Wild Texas Rose (6 page)

“We were dancing, that's all.”

“He was gonna ki-kiss you.”

“Gail, that's really, truly none of your business.”

“Didn't mean to be a busybody.” Her unfocused eyes blinked. “I'm just ... You gotta understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Nothing. I'm just crazy t'night.” Gail shook her head. “Would you fetch me a cuppa coffee? Please.”

Mariah scrutinized the young woman who was too young to be so troubled. Such a shame. She rose to her feet and started across the straw floor ... but then stopped in her tracks.

Whit had his arm around Barbara Catley! A burst of jealousy flashed behind Mariah's eyes. This morning the blonde had been wild-haired, crude, and devoid of lip rouge. Tonight, wearing a pale-blue gown of crossbar lawn and with her blond hair upswept, she was a vision of loveliness. Mariah glanced down at her own frock, wishing she had made a better effort at choosing her attire.

Brown bombazine that had seen three years of wear could hardly compare with pastel lawn! Perhaps it was self-centered to wish herself the belle of Whit's eye, but Mariah wished it nonetheless.

Insanity! For crying out loud, she admonished herself, why shouldn't he hold his lover close? Evidently they had settled their differences, and she ought to be happy for the spurned woman, the object of her pity just that morning. She
should
be pleased ... but wasn't.

Remembering her mission and the young woman whose problems were evidently much greater than clothes and male attention, Mariah sallied forth to the coffeepot.

The steaming cup in her hand, she made a point not to look at the happy couple as she returned to the tipsy woman.

“See.” Gail pointed toward Whit and Barbara, who were stepping to a reel. Her voice had lost much of its slur. “He forgot our drinks. He's too busy with that one. Don't expect him back at the house tonight.”

“I don't.”

“You were.”

“Drink your coffee,” Mariah said.

Staring at Whit, Gail took the cup to her lips.

Does he have anything to do with her drunken state? Mariah wondered. Though Gail was a married woman and related to Whit, did she have feelings for him that transcended familial ties?

“You love that fickle-hearted man, don't you, Gail?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you love your husband?”

“Oh, yes.” Gail cupped her hands around the steaming mug. “It's a different kind of love, though. Whit, I want to see happy. Ed, I try to make happy. Love of family, and romantic love. Understand?”

“Yes,” she replied, remembering the feelings for her brothers as opposed to those for Lawrence.

A young sandy-haired man strolled up who was vaguely familiar to Mariah. Then she remembered. Slim Culpepper. The odious cowboy who had called her “purty” in front of the Double Inn.

“Can I have this dance, ma' am?” he asked, but she declined his offer.

Gail set her cup aside. “Slim, I'll dance with you.”

The two whirled onto the sawdust, and Mariah tried not to glance at Whit and his lady friend ... but her eyes moved as if they had minds of their own. He was bending down to listen to something Barbara had to say. Mariah could take no more.

Quick as her feet could carry her, she departed the barn. She took a shuddering breath of bracing air. How was she going to get through the next few days, being in such close proximity to Reagor, who had no problem turning from one woman to the next in the blink of an eye?

“Have you no shame?” she asked herself aloud while ascending the porch steps. “Within minutes of deciding to break Joseph's heart, you're all over Whit, like butter on bread.”

Trying to get a grip on herself, she glanced from side to side. The covered veranda ran the length of the two-story boardinghouse's front porch. A porch swing hung from the ceiling and two rockers faced the road. Climbing roses grew up the rails and amazingly to a woman from the cold climes of the English Channel, the scarlet roses were blooming. She walked over to pull a stem gingerly toward her nose.

“Smell sweet, don't they?”

Whit. Whit! Gail had been wrong. He was here. But maybe he's made a detour to pick up a smoking jacket, Mariah thought facetiously. Or maybe he's after an extra set of clothes in case Barbara tosses him on his behind again.

“I love roses,” Mariah said, her tone benign.

“Better enjoy ‘em while you can. There aren't any roses in Trick'em. 'Course, once you get there, the story'll be different.”

“That's the kind of thing a man says when he's courting a woman.”

“Is it?”

“Yes–Ow!” Mariah slapped her wrist. Beneath her fingers she felt a small insect. “Something bit me!”

“Probably a red ant. Let's get into the light and I'll look at it.”

“That won't be necessary,” she replied, remembering his arm around Barbara. “Don't you have somewhere to go?”

“Not tonight. And I said I'm going to look at your wrist.” His voice brooked no argument.

A calm satisfaction settled in Mariah's veins. He wasn't sleeping with that blonde, at least not tonight, and she couldn't help but be pleased.

His big hand settled against the small of her back, and Whit led her into the kitchen, where a hurricane lamp glowed on the round center table. Music from the barn filtered through the room, a soft and romantic melody.

