by Diana Palmer
She swallowed. “I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do or say. I thought it was some sick joke. Until he tried to take my clothes off, mumbling all the time that I needed somebody to teach me about men and he was the perfect person, because he’d had so many virgins.”
“Good God!”
“Uncle John was asleep. There was nobody to help me. But the Peales lived right down the road, and I knew a back way through the woods to their house. I hit him in a bad place and ran out the door as fast as my legs could carry me. I was almost naked by then.” She closed her eyes, shivering with the memory of the terror she’d felt, running and hearing him curse behind her as he crashed through the undergrowth in pursuit,
“I didn’t think what danger I might be placing Sassy Peale and her mother and stepsister in, I just knew they’d help me and I was terrified. I banged on the door and Sassy came to it. When she saw how I looked, she ran for the shotgun they kept in the hall closet. By the time the hired man got on the porch, Sassy had the shotgun loaded and aimed at his stomach. She told him if he moved she’d blow him up.”
She sipped tea while she calmed a little from the remembered fear. Her hand was shaking, but just a little. Her free hand was still clasped gently in Theodore’s.
“He tried to blame it on me, to say I’d flirted and tried to seduce him, but Sassy knew better. She held him at bay until her mother called the police. They took him away.” She drew in a breath. “There was a trial. It was horrible, but at least it was in closed session, in the judge’s chambers. The hired man plea-bargained. You see, he had priors, many of them. He drew a long jail sentence, but it did at least spare me a public trial.” She sipped tea again. “His sister lived over in Wyoming. She came to see me, after the trial.” Her eyes closed. “She said I was a slut who had no business putting a sweet, nice guy like him behind bars for years.” She managed a smile. “Sassy was in the kitchen when the woman came to the door. She marched into the living room and gave that woman hell. She told her about her innocent brother’s priors and how many young girls had suffered because of his inability to control his own desires. She was eloquent. The woman shut up and went away. I never heard from her again.” She looked over at him. “Sassy’s been my friend ever since. Not a close one, I’m sorry to say. I was so embarrassed at having her know about it that it inhibited me with her and everyone else. Everyone would believe the man’s sister, and that I’d asked for it.”
His fingers curled closer into hers. “No young woman asks for such abuse,” he said softly. “But abusers use that argument to defend themselves. It’s a lie, like all their other lies.”
“Sometimes,” she said, to be fair, “women do lie, and men, innocent men, go to jail for things they didn’t do.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But more often than not, such lies are found out, and the women themselves are punished for it.”
“I guess so.”
“I wasn’t here when that happened.”
“No. You were doing that workshop at the FBI Academy. And I begged the judge not to tell you or anybody else. She was very kind to me.”
He looked over her head, his eyes flashing cold and black as he thought what he might have done to the man if he’d been in town. He wasn’t interested in Jillian as a woman back then, because she was still almost a child, but he’d always been fond of her. He would have wiped the floor with the man.
His expression made her feel warm inside. “You’d have knocked him up and down main street,” she ventured.
He laughed, surprised, and met her eyes. “Worse than that, probably.” He frowned. “First the hired man, then the accountant.”
“The accountant was my fault,” she confessed. “I never told him how old I was, and I was infatuated with him. He was drinking when he tried to persuade me.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I even did that.”
He stared at her. “You were a kid, Jake. Kids aren’t known for deep thought.”
She smiled. “Thanks for not being judgmental.”
He shrugged. “I’m such a nice man that I’m never judgmental.”
Her eyebrows arched.
He grinned. “And I really can do the tango. Suppose I teach you?”
She studied his lean, handsome face. “It’s a very, well, sensual sort of dance, they say.”
“Very.” He pursed his lips. “But I’m not an aggressive man. Not in any way that should frighten you.”
She colored a little. “Really?”
“Really.”
She drew in a long breath. “I guess every woman should dance the tango at least once.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
He wiped his mouth on the linen napkin, took a last sip of the excellent but cooling coffee and got to his feet.
“You have to watch your back on the dance floor, though,” he told her as he led her toward it.
“Why is that?”
“When the other women see what a great dancer I am, they’ll probably mob you and take me away from you,” he teased.
She laughed. “Okay.” She leaned toward him. “Are you packing?”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, indicating the automatic nestled at his waist on his belt. “I’m a cop. I’m always packing. And you keep your little hands off my gun,” he added sternly. “I don’t let women play with it, even if they ask nicely.”
“Theodore, I’m scared of guns,” she reminded him. “And you know it. That’s why you come over and sit on the front porch and shoot bottles on stumps, just to irritate me.”
“I’ll try to reform,” he promised.
“Lies.”
He put his hand over his heart. “I only lie when I’m salving someone’s feelings,” he pointed out. “There are times when telling the truth is cruel.”
“Oh, yeah? Name one.”
He nodded covertly toward a woman against the wall. “Well, if I told that nice lady that her dress looks like she had it painted on at a carnival, she’d probably feel bad.”
