by Rita Hestand
"Ooh," Abby shrieked, "It is hot."
The front door slammed, and boots crunched across the floor as Clint peeked his head around the kitchen doorway.
"Hey there, guys, what's going on in here?" He asked, coming towards Abby with a purpose. "I heard a bunch of laughing."
"We're pulling taffy," she snickered, unmindful that her heart quickened at the site of Clint again. "Or trying to, it's gosh-awful hot, though."
Clint shook his head, washed his hands and rolled up the sleeves to his checkered shirt. Abby's eyes seemed glued to those muscular arms and stretch of material against his back, until he spoke. "This calls for more muscle than the two of you have. Let me have some of that stuff."
"Gladly." Judy didn't waste any time handing him her side of the taffy. Clint glanced at Abby and smiled, and then started pulling, stretching and winding the taffy until it was like a beautiful white rope. All the while their hands touched off and on, and Abby felt a jolt every time. Her insides turned to jelly.
Abby smiled as he tugged it out of her hands several times, and quickly showed Clay some of his famous 'taffy' tricks.
"I want to try," Clay horned in, right beside Abby.
The candy seemed to change colors in the light, and looked like spun silver and gold.
"Okay, it's cooling a little now. You see how we are pulling and winding and pulling and winding until it turns white?"
"Uh-huh. I can do that," Clay said and grabbed a piece beside his mother. Between the three of them, they managed to make a good amount of taffy. Judy cut and arranged it when it was the right consistency.
"My, this is a lot. We'll have to invite the boys in to share it." Judy suggested, when she saw that the double batch was a little much.
"You should take some of this home, to your family, Clint." Judy suggested.
"They'd like that. Dad always loved your taffy, Judy. He says, next to Bertha, you are the best cook he knows."
Judy smiled, "Ah, that rascal. You know Abby can cook, too."
"Yeah, burn water," Abby laughed.
"I'm serious, she can make melt-in-the-mouth biscuits."
Abby made a face at her, and Judy hushed.
Abby couldn't help but notice how homey it all seemed. She enjoyed Clint's company, and she supposed there was no harm in that as long as there was no kissing, touching, or anything else her brain had fancied since last night. Since the night from hell had come and gone in nothing short of misery. How many times had she almost opened her door and turned to that bunkhouse?
But of course there wouldn't be any kissing, because she wouldn't allow it. He had surprised her last night, but that wouldn't happen again. She'd be on the alert.
When Clay put some candy in his mouth, he smiled, but found himself unable to talk because the candy required a heavy amount of chewing.
"You make good candy, grandma," he said, when he finally swallowed his first taste of the white confection.
"We do. You all helped, you know. But hey, what happened to Mamaw?"
Clay looked around and turned a little pink, "Grandma sounds better. I'm not a baby."
"No, you aren't, young man." Judy winked. "Come on, Clay, let's go run this out to the bunkhouse so the boys can have some. I feel selfish keeping it all to ourselves."
"I can do that, mom," Abby suggested, noticing what her mother was up to, and not liking it.
"Nonsense, you don't even have your boots on. Clay and I can do it. We'll be right back."
Abby tensed.
Being alone in the room with Clint was just asking for trouble. But running to her room was not an option.
Knowing Clint, he might follow her, and that was no place to be with him.
"So, are you going to the Christmas dance?" He asked casually, as soon as everyone was out of earshot.
"Christmas dance?" Abby whirled about to see him staring at her. She bet he grimaced at her worn old jeans and sweatshirt. But there was no sign of disdain on his face.
"Uh, no, I mean. When is it?" She busied herself with the clean-up so she wouldn't have time to look at his handsome face.
"This Friday night." He licked his fingers.
She couldn't help but notice his action, and chuckled. "Pretty good stuff."
"Yeah, remember that time dad and you pulled on it so long it turned to rocks."
Clint smiled, but obviously saw the pain in her eyes, and wanted to comfort her.
