Another Dawn

by Sandra Brown

  What would Lydia have thought if she had found her daughter in his arms, Banner's mouth beneath his? That question had haunted him all week. She would have thrown up her hands in horror. Oh, he knew Lydia loved him like a brother, would give anything he asked for mat was in her power to give. She would have done that for any Langston.

  But she didn't love him like a son-in-law. He was all right being her friend and Ross's friend, but as a mate for their daughter? Uh-uh. Jake knew better than to deceive himself. Banner was their princess and he was about as far from a prince as a man could get.

  If Ross had ever seen him about to kiss Banner, Lydia's outrage would have been mild by comparison. Ross would kill him on the spot. He knew Jake's reputation with women. Hell, he'd even told Ross about some of his wilder exploits. They had laughed at his escapades with the opposite sex over whiskey and cigars in the middle of the night. The tipsier they got, the bawdier the tales became.

  "That fine pecker you're so proud of is going to fall off if you don't give it a rest," Ross had said one night, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

  "God grant me death from exhaustion," Jake had replied, a sappy grin on his face.

  Ross had thought it all highly amusing then, but his opinion of Jake's reputation would change drastically if applied to Banner. Would he want Jake's whore-tainted hands on his daughter? Hell no. He'd be crazy or stupid if he didn't shoot Jake.

  The smart thing to do would be to make a clean break, say his goodbyes, saddle Stormy, and ride out never to return until he heard that Banner was safely married.

  But he couldn't bring himself to do that.

  This place was already under his skin. He loved every drop of sweat it had cost him. He had visions of this ranch becoming as grand as River Bend. He wanted to be a part of that. His life needed to account for something. He didn't want to leave the job unfinished.

  Since killing Clancey Russell, he had run away from responsibility. But that was no way for a man to live, shirking duty and keeping himself apart from anything meaningful. He had been given a chance, perhaps his last one, to prove to himself that something in his life could work out right. He simply had to do this.

  But how could he stay away from the girl? Especially when she gazed up at him, as now, with those eyes that shot sparks of green and gold alternately. Her skin was moist and fragrant from her bath. Lord o'mercy, didn't she know that her robe was clinging damply, revealing the proud, firm shape of her breasts and their pointed tips, revealing the columns of her thighs, the delta between them, revealing everything that should be concealed at all costs? Did she have any idea how alluring her hair was, haphazardly pinned up, with more escaping than remaining confined? Did she know how goddamned kissable her mouth was?

  "Jake, where are you? What are you thinking about? You said 'all the times in between when we' and then you stopped and I want to know just what you have in mind."

  Jake drew himself out of his befuddlement and said harshly, "We put more stock into what happened between us man we should."

  "Speak for yourself," she cried. "I got what I wanted that night. I don't regret it."

  "Well, good!" he said furiously. Would anybody she happened to find in the barn have served just as well? Someone younger? Better looking? Randy? "Then you should be looking forward to the party tonight." He sneered. "It'll give you a chance to dance and flirt with all the young bucks in town who would like to tumble Banner Coleman."

  "Oh, you can be so crude."

  "Well, that's what parties are for, isn't it?"

  "For what?"

  "For you to get all gussied up and strut your stuff in front of all the eligible men. To flirt and giggle and compare dance cards with the other young ladies from around these parts who aren't married."

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly, in a vain attempt to curb her temper. "Are we back to that again?"

  "Back to what?"

  "To you speaking to me as though I were a child."

  "Compared to me, you are."

  She placed her hands on her hips, an unwise move since it drew the damp cloth tight over her straining breasts. She tilted her head back, again unwise because it caused her hair to tumble down and exposed her throat. But she was unconscious of all that. She was caught up in their argument.

  "Oh, yes. Poor ol' Jake Langston. You're virtually decrepit. Ancient. I'll bet Mama wanted you at her party so you could act as chaperone for all us young folks."

