by Diana Palmer
She searched his dark face with wonder. He seemed as surprised by what they’d shared as she did. But he wasn’t inexperienced. Shouldn’t it have been routine to him to make love to a woman and experience those feelings? She wished she could ask him, but that would mean admitting her naïveté. And once he knew how innocent she really was, he’d never come near her again. He’d said so.
She tried to relax, to carry on the fiction of sophistication. But the blatant masculinity of his body against her made her uneasy.
“I’m not afraid,” she said.
He moved his hand away from her breast and lightly touched her mouth, liking the way she lay so softly in his arms, her long hair draping around her shoulders, her eyes gentle and trusting now. She was a woman who needed tenderness, and he was angry with himself for the way he’d treated her. What had been natural with other women seemed out of place and crude with her. He remembered what he’d whispered to her, and winced now, wishing he could take it back.
“What is it?” she asked, having seen that change of expression.
“I said something pretty crude to you a few minutes ago,” he said with quiet honesty. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’d forgotten that a woman with some experience can still be a lady, and deserves to be treated like one. The next time I make love to you, it won’t be like this.”
He moved her gently out of his arms while she was still absorbing the shock of what he’d said.
He went around the cab and helped her out, holding her arm protectively as he escorted her onto the well-lit porch. He looked down at her and his eyes fell suddenly to her dress. He smiled ruefully.
“Good thing Winnie’s not up,” he murmured.
She followed his gaze and flushed. There was a very obvious dampness on her dress around the nipple that no engaged woman would mistake the reason for.
He cupped her face in his hands and held it up to his eyes, smiling indulgently at her. “Don’t worry, no one will see it. Next time,” he breathed, bending to her mouth with agonizing slowness, “we’ll make sure the fabric is out of the way before I put my lips on you.”
She gasped and he smiled against her mouth as he kissed it. His body went rigid instantly, drawing a shocked gasp from his own mouth.
“God, you excite me!” he said roughly, drawing back. “I’d better get out of here before I shock us both. I’ll call in a day or so and we’ll set a time for that trip to Hardin. By the way, you can tell your mother hen that I won’t keep you out this late again.”
“I will.” She was holding his arms for support. It wasn’t easy to let go. She didn’t want to be away from him for a minute, much less two days. “Well, good night. I enjoyed the dinner and the concert.”
“Not the movie?” he murmured dryly, smiling at her faint flush. His smile faded as he looked down into her eyes. “Never mind. I think I’m getting too old for careless passion.” He touched her mouth with a long forefinger. “I would be tender with you,” he said huskily. “I know enough to give you heaven. And when the time comes, I will. That’s a promise.”
Before she could get her breath or her wits back, he’d turned and was on his way back to the Jeep, his lean-hipped stride holding her eyes against her will. He was so good to look at, and what she felt with him was terrifying. She knew then, hopelessly, that she’d give him anything he asked for. She couldn’t even run. The pull of attraction was too strong to fight. She watched him drive away without looking back and wondered sadly if this was how it would be when it was over, and he was going out of her life for good.
Gene knew she was still standing on the porch, but he didn’t wave. He was teeming with new and confusing emotions that he really didn’t want to explore too fully. His planned seduction was going sadly awry. His conscience was getting in the way.
Allison unlocked the door and went inside, half afraid that Winnie was going to see her. Impulsively she grabbed up a sweater from the clothes tree in the hall and slipped it on, pulling it over her breasts. And in the nick of time, too, because Winnie appeared in the hall as she was on the way to her room.
“About time, too,” Winnie said worriedly. “Where have you been?”
Allison told her, making light of the date and raving over the symphony.
“So that’s all it was,” Winnie relaxed. She smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. I know I’m overreacting. But he’s so potent, Allie. So much a man…”
A sudden, horrible suspicion grew in the back of Allison’s mind. “Is he?” she probed.
