Oklahoma kiss (14 page)

      
"There's no sense in your getting in trouble too, and knowing Warren, he would have found out." She tried to smile but it was a pitiful attempt.

      
Coy slowly raked his hand through his hair, then propped it on his hip. "Damn it ... I don't want to sound like I'm fussing at you, but why didn't you tell Warren immediately? Putting it off will only make it worse."

      
"Because . . . because he was too busy unlocking the deputy from the cellar, and ..."

      
"Unlocking the . . ." Slowly, deliberately. Coy wiped his face and chin. "I know this is a stupid question, but why was he locked in the cellar?"

      
"I locked him there because I thought he was a cattle thief and a murderer." She sighed remorsefully. "Oh, Coy, it's a long story."

      
"Sounds like it," he said dryly "It also sounds like you can still attract trouble without half trying." In an attempt to make her feel better, he flashed her a brilliant smile. "Oh, it's not that bad. Come on, help me hitch up the buckboard, and you can tell me all about it. Who knows? I might even come up with an idea that will keep Warren from throttling you. I doubt it though," he added under his breath after he had turned away.

      
On the way home. Coy knew how much Blair dreaded facing Warren, so he attempted to keep her mind off it by telling her about his girl, Samuel’s and Collin's wives, and even a bit of local gossip— something he readily admitted to doing himself as long as it was not malicious or damaging to anyone's reputation. She never offered any explanation as to why she had been expelled and he did not ask.

      
There was a definite chill in the air by the time they reached the ranch. A low, moaning wind swept around the comers and under the eaves of the barn, and a low-lying, heavy cloud bank was quickly marching in from the north.

      
Blair's flagging spirits instantly soared. Rain, even a small amount during a drought, improved everybody's disposition, even Warren's.

      
A few of the hands had come in to take care of the chores that had piled up in their absence and all were surprised but delighted to see Blair. After greetings were exchanged, she and Coy hurried toward the house, each carrying two wicker baskets of roots, herbs, and wild plants, which had already been separated as to their medicinal values.

      
Blair had only worn a light shawl and was grateful to see a fine wisp of smoke coming from the chimney.

      
"I'll race you to the house," Coy challenged when a few drops of rain splattered on the ground.

      
"No," she said slowly. "I'd better not. I doubt if it would be wise for me to go charging into the house like I used to. Besides," she flashed him a grin, "you know I can't run fast in a dress."

      
He laughed. "Yeah, I know. That's why I asked."

      
Using the excuse of not wanting to annoy Tillie by carrying the dusty baskets through her clean house, Blair suggested they enter through the kitchen —which was a perfect way to avoid having to pass by Warren's office.

      
Tillie greeted them in her usual scolding manner. "Land o' sakes, thought you two never would get back. You know Ah like to have supper over and done with Tore dark. I got your medicine bottles and jars fixed-all washed and scalded." She indicated several rows of gleaming glassware lined up on one of the cabinets. "Ah also had Jake bring in extra wood for the cookstove so you can dry those weeds . . ."

      
"Herbs and wild plants, not weeds," Blair corrected, knowing that was what Tillie expected of her.

      
She gave an indifferent wave of her hand. "Whatever. Anyhow, it's done been taken care of. Ah also remembered you saying something about that man's feet needing to soak in Epsom salts every three to four hours until you can get your poultices ready. So Ah already got him up and he's in the bedroom soaking his feet. But you might ought to look in on him . . . just in case Ah did something wrong. Which Ah probably did 'cause it seems like Ah can't please nobody 'round here."

      
Blair smiled as a warm rush of affection filled her. How she loved to hear that old woman fuss and grumble. Home simply wouldn't be the same without her. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed Tillie on the cheek. "Thank you for being so sweet."

      
"Oh, Ah ain't sweet, but thank you anyhow, child. Now, go on, scat." She waved her away with a ladle. "Supper will be ready shortly."

