by Carol Arens
To his relief, she gathered the curtain of hair in one hand and flipped it over her shoulder.
Her full breasts jiggled slightly with the carousel’s rotation. He clamped his hands into tight fists.
If only he could touch her waist, glide his hands along the curves of her hips where they flared over the elephant’s sides. If only he could see the sweet pink flesh beneath her curls where it rode the animal’s cold wooden back.
“You are so damned beautiful, Holly Jane. You steal the breath right out of me.”
And she did. He could hardly find it while he took his time gazing at her, from the plump curve of her bottom lip to the curl of her pretty pink toes.
“Are you angry because I’m looking at you?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t angry when you were looking at me, either. I knew you were there the whole time... I wanted you to look... I let you do it.”
He took off his duster and set it over her shoulders, making sure to keep the lapels well back. He hadn’t gotten his fill of seeing her naked body and he suspected he never would. Holly Jane Munroe had touched him in a way he had not expected.
“So,” she said, breathing a deep sigh that lifted her chest, “I reckon we are even now.”
He nodded. “We can go back to the house with no hard feelings between us.”
“Friends again, like nothing ever happened,” she agreed.
“I want to touch you.”
Her eyes flushed whiskey-warm.
“Touch me, Colt.”
He reached forward, felt the silkiness of the hair at her temple glide through his fingers in long loops and whirls. He leaned forward, kissed her cheek then grazed a light brush across her lips.
He settled back, took the weight of one breast in his palm. With his other hand he stroked the length of her thigh. He flicked his thumb across her nipple then rubbed it in a circle. It rose under his palm, and he heard her husky gasp of pleasure.
“I never knew it would feel like that,” she whispered.
“There’s more, Holly Jane. Let me show you, let me touch you.” He inclined his head, indicating where.
She bit her bottom lip and nodded her head. A gust of wind blew in sideways and dusted her fair-skinned belly with raindrops.
“You mean a great deal to me,” he said, reaching his fingers toward her curly mound. “I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”
Gently, he slid two fingers between the elephant’s weathered back and Holly Jane’s hot, tender flesh. She didn’t shy from his touch so he stroked her.
She closed her eyes and he watched her face while he gave her pleasure.
He kissed away her soft moan of surrender. When, too soon, she slid away from his touch, she had captured him.
Her surrender had been his own. What would he do now? She was the one woman he wanted and the one he could never have.
“Things can’t be the way they were before,” she whispered... She sighed. He caught a note of regret in the tone. “Things just changed between us.”
“Are you sorry, Holly Jane?” If she were, he would take it hard. This pure and lovely woman was sure to see him for who he was...a Travers to the bone.
“I’ll never be sorry, Colt.” The sidelong rain dotted her face and her hair. “Not for this. But I am sorry that I can’t continue to live in the house with you and your family. It wouldn’t be proper, not now.”
It wouldn’t be proper, but he was not proper.
And she was right about things changing.
She was no longer simply an obligation to be fulfilled, the spinster granddaughter of William Munroe to be protected from Folsoms and Broadhowers.
She had become important to him.
“I’ll move into the barn,” he said.
“If you do that, Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie will think they are right about us.”
At this very moment, he couldn’t swear on an oath that the old ladies were not right.
“They can think whatever they want, Holly Jane. You need a better man than me. A gentleman...not a Travers.”
He slid off the elephant’s back.
“Better get to the house before the rain gets worse.”
Reaching up, he eased Holly Jane into his arms, being very careful to keep her covered with his duster.
Sleeping in the barn wouldn’t be so bad. It would sure as hell beat watching the old ladies count their great-grandchildren.
* * *
The first was to be called Emily, the second, Alexander. After that, he and Holly Jane would be allowed to name the children whatever they wanted to.
Hell, he wondered, did Holly Jane know about Emily and Alexander?
It was late. The wind howling about the barn kept him awake, so by lantern light he brushed down the horses, beginning with Molly.
The big red barn was not uncomfortable. With a potbelly stove to keep him warm and the whicker of horses for company, he didn’t mind his new home.
The problem was, keeping his distance from Holly Jane would not be as easy as moving to the barn.
She haunted him. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it wasn’t the wind keeping him awake; it was the image of the woman on the elephant, her ivory skin flushed with pleasure.
No matter if he worked up a sweat raking manure, stacking bales of hay or cleaning the henhouse, her image remained in his mind.
That hadn’t happened even with women he’d been thoroughly intimate with.
No doubt by the light of day, with the enchantment of the carousel and the rainy evening vanished, Holly Jane would hate him. There would never be an Emily or an Alexander.
It would be for the best if she did dislike him. Keeping his hands off her would be easier that way.
He cared for Holly Jane too much to compromise her...more than he already had, at any rate.
A little time and a little distance would have them both seeing things more clearly.
