Anthology - BIG SKY GROOMS

by DAVIDSON, Carolyn. MALLERY, Susan. WILLIAMS, Bronwyn (in) Montana Mavericks

  She opened her mouth to defend him, and he grinned widely, not the cocky, insouciant flash of teeth she’d seen on those first few days, but a genuine look of amusement, of pleasure. There was perhaps even a touch of admiration in his eyes as he took her measure.

  “Why don’t you trot on home with your things and I’ll get a buggy and pick you up at the schoolhouse in half an hour. I’m sure the town will survive without either one of us for next little while.”

  She hesitated, and watched the joy begin to fade from his blue eyes. “Yes. All right,” she said quickly. “I’ll be ready.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KATE PULLED her bonnet from her head once the town was safely behind. “We won’t get all the way to the mountains, will we?” Her sigh spoke of resignation as her hat was settled beneath the seat.

  James shook his head, and his grin flashed. “Probably not. But you’ll be closer to them than you were this morning. Does that count?”

  He was a consummate flirt, and she should probably be flattered that he practiced his wiles on her. Yet, flattery seemed to be beneath him, she decided. He was straightforward, charming and intent on pleasing her today. For that she would be grateful.

  “Yes, it counts,” she admitted, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight. The mountains towered in the distance, closer than they were an hour earlier, to be sure, yet some distance away. She turned to look at him, and was caught up in the amusement that tilted his lips and sparkled from his blue eyes.

  “I think I needed to be away from town for just a bit, needed the chance to take off my bonnet and roll up my sleeves and…” Her voice trailed off as his gaze touched the dark tresses she’d combed earlier, when it seemed she couldn’t bear the constraint of pins against her head.

  “I like your hair down over your shoulders,” he admitted easily. “But if you don’t watch out, you’re likely to get sunburn on those arms.” One hand gripped the reins loosely and the other reached, long fingers stroking her forearm.

  A chill traveled the length of her spine and goose bumps rose to meet his fingertips. “Doggone,” he mused softly, “I’d have sworn your skin was warm, and you’re all shivery instead.” His hand enclosed hers and he brought it up to his mouth, his lips warm against her knuckles, his moustache a soft brush, teasing her skin.

  She should pull from his grasp. She should ask him to return to town, and insist that he release her hand. If only her own fingers weren’t so intent on clinging to his callused skin, she’d do that very thing. The edge of his moustache brushed the back of her hand again, and she wondered at its soft caress. It had felt the same the day he’d pressed those same lips against hers, and at that memory she shivered again.

  “You want my coat?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, his hand drawing hers to rest against his chest.

  Kate shook her head. “I think you need to release me, James.” There, she’d said it, politely and softly, and her breath caught in her throat as he shook his head.

  “Naw, I don’t think so, ma’am.” He drew the reins closer and the horse slowed, then halted, shaking her head, causing the harness to jingle. Birds flew across the meadow at their right, where wildflowers bloomed in a profusion of bright color. A rabbit bounded through the tall grass ahead of them, where the track they followed veered a bit to the left, and a scent like no other she’d inhaled rose from the man before her.

  His jaw was set now, his eyes seeming darker, and his nostrils flared a bit, as though the air he breathed was scarce. “I believe I’m gonna kiss you, Kate,” he whispered, and she watched as his head bent, and a flush ridged his cheekbones.

  “Do I have a choice?” she asked, intent on the small scar next to his right eye, the dark, waving tress that fell over his forehead.

  “No, ma’am. You don’t.” Almost apologetic, his words brushed against her mouth as his lips parted just a bit over hers. “You surely don’t,” he sighed. “And neither do I, I’m afraid.”

  It bore little resemblance to his first attempt, when he’d left a memory of that brief caress to burn against her mouth. He’d apologized that day, and if his movements now were anything to go by, she would not receive such polite regrets today. His mouth softened, enclosing hers as he suckled her bottom lip, touching it with the edges of his teeth. He tasted of spearmint and coffee and the sound in his throat spoke of satisfaction as he leaned against her, her back supported by the buggy seat.