      
Hearing Tillie turn her sharp tongue on Coy. Blair tiptoed past Warren's office and stopped by the bathroom to wash her face and hands before checking on Adam. While there, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and hurriedly ran a brush through her disheveled hair and tied it back with a ribbon. Not satisfied with her appearance, yet deciding it would have to do, she turned to leave, then her brows raised mischievously. "Why not?" she murmured, then quickly applied a drop of lightly scented lavender cologne to her wrists and the hollow of her throat.

      
Standing in front of the bedroom door, Blair paused and, vowing to be civil to him regardless of his mood, smoothed her skirt and took a deep, steadying breath before she knocked.

      
"Come in."

      
Adam sat on an overstuffed chair with his chin resting on one hand while he stared out the window. Used shaving gear and toilet articles were on the small table beside him, and he was dressed in clean, fresh clothing. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, and the hairs on his arms seemed to reflect a shimmering color against his deeply bronzed skin. His hair, although neatly combed, had an unruly look about it, which made him look even more handsome. She couldn't imagine him ever plastering it down with pomade the way Albert had. But then, it was difficult to imagine him ever subjecting any part of himself to that much constraint.

      
By all appearances he had recently bathed, but the scent of tobacco and leather still clung to him. Blair's heart increased in rhythm. He was even more stunningly virile and attractive than she remembered,

      
"Good evening, Mr. Cahill."
How could her voice sound so normal?

      
"Miss Townsend," he acknowledged politely, nodding his head. Drawing in a deep breath, he decided he might as well find out which Blair Townsend he was going to have to contend with for the next week. He gave her what he hoped to be an irresistible grin. "Since I will be here for a spell, why don't you just call me Adam?"

      
Intrigued by his sudden friendliness, she found it impossible not to return his disarming smile. "Only if you'll call me Blair."
It seems he has decided I am not such a terrible person after all

      
"Agreed."

      
"How are you feeling?" she asked, crossing the room and kneeling to inspect his feet.

      
"Oh, I feel all right, but my feet have a tingling sensation in them-no, not actually tingling." He groped for the right words. "It's more like how your mouth feels when you bite into a persimmon that's not quite ripe." He laughed sheepishly. "I guess that's the best way I know how to avoid saying my feet feel like they're puckering. Somehow, it's difficult to imagine feet puckering. Now whenever I kiss a pretty girl, I'll see toes instead of lips."

      
Forgetting her nervousness, Blair chuckled. "it's merely the Epsom salts drawing out the poison," she explained, amazed at how quickly he made her feel at ease. Even his remark about kissing pretty girls had not bothered her. Instead, it made her hope he thought she was pretty. "If I can find the right plant, after supper, we'll soak them in something different than Epsom salts. The drawing sensation will be even worse, but it is necessary for your feet to heal." Standing, she lit two lamps then walked over to a highboy'chest, opened a drawer and removed a pair of folded socks.

      
Adam hadn't wanted her to see him studying her, and while her back was turned, he treated himself. Though it was contradictory, her hair was so dark, it actually glistened with light. The muted light of the lamp caused a halo effect; the ends seemed to be made from spun silver while the remainder of her hair reflected a blue-black color-like that of a raven's wing. He could easily imagine a man threading his hands through that thick mane of hair and becoming lost in it.

      
The lace trim on her emerald green dress made her seem so . . . feminine, or perhaps it was the way the bodice fit the upper part of her body, which reaffirmed that she was indeed female . . . very female! He mentally wagered that he could span her tiny waist with his hands and have room left.

      
Again, it seemed incredible that this beautiful young woman could be the same dirty-faced hellion who had so brazenly held him at gun point just the day before. Yet, it was something he could not deny. Bewildered, he shook his head. Women! About the time he thought he had them figured out, they did something to confuse him. Was there no justice in the world?

      
To his surprise, she hurried from the room without saying anything, but returned in a few minutes carrying an intricately carved cane.

