Sweet Wind, Wild Wind

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Even at thirteen, Lara had sensed the tension between Carson and his father. She had known without being told that Carson was giving out gifts under protest. Other people might not notice it, but to Lara, Carson’s hostility was as tangible as the Christmas scent of evergreen that permeated the room. It had always been like that for Lara – she was as instinctively sensitive to Carson as a flower was to the sun. Lara had neither sought nor discovered an explanation for her instant response to Carson Blackridge. It was simply a fact, like the color of the sky. Because she had no memory of a time when she hadn’t been aware of Carson, she had never questioned that awareness. She had simply worshiped him with all of her young heart, and always at a distance. Her sensitivity to Carson’s feelings had quickly told her that he wanted nothing to do with the thin, blue-eyed bastard whose mother had recently died in a storm. So she had watched him from afar, her eyes full of dreams and stirrings she was too young to name. He was aware of her, too; she was sure of it. It could not be an accident that he was never where she was on the Rocking B.

  Years later, when Lara was eighteen and working at a restaurant in town during the summer before she began her classes at the university, Carson had allowed himself to admit that he noticed her. Not only did he acknowledge her, but he actually seemed to pursue her. He started coming several times a week to the cafe where she worked, and each time he was there, he flirted with her. When he had finally asked her for a date, it had seemed like a dream come true….

  “Whoops!” said Carson, withdrawing his feet and catching the tray before anything could spill.

  “Sorry,” Lara said, feeling the heat of embarrassment climb up her cheeks.

  “My fault,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m a little big for these booths. I sort of spill out into the aisle.”

  She couldn’t help looking from his stirrup-scarred cowboy boots to the muscular length of his legs straining against the faded fabric of his jeans. As always when he was within view, her heart beat too fast and simultaneously a strange weakness flooded through her, making her clumsy. She had nearly dumped a dinner in his lap out of sheer shock when she had recognized him sitting in her section of the café. He looked so relaxed, so utterly male, like a big mountain cat resting in a meadow, eyes half closed against the summer sun. Carson’s eyes were like a cougar’s, too, clear amber with a flash of dark green in their depths.

  “You’re perfect – it’s the booth that’s too small,” Lara said without thinking. As she heard her words, she flushed again, feeling like a complete fool. She had overheard enough of the local girls talking about Carson to know that he was much chased by women and rarely caught, and even then only for a short time. “Ketchup?” she asked quickly, setting a big hamburger and fries in front of Carson.

  “Thanks, but I think the half bottle you brought earlier will hold me.”

  Lara looked away from Carson’s thick, dark eyelashes long enough to realize that there was already a bottle of ketchup on the table, as well as steak sauce and mustard. She retreated without looking at him again.

  It was the same the next three times he came in – her sudden heat and weakness, her clumsiness and unguarded tongue. She had dreamed of him for so long that his reality was overwhelming. She kept telling herself that she was being foolish, that he wasn’t pursuing her, that he would never pursue her. His opinion of his father’s former relationship with Becky Chandler was no secret. Besides, Carson had his pick of the sophisticated, experienced women who found their way to the Rocking B in hopes of catching and holding the interest of one of the most eligible bachelors in the state of Montana. What possible reason could Carson have to pursue a tongue-tied, blushing teenager?

  The fifth time Lara glanced up and saw Carson watching her from what she had come to think of as “his” booth, she felt her heart turn over at the intensity of his look and the male heat in his slow, approving smile as she walked over to him.

  “Hello, little fox,” he said, gently brushing aside the menu she offered and running his fingertips over her right hand. “How’s the burn?”

  The teasing endearment sent a helpless flush over Lara’s cheeks, as did the gentle touch. The last time he had been in the café. he had told her that she looked like a fox at twilight – dark, shy, mysterious and very, very soft.

  Lara looked down at her fingers, barely remembering that she had burned her hand a few weeks before. “Fine, thanks,” she said, her voice husky. Her right hand felt as though it were on fire again, but this time it was from Carson’s quick, gentle touch. “Do you want the usual?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Lara smiled and prepared to make some revisions in the menu. Carson was one of the few customers who regularly got away with special orders. The cafe’s owner was Yo-landa’s brother. Whatever Carson wanted was given to him without question, for the Blackridges had been very good to Yolanda’s family through the years, sending their children to college and helping them get started in various small businesses.

  “I’ll have the steak and fries and blue-cheese dressing on the salad,” Carson said.

  That was the “yes” part of his order. Lara looked up from the pad, waiting for the “no” part.

  “And for dessert I’ll have you for a partner at the cattleman’s dance this Saturday,” Carson continued calmly.

  Lara had actually started to write Carson’s words on the order pad when their meaning penetrated. Her head snapped up, and her blue eyes widened.

  “What?” she asked, afraid to believe her own ears.

  “I promise to hold your feet off the floor so you won’t need to worry about getting trampled,” he said, his eyes glinting with humor. The dances were notoriously crowded and sometimes rather rowdy. Lara just barely prevented herself from blurting out that, if Carson was her partner, her feet would be so far off the floor anyway that they’d have to keep her on a leash like a carnival balloon.

