The thought of that man lowering his lips to Faith’s, of circling his arms around her, had him feeling strung tighter than a strand of barbed wire between two posts. Of their own accord, his hands balled into fists, and he decided he’d make use of them the next time he came within a foot of the arrogant oilman. “You don’t know anything about Berringer. He took advantage—”
“No, he didn’t. He’s a gentleman. And I know lots about him. He comes from a good family near Houston. Pa hired some ex-Texas Ranger to look into him before he gave me the okay to work with him, before he’d give him permission to look for oil on our land.”
As far as Rawley was concerned, none of that gave Berringer the right to know the taste of her. “You shouldn’t give a man your favors unless you have an understanding between you.”
“The understanding was that I wanted a kiss. Besides, I’ve kissed fellas before.”
“Who?” The word came out a bark, harsh and echoing around them. “When?”
“John Byerly on my sixteenth birthday. Augustus Curtiss on my seventeenth. I always kiss some fella on my birthday.”
Was her father aware of that? He’d tan her hide if he found out she was going around giving out something as precious as her lips puckered. “Why?”
“Curiosity. And on my sixteenth birthday I wanted to do something memorable. Guess I’ve been looking for that memorable ever since.”
Had she found it? Probably not if she’d just been kissing boys and young men who’d never had the opportunity to ride a trail and pass through a cattle town where dance hall girls and soiled doves waited for their arrival. “Berringer give you that something memorable?”
He wanted to bite off his tongue for asking. He did not want to hear the man lauded for being an excellent kisser.
She studied him for a full minute. With his heart pounding, he waited for her to deliver a lashing to his heart with her confession that the oilman had given her exactly what she’d yearned for.
“Not quite,” she finally said. “But maybe that’s because he’s not the one I had decided I wanted to kiss tonight.” She pressed up against him, draped her arms over his shoulders, met his gaze straight on. “You are.”
Perhaps it was because a little spark of jealousy had hit when she’d learned someone else had a claim to his heart. Or maybe it was because for the past couple of years, she’d compared every man who had crossed her path to him and found them all lacking in one regard or another.
They didn’t share his love of the land that had been bred into her the moment she was born. They didn’t respect the legacy that had been handed to them by those who had fought to free the territory so it could become part of the United States, or they didn’t appreciate the sacrifices that had been made by those who had settled the land and worked to make it grander than it might have been otherwise. They boasted—instead of doing things in quiet ways that spoke volumes for them. Their smiles didn’t slowly hitch up on one side before lifting up on the other. They didn’t give her half a sarsaparilla stick. And they didn’t stand so still that they might as well have been a statue.
“How much champagne did you have?”
“Are you afraid?” she taunted.
He scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Maybe it’s that you don’t know how, that you’ve never kissed a gal before.”
“I’ve done plenty of kissing.”
“Then why not kiss me?”
“Because you deserve better.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, cowboy. Just kiss me.” She gave her head a little shake, angled her chin up a tad, looked at the sky, the stars tossed over the black velvet. “On the other hand, could be I misjudged Cole’s kiss, didn’t give it enough credence. It did cause my toes to curl.”
The only light came from the moon and stars shining down, yet she still managed to detect a tightening in his jaw.
“Those fellas you kissed before were just boys, and Berringer is a tenderfoot. I doubt they know the first thing about proper kissing.”
“Then show me.”
He emitted a low growl at the back of his throat as he cupped her cheek with one hand. “This is a bad idea, Faith. A damn bad idea.”
Then he drew her in, lowered his mouth to hers, and urged her to part her lips. When she did, he claimed her mouth with the same intensity that a storm swept over the land, dark and billowing, giving no quarter, threatening to conquer all in its wake. The palm cradling her cheek moved until his fingers were threaded through her hair and his thumb was caressing the corner of her mouth, enhancing the sensuality of his efforts, causing molten warmth to slowly sluice through her, carrying her away on a tide of sensual indulgence. With his free arm snaking around her back, he pressed her flush against him, and she suspected that through his shirt he could feel the puckering of her nipples, their sensitivity increasing with each stroke of his tongue over hers.
His was not a timid kiss like those of the boys who’d come before. Nor was it civilized like Cole’s. It was wild and untamed, a force to be reckoned with. It demanded a response equal in intensity. She wound her arms tightly around his neck because she needed purchase. Not only did her toes curl, but her legs had become as unsteady as those of a newborn foal, and she was afraid she was going to embarrass herself by sliding down the long, wondrous length of his hardened body until she was a heap of heated pleasure she’d never experienced, hadn’t even known existed. With each passing moment, she was aware of a metamorphosis happening, as though he were weaving a cocoon around her, encasing her in ecstasy, and when the kiss came to an end, she’d emerge to discover she’d been transformed into something more beautiful than she’d ever thought possible.
He was doing things to her mouth that caused the womanly aspects of her that she thought had blossomed to really and truly unfurl into a glorious bloom that stole her breath. Within his arms, for the first time in her life, she felt power beneath her femininity, knew the full extent of the strength residing within her.