  She clung. Indeed, she could do little else, for his hands took possession, one at the back of her neck, the other at her waist, and she was pressed indecently against him. The width of his shoulders was measured by her palms and then she shifted her grip, sliding her hands to his nape, her fingers tunneling through dark hair. A whimper rose from her throat and he took it within his mouth, then breathed it against her cheek.

  “Kate.” He spoke her name softly, with a lilt she’d not heard before. “Is it Katherine?” he asked, and she recognized the touch of Irish some of his words contained.

  “No, just Kate,” she answered. And then wished in her deepest heart that her mother had had the fore-thought to name her with those soft syllables he breathed against her throat.

  “Have you ever been seduced?” he asked, his words sounding whimsical as he brushed damp kisses across her skin. “Ah, no. Of course you haven’t,” he said, answering his own query. “You’re a lady, through and through, Kate Elliott. And I’m a rascal. A scamp, my mother used to say.”

  She was speechless. For the first time in her life, she could think of no words to express the mixture of disbelief, tinged with pleasure that swamped her. Too honest to deny the pleasure of his touch, too candid to believe his motives were prompted by a rush of passion on his part. He was funning her, she decided, and that was something she could cope with.

  “A scamp?” she managed to say, clearing her throat with effort. “I’d call you a tease, Mr. Kincaid. It’s a good thing I’m immune to your brand of palavering.”

  He lifted his head, and she was intrigued by the heat of his gaze, puzzled by the whimsy of his smile. “I’m not teasing, Kate,” he murmured. “The only thing keeping me from hauling you out of this buggy and down on that nice thick bed of meadow grass is the fact that you’re a virgin—and I’m not a marrying man.”

  Her heartbeat increased. Fingers that had clutched for purchase against his nape flattened and slid from his shoulders to form fists against his chest. She pushed against him and he relented, tilting his head, as if he must observe her from a new angle. His lips were damp and shiny and she fought to keep her fingers from them.

  “I have no desire to marry you, Mr. Kincaid,” she said quietly. “I consider you my friend.” Her gaze left his lips and she looked directly into his eyes, wanting her message to be clear. “I have no plans for taking a husband.”

  He lifted a brow. “Ever?”

  Kate shook her head. “I prefer the privacy of living alone.”

  “You don’t want a family? Children?”

  “I deal with children every weekday,” she said, gathering her composure, wondering if her mouth wore such a moist, swollen look as did his.

  “They’re not yours,” he stated. “You’ll have no one to follow on after you.”

  She laughed softly. “This is the man who, until just weeks ago, drank and gambled for a living? Now you’re concerned about leaving a legacy?”

  He sat erect, frowning. His hands slid from her, fingers leaving a trailing caress behind as he smoothed the folded cuffs of her dress. “I hadn’t thought about it before, to tell the truth,” he admitted. “Now, with Caleb and Ruth making a home place and William married to Lizzy…I guess I feel like it’s time to begin taking stock.”

  “You’re a Kincaid,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re expected to carry on the name, I suppose.” Her hand reached for him and his eyes followed its movement. “And that in itself makes you a marrying man, I think.” A long index finger touched his silver star and she wiped off a minuscul
e speck of dust, her smile reflected in her voice. “And now you’re even civilized…sort of.”

  He laughed, a rusty sound that made her stomach tremble. “Me? Civilized? I doubt anyone else would use that word when they speak of me, ma’am.”

  And that was the part of him that appealed to her, she realized. That faintly dangerous, dark and desperate element he kept hidden from those who rubbed elbows with him daily. Even as a man struggling with a hangover, he’d courted laughter. Only moments after he’d killed a man, she reminded herself. He had depths she had only begun to probe, secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear, and yet, he lured her with his seductive touches, his brash humor.

  And she, who had determined never to be dominated by a man within the bonds of marriage, found that resolution wavering for the first time.

  “Shall we drive closer to the mountains?” she asked. “Or have you changed your mind?”