 

 

Dance music swimming in his head and a grin spreading his face, Slim Culpepper strode toward Lois Atherton's house. He had seen Whit headed this way, and Slim needed to talk with him. Earlier this evening Reagor had offered him the job of top hand, and he was ready to accept the rancher's offer.

He stepped onto Lois's back porch, the one leading to the kitchen. His fist poised to knock on the door, Slim peeked through the windowpane. “Would ya look at that?” he whispered to himself.

There wouldn't be any job talk tonight; Reagor there had his hands full with that purty Brit gal, and from the plumb daffy look in the lucky devil's eyes, Slim reckoned he had better get gone.

As Reagor took her wrist in his palm, Slim left.

Gently, Whit turned Mariah's wrist first one way, then the other. The scent of roses, sweet roses, drifted to him. “Looks like an ant did get you,” he commented huskily. “It's gonna burn like hell for a few hours.”

“Isn't there something I can put on it?”

“My mama used to say a kiss can make anything all better.”

“Did she?” Mariah laughed, a nervous little sound. “I'm sure she's a resourceful woman, but I had something more medicinal in mind.”

“Let's give it a try anyway.” He brought her reddened flesh to his lips, and–damn!–she tasted delicious.

“You're not very subtle,” she murmured shakily.

Trying to control himself, Whit stepped back. “Lois has some salve she made up. We can give it a whirl.” He reached into the bottom of a pie safe. Taking a healthy glob of the yellow goo onto the tip of his forefinger, he smoothed it over Mariah's left wrist. “Feel better?”

“I ... I think I'll live.”

He grinned, wrapping his fingers around her slender forearm. “Yeah, I think you will.”

She felt so good to him. He had been going crazy all day, all night, over her. He'd tried to ignore her charms, had tried to be a gentleman monk. He'd even tried to get interested in Barbara again, but nothing had worked.

Whit Reagor would have to be deaf, dumb, blind–and dead below the waist!–not to notice the beautiful Mariah and the signals she'd been throwing him all day. He had set out to test her, but realized
he
was tested past the limit.

His cravings superceded honor, integrity, and reservations. His free hand touched her waist. Ignoring the goo on her injured wrist, he brought her hand to his chest. Did she feel the hammering of his heart?

Gazing into the softness of her eyes, he was lost. “You're so lovely.” He murmured, “What would you do, if I were to kiss you?”

Chapter Five

“What're you waiting for? Do it now! Ooooh. Mmm.”

The former Viscount Desmont bestowed the buxom woman a smile of superiority as he shoved his member into her. Fast and furious, Joseph pumped as her heavy legs folded around his skinny back. Temperence Tullos, Mrs. Charlie Tullos, was his sweet revenge for the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of her husband's thugs only this morning; and now, at nine o'clock in the evening, Joseph's self-esteem was once more intact. He was a man in control.

He didn't speak, but his log cabin was alive with the woman's groaning vulgarities. His eyes closed while he playacted Temperence was his Mariah. Yet he knew she wasn't, not really. Mariah wasn't a cow of a woman, nor did she bathe herself in cloying perfumes, nor did she shout obscenities worthy of the lowest of classes–which he was loath to admit, even to himself, he enjoyed, though he did regret not saving himself for his bride.

The woman-cow screamed in ecstasy, and Joseph tumbled over the brink, his climax swift. He rolled to his side, and did up the buttons of his red long-handles.

“You know, for a skinny runt, you're not half bad-looking.”

“Thank you, madam.” His chest puffed from the left-handed compliment, and, Mariah forgotten, he swept his eyes across the pendulous breasts that looked as if they were ready to burst through Temperence's thin, vein-shot skin.

His feelings turned gleeful. What a day this had been, going from the horror of land-plunder to the pleasure of making love to this older woman of thirty, who had given him a windfall in more ways than one. Her husband and his gang had trampled his saplings and threatened his life before riding away, leaving him face-down in the orchard. That afternoon, while Joseph had raged at his predicament and searched for a method of revenge, Temperence had arrived by horseback at his door. She had not been empty-handed.

On the floor beside him lay a bag of Charlie Tullos's gold coins. Joseph had thought it strange, Temperence giving him money, but with some unspoken misgivings about the decency of accepting her offer, he had taken it.

“Pay some attention to me, m'lord.” Temperence, a veritable Angus heifer though her face was rather comely and her ankles trim, ran her hand up his thigh to cup his manhood and fiddle with his fly.

“Stop that! I'm too tender for more antics.”

“It has been rather tiring ...” Lying on her side, she glanced at the moonlit, grease-paper window as Joseph perused the roofs crack.

“How long have we been at this, honey?” she asked.

“Quite a while. Since midafternoon, actually.”