Winnie grimaced. “I guess you’d better know. I dated Gene before Dwight cut him out. It was innocent; I never slept with him,” she emphasized. “The thing is, I would have,” she confessed miserably. “And he knew it. That’s why I warned you. Gene takes what he wants, but he has nothing to give in return. You’re playing a very dangerous game. I’m no Snow White, and I could have survived an affair with him—if I hadn’t fallen so hopelessly in love with Dwight. But you’re very innocent, Allie. I don’t think you could live with yourself. Especially after your upbringing.”
“I’m not sure I could, either,” she confessed on a hard sigh. “He’s…very potent.”
“So I see.”
The amused drawl brought her eyes down and she noticed then that the sweater had fallen open. She went scarlet, wrapping it protectively over her breasts.
“Don’t look so hunted,” Winnie said gently. “I understand. A man like that is too hard to resist. You can’t be blamed for being human. But to keep seeing him is asking for trouble.”
“I know.” Allison looked down at the floor. “I…think I’m falling in love.”
Winnie bit her lower lip. “He can’t help being the way he is. But he isn’t a man who knows how to love. Or commit himself to a long-term relationship.”
Allison looked up with haunted, sad eyes. “There’s still a chance.”
“And you’re too hooked to listen to warnings, aren’t you?” her friend replied gently. She hugged Allison to her with a sigh. “Try to keep your head, at least.”
“I’ll do that. Complications are the last thing I need.”
“At least you know about precautions,” Winnie sighed, smiling at Allison’s flush. “Your training may come in handy before you’re through. Okay, no more lectures. Go to bed. Is the wild man coming back?”
“Yes. Sometime in the middle of the week. He’s taking me to see the Custer Battlefield. Then next week, we’re going to the rodeo in Cody,” she said.
Winnie just shook her head.
Allison changed into her nightgown, awed and frightened by the way it had been. Her first intimacy with a man, and she couldn’t even admit it to him. She wondered if he’d have been different with her, had he known how naïve she was. Probably he’d have done what he swore at the beginning—he’d have left her strictly alone. He’d been honest about his opinion of innocence; that he wanted no part of it. She felt guilty about hiding hers, but she was falling in love. Even if he got angry at her later, she had to have a chance. He might fall in love with her, too, and then it would be all right.
Except that in the meantime he might seduce her, she thought worriedly. His ardor was unexpected and so was her helplessness. She’d never experienced those sensations, and they were addictive.
She tried to push it out of her mind when she went to bed. But she felt as if her body had scorched the sheets by morning. She’d never had such erotic dreams in all her life, and they were full of Gene.
Chapter Six
Gene was surprised by the force of his attraction to Allison. He’d meant to wait a few days before he saw her again, to give her time to miss him, to enhance her response to him. But he found himself thinking about her all too much. By the second day, the tables had suddenly turned on him and he was missing her.
He gunned the Jeep into the Manley driveway, smiling when he saw Allison out digging in Mrs. Manley’s small flower garden near the porch steps. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a pink tank top, her long black hair in
a ponytail, and she looked charming. He cut off the engine and climbed out of the big vehicle, his bat-wing chaps making a leathery rustling sound as he walked toward her.
“They’ve put you to work, I see,” he drawled.
Allison flushed and smiled shyly, getting to her feet. She’d just been daydreaming about him, and here he was! “Hi!” she said, her whole face radiant with the greeting.
His heart jumped a little. “Hi, yourself,” he murmured, moving closer. His eyes fell from her firm breasts down her narrow waist to softly flaring hips and long, elegant legs. She even had pretty feet, encased in brown leather thongs. “Nice legs,” he murmured with a wicked glance.
“Thank you,” she stammered. “Are you looking for Winnie and Mrs. Manley? They had to run to the store….”
“I came to see you, cupcake,” he said softly, his wide-brimmed hat shadowing his eyes as they searched hers. “But I hardly dared hope I’d find you alone.”
She felt her heart race. “Did you?” she whispered.
