Song of the West (8 page)

Her mouth clung, avid and sweet, to his. Dormant passion exploded into life until there remained only man and woman and the need, older than time, to love and be loved, to possess and be possessed.

He opened her shirt and claimed her breast. The first desperation mellowed into slow exploration as his fingers trailed lightly, drugging her with a new, delirious languor. His mouth moved to sample the taste of her neck, his face buried in the spreading lushness of her hair. She pressed against the rippling muscles of his back as his mouth and tongue and hands raged fire over her.

She felt rather than heard him say her name against her mouth, sensed rather than felt the tension enter his body before her lips were set free. Dimly, she heard the strident insistence of bells ringing as she groped to bring heaven back within reach.

“Hell of a time for them to fix the phones.” She opened her eyes, dark as sapphires, and stared without comprehension. “There's nothing I'd like more than to ignore it, Samantha, but it might be important.” Her lids fluttered in confusion. She could feel the warm raggedness of his breath against her cheek. “The phones have been out for two days, and there's a lot of damage out there.”

His body left hers and took the warmth with it. She struggled to sit up, pulling her shirt closed. The hands that worked at the buttons were unsteady and, rising on weak legs, she sought the warmth of the fire. Pushing at tumbled hair, she wrapped her arms around her body and closed her eyes.

What had she done, losing herself that way? Tossing away pride like damaged goods! What if the phone hadn't rung? Her arms closed tighter. Does love always hurt? Does it always make a fool of you?

“Samantha.” She whirled at the sound of her name, her arms still tight in protection. “It's Sabrina.” Dropping her eyes from his, she moved into the hall.

Samantha picked up the phone and swallowed. “Hi, Bree.” Her voice sounded strangely high-pitched to her ears, and her fingers gripped hard on the receiver.

“Sam, how are you?”

Taking a deep breath, she answered. “Fine. How
you
are is more important.”

“Stronger every minute. I'm so glad you had the sense to head for the Double T when the snow started. The thought of you getting caught in that blizzard makes my blood turn cold.”

“That's me, a steady head in a crisis.” Samantha nearly choked on a gurgle of hysterical laughter.

“Are you sure you're all right? You sound strange. You aren't coming down with a cold, are you?”

“It's probably the connection.”

“I thought they'd never get the phones fixed! I guess I just couldn't really relax until I'd talked to you and made sure you were safe! Of course, I know Jake would take care of you, but it's not the same as hearing your voice. I won't keep you, Sam, we'll see you tomorrow. By the way, I think Shylock misses you.”

“Probably indigestion. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow.” After replacing the receiver, she stared at it for a full minute.

“Samantha.” She whirled again at Jake's voice, finding him watching her from the living room archway.

“I . . . ah . . . Bree seems fine.” She avoided his eyes and toyed with the ink pot by the phone. She took a step backward as Jake advanced. “She said she thought Shylock misses me. That's quite an accomplishment, he's so self-sufficient and aloof.”

“Samantha. Come, sit down.” He held out his hand for hers. She knew if he touched her, she would be lost.

“No, no, I think I'll go to bed, I'm still not quite myself.” Her color had ebbed again, leaving pale cheeks and darkened eyes.

“Still running, Sam?” The anger in his tone was well controlled.

“No, no, I . . .”

“All right, then, for the moment we seem to be at a stalemate.” He captured her chin before she could avoid the gesture. “But we haven't finished by a long shot. Do you understand?”

She nodded, then broke away to flee to the sanctuary of her room.

Chapter Eight

As each day passed, Sabrina became more cheerful. Her features took on a roundness that gave her a contented appearance. And as Samantha watched her, she wondered if Sabrina possessed more strength than she had ever given her credit for. It was a sobering experience to see her usually dreamy sister grabbing life with determination and purpose while she herself couldn't seem to stop daydreaming. Jake Tanner, she had to admit, was disturbing her days and sneaking into her dreams.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she scowled and continued her morning trudge to the mailbox. He meant to have her, did he? Well, Samantha Evans had no intention of being had by anyone, especially some annoying cowboy with too much charm for his own good . . . and fascinating green eyes, and that beautiful mouth. . . .

