Another Dawn

by Sandra Brown

"Jake, don't you want any?" Banner asked.

  Her hair was iridescent in the bright sunlight, as sleek as a raven's wing. It seemed a living tiling with its riot of waves and curls that she didn't have the decency to bind up or hide under a modest bonnet. Her cheeks were flushed with color. He could barely see her eyes through the forest of dark lashes as she squinted up at him, but he knew they were mocking.

  He wanted nothing more than to kiss that smirk right off her lips.

  "No thanks."

  "Suit yourself." She turned her back on him and gave her full attention to Randy, whose voice had turned to the consistency of melting butter.

  The cowboy had a real knack for making her laugh, for making her throw back her head, sending that ebony wealth of hair shimmering down her back. When she did, her throat was exposed, not to mention (hat V of chest between the collar of the ordinary work shirt. Was it Jake's imagination or did it fit tighter across her breasts today?

  He picked up a hammer, drove a nail into the fence post, and managed to catch his thumbnail between the two. His elaborate profanity brought a momentary halt to the joviality going on only a few yards from him, but it resumed when Banner asked Randy to tell her about the last rodeo he had entered.

  Jake had won numerous purses in rodeos. Had she ever asked him about his prizes? No.

  She then engaged the men in a spontaneous roping contest. When Randy succeeded in lassoing the fence post for the third straight time and Banner laid her hand on his arm in worshipful awe, Jake went over the edge.

  "Party time's over," he barked. He tossed down his hammer and confronted them as though daring anyone to contradict him. He threatened them all with the glacial stare that had intimidated many a brawny cowboy.

  Jim and Pete thanked Banner and humbly went back to their tasks. They had better sense than to tangle with Jake. He was a fair foreman. He didn't demand more of them than he gave himself. But they had sensed that where the girl was concerned he was as ornery as a mama bear.

  Randy wasn't so perceptive. "Let me carry these things back to the wagon for you, Banner."

  "Why, thank you, Randy."

  Since when were they on a first name basis? Jake wondered.

  He couldn't object to Randy's offer to help her without looking like a cad. So he gritted his teeth when Banner smiled up at him and said, "You're doing a fine job here, Jake," as though he was no more to her than a lowly hired hand.

  Jake watched her walking away with Randy, her face tilted up at him coquettishly. His jaw bunched. Ross had entrusted him to protect her from just that sort of infatuation. But how in hell was he supposed to do that when she looked the way she did and used every female wile she possessed to keep those cowboys' blood stirred up?

  Banner's mind wasn't on the jolly conversation she was having with Randy. She was looking into his face with its lazy smile, but she was seeing Jake, his cold eyes and the hateful way he looked at her. Did he despise her that much?

  She and Randy arrived at the wagon and he stored the basket and jug in the back. She was just about to hoist herself onto the seat when he forestalled her.

  "Ooops, ooops, Banner. Hold real still, honey." He grasped her around the waist.

  "What is it?"

  "A caterpillar on your collar. He must have dropped on you from one of the trees."

  The thought of anything so creepy-crawly on her person sent her into a typically female panic. "Where? Where? Get it off! Hurry!"

  "Hold on, hold—Aw, damn. He fell inside your collar."

  She screamed and began to dance around frantically. "Get him, Randy. Oh, I feel him. Get him, get him."

  "All right, I will, but you'll have to calm down and hold still." He finally succeeded in anchoring her back against his front with one arm across her middle. The other hand plunged down the back of her shirt in search of the caterpillar.

  "Oh, Randy, no—"

  "Hush now. Quit wiggling."

  "Randy, please."

  "Let her go!"

  The words were as hard and cold as the steel barrel of the pistol that was pointed at Randy. The two who were locked in the bizarre embrace froze. Four wide eyes riveted on Jake, who had come running at Banner's first scream and was now standing not three yards from them, his gun arm extended at shoulder level.

  "I said take your hands off her." He pushed the words through clenched teeth.

