her before she could decide if they looked soft or scratchy. He poked at dying embers; he lifted logs and set them on the ashes; he worked quickly, without glancing in her direction. The muscles she had admired once before for their labor potential completely fascinated her now. She felt little shivers in her stomach
that had nothing to do with the cold. The fever, she thought, or love? She forced herself to turn away.

Her gaze fell on an untidy pile of papers, papers with sketches like the one she had seen on his desk. Before she could stop herself, she took a step toward the pile, dreading to see if they were more pictures of the beautiful woman but somehow needing to know.

It wasn’t the same woman. This woman wasn’t beautiful. She was angry, her eyes narrowed under puckered brows. Her mouth was a thin line; her turned-up nose was covered with freckles.

Freckles? Cally touched her own nose. Was this a picture of her? He drew pretty pictures of the beautiful woman, but this angry creature was what he thought of her?

“Cally?”

She spun around guiltily. He glanced from her to the pile of sketches and back and seemed to hesitate before coming closer. “Cally, come sit by the fire,” he said softly.

She obeyed. She found herself shivering in a chair he had set before the fire, his coat still around her shoulders. She was surprised that it could hurt so much to know how he saw her. She gritted her teeth and vowed not to look at him.

It didn’t work. He knelt in front of her. “Cally,” he whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She couldn’t. She jerked her head away when he tried to lift her chin.

“Is it the pictures? Does it bother you that I sketch you?”

She shook her head. She wanted to say she didn’t care at all but her jaw was too tightly clenched.

“Cally?” There was desperation in his voice that made her want to either cry or kick him, she couldn’t decide which.

She tried to pull away from him. “It’s ugly,” she said finally. She had meant to insult his drawing but decided it was her own appearance she had insulted instead.

“Here, look, they’re not all that bad.” In a moment the pile of sketches was on her lap, and he knelt beside her again. He seemed eager to show her the pictures. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see them.

“I drew this one after…well, I had made you pretty mad, I guess.” He grinned at her as he dropped the sketch on the floor. “This one’s better. See? I drew you in the dress, your basket on your arm. It’s pretty good.”

The sheer size of the stack of pictures had startled Cally into relaxing. She turned toward him as he picked up the next sketch. He went through the stack, pausing only briefly on each one. After a few, Cally found herself paying more attention to his face than the pictures. The firelight cast a warm glow on his features, already bright with interest.

“This is one of the first I drew,” he said. “I drew you on Jewel. I need to work on the mule’s legs.” The picture drifted down with the others. Cally hadn’t even seen it.

“Look. I drew this one this morning. I call it the midnight raid.” He chuckled at the drawing of a mule
and rider silhouetted against a huge moon before dropping it on the floor.

Though Cally knew she probably shouldn’t bring it up, she had to say it. “The other woman is beautiful.”

“W
hat other woman?” Andrew seemed to be more interested in his drawings than in what Cally had to say. He held up the next sketch. “This one’s pretty good.”

A big-eyed girl, her face surrounded by a cloud of hair, looked back at Cally. She had a pretty innocence that was compelling. It was definitely more flattering than the first sketch.

But Cally was distracted only momentarily. “The woman you were drawing in your office. She was beautiful.”

“She’s a suspect.” The pretty sketch followed the others. “Here I tried to draw Royal running to meet you. I’m not any better with dogs than I am with mules, I’m afraid.”

“A suspect?”

The sketch he was about to lift from her lap fluttered back in place. Quite suddenly, she had his full attention. “Cally?” he whispered. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.”

He grinned, that mischievous grin that made her heart skip a beat. She narrowed her eyes into a scowl, and he laughed. “Look at these, Cally. All these are of you. And there’s half a dozen more at the office. I can’t seem to do anything else.” He stood suddenly, pacing across the room. “I can’t believe it! All this time, I thought I felt responsible. I thought I was infatuated. Even after I realized I liked you I didn’t understand.” He stopped and gazed at her. She stared back in dismay. “Don’t you see?” He came back to kneel in front of her. “Of course you don’t. I barely see myself. I think I’m in love with you.”

Cally’s heart beat faster. No one had ever said that to her before. And she had been wondering if she was in love with him. Was that why she wanted to be with him all the time, annoying though he could be? Was that why she wanted him to kiss her every time they were close? If he knew he loved her, maybe he could help her figure out her own feelings.

She swallowed. “Why do you love me?”

He laughed again, ruefully this time. “There’s never an answer to that question.” He gathered up the pictures, from her lap and from the floor, reaching over to toss them on a nearby table.

“Then you don’t really want to love me?” She stiffened again.

“I guess not, exactly,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t seem to make any difference, I’m afraid.” He turned to her again. “Oh, Cally, don’t take it like that. I may not have wanted to fall in love with you, but I’m not sorry it’s happened.” He ran a gentle finger down her jaw, making it relax.

The fever was back in his eyes, mixed with something
sweeter, more compelling. Love, she decided and wondered if her own eyes reflected the same. She leaned toward him.