  He turned from her, lifting the reins, his glance amused. “I take it I haven’t frightened you off, then?”

  “I’m not afraid of you, James,” she told him.

  “You don’t think I’ll change my mind and seduce you after all?” His grin widened as she shook her head.

  “I’m not the sort of woman men look at in that way. I’m too old for such shenanigans.”

  “I’d say you were just about the right age,” he said easily. “Old enough to know your own mind, and beyond the age of wishing on the first star. And, just between you and me—” he leaned closer as if he would impart a mysterious secret “—you’re never too old for such shenanigans.”

  THEY HALTED beneath a tree, and Kate wondered what bird had dropped a seed in this empty place, what rains had nourished the seedling and what winds had caused it to lean toward the east, even as its roots clung to the earth below. The road behind them was faint, disappearing over a slight rise, and to both north and south, the land stretched as far as her eye could see. A line of dark shadows lined the southern horizon, and ahead of them rose the majestic peaks she’d yearned to behold.

  James stepped down from the buggy and lifted his hands to her. “Come on, Kate. We’ll eat here. I strapped a basket on the back.”

  “Who cooked for you?” she asked, allowing his hands to grip her waist, feeling a moment of sheer panic when her feet left the buggy floor and she was airborne, only to slide against his hard, angular frame as he lowered her to the ground.

  “Mrs. Harroun,” he said, stepping to the back of the buggy where he undid the leather straps that held the basket in place. “She runs the boardinghouse.”

  Kate walked beneath the shelter of the tree, settling herself against the trunk. “Have you thought of finding a place of your own to live? Now that you’re gainfully employed?”

  “I’ve been gainfully employed for years, sweetheart,” he told her, depositing the basket at her feet. “Being a gambler isn’t the same as being poor as a church mouse. Not always, at least,” he said as an afterthought. “Not if you’re a very good gambler.”

  He sat on the ground next to her and lifted the basket lid. “I think there’s fried chicken in here and a jar of fruit and a couple of forks to eat with.” He leaned closer and withdrew a towel-wrapped object. “Looks like a loaf of bread, too.” His brow quirked as he flashed her a look of inquiry. “You mind eating from a jar?”

  Kate shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it pays to be fussy on a picnic. Especially when someone else is in charge of the food.” She took the proffered fork and waited as he opened the heavy glass canning jar, pulling the rubber ring to break the seal. The lid in one hand, he offered her the first bite, and she pierced a slice of golden peach with her fork, lifting it to her mouth.

  His gaze followed the action and his mouth thinned as she felt a trickle of juice drip from her chin. She wiped at it with her index finger and he reached to snatch her finger, caught it within his grasp, then lifted it to his mouth. Capturing her fingertip between his lips, his tongue moved to suckle the pale liquid from her flesh.

  It took her breath and he watched as her eyes darkened and then widened, meeting his with a look of pure astonishment. “Have you never felt desire, Kate?” he asked. The woman he’d brought to this place was indeed more innocent than he’d thought. The creature he’d once considered plain and bookish, whose only attributes appeared at first to be a pair of long, shapely legs, had somehow turned into an alluring female. Through her spectacles, her eyes seemed huge, their green depths holding feminine mysteries, secrets he yearned to discover.

  She drew him as a stallion is drawn to a fine, long-legged mare, her scent luring him. Kate Elliott, for all her denial was prime. Tempting, yet forbidden.

  For even at the depths of his gambling and carousing, he’d steered clear of innocence. Some small part of him had adhered to what was honorable as far as women were concerned. His mother, Penny, might not have been without fault, but she’d been a lady, and even in the years after she’d walked away from Thomas Kincaid, leaving him with a small boy to raise on his own, James had heard only kind words for the woman who had borne him.

  Unwilling to open himself to the heartbreak his father had faced on that long-ago day, James had elected, on his downward path to ruin, only to socialize with women who would not be harmed by an evening’s dalliance with a rogue such as himself.

