The Education of Madeline (7 page)

Well, he'd accomplished that fantasy, but the result was unexpected. He thought it would quench his desire for it. He was dead wrong. In fact, Teague could barely keep from tearing back to her and finishing what he'd started.

He stood at the door for more than a minute until a movement in the shadows brought him back into consciousness. He peered at a door down the hall as it closed. Maybe Eppie or Isaiah.

He pushed away from the door with forcible effort and stalked down the hallway to the stairs. He brought his hand up to his nose and inhaled. God, her arousal was intoxicating. He couldn't stop himself from licking her taste from his fingers. When he did, he almost fell headfirst down the stairs but fortunately caught the banister in time.

She was delicious, arousing, and tempting. He was stupid, horny, and in way over his head. His dick had certainly never been this hard before, even when he was a teenager and all he thought about was said organ. He tried to adjust it to a more comfortable position, but it was no use. There would be no comfort until it lay deeply inside Madeline Brewster.

Teague realized that not only was he a whore, but that he was a well-paid one who was slowly but surely falling in love with his client.

 

In the smoky back room of Bart's Watering Hole, Sheriff Jackson Webster played a game of five-card stud with three other men. Strangers mostly, boys who worked the range on various ranches.

He didn't care. He was winning and had nearly two hundred dollars more than he'd come with. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and cigarettes. Jackson was puffing on a fat cigar he'd purchased at the store that day just in case a tempting poker game got going. He had a glass of good whiskey—Bart kept a supply for special customers like him. He sipped at the potent brew as he contemplated the three jacks he had in his hand.

“You in or not?” asked the man to his right who had a permanent sneer to his lips due to the scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear. His hair was inky black, and Jackson saw a ghost of Injun in the man. He thought his name was Rafe or something like that—couldn't be more than eighteen but was as hard as the floor under his feet.

“I'm in,” said Jackson as he tossed ten dollars into the pot. “Call.”

Each of the three men who still had cards in their hands laid them down. Jackson was not happy to see that Rafe's straight beat his hand. As the boy scooped his winnings toward him, Jackson opened his mouth to accuse the pup of cheating when the door opened abruptly.

“Sheriff.”

He turned around to find that young Negro boy at the door, twisting his hat in his hands and looking around the room like they were going to string him up.

Too bad it wasn't gonna happen that night. Jackson excused himself from the game, pocketed his winnings, and left the room to talk to the boy. He promised himself to play poker with Rafe again. Perhaps he could catch him cheating and be able to get back what he'd lost.

He led the boy up the back staircase to Bart's private office. It was a pigsty, but it was empty.

“What did you find out?”

The boy took a deep breath. “Mr. O'Neal, he went in the bathing room while Miss Madeline was taking a bath.”

Jackson sat in Bart's squeaky leather chair behind the desk piled high with papers and smiled at the boy through his cigar smoke.

“Sit down. What was your name again?”

“Isaiah, sir.”

He gestured widely. “Tell me more, Isaiah.”

M
adeline went to work at the bank in the morning. She walked with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. She was a woman who had spent the previous night receiving incredible pleasure, and it showed. She looked in the mirror that morning and was surprised to see a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye.

Madeline was afraid to admit to herself that she was falling in love with Teague. It was too soon. She barely knew the man.

On the ten-minute walk to the bank she decided she would have a private dinner with him that evening and try to get him to open up a bit. Perhaps about what had happened to his wife and child, or maybe about his childhood. She was insatiably curious about him and wanted to gobble up every crumb of information she could find.

Madeline passed Matilda Webster on the sidewalk by the barber, and Madeline smiled. Actually smiled at her! Matilda looked like she'd seen a ghost as her blue eyes opened wide in shock.

Perhaps she had. The ghost that lived inside Madeline had come back to life. All thanks to Teague. Well, him and Madeline's outrageous proposal that had changed her life. She was wearing her favorite purple dress with a jaunty hat that had little cherries that bounced as she walked.

Madeline reached the bank fifteen minutes before nine o'clock and used her key from her reticule to let herself in. The morning sunshine shone through the windows and onto the dark wooden floors. Her heels clicked across the shiny surface as she walked toward her desk.

She let out a yelp of surprise when Mr. Cleeson walked out of the back room where the safe was located. She clutched the corner of her desk, and her pulse jumped like crazy.

“Miss Brewster!”

“Mr. Cleeson! What are you doing here so early? You nearly scared me to death!”