Grannie and Aunt Tillie might figure that she was the one for him, but unless she felt the same, he would have to keep his hands to himself.
Holly Jane was a special woman. She deserved nothing but respect.
He’d respect the hell out of her until his mind put her clothes back on.
Last night he’d left Holly Jane on the back porch wrapped in nothing but his duster, then gone back out into the rain to gather up her clothing.
Life would be a damn sight simpler if he hadn’t missed the camisole hanging on the elephant’s trunk.
Grannie didn’t miss it, though. First thing this morning she spotted it and trudged through the mud to see if she was hallucinating the merrily waving garment.
* * *
Holly Jane walked home from The Sweet Treat nibbling on a chocolate cookie.
“Did you know that my firstborn has a name, Lulu?” She stopped and peered down at the small pink pig while it stopped to snuffle at the bare branch of a wild rose. “It’s Emily. Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie have their hearts set on it.”
It was a very good thing that Colt had moved into the barn because, as set on great-grandchildren as Grannie and Aunt Tillie were, Holly Jane was set on having a husband first.
She probably shouldn’t have allowed Colt to touch her last night, but saying no would have been worse than pulling a tooth, worse than using salt in place of sugar...vinegar in place of honey.
The mystery of his touch would have been an itch in her heart. She would have always wondered.
And now she knew. Colt would be her man or no one would.
The idea of allowing another man to touch her the way he had was unthinkable. The thought of never being touched like that by him again was a knife to the heart.
This was proof that the old ladies’ intuition h
ad been spot-on from the very beginning.
Colt Wesson was her one and only. The trouble was he didn’t know it yet.
Evidently he believed that she was virtue incarnate, while he was betrayer of everything good and respectable.
“I’d like to point out, Lulu, which one of us was sitting on the elephant naked last night.”
Over breakfast this morning, Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie had been tingling with joy over last night’s events, which, because of her camisole, could not be hidden from them.
They assured her that Colt’s moving into the barn was a very good sign. It meant he wanted to do the right thing by her.
If only she could believe that, her nerves might settle down. For all she knew, the reason he had moved into the barn was because he found her unappealing.
Tonight at dinner, she would ask the ladies not to speak of one and onlys.
He might dig in his heels and remind himself why she was not the one for him.
If there were an Emily then an Alexander in all of their futures, Colt could not be rushed.
She didn’t know much about love, but what she did know, besides that she was in it, was that it couldn’t be forced.
Love was like bread. It didn’t just flash into being all at once. It required kneading and time to rise, time to be punched down then rise again.
Just because she had fallen in love in the blink of an eye, didn’t mean that was normal.
Tonight, to relax and reassure herself that it would all work out well, she would bake bread.
Tomorrow morning she would take the loaf out to the barn. Colt wouldn’t know that she was offering him time.
She would be patient, keep her clothes on no matter what and let the yeast do its work.
* * *
Holly Jane carried her loaf of bread and Colt’s duster to the barn the next morning. The air was cold and crisp, a perfect start to the early-November day. In the east, the sky had just begun to turn red where the sun lit the belly side of a bank of clouds.
It should have been a peaceful moment, but she had the odd feeling that she ought to be looking over her shoulder. She hadn’t felt that sensation since Colt had come to town and the Folsoms and the Broadhowers had given up on courting her.
She hugged her coat tighter about her shoulders and hurried inside through the small door.
Colt had set up his bed in an empty stall close to the big black stove that Granddaddy had installed. She hadn’t seen it lit in several years. The warmth and the glow shot her back to the past, and it was not Colt, but Granddaddy that she saw filling the horse troughs with hay.
“Good morning,” Holly Jane said to Colt, leaving the loaf of bread on the rail of the empty stall.
“Holly Jane.” He nodded in her direction then went back to his work.
“It looks like a cold one today,” she said, making her voice sound congenial. “You’ll need your duster.”
She hung it over the rail beside the bread.
He turned slowly then stuck the tines of his pitchfork into the stack of hay.
“About the other night—” he began, but she cut him off.
“It’s best forgotten,” she said quickly. She turned and walked toward Molly before he could read on her face that she would not forget a single detail of what happened the other night. When she was a wrinkled old woman she would be able to relive every second of that encounter.
She stroked Molly’s nose, then turned toward the big barn door. Colt pushed it open to the fresh scent of the autumn morning. Clouds and sunshine battled for the day.
“Have a pleasant morning,” she said brightly, stepping past him.
He caught her elbow. “Forgive me, Holly Jane.”
She patted his hand. She smiled. “Really, Colt, there’s no need. We’re even, just like we said.”
He let go of her elbow, and she backed away from him quickly before she did what she really wanted to and threw herself against his big, hard-muscled chest.
“Will we see you at dinner?” she asked, because it seemed like the polite thing to say. Like something she would say if he hadn’t changed her world.
