Texas Passion

Texas Passion

by

Anita Philmar

Texas Passion

West Texas,
June 1861

“Daggum-it,
Tom. If you don’t tell me where Trent McCall is, no one else will.” Catherine
gripped her hands at her sides and fought to control her temper. Tom, her best
friend since the age of five, would help, even if the code for men in the west
was to cover for each other.

Bare to the
waist, Tom Hayes stood in a patch of light from the barn door, rubbing down his
bay. The fresh scent of hay and horseflesh pulled her back to her childhood,
the open range, riding bareback for hours, and swimming in the watering hole.

Tom shook his
head. Golden locks, tied with a thin leather strip, hung down his
sweat-slickened back. Beautiful curls any woman would give her eyeteeth to
possess. “He’s still on the cattle drive and won’t be back from Kansas for a
few more days.”

Catherine
shoved auburn strands that escaped the tight knot at the back of her neck from
her face. “Right. What you really mean is, Mr. McCall has already planned the
end-of-the-trail party and doesn’t want me to know.” Dancing until dawn,
drinking until they fell into a mindless stupor, and bedding every available
woman, the men on the cattle drive loved celebrating their return home. “So how
many whores are they planning to hire?”

Tom lifted
the brush and pointed it at her. Thin lines streaming around his blue eyes
showed the time he spent working in the sun. “Catherine Turnberry, you best be
watching that mouth of yours. Your pa hears you talking like that, and he’ll
tan your hide.”

With muscular
biceps and broad shoulders, Tom had every girl in the county chasing him during
their younger years. Yet, he could have cared less, interested only in riding
and hunting at the time.

‘Course, she’d
missed the chase his wife had waged. The short trip Catherine had taken to
visit her aunt in Boston had turned into a four-year stretch. But unlike the
socialites of her aunt’s association, who fell for every rich man’s line of
love, Catherine knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t some sweet talking dandy. No,
even if her mother had wanted her to stay with her aunt to learn to act like a
lady, she planned to marry Trent McCall and become a rancher’s wife in the
greatest state in the union.

“Then tell me
who he’s hired to work the party. Ms. Lillian? Or Madame Foch?” She stepped
forward and caressed the bay’s neck. The smooth hair under her palm calmed
Catherine’s nerves. For most of her life, she’d planned to be Trent’s wife.
What if he didn’t find her desirable? “I don’t want him to be with another
woman only hours before seeing me for the first time in years.”

She didn’t
need the comparison.

Tom groaned. “He’s
a man, Catherine. He’s bedded lots of women while you’ve been gone.” He dropped
the brush in a nearby bucket and studied her face with a probing glare. “You’ve
had outings with other men, too, right?”

She nodded. “But
I never…”

The words
backed up in her throat. She swallowed hard, dipped her head and stroked the
bay. How could she tell him she’d known the appeal of the opposite sex, had
seen the hunger in men’s eyes while cleaning up after the girls at the
burlesque shows? Neither her mama nor her aunt knew about her job as a maid in
the theater. They both thought she had attended to the needs of a pampered socialite.

But what
other choice did she have? No other job paid as much so she’d lied. Her face
burned. No one in Texas knew about her real life back East, especially not her
parents. “For God sake, Tom, you know I grew up on my father’s ranch. I
understand the basics of sex.”
But I’ve never sleep with a man. I only ever
wanted Trent.

She ignored
the anger, bubbling through her veins at the thought of Trent bedding another
woman and jumped ahead. “We’re practically engaged. He shouldn’t be fooling
around.”

“Don’t see
how you can stop him.” Tom ran his hand across his chest, and a frown marred
his brow. “His dad has everything arranged for Thursday night. We’re setting up
tables for food and drinks in here. We’re even having a fiddle player so the
cowboys and ladies can dance. Ms. Lillian is bringing the girls around nine,
and they’re not scheduled to leave until dawn.”

