The Baddest Virgin in Texas

by Maggie Shayne

  And then she did scream with it, words tumbling from her lips in a rush, driven by a passion so intense she wasn't even sure what she was saying.

  He bucked harder and then drove into her, holding her tight to take him. He shuddered, and she did, as well. And it was a long time before he relaxed enough to move again. A long time before she came back to earth and realized what she'd shouted when the climax swept her away.

  She closed her eyes and prayed she hadn't ruined everything. Maybe … maybe he'd been too carried away to notice the words she said.

  Or … maybe not.

  Jessi had curled into his arms, pulling his discarded flannel shirt over her. She lay relaxed and warm and sated against him. Flesh to flesh. Body to body. And he couldn't deny that it had been incredible. The best sex he'd ever had in his life.

  And it had also been, he realized, the biggest mistake.

  Lash relived the experience, knowing the precise moment when he should have stopped. He should be horsewhipped. He wouldn't blame her brothers for lynching him now. He wouldn't blame them a bit.

  He stared down at the scarlet proof of what he should have known all along, staining the pale pink satin of Jessi's crumpled robe. The pink of a tea rose. The pink of innocence.

  "You should have told me," he said, and his voice was strained.

  She snuggled closer to his side, tugging at him as if she wanted him to lie down again. "Told you what?"

  "Dammit, Jessi, you were… I was…"

  "You were my first," she said, and she smiled up at him. It was a sleepy, sexy smile in the too-bright light of the single bare bulb. "And if you'd get back down here with me, you could be my second … and my third and m—"

  "Dammit," he muttered again, and this time he eased himself out of her embrace and got to his feet. He pulled his jeans on hurriedly, while she looked on, her doe eyes round and hurting. Of course she was hurting. He was a bastard.

  He averted his eyes and paced the barren garage in broad strides, sweeping his hand through his hair. "I never would have … if I'd known … we shouldn't…"

  She sat up, tilting her head to one side. "Don't tell me you thought I was in the habit of—" she glanced down at the robe, the dirty floor, her fallen teddy "—of this."

  "Well, hell, Jess, you were too good at it to be an amateur. I didn't stand a chance, once you set your mind to—" He bit off the rest when he met her gaze by accident and saw fresh pain flash in her eyes. But it vanished fast.

  Chased away by anger.

  "Forgive me," she said. "I kinda got the idea that you were willing."

  "You know damn well what I meant. I didn't want this… I mean, I did, but I wouldn't have … not if you'd left me the hell alone when I told you to. Damn, Jessi, what the hell am I supposed to do now?"

  She got slowly to her feet, pulling his shirtsleeves over her arms, jerking it closed in the front. "You can always have me arrested," she snapped. "Charge me with rape, seeing as how I gave you no choice and ignored you a while ago when you were screaming no. Hell, you probably have a good case, right? So you decide, Lash. Meanwhile, why don't you get the hell out of my garage, off my property and out of my life."

  "Gladly." He snatched up his boots, put them on haphazardly and fled. As if the devil himself were on his heels, Lash stomped to his car, slammed the door and spit gravel in his wake when he headed home. But he couldn't run fast enough or far enough. He'd been raised better than this. The Reverend Mr. Stanton had taught him far, far better than this. But even so, he'd given in to his baser urges. He'd told himself they were two consenting adults and that so long as she understood up front that this meant nothing, it would be all right. Hell, she'd even had condoms on hand.

  But he'd been wrong. She was an innocent, no matter how effective her seduction. An innocent. She didn't know anything about sex or men or…

  What should he do? What the hell should he do? He pulled the car into the spot in front of his apartment, killed the engine and sat there cursing himself. He closed his eyes and saw Reverend Stanton at the pulpit, fist slamming down on the open Bible, fire and brimstone in his eyes. "You have to marry her, boy! It's the only honorable thing you can do. You sullied an innocent, defiled her, deflowered her. And, boy, the blame for that is only half hers, and you know it."

  "You're right," Lash muttered. And he knew it was true. Sure, she'd acted as if she knew what was what. But if he'd searched his soul, he'd have known it was all bluster. All an act.

