Another Dawn

by Sandra Brown

  "Plum Creek Ranch?" he mused aloud, his brow furrowed. "Sounds sort of.. .uh..." He searched for the right word. "Feminine."

  She had wanted his face to light up with shared enthusiasm for the name and it irked her that it hadn't. "Well, I'm feminine."

  His eyes snapped up to look into hers, then immediately dropped to her breasts again. This time they were softly billowing with indignation. His hands itched to experience that trembling agitation. And he damn sure couldn't dispute the fact that she was feminine.

  Frustrated to the breaking point, he said sharply, after he lifted his gaze back to her face, "It's your ranch, name it anything you please."

  "Thanks so much for your permission." Her voice dripped sarcasm as thick as honey. She scraped back her chair and stood, clanging dishes together as she stacked them.

  Jake rose from his chair too. "I don't think the hands are going to like working on a ranch with such a prissy name."

  "It was only a suggestion. I haven't made up my mind yet."

  A knife slid from one of the plates she was carrying to the sink. She bent down and picked it up, sending her rear in the air. Oh, hell, Jake groaned. Was she driving him mad on purpose? He turned toward the door. "The hands will be here soon. I've got to get to work."

  "What are you going to do today?"

  "Start building the permanent corral."

  "I'll come out and check on things later."

  In those pants, with her hair wild and free, she would be a distraction to a eunuch. That's all he needed, a bunch of randy cowboys who wouldn't get a lick of work done for ogling Banner.

  "Well, before you do, get rid of those britches."

  "What?"

  "You beard me."

  "Why?"

  "Because it'll make my job of protecting you a helluva lot easier if you're not prancing around in tight pants."

  "Prancing!"

  "They're... they're indecent."

  She slammed a dish onto the drain board. "Indecent!" she cried, enraged.

  But Jake was already stalking across the yard.

  * * *

  "Oh... Priscilla... honey."

  Dub Abernathy's eyes were glazed with desire. His forehead was damp with perspiration. The sparse gray hair, each strand of which he valued highly, was plastered to his moist scalp. His fingers worked frantically at the buttons of his vest. He had discarded his coat as soon as he came in. He always did that before accepting a glass of the madam's finest whiskey.

  The woman and the whiskey were forbidden pleasures he indulged in every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon and sometimes on Saturday mornings if Priscilla was willing and he could arrange his schedule.

  "Hmm." He moaned as he shrugged out of his vest and tossed it to the floor. He grabbed for the glass at his elbow on the small, three-legged table and gulped. "Go on, finish."

  Priscilla stood before him in corset and camisole, stockings and high-heeled shoes. The corset forced her breasts up and out, pinched her waist to a drastic narrowness and exaggerated the natural flair of her hips. The garters that ribboned down her thighs held up black sheer stockings that were a shocking contrast to the ivory fairness of her skin.

  Priscilla delighted in teasing Dub to his limit. His desire for her was so obvious. He was so shamelessly licentious and without morals in bed. That's why she liked him. He was unabashed by his passion, having learned and admitted long ago it had nothing to do with love. He wasn't duped by man-made ideals. Human beings were incapable of loving anyone but themselves. But they could give each other pleasure. That's just what she and Dub did. This slow striptease was one of the erotic games they played for entertainment,

  For the last several years Dub Abernathy had been one of Priscilla's regular customers and among the few she handled herself. None of their standing appointments had ever been canceled. She enjoyed their romps, because Dub was adventuresome. Unselfishly he gave her pleasure too. He was a valuable Mend to have for several reasons, not the least of which was his standing in the community.

  Abernathy might be one of the Garden of Eden's staunchest supporters, but he was also a respected businessman in Fort Worth. He served on the board of directors of one of the city's banks, he was chairman of the deacons at the First Baptist Church, he was active on the City Council.

  He was a fraud.

  That's another reason Priscilla liked him. He lived the life of a sterling citizen, but was decadent. She adored corrupting such pillars of the community.