“Mmm.” She lifted a brow. “Aren't you going to ask me why I gave you all that money?”

Feeling guilty for accepting the five hundred dollars, he slammed his eyes shut. What would his father say if he knew about his ungallant deed? What would Whitman think?

“What's the matter, m'lord?”

“Nothing.” Determined not to show his inner turmoil, Joseph pulled himself up and complied with her previous request. “Why, my dear Mrs. Tullos, did you see fit to give me money?”

“Charlie told me what he and his men did to your property, so I figured a peace offering would be nice.” The nail of her forefinger made a circle on his upper leg. “To get the, um,
powwow
going.”

“You've lusted for me in the past?” he asked, pleased she would go to such strides.

“You'd better believe it. Ever since you took up this land, I've been wondering what it'd be like to hump royalty.”

“I'm not royal.”

“You're the closest I'll get to the crowned heads of Europe.” She fluttered a hand. “I hate being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. I'm a Virginian, you know. Oh, to see my dear ole mammy once more ...”

He didn't give a care about her dreams or wants. “Well, how was it? Humping royalty.”

“Need you ask?” She rolled over, covering him with her body as she worked his buttons. “It's never been this good before,” she lied.

“Not even with Charlie?” Joseph prompted, oblivious to her untruth.

“Ha! Don't make me laugh.” She leaned to nuzzle his neck. “He'll have us killed, you know. That is, if he finds out about this.”

“His brigands are already out for me.” Joseph shivered. “You're not going to tell him, are you?”

“No way would I ruin what we've got going, your lordship. I want lots more of this.” Her hand scooted inside his flap. “Ah, what a man you are.”

Joseph enjoyed having his ego stroked. Oh, what pleasure! He had Tullos's money
and
his wife; and the indignities he'd suffered from the hook-nosed rancher were somewhat negated by the knowledge that he, now a common farmer, could rouse the lust of the rich cattleman's wife.

And Temperence Tullos was filled with loathing, both for her husband and for the man beneath her. She wanted to hurt Charles for running off her lover, Leroy Smith. Leroy, who was the only match in the world for her, sexually! What better way to spite her husband than to fornicate with the bane of his ranching empire?

Men! With the exception of Leroy, she hated them all, and perhaps she hated Leroy, too. All her life, starting with her foul-breathed, rutting father, she had been treated as if she were no more than a receptacle. But never again. She was the head hoss now.

She impaled herself on Lord Joseph Jaye, and swallowed back the bile in her throat. She had this vain pipsqueak wrapped around her proverbial little finger, and that's just where she wanted him. When the time was right, she'd use the simple-minded nester even further to extract her vengeance against Charles Vernon Tullos. Through Lord Joe she'd scheme to get Leroy back in Trick'em.

“Lovely, simply lovely,” Joseph moaned.

Little did this man know that the alms she had tossed him were nothing more than an investment in her future.

 

 

“What would you do,” Whit repeated more urgently, “if I were to kiss you?”

Mariah's lips parted in invitation as she curled her fingers into his lapel. “What would you do if
I
kissed
you?”

“You'll not have the upper hand in this, sweet witch.”

His free hand yanked her closer, his hard mouth bearing down to meet the softness of her lips. She tasted as sweet as nectar, and he had to sip his fill. He heard a sigh as his tongue found hers, and his insistence became tenderness as heightened passion coursed through him. No woman had ever tempted him so!

The hand holding her insect-bitten wrist moved to the swell of a firm breast, and as he caressed the side of it he felt the shiver of delight running through her. Their bodies swayed to the faint sound of music filtering into the kitchen from the barn, and Whit was dying of need ... a longing that could only be assuaged by Mariah.

After his lips canvassed her smooth cheek, the side of her nose, and her closed lids, he buried his face in the auburn locks that had worked free of their pins. “Feels so good,” he murmured, and heard her sigh of acknowledgment.

Suddenly, strangely, unbelievably, an urge filled him. He yearned to hold her close and protect her against Joe's cruel world.

He hugged her in the cocoon of his arms. “Ah, Mariah, my sweet. You've known all day, all night, I've wanted you here in my arms.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Whatever shall we do?”

The sound that escaped his lips was half groan, half chuckle. “I shall take you to my bed and make love to you until you're too weak to tempt me again.”

She worked free of his embrace, her chin dropping. She was confused. Before Joseph had taken her virginity, she had been partial to caresses. In the aftershock, she felt nothing. Now, the emotions Whit evoked within her were too frustrating to confront.

Whipping around, she made for the door leading to her room. “Good night.”

“What's wrong?” He caught her before she could turn the doorknob. His fingers wrapped around her shoulders. “Why call it a night? It's just getting interesting.”

“The interesting part is over.”

