Holding on to Heaven (6 page)

"You did fine, Abby." Finn led the young woman to the sidelines where she could lick her wounds.

The races continued until one rider was eliminated after every race. Edwin raced against Belle, Emily against Martin Kendall, Creed against his brother Finn, and finally, Brand stepped up to race Lauren.

Tugging on the brim of his hat, Brand bowed before her and then hoisted his muscular body onto the Appaloosa. "May the best horseman win."

"Horsewoman." Lauren swung her leg over Adobe's back and clutched the reins in her hand.

The shot rang out and the riders bolted. Running neck and neck at the end of the field, Lauren pulled ahead when she maneuvered Adobe through the crazy-eight pattern. In the distance, a blur of arms waved in the air and bodies jumped up and down like cork bobbers in a stream.

She rose in the stirrups and leaned in until she was level with Adobe's mane. The rapid thunder of hooves rang in her ears. The Appaloosa was breathing down their necks. "Now boy!" she bellowed and lowered her body level with his.

The crowd launched into a boisterous chorus of shouts and whistles. Adobe's nostrils flared and he lowered his head. The ground sped by in a blur of motion as Lauren crossed the finish line first. Rowdy howls of shouts of ‘congratulations’ reached her ears.

Brand brought his mount to a stiff-legged halt beside her and dismounted. "My sincere congratulations and irrefutable concession."

Her cheeks flushed with victory, she smiled. "Thank you, Brand. You were a formidable opponent."

From several feet away, she heard Creed utter one word. "Amazing."

Breathless, she ran to Estelle and embraced her. "I won! I beat one of the best riders!"

"You sure did, girl." Her aunt looked over her shoulder toward the crowd. "One down, one to go."

"Heaven help me, Aunt Estelle, I race Creed after we eat." Trying hard to stifle her apprehension, she couldn't look his way.

"Like I said, one down, one to go."

Uncle Mason had joined them. "Well, young lady, you bested one of the best, and I'm proud of you. You rode Adobe like a seasoned veteran, every movement full of grace. By the time you hit the final lap, I couldn't tell where horse began and woman ended."

Though elated, something akin to dread crept up Lauren's spine when her uncle frowned. "What is it, uncle?"

"You'll have to do better than that if you plan to beat his brother."

"I'll beat him." Confidence rang in her words. "You can count on it."

Biddle pulled the rope to the dinner bell and dispersed the crowd gathered around the corral. Guests clambered to tables set up in the yard heavy with roasted pig, sweet yams, new potatoes, roasted corn, and buttermilk biscuits. Polly's peach cobbler sat beside the chocolate cake, and a dozen berry pies anchored the main table.

When Lauren sought out Brand and asked him to sit with her, he didn't hesitate. They chatted about her life at Grand Cove, and his on the ranch. By the time the meal had ended, she understood why everyone gravitated toward the man. Countless people had paused at their table to wish him well or engage in conversation about crops, the weather, and of course talk about the Rebellion.

"What do you think, Brand?" George Nash stopped by next, his plate overflowing with food. "Both sides have prepared for battle, the North with its twenty-three states and twenty-two million people against the Confederacy." A boastful snicker twisted the man's mouth. "With the South's eleven states and scant nine million, what in Sam Hill are they thinking?"

"Three and a half million of the nine are slaves," Brand said. "And I think they believe they can whip us in ninety days."

"Of all the arrogance...."

Lauren couldn't listen. The talk always turned to war these days and she stood in the middle, loving people from both sides. Her gaze drifted to Creed at the far end of the long table. Seated next to Anna Gray, his cozy banter with the woman was riddled with intermittent laughter. Lauren fought to keep her runaway emotions in check.

He seemed to enjoy the obnoxious flirtations lavished on him by the pie-faced woman. Lauren fumed inside when Anna rubbed her plump bosom against his shoulder and mooned over him with eyes the color of watermelon rind. The rumors must be true about Anna and Creed. After all, he’d hooked his arm through hers and led her to the table. He looked up once and caught Lauren staring, his brooding expression revealing nothing. Gripped by fascination and mortification, their gazes locked in timeless wonder before she averted her gaze and then cursed her recklessness.

