The Education of Madeline (3 page)

Hearing the name again after all these years brought a rush of memories filled with a myriad of emotions. Sweet Lord, how she missed her mother and the affection she'd given as freely as her smiles. Without her, life had become a stolid, rigid place filled with shadows and duties.

Maddie.

It was as if a door had opened into a dark room. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. All the good deeds she had done over the past two years had felt hollow. Until now. Until she heard the magic word that unlocked life again.

“Maddie?”

Teague was calling her. She must be sitting there with a foolish expression on her face, looking like she had lost her mind, hanging on to the green beans like a lifeline.

“I'm sorry. I was wool gathering! I'm not usually so…scatterbrained.”

“I didn't think you were.”

He finally let the bowl loose, and Madeline set it down next to her plate.

“You are a very charming man, Teague. I think there is a lot more to you than you let on.”

He shrugged again and tucked into his food as only a hungry man would: with single-minded determination. Madeline picked at her food and simply watched him. He was obviously very hungry but still used his fork and knife and wiped his mouth occasionally on the napkin.

“I was born and raised here in Plum Creek. I've never traveled anyplace else.”

Teague looked up at her with surprise clearly written on his face. He finished chewing the bite in his mouth before he spoke.

“You've never left Plum Creek? Not even to go to Denver?”

She shook her head. “No, my father traveled frequently, but he never took me with him.”

“Why not?”

“I think he was trying to engrain a sense of home and the purpose of a woman to keep that home for her man. Not that he ever let any man near me. I guess he was too busy allowing me to run his house.” That sounded good. Might as well let all the ghosts out of the closet. “My father was not an easy man to like, Teague. In fact, most people hated him. He was cruel, selfish, and rich as Midas. He owned half this town and half the people that live here. They were beholden to him for loans and favors so deeply he choked the life out of some of them, like a big, vicious weed in a garden. Everyone attended his funeral, but my impression was that they came to gloat that he was dead.”

Teague nodded. “And all that money and property, and indebtedness, transferred to you?”

Madeline grimaced. “Unfortunately yes.”

“You know, Maddie, most people would give their right arm to live in a house like this and be up to their noses in money.”

He sounded angry.

“I'm sorry; I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful, spoiled child. It's just…I didn't want it. The town painted me with the same brush, and no matter what I've done to change my color in their eyes, nothing's worked. I am as black-hearted as he was. My only redeeming quality is my money and what it can do for this town.” Madeline couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Don't expect me to feel sorry for you.”

“I don't. I just wanted to let you know what you were getting into working for Rufus Brewster's daughter. They call me the Black Widow, you know.”

He chuckled. “You? Why?”

“Some people think I smothered my father to get his money. And because I'd been acting as his hostess for almost twenty years, well, there you have it. The Black Widow.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Do you have a red mark on your belly?”

Said belly suddenly felt very heavy, as did the rest of her below that. Heavy and very aware of the image of Teague examining her belly. Her naked belly.

Madeline forced a small laugh. “No, no red mark on my belly.”

Teague started eating again, apparently undeterred by the airing of the Brewster family dirty laundry.

“You're likely to hear the gossip, perhaps be the target of some of the nastier ones if you stay here and work for me.”

“I can handle it.”

Madeline nodded and picked at her chicken again. Her appetite had vanished. She was itchy, restless. Like something was nibbling at her that she couldn't quite scratch.

Eppie came into the room to check on them. “You folks about finished?”

Madeline nodded her head and handed her plate to Eppie. She frowned at the food left on the plate. “You need to eat more than that.”

“I'm not hungry. Don't nag me, Eppie.”

“You don't get any pie if you don't eat your meal.”

Madeline rolled her eyes, and Eppie giggled.

“Looks like Mr. O'Neal is going to finish off all this food and get a pie to himself for dessert.”

He put the last bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth, chewed, and then wiped his mouth.

“Pie?”

Eppie smiled at him. “Peach pie. One of the trees in the orchard was ready last week.”

