by Janet Dailey
“Ready?” Creed pushed next to the fence to issue his one-word question.
“I guess so,” Layne agreed reluctantly and let her gaze stray back to the young calf. “They’re beautiful little creatures, aren’t they?” Her half-frozen lips had trouble forming the words as she attempted to share the wonder she felt at the sweet innocence of the baby calf. “So perfect in every detail.”
“Everything is beautiful when it’s a baby.” There was a certain flatness in his voice, which didn’t seem attributable to the cold, as he glanced at the object of Layne’s interest. “But it doesn’t last. That face will never be so white again. When that calf grows up, it will be just as ugly and ungainly as its mother.”
His blunt and unflattering assessment of the cow seemed unfair and severe. Yet when Layne looked at the grown animal, its tongue came sliding out to lick the mucousy slime from its broad nostrils. Its shaggy coat was dirty and stained, its white face discolored to a yellow gray. Layne had to admit the cow was neither graceful nor beautiful, except maybe to a bull.
“Come on. Let’s get the hay out to those cattle.” Creed pushed away from the fence with a visible effort. “You drive the tractor this time. I’m liable to fall asleep if I stop moving.”
Layne opened her mouth to protest that she’d never driven a tractor before, but one look at his leaden strides reminded her of the weariness that dragged at him. He’d worked around the clock during the calving, and she doubted if he’d slept more than two hours in the last forty-eight, so she kept silent about her inexperience. After all, it couldn’t be much different than driving a stick shift. She trailed a few steps behind him as he trudged through the snow to the hay wagon and hauled himself bodily onto the flat rack.
Bundled in so many clothes, Layne climbed awkwardly up to the tractor seat and eyed the confusing array of foot pedals and gear handles with misgivings. It didn’t look as simple as she thought it would be.
Reluctantly, she half turned in the cold seat to shout at Creed, “How do you make it go?”
His head lifted and she could see the exasperation in his expression. “Don’t you even know how to drive a tractor?” he retorted impatiently.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking,” Layne flared. His tiredness was no excuse for ridiculing her lack of knowledge. Besides, it was cold up there on that tractor seat, exposed to the bleakly stinging wind.
“You can begin by starting the motor, then release the clutch to put it in gear,” Creed replied with a trace of dry scorn in his raised voice.
His caustic instructions weren’t much help, since she wasn’t sure which pedal was the clutch, the brake, or the accelerator. And Layne was too stubborn to ask for more explicit directions, choosing instead to hazard it out on her own.
There was a reluctant grinding of the motor when she tried the ignition. With a rumble and a chug, it finally vibrated to life to puncture the stillness with its noisy roar. When she tried to coordinate releasing the clutch, shifting the gears, and giving it gas, the tractor made a halfhearted buck forward, then the motor stalled and died.
“Dammit, I said release the clutch —slowly!” Creed shouted in irritation. “If you can’t drive the damned thing, just say so!”
“Maybe if you’d quit yelling at me and simply tell me how the damned thing operates, I’d be able to manage it!” Her voice rose in an angry response to his intolerance.
Layne didn’t wait for him to reply as she again started the tractor. At the same moment that she let out the clutch, she tromped her other foot onto the accelerator. The tractor leaped forward, jerking the hay wagon after it. Behind her, she heard a muffled yell and turned in the seat in time to see the high-stacked bales tumbling onto Creed. In alarm, Layne slammed her foot onto the brake, stopping the tractor as abruptly as it had started.
With an alacrity that belied the many layers of warm clothing, she peeled off the tractor seat and jumped to the ground to race back and see if Creed was all right. The motor was silent, but Layne didn’t know whether she had killed the engine again or unconsciously turned it off.
When she reached the hayrack, all she could see of Creed were his boots and part of his legs. The rest of him was buried under the fallen bales. As she clambered onto the rack, they started to move. She could hear him swearing under his breath. Hurriedly Layne began to lift the top bales and throw them onto the wobbly stack. As she lifted the third one Creed threw off the others with a heave of his body. When he sat up and reached for his hat, she knelt down quickly to assure herself that he was unharmed.
“Are you okay?” Her anxious glance searched his brutish features as he slapped the hay straws from his hat.
His dusty brown eyes gave her a long, dryly expressive look. He was slow in answering, waiting until his hat was pushed firmly onto his head to reply. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
Relief sighed through her even though Layne could almost hear what he was thinking. “I’m glad.” But if he made one comment about women drivers, she was tempted to hit him just on principle. “I—”
His glance shot past her on an upward angle. Before she could complete her sentence, she was being grabbed. The action was accompanied by a clipped “Look out” as she was twisted down.
Layne had a glimpse of a bale toppling from its precarious perch atop the unsteady stack before Creed’s bulk blocked it from her sight as he protectively hunched his body over hers. The weight of the bale struck his shoulder and glanced off. The impact drove him against her and flattened them both.
For a few seconds after the danger had passed, neither of them moved in case more bales came tumbling down. Layne was completely buried under the hard crush of his body, its muscular length and breadth encapsulating her more slender frame. His face was pressed into the edges of the wool scarf wrapped around her neck. She was conscious of the moist heat of his breath warming her skin.