As she returned the kiss with identical fervor, she felt equal to the task of meeting him on the terms he was setting and daring enough to set a few of her own. She scraped her fingers along his scalp through his thick black hair. From far away, another world, she heard sighs and groans circling around them. Her body tightened with needs and yearnings that were frightening in their intensity, but at the same time beckoned with the promise of more. And she wanted to take all that was offered.
With a desperate moan, she pressed her hips against his, searching for something she thought only he could deliver.
Suddenly he broke off the kiss, cupped her shoulders, and set her away from him. “Happy birthday,” he grumbled.
Then he walked off as though he hadn’t just rearranged her heart and soul while upending everything she’d believed she understood about Rawley Cooper. She didn’t know him at all.
Chapter Eight
Kissing her had been a damn stupid thing to do, almost as stupid as allowing her to goad him into doing it. He should have just brushed his lips over hers and laughed about it, but no. His competitive nature had taken hold, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Berringer give her a kiss more memorable than his.
So he’d poured need, longing, and yearning into the kiss that had nearly knocked his boots off. Sweet Lord, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. And now he was pacing his porch, finishing off his whiskey, striving to wash away the taste of her. Champagne had darkened her flavor, and he thought he’d detected a hint of all the sarsaparilla sticks he’d shared with her over the years. Or maybe he was striving to find some evidence she was still a child, some aspect of her that would have him thinking of her once again as the little girl he’d always wanted to protect. But she sure as hell wasn’t a kid any longer.
She was a grown woman, and when she’d pressed herself against his body, he’d felt every soft curve, hollow, line, and . . . those little hard nipples that had made him want to lower her bodice and lick. But he’d managed
to find some semblance of self-preservation somewhere because he knew if her father ever found out, he’d put Rawley six feet under. But he couldn’t help but believe that one of the nipples against his tongue would have been worth the journey.
He ached with a need to possess her that had him fairly trembling and terrified as hell that he wouldn’t find the strength to never touch her again.
And he was going to have to touch her again to get her up into the saddle because the liquor had made her too unsteady to get herself up there. He didn’t know how she’d managed it the first time. Then he’d have to escort her home. He halfway wanted her to say something. Instead she just stood there swaying slightly and watching him. He couldn’t leave her out here, couldn’t think of a way to tactfully get them both out of this mess.
“Rawley?” she whimpered, her voice sounding small, like that of a newborn kitten.
“What?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She dropped to her knees and heaved.
He was at her side, rubbing her back, before the second round hit her. Then the absurdity of the situation struck him, and he couldn’t help it. He laughed, boisterously, with an edge of relief and embarrassment. When she glared at him, he laughed again.
As she straightened, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her lush, perfect, beautiful mouth. “My kiss wasn’t that bad, was it, Faith?”
She gave him a halfhearted smile. “No, but I feel awful.”
“You’re gonna feel a lot worse in the morning. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t think I can ride.”
Apparently she’d developed a gift for understatement. Even if he sat behind her and kept her in the saddle, it would be a long, torturous journey for them both—her because of the illness she was experiencing and him because she’d be in his arms.
“You can sleep here.”
He helped her to her feet. She’d taken two steps before she started to stumble. He swept her into his arms. With a little sigh, she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder.
“I always thought I was too tall to be carried,” she said pensively.
“It’s all in the leverage.”
“You’re just strong. I’ve seen you bring a steer to its knees. Seen you do a lot of stuff.”
“That’s because you’ve been around for so long now. Nineteen is a lot of years.”
He carried her into the cabin, into his bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. Her eyes were closed, and he figured she’d already fallen asleep. He started removing her shoes.
“Do you ever want more than this?” she asked wistfully.
Of course he wanted more. Like the ground thirsted for rain, and bees craved nectar. He longed to kiss her again until they were both breathless. He yearned to lay his body over hers and cause it to snap with relief when the tension was too tight, her cries of release echoing around him. “Go to sleep.”
“You kiss good,” she mumbled. “Better ‘n Cole.”
He grimaced. While her slurred words should have had him puffing out his chest with pride, he couldn’t get past the fact that the kiss never should have happened—and she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t had too much to drink. “About that. It shouldn’t have happened, Faith.”
“I know. ’Cuz of that lady you love. Tell me who she is, and I’ll let her know you’re a good kisser.”
He set the shoes aside. “That’s probably not a very good courting strategy.”
“Are you courting her?”
“No.”
“You should.” She followed that comment with a little snore.
No, he shouldn’t. He was too old for her. Too broken. And if he hadn’t stopped that kiss when he had, he would have carried her in here and shown her exactly why he wasn’t good enough for her. He wanted her with a need that scared the hell out of him.
Reaching across her, he grabbed the quilt and folded it over her. Then he stood there for the longest time just watching her sleep.