      
Handing it to him, she said, "I’m sure Grandfather won't mind if you use this. Don't worry, it is a spare one. He always keeps several on hand."

      
"I thought you said I would have to stay off my feet for at least a week?"

      
Blair shook her head. "I never meant to imply that you had to remain in bed for a solid week, but you have to be careful. I don't think it will hurt anything if you come to the table for meals ... as long as you use the cane for assistance. And, you can walk to the . . . uh . . . there is a room in the house with necessary . . . items for certain . . . human necessities," she stammered, a crimson blush staining her cheeks.

      
He let out a long, audible sigh. "That's a relief. I had visions of being confined to bed." He chortled. "Did I say visions? I meant to say nightmares. I've only been in here for a few hours and already the walls are about to close in on me. I’m not accustomed to staying inside for very long at a time."

      
Blair handed him the pair of socks to hold while she pulled up a foot stool to sit on in order to dry his feet more easily. Rolling his pants legs up further, she suddenly smiled and averted her head. Then she clamped a hand over her mouth and burst out laughing.

      
"Did I say something amusing?" he asked in a cool tone as a slow flush spread over his face.

      
"Oh, no, not at all," Blair laughingly replied. " It's—it's the hair on your legs. For as long as I can remember, Tillie has threatened me with ‘hairy-legged men' the way some mothers threaten their children with the ‘bogy man.' And now ..." Blair started chuckling again. "I see she was right!"

      
Adam smiled out of politeness, although he saw nothing amusing about having hairy legs. It was completely natural as far as he was concerned. "You mean to say after being raised in a family with four brothers, you've never seen their legs?" he asked a bit skeptically.

      
"Of course I have. We used to go swimming at the falls over on Angel Creek all of the time when I was a child. Coy, Samuel, and Collin used to cut off the legs of worn-out trousers to go swimming in, although Warren never did, he was much too straight-laced. This is really amazing because Coy told me something a while ago that I did not know ... or had never thought about. Since they are part Indian, they don't have hairy legs" both Adam and Blair spoke in laughing unison.

      
Then, Adam's manner sombered instantly. His piercing gray eyes seemed to bore into hers, he grasped her hand and held it tightly. "Do you think she was right?" he asked huskily, conscious of his feet barely touching her breasts, and suddenly wishing he had them in his hands, plying them until they stood like rigid peaks, then taking first one ' then the other in his mouth and ... '

      
Blair's mouth suddenly went dry and she had difficulty swallowing. "Who was right?" she managed a whisper.

      
"Tillie . . . when she threatened you with hairy-legged men. I have hairy legs, am I a threat to you?" His gaze boldly raked her, telling her that he liked what he saw.

      
"I suppose that . . . depends."

      
"On what?" He reached to pull her closer, when suddenly, the voice of conscience screeched through his mind. What in the hell are you doing? Blair is your friend's sister!

      
Abruptly releasing her, Adam raked a trembling hand through his hair, cleared his throat and asked in a choked voice, "Weren't you saying something about a cane?"

      
A soft, breathless cry escaped her lips as she pulled her gaze from his. She had glimpsed the undeniable passion in his eyes, and had been lured to him like the proverbial moth is drawn to a flame. Yet, she was grateful he had broken the magical spell and even marveled at how adroitly he had extracted themselves from a possibly embarrassing situation.

      
Gladly taking his cue, Blair stammered, "I’m s-sure the cane will help immensely, b-but let . . . me caution you; when you find it necessary to walk, be sure your feet are either bandaged or you are wearing socks, but don't wear any boots, shoes or moccasins." Aware of the warmth of his gaze, she babbled on, powerless to stop. "I firmly believe that cleanliness and avoiding germs are very important when it comes to curing open wounds such as yours."

      
Adam had every intention of following her orders, yet he could not resist needling her a bit. "Don't germs live on floors too?"