  Randy wet his lips but otherwise remained motionless. "Easy with that gun, Jake."

  "Get away from her," he roared.

  Randy moved slowly, precisely, not wanting the man with the frigid eyes to mistake any movement he made. His arm around Banner's waist was withdrawn first. Then he gradually pulled his hand from the back of her shirt. Finally he stepped away. Banner put more space between them, mutely staring at Jake.

  Randy opened his fist where Jake could see it. The furry caterpillar crawled across his palm. "I was only getting this off her back." Randy shook his hand and the caterpillar fell to the ground.

  Jake stared at Randy's hand. Any other time, he would have laughed, joked at having made an ass of himself. But he was still too shaken by seeing another man's hands on Banner to find any humor in the situation. He holstered his gun and jerked his head in the direction of Jim and Pete, who were standing by the fence post where they had been working, sadly shaking their heads at how foolish men could behave when a woman was in the picture.

  "You have work to do." That was all Jake needed to say. Quickly Randy tipped his hat to Banner and loped off, glad to be escaping with his life. "Get in the wagon," Jake said to Banner.

  She was too humiliated and furious to argue. She vaulted onto the seat and slapped the reins on the horse's rump. Jake whistled through his teeth, and Stormy appeared from out of the trees where he had been grazing in the shade.

  He caught up with Banner and rode beside her while she kept her eyes trained forward, not deigning to look at him, much less speak.

  When she pulled the wagon into the yard in front of the house, she alighted and starchily made her way toward the porch. Jake came off Stormy with remarkable agility and went after her, catching her just as she reached for the front door knob. He dug his hand into the waistband of her pants and yanked her to a halt.

  "I want to talk to you."

  She rounded on him, as enraged as she had ever been in her eighteen years. "Well, I don't want to talk to you. At least not until I calm down. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll say something that would be better left unsaid."

  "Like what?" He thrust his face toward hers.

  "Like you're a bossy, bullying, bad-tempered—"

  "Me? Bad-tempered?"

  "Yes, you."

  "Your temper ain't anything to brag about, Miss Coleman."

  "Well, I've had just cause to lose mine. Plenty of times in fact, from having to put up with you these last two weeks. Nothing I do pleases you. You criticize my clothes, my hair, everything. You're cross and grouchy when you come to breakfast and dinner. I'm tired of you grumbling into your plate and passing it off as mealtime conversation."

  "Anything else?" he growled in just the manner she was speaking of.

  "Yes. I'll kindly ask you to stay out of my personal affairs, which are none of your business!" She turned on her heel and marched haughtily through the door.

  Jake was right behind her, kicking open the door she tried to slam in his face. It crashed against the wall, but went unheeded.

  "It damn sure is my affair when a cowboy like Randy paws you. I promised Ross that—"

  "Paws me? He was getting a caterpillar out of my shirt."

  "And taking a helluva long time to do it!" he shouted. "What were you screaming about?"

  "I was frightened."

  "Well, you scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what he was doing to you. What was I supposed to think?"

  "That's my point. You weren't supposed to think anyming."

  "So if you start screaming in the middle of the night, I'm to roll over and go back to sleep, is t
hat it? Assume that you don't need help."

  Her look was one of undiluted condescension for his obtuseness. "I had a caterpillar down my back."

  "So why scream? I remember when you used to play with caterpillars and mice and worms, and God knows what else."

  She was fighting her temper for all she was worth. She paused to draw in several deep breaths. They might have restored her, but they did nothing to calm Jake down. He stared at the expanding front of her shirt. "I've changed since I played with caterpillars."

  With his eyes still preoccupied with her breasts, he could grant her that. But he was still too furious to be reasonable. "Well, next time you get any caterpillars down your back, you just call me and I'll get them out."

  "What makes you any different from Randy or any of the others?"

  "I don't go around with my tongue lolling out every time you come in sight, that's what."

  She stared at him as though he had gone daft. "That's crazy," she said incredulously. "They don't do that."