  He ground his teeth. "I ain't going." He stressed each word as though learning to speak it for the first time. His nose came dangerously close to touching hers as he leaned forward for emphasis.

  "Then neither am I," she said airily. As she spun around, she slammed the door in his face. It remained closed only a fraction of a second before it was almost ripped off its hinges. Jake came barreling through, reached out, grabbed her arm and twirled her around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Just what I said. If you don't go, neither will I." She thumped his chest with her index finger. "And you can make our excuses."

  He released her and sailed his hat toward the hooks by the door. It missed them all and fell into the puddle of water her wet feet had left. He cursed expansively, raking his hands through his hair and mumbling deprecations about spoiled brats who made life hell for everyone around them.

  "All right, Banner," he said finally, pointing a finger at her. "But this is the last time you're getting your way. I mean that now. And you stay away from me over there, you hear? If I've got to go to that goddamn party, I plan on having a rip-roaring time, you understand me?"

  She batted her eyelashes. "Why, of course, Jake," she said on a sugary drawl. "That's what I intend to do too. Didn't you say that's what parties are for?"

  He had a powerful urge to toss her over his knee and whip the daylights out of her. But that would have entailed touching her. And he couldn't touch her, not without any more protection between them than that cotton wrapper. She was naked beneath it. He didn't need an encyclopedia to tell him that. Her skin was rosy. No doubt it would be warm and...

  Damn! He whirled toward the door. "I'll pick you up—"

  "Wouldn't you like a bath?"

  He stopped dead in his tracks and came around slowly. "What?"

  "A bath. I'll warm up this water."

  "I was going to the creek."

  She wrinkled her nose, calling attention to her freckles. "That won't be the same as a nice, relaxing, warm bath."

  Without waiting for his acceptance, she began preparing another bath. She tested the kettles on the stove and found they still had boiling water in them. Humming under her breath, she dipped some of the water in the tub into a pail and emptied it out the back door. That made room for the fresh steaming water she poured in. She wiggled her fingers in it.

  "There. That's just right." She turned to face him, having ignored him as she went about busily getting the water ready. "You are going to use it, aren't you?"

  He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He had stood there like a damn fool while she wrapped him around her little finger. But he had been so captivated by the way her body looked in that clinging robe he couldn't move. It had stuck to her hip as she bent over the tub, outlining the gentle curves for his avid eyes. It had gaped when she emptied the pail, giving him a glimpse of the creamy flesh of her breast.

  In contrast, the rest of her looked vulnerable. Strands of ebony hair clung to her damp cheeks. Her bare feet looked too small for an adult. He wanted to examine them closely. When she moved past him, she seemed incredibly small and in need of protection.

  Knowing he should run as hard and fast as he could, he heard himself say, "I guess I'll have to, since you went to all the trouble to fix it."

  "I'll get you a towel while you fetch some clean clothes from the barn."

  He hadn't returned when Banner came back to the kitchen. She peered out the window anxiously. Only when she saw him emerge from the building carrying his clothes did she breathe. By
the time he opened the back door, she was fussily arranging a towel and washcloth and soap on the table within his reach.

  "I'll give you some privacy now," she said softly.

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  She closed the door between the kitchen and parlor and left him. She went into her bedroom. She didn't close the door behind her. Something inside her, a naughtiness she had never known was there, prevented her from shutting the door. When she peeled out of her robe, she faced the door to the kitchen, wishing Jake would open it and see her.

  But he wasn't going to. Already she could hear the water splashing. He was in the tub. With that thought came hot, coiling sensations that ribboned around her thighs, between them, up her middle, through her breasts. Her nipples pouted.

  Hesitantly, she lifted her hand to one. She was vividly reminded of Jake's hands touching her, teaching her things about herself she hadn't known. Her flesh was receptive. She trembled. Between her thighs she felt a liquid heat forming.

  She dropped her hand quickly, afraid she would be struck dead by God's wrath for being so wicked.