He tipped her chin up and bent his head unexpectedly, brushing his mouth with lazy expertise over her parted lips. “No, that won’t do,” he breathed, his voice deep and slow as he reached for her. “Come close, little one.”
He enveloped her in his muscular arms and drew her against his body as he bent again. This time the kiss was longer, harder, but so different from the way he’d kissed her two nights ago. This one was gentle, full of respect and warmth. She reacted to it with all her heart, sliding her arms under his and around his lean waist, loving the way his mouth played with hers and teased around it between kisses.
“Very nice,” he mused when he lifted his head. It was much better like this, gentle and sweet, so that she responded and didn’t fight or draw away. He liked it when she wasn’t frightened. “Dessert, in the middle of the day,” he added, teasing. “You taste sweet.”
She laughed softly, her hazel eyes adoring him. “I just ate a cinnamon bun.”
“And that wasn’t what I meant,” he murmured. “Does tomorrow suit you to drive up to Hardin? We can leave about nine, if you like.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, already excited.
“Good. I’ll make sure I’m free. Wear jeans and boots. There are rattlers in that area. I don’t want you hurt.”
Her smile widened. “I will,” she promised, surprised and pleased that he was concerned about her. Being with him shot her through and through with pleasure.
He drew his forefinger down her nose. “Don’t get sunstroke out here. What are you doing?”
“Weeding Mrs. Manley’s flowers,” she said. “I hate just sitting around. I hate talk shows and I can’t do handicrafts. I like working.”
The women he usually escorted liked to preen and put themselves on display. He scowled as he thought about it. Not one of them would like getting her hands dirty digging in a garden. His eyes slid over Allison’s soft face and lingered there. His mother had been an enthusiastic gardener, too.
“Do you have a garden where you live?” he asked suddenly.
Her smile faded and she averted her eyes to the spade she was using. “Yes, I had a vegetable garden,” she said. “But it…was ruined.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think Winnie’s mother grows vegetables.”
“No, she’s a flower enthusiast,” Allison replied. She looked up at him again, smiling as she studied the way he looked in his working clothes, very lean and lithe and Western. Very masculine, too, as he stood with his hands on his hips, his Stetson low over his eyes. “You look like an ad for a Western vacation,” she said involuntarily. “Very, very handsome.”
He chuckled. “That’s it, hit me in my weak spot.”
She laughed, too. “You could have phoned. About Hardin, I mean.”
“I know.” He touched her soft mouth lightly. “I wanted to see you. Don’t overdo. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice low and gentle.
He winked at her, but he didn’t touch her again. He pulled his hat lower over one eye and strode back to the Jeep. He didn’t look back as he drove away. She had a feeling that he never did, and it just vaguely disturbed her. It was a reminder that he wasn’t a committing man. And he was used to walking away from women without looking back.
But by the time he picked her up the next morning, she’d convinced herself that she was going to be the one exception to his rule. He did at least seem to be different with her since the other night, when she’d drawn back from his overwhelming ardor. Maybe he sensed her innocence and wasn’t put off by it. She laughed silently. More likely, he’d decided that roughness might put her off him, and he was soft pedaling his raging desire until he could coax her into satisfying it. She had to be realistic, but it was difficult when she was so vulnerable to him. That had to be mutual, though, she told herself. Otherwise, why would he have come all the way to the Manleys’ to see her, when he could have phoned? She tingled with the delicious possibilities.
He was dressed in jeans and boots and a brown-and-white patterned Western shirt, the familiar Stetson cocked over one eye. Allison had dressed similarly, with a beige tank top under a blue-and-brown striped shirt. She laughed at the way they matched.
So did Gene. He helped her into the truck, jamming a Caterpillar bibbed cap down over her hair, which she’d pulled up in a soft bun. The cap came down to her eyebrows. “You can fix that. There’s an adjustable strap in the back,” he told her as he drove. “I figured you’d forget your hat.”
She beamed. He was taking such good care of her. She looked at him, her heart overflowing with warm feelings. “Thanks,” she said softly, and adjusted the plastic strip.