"I'm okay." she waved at him as he started toward her. "It's just sometimes, when I think about him being gone. I wonder how Mom will cope when I'm gone."
"You leaving soon?" He choked out.
Abby glanced at him, surprised to find such emotion in his voice. "After the holidays. My leave of absence runs out then."
"So, are you going to the dance?"
The annual Christmas dance was one function no one in the county ever missed. It was a time of celebration, love and happiness.
"I hadn't even thought about it. But no, I don't imagine I will." She tried to sound lighthearted about it all.
But she was still young enough to enjoy a dance, and it would be wonderful to see everyone again, even if it wasn't wise.
Where was John when she needed him?
"Your boyfriend won't be here?" Clint asked, not daring a look at her.
"No, John won't be here," She said dully, wishing he would. Wishing someone was here to keep her far away from Clint Travers and his cowboy charm.
"I'd be more than proud to take you, Abby. As your best friend, I'd consider it a pleasure. That is—if I'm still your best friend?"
The look in his eyes told her he wasn't sure of that status any longer. Abby looked away, purposely. "We're still good friends, of course. But I don't think so, Clint, but thank you very..."
"Yeah, you're chicken."
She whipped about to look at the sardonic smile on his face. "Chicken?"
"Sure, I get this feeling you're scared to be too close to me, or alone with me. I wonder what you're afraid of."
"That's ridiculous. I'm not afraid of you."
He stood up and came closer, "No? Prove it, then. Go with me to the dance." He was too close. Dangerously close. She could feel his soft warm breath on her, smell the intoxicating aroma of all cowboy, and she needed to put plenty of distance between them. Trouble was, she couldn't seem to move.
"I—I," she felt herself caving in, but then heard her mother and Clay coming in, and sighed, with relief. "Sorry, but no."
"Tell you what. I'll play you a game of chicken poker, and if you lose, you go with me."
Abby chuckled despite the tense situation. Clint always had a way of lightening a mood. "I'm a better poker player than you are."
"Prove it." He murmured, just before her mother and son walked in on them. "Maybe I'll get lucky."
"Lucky?" Judy chimed in time to see them both turn toward her. Abby knew her face was flushed.
"Abby's gonna play a game of chicken poker with me. If she loses, I take her to the Christmas dance."
"Well, that sounds fair, except Abby is a better poker player than you, Clint." Judy chuckled as she slid Clay's jacket from him.
Clay ran over to Clint. "Can I play, too?"
"Oh, you aren't old enough to play poker, partner. Not yet, anyway. And who says I'm such a bad poker player, anyway? Maybe I've just been letting you win all these years."
"In a pig's eyes. You never let me win anything without a struggle," Abby protested, almost going back into the easy banter that had captured her heart so long ago.
Clay hung his head. "Can I watch?"
"Sure. Judy, still got that deck of cards we used to play with?" Clint hollered as he seated himself at the table, and leaned back to get a good view of Abby and her snug-fitting jeans.
She wondered how she measured up with Clint these days. Why he bothered with this ‘courtship', she didn't know. It wouldn't work. But for now, she'd humor him. He was a friend, and she did owe him for staying here to help her and her mother
out.
She sat down opposite him with all the determination in the world to beat him.
He dealt the cards slowly, as though savoring every moment of it, and she watched him, fascinated by the way he shuffled and dealt. His hands were callused and rough, but neat and clean, too. Everything about Clint was impeccable. He always looked clean and shaven. But that wasn't all; he was devastating in those tight jeans and western shirt. It was easy to understand why most women ogled over him. He was certainly a hunk.
They held their cards up, and Clint smiled devilishly at her. "It's your play. Want more cards?"
"Nope, I'm pat," she said with a smug smile.
Their eyes met, and Abby felt herself melting under his amorous gaze. With nothing more than a smile, he could melt her heart, and he knew it. It wasn't fair.
"I'll take two," he said, and dealt himself two more cards.
"You're going to lose," she said quite confidently.
"A good poker player never has to draw."
