Rexanne Becnel (12 page)

Lacie only gave him a quelling stare. He’d been goading her whenever he could, snorting in disbelief at certain expenses, complaining when the records were unclear. He had even sworn when he saw how much Frederick had paid for two show mares.

“Show mares!” he had thundered. “What in God’s name do a bunch of prissy little girls need with a pair of damned show mares!”

Lacie had to admit, although only to herself, that it had indeed been an unimaginably huge sum of money. What had Frederick been thinking of? Yet she was hardly prepared to side with Dillon against Frederick. That would be unthinkable.

Still, she fully intended to make some drastic changes in the way the school was run once Dillon Lockwood was out of the way.

“If you find the finances of the school so dreadful, why do you want it so badly? Why don’t you just give up this absurd witch-hunt of yours? I married Frederick. You saw the papers yourself.”

His jet-black brows lowered in a frown at her words, but then a cynical smile curved one side of his lips. “Let’s just say I have a perverse interest in witches.”

Lacie stood up in a huff. She was unwilling to bandy words with him any further, for it seemed she invariably lost when she did. Despite her every effort to confound and frustrate him, she inevitably came off the poorer in their exchanges. With a slow steady look or a few choice words, he would always unnerve her.

“I believe I’ve had quite enough of this,” she snapped as she moved away from the huge cluttered desk.

“But we’ve only just begun,” he drawled. Then with one smooth motion, he leaned forward and caught her by the wrist.

“Oh! Let me go!” Lacie cried as she was whirled about to face him.

“Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your affair!”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll find something to prove you’re a fake?” His brows arched in query, but his amusement was nonetheless apparent.

“You won’t find anything, so you might as well quit wasting your time,” she retorted, trying all the while to tug free of his warm grasp. But Dillon was clearly unready to release her. Instead, he stood up and drew her a little nearer.

“If there’s nothing to be found, why have you been my little shadow these past three days?”

Lacie was not about to answer that question, for the answer was very uncomfortable for her. There was something about him that drew her. Like a moth fluttering nearer and nearer the flame, like a struggling swimmer unable to resist the tide, she could not stay away from him.

It was increasingly apparent that he would find nothing in Frederick’s papers to condemn her. Yet still she insisted on being there whenever he sat down at Frederick’s desk. Now, however, the situation was getting out of hand. Her proximity to him was clearly far more dangerous to her than whatever scribblings of Frederick’s he might find.

“Let me go,” she whispered again in a voice more tremulous than she intended.

For a moment longer he kept his fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist. Then he let her go and she stepped back a pace. Distance, however, did nothing to dispel the disturbing heat that lingered where they had touched—like a brand almost—but imparting no pain.

“I think we both need a break from this drudgery.” He smiled, then took a step forward. “Come riding with me, Lacie. A good hard gallop will do us both a world of good.”

Her answer was slow in coming. It was not that she did not intend to go, for riding was precisely what she needed to clear her mind. But his smile…

To have a man—this man—smile just so with no hint of mockery nor gracious attempt at politeness; to have him ask her to join him just because he wished to have her company; that was, she suddenly perceived, exactly what she wanted of him. It was a dreadful realization, one she wanted to deny with every fiber of her being. But it was nonetheless true.

Even as she nodded a silent assent to his request, she knew his invitation could not be without an ulterior motive. He wanted something from her, and if he could not get it legally or by force, he intended to get it by guile. Yet despite that knowledge, she agreed to go and, even worse, was willing to pretend, at least for a little while, that it was really no more than the sincere invitation she wanted it to be.

Dillon was obviously surprised by her agreeable response. But he wasted no time and smoothly tucked her arm in his. “I must have caught you in a docile mood,” he murmured near her ear.

At once she pulled her hand free. It was disturbing enough to feel his warm arm beneath her hand, but to have his breath move her hair and hear his low voice vibrating so seductively was too much.

“I’m only being polite, not docile. Oh, you’ve forgotten your coat,” she added archly.