He answered with a frown.
By the time she reached the path through the woods, the birds had woken up. Sunlight kissed the treetops and reflected off the bare branches.
That uncomfortable sensation of being watched tingled again between her shoulder blades.
She glanced about quickly but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Chances are she felt jittery because of the uneasy feelings between her and the man she had decided she could not live without.
* * *
“And don’t forget,” Holly Jane reminded Mrs. Henson, who walked out the door of The Sweet Treat with a dozen warm cookies in her basket, “the carousel will be running this Sunday after church. Bring your children and tell your neighbors.”
The door opened and one of the Mrs. Broadhowers walked in.
“Thank you, Holly Jane,” Mrs. Henson said. “And I’m so sorry you lost your grandfather’s ranch the way you did. It was your home, after all.”
“Oh, well. I didn’t lose the whole thing. Granddaddy did leave me the land that the carousel is on.”
“That’s something, anyway. Maybe you can build yourself a little place and settle on it. We’ll see you on Sunday afternoon.”
Mrs. Henson waved goodbye but did not acknowledge Mrs. Broadhower.
“Good afternoon, Sylvie.” Holly Jane smiled at her customer. “Can I help you with something?”
“That apple pie looks good. I’ll take it.”
Holly Jane lifted it from the display case and set it on the counter.
“Is it true, you didn’t lose all the land?”
“I have the little bit that the carousel is on.”
“It was a crime what your grandfather did to you.”
What he did to the Broadhowers is more what she was probably thinking. Holly Jane didn’t point that out, though, since her objective was peace, not contention.
“Mr. Travers has repaired the carousel. I’m inviting all the town children on Sunday afternoon. I’d be pleased to see you there.”
“I imagine that wicked Mr. Travers will be there...and some Folsoms. There’s bound to be trouble, Holly Jane. I think this is not a wise thing to do.”
“Sylvie, don’t you remember years ago when you brought your little brothers and sisters to the carousel? We all had so much fun.”
“That was a long time ago. Things have changed.”
“Just because you married a Broadhower doesn’t mean you have to hate the Folsoms.”
“Doesn’t it? You are a single lady, Holly Jane. You wouldn’t know anything about that.” Sylvie Broadhower snatched her pie and left the shop.
As far as Holly Jane was concerned, Sylvie was as much a victim of the feud as anyone else. There was a time not many years ago when she had been a popular girl in town, known for her friendliness.
She turned toward the kitchen, ready to straighten up and go home, but another customer came in.
“How can I help you?” she asked the dusty-looking stranger.
“You Miss Holly Jane Munroe?” He removed his hat and gripped it in his fists. His fingernails were imbedded with grime. His hair looked like it hadn’t seen a combing in some time.
“I am.”
“I hear tell your treats are sweet.” He stared at her then the case of pastries. “I’ll have me a...whatever that thing is with the dots on it...for my long trip home.”
Holly Jane took a scone from the case.
He snatched it up and started to walk out the door without paying for it. That would never do, tired traveler or not.
“That will be five cents, if you please.”
> “Sorry, ma’am.” He dug in his pocket and drew out a nickel that he placed on the counter. “Ain’t used to town ways.”
“Have a safe trip home, sir,” she said, and deposited the nickel in her apron pocket.
“It’ll be a long weary ride but I reckon the trip will have been worth it, all in all.”
As soon as he left the shop, she locked the door behind him and turned her thoughts to the coming evening.
Colt had taken his dinner in the barn last night. Grannie Rose was convinced that it had been because he would not to be able to resist her charms. Aunt Tillie figured it was because he was laden in shame.
In either case, they assured her, it boded well for the great-grandchildren.
Chapter Ten
Colt huddled into his duster against the brisk November wind. He turned up the collar. It was damn cold after sundown even wrapped up in his coat.
He stood in the yard watching the homey scene being played out through the dining room window. Holly Jane, Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie sat about the table eating and laughing. Behind them he saw the flames of a cozy fire casting the dining room in a soft orange glow.
Only a fool would shiver outside, watching smoke curl out of the chimney. A boy might avoid going inside his own house because of a woman, but he hadn’t been a boy in a long time. Hell, maybe he never had been.
He stomped up the porch stairs, strode through the parlor and into the dining room.
“Good evening, ladies.” He shrugged out of his coat and let the flames from the fireplace warm his backside. “What’s on the menu?”
“It’s good to see you’ve come to your senses, Colt.” Aunt Tillie pointed to the place they had left for him at the table.
His dinner plate was already piled high with beef and spuds, so he sat down to the warm feast. He wouldn’t miss supper in the barn. The horses hadn’t turned out to be the most sociable of eating companions.
“We were just discussing what we should serve for the carousel party,” Holly Jane said, smiling at him without a trace of resentment in her voice.