She bit her lip trying not to laugh. “She probably thinks it looks sexy.”
“Oh, no. Sexy is a dress that covers almost everything, but leaves one little tantalizing place bare,” he said. “That’s why Japanese kimonos have that dip on the back of the neck, that just reveals the nape, when the rest of the woman is covered from head to toe. The Japanese think the nape of the neck is sexy.”
“My goodness!” She stared up at him, impressed. “You’ve been so many places. I’ve only ever been out of Montana once, when I drove to Wyoming with Uncle John to a cattle convention. I’ve never been out of the country at all. You learn a lot about other people when you travel, don’t you?”
He nodded. He smiled. “Other countries have different customs. But people are mostly the same everywhere. I’ve enjoyed the travel most of all, even when I had to do it on business.”
“Like the time you flew to London with that detective from Scotland Yard. Imagine a British case that involved a small town like Hollister!” she exclaimed.
“The perpetrator was a murderer who came over here fishing to provide himself with an alibi while his wife committed the crime and blamed it on her absent husband. In the end, they both drew life sentences.”
“Who did they kill?” she asked.
“Her cousin who was set to inherit the family estate and about ten million pounds,” he said, shaking his head. “The things sensible people will do for money never ceases to amaze me. I mean, it isn’t like you can take it with you when you die. And how many houses can you live in? How many cars can you drive?” He frowned. “I think of money the way the Crow and Cheyenne people do. The way most Native Americans do. The man in the tribe who is the most honored is always the poorest, because he gives away everything he has to people who need it more. They’re not capitalists. They don’t understand societies that equate prestige with money.”
“And they share absolutely everything,” she agreed. “They don’t understand private property.”
H
e laughed. “Neither do I. The woods and the rivers and the mountains are ageless. You can’t own them.”
“See? That’s the Cheyenne in you talking.”
He touched her blond hair. “Probably it is. We going to dance, or talk?”
“You’re leading, aren’t you?”
He tugged her onto the dance floor. “Apparently.” He drew her gently to him and then hesitated. After what she’d told him, he didn’t want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. He said so.
“I don’t…well, I don’t feel uncomfortable, like that, with you,” she faltered, looking up into his black eyes. She managed a shaky little smile. “I like being close to you.” She flushed, afraid she’d been too bold. Or that he’d think she was being forward. Her expression was troubled.
He just smiled. “You can say anything to me,” he said gently. “I won’t think you’re being shallow or vampish. Okay?”
She relaxed. “Okay. Is this going to be hard to learn?”
“Very.”
She drew in a long breath. “Then I guess we should get started.”
His eyes smiled down at her. “I guess we should.”
He walked her around the dance floor, to her amusement, teaching her how the basic steps were done. It wasn’t like those exotic tangos she’d seen in movies at first. It was like kindergarten was to education.
She followed his steps, hesitantly at first, then a little more confidently, until she was moving with some elegance.
“Now, this is where we get into the more exotic parts,” he said. “It involves little kicks that go between the legs.” He leaned to her ear. “I think we should have kids one day, so it’s very important that you don’t get overenthusiastic with the kicks. And you should also be very careful where you place them.”
It took her a minute to understand what he meant, and then she burst out laughing instead of being embarrassed.
He grinned. “Just playing it safe,” he told her. “Ready? This is how you do it.”
It was fascinating, the complexity of the movements and the fluid flow of the steps as he paced the dance to the music.
“It doesn’t look like this in most movies,” she said as she followed his steps.
“That’s because it’s a stylized version of the tango,” he told her. “Most people have no idea how it’s supposed to be done. But there are a few movies that go into it in depth. One was made in black and white by a British woman. It’s my favorite. Very comprehensive. Even about the danger of the kicks.” He chuckled.
“It’s Argentinian, isn’t it? The dance, I mean.”
“You’d have to ask my buddy about that, I’m not sure. I know there are plenty of dance clubs down there that specialize in tango. The thing is, you’re supposed to do these dances with strangers. It’s as much a social expression as it is a dance.”
“Really?”
He nodded. He smiled. “Maybe we should get a bucket and put all our spare change into it. Then, when we’re Red’s age, we might have enough to buy tickets to Buenos Aires and go dancing.”
She giggled. “Oh, I’m sure we’d have the ticket price in twenty or thirty years.”
He sighed as he led. “Or forty.” He shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to travel. I did a good bit of it in the service, but there are plenty of places I’d love to see. Like those ruins in Peru and the pyramids, and the Sonoran desert.”
She frowned. “The Sonoran desert isn’t exotic.”
He smiled. “Sure it is. Do you know, those Saguaro cacti can live for hundreds of years? And that if a limb falls on you, it can kill you because of the weight? You don’t think about them being that heavy, but they have a woody spine and limbs to support the weight of the water they store.”
“Gosh. How do you know all that?”