  Kate did not fall into that category. Not unless he planned to marry her. And wasn’t that an idiotic idea?

  His hand was steady as he handed her a piece of chicken, taken from an assortment on a pie tin, and her wide, dark eyes met his warily. “Eat, Kate.”

  Marriage. The thought had crossed his mind a few times, but never lingered there. Now it lodged there, and he considered the notion. He could do worse than Kate Elliott. It would certainly be no great sacrifice to bed the woman—far from it, in fact. And his sons and daughters would likely inherit her intelligence and stand a chance of being upright citizens, given her good sense and moral integrity.

  Yet, she was grimly determined to evade the clutches of matrimony, and his natural sense of curiosity nudged him. “What frightens you, Kate? Do you see shadows in the dark? Are you haunted by old ghosts from the past?”

  Her teeth were white against the breast meat she’d only begun to devour, and he was tempted to laugh aloud as she halted abruptly, then withdrew it from her mouth. A dainty handkerchief was tugged from her pocket and used to wipe her mouth before she answered his impetuous questions. The hesitation was long, and she placed the scraps from her piece of chicken on one side of Mrs. Harroun’s pie tin before she looked up to meet his expectant gaze.

  “Did no one ever tell you that a cat died of your symptoms, James?”

  “I’m a curious sort of fella, sweetheart,” he said softly, leaning to brush a lingering crumb from her lower lip. He’d considered leaning to lift it with the tip of his tongue, then thought better of it. “You’ve told me about your upbringing and the years you’ve spent teaching, but I don’t recall much being said about your folks. Their marriage, in particular. It makes me wonder.”

  “I don’t have any old ghosts,” she said tartly. “I’ve never been frightened of the dark, probably because I have enough sense to stay in the house at night.” She smiled suddenly, a whimsical smile he thought, as if she remembered the score or so of evenings they’d shared over the past weeks.

  “Very little frightens me, actually,” she told him. “Deep water, maybe, since I can’t swim. Thunderstorms, perhaps. I saw lightning strike a house once and burn it to the ground.” She picked up a chicken wing and looked it over, as if it held the answers he sought. And then she regarded him soberly, and he caught a glimpse of pain reflected in the depths of green eyes.

  “I heard my mother weep far into the night, more than once, because she could not hold the love of the man she’d married. He drank, James, and he was not a harmless man when he emptied a bottle. My mother did not share his love of whiskey and so he found other women who were not so particular.”


  “I’m surprised you allowed me to escort you that first day,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. “I’ve wondered myself why I didn’t walk away, once I realized the state you were in.”

  “And did you come up with an answer?” he asked.

  “No.” She lifted the crusty wing to her mouth and bit into it, tearing the meat from the bone, then chewing it with a steady movement of her jaws. She tore a strip of meat and held it between thumb and index finger, then raised it to his mouth.

  Her fingers brushed his lower lip and he took the morsel from her, watching her intently. Another tidbit was captured by her, crusty and enticing, and she considered it, offering it for his approval. Leaning forward a few inches, he took it with care, then touched her thumb with the tip of his tongue, securing it between his lips to draw the traces of crisp coating from her skin.

  She blinked and he suppressed a smile. “You’re flirting with me, Kate. You want to watch it. I might take you seriously.”

  “I’ve never flirted in my life,” she retorted, the spell broken as she snatched her hand away. And then her innate honesty won out and she bit at her bottom lip, worrying it for a moment before she made her admission of guilt. “Until now. I wasn’t sure I knew how.”

  He inhaled, aware again of her scent, the floral fragrance she used so sparingly, the sweet woman aroma that rose to announce her body’s response to him. Lifting his leg, he bent his knee to conceal the evidence of his own reaction to her warmth and feminine appeal. “You do well for a beginner,” he allowed, reaching for another piece of chicken. “How about another wing?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. Then leaned closer to peer into the box. “Is the bread sliced?”

  He handed her the towel-wrapped loaf. “I don’t know. If not, just tear off a piece. I don’t think Mrs. Harroun sent a knife along.”