Through the pounding heartbeat in her ears, she realized she wanted him, wanted him like she'd never wanted another. Damn, had she lost her mind? The man exuded wild abandon, would take her body in a blink . . . no, it wouldn't be in a blink. It would be hot and heady passion, all the things she had yearned for, craved, in the dark solace of her dreams. How she wished she’d never laid eyes on the decadent man.

Brand's calm voice pulled her from her tumultuous thoughts. "Time for that race, Lauren." He rose and offered her his arm. "I'm placing my money on you."

"I wouldn't advise that."

"You can beat Creed. Concentrate, and no matter how much you want to see if he's about to run you over, don't look back."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded. "It's going to take a miracle to win, isn't it?"

"Miracles happen every day." He brought his fingers to her face and brushed her cheek. "Ride like you rode against me today and you have a chance."

* * * *

An indefinable feeling snaked through Creed's gut when Brand walked forward with Lauren. Anna pressed her voluptuous breasts into his side and wished him luck, but he hadn’t heard her words. He'd known Anna for years, but only in the last several months had he succumbed to her fleshy curves. The woman had tried every wile known to rein him in, and all had failed. Although warm and eager, she never held his interest for more than an hour or two. No woman had ever intrigued him the way Lauren McCain did.

He stifled the jolt of lust pedaling through his veins as she watched him during the meal. It had taken all his reserve to act detached while she sat beside his brother and flashed her cat-like eyes at him. He didn't like the feelings she aroused in him. They left him sullen and edgy. Jesus, what in hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know the she-cat with the tongue sharper than barbed wire.

Now, with every step she took toward him, the blood rushed to his groin. He wasn't prepared for the vision she presented, the snug riding pants and filmy blouse. A dark brown ribbon held her hair back from her face before the wild tumble fell down her back in a veil of burnished copper. The color of those long tresses reminded him of autumn leaves. Her brown, slanted eyes were topped by arched eyebrows, perfect like her other features. She could raise or furrow those brows with her changing moods. How had he missed that when he committed every feature of her face to memory?

Tall for a woman and thinner than smoke, he imagined running his hands down the small of her back, her perfect bottom and... hell, he had to stop thinking about fucking her all the time. He had to beat her in the race, and beat her he would. Smiling to himself, he savored the thought of taking her down a notch. That smirk would be wiped from her gorgeous face—the
I'm-better-than-you-sneer
she flaunted now as she sashayed forward.

"Miss McCain, I hope you haven't gorged yourself." He smiled when color stained her cheeks. "I'd hate to see your mount weighed down for the final race."

"Don't worry about Adobe or me." She spat the words and mounted. "We're ready to leave you in our dust."

The gold flecks in her eyes flickered. For a brief moment, he forgot about the crowd and longed to yank her from the saddle and introduce her back to the dust she spoke of.

"To your success." Creed raised his tankard of ale, downed it and set it on the ground near his feet. He spoke to Mason as he swung a leg over the saddle, his words confident and bold. "Let's be about it then."

The crowd broke into rowdy whistles and then fell silent at Mason's words. "On the count of three. One... two... three!"

The horses bolted at the retort of the pistol. Adobe and Creed's black mare ran neck and neck to the opposite end of the field. Thick clumps of sod flew through the air from Adobe's hooves as he sailed over the bundles in perfect sync with Creed's mount. He dragged his gaze from her expert riding skills and concentrated on the race.

Someone had warned her not to look over her shoulder. She rode low, close to the stallion's mane, her lush body melded with the horse. The very air enveloping them groaned with a competitive edge he'd never felt before. The spitfire intended to beat him at any cost.

Although fleet of foot, his mare lacked size against the stallion. When they reached the bales at the far end of the field, his time had come to overtake her. Her stallion navigated the crazy-eight with ease, and so did the mare. His moment was at hand. As the mounts crossed over and headed for opposite sides, she dug her heels into Adobe's side and drove her horse into the mare's withers. His horse stumbled to her stifles, her frightened whinnies echoing through the air. Lauren pressed on without so much as a backward glance.

The mare found her footing and like her rider, rage spurned her onward. She made up for the precious lost seconds the reckless stunt had cost them, but not enough to charge over the finish line before the stallion.