  But the image of Jake in the tub wouldn't go away. Having grown up with a brother, she wasn't completely ignorant of the male anatomy as most of her peers were. But she had never seen a grown man naked and was made to understand from a few married friends who would dare broach such a forbidden subject that that was a fearsome sight to behold.

  She couldn't imagine it being anything but beautiful. The rest of Jake was beautiful, why not that? She wouldn't be shocked. She had grown up on a stud farm and knew what happened to male animals when they were aroused.

  Besides, she had experienced it. It had been frightening, his first hard thrust into her body, but the pain had been temporary. She bad felt him, his silky length and steely hardness. But she had never seen him and was consumed with curiosity about the way he looked.

  Maybe she should offer to wash his back.

  But even as she took steps in the direction of the door, she rejected that idea as too obvious.

  She supposed she was terribly wanton, but that didn't stop her from hoping that one day she and Jake would do that again and that the next time they would be naked. As she pulled on her clothes, she was aware of every inch of skin on her body. Cool cloth whispered across each fevered surface.

  She chose a dress of vivid green. It had a scooped neckline and fit snugly at her midriff. The skirt was only full enough to sway gently when she walked. The dress buttoned down the back, and therein lay her problem. She couldn't reach the top few buttons because the bodice fit too well.

  She glanced at the kitchen door. It was still closed, but she hadn't heard any splashing sounds in the last few minutes. She crossed the parlor and knocked on the door. "Jake?"

  "Yeah?"

  "May I come in?"

  "It's your house."

  She pushed the door open. He was dragging the tub across the floor. At the back door, he tilted it forward and let the water drain out over the steps.

  Banner stood entranced. He had pulled on only a clean pair of black trousers. He was barefooted and shirtless. The muscles of his chest and arms and back held her attention captive as he lifted the empty tub and placed it back in the closet. When he turned to face her, her breath caught in her throat.

  Up close his chest was even more magnificent than seen from afar. The bronze disks of his nipples, nestled in swirls of golden hair, intrigued her. If touched, caressed, did they react as hers did?

  She followed the satiny strip of hair that arrowed down the middle of his torso until it met that which whorled around his navel just above the button on his pants. The black cloth cupped his sex. The snug fit left little room for imagination. Her recent thoughts came washing over her like a scalding tidal wave and made her dizzy.

  She dragged her eyes back up to his. "I need some help with my buttons." Her voice was raspy, inadvertently intimate. She went toward him and turned her back. Her hand swept her hair up off her neck.

  He managed the buttons with more alacrity than she wished. How many other buttons had he been asked to do up? Or undo? The thought was unsettling. Had she measured up to the other women he had known? If she hadn't she would! No one would be as good for Jake as she was. She would see to that. She couldn't give up now.

  Keeping her hair swept aside, she turned around and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Sharing bath water, you buttoning me up. By all appearances we could be married, couldn't we?"

  His face was hard, immobile. The blue of his eyes had gone almost colorless. "Hardly, Banner. If we were married and you met me at the door dressed in no more than a damp robe, I'd have already had you in bed, with your skirts over your head, fucking you till your ears rang."

  Her mouth dropped open. The air left her body in one disbelieving gust. She fell back a step and raised her hand to her breast as though he had struck her. The skin on her face went pale and stretched taut.

  Then she spun around and fled the kitchen. He heard the bedroom door slam behind her.

  Jake slumped against the doorjamb. His fists were balled at his sides so tightly his knuckles were white. "I'm sorry, Banner, I'm sorry," he whispered to the ceiling.

  He wasn't sure when it had hit him. Maybe it had been sneaking up on him all week. Maybe it had occurred to him like a bolt out of the blue. But somewhere between the house and the barn when he had left to get his fresh clothes, he had known.

  Banner was trying to seduce him, not into bed, but into marriage.

  That's what the other night had been about. The kindnesses, the perfect dinner, the considerate attention, the silent promise that if he had wanted to share her bed, he could have. What a blind idiot he had been!