Four days.
She scrambled for a plan to keep Trent away from those women. Feeling defeated,
Catherine fought the tears burning behind her eyelids. “Do you think it’d help
to talk to Ms. Lillian?”

“No.” He
grabbed his shirt off a hook and shoved his arm into the sleeves. The ripple
affect of his chest muscles sent a tingle of longing through her. Would Trent
look as good without a shirt on?

“Ms. Lillian
lives more than fifty miles away. There’s no way you can ride across the state
without the whole county finding out about it.” Tom stomped past her and
grabbed the bay’s reins to lead the horse into a stall.

The pungent
odor of manure assaulted her senses. She glanced down and whipped her skirt
from the mess on the dirt floor. What could she do? The man deserved to
celebrate his safe return from the cattle drive.

“And what
exactly would you say to her anyways?” Tom stepped out of the stall and closed the
door. The sound rumbled through the large barn. “She won’t listen to you. The
McCalls are one of her biggest clients.”

“Fine.”
Catherine, struggling for a viable alternative, grabbed his arm. “Then help me
arrange for him to meet me somewhere else that night.”

“Cat, the man
hasn’t seen you in four years. He won’t want to give up a night of fun with a
whore to have tea with you.” He scanned her blue, silk dress as if she still
belonged in Boston. “Your mother would probably faint if she learned you wore
such a get-up to parade through the barn.”

She tightened
her grip and refused to let Tom step away. “I’m not serving him tea.”

His gaze met
hers. She raised an eyebrow and caught the moment he deduced what she planned
to offer Trent. “Your father will kill you if he ever finds out, and me along
with you if I agree to help.” The slight slump in his shoulders and his grim
smile signaled his defeat.

Catherine
grinned and released his arm. Tom might be married, but he knew her dream and
he wouldn’t let her down. “The hunting cabin out in the back forty should be
the perfect place for us to meet.”

Tom stared at
her a moment, his expression revealing his need to argue. Then, as if coming to
terms with her stubborn determination, he nodded, pulled a handkerchief from
his back pocket, and wiped his hands. “And how exactly do you plan to pull this
off?”

****

Noise echoed
from the barn’s rafters. A fiddler played a lively tune while the men and women
squirmed on the dirt dance floor and twisted to a beat that had nothing to do
with music. The sweet scent of liquor filled the area. Trent licked his lips
and spotted a few men passed out in the corners.

Not
particularly in the mood to party, Trent eyed the half-dozen women in the barn.
One sat, bouncing on a cowboy’s lap. Against the far wall, another woman took
Lester’s hurried thrusts. The ecstasy on her face ignited an ache in his groin.
He shifted his gaze to the whores on the dance floor and located a busty blonde
by the buffet table holding court with two half-drunk wranglers.

He closed the
barn door and proceeded to the beer barrel. Maybe a drink would dim the
conversation he’d just had with his father. He picked up a glass. How could his
dad expect him to marry a girl he hadn’t seen in years?

“Hey, Trent,
it looks like you got to the party a little late. Good thing, Ms. Lillian saved
a special girl just for you.” Tom White, the ranch’s foreman, stood alone
against a nearby stall.

“What? Isn’t
this the selection for the evening?” Trent scanned the half-clad women. Had his
father set up a private session in the hope of softening his resistance toward
the idea of marriage? “Where’s she hiding?”

“Said you’d
find her at your old hunting cabin.” Tom tipped back his glass, drained it, and
slammed the empty on the table. “As for me, I’m heading home to my wife. These
boys don’t look like they’ll last much longer.”

Trent studied
the motley group. “You’re right. Not much point of hanging around here if there’s
a woman waiting for me somewhere else.” He turned and strolled out of the barn.
After the weeks he’d spent in the saddle, he could use a different kind of
ride. One that included pounding into a hot pussy and releasing the frustration
pooling in his loins.

Tom followed
him outside. “I saddled your horse and tied it over here by mine.”

Trent’s
favorite stallion waited next to Tom’s bay. Why hadn’t he noticed his horse
when he’d entered the barn?

