Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (2 page)

“Mr. Donovan, I’m talking to you.”

“I’m aware of that, Miss Calhoun.” He removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh to get rid of the dust, then pinned her with a heated look. Her pulse skipped. But it must be irritation that had put that smolder in his eyes, not some other emotion.

“Come inside if you want to talk,” he said, baring his teeth in a smile that made the dimple crease his left cheek, yet gave her the impression of a wolf about to pounce. “Unless you’re nervous about being alone with me.”

“Certainly not.” She took a deep breath to fortify herself, then walked up the steps and into the wolf’s lair.

He followed her inside. She could smell him, a distinctively masculine scent intermingled with that of horses and sweat and leather. He stayed close behind her, and everything female in her responded to the threat of his proximity, as if he were a predator and she, his prey. She could almost feel the heat of his body against her back, and her flesh prickled with awareness. Should he decide to pounce…
 

Ruthlessly, she repressed the shameful emotions. She was here to work, not to conjure improper fantasies about Jack Donovan.

She took a moment to calm herself by admiring a set of silver candlestick holders, and Donovan ignored her while he hung his hat on the wall. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the kitchen.

“Come on,” he ordered.

“Mr. Donovan!” She tugged at her arm, but he didn’t let go until they reached the kitchen water pump. Then he simply released her and turned his back on her. “Mr. Donovan,” she said again. “You…what are you doing?”

Donovan draped his vest over the back of a chair and started to unbutton his shirt. “I’m washing up, Miss Calhoun. And if you want to talk to me, you have about five minutes to do it.”

“But you…you’re….Mr. Donovan, I must insist that you put your clothes back on right now!”

He arched his brows at her and stripped off his shirt. “I didn’t realize you were so shy. Not after that day you followed me to the creek.”

“And you pulled me in!”

The wretched man actually smiled. “It seemed to be the best way to get rid of you.” He hooked the shirt over a chair and turned to the pump. Giving the handle a couple of strong plunges, he bent over and stuck his head beneath the spurting water.

Sarah stared at his muscled back, the smooth expanse mottled by a scar or two that hinted at hard living. Her gaze slid to his tight backside straining against the seat of his pants, and back up to his sinewy arms. She swallowed hard. The scandalous cravings she had fought so hard to suppress surged to life again. Damn him.

He stood up, raking back his wet hair with both hands. With the inky locks slicked back like that, the angular planes of his cheekbones seemed more pronounced, and his eyelashes looked ridiculously long, almost like a child’s. But it was no child that studied her with that hungry obsidian gaze—it was a man who had seen too much and felt too deeply. There was danger there, but vulnerability, too. And that paradox was why she couldn’t seem to stay away from Jack Donovan.

That, and her own prurient impulses.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a knowing smile that made her breath catch and her heart pound. Oh, he was dangerous. And oh, how tempted she was. But she had sworn long ago to control her disgraceful, passionate nature, and no brazen rogue with secrets in his fathomless eyes was going to change that.

“Mr. Donovan, I am trying to conduct business,” she said primly. A drop of water dripped from his hair to his shoulder and wound its way down his lightly-furred chest. When she realized that she was staring, she jerked her gaze to his. “Business,” she repeated. “About the bed…”

“Want to try it out?”

Her mouth fell open. “I…are you out of your mind?”

“Nope.” He gave her a wicked grin. The boyish dimple in his cheek contrasted sharply with very adult twist of his lips.
 

“Mr. Donovan, you are becoming distracted from the issue,” she forged on, smoothing her skirts with shaking hands. What would it be like to smooth that bare, firm flesh? She squelched the wanton thought. “If I could just have your attention for a few minutes…”

He grabbed her wrist and tugged. Sarah yelped as she stumbled forward, grabbing at his muscular arms, but he caught her with his hands on her ribs, his thumbs just beneath her breasts. Before she could blink, he pulled her close against his warm, damp body and dipped his head close to her ear.