The coat slid from her shoulders as he gathered her into his arms. He lifted her off the chair and into his lap on the floor. “I love you because you’re so lovable,” he whispered, smoothing her hair away from her cheek. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

She was snuggled up against his bare chest, much as she had been in more than one dream. In the dreams there had always been a crisp white shirt, however, instead of his bare skin. It was incredibly warm and safe in his arms. And exciting at the same time. Against her ear, his heart was beating like the hooves of a runaway horse, and she realized hers was as well.

Her hands were drawn to the soft hairs on his chest, testing the texture, finding it extremely pleasant. She lifted her face to see his expression and found her lips caressed, slowly, tantalizingly, by his.

She shouldn’t let him kiss her, she supposed. She should be vigilant as Noella said. The tingling had increased to an intensity that made her tremble. She put an arm around his neck to pull him closer. Surely if he loved her it was all right.

She didn’t know he had lifted her until she felt the rug-covered floor at her back. In a moment, he braced himself above her. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered before bending slowly to kiss her cheek then trail kisses down her jaw and neck. “I want to love you, Cally.” More kisses followed. “Do you want me to love you?”

Earlier he had told her he didn’t want to love her,
but it was a fine point she decided not to argue. She didn’t think she had the strength anyway. The best she could do was murmur a slurred “Yes, Andrew.”

Only moments before, Cally had been shivering from the cold, now she felt incredibly warm, like the warmth of a lazy summer afternoon.
It’s the fever,
she thought absently,
that wonderful fever.

She closed her eyes and lay still, enjoying the sensations. She had become used to drifting off to sleep tingling with the memories of Andrew’s kisses. She didn’t think she could fall asleep now, though. This felt more like tremors! She did, however, feel strangely weak and didn’t think she could get up and go home, either.

She realized that Andrew was no longer touching her and ran her own hands down her body, thinking to still the tremors. She sighed deeply. She wished he hadn’t moved away. She missed his touch.

She felt Andrew’s return at her side and turned toward him. His arms went around her, and she could feel the full length of his body. His naked body! The rough hairs of his leg rubbed against her thighs. With a shock she realized he had removed his pants, but his hand began gently kneading her breast and it slipped her mind. Altogether new sensations spiraled through her body, and she could think of nothing else.

“I love you, Cally.” His whisper fanned her temple and let her know where to seek his mouth with her own. He accommodated her quickly, pulling her still closer against him.

His lips abandoned her, and she moaned softly.

“Love me, Cally.” His honeyed voice made her tremble, and she realized he trembled too. His kisses
became urgent, hungry. The bewildering sensations intensified.

Cally didn’t want the feelings to end, but their power frightened her. She clung to Andrew, pulling him more tightly against her. Her gown had worked its way up to her waist, and his leg nudged between hers until he made contact with her most intimate spot.

The jolt from the contact made her jump, and she would have hit her head on the floor if he hadn’t been cradling it with one hand while he plundered her lips. There were too many mysterious feelings to keep track of them all. At the same time she knew they somehow weren’t enough. She had to get closer to ease the yearning that built apace with the pleasure.

She didn’t know that her response to his first kiss had seemed like an invitation, that the way she clung to him now drove Andrew beyond the point of reason. As he hadn’t realized that he loved her until he had said it, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was for her until he had found her in his arms. He had just enough restraint left to enter her slowly, to stroke her back to passion again before he moved, to carefully, slowly, carry her over the brink with him.

The earth exploded. Cally thought she had died and floated up to heaven, but gradually she found herself drifting back to earth. She was on the floor beside Andrew, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her and one leg thrown over hers.

He kissed her temple. “Did I hurt you, sweet-heart?”

Cally didn’t feel hurt. Curiously tired, perhaps, and maybe a little sore. She shook her head.

So this was what it felt like to be loved. She had never imagined it would be so glorious. Now she was Andrew’s mate! She wouldn’t have to go back to the Gwynns’ ever again! She snuggled against him.

Andrew held her close to his side. It felt so right for her to be there. In fact nothing had ever seemed so right before. But
seemed
was a key word here. Cally had never been part of his plans, and he didn’t change his plans easily.

“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” he said gently. “No. That’s a lie. I know it wasn’t a good idea. We rushed into this without thinking.” He hugged her a little closer. “Though I don’t know how I could have resisted you.

“I don’t mean that I blame you,” he added hastily. “I take full responsibility for what happened. I’m older, and I knew you were innocent. I should have found the willpower—somewhere.”

He waited for a response and decided she was digesting what he had said. He ran back through it in his mind and realized it sounded like he regretted their intimacy. “I do love you, Cally. I don’t want you to doubt it. And I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, or anything like that. It’s just that I’m not sure love is always enough.”

He expected some kind of outburst. When did Cally ever listen quietly and reflectively? “Cally?” He stroked her cheek before tilting her chin upward. She was sound asleep. “Wake up, sweetheart.” He planted a kiss on her lips.