“Thanks, Tom.”
He walked to the black horse and untied the reins from the hitching post. A
cooling breeze brushed across his face and some of his earlier anger with his
father’s ultimatum faded. “I bet the girl waiting on me is already asleep.”

Tom strolled
to the bay. “Can’t say. My wife always seems to be awake no matter what time I
make it home. Women just like knowing where their men are.”

The slight
stoop of his foreman’s shoulders and his reluctance to leave seemed at odds
with his words.
What’s the burr under his saddle?

Then Tom
swayed on his feet and mounted his horse.

Must be
drunk.

Trent put his
foot in the stirrup, slung a leg over the stallion’s rear, and landed in the
saddle. “Well, I better get moving. I’ve already wasted half the night, and I
still have a twenty-minute ride in front of me.” Trent waved and guided the
stallion down the trail leading from the house.

Luckily, the
moon, glowing on the horizon lit the path and made the trip easier than some of
the black nights he’d endured on the cattle drive. Images of women flashed in
his head. He settled on a brunette with full breasts and creamy white skin.
Need tightened his balls, and he shifted in the saddle to ease the pressure,
then kicked his mount and the soft canter turned into a gallop on the dirt
path. Dark shadows lurked over the landscape. A sorrowful yelp echoed across
the plains, and he scanned the area for coyotes. Why couldn’t the varmints find
another place to feed?

And why—damn
it—did his father arrange for him to take a wife without consulting him first?

He had no
desire to join the war between the North and the South, but that didn’t mean he
needed to get hitched to avoid serving. Lots of men had decided to continue
with their lives and not become involved in the skirmish.

Catherine
Turnberry was the daughter of their closest neighbor, and as a child she’d been
trying at best. Wild brown hair streaming around her face, gangly arms and
legs, she’d be lucky to…another vision replaced the first. The day he’d come
across Catherine riding across his family’s land. A broad smile across her
face, she’d worn pants and looked like a boy. Yet the moment he’d flagged her
down, he noticed the open neckline of her blouse and the gentle curve of her
breasts.

She’d swung
off her horse and landed right in front of him. “This better be good, Mr.
McCall, because I’m already late.”

Her sassy
manner had ignited his interest. Was she still such a rebel to question a man
twice her size? He glanced ahead and directed his horse across a small creek.
With the cabin in sight, he licked his lips in anticipation. Maybe the pleasure
of bedding a woman would lighten the load of facing a wedding.

Tonight, he
could enjoy himself—no Catherine, no marriage, just a long night of rowdy
fucking.

****

“It’s too hot
for a fire.” Catherine groaned at the wooden walls and ignored the book on her
lap. A light breeze from the cracks in the shutters swept along her neck and
under the collar of her cotton robe. Her gaze darted to the bed in the corner.
A worn quilt she’d allowed to air all day covered the sagging mattress. Clean
sheets lay underneath the spread.

Should she
turn down the covers to make the bed look more appealing? Or would he care more
about what she had on?

She ran her
hand along her ribcage and pictured the black corset under her robe. The tight
fit hugged her waist and lifted her breasts. She shifted in the rocker, and the
soft fabric of her favorite pink bloomers stroked her legs. Butterflies danced
in her stomach. Could she really go through with this?

And what was
taking Trent so long? Did Tom forget to tell him?

The sound of
hooves against the hard ground heightened her nerves. The thud of boots on the
porch pulled the breath from her lungs. The latch clicked and the door opened.
A large man filled the doorway.

Four years
hadn’t changed Trent’s tall muscular frame. Wide shoulders, sinewy arms, narrow
hips, and a flat stomach, he stood like a Viking ready for battle. Heat, with a
touch of fear, filled her body at the thought of him lying over her. She drew
in a hurried breath, closed her book, and rose from the chair.

“Well, now,
did you think I’d ever arrive?” He shut the door and tossed his hat onto the
table by the door. Dark curly hair circled his head, and his dark brown eyes
met hers.