The crowd went wild when the riders swept past them in a swirling haze of dust. Damn, the cheating bitch had won. Halting near the corral, Lauren dismounted and bolted from her mount.

Creed dogged her heels, so close, he saw her knees quake. "You cheated!" He advanced and poked an accusatory finger into her chest. "You could have killed me with that crazy stunt you pulled!"

She backed away, visibly shaken. "Whatever are you talking about? You lost, fair and square."

Low-voiced, he whispered the words. "Liar!"

"Your clumsy mount lost her footing and plowed into Adobe!" Their gazes locked, and in that infinitesimal moment, he lost pace with his breathing. "You, Creed Gatlin," he noticed her voice quavering, "were bested by a mere woman. Learn to live with it."

"You're no woman." He didn't know if he wanted to ring her slender neck or toss her to the ground and slam into her until she admitted she cheated. "You're an uppity little bitch!"

A gasp fell from her lips and her eyes narrowed. She wanted to counter his words, but held her tongue.

"You could never beat me fair and square and you know it." He struggled to control his emotions. She'd beaten him in the race, albeit by cheating, but he knew she was beating him again now.

Her bottom lip trembled. He became aware of her childlike vulnerability and his potent need for her. The cutting remarks, the bold, confident persona were nothing more than a façade on her part. Her nearness sent his senses reeling, the scent of woman, horse and leather adding to the roaring chaos in his head. She stumbled on the words she tried to speak and tears filled her eyes.

"Leave, now," he said. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

She raised her dainty chin and held his eyes for a lengthy time. Long lashes swept down across her cheeks before she bustled passed him in a cloud of dust.

* * * *

Lauren returned to Aunt Estelle's embrace. "Two down, none to go, dear."

"I do believe our girl has won the race," Uncle Mason said.

Lauren heard her aunt whisper the words. "But lost her heart."

Mason's gaze drifted to Creed near the corral. "Yes, and Creed lost both."

Emotionally drained, Lauren allowed the comment to pass and walked through the jubilant crowd, her head down, the guilt choking her.

Chapter Four

Lauren opened the door to her room and wondered if a strong northerly had blown through. The strewn clutter paled next to the mess she’d made of matters outside. She closed the door, emptied the pitcher of water into the bowl and undressed. After tossing the dusty riding clothes into a heap on the floor, she washed the grime from her body. Whether from the hot weather or the encounter with Creed, her flushed skin tingled from the cool water.

She selected a long dress from the armoire¾forest green, trimmed with cream lace and cut low at the neck. Next, she pulled the white cotton undergarments from the bureau, a camisole and pantalets. Glancing at the corset in the top drawer, a frown found her. Her waist was small enough without the rigid binder, and besides, the undergarment reminded her of everything proper and stifling. Satin and lace might have been requisite in Beaufort, but she saw no reason to wear the frilly attire here.

Her dark hair shone by the time she returned the brush to the bureau, and the green, satin ribbon tied at her nape was the perfect match for the dress. She pinched her cheeks for color and added a teensy amount of Aunt Estelle’s rouge to her lips. Facing the full-length mirror, she smiled and spoke to her reflection. "This will have to do.ʺ

Floating down the stairs, events from the day found her. Creed’s words rang in her ears and stung her pride. She wasn't a child he could scold and send to the corner. Tonight she’d prove it. Drawing on a reserve of southern charm, she’d use those skills against every man present, every man but the eldest Gatlin. She’d ignore Creed the same as she would a fly on the wall. In fact, she wouldn’t glance his way.

She stopped on the main level and drew a deep breath. Her mind reeled from the visions flooding her, his scent, the flint-hued eyes... and her inability to speak as he loomed over her. How could she forget the rapid pounding of her heart or the waves of desire washing over her? A pang of guilt surfaced. She’d cheated, claimed she beat him in the race, and they both knew she hadn't. Lauren collected her conflicting thoughts, walked through the front door and into the yard.

A full moon clung to the land in an arresting display of brilliance. New guests had arrived for the dance, neighbors from nearby farms and close friends from New Ulm. Lauren walked into the barn with her chin up. The fiddlers and banjo strummers had taken their places on the platform and guests stood before them, waiting for the music to begin.