He grinned. “The Science Channel, the Discovery Channel, the National Geographic Channel…”
She laughed. “I like to watch those, too.”
“I don’t think I’ve missed a single nature special,” he told her. He gave her a droll look. “Now that should tell you all you need to know about my social life.” He grinned.
She laughed, too. “Well, my social life isn’t much better. This is the first time I’ve been on a real date.”
His black eyebrows arched.
She flushed. She shrugged. She averted her eyes.
He tilted her face up to his and smiled with a tenderness that made her knees weak. “I heartily approve,” he said, “of the fact that you’ve been saving yourself for me, just like your uncle did,” he added outrageously.
She almost bent over double laughing. “No fair.”
“Just making the point.” He slid his arm around her and pulled her against him. She caught her breath.
He hesitated, his dark eyes searching hers to see if he’d upset her.
“My…goodness,” she said breathlessly.
He raised his eyebrows.
She averted her eyes and her cheeks took on a glow. She didn’t know how to tell him that the sensations she was feeling were unsettling. She could feel the muscles of his chest pressed against her breasts, and it was stimulating, exciting. It was a whole new experience to be held close to a man’s body, to feel its warm strength, to smell the elusive, spicy cologne he was wearing.
“You’ve danced with men before.”
“Yes, of course,” she confessed. She looked up at him with fascination. “But it didn’t, well, it didn’t…feel like this.”
That made him arrogant. His chin lifted and he looked down at her with possession kindling in his eyes.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, embarrassed. “I just blurt things out.”
He bent his head, so that his mouth was right beside her ear as he eased her into the dance. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
She bit her lip and laughed nervously.
“Well, it’s okay to feel like that with me,” he corrected. “But you should know that it’s very wrong for you to feel that way with any other man. So you should never dance with anybody but me for the rest of your life.”
She burst out laughing again.
He chuckled. “You’re a quick study, Jake,” he noted as she followed his steps easily. “I think we may become famous locally for this dance once you get used to it.”
“You think?” she teased.
He turned her back over his arm, pulled her up, and spun her around with skill. She laughed breathlessly. It was really fun.
“I haven’t danced in years,” he sighed. “I love to do it, but I’m not much of a party person.”
“I’m not, either. I’m much more at home in a kitchen than I am in a club.” She grimaced. “That’s not very modern, either, for a woman. I always feel that I should be working my way up a corporate ladder somewhere or immersing myself in higher education.”
“Would you like to be a corporate leader?”
She made a face. “Not really. Jobs like that are demanding, and you have to want them more than anything. I’m just not ambitious, I guess. Although,” she mused, “I think I might like to take a college course.”
“What sort?” he asked.
“Anthropology.”
He stopped dancing and looked down at her, fascinated. “Why?”
“I like reading about ancient humans, and how archaeologists can learn so much from skeletal material. I go crazy over those National Geographic specials on Egypt.”
He laughed. “So do I.”
“I’d love to see the pyramids. All of them, even those in Mexico and Asia.”
“There are pyramids here in the States,” he reminded her. “Those huge earthen mounds that primitive people built were the equivalent of pyramids.”
She stopped dancing. “Why do you think they built them?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a guess. But most of the earthen mounds are near rivers. I’ve always thought maybe they were where the village went to get out of the water when it flooded.”
“It’s
as good a theory as any other,” she agreed. “But what about in Egypt? I don’t think they had a problem with flooding,” she added, tongue in cheek.
“Now, see, there’s another theory about that. Thousands of years ago, Egypt was green and almost tropical, with abundant sources of water. So who knows?”
“It was green?” she exclaimed.
He nodded. “There were forests.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“I read, too. I think it was in Herodotus. They called him the father of history. He wrote about Egypt. He admitted that the information might not all be factual, but he wrote down exactly what the Egyptian priests told him about their country.”
“I’d like to read what he said.”
“You can borrow one of my books,” he offered. “I have several copies of his Histories.”
“Why?”
He grimaced. “Because I keep losing them.”
She frowned. “How in the world do you lose a book?”
“You’ll have to come home with me sometime and see why.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Is that an invitation? You know, ‘come up and see my books’?”
He chuckled. “No, it’s not a pickup line. I really mean it.”
“I’d like to.”
“You would?” His arm contracted. “When? How about next Saturday? I’ll show you my collection of maps, too.”
“Maps?” she exclaimed.
He nodded. “I like topo maps, and relief maps, best of all. It helps me to understand where places are located.”
She smiled secretively. “We could compare maps.”
“What?”
She sighed. “I guess we do have a lot in common. I think I’ve got half the maps Rand McNally ever published!”
Five
“Well, what do you know?” He laughed. “We’re both closet map fanatics.”
“And we love ancient history.”
“And we love shooting targets from the front porch.”
She glowered up at him.
He sighed. “I’ll try to reform.”
“You might miss and shoot Sammy,” she replied.
“I’m a dead shot.”
“Anybody can miss once,” she pointed out.