  She'd told him she loved him. She was an innocent young girl who thought she was in love with him. And if he hadn't been so busy lusting after her, he'd have seen love shining from those big brown eyes. He'd have seen it and he'd have run like hell. She thought she loved him. And because of that, she'd given him something more precious than gold, and she'd sure as hell regret it some day.

  He owed her. He owed her brothers. He had to do what was right.

  Jessi was stunned.

  After what they'd shared, she'd thought he'd have to know they were meant for each other. How could he not know it, after that? How?

  She closed her eyes. God, it had been … it had been like nothing she'd ever dreamed of. The way they fit together. They'd been so close, so insane with wanting and giving and feeling. How could he still not know?

  Jessi sighed and pulled his shirt tighter around her, hugging her waist. She'd thought he would understand that they were meant to be together once they made love. But she'd been wrong. He hadn't understood anything. He'd acted angry, instead of moved. Instead of in love, he'd been in what looked and felt like mortal fear of her.

  Were all men this dense, or only Lash?

  Or maybe … may be she was the one who wasn't getting it. Lash had been with other women. Maybe being with her hadn't been anything so special for him. Maybe it had been just like the rest, and not the earth-shattering experience it had been for her.

  That thought made more sense than any other. Maybe she was the one who'd been a total fool. She picked up her bathrobe, balled it up and carried it under her arm. Her chin lowered to her chest, she walked through the darkness back into the house and stuffed it into her overnight bag. Then she showered, letting steaming-hot water pound her sore body, telling herself to let it rinse away this heartache that had settled over her like a heavy shroud.

  It didn't. And the quiet of the empty house only made it worse. She didn't want to be alone tonight. If she were, she'd just spend the night bawling like some weak-kneed female, and she hated women like that. No, better to find some distraction. Something else to think about.

  She threw on some fresh jeans, snatched up her bag and headed to the one place where she knew she could always find comfort. And love. And chaos. Home. The Texas Brand. Even if she slipped up to her room without seeing anyone, just being there would be enough. Just hearing all that noise, feeling the warmth that big house was always filled with, would be enough. It would be better to lick her wounds there than here, alone. And maybe then she could make some sense out of all of these strange feelings swirling around in her heart, and decide what she was supposed to do next.

  There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway when she arrived, and she figured someone had company. Part of her wanted to creep into the house through the back door and sneak unseen up to her room. Most of her, though, wanted to shake this dark cloud from over her head and march in with her head held high. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Lash should have been happy to learn he was her first. He should have been thrilled. And if he had half a brain, he'd have understood what an honor it was that she'd bestowed on him. She'd wanted him to be her first. She'd waited all her life for him.

  And he'd been furious about it.

  "Well, to hell with him."

  She was hurt, but there was a lot more to it than that.

  She was mad as hell. And sniveling her way through the house as if she had something to be ashamed of was not her way of dealing with it. Because she wasn't ashamed. She'd done nothing wrong.

&
nbsp; Besides, her brothers would sense something was up if she didn't act like her usual self. So she did.

  She burst through the front door, small bag in her hand, plastering a smile on her face and acting as if she were on top of the world. But she paused when she saw a harried-looking woman who seemed to be on her way out. The woman had a boy in tow. A carrot-topped, freckle-faced little boy. Jessi recognized him at once and frowned, wondering what on earth was going on. Her first thought was that the kid had known what those foil packets were, and that he'd ratted her out to her older brothers. And the bottom fell out of her stomach as she looked up at Garrett.

  But Garrett was smiling as he and Chelsea saw the woman and the boy off. "Don't let it happen again, you hear? And Mrs. Peterson, don't you worry about the late hour. I'm glad you came to me, and you did the right thing by letting Mr. Henry know right away. I'm sure no harm's been done."

  The woman nodded, red-faced, never quite meeting Garrett's eyes. "I just can't imagine what came over him, Sheriff Brand. But I was always taught confession is good for the soul. Now that he's owned up to it and you had that little talk with him, I'm sure he'll mend his ways."