  Slowly Priscilla raised her arms and pulled the pins from her hair. One shining long coil, as though trained to do so, fell over her shoulder to curl beguilingly on her breast.

  The same lips that called on the Lord in prayer on Sunday mornings spoke his name now blasphemously. Priscilla smiled with feline smugness.

  She threw her head back and rolled it from side to side, knowing Dub liked to watch her hair sweep the naked skin of her back.

  "Touch yourself," he whispered raspily. She laid her hands on her chest and lightly skimmed them down until each covered a breast. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," Dub panted. He unfastened the buttons of his trousers and spread them open. Rooted in the banker's conservative gray pinstripes was his rampant desire. Priscilla gloated.

  She pressed her hands over her breasts, rubbed slowly in a circular motion, closed her eyes, and swayed sensuously. Dub's breathing accelerated. To reward him for wanting her so much, Priscilla peeled down the camisole and bared her breasts.

  "Make them hard for me," Dub said hoarsely.

  This was routine, too, but it never failed to excite Priscilla. She had this man virtually apoplectic for want of her. He might sway City Council votes and expound on the terrors of hell in the Sunday school class he taught, but when he came into this room, she had him in her power. And power was the strongest aphrodisiac.

  Her fingers fanned her nipples, slowly at first and then faster in rhythm to Dub's uneven breaming. She pinched them between her thumbs and fingers, enjoying his groaning sighs.

  At last he said, "Bring them to me now."

  She walked forward with an undulating sway that hypnotized him. When she was still several feet from him, he lunged from the chair, clasped her around the waist and hauled her against him as he fell back. His mouth covered one breast hotly. Priscilla locked her hands around his head as she knew he liked. The pads of her thumbs pressed into his temples. She straddled his lap and impaled herself on him.

  His mouth moved feverishly from one lush breast to the other while she knowledgeably milked him. He lashed at her nipples with his tongue, bit her hard enough to hurt. She slipped her hands into his collar. Her nails dug savagely into the sides of his neck as her pumping movements became more frenzied.

  Then the businessman who owned controlling stock in numerous enterprises, who eloquently presided over board meetings, who would never think of offending his wife, squealed like an animal in its dying throes and spent himself between the thighs of Texas' s most notorious whore.

  Because he had brought her to climax, too, Priscilla forgave him the slack mouth that now drooled over her breasts.

  Gracefully she stood up and retired behind a screen to wash and repair herself. When she joined Dub again, he was lying naked on her bed awaiting the ablutions that always followed. She bathed his now naked body with a warm towel.

  "Another drink?" she asked soothingly.

  He toyed with her breast. "No. Better not. I have a meeting this afternoon."

  She laid the towel aside. Joining him on the bed, she propped herself on a pile of pillows and drew his head to her breast, as was their ritual. This was the most valuable part of their liaison. She enjoyed the sex, but the information she gleaned in the aftermath couldn't be obtained anywhere else.

  "How is my railroad stock doing?"

  "You've already doubled your investment," he mumbled between kisses to her neck. "Just as I said. That steel company is doing well too. Would you like to invest in a race horse?"

  "Sounds like fun.
"

  "I'll keep an eye on his training and let you know." He raised himself up slightly to see her better. A stubby finger drew circles around one breast. "Speaking of horses, didn't you tell me once that you knew the Colemans of River Bend over in Larson County?"

  Her fingers, which had been lightly scratching his back, became still. "Yes. What about them?"

  "I heard some gossip the other day. Seems they have a daughter."

  "I knew that. She just got married."

  Dub chuckled. "She was supposed to. But the wedding got interrupted by a white trash moonshiner. He dragged his pregnant daughter into the church and declared that the bridegroom was the baby's father."

  Priscilla's eyes lit up, her mind conjuring up the unpleasant scene. "No!"

  "I swear that's the story going around. One of my clients was invited to the wedding. He told me, and he has no reason to lie."

  "What happened?"