Teague rubbed his flat belly and made a silly face. “I don't know if I can eat one more bite. But because you went to the trouble to make it, I'll force myself to be polite and have some.”

Eppie played along with him. “You are truly a gentleman, sir.” She curtsied and took both plates with her as she left the room, still smiling.

“Didn't you like your supper?”

Madeline shrugged. “It was good. It always is. I just…My appetite is suffering.”

Teague raised one dark eyebrow and took a long drink of his lemonade. He licked his lips and then looked straight at her with hooded eyes.

“Feeling hot and achy?”

She nodded, wondering how he knew that.

“Maybe your stomach is fluttery?”

She nodded again. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. His big thumb caressed her palm slowly. She watched it slide back and forth, experiencing a rush of pleasure from the simple contact.

“I feel it, too, Maddie.”

“Feel w—what?” she stammered, definitely off-kilter.

“This. Whatever it is between us. There's a connection there.”

He pulled her hand toward his mouth, and she watched, fascinated, as he gently bit the pad of her thumb. A pinch of desire squeezed her so tightly she lost her breath.

“It makes things easier. At the same time, it makes it more complicated.”

Madeline couldn't think about easier or complicated. She was thinking about him gently biting other parts of her body. Parts that were currently tight, aching, or throbbing. He kissed the palm of her hand and then let it loose.

Eppie came in with the pie, breaking the sensual spell woven by Teague's mouth. Madeline knew she was in for a lot more than a simple education if just that small touch of his lips wreaked havoc on her.

I
t was a long week. The most excruciatingly long week of Teague's life. When Madeline made her indecent proposition, he'd almost said yes immediately. Almost. The idea that she may have asked any man before him pricked his conscience. So his second reaction was to say no. Almost.

In the end, he asked her to give him a week to decide. That was before he had stared at Maddie across the dinner table, nibbling at her food, her luscious pink tongue licking her fork and then at the grease on her lips. It was all he could do not to grab her and throw up her skirts on the table. Fortunately she apparently had other places to be during the day, so there was at least a small reprieve while she was gone.

Maddie was a passionate, sensual woman trapped inside the body of a thirty-two-year-old spinster who hadn't experienced life yet. A woman trapped like a butterfly in a glass jar all her life. Never knowing what was beyond it. It wasn't uncommon for folks to stay in the same town all their lives—most times it was due to lack of money for traveling. But it wasn't common for a rich man's daughter to never leave. They obviously had money to burn. Yet her father had kept her here. It was
how
he kept her here that puzzled Teague.

She was obviously a strong woman, used to getting her way and ordering others around. Then, on the other side of that, she was kind to him and to Eppie, the young mulatto who apparently lived and worked in the house.

It was as if there were two of them. Maddie and Madeline. Maddie was the woman who yearned to break free of the confines she lived in. Madeline was the rich banker's daughter who snubbed the world for being less than she was. One was kind and generous. The other was bossy and argumentative.

She was a conundrum. She was also driving him mad. Each morning, she had breakfast with him. Maddie had a weakness for cinnamon rolls, so Eppie made them every day. It was sheer torture to watch her eat a cinnamon roll with near passion. Watching her lick the stickiness off her fingers with that pink tongue each morning distracted him for hours afterward. During the day, she brought him cold lemonade or water as he worked on repairing the barn and corral. Her smile was dazzling, and her tits were mouthwatering.

He'd said a week, and he meant a week, but damn it all to hell, after two days, he wanted to beg her. He didn't. Instead he focused on finding out Maddie's secrets and what lurked behind those dark eyes. He wasn't sure if he was doing it for the money or not.

 

Madeline was sitting in the parlor with her tea, staring out the window at the blue sky. She needed to get to the bank, but her mind refused to cooperate. Two days had passed, and Teague hadn't mentioned her proposition yet. She was worried he was going to say no. The thing was, she was beginning to like him. Really like him. He was funny, smart, and could be charming.

Eppie came to the parlor.

“Someone here to see you.” Her eyes were hostile as her glance flicked behind her to the man in the shadows.