“I have to take care of my best girl,” he said softly. The strange thing was that he meant it. She was the best girl he’d ever taken out. She wasn’t demanding or petulant or sulky. She reminded him of bright summer sunshine, always cheerful.
She became radiant as she heard the words, blushing. It got worse when he reached out and tangled her fingers in his as he drove.
“Miss me?” he asked gently.
“Oh, yes,” she said, not bothering with subterfuge.
He glanced at her, his eyes lingering on her rosy cheeks and soft, parted mouth before he forced his gaze back to his driving. “That goes double for me.” His fingers clenched in hers. “You’re good medicine, sunshine.”
“Medicine?” she teased.
“Up in this part of the world, medicine means more than drugs. The Plains Indians used to ‘make medicine’ before battle, to protect them and help their spirits find the way to the hereafter. There was good medicine and bad, equally potent. They filled small rawhide bags with special talismans to protect their bodies from their enemies. Good medicine,” he added, smiling as he glanced at her. “But I’d have hell stuffing you into a rawhide pouch.”
She laughed. “I expect it would be uncomfortable, at that.” Her eyes adored him. “Thank you for taking me to the battlefield. I’ve wanted to see it all my life.”
“My pleasure. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
She wasn’t. There was a museum and guided tours were available. She noticed that Gene avoided the groups of tourists as they meandered along the paved walkway up to the graves in their wrought-iron square and the tall monument on which was carved the names of the soldiers who died at the spot.
“We’re standing on Crow land,” he explained, nodding down the ridge to the small stream that cut a deep ravine through the green grass. Beyond it was a large stand of trees and an even larger body of water. “Through there was the encampment. Several Native American tribes came together to form an army of several thousand. This fenced area is where the last stand was made. Custer died here, so they say, along with his brother and brother-in-law and nephew. He was shot through the left breast and the temple.”
“I read somewhere that he committed suicide.”
He shook his head. “I think that’s unlikely. If you read his book, My Life
on the Plains, you get a picture of a man who is definitely not the type for suicide. One authority on him thinks he was shot down in that ravine, through the left breast, and brought up here to the last stand position by his men. A bullet wound was found in his left temple. The Indians usually shot their enemies at close range to make sure they were dead. It was reported that after a buckskinned soldier was wounded in the ravine, the soldiers lost heart and seemed not to fight so hard. If it was Custer who got shot, then it would explain that near rout. His men were young and mostly inexperienced. Few of them had ever seen Indians on the warpath.”
“I guess it would be scary,” she said, looking up at him with fascination.
“You don’t know the half of it, cupcake. Plains Indians in full regalia were painted—faces, surely, and bodies. Even the horses were painted. Add to that the death cry they all yelled as they went into battle, and the eagle bone whistles they blew, and you’ve got a vision of death terrifying enough to make a seasoned trooper nervous.”
He stopped and looked out over the rolling buttes and high ridges and vast stretch of horizon. “My God,” he breathed, “no wonder they fought so hard to keep it. Look. Virgin land, untouched, unpoisoned by civilization. God’s country.”
“Yes. It really is beautiful,” she said.
The wind was blowing hard and he slid an arm around her, drawing her close. “Want to walk down to the ravine?” he asked.
“Could we?”
“Surely. There’s a trail. Watch for snakes, now.”
He led her down the deceptively long path to the ravine, stopping at each place that marked where men had fallen in battle. He seemed familiar with all of them, and the history. He stopped for a long moment beside one marker.
“My great-great-uncle,” he said, smiling at her expression. “Surprised? Now you know how I knew so much about the battle. His wife kept a journal, and I have it. The last entry was the night before he set out with Custer’s 7th for the Little Bighorn. He probably kept a journal all the way here, too, but the Native tribes scoured the battlefield after the fight, and took everything they thought they could use. Watches, pistols, clothing, even saddles and boots were carried off. They threw away the soles of the boots and used the leather to make other things out of.”