  Dub filled her in on the facts as he knew them. "This fellow she was marrying, Grady or Brady Sheldon I think was his name, was forced into marrying the moonshiner's daughter instead of the Coleman girl."

  "What did the Colemans do?"

  "Struck off for home surrounded by their friends and allies."

  Jake Langs ton, Priscilla thought. She hated to think of him resting in the bosom of the Colemans, but it gave her secret satisfaction to know that Lydia's daughter hadn't been able to hold her man.

  "Thanks for telling me," she cooed to Dub. To compensate him, she ran her hand down between their bodies.

  "Jesus, girl, are you trying to kill me?" he asked on a gasping breath when her fingers enfolded him.

  "You don't like it?" Her tongue lapped his ear.

  He liked it very much and it didn't take her long to coax back his desire. This time he was stronger and more potent than before. He slumped atop her, but he was jubilant. It did his self-image a supreme amount of good each time he took Priscilla. His wife, so prim and proper, had no inkling that humans could perform the acts he and Priscilla engaged in. Mrs. Abernathy had never given him satisfaction, and he had only sired one less-than-enchanting daughter out of her.

  Wasn't a man deserving of such pleasures as Priscilla afforded when he worked as hard as he did? He justified his sport, but it worked to salve what little conscience Dub Abernathy retained.

  Priscilla was helping him with his coat when he brought up a subject of interest to them both. "Sweetheart, I must caution you to beware."

  "Of what?"

  "The Women's Society is organizing a new movement to have Hell's Half Acre wiped off the map."

  Priscilla picked up a hairbrush and pulled it through her hair. "They've tried before," she said airily. "They always fail."

  Dub looked grim. "Maybe not this time. They've got the backing of our new hellfire and brimstone preacher."

  She laid the brush aside and spun around. "I thought you were going to keep him from coming here."

  He shrugged. "I tried. I was outvoted." He laid his hands on her shoulders. "He means business, Priscilla. He's a fanatic and he's getting a lot of backing. People are siding with him."

  "Maybe farmers and stupid—"

  "No. Businessmen."

  She squirmed away from his hands and began to pace. "But dammit, we're good for Fort Worth's business community. If they shut us down the whole economy would feel the effect. The cowboys would stop coming here to spend their money. The saloons aren't the only places that profit from their patronage, you know. Every business in town enjoys the traffic we bring through here."

  She picked up a fan, drew her finger along the silk and tossed it back down on her vanity. She was vexed. There was no mistaking that. "They preach and rant and rave about us, but it's been understood for years that their protests are all for show. They like having us here."

  Dub was impatient with her refusal to see things as they were. "They have been before, but business is good without the cowboys. More and more families are moving in. They want to make this a safe city for respectable folks." Priscilla made a rude sound, but Dub pressed home his point. "Fort Worth is no longer just a cowboy's playground, a place for him to gamble away his money, get roaring drunk, and catch a dose of the clap."

  She faced him. "Do something, Dub. Calm them down. Make some grandstanding gesture to satisfy them the way you have in the past. Remember the picket lines last year? Nearly every sign carrier was a customer of mine. They organized that protest to placate their wives, and it worked. It'll work again."

  He hadn't intended to get her so riled. He could see the writing on the wall, whether Priscilla could or not. The days were numbered for the Garden of Eden. Priscilla would still be a rich woman. She had enough well-paying business interests to be well off for the rest of her life. But Dub knew she loved being the best-known madam in the state. It was a matter of pride with her. No one would take that title from her without a fight.

  He hugged her and stroked her back. "I didn't mean to worry you. Just be aware of what's happening. Things might get hot."

  "But they always cool down eventually." She slid her hands beneath his coat and pressed him closer. "As long as I have friends like you on my side, I'm protected. Right?"

  "Right." He kissed her swiftly before she could see his duplicity.

  For a long time after he had gone Priscilla sat and pondered her future. She hated not being in control.

  EIGHT

  They had survived the first two weeks without either of them committing murder. In view of their dispositions and the number of shouting matches they had had, that was a major feat. Banner mentally congratulated both of them for that accomplishment as she guided the wagon over the bumpy ground.