There was a hesitant lift of his head, as if Creed expected another bale to come crashing down on them. As he started to turn to look, Layne also turned her head. The instant she felt the accidental brush of his mouth at the corner of her lips, she froze. Her heart seemed to make a startled lurch at the unexpected contact that held Creed motionless too.
The moment seemed to stretch itself out until Layne wasn’t sure how long it had lasted—mere seconds or longer. Then, very slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, his mouth edged onto the curve of her lips. The pressure was so faint that their lips touched and no more, their breath mingling.
Layne held herself still, wanting more than he was giving but unwilling to invite it. The memory of that other abusive kiss was too vivid in her mind. She didn’t want to risk a repeat of it, yet she was a little shaken to discover that she wanted Creed to kiss her.
It didn’t seem to matter that she found his looks physically unattractive to her. There was something very earthy and virile about him that touched an inner, responsive core in her own being. It was an elemental desire, female for male.
Gradually his mouth eased onto hers, mobile and exploring. The utter sensuality of the kiss quivered through Layne, supremely seductive in its slow-building heat. His long body shut out the winter cold as warmth seemed to spread all through her system.
She responded pliantly to his kiss, liking the firm texture of his mouth and the warm taste of him, made tangy by tobacco. When Creed initiated a withdrawal, their moist lips clung together for another second, seemingly of their own volition, before the contact was broken.
His breath continued to fan her lips, its rhythm slightly irregular. As she slowly opened her eyes to look at him, Layne was vaguely dazed by the sensations the kiss had aroused. The bluntly chiseled contours of his face were so close to hers that she could see every sun-leathered groove. The light of wonder was in her green-flecked eyes.
This time she lifted her head to seek that disturbing contact with his mouth and ignite again that tingling pleasure. It was her initiative and her turn to explore the masculine curve of his lips. She felt the th
rob of excitement in her veins and the heady sweep of warmth through her when his mouth rocked onto her lips in response, gentle in its possession yet nearly shattering in its passion. She was filled with a wondrous ache that yearned for a more unrestrained embrace.
Yet when Creed dragged his mouth from hers a second time, she didn’t protest. Like Creed, she had carefully controlled her responses, keeping them in check and releasing them a bit at a time. This eruption of passionate desire was too sudden and too new. She had been burned the last time something had exploded between them, and she didn’t want that to happen again.
As she gazed into the warm and smoldering light in his dark eyes, Layne marveled at the contrast between this time and their previous encounter. A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth, still warm from his kiss.
“I knew you could be gentle,” she told him in a softly husky voice.
Something leaped into his eyes that made her catch her breath, then an invisible shutter fell to hide it. His head dipped away from her. The moment of intimacy passed with an abruptness that almost negated it. Creed shifted position, lifting the crushing weight of his body from hers. She hadn’t noticed he was so heavy until the pressure was removed. When Layne heard the cattle bellowing impatiently in the field, she realized she had been oblivious to many things.
“We’d better get this hay out to the stock.” Creed’s voice was so low and gravelly that the wind nearly whipped away the words as he rolled to his feet.
He extended a hand to help her up—an uncharacteristic gesture of assistance from him, which seemed proof that the fiercely gentle passion they had shared had touched him in some way. When he had pulled her upright, her gaze tried to penetrate the expressionless set of his features. He returned her look for an instant, a vague hesitancy showing in his dark eyes before they hardened into blankness.
“Under the circumstances, I’ll drive the tractor,” he stated.
“I thought you were tired,” Layne protested as Creed vaulted off the flat rack to the frozen ground.
“That north wind is cold enough to keep me awake.” Creed threw the answer over his shoulder as he walked to the tractor.
His remark made her conscious of the bitter blast of frigid air blowing on her face and chilling her lips, which only moments before had been heated by him. Layne hunched her shoulders against the wind and sought the protection of the hay bales, sitting down and resting against the shelter of their stacks.
While the tractor and hayrack bounced across the rutted pasture, she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and hugged her body to keep alive the sensations so she could examine these new feelings. This sexual attraction seemed to have sprung from nowhere.
How long had she known Creed —a month? Certainly not much more than that. Never once had she regarded him as a potential lover. Creed Dawson was unquestionably a homely man, yet she had never denied that he had an animal quality about him that was both male and virile.
But if it was merely male companionship she wanted, the physical caress of a man, then Hoyt seemed the more likely candidate. Layne continued to puzzle over her reaction to this hungry bear of a man.
In the parking lot outside the café he’d been so rough with her, deliberately repelling her with his advances. Only now did she remember the compliments that had preceded the savagely cruel kiss—the remarks he’d made about the color of her hair and the smell of her skin, the tautly suppressed emotions that had vibrated in his voice. The suspicion formed that Creed had been attracted to her before that night—a grudging attraction.
But if that was so, it didn’t explain why he had shown no regret over the way he’d treated her. Layne was confused, and she was usually so good at reasoning things out calmly and analytically. But none of it made sense—not her attraction for him nor his behavior toward her.