  “I – I’d love to – “ Lara closed her eyes, hating the words that she had to say next.

  “But?” he asked softly, watching her with eyes that missed nothing, seeing both her eagerness and her disappointment.

  “I have to work,” she said, her voice plainly unhappy.

  “What time do you get off?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your apartment at 10:30.”

  Lara looked at Carson for a long moment before a smile transformed her face, making her glow like a delicate porcelain sculpture lighted from within. “Thank you, Carson. I’ll look forward to it.”

  He hesitated, then smiled in return. “So will I.”

  Only later did she realize why his tone had struck her as strange. It was almost as if he had been surprised to find himself looking forward to their date. But that was absurd. If he hadn’t wanted to take her out, there would have been no reason for him to ask her to the dance in the first place.

  Lara left work early Saturday night and raced to her apartment, tearing the hated hairnet in her eagerness to be rid of it. She showered, washed and dried her hair and men brushed it until it shone like a raven’s wing. The natural wave in the breast-length strands made her hair thick and luxuriant. Freed of the hairnet, her stylish, subtly layered haircut framed her face in soft, open curves that caressed her fine-grained skin like black flames. Against the darkness of her hair, her blue eyes had a jewel-like intensity and depth. She wore just enough makeup to emphasize rather man overwhelm her natural coloring, and a perfume that was as fragile as moonlight. She hesitated in front of her closet, wishing that she had a dress as special as the occasion. Finally she settled for a white silk blouse that she had bought on sale a few weeks before and a swirling, floor-length skirt that was as black as her hair. A scarlet sash tied gaucho-style around her waist added a vivid splash of color that was repeated in her enamel earrings and matching bracelet.

  With a frown Lara studied her reflection in the mirror, wishing she were older
or had a spectacular figure or blond hair to her waist or a splashy designer dress or all four together. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about Carson comparing her to the glittering, slinky women who always seemed to turn up at these affairs, making life miserable for their plainer or less wealthy sisters.

  “Carson didn’t ask one of those flashy types to the dance,” Lara reminded herself out loud. “He asked me.”

  That continuing miracle still swept over her at odd moments, making her shiver with pleasure.

  Another wave of pleasure went over Lara when she opened the door and saw Carson’s surprise, quickly followed by his frank male admiration.

  “Little fox,” he murmured, looking at Lara from her gleaming hair to the black-nylon-clad toes peeking out of her high-heeled, patent-leather sandals. “You make me wish I weren’t taking you out among the wolves tonight. I want to keep you all to myself.”

  Lara smiled and relaxed beneath Carson’s genuine admiration.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, no longer nervous about the coming date. Then, without stopping to think, she added, “Mountain lions don’t need to worry about wolves.”

  Carson looked surprised again. His mouth curled into an odd smile. “Is that how you see me?” he asked. “A cougar?”

  A quick sideways glance assured Lara that Carson was amused rather than put off by her frankness. “Yes,” she said, picking up her little black purse. “Strong, rangy and graceful in a very masculine way. Not to mention your eyes.” She smiled and looked away from him, saying, “But I suppose you’re awfully tired of girls going on and on about your eyes.”

  Again Lara managed to surprise Carson, who had thought himself long past the age when a woman could show him anything new. He laughed suddenly and took Lara’s hand, tugging her close to his side after she locked her apartment door.

  “This may come as a shock,” he said dryly, “but none of my dates have mentioned my eyes.”

  Lara looked startled. “Oh. Er, maybe it would be better if I went back to being tongue-tied.”

  “Only if my tongue gets to do the tying,” Carson retorted, leaning past Lara to open his car door and glancing aside in time to watch the blush climbing up her face as the meaning of his words registered. He laughed again and ran the back of his fingers over her hot cheek.

  “Little fox, you’re a real pleasure to tease. I didn’t think girls still knew how to blush.”

  Lara groaned and tried to shield her face behind her hands. Gently Carson pried her fingers away.

  “Don’t hide,” he said, kissing her flushed cheek and the corner of her mouth.

  “You must think I’m a little fool,” she whispered helplessly, shivering as she felt his mustache move over her sensitive lips like a silk brush.

  “I think you’re like a mountain creek on a hot summer day – clear, sparkling, sweet and tempting as all hell.”

  Lara would rather have been thought of as mysterious, sexy and complex, but she had just enough self-control not to say so out loud. She quit trying to hide her face and smiled at Carson rather uncertainly. He returned the smile with one of his own, a smile different from any she had seen from him before, as gently approving as a man watching a kitten chasing a teasing piece of yarn. When he bent and kissed her softly on the lips, she couldn’t control her reaction or the small sound of her swiftly indrawn breath.

  “Get in the car,” Carson said, his voice deep, “before I decide to spend the night right here, kissing you.”

  Lara’s red lips parted slightly as her breath came out in a rush. The thought of being kissed – really kissed – by Carson was both exciting and unnerving. His eyes narrowed as he read her instant response, but before he could move, she slid into the car. As he shut the door after her, he let out his breath in a soundless curse, surprised at the heat racing through his body.