  It was noon. The sun was hot. Jake and the three hands were stringing a barbed-wire fence to enclose some of the acreage designated as pastureland. Banner, restless and bored in the house, had made a jug of lemonade and was taking it out to the work site along with a basket of sandwiches and cookies.

  Her labor of love would win her nothing but a scowl from Jake. He scowled frequently. In fact every time he looked at her, his brows were drawn into a frown of disapproval. Since mat first morning when he had ordered her to exchange the pants for something else, she had defied him by wearing them every day, even in the evenings when he came to the house for supper.

  Some rebellious demon inside her prompted her to provoke Jake. Why, she couldn't say. He was like a thunderstorm about to happen. She was ready for it. She couldn't stand that dark, turbulent, sulfurous atmosphere between them any longer. Better to have the storm erupt and clear the air than for it to keep brewing.

  She flicked the reins over the horse's rump. The journey over the rough ground couldn't be any harder on him than it was on her. It jarred her teeth each time the wagon wheel ground over a rock. She would much rather be on horseback, exercising one of the breed horses. The trip to the work site would have been accomplished hi a third of the time. But she had needed the lemonade and the cookies and sandwiches as her excuse to trespass where Jake had specifically told her not to go. And to carry them, she had to bring the wagon.

  She had wanted to work on stringing the fence herself, or at least supervise. Jake would have none of it. He had shaken his head adamantly. "It's hard work."

  "I'm used to hard work."

  "Not this kind."

  "Every kind."

  "It's dangerous. You could get hurt."

  "I won't."

  "That's right, you won't because you won't be anywhere around. Busy yourself with things in the house and let me run the ranch."

  That had earned him a defiant stance and a tiger-eyed glare. "I've been involved in ranch work all my life. I'm bored with the house. There's nothing to do in there. I have it arranged like I want it. I get through with my chores by ten in the morning and have nothing to do all day."

  "Ride Dusty."

  "Where? Around the yard? You told me not to venture off."

  "So take up a hobby. But stay away from me
and the men!"

  As with most of their encounters, he had stalked away, muttering under his breath.

  Well, today she wouldn't stay inside. It was the first day that truly felt like summer and she wanted to be outside to enjoy it.

  She drew the wagon to a halt beneath a shade tree at a point where the meadow began to blend into the forest. Upon seeing her, the three hands stopped to mop their brows with the backs of their sleeves. A terse word from Jake, which Banner couldn't hear, called their attention immediately back to the fence.

  She hopped down from the wagon, took the jug and basket from the back and set out to cover the remaining distance on foot. "I thought you all deserved a rest," she called out cheerfully. Her gaiety was a deliberate taunt to the thunderous look Jake was giving her. She ignored him and beamed upon the other three men. "Lemonade, sandwiches, and cookies."

  "That's a regular picnic," Randy drawled, whipping off his hat and bowing gallantly.

  Banner's giggle went through Jake's gut like a serrated blade. Just look at her, he thought, flaunting herself in those damn pants. He hated them.

  No, he liked them. A lot.

  But so did the other men and that's what he couldn't tolerate. He knew she only wore them to aggravate him. That he could stand. It was the way the men looked at Banner when she wore the pants that set his teeth on edge.

  "That's right nice of you." Jim's scarred mouth fashioned itself into a facsimile of a smile. Pete didn't say anything, but he eyed the basket appreciatively.

  Without even consulting him, the men began to dig into the lunch she had brought and to pass around the jug of lemonade. They exchanged pleasantries with Banner like this was a Sunday social instead of a workday. None of them thought to ask if it was all right if they took this break. He was their foreman, wasn't he? But Miss Coleman was the owner of the ranch. As much as he would like to reprimand her as a family friend for Silting dangerously with women-hungry men, and as a foreman for jeopardizing his authority, he didn't say a word. Instead he turned away and began stretching the wire around the post they had just driven into the ground.