  It had almost worked. If Lydia hadn't chosen that time to come visiting, he would have obeyed the will of his body and made love to Banner. One time, at her request, might, might be forgivable. But twice? Never. He would have had to marry her.

  He didn't blame Banner. She was still just a kid, a high-strung young woman whose pride had been dealt a deathblow. Practically speaking, their marrying made sense. Had he turned over the idea in some hidden corner of his mind?

  If not, why, when Lydia drove out of the yard, had he not yearned for her as always? Why had he yearned much more to return to the house and continue what he and Banner had started? It had saddened him that he hadn't felt that familiar nigging around his heart when Lydia left him to return to Ross. She had looked beautiful, just as she always did. But she was no longer the most beautiful. When had Banner become the standard by which he judged all other women? He was supposed to love Lydia. Just what in hell was happening here?

  He and Banner were getting too familiar, that was all. Too intimate. They were isolated, and as lonely people do, they were reaching out to whomever was available. Well, it had to be stopped. He had to put an end to these intimacies before she got any more fool notions about them being to each other any more than they were.

  He had resolved that he had no choice but to wound her. So when he returned for his bath and saw the hungry way she was looking at him, when he felt his own body betraying his good intentions, he had said that horrible thing.

  He had hurt her. And he would go on hurting her. There was no other way. She had to be made to see that anything between them simply could not be.

  And while he was convincing her, he hoped to God he could convince himself.

  ELEVEN

  Grady Sheldon heard the screams long before he rode his horse into the clearing and tied it to the lower branches of a sad pine.

  That Doggie Burns was beating Wanda to within an inch of her life was his first guess as to what was wrong. But, as he dismounted, he saw Doggie sitting on the sagging front porch. A hound was parked at each foot, one was stretched across his lap. The moonshiner lifted a jug of his own brew to his flaccid lips, through which he mumbled incoherently. It was Grady's guess that it wasn't Doggie's first drink of the day.

  Ano
ther high-pitched wail that could have originated in the dungeons of hell rose from the cabin. Grady, without haste, walked toward the derelict dwelling. One of the mangy hounds came tearing toward him, growling and snapping at his heels. He kicked it in the head and sent it skulking and whimpering back beneath the porch.

  Doggie's bleary eyes came around to his son-in-law "What's going on in there?" Grady asked him.

  "Your young'un's 'bout to be borned, that's what."

  Another scream rent the air, followed by hard, harsh panting sounds that made Grady's stomach churn. "That," Doggie said, hitching his head toward the door and wiping his mouth after taking a long pull at the spout of the jug, "has been goin' on all day and I'm gittin' sick to death of it. Screamin', yellin', disturbin' a man's peace like she was the only woman what ever birthed a babe. Silly damned bitch."

  The thought of birth made Grady queasy and unaccountably nervous. He gazed into the dim void of the yawning front door which welcomed insects, beasts, varmints of any kind to venture inside. "Has she...did you try to get the doctor?"

  Doggie looked up at him through eyes hazy from alcohol consumption. "Hell, man, you mink I'm crazy? Why would she need a doc to whelp a brat? Damned quacks. Good for nothing but stealin' a man's hard-earned money. Nope. Wanda's ma borned her in a bed no better'n that one, and she done all right. All that cryin' and screamin's just for show, boy. Don't let it fool you none."

  The next scream ended on a trailing wail that curdled Grady's blood. "She, uh, she sounds like she's really in pain."

  Doggie crackled a laugh. "Reckon she is, reckon she is. It's God's punishment for her whorin' ways. He's punished every whore since Eve for their wicked ways. Shut up in there," he bellowed, loud enough to disturb the hounds surrounding him. They raised their soulful eyes, then returned to their naps. "Git on in there," Doggie said to Grady. "She's your wife. And for the love of Jesus shut her up. I can't stand that screamin' no more."