She stirred and then smiled at him. “I don’t want to wake up.”

He almost groaned. “You have to, Cally,” he said softly. “You have to go home.”

“I am home.”

“No, sweetheart. You’re at my house. You have to go back to the Gwynns’.”

“No, I don’t,” she murmured, trying to reach his mouth with her lips.

It was all Andrew could do not to cooperate. He shook himself. “Yes, you do, Cally. Come on.” He sat up, bringing her with him. “You have to get back before they miss you.”

Cally rubbed her eyes. Through the window she could see a faint hint of dawn. “It doesn’t matter if they miss me. I’ll stay with you.”

Andrew ran his fingers through her hair, attempting, she supposed, to untangle it. “Try to understand, sweetheart. You can’t stay here. It’ll ruin your reputation. And mine. I’m a sheriff. I have to run for reelection. I can’t have a woman living with me. I think there may even be a clause against it in my lease.”

Cally came awake real fast. A shiver of alarm replaced the warm tingles. “Why would they care if we were married?”

Andrew didn’t answer, and the sisters’ conversation came back to her. She tried one more time to make things right. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

“Well, Cally, I need some time to think about it. I’ve never believed law officers should be married. They lose their edge. Most people agree with me, I’m afraid.”

“Most people” evidently meant the voters. And she knew that tone he used. It was his patient-and-reasonable tone. The tone she could learn to hate.
“You don’t have to be a sheriff,” she suggested, thinking to be as reasonable. He
had
said he loved her. Shouldn’t she be the most important thing in the world to him?

“But I
am
the sheriff. I
like
being sheriff. I want to continue being sheriff.”

Cally watched him with narrowed eyes. “Even after—” she glanced at the rug and looked away “—what happened, you won’t marry me?”

He hesitated. “I’m not saying I won’t marry you. I need some time to think about it. And so do you. Whatever we decide, right now, you need to get back to the sisters before they miss you.”

He was so calm it made her furious. “The old ladies were right! You just wanted the nectar! And now I’m a fallen woman.”

“Cally! Wait a minute!” Before Andrew could catch her, she was on her feet, running for the door. “Let me walk you home! Cally!”

Andrew grabbed his pants, trying to step into them as he followed. She went out the door without bothering to close it behind her. “Cally.”

By the time he was outside, she was headed full speed down his lane, Royal on her heels. She probably wouldn’t stop until she got to the Gwynns’. He had to let her go.

“Royal. Come back, boy.” The dog at least obeyed.

He knelt beside Royal and rubbed his ears to encourage the dog to stay in the yard. He was absolutely certain that his yelling had awakened all his neighbors. Any of them could have seen the white-gowned girl fleeing from his house. They were, no doubt,
watching him through their windows and guessing why he was clad only in pants, unbuttoned pants at that.

“This is not good, Royal,” he murmured.

Royal seemed unconcerned. When Andrew stood to go back into the house, Royal trotted off in the direction Cally had taken. The dog knew where she lived now and no chain was going to hold him.

Andrew called Royal back and the dog obeyed. With a sigh, he let him into the house. Queen followed, spreading herself across the threshold as soon as the door was closed.

“Oh, wonderful,” Andrew muttered.

Royal followed him into the living room and stood at his side when Andrew sagged into a chair. Andrew rested his hand on the dog’s head as he gazed into the dying fire. He had just seduced an innocent girl. A girl he had promised to look out for. He had been honest when he said he loved her, but equally honest when he said he didn’t want to marry her. She was more likely to believe the latter than the former. Maybe it didn’t pay to be honest with women.

More likely, honesty wasn’t the problem. Fairness was. She had every right to be furious with him.

Andrew sighed. Surely there was some solution he could be comfortable with. He stared at the embers for a long moment before he whispered, “Nectar?”

Val Milton padded across the hall in his stocking feet. At Fancy’s door he stopped, looked up and down the hall once more then reached for the doorknob. The knob didn’t move. The little minx had locked the door!

From an inside coat pocket he withdrew his collection of picks. He didn’t have Terris’s skill at safe-cracking; still, he could manage a simple lock or two. The soft click told him he had been successful. He slipped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.

Pale moonlight streamed through the window. Of course Fancy hadn’t pulled the shade; she didn’t like the dark. Val smiled as he walked toward the bed. He studied the curvaceous body outlined beneath the sheet as he undressed.

The bedsprings squeaked when he slipped in beside her. He lay still for a moment, listening to her even breathing. Her back was to him and he reached out, caressing the warm skin on her shoulder. When his hand moved down to her firm hips, she sighed. He trailed his hand up her side and slipped it around her to fondle a soft breast.

Her body responded to his touch before the sleep left her brain. She moaned, scooting her backside against him. “Val?” she murmured.

Who in the hell was she expecting? The sheriff, maybe? He tried to brush his jealousy aside, reminding himself that she had locked her door. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. “You wake up so sweetly, my love,” he murmured.