  "Don't be too hard on him, ma'am. Boys tend toward mischief, you know. They can't help it much."

  The woman scowled at her son and hustled him out of the house to their waiting car.

  Jessi stood just inside the screen door, watching as the two left. When they were gone, she looked at her brother, frowning. "What was all that about?"

  "Hardened criminal," Garrett said. "His mom caught him in the act and made him confess to the sheriff." He shook his head, grinning. "I gave him a talkin'-to. I don't think he's gonna mess up again."

  "Oh." Jessi nodded. "I heard you mention Mr. Henry. What did the kid do, shoplift something from the drugstore?"

  Garrett shook his head, and she could see that he was battling a gut-deep chuckle. Chelsea elbowed him in the ribs. "It's not one bit funny, you big lug."

  He sobered. "You're right, of course. I was just wondering if little Bubba's gonna be as much of a heller as that one is. Thank goodness his mama caught him and let ol' Mr. Henry know what he'd done."

  "That bad, huh?" Jessi asked.

  "You bet," Garrett said. "His mama caught him in the prophylactic aisle with a sewing needle in his hand. Seems his friends dared him to poke holes in the condoms."

  Jessi's blood rushed to her feet so fast she felt dizzy. "P-poke … holes?" Her hand clenched tighter around the handle of her small bag.

  "Little feller annihilated a dozen or more before she caught him. Seems he was at it all afternoon."

  Jessi put one hand on her belly to calm it. This was just silly. She was just being silly. What were the odds that the ones she'd bought had been—?

  "Well, I hope he's learned his lesson," she said, but her voice lacked conviction, and it cracked a little. She wanted to chase the woman down and wring her child's freckled neck. "I'm heading upstairs. I'm tired out."

  "But, Jess, you didn't tell us about the garage. How'd it go today? You get much done?"

  She kept walking, speaking softly as she went, not turning around. She was operating on autopilot right now, while her brain reeled from the shock. The very thought… "Fine. It's coming along fine."

  "Now what the heck do you suppose is ailing her?" she heard her brother mutter.

  She hurried to her room, closed the door, turned the lock and raced to her bed, shaking the contents of her overnight bag onto the comforter. She grasped her robe when it rolled onto the bed, and shook it.

  The two remaining foil packets spilled out in front of her, and her hands were trembling when she picked one of them up. She scanned the little sucker, front and back, straining her eyes. But there were no punctures. The packet was fine.

  She dropped it, sighing in relief and grabbing up the second one. She'd been afraid for nothing. There'd been no reason to think that…

  "Oh, my God."

  She swallowed hard and stared at the series of tiny holes in the second packet, willing them to disappear. But they remained.

  "Oh, my God, this is like Russian roulette. What about the third one? The one we … used?"

  No way to tell. Lash had disposed of it, wrapper and all, though she had no idea what he'd done with it. She only knew she'd looked around the floor after he left, wanting to leave no telltale signs for her snoopy brothers to stumble upon. And she'd found nothing there. She'd be damned before she asked Lash what he'd done with it. She'd be damned before she even mentioned any of this to him.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead. Oh, God, what if … what if…?

  No. It couldn't happen. It couldn't.

  But there was no way she was going to stop worrying about it until she knew. And she couldn't know. Not yet. All she could do was wait … and try not to let her panic show in her eyes in the meantime.

  Because if the worst had happened tonight… She closed her eyes, chewed her lower lip… Damn. Her brothers were going to skin Lash alive.

  He knew what he ought to do, he just wasn't quite sure he could bring himself to go through with it. He hadn't heard a word from Jessi in three days, and he'd managed to avoid her so far. It might do to give her some time to get over him, he thought. After all, she might decide she wasn't in love with him, after all, and maybe she'd be okay, and he wouldn't have to sacrifice his freedom on the altar of her lost innocence.

  He ought to be ashamed of himself. He really should. Hell, he was. He told himself, though, that it was better for Jessi not to rush into anything. To cool down and think it through first. And he figured he'd get a pretty good handle on how she was dealing with all of this any minute now. This morning Garrett had called to ask Lash to be at the ranch for breakfast. Said he wanted to get an early start as they headed out to a ranch forty miles east where another rustling incident had taken place recently. It would be easier if they left from the ranch in one vehicle.