Jackson walked in with his usual swagger, hat in hand. He was dressed in a freshly pressed blue shirt, denims, and those sharp-toed boots he favored. His smile was bright and meant to be devastating.

“Morning, Madeline.”

“Good morning, Jackson. What brings you by?”

He twirled the hat in his hands and peered out the window.

“I'm checking on the prisoner. Has he given you any trouble?”

For some reason, the sneer of his lips made the hackles snap to attention on her neck. He could always find a way to get her goat.

“Mr. O'Neal has been nothing but a gentleman. Polite, mannerly, and a very hard worker.”

“Is he sleeping in the barn?”

“Excuse me?” Madeline felt her face flush at the question.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I know you well enough, Madeline. You would never do anything improper.”

Her flush turned into an all-out fire on her face. Little did Jackson know what improper things she
wanted
to do but hadn't. Yet.

Madeline stood, intent on getting this windbag out of her house.

“Is there anything else, Sheriff?”

He couldn't mistake the cold crispness of her words for anything but a dismissal.

“No, thank you kindly for your time, Madeline. I'll just stop on by and chat with the prisoner on my way out.”

He put his hat on and tipped it to her and then swaggered through the door with one last wink in her direction.

Madeline shuddered. The visit left a bad taste in her mouth. It was like chatting with a rattlesnake. She wondered what he could possibly want to talk to Teague about.

She walked to the kitchen, took a glass from the cupboard, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. As she took a gulp, she saw Jackson talking to Teague. She couldn't hear what they said through the window, but she could watch.

Eavesdropping was another sin her father used to rap her knuckles about. She wasn't eaves
dropping
; she was eaves-
watching
.

Take that, old man!

Teague shook his head, and Jackson poked him in the chest with two fingers. Teague pushed his arm away and shook his head again. Jackson poked him again and then pushed his shoulder.

It was like pushing on a tree. Teague didn't move. His expression was stony.

What in the world?

She was going to go outside and find out what was going on, but Jackson shook his finger at Teague and stomped away.

Teague looked after him with enough fury to nearly form daggers with his eyes. The old adage was true—if looks could kill, Jackson would have been dead.

 

It was the third day of his residence, and she was slowly going mad.

Watching Teague had become an obsession. The first day he was repairing the corral, Madeline went out to bring him a glass of water and ended up dropping it on her foot. He had taken off his shirt and was half naked in her yard!

Oh, sweet Lord above! She was wrong. A cold marble sculpture could never compare to the muscle and sinew and pure fire that was Teague's body. Just looking at him nearly burned her eyes. He swung a sledgehammer down, driving the post far into the ground. The swing of that instrument in his hands was like a symphony of human beauty. Everything rippled and sang together as an orchestra might. The raw masculinity made a tune her body hummed along with.

Teague was a gorgeous man. Maddie could barely keep her hands to herself. She walked within three feet of him before she realized her hand was outstretched, ready to caress the sun-bronzed god who had stumbled into her life. She whirled around and ran back to the house for another glass.

She made excuses to herself to visit him during the day when she was home. The hours at the bank gave her time to cool herself off, but then there were the times she was home and temptation was within reach. Each time, no matter if he wore his shirt or not, her heart and her body reacted as one. Reaching for him, wanting him. Needing to know what it felt like to touch him. What it felt like for him to touch her. Her experience was limited to simple kissing and hugging, but she could imagine quite a bit more. Especially with the help of the medical texts she'd read. Although none of them quite explained the exact details of fornication, she was fairly certain she had figured it out.

Now she couldn't wait to try it. If only she hadn't agreed to give Teague a week to decide. A week was too long. Far too long. She should have given him one day. No more. She had to find some way to distract herself from
thinking
about bedding him. An idea struck her.

“Do you play any games, Teague?” Maddie asked as they left the dining room after supper.

He didn't answer, so she turned to look at him. A mischievous grin played around those beautiful lips, and one eyebrow arched over humor-filled eyes.

“What kind of games?”