"Don't be so sure," he laughed, glancing about at their audience, as he put the two new cards in his hands and read them with glee.
"You're bluffing; you drew two cards; you can't have anything. Sorry, Clint. I've got two pair." she grinned and laid her cards for all to see.
"Gee, Mommy, did you win?" Clay jumped up and down.
"Y-y—"
But she was cut short when Clint shook his head, "Not good enough, Abby. I got three of a kind."
"I don't believe it! Let me see it." she nearly jerked the cards from his hand. But Clint jerked back and laid the cards down in front of her. "Read ‘em and weep, darlin'."
His endearment shocked Abby. He hadn't called her that in front of her mother before. And her mother would definitely get the wrong impression. Worse still, he had won the game, fair and square, and she had to go to the dance with him.
When she saw the cards, her face fell, and she nearly shook with the intensity of his astute gaze on her.
"Guess you'll be going to the dance with me after all, won't you?"
Abby stared down at the cards and couldn't move, couldn't say a word. Lord, what had she done now? She’d gotten herself a date with Clint Travers!
She stood up and went to the sink, pretending an interest in cleaning up the dishes.
"Okay, pardner, we better get you into bed, it's past your bedtime," Judy said, taking Clay's hand and leading him toward the hallway.
"Nighty-night, mommy, Uncle Clint." Clay ran to hug them both, bringing them closer as he squeezed.
Clint's eyes narrowed on Abby like a target, and tears nearly spilled down her cheek.
"’Night, pardner," Clint said, his lips grazing Clay on the top of the head.
"’Night," Clay called, as he ran towards his grandmother.
When they were alone again, Abby turned back to the sink and tried to look busy, but she wasn't fooling anyone.
Clint watched her for a long moment. "Well, guess I better be turning in, too. Goodnight, Abby. Stop fretting, I won't hold you too close when we dance. Nor kiss you too often."
His words were low and throaty, and had her spinning around to see his face.
He looked very sincere. There was a twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there earlier.
"You're a beautiful woman, Abby. Any man would be lucky to have you."
Abby's lower lip trembled.
"It's too late, Clint—" she barely breathed the words, as he came closer.
His head bent just a fraction, and he tipped her face up to his. "Then I guess this won't hurt you," He said, just before his lips grazed hers.
"’Night, darlin'."
Abby's eyes were closed when he pulled away, and she couldn't move, couldn't speak. She opened them slowly to see him staring at her with a longing she'd never seen in his eyes. And she wondered if she looked the same to him. He didn't say another word, just stared at her long and hard, then backed away and left her standing there in a daze. Resisting Clint was harder than she had anticipated. No, it was impossible! Her mind corrected.
Chapter Seven
"I can't go to the dance!" Abby cried, fumbling with the clothes in her closet as Clay played on the floor near her bed with his cowboy and Indian set.
"Why in the world not?" Her mother asked. "Mama, I'm not made of stone. I don't think it's wise. Besides, he tricked me. He had to. You know as well as I do, Clint never wins."
"I didn't see a trick, and I was standing right there."
"He had to, he never wins at poker," Abby insisted, trying frantically to figure out a way to call this whole thing off.
"Abby, you are trying awfully hard to find an excuse for not going. If you really don't want to go, tell him. No one is forcing you into this, you know."
Oh, she wanted to go, her mind ran rampant. That was the problem. Now she faced the reality of it all. "This late, he probably couldn't find a date. I don't want to be rude, but I don't have anything to wear."
"Yes, you do." Judy went to the closet in her room and brought back a beautiful brown satin dress. "I made this for your prom night. You didn't get to wear it. It's a classic style, so it's not outdated."
Abby looked at the beautiful dress, and her eyes lit, despite the fact that she didn't intend to go to the dance. She'd never seen the dress. She hadn't had a date for the prom, so she hadn’t gone. Abby had never seen the dress, but her mother must have made it for the occasion.
"I probably can't wear it."
"I'll bet you can. I might have to let it out a little in the bust. Try it on."
"I can't. I'm not going."