“Beg to differ, darlin'.” His tensed fingers squeezed into her tender flesh. “Tell me why you had a change of heart.”

“You move too fast. It seems as though I'm caught up in a whirlwind and can't get my footing. All day long I've tried to keep my wits about me, but every time you're near, I ... I lose control.”

If he hadn't known about her past, Whit would have fallen for her routine of frightened innocence. Recalling her hasty departure from the church, he decided Gail had mentioned Joe's sorry circumstances, and Mariah was now out for bigger game than an indigent farmer.

“Answer me something,” he implored. “Did Gail say anything to you about Joe?”

“Yes . . . but what's he got to do with this?”

His suspicions confirmed, Whit grimaced with bitter memories. Without a doubt, Jenny Reagor had pulled the same thing with her lover. Colin Pierce had been a wealthy planter, and Jenny had wanted more money than her impoverished husband had provided.

Mariah was after Whit's riches, though he had no problem with that. He
did
have a problem with her switching loyalties!

“So,” he said, responding to her confession, “you can't keep your wits. Sure had me fooled, I'll admit. I thought you knew exactly what you were doing when you ... Woman, you've teased me since the moment we met, with your twitching rear and hungry-eyed gazes.”

“Me
flirt with
you?
Ha! You've been flirting with me since the instant I saved your bare posterior from ridicule!”

“You got that right. We've both been sniffing and cooing and sidling up to each other.” His lips dropped to her clean-smelling hair. “Don't you know you can only push a man so far?”

“Your escort to Trick'em doesn't mean I owe you my body in return,” she replied in a schoolmarm's sharp pitch.

“You owe me nothing, that's true.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her back against his hard desire. “But let me tell you something. I don't know how women act where you come from, but here in Texas, if a woman throws herself at a man, she damned sure knows what to expect.”

Only moments ago she had been confused by her emotions, but her head never had been clearer than at this instant. Whit Reagor was not going to chop her into mincemeat! “Well, where I come from, if a man forces his attentions on a woman, she has the right to plead before witnesses,
‘A l'aide, mon prince! On me fait tort
', and she receives an immediate injunction against the culprit.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Help, my prince! I am being wronged.” Throwing off his hands, she rounded on him. “You, sir, are wronging me.”

Damn, he almost believed her. “And you, ma'am, are wronging Joe Jaye.”

“Why, Mr. Reagor, are you a man of the cloth?”

He would have gladly wrung her neck. “Let me warn you, Mariah Rose McGuire. I'm not a young fool, and I'm on to your two-timing tricks. You've gotten wind of Joe's problems, and you're out to trap me in your plans.”

“Plans? I have no
plans
for you! Why would I have plans for a scoundrel who can't even keep his word?”

She did bring out the worst in him, but he'd be gored by a raging bull before admitting anything. “And what about you? Just how trustworthy are you? You've crossed an ocean to marry Joe Jaye. Yet here you are, standing in this kitchen with me, my kiss fresh on your lips. How many other men have kissed the blushing bride since you've last seen your husband-to-be? One? Two? A dozen?”

Her face went white. “None. I've kissed no one.”

“Until me, eh? Well, how is it, having two men on the string at once?”

“Not bad, actually,” she volleyed. “How was it, embracing your neighbor's fiancée? And speaking of behavior, don't you Texans have a code of honor about such things?”

Her questions ripped into him. “Kissing you was no more right than your wanting to kiss me.”

“Seems we both carry a bit of blame, wouldn't you agree?”

She flounced away to slam her chamber door. He started after her, but forced himself to a different direction ... into the darkness of his own room.

His boots, suit, and shirt thrown off, he yanked back the bedclothes and fell into bed. Sleep eluded him. He grabbed a cigar from the bedside case and lit up. Smoking did nothing to ease his fires. What was wrong with him that twice in his life he had found two-timing females attractive?

The cigar ground out in a battered tin cup, Whit tossed to one side, then the other. The sheet twisted around his leg, and he kicked the covers away. Curling his hand into a fist, he punched the pillow, then raked shaking fingers through his hair. If only he could forget her ... Impossible. Even though he knew the dangers of her kind of woman, Whit still yearned for Mariah with a ferocity he'd never known existed within him. He ached for her more mightily than he had ever ached for Jenny. Or any woman before or after his marriage. How could this be happening?

Lunging to his feet, he stalked, naked, up and down the hooked rug. Loss of control wasn't the only thing that ate at him, like a vulture tearing at a carcass. How would Joe feel if he knew Whit was stalking a lonely bedroom, pining for his bride-to-be?

Whit groaned and clenched his teeth. Joe. The gullible young fool who wanted Mariah for the rest of his life, whereas Whit only needed his fill of her.

This disconcerting fascination with the auburn-haired witch had to cease and Whit was determined it would.