As the first hint of dawn eased through the windows, Rawley awoke, aching and sore, on the sofa. After stretching to work out the stiffness, he got to his feet and wandered over to the bedroom. Faith was still there, curled on her side, sleeping soundly. She was going to feel awful when she awoke, but he figured that wouldn’t be for a few more hours yet.
He needed to let her parents know where she was before they discovered her missing and sent out a posse to hunt for her. He knew their routines, knew they were already stirring. Not bothering to take the time to wash up, he simply saddled his horse and headed over to the house.
Just as he’d expected, Dallas and Ma were sitting on the back veranda, where they always greeted the day. He pulled his horse to a halt, dismounted, and wrapped the reins around the railing before marching up the steps. They both rose, his mother approaching and giving him a kiss on his cheek as was her way.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
“Looks like it’s going to be a fine day,” Dallas said.
Not for Faith. “I came over to let you know Faith is in my bed aslee—”
The punch to his jaw came quick and unexpected, sent him reeling back, stumbling down the steps until he landed in the dirt on his backside.
“Dallas!” Ma yelled, shoving the shoulder of the man who was now standing over him, fury darkening his features as he stood his ground, immobile against his wife’s push.
“After all we’ve done for you, you take advantage of our daughter . . . Get up.”
Rawley knew another punch was waiting at the end of those balled fists, closed so tightly the knuckles had gone white. He shook his head. “Nothing happened. She came to see me, was drunk, got sick, and I put her to bed. I didn’t touch her.” A bit of a lie, but if he confessed to kissing her, he’d be dead.
Breathing harshly, Dallas stared at him. A myriad of emotions—anger, betrayal, disappointment, regret, remorse—shifted over his features as his hands slowly unclenched. His resounding curse echoed around them as he bowed his head. This time when Ma shoved on him, he backed away three steps. She knelt beside Rawley. His hand shot up. “I’m all right.”
He didn’t want to be touched, not at the moment.
“I’m sorry, son,” Dallas said, his voice coarsened by true repentance and shame.
“I’m not your son,” Rawley said, pushing himself to his feet. “Your son is buried out by the windmill, and we all know that’s because of me.”
Because one winter night when he was a boy and a man had been rough with him in the alley outside the Grand Hotel, Rawley had cried out, and Cordelia Leigh, swelling with child, had heard him and come to his aid. The man, in a panic, had knocked a stack of crates onto her and injured her badly. She’d lost the baby she’d been carrying. If only Rawley had possessed the courage not to scream, not to draw attention to the horror he’d been facing.
“Rawley—”
“No. I know why you reacted like you did. I don’t blame you. If I had a daughter and a man with my background touched her, I’d kill him.”
“You weren’t responsible for what happened to you.”
“Still it happened.” And it made him feel dirty and ashamed. All the baths in the world couldn’t wash the memories away, couldn’t make him feel clean.
“Let your ma tend to your lip.”
Touching his tongue to the corner of his mouth, tasting the blood, he shook his head. “I have to leave.”
The rightness of the words brought a calm. It was the only way he could make sure that what Dallas feared would happen between him and Faith never happened. “I have to leave here, make my own way, become my own man. I’ll never be able to repay what you’ve done for me.” But leaving was a start.
With a great gust of a sigh, Dallas dropped his head back and gazed at the pinkish-purplish haze of dawn. “I struck you in fear, fear that my daughter might have gotten hurt and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
“I’d never hu
rt her.”
“I know that.”
“We can talk this out,” his mother said tenderly. “There’s no reason for you to go.”
But there was. “I’ve been thinking of moving on for some time. To figure out what I want and what my place in this world is.”
Dallas nodded toward the horizon. “When I’m gone, half of this ranch is yours.”
The words struck him hard on so many levels. The price he would pay to have the land was the loss of Dallas, and in spite of their present misunderstanding, he still loved the man with everything in him. The fact that it was coming to him by default. “If not for me, you’d be leaving it to your son.”
Dallas faced him squarely. “You are my son.”
Overcome with emotions, afraid he was going to do something unmanly like tear up, Rawley shook his head. “It should all go to Faith.”
“There’s plenty for her.”
“I’m not going to take what rightfully belongs to your blood.”
Dallas shook his head. “I spent twenty years trying to ensure you felt like family, and I managed to destroy it all with one quick jump to a conclusion and a punch. I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life.”
“You’ve got nothing to regret. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I have to find my own destiny, make my own way.”
Dallas chuckled low. “My brothers felt the same. I tried to corral them in and map out their lives for them, but eventually they broke free. I reckon maybe you’re right. It’s time to be your own man, not a shadow of what I think you should be. Later, we’ll go to the bank, get you some funds—”
“No.” He needed to leave now while his jaw still ached, and he could vividly recall how it had felt to have Faith in his arms. “I’ve got enough money saved.” And he wanted to do this on his own. “All I need is the horse, my saddle and gear.”
The hardest part was saying good-bye to the woman he considered to be his mother. He hugged her tightly, not sure where he found the strength to let her go.
Texas Legacy Page 6