Judy nodded, and her face took on a serious expression. She began gathering the dress in her arms again and started to walk away. "Alright, then pick up the phone right now and call Clint. I won't have you standing him up. You may be leaving soon, but I live here, and I won't have you hurting anyone around here."
"Hurting them?" Abby cried. She looked at her mother, and wished she could wipe that look of hurt and something else off her mother's face. "Have you forgotten?"
Judy's face relaxed a bit. "No, Abby, I've not forgotten. But you are an adult now. And you should act like one. This is only a dance, dear. Not a wedding. You go to that dance, hold your head up high, and go on with your life. What happened between you and Clint three years ago is over. You've said so yourself. It's up to you whether something else happens."
Perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps her mother was right. An adult. Yes, she was very much an adult. She could handle this.
"It's just that, well—frankly, Clint acts as though–"
"As though what?"
"As though he's courting me," Abby admitted, staring at her mother for an answer.
"So what? About time he did. Courting can be a lot of fun for a girl, too. Besides, it's the woman who makes the choice. And if you don't want him, there should be no problem," Judy insisted.
"I never said I stopped loving him, Mama. I just know that it will never work between us, and I don't want to encourage a relationship with him. Clint can be very charming—when he tries."
"Yes, he can. He's like his father in that respect."
"He's terribly good looking."
"Yes, he is. So is my grandchild, and my daughter."
"Thank you, Mom."
"Okay, so are you going?"
"Yes, if I can fit into this." Abby grabbed the dress, and dashed to the bathroom to put it on.
The moment she slipped into the dress, she felt transformed. She hadn't decked herself up so much in a long time, and this dress was nearly perfect, but it would have to be let out some before she could wear it. It had been cut in a low square. She was overflowing a bit, but with a few adjustments it would work. She looked at herself in the mirror, and was stunned.
"He'll think I'm trying to seduce him in this," she gasped and started to shimmy out of it. "But I've never worn it, not even once."
"May I see?" Judy came in and stood agape.
"It's too much, isn't it
?" Abby cried, trying to unzip it in the back.
"No, it won't be when I'm finished with it." Her mother raised her hand in the air, and tears clouded her eyes, "Oh, Abby, it's beautiful on you. Please, wear it for me. You look lovely in it."
"Then why are you crying?" Abby insisted. "Because—you are my only daughter, and it's so lovely." Judy went into Abby's outstretched arms.
"Dad wouldn't have approved." Abby pulled away to look into her mother's face.
"No, no he wouldn't. But he couldn't get over the fact that you were grown, honey. He thought of you as his little girl. But you've grown up now. Maybe it's time Clint saw you like this."
"Mama, Clint and I—"
"I know. I know dear. You are in love with John. I understand." She stopped, turned, and then whipped back around. "No, no, I don't understand. I can't pretend I do. You are in love with a man that can't even come and be with you at Christmas. You and your little boy. And he's going to marry you? Is that love?
"I've kept my mouth shut, maybe too long. Your father didn't want to see you married and leaving us. But marriage is the most normal thing in the world. You fell in love with Clint as a very young girl, but you allowed your father to dictate how you acted, what you wore, and who you should care about. That wasn't right. Abby, maybe you never gave Clint a real chance ..."
"We've been through this—"
"Okay." Judy threw her hands up. "You're right. We have, and it's your life. Now, get out of the dress so I can make some adjustments. And you get ready for the dance. Clint will be here any minute."
"Thanks, mom." Abby knew it was hard for her mother to understand. But things would work out with her and John. They had to.
* * *
A half hour later, Clint stood poised in the living room waiting for Abby. Judy was telling him all about Clay sitting on Santa's knee, and Clint was doing his best not to act nervous. For the first time in his life, he was nervous about going out with a girl. This wasn't a girl, though, it was Abby, and she had come to mean life and breath to him in the past couple of weeks. He couldn't wait to see her in the mornings. He looked forward to every moment he spent with her, all the while knowing she was leaving and marrying that John something.