Madeline felt a bit flustered, and she hoped it didn't reflect in her cheeks. She didn't want him to know her self-control was melting like an icicle in July.

“Checkers, chess, backgammon. Those kinds of games.”

When his grin turned into a full-blown smile, Madeline gripped the doorjamb to stay upright. She thought she was prepared. She was so very wrong. That smile was devastating. It lit up his whole face, made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and turned her into a puddle of unrequited passion.

“No, but I play a mean game of poker. Do you play?”

Madeline shook her head, disappointed. That canceled her distraction idea.

“Would you like to learn?”

She felt an urge to blurt, “No!” but grabbed it before it could be let loose. The proper lady wasn't going to make the decisions this time. Proper ladies may not play poker, but Maddie Brewster was going to learn.

After searching for thirty minutes, they found a deck of cards in her father's old desk. Teague suggested they play in the kitchen, as it was in the back of the house and relatively private.

When they settled at the table, the lamplight threw a cozy glow over the room. Madeline watched Teague's hands, fascinated by how quickly he shuffled the cards. His fingers were lithe and strong at the same time. She wondered how those fingers would feel on her skin, making her temperature rise degree by degree.

Teague explained a game called five-card stud. The rules were a bit complex, but Madeline understood most of them. He let her play a couple of practice hands, and then they started to play in earnest.

Madeline lost five hands in a row before she started to really enjoy playing the game. She won the next hand. Teague actually looked surprised.

“Very good, Maddie. You're getting the hang of it.”

Madeline smiled. “I think I understand why gamblers like to play this so much. Can we gamble, too?”

Teague threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh, and the rough, raspy sound of it did something strange to her equilibrium.

“Don't you think gambling is the root of all evil?”

“No, I don't. I've seen the root of evil, and it's definitely not poker.”

He looked like he wanted to respond, but he didn't. He shrugged. “I don't have money to play for.”

Madeline watched his hands as he shuffled the cards again.

“How about we play for truths?” he said without looking up.

“Truths?”

“Yes, each time one of us wins a hand, we get to ask the other a question, and the loser must tell the truth.”

His hands shuffled faster. By the time the cards started flying off the deck, his fingers were a blur of motion. In a few seconds, five cards lay in front of her.

“I'll play for truths. There isn't much I've got to hide anyway.”

Madeline lost the first truth hand.

“Are you ready for the first question?” he asked with a small grin.

“Yes, I'm ready.”

“Why did you paint your house blue?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I thought you were going to ask me what color my bloomers were.”

His eyebrows rose. “Now you've spoiled it. That was my next question.”

“I painted it blue because it was my favorite color, and I wasn't allowed to wear anything that bright. After my father died, I indulged myself.”

He nodded. “That answers why it's so damn bright.”

She laughed and waved her hands at the cards.

“Deal again, Teague. I'm itching to ask you a truth question.”

This time, Madeline won. She pondered her question for several minutes, earning a sigh and rolling eyes from the sore loser.

“Why didn't you say no to my proposition to bed me?”

He clearly hadn't been expecting a personal question like that. The cards he'd been shuffling fell out of his hand like an explosion, raining down all over the table and floor.

“I had to stop myself from saying yes too quickly.”

Heat pooled low and insistent in her belly, and a throbbing began between her legs.

“Does this mean you're saying yes to my…proposal?” she asked. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton. “I mean, it sounds as though you're going to say yes.”

He stood abruptly, and she could see the outline of his penis clearly in his pants. My, oh, my! That certainly was a large-looking organ. Much larger than ones in the drawings in the book.

Teague let the rest of the cards fall from his hands and came around the side of the table. The primal way he walked was enough to make her nipples pucker. He clearly wanted her.
Her
. Madeline Brewster!

When he reached her side, he knelt down on the floor next to her and cupped her face in his big hands.

“Why me?”

She shrugged, somehow. “I need a big man. I'm not…petite or feminine like most women. I didn't want my teacher to feel embarrassed by the size difference if I was bigger. You…You're bigger than me. And…”