***

Now the days began to lengthen. The sun grew in strength. Spring began to drift over the basin, greening the grass and teasing the crocuses to push their heads from the earth.

Scurrying down the hall as the doorbell interrupted her latest project—painting the nursery—Samantha wiped a few streaks of canary yellow on her jeans and opened the door.

The woman in the doorway smiled, her almond-shaped dark eyes making a thorough survey. “Hello, you must be Samantha. I'm Lesley Marshall.”

The introduction was unnecessary, for with an instinct she had been unaware of possessing, Samantha had recognized the woman instantly. “Please, come in. It's still rather cold, isn't it?” She smiled, refusing to acknowledge the effort it cost her, and shut the nippy May air outside.

“I'm so glad to meet you at last.” The dark eyes swept down, then up Samantha briefly. “I've heard so much about you.” There was light amusement in her voice.

“Oh, really? I'm afraid I can't say the same.” Her smile was faintly apologetic. “But, of course, I've been rather busy.”

“I would have been by sooner, but I wanted to wait until Sabrina was more up to company.”

“Bree's feeling much better these days. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. Let me take your coat.” Samantha hung the soft fur in the hall closet. Turning back to her visitor, she needed all her willpower to keep the social smile in place. The oatmeal slacks accentuated Lesley's sleekness; the trim cerise blouse set off her delicately feathered ebony hair and the perfect ivory of her skin. Desperately, Samantha wished a miracle would transform her navy sweatshirt with its Wilson High School banner and her paint-streaked jeans into something smart and sophisticated. As usual, her hair was escaping from its pins. She resisted the urge to bring her hand up to it and jam them in tightly.

“Bree's in the living room,” she announced, knowing the pale gray eyes had studied her and found her wanting. “I was just about to make some tea.”

Sabrina appeared at that moment, and Samantha gladly relinquished the role of hostess and escaped to the kitchen.

“So, she's beautiful,” she grumbled to an unconcerned Shylock as she set the kettle on to boil. “So, she's smooth and sophisticated and makes me feel like a pile of dirty laundry.” Turning, she lowered her face to his and scowled. “Who cares?” Shylock scowled back and went to sleep. Her thoughts wandered on. “I don't imagine he's ever laughed at her and patted her head as though she were a slow-witted child,” she muttered as she gathered up the tea tray.

“Sabrina, you look wonderful,” Lesley commented sometime later, sipping from a dainty china cup. “I'm sure having your sister with you must be very good for you. I don't have to tell you how concerned everyone has been.”

“No, and I appreciate it. Sam's made everything so easy. I didn't have anything to do but sit and heal.” She shot her sister an affectionate glance. “I don't know what we would have done without her these past two months.”

Lesley followed her gaze. “Jake was telling me that you're a gym teacher, Samantha,” she purred, managing to make this sound faintly disgusting.

“Physical education instructor,” Samantha corrected, slipping into a vague southern drawl.

“And you were in the Olympics, as well. I'm sure it must have been fascinating. You don't look the sturdy, athletic type.” The shrug of her shoulders was elegant, as was the small gesture of her hand. “I suppose one can never tell.” Samantha gritted her teeth against a biting retort and was vastly relieved when, glancing at a slender gold watch, Lesley suddenly rose from her chair. “I must run now, Sabrina, I have a dinner engagement.” Turning to Samantha, she offered a small smile. “So happy to have met you. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon.”

She left amid a swirl of fur and the drifting scent of roses. Samantha sat back in the cushioned chair, relaxing for the first time in more than an hour.

“Well, what did you think of Lesley?” Sabrina questioned, shifting into a more comfortable position on the sofa.

“Very sophisticated.”