“I won’t need it.” He ran an assessing eye over her and grinned. “You might want to dress a little more comfortably yourself, Lacie. It’s hot already, and I’m not planning a short sedate ride around the grounds.” One of his brows arched in that familiar, infuriating manner. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Quite,” she snapped. Then she hurried off to her room, more determined than ever to show him.

Lacie wasted no time in preparing for their ride. Off came the extra petticoat and her heavy starched slip. Off came the stiff mourning collar. She donned riding boots and found her gloves, then pulled down her wide-brimmed straw hat. When her careful coiffure did not accommodate the crownless hat, she swiftly unwound her hair, then plaited it and tied the end with a short length of black grosgrain ribbon. She spared only a quick glance in the small looking glass, then left her room, frowning at what she’d seen. She looked positively childlike, she thought, more like a student than a widowed schoolteacher. But there was naught to be done about it. She practically flew down the stairs, and by the time she reached the stables, she was almost out of breath. Yet even still, she knew that the color in her cheeks and her breathless state were not caused solely by her haste.

It was Dillon Lockwood and the thought of this ride with him that had her in such a state.

One part of her said that it was just a ride. It might not be sedate, and they might gallop or even race. But it would still be just a ride.

Yet another part of her said otherwise. It would be dangerous. It would be exhilarating. It would be unforgettable.

Sternly, she tried to banish those last thoughts. But some new, obstinate part of her would not let go of those possibilities. When she entered the wide stable opening and saw him bending down to pull his steed’s girth up tight, she knew her cause was lost. He was so tall and handsome, so wickedly virile in his snug buckskin trousers and thin lawn shirt.

Then he looked up at her and slowly smiled.

It was that smile, she thought obliquely as his gaze slid approvingly over her. That smile was the problem. If he would only quit smiling at her, she would be all right.

For an endless moment their gazes remained locked across the short space of the stable aisle. Then Leland shuffled up leading her mount, and the spell was broken.

“This here mare’s full of spunk today, Miz Lacie. I done told Mr. Lockwood she weren’t a fittin’ mare for a lady. But he said you could manage.”

At the old man’s look of doubt, Lacie’s resolve strengthened.

“She’ll do just fine, Leland. I’m rather in the mood for a vigorous ride anyway.”

“Thanks, Leland. I’ll assist Miss Lacie in mounting.”

“Yes, suh. Yes, suh. You all have a good ride and ol’ Leland’ll be right here waitin’ for the horses when you git back.”

Lacie stared at Leland as he moseyed away. When had his morose mood lifted? When had he become so talkative and so obliging? Then her gaze shifted to Dillon and the answer was obvious. A man was back in charge at Sparrow Hill. At least that was how it appeared to the aging stableman. There was a man in charge, and everything was going to be all right again.

She wanted to feel angry, but all she felt was depressed. How could she expect Leland to have faith in her when she herself was so uncertain that she could keep the school going? It was even worse now that she’d seen how serious their financial problems were.

“Ready to mount?”

Dillon’s voice next to her caught her quite by surprise.

“I—I can manage,” she replied as she started for the mounting block. But Dillon was there before her, once again offering her his hand in assistance.

“I said I can manage,” Lacie repeated crossly, deliberately sidestepping him.

But her poor temper seemed only to amuse him. “I’ve no doubt you can rise to any occasion, Lacie. It’s only common courtesy for a man to offer a lady a hand up. Don’t you teach your young ladies that? Tell me, do you react to all men so snippishly, or is it just me?” he finished with a slow, lazy grin.

Lacie was at a loss to reply. It
was
just him. She knew that without a doubt. Every time he touched her, she felt hot and nervous and her stomach tightened in the most disturbing manner. But that was something he must never know.

“You and I are on quite opposite sides of the fence, Mr. Lockwood. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”

With that she stepped up into the stirrup, then swung her right knee forward to catch around the high horn of the lady’s saddle.

“I see,” he replied with that same maddening smile that made her worry that he really
did
see. Then she felt his hand on her booted foot, adjusting it within the stirrup, and her heart began to pound. As irrational as it was, the gesture struck her as embarrassingly intimate. It was no more than Frederick had done for her a hundred times, but with Dillon it was a different thing entirely.