  "Don't they?" He pointed an imperious finger at her. "I warned you about wearing those tight pants and flaunting yourself in front of the men."

  "Flaunting!" She slapped his accusing finger aside.

  "Yes, flaunting." He peeled off his leather work gloves and threw them to the floor in the medieval tradition of throwing down a gauntlet as a challenge. His hat went the way of the gloves. "You strut around here like a queen, enticing them until—"

  "I do not strut." She said each word precisely. "And I don't entice anybody."

  "The hell you don't."

  "I wear pants because they're the most comfortable, practical thing to do ranch work in and that's the only reason."

  He leaned toward her and whispered, "But doesn't it give you a thrill to know all the men around here want you?"

  She recoiled as though he had struck her. Her face drained of color. Is that what he thought? Did he think that since she had so shamelessly asked him to make love to her, that she would do it again with another man? "No!" she exclaimed softly, on the verge of tears.

  "No?"

  "No."

  "Well, then, you had better mend your ways and start acting more ladylike. The next time I might not be around to stop Randy from giving you what you were asking for."

  "And what was that, Jake Langston? What was I asking for?"

  "This."

  He reached for her and pulled her against him with an impetus that drove the air from their lungs when their bodies collided. His mouth came down hard on hers, cruelly, punishingly.

  Emotions that had been riding just below the surface gushed forth, but not as anger, as passion. He buried his hands in her hair. His fingers tangled in the curly mass. He roughly angled her head to one side and slanted his mouth over hers. His tongue breached the barrier of her lips and plundered.

  Banner's first reaction was livid anger. Then swamping confusion. How should she respond? Fight him? And by fighting convince him that she wasn't hungry for a man's touch as he had accused her. Or surrender? Surrender to the sweet violation of his tongue.

  That's what she wanted to do. She wanted to lose herself in the uncompromising possession of his embrace, to savor die taste of bis kiss, to relish the sensations that were flooding her body like swollen streams after spring rains.

  The choice was taken from her. Mindlessly, she merely responded. Her arms went around his waist and her hands splayed wide on his back. All ten fingers sank into the muscled flesh beneath his shirt and vest.

  Jake groaned and his tongue, tempered with tenderness now, delved deeper into her mouth. One hand moved from her hair to her back, sliding up and down its slender suppleness until it slipped below her waist. His hand covered the curve of her derriere, which had tantalized him for days. He pressed, drawing her against him.

  Banner felt his hard desire and murmured deep in her throat. Rather man being repelled, she moved against his body. She was immune to shame now. The splendor of their kiss had washed it from her being, eradicated it, as though she had never been acquainted with it. Her arms curled up under his until her hands came from behind to cup his shoulders and pull him closer to her.

  Jake was equally lost. The red mist of rage that had burned in him only moments before had mellowed to the golden haze of desire. He was obsessed with it. His pores oozed it.

  Her mouth. Oh, God, her mouth. It tasted even better than he remembered. Again and again his tongue dipped into its delicious mystery, but no matter the number of honey-gathering forays, he couldn't get enough of it.

  Her breasts were full and ripe against his chest. Yes, yes, he remembered how they felt beneath his hands. Even in repose they had filled his palms, overflowed them. The soft cloth of her bridal nightgown had slid over her skin as he massaged. His thumbs had skated over her nipples. And they had responded, sweet and hard and small.

  But he hadn't dared to remove her nightgown. He hadn't seen her breasts as he had wanted to. He hadn't tasted her. That's all he could think about now as his tongue rolled over the tip of hers. What did she look like? What did she taste like? How would she feel against his tongue?

  A low humming started in the pit of his body and worked its way outward. He ground his hips against her middle in a vain effort to get closer. God, what he would give to bury himself again in that silken channel that had gloved him so tightly, so rightly.

  Moaning, he tore his mouth free and nuzzled his face in the hollow of her neck, hugging her hard. He prayed that the memory would vanish, that he would find the willpower to release her and never even mink the thoughts his body wanted him to act on.