“Come on, Sam.” Sabrina grinned, her hands folding across the mound of her belly. “This is Bree.”

“I don't know why I should have to comment, since you seem to be reading me so well. But—” her mouth curved into a rueful smile “—I suppose she's a bit smooth for my taste, and I didn't much care for the way she looked down that aristocratic nose at me.”

“Actually, you really don't appear very sturdy.” The observation was made with wide-eyed innocence. Samantha grimaced, pulling pins from her hair with a sharp tug until a cascade of golden brown tumbled in confusion about her shoulders.

“She'd have gotten her own back on that one if you hadn't sent me that ‘Don't make a scene' look.”

“Oh, well, Lesley can be nice enough when it suits her. Her father spoils her dreadfully. Her mother died when she was barely into her teens, and he transferred all his attention to Lesley. An overabundance of clothes, the best horses, and, as she grew older, cars and European tours and so on. Whatever Lesley wants, Lesley gets.”

“Poor thing.” The sarcasm caused her to feel spiteful and unjust. She sighed. “I suppose too much is as bad as too little. It was nice of her to come and see how you were getting along.”

Sabrina's laughter floated through the room. “Sam, darling, I've never known you to be so slow.” At her sister's puzzled expression, she continued. “Lesley didn't come to see me, she came to get a look at you.”

“At me?” Finely etched brows disappeared under a fringe of bangs. “What for? I wouldn't think a lowly gym teacher from Philadelphia would interest Lesley Marshall.”

“Any teacher who caught Jake Tanner's attention the way you have would interest Lesley. He wouldn't have gone out of his way to show just anyone around the ranch, you know.”

A light color rose in Samantha's cheeks. “I think Miss Marshall's mind was put to rest after she got a good look.” Her hand moved expressively down her sweatshirt and jeans. “She'd hardly see any danger here.”

“Don't underestimate yourself, Sam.”

“No false modesty.” Samantha's sigh came from nowhere. “If a man's attracted to silk and champagne, cotton and beer are no competition. I'm cotton and beer, Bree,” she murmured. Her voice trailed away with her thoughts. “I couldn't be anything else if I wanted to.”

***

The following day, Samantha's continuing battle with her paints and brushes was interrupted by a more welcome visitor. Annie Holloway arrived at the ranch's kitchen door with a beaming smile and a chocolate cake.

“Hi.” Samantha opened the door wide in welcome. “It's nice to see you again, and bearing gifts, too.”

“Never like to come empty-handed,” Annie announced, handing the thickly frosted cake to Samantha. “Dan always had a partiality for chocolate cake.”

“Me, too.” She eyed the cake hungrily. “He's not here right now, and I was just going to make some coffee. Do you suppose we could start without him?”

“Good idea.” Setting herself comfortably in a chair, Annie waved a wide-palmed hand. “I reckon it wouldn't hurt for us to have a slice or two.”

“Bree's taking a nap,” Samantha explained as she put down the mugs of steaming coffee. “The doctor says she still has to lie down every day, but she's beginning to grumble about it a bit. Very quietly, of course.”

“You're keeping an eye on her.” Annie nodded and added two generous spoons of sugar to her coffee. “Dan says she's up to company now.”

“Oh, yes, people have been dropping by now and again. Ah . . .” Samantha added cream to her own cup. “Lesley Marshall was by yesterday.”

“I wondered how long it would be before Lesley hauled herself over to get a look at you.”

“You sound like Bree.” Sipping her coffee, Samantha shook her head. “I don't know why Lesley Marshall would want to meet me.”

“Easy. Lesley's a mite stingy with her possessions, and she'd like to group Jake among them. She hasn't figured out yet that Jake is his own man, and all her daddy's money can't buy him for her. When my Jake picks his woman, he'll decide the time and place. He's always been an independent rascal. He was barely twenty when he lost his folks, you know.” Samantha lifted her eyes to the warm brown ones. “It wasn't an easy time for him, they'd been close. They were a pair, Jake's folks, always squabbling and loving. You're a bit like her when she was a young thing.” Annie smiled, her head tilting with it as Samantha remained silent. “Nobody's going to ride roughshod over you, at least not for long. I saw that straight off. She was stubborn as a mule with two heads, and there's times, though it's been better than ten years, I still miss her.”