Appalled by the perverse path of her thoughts, she pulled suddenly on the reins. At once the eager mare danced away from Dillon and the mounting block. Without a word Lacie wheeled her around, and with one firm kick, she sent the mare catapulting from the stables.

She was barely settled on the saddle. Her skirt was still bunched around the horn and in the horse’s swift flight both skirt and slip flew back, revealing the entire length of her calf and the edge of her plain cotton pantalets. But she was too rattled by her reactions to Dillon to care. As if her flight could help her escape all the terrible pressures and fears that beset her, she leaned forward and urged the mare on.

Down the dusty trail to the drive they flew, then on at a thunderous pace toward the road. The mare’s mane stung her face while her own heavy plait flipped behind her like a flag in the wind. She almost felt as one with her exuberant mount and when they reached the road, she did not hesitate one whit. Across the road they sailed, then with one breathless leap they were over the weathered cross-tied fence and galloping across a meadow toward the bayou.

She had wanted to ride to banish her cares—and to be with Dillon. But now Lacie was determined to cast him completely out of her mind.

Yet he was not a man easily put off. Before she was even halfway to the green band of trees that marked the bottomlands along Brush Bayou, Lacie heard the sound of his pursuit. One wild glance behind her revealed how close he was. Yet that only made her more reckless.

“Go! Go!” she shouted to the mare, bending forward as low as she could in the saddle. But it was useless. Within a moment he was upon her, and with a grim look on his face he leaned over and caught her reins.

“Let go!” Lacie shouted as her mare turned slightly toward the larger horse. But Dillon ignored her completely, and when the horses were running shoulder to shoulder he determinedly slowed them both.

“Are you a complete fool?” he demanded when they came to a stiff-legged halt.

“I am a perfectly competent rider!” Lacie snapped back. “The only fool is you for grabbing at me so!”

“Dammit, woman! That was an idiotic move and you know it! I should never have allowed a crazy woman to ride such a high-spirited animal!”

“Allowed?
Allowed!
” Infuriated by his high-handed attitude, Lacie tried to pull the reins free of his hold. But he would not release them, and in a fit of temper she rounded on him.

“Let go of my horse this minute, Mr. Lockwood. In case you’ve forgotten your place here, this is my school, my home, and my horse. No matter what accusation your nasty mind has concocted, the fact remains that you’re in no position to
allow
me anything!”

For a moment he only stared at her, his eyes glinting as hard as emeralds as he took in her flushed and disheveled appearance. Then he shifted slightly in his saddle, and his lips turned up sardonically.

“What a quick temper you have, Lacie. Perhaps if you looked at the situation from my point of view, you’d be more understanding. If you
are
Frederick’s widow, it’s my responsibility to look out for you. And if you
aren’t
his widow”—the grin widened a fraction—“then it’s my responsibility to look out for
my
horse.”

Lacie was so incensed by his smug words that she did not pause to think. “You—you are the most arrogant bastard I have ever laid eyes on!” But when his face grew taut and his eyes turned cold, she knew her choice of words had been unwise.

“An arrogant
bastard?
” He leaned forward and caught her arm so that their faces were only inches apart. “An astute observation, my dear. I’ve often been termed arrogant, and I’ve never denied being a bastard.” He smiled, but his eyes remained icy as he ran an insultingly thorough gaze over her. “Now, why don’t you be as honest as I am, and admit exactly what you are.”

Lacie trembled as she stared into his harsh face. She was a fool, she told herself. A fool to think she could deceive him and an even bigger fool to see anything worthwhile in his cruel and greedy nature. He was a hard, ruthless man, and nothing she said, no insult or cutting remark, would bother him in the least. She tried to free her arm from his steadfast grip, but it was to no avail. Then he pulled her closer and her heart nearly stopped.

Their horses were side by side, and now her leg pressed snugly against his. He reached his other hand over and fingered a fold of her exposed slip. Then she felt his hand rest intimately on her exposed knee;