His eyes widened like saucers, and he looked like a small child caught filching cookies. He pulled the door closed behind him and looked at her with eyes laced with guilt.

“I must confess something, Miss Brewster. Last night…last night I left without double counting the cash in the safe, so I came back this morning before the bank opened to finish it.”

Madeline frowned. “What made you neglect your duties?”

He shuffled his feet a bit before he answered. “I had a dinner engagement with a young lady I've been seeing. I was late and…”

He trailed off, and Madeline's temper rose. She handselected her employees as her father had—for their loyalty, hard work, and attention to detail. Not completing their assigned duties was so unheard of because of the caliber of the employees at the bank.

She'd never had to deal with an employee shirking their duties, especially one she trusted to act as manager in her place.

“Mr. Cleeson, this behavior is most unusual and both surprises and distresses me.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Brewster. I promise you it will never happen again.”

She set her reticule down on the desk and considered her options. “I'm going to have to think about this incident and then speak of it further with you.”

“Of course.”

She sat down behind the desk and looked at him. He still stood there until she prompted him. “Mr. Cleeson?”

He jumped like she'd pinched him and headed toward his desk across the bank.

“You will return your key to me until I decide what to do.”

He stopped, and she saw a fleeting glimpse of anger in his eyes. That was a definite problem.

“Yes, Miss Brewster.” He took the key from his vest pocket and laid it on her desk.

She nodded and took the key, dropping it into her reticule on the desk.

Madeline tried to concentrate the rest of the day until three, but she kept finding Mr. Cleeson's gaze on her. He'd turn away quickly, but she still felt it.

Something was wrong in the bank, and it bothered her that she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Mr. Cleeson had sounded honest, but it was all just so odd.

 

Madeline was never so glad to see the end of the day. She and Mr. Allen double counted the cash in the safe together and then locked up. By three-thirty, the spring in her step was less obvious.

The incident with Mr. Cleeson still nagged at her. She needed to stop thinking about it and focus on something else. Unfortunately that something else turned out to be someone.

Reverend Mathias.

He had known Madeline since she was a young girl and preached a bit of fire and brimstone from his pulpit. Madeline had never liked his sermons and stopped going when her father died. That had been two years ago. Another reason the town could point a finger at her and call her names.

The reverend was a tall man with a shock of white hair as thick as summer grass on a riverbank. He had cold blue eyes and wrinkled jowls that shook when he spoke. He had a belly made from Sunday dinners and gravied biscuits. He was wearing his customary black accoutrements and currently stood in the middle of the sidewalk staring at her. She either had to stop and speak to him or cross the street simply to avoid him.

Madeline decided she would be the adult and face her problem head-on.

“Good day, Madeline.” His voice was still as powerful as it had been twenty-five years earlier when she had first heard him. It was deep and resonant in the ear and in the soul.

“Good day, Reverend.”

Madeline tried to step past him, but he stuck out his arm, and she had no choice but to take it. It was hard yet brittle, and the cloth was abrasive beneath her wrist. Thank God she was wearing gloves, or her hands would be feeling it, too.

“It's a beautiful spring day. I thought it would be nice if we strolled together as you walked home.”

“Of course,” she answered while inwardly cursing like Teague.

“It's come to my attention that there are two strange men living in your house again, Madeline. You know we've had this discussion before.”

She sighed. “Yes, we have, and my answer remains the same. My house is open to anyone who needs a place to lay their head.”

He sighed and patted her hand. It was all she could do not to yank it from his grasp.

“This time you've gone too far, though. A colored boy and a criminal are no company for a genteel lady like yourself. I don't like that mulatto serving girl, either. Miscreants and ne'er-do-wells surround you. You must think of your immortal soul, Madeline.”

“I am, Reverend, which is why I open my house to people. Have a good evening.”

Madeline pulled her arm free and walked briskly away from him. She was wound up as tight as a watch spring now. How dare he judge her and her friends? Small-minded folks did not belong in cleric's clothes and certainly shouldn't be judging other people.

She heard him sputter behind her and call her back, but Madeline simply waved and kept walking faster. By the time she reached her front porch, the bright blue a welcoming sight, she was almost panting with effort. A trickle of perspiration slid down her back, dampening her purple dress.

As she walked up the steps, the weight of the day lifted off her shoulders. When she saw Teague sitting on the porch swing smiling at her, her spirit lifted, too. His dark hair was damp as though he'd just washed it. His beautiful eyes were smiling, along with his sexy mouth. He was wearing his own threadbare clothes, which stretched just a bit tightly across his massive chest and shoulders, not to mention his legs.