“Forget about business,” he murmured, his breath whispering over her sensitive flesh. She shivered despite herself.

“Mr. Donovan.” It was getting difficult to think clearly, to breathe properly. “If I could just have your attention…”

“I’d say you have it.” He smoothed a hand over her hip, then patted her bottom. “Let’s go to bed.”

“No!” Ignoring her sizzling nerve endings, she shoved him in the chest with both hands. He let her go. “Jack Donovan, you are contemptible!”

“And you, Sarah Calhoun, are wet.”

Sarah looked down at the front of her blouse. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized that the thin white lawn had become almost transparent from contact with his damp chest. Her nipples stood proudly and unmistakably erect. She quickly crossed her arms over her breasts.

He laughed. She scowled at him, then grabbed his leather vest off the chair and shrugged into it.

“I’ll get to the bottom of all your secrets, Jack Donovan,” she warned. Cheeks flushed but head held high, she turned and stalked from the kitchen.

Donovan watched her go. His gaze followed the honey-blonde braid trailing down her back, and came to rest with masculine appreciation on her trim backside as she stomped from the room. The woman might be a pest, but she had curves in all the right places.
 

He shook his head. The attraction between them burned fierce and hot whenever they met, and doing outrageous things to her was the only way he could think of to keep her at a distance. Despite her high-necked collars and arrow-straight spine, or maybe because of them, he always felt the urge to lay her out on the nearest flat surface and satisfy the hunger that gnawed at him every time she came near him.

Maybe it was the way she pursed those kissable lips in disapproval, or the way her eyes got so big and round when she was shocked. And he sure as hell liked that pink flush that spread from her cheeks and down her neck when she was flustered. One of these days he’d follow that blush to see just how far it went. He wanted to unbutton that starched blouse, unfasten the serviceable, drab-colored skirts, and loosen her braid while he made her ache for him the way he did for her. He’d never wanted a woman so badly in his life.

But he couldn’t have her.

Sarah was too caught up in the
Burr Chronicle
to make room for hearth and home. Now that the ranch was in working order, it was time he found himself a wife. But he needed a woman who would be content to cook and keep house and raise children. He knew instinctively that Sarah would be a wildcat in bed, and he certainly enjoyed getting both her temper and her body all fired up, but he had no desire to compete with the newspaper for her attention. Besides, the woman was too darned smart. She’d figure him out in a heartbeat, and that was the last thing he wanted. Not to mention that a newspaperwoman would always be shoving her nose in other people’s business and bringing attention to herself—and him. Close scrutiny was not something he could afford to risk.

Nope, the one woman he couldn’t marry was Sarah Calhoun.

Chapter Two

On Saturday the town of Burr buzzed with anticipation over the coming festivities. Wyoming Territory had suffered a hard winter, and the advent of spring lightened everyone’s heart, even though the weather was still seasonably cool. The spring social was a way to celebrate.

Sarah stood in her room, listening to the enthusiastic shouts that drifted to her. Since the Calhoun house stood back to back with the newspaper office, sound carried easily from Main Street. Excitement about that night’s social event crackled around Burr like a blanket of lightning.

Sarah spread her brown poplin dress on the bed. She, too, was looking forward to the event. She intended to corner Jack Donovan and discover what secret lurked in his shady past. Her intuition told her it was something big, a story that would elevate the
Burr Chronicle
from a tiny weekly newspaper to one that would circulate across the territory.

For a moment she reveled in her daydream. Her task promised to be difficult, since the man was quite simply impossible. Every time she had tried to get him to talk to her, he did something outrageous to prick her temper. There was the time she’d followed him to the creek, and he’d pulled her in. And the time in the barn, when he’d tossed a forkful of hay at her. And the barbershop when he’d smeared the shaving cream all over her. Other occasions over the past five months made her burn just to think about them. Obtaining answers would require both fortitude and persistence, and she had to keep him from goading her. Gladly, she accepted the challenge.