  He vividly recalled the instant her virginal shield had given way. He regretted the pain it had cost her, but even that hadn't diminished the wonder and the feeling of utter helplessness that had come over him the moment her body enveloped his. He had a sense of inevitability, of having crossed a long elusive finish line.

  She had been fashioned for loving, at least for his loving. Never had a woman fit him better. He had hesitated to move. It would have satisfied her if he had left her then. She wouldn't have known the difference and he wouldn't have had to live with the guilt of not only doing what he had done, but of enjoying it so much.

  As it was, no power on heaven or earth could have forced him to leave her then. He had begun to move, slowly, conscious of her body, rigid with shock, beneath him. But soon she had relaxed and it had become easier. He had thrust, stroked, until that dam inside him had burst more explosively than ever before.

  He had come away from her weak, depleted. But recalling it now made him want to experience that small death again. Sweat broke out over his body. He gnashed his teeth in an effort to conquer the desire that coursed through him and gathered painfully in his loins.

  At last, he pushed her away and turned his back. He breathed deeply, but it did little good. He shook as though with ague. Glancing at her quickly over his shoulder and getting only a vague impression of her pale face—God, she was probably terrified of him now—he pushed through the door and called back to her, "I'm going into town this afternoon for supplies. Don't wait supper on me."

  * * *

  She gazed up through the leafy branches of the pecan tree. She had always been a champion tree climber. Her shins had been scraped by rough bark in her efforts to best Lee and Micah more times than she could count. She hadn't outgrown her penchant for climbing as high as she could, seeking solace in being suspended between heaven and earth. Up here, she could think clearly, as though the problems attached to the ground could no longer reach her.

  The afternoon had dragged by sluggishly. The house had been too confining to bear. She was depressed and dismayed and disturbed. All her problems revolved around one source.

  Jake Langston. What was she going to do about Jake?

  He was an issue in her life and there was no getting around it. That night in the barn had happened. Wishing that it hadn't or regretting mat it had were exercises in futility. It had forever changed her
relationship with Jake. There was no going back to the way things had been. These facts she had reconciled.

  What she couldn't reconcile was the present. She and Jake couldn't go on living as they were, fighting like ravenous scavengers over a carcass. They were both too stubborn, too headstrong, too temperamental, and too guilty over that night to stay as they were without destroying each other. They would bring Plum Creek's prospects for the future right down with them.

  And she was going to name her ranch Plum Creek whether he liked it or not!

  She almost smiled. She argued with him in her mind even when he wasn't around. But the smile didn't quite materialize. After that kiss this afternoon, she had a whole new set of worries to keep a smile off her face.

  She had liked it. Very much. Far more than she should have. Far more than was proper. And far too much to hope that she would forget it any time soon.

  What had provoked it? One minute he had been shouting at her, looking as though he could easily wring her neck. The next he had held her captivated in an embrace from which mere was no escaping. His mouth had been stamped possessively over hers in a way that even recollecting it made her insides churn with warm sensations.

  What happened to her when Jake touched her? What chemistry between them ignited feelings she had never experienced and which made her a stranger to herself? Why was she yearning to experience those feelings again?

  She shifted her position on the tree limb and rested her cheek against the bark. Idly she shredded a leaf, let the remnants float to the ground below, and plucked another.

  The thought that had taken hold in her mind simply wouldn't let go. It was bold and unthinkable, but she had done bold and unthinkable things in the recent past and knew that bold and unthinkable actions had never deterred her before. The idea endlessly circled in her mind like the blades of a windmill.

  She and Jake could marry.

  There, she had voiced the idea to herself and the world hadn't come to an end. She hadn't been struck by lightning. The earth hadn't opened up and swallowed her.

  Well, why was it such a preposterous idea?

  It made sense. She needed him to run her ranch. He needed the ranch. Plum Creek promised him a sound future. For years he had been wandering, wasting his talent and spending his youth in aimless pursuits. An opportunity like this wouldn't come around again. Why wouldn't he want to seize it?