The tractor had slowed and the cattle were crowding around the hayrack before Layne noticed they had arrived at the feeding grounds. She scrambled to her feet and began to break the twine-bound bales to scatter the hay to the livestock. There wasn’t much time to consciously think about anything except the cold and the work and keeping her balance while the hayrack lumbered slowly over its route.
When the last bale was broken and tossed over the side, Layne slumped tiredly against the upright post at the tail of the rack to make the long, cold ride back to the ranch yard. Once they had cleared the feeding cattle, the tractor rumbled to an unexpected stop. Layne glanced curiously at Creed, wondering what was wrong. He half turned in the seat and motioned to her.
Stiff with cold, she awkwardly swung off the rack to the ground and walked to the tractor. When she looked up, Creed was watching her. The collar of his parka was turned up against the invading wind, the bulk material adding to his massive appearance. The tractor motor continued to idle noisily.
“Do you want to learn to drive this thing?” he asked, raising his voice to make himself heard.
The question briefly took her by surprise, but she didn’t hesitate in her answer. “Sure.”
As she climbed onto the tractor Creed slid out of the tractor seat to stand beside it, hanging on to the back of it for balance. This time his instructions to her were clear and precise. Once she understood, she had no trouble mastering the tractor.
When the hayrack had cleared the pasture gate, she stopped the tractor and switched off its motor. There was a faintly triumphant gleam in her eye when she looked at Creed.
“Don’t you have any more comments you’d like to make about women drivers?” She dryly teased him about his reaction to her previous attempt at operating the tractor that had felled him with the toppling hay bales.
“They do all right when they have a man to teach them.” His low voice mocked her with a deliberately chauvinistic statement.
Laughter came from her throat, warm and easy. She liked the quickness of his mind and that ability to match her dry humor.
As Creed stepped to the ground Layne swung out of the tractor seat to follow him. His gloved hands were there to lift her, and his strength made her feel almost weightless when he swung her down. They were standing toe to toe, and her hands remained on his arms. Her gaze searched his features, trying to decide what it was about his outlaw-rough exterior that she found so strangely handsome.
“Do you know you actually had me convinced that you didn’t like me?” Layne tipped her head to the side as she made the subtly challenging remark.
“Did I?” It was neither a question nor an answer.
“Why?” she persisted. “You’re an intelligent man. I don’t understand why you would want me to think that.”
“It shouldn’t be so hard to figure out. No man with any pride wants to look the fool. A beautiful woman like you can do that to a man without half trying.” There was a faint narrowing of his gaze.
“I doubt that.” She lightly scoffed at the implication that she was some sort of femme fatale.
“Do you? Look at me and tell me what you see,” Creed challenged with seeming idleness. Words momentarily failed her as Layne searched for a response that was both tactful and complimentary. His mouth tightened at her small hesitation. “That’s what I thought.” He appeared to smile, but there was no warmth or amusement in the fleeting expression. “Your parents taught you well. If you can’t think of anything good to say about a person, don’t talk at all.”
“Creed, that’s not fair.” Her hands dropped into fists at her side as he stepped away from her. She was impatient with him for reading something into her silence that didn’t exist.
“Why? I wasn’t looking for a compliment—only the truth. It shouldn’t be a difficult thing to have between friends.” There was a faint stress on the last word that seemed to draw a line on the limits of their relationship. “Go shut the gate before the cattle get out.” He hauled himself into the tractor seat once more, effectively bringing an end to the conversation by starting the motor.
Irritated with herself for not speaking plainly, Layne stal
ked to the open gate. She had been trying to protect his feelings and instead wound up spoiling things. The truth was that she still wasn’t comfortable with this attraction for such a rugged, homely man.
Chapter 7
All day and throughout supper Layne was preoccupied with her troubled thoughts. She didn’t understand the cause of Creed’s ambivalence toward her. The most logical course of action would be to confront him with it. In the process she might settle some of her own uncertainties.
With a decision at last made, she wasted no time in following through with it. There was nothing to be gained by putting it off to another day, so Layne tugged on her light gray jacket and wrapped a blue and gray plaid scarf around her bare head. Her boots clumped loudly on the steps as she hurried down the stairs to the front door.
Mattie was watching television in the front room. She glanced curiously at Layne when she emerged from the stairwell, then darted a look at the mantel clock. Its hands were poised near the nine o’clock hour.
“Are you going out?” she questioned Layne, more out of surprise than a desire for an accounting of her movements.
“Just for a short walk.” Layne didn’t bother to explain that the short walk would take her to Creed’s house. She didn’t want to make up an excuse about why she wanted to see him.
“Watch yourself. It’s bound to be icy out there,” Mattie advised and absently watched Layne until she went out the door before letting her attention return to the television screen.
There was a crystalline quality to the air as Layne stepped into the night. A full moon glittered like a big silver dollar, lighting the sky and flooding the ranch yard with its pale beams. Layne picked her way along the ice-slick foot trail through the trees to the second, smaller house. Woodsmoke was coming from its chimney and curling straight up in the windless night.