  The dance was held in the local Grange building. What the ballroom lacked in elegance it made up for in warmth and laughter. Everyone there knew everyone else, and the band knew all the favorite songs both old and new. By the time Carson and Lara arrived, most of the older couples had already gone home, leaving the floor to the violently energetic under-thirty set. The band had responded with the driving rhythms of rock music interspersed with slow, sexy ballads. Carson found a small table, brought Lara a cola and himself a beer and pulled a chair around until he was sitting right next to her.

  “To surprises,” he said, smiling and clinking his glass lightly against hers.

  She smiled almost shyly and took a sip. When she found that the drink hadn’t been spiked, she let out a silent breath of relief. She hated the taste of alcohol, and she distrusted the dates who handed her a strong drink without asking her preference.

  “Thank you,” Lara said.

  Carson’s dark, thick eyebrows raised in silent question.

  “For not giving me a drink that would bring down a bull,” she explained.

  Deep male laughter wrapped around Lara like a caress. After a moment she began to laugh, too.

  “I outgrew that kind of maneuvering before I graduated from high school,” Carson said, shaking his head.

  “I wish more men had,” said Lara.

  “You have something against alcohol?” he asked innocently.

  “Nope. It sure has something against me, though. First my forehead goes numb, then my head goes all twirly, and then I get sick as a hound dog that’s been eating tall grass.”

  Lara’s words stopped suddenly when she realized that she must sound about as sophisticated as a six-year-old. Carson shook his head and tried not to show his amusement, but in the end he gave up trying to control himself. He threw back his head and laughed with the kind of contagious humor that had other people turning and looking in his direction with a pleased smile. It got to Lara, as well. She forgot her embarrassment and laughed with Carson. She realized that she liked making him smile, hearing his deep laughter, watching the tight lines vanish from his face. It made her feel like a court magician bringing pleasure to a hard-working king.

  Long, strong fingers closed over Lara’s as Carson took her hand and squeezed gently. “You’re not at all what I expected,” he said. The feel of Carson’s warmth and strength radiated up Lara’s arm in a wave of pleasure. When her breath came back, she asked, “What did you expect?”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lara could have bitten her tongue. She knew precisely what Carson might have expected from an illegitimate child who was living alone in an apartment at a time when most girls her age were still living with their families. Unfortunately, her grandfather couldn’t afford a car for her to commute from the homestead to a job in town. Without a job there would have been no money for university tuition and books in the fall. Her apartment was very small; that and the fact that it was in a building partially owned by one of Cheyenne’s old friends made the rental cost minimal. It was lonely living on her own but necessary if she wanted an education.

  “Never mind,” Lara said quickly, looking away from Carson. “I can imagine what you expected. Sorry about that, but I’m definitely not what the local gossips probably advertised. So don’t feel like you have to stick it out here with me just to be polite. You can take me home anytime.”

  “How about tomorrow morning?”

  The casual proposition shocked Lara. Her head snapped around toward Carson so quickly that her hair flew out and shimmered like black silk. She had called him a mountain lion – a predator – and that was exactly what he looked like then, his powerful body poised as though to pounce and his eyes almost yellow, narrowed in calculation. A feeling of bitter disappointment washed through Lara, taking all the color from her, leaving behind only a pale shadow of her former animation. Carson hadn’t wanted to be with her. Not really. He had just wanted to go to bed with her. She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t sleep with men, even one that she had admired all her life. Her lips moved, but no words ca
me out.

  “You’re totally innocent, aren’t you?” asked Carson, watching Lara intently.

  “Yes,” she whispered finally, getting her voice back. She slipped her fingers from his and pushed back from the Cable. “I’m sorry. Thanks for being so honest about what you wanted from me. I should have guessed, but I’m not very…experienced.” Lara’s lips trembled, and her voice dried up. She swallowed, tried to speak and couldn’t.

  “Goodbye, Carson,” she managed, her voice so frayed it hardly carried beyond her lips.

  Lara turned and quickly began to work her way through the fringes of the people crowding the dance floor. The band was playing a slow ballad that had a provocative, erotic rhythm. Couples clung to each other and swayed slowly from side to side, lost in a sensual world of warmth and closeness. Blindly Lara tried to slide through the dancers without causing a disturbance. She had just reached the edge of a small clearing in the crowd when Carson’s hand closed around her wrist and tugged, using her own momentum to spin her around toward him.

  “Carson, I won’t – “

  “Hush, little fox,” he said softly, ending Lara’s protest by pulling her into his arms.

  “But I won’t – “

  “I know,” Carson said, cutting across Lara’s words and then kissing her lips gently. His hand slid beneath the black fall of her hair and stroked her spine soothingly. “Dance with me.”

  Lara hesitated, torn between her desire to be with Carson and her fear that he expected more from her than she wanted to give.

  “Look at me,” murmured Carson, taking both her hands and pulling them around his neck.

  In the mirrored darkness of the dance floor, Lara’s eyes were as enigmatic as twilight “I won’t push you. I won’t take anything you don’t want to give me,” Carson promised. “All right?”

  “But you’re used to – “ Lara’s voice broke as she tried to find a polite way to say that Carson was used to having women whenever the sexual urge struck him.