A soft knock sounded at her door.

“Come in.”

The door swung open, and her mother peeked in.

“Oh, good, you’re not dressed yet.” With a flourish, June Calhoun strode through the doorway. “Look at this. Isn’t it lovely?”

Sarah stared as her mother held up a beautiful sky-blue satin gown. Ecru lace edged a squared neckline that dipped lower than any dress Sarah owned. The same lace rimmed the hem and sleeves, occasionally graced by tiny blue bows. It was a fabulous creation, designed for evening wear.

“That’s Susannah’s gown,” she murmured in recognition. “It’ll never fit.”

Her mother beamed. “I altered it for you.” She held it up against Sarah. “You’ll look stunning!”

Her mother’s blue eyes sparkled with a pride Sarah hesitated to extinguish. After the death of her husband, June Calhoun had started taking in sewing to make ends meet. In the past three years she had gone from simple mending and tailoring to designing many of the gowns worn by the women of Burr. The satisfaction her work brought had helped her deal with the grief of losing her husband.
 

Sarah fingered a bit of lace wistfully. “You did a fine job, Mama.”

“I wanted you to have something to wear besides that plain poplin of yours.”

Sarah glanced from the dress on the bed to the one in her mother’s arms. “I think I should wear the poplin,” she said gently. “It’s not as conspicuous. After all, I’m going for the sake of the paper…”

“Nonsense!” Her mother spread Susannah’s dress on the bed beside the sturdy poplin. Tucking back a graying strand of dark blonde hair, she considered the two garments. Even Sarah had to admit that the fancy gown stood out like a peacock next to a broody hen. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t have hopes and dreams just like every other young lady your age,” her mother said.

Old memories rose to taunt Sarah, reminding her of all she could not have. “There’s a very good reason,” she replied with a hint of bitterness. “Luke Petrie, remember?”

“Him?” A wave of June’s hand dismissed Sarah’s comment. “That was years ago.”

“People in this town have long memories. If I arrive at the dance all decked out in silk and lace, everyone will be talking for weeks.” Sarah took her mother’s hand. “Mama, I’m not Susannah. She could have carried this off.”

“She certainly could. Your sister never let idle tongues bother her.” Smiling, June pulled her hand from Sarah’s and took up the brown poplin. “I’ll just put this away.”

“Mama…” Sarah’s protest fell on deaf ears as her mother marched out of the room in possession of her best dress.

Despite her mother’s determination to find her a husband, Sarah had long ago accepted that no man would have her. Not after the indiscretion three years before, which had caused her father’s death.

Since then she had become the most respectable of citizens, dressing in somber colors, never showing a hint of bosom or a flash of ankle. In memory of her father, she had dedicated herself to McHenry Calhoun’s small newspaper, vowing to make it the best in the territory. And she’d never shown any interest in a man, which would have given rise to gossip. After a while, she’d come to the conclusion that she had no need of a man in her life at all.

Her tactics had worked. The scandal had finally died down. Despite the blot on her name, the women of Burr no longer crossed the street when she passed. Male and female alike finally afforded her the respect due a businesswoman. But appearing at a social event in such a daring gown would no doubt fire the rumors all over again.

Bitterness pricked at her heart. How she wished she didn’t care what people thought. Mama was right; Susannah certainly didn’t.

With a long sigh, Sarah sat on the bed and thought of her vivacious older sister. Suzie’s dramatic beauty had made the young men of Burr to fall all over themselves in pursuit of her. She had left behind a trail of broken hearts the day she’d departed to start a singing career in San Francisco.

But broken hearts were quite different from broken lives.

Sarah smoothed her hand over the azure satin. Not only had her mother worked hard to alter this gown, she had also quite annoyingly appropriated the only other suitable dress for the dance. Yielding to the inevitable, Sarah stood and began to undo the buttons of her sturdy calico.