“It must have been hard on Jake, losing his parents and having all the responsibility of the ranch when he was still so young,” Samantha murmured.

“Seemed to change from boy to man overnight, just out of college and still green. 'Course,” she continued, “he'd been in the saddle since childhood and what he hadn't learned about ranching from his father and that fancy college, he learned from doing. He picked up the reins of that ranch with both hands. There's not a man who works for him wouldn't wrestle a long-horned bull if he asked them to. He can fool you with that easygoing way of his, but nobody gets the better of Jake Tanner. He runs the ranch like his life, and Lesley's going to find him a hard steer to rope and brand.”

“Maybe it's more the other way around,” Samantha suggested. Annie's response was prevented by the appearance at the kitchen door of the man in question.

He entered with the easy familiarity of an old friend.

“Howdy, ma'am.” He broke the silence with a cocky smile, removed his battered Stetson and glanced at her attire. “Been painting?”

“Obvious, isn't it?” Samantha said sharply.

“Nice colors.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Are you going to part with another piece of that cake?”

“Jake Tanner!” Annie exclaimed in disgust. “You should be ashamed, gobbling Dan's cake when you've got a perfectly good one of your own at home.”

“Somebody else's always tastes better, Annie.” He slipped off his jacket, tossing it over a hook, and grinned boyishly. “He won't miss it, anyway. I brought you and the cake over, didn't I? You're not going to begrudge me one little piece?”

“Don't waste those eyes on me, you young devil.” Annie attempted to sniff and look indignant. “I'm not one of your fillies.”

Jake's appearance had successfully shattered Samantha's peace of mind. After a reasonable period of politeness, she excused herself to Annie and Jake and went back to her job in the nursery.

***

Samantha's artistic talent was decidedly impressionistic. The floor, protected by plastic, was splotched and splattered, but the walls were coming to life with a joy of brilliant colors. Of the four walls, two were yellow and two were white, and each was trimmed with its opposite's color. On the one wall that was unbroken by door or windows, she had begun the construction of a wide, arching rainbow, carefully merging blues into pinks into greens.

Time passed, and in the quiet concentration of her work she forgot her preoccupation with Jake. Sitting on the ladder's top step, she paused, brushing the back of her hand across her cheek absently as she viewed the results.

“That's a mighty pretty sight.”

She jolted, dropping the brush with a clatter, and would have fallen from the ladder had Jake's arms not gripped her waist and prevented the tumble.

“Sure spook easy,” Jake commented, removing the dangerously sloshing paint bucket from her hand.

“You shouldn't come up behind a person like that,” she complained. “I might have broken my neck.” She wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans. “Where's Annie?”

“With your sister. She wanted to show Annie some things she's made for the baby.” He set the bucket on the floor and straightened. “I didn't think they needed me.”

“No, I'm sure they didn't. I need that paint, though, and the brush you made me drop.” She glanced down, but his eyes remained on hers.

“I like the blue, especially that spot on your cheek,” Jake said.

She rubbed at the offending area in annoyance. “If you'd just hand those things back to me, I could finish up.”

“Green's nice, too,” he said conversationally, and ran a finger over a long streak on her thigh. “Wilson High.” His eyes lowered to the letters on her shirt. “Is that where you taught back east?”

“Yes.” She shifted, uncomfortable that the name was prominent over her breasts. “Are you going to hand me my things?”

“What are your plans for tonight?” he countered easily, ignoring her request. She stared, completely thrown off balance by his unexpected question.

“I, ah, I have a lot of things to do.” She searched her mind for something vital in her schedule.