  And if every excuse Lash could think of hadn't sounded so lame in his mind, he might have tried using one or two of them.

  He sat at the table in the Brand's kitchen, feeling like Judas at the Last Supper. And maybe it was just him, but there seemed to be a pall hanging over all of them. Lash was used to Ben's solemn face and sad eyes. But it wasn't just Ben. Wes sat across from him, looking preoccupied. Elliot wasn't cracking jokes or grinning. Garrett rarely stopped frowning. Even Chelsea was unusually quiet.

  He didn't think they knew. Hell, if they knew, he wouldn't be sitting here and they wouldn't be moping. He'd be running for his life and they'd be chasing him with blood in their eyes, more than likely. He cleared his throat and decided to face it head-on. "Why's everybody so glum?"

  Garrett shook himself. "Hell, Lash, I forgot you haven't been out here for a few days."

  "Nope," Wes said, and then his black eyes narrowed. "In fact, he hasn't been around since Jessi first started acting so strangely."

  Chelsea's head came up, her eyes widening. "Wes, she told you, it's just a stomach bug. Flu, probably. It'll pass. She'll be fine."

  Wes grunted, and Lash swallowed hard. "So something's wrong with Jessi?" he asked.

  "Don't worry about it," Chelsea replied. And her eyes pierced his. "She's too tough to let any insignificant little bug keep her down."

  Lash flinched. Damn, if no one else knew, it was obvious Chelsea at least had a pretty good idea of what was bothering Jess. He felt about two inches high. But he was worried. "Is she—"

  "Here she comes," Elliot said. "See for yourself."

  No sooner had he said it than Jessi sailed into the kitchen, chin high, overly bright smile on her face.

  "Overslept again," she sang. "You guys should have woke me."

  "Heard you up pacing till after midnight," Ben said softly. "Thought if you were finally sleeping, we oughtta let you have at it."

  She smiled even harder, then caught sight of Lash, and her face froze, the smile dying slowly.

  "Morning, Jes
si," he managed.

  She blinked the emotions from her eyes and turned her back to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Morning," she muttered.

  When she faced them again, her smile was back in place, and every bit as phony as before. Maybe even a little bit more so now.

  Something was sure as hell bothering her. She wouldn't look him in the eye, barely spoke more than a syllable in his direction at a time. She looked pale, and there were dark rings surrounding her eyes. From lack of sleep, no doubt. Up pacing till after midnight, indeed.

  She picked at her food. Normally, that bundle of energy had an appetite like a horse, but this morning—and maybe for the past several mornings, judging by her family's worry—she pushed the food around on her plate, looking at it as if it held no appeal whatsoever. And Lash knew he wasn't imagining the haunted look in her eyes.

  Looking at her, Lash lost his appetite, as well. She was a mess. Trying hard to hide it, but a mess all the same. Lash couldn't avoid the consequences of his actions. Not anymore. It was clear he'd hurt her. Hurt her bad. If he'd known she was a virgin, he'd never have assumed she could deal with a casual one-night stand. And he should have known. Thing was, he thought, he just plain hadn't wanted to know. He'd wanted her, and he'd had her, and now the poor little thing was devastated.

  Probably she'd been harboring some fantasy about how it would all play out. Probably she'd thought he'd fall madly in love with her after having her once, and that he'd be hers forever. She was still in love with him, and he'd broken her innocent heart all to hell. Poor thing, falling apart over him.

  Lord, but he'd messed up good this time.

  She sipped her coffee, leaned back in her chair. "So you two are heading out to the Bar Z today?" She addressed her question to Garrett, acting as if Lash weren't even in the room.

  "Yeah," Garrett said. "The rustling spree out their way last year bears some similarities to ours."

  "That's great," she said. "Maybe you'll break this case wide open."

  "That would be nice," Garrett said. "I'm sick of working on this thing into the wee hours night after night."