“Hi, there.”

His voice never failed to send shivers up her spine.

“Hi, there, yourself. Are you waiting for me?”

“Yes. Eppie told me not to fetch you and walk you home, so I thought I would wait here for you instead.”

Madeline walked over, pulled off her gloves, and sat on the swing next to him. It swayed gently back and forth, and the welcoming breeze cooled her heated skin. She felt comfortable sitting next to Teague.

“Thank you for welcoming me home.”

Teague's hand took hers and laced their fingers together. His was one of the few hands that could make hers feel small. She sighed.

This.
This
was what she wanted. To have a husband, a partner to sit quietly with and share her day.

“You looked tense, Maddie. Something wrong?”

“Nothing. Well…one of the bank employees left without finishing his duties yesterday. He snuck in early to finish it, and I caught him.”

Teague tensed slightly beside her.

“Did he take anything?”

“Take anything? No, no. I don't think he'd ever take anything.”

“You'd be surprised what people will do.”

Madeline shook her head. “I don't think I'd be surprised. You forget I'm the Black Widow, Rufus Brewster's daughter. I've seen the worst in people for a long time.”

His thumb started stroking the back of her hand, sending delightful sparks of pleasure up her arm.

“Something else is bothering you.”

How could he see inside her so easily? She supposed they shared a connection now. Linked by their shared physical closeness.

“Reverend Mathias tried to poke his nose in my life again.”

“Local preacher?”

“He preaches hell and damnation for everyone but Matilda Webster and her band of witches.” She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Did I actually say that out loud?”

Teague chuckled. “You did, and I agree with you. She probably carries a broom with her. Does she have a cat?”

Madeline smiled and looked into his eyes. For a moment, she saw who Teague could be if he threw off the cloak of self-hate and grief that surrounded him. He allowed her that small glimpse before the walls slid back and his eyes were again unreadable.

“You're a puzzling man, Teague O'Neal.”

He shrugged one big shoulder. “I'm a simple man, Maddie. I eat, I sleep, I work. There isn't much more to me.”

“But there used to be.”

It popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Instantly his face hardened, and his jaw clenched. “What do you mean?”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“In the picture I saw in your bag, you looked…so happy, content, like a man who enjoyed life and his family. I expect you did more than eat, sleep, and work.”

He broke her gaze and looked out at the yard. She heard a bee droning near the rosebushes that had just blossomed by the front gate. She waited with just enough patience that she didn't shake him.

“Life was different then, Maddie. Before the war.”

She squeezed his hand and willed him to continue, but he remained stubbornly silent.

“The war didn't touch us much out here.”

“It destroyed everything I had, including my heart. Don't expect it to come back to life, Maddie. We're together for only a month, and then I'm moving on.”

He stood abruptly, stomped down the front steps, and then headed for the side of the house. Madeline cursed her wayward tongue. With another sigh, she rose.

A hot bath would be most welcome, and perhaps she could persuade Eppie to make a special dinner for Teague tonight.

Then maybe lesson three might happen. Madeline had no idea what that lesson entailed, but hoped a blindfold and more intense pleasure was the beginning.

 

Eppie made a beef stew and dumplings for dinner, which turned out to be one of Teague's favorites. He sat across from Madeline in the dining room and ate without saying much. She was content to watch him. Although they had ended their conversation earlier a bit abruptly, the silence in the room was comfortable.

Madeline decided it was because they'd been intimate. Well, she had yet to actually touch other than his lips, but he had touched her nearly everywhere. In fact, she could hardly wait to get her turn at Teague.

“Will I get to touch you soon?”

His spoon clattered into his bowl, and a smattering of beef stew landed on the tablecloth.

“You sure don't believe in beating around the bush.”

He glanced at her with heat in his eyes. Heat that ignited an answering flame inside her.

“No, I guess I don't. Things won't happen unless you ask for them. That's how I found you.”

He licked his lips, and Madeline could barely take her eyes off that incredible tongue.

“You want to touch me, Maddie?”

Her stomach clenched with a fluttering of anticipation.

“Oh, yes. I can hardly think of anything but touching you.”

His eyes burned brightly. “You certainly know how to turn a man's head.”

She shook her head. “I've never been a woman to turn a man's head.”

“Don't doubt yourself, Maddie. You're beautiful, especially when you're naked and aroused.”

She froze like a deer near a hunter. His words were meant to tease her, test her, tantalize her. It was working perfectly.