by Yvonne Jocks
Not that he would want to do any such thing, of course. She had made it clear how poorly she thought of him just last week. And now, with her hair gone, how could he possibly find her attractive? Perhaps this was her punishment for her and Melissa's vanity this morning, for caring so much about their hair as to use rainwater and herbs and special soap....
“What is it?” asked Melissa, and Audra tried very hard not to envy the girl's long, clean, brightly blond hair.
Jack leaned nearer Audra's cheek. “You've got curls,” he said, his breath caressing her cheek even if his fingers did not.
“C-curls?”
“What with all that weight gone, you've got the prettiest sorrel curls I've ever seen.”
Oh, my. He thought her pretty, even now? Her eyes drifted shut again as she held that tremulous, liquid feeling tight inside her, tried to make a memory of it. Heaven only knew when she would ever again be so intimate with a man.
The idea of behaving as she should—avoiding this feeling in the future—saddened her.
When Jack finished and steered her to a mirror, she shut her eyes again. He stood there behind her, holding her shoulders, waiting patiently for her to face what they had done. If she leaned back a little, he would support her entire weight. She knew he would. Then she could not open her eyes because she knew she'd blushed at her own daring thoughts.
“In for a penny,” he reminded her, humor thick in his voice. So she opened her eyes.
The horror she'd expected was indeed there, clear in the lamplight. Her hair! Al that hair, kept so carefully and brushed so faithfully since childhood, gone! No more chignons, or long braids wrapped around her head like a crown; she did not have enough left to tie up in a ribbon. She might as well be standing here in her undergarments as without her long hair.
Which, with Jack right behind her, watching her face in the mirror, was indeed a shocking idea. She and Melissa ought not even have a proper man visiting, much less after sunset, much less him!
And yet...
In his gaze she saw none of her own dismay reflected back at her. From over her shoulder Jack Harwood seemed satisfied, even admiring of what he beheld. When she tried to look at her new coiffure from his vantage, she saw that it did swoop into curls. He'd cut it carefully, so that it framed her face in a neat cap of red-gold instead of sticking out like straw, the way some girls' hair did when they had to chop it off because of lice or high fever.
It seemed almost artistic, what he had done. Her head felt wonderfully, amazingly light.
She met his eyes in the mirror and, even if he ought not be here, her gratitude felt too great to smother, even for something as important as propriety. especially after the things she had accused him of! “Thank you,” she said softly.
“My pleasure, darlin',” he assured her, equally quietly.
“I think it's wonderful!” added Melissa, startling both of them. Audra spun to face her, and Jack took a quick step back. “You could start a new fashion trend,” she added.
Audra laughed weakly. “I doubt it. I may yet lose my job.”
“You didn't break any rules,” Jack reminded her with his more usual cocky grin.
Now that they'd done the deed, she could not believe anybody would accept that argument. But least she had attempted something. “That may not matter.”
“Depends on how you play it.”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, Mr. Harwood, this is not a game.” But she attempted a wan smile. He had not judged her this evening, not once. She could do no less.
“Jack,” he corrected, eyes dancing again.
“Jack,” she repeated, surprised at how it became easier to smile around him.
“You might enjoy life more if you treated it as a game.”
He'd said something similar at the store, hadn't he? Take a gamble, he'd said....
And after she had said such horrible things to him!
“Melissa,” she said, “please go feed the animals. I wish to speak to Mr.—Jack—in private.”
Melissa hesitated, looking from Audra to Jack and back.
“I have short hair!” Audra insisted, and Melissa nodded agreement. Compared to the hair, what did she have left to lose?
As long as Jack behaved himself, anyway. And he'd proved trustworthy so far this evening. He could have taken advantage of her more than once this past month, but he had not.
He'd said something about that at the store, as well , but she'd refused to hear.
Melissa lit a lantern and left—and Audra and Jack were suddenly alone. Together.
He cocked his head, obviously intrigued.
Crow was best eaten warm. “I owe you an apology.”
He shifted his weight to a hip-shot stance, folding his arms. “Why would that be?”
“For the things I said last week. In the store.”
“As I recall ,” he noted, “you called me a cardsharp.”
She nodded, and he smiled. It was a slow, somehow naughty smile. "Audra, darlin', I am a cardsharp."
That flustered her—both the smile and the darling. “But you are a nice cardsharp.”
“Such an animal has been known to exist now and again.” He was still smiling.
Audra tried to find order in tucking a strand of stray hair back into place—but her fingertips told her it was al stray hair now. That flustered her almost as much as his smile.
“I did not believe you when you said so before,” she stammered, looking down to avoid the fascination in his eyes as he gazed at her. "That is why I must apologize. You helped me a great deal this evening. Even after I behaved so rudely, you came here and helped me. And before—when I asked you not to mention meeting me at the schoolhouse—you did that, too. No matter what happens with the school board, I owe you a great deal. If there is ever anything I can do for you ..."
But, oh, that sounded al wrong! Despite fighting it, she looked quickly back up—and was caught.
“That is, if you ever need a favor ...”
That sounded better. Then he said, “I might could use a favor, at that,” and his voice came out so husky, his gaze focused so intently on her mouth, that she knew she was in trouble. And yet, as with the haircut, she found a new, subversive pleasure in the alarm that shivered through her at that realization. She did trust him ... but he was no gentleman.
Unfolding his arms and leaning closer, Jack proved it.
The press of his lips to hers frightened and fascinated her; his mouth somehow drew her into that wanton moment so that she was no longer Audra; she was simply .. . pleasure. She felt the scratch of his evening whiskers, breathed peppermint edged with fresh tobacco, and over it al savored his warmth, enveloping her. His arms encircled her, his lips took hers again—or still —and through the lowering veil of her lashes she watched his eyes drift closed in sleepy contentment.
Then her own eyes shut, and still he kissed her, and it felt delicious. His fingers wove into her shorn hair, cradled her head, held her still as something—his tongue!—teased her lower lip. Oh, heavens!
She felt more alive than during the haircut. Every bit of her. especially the deep-inside parts!
When Jack straightened from her, and her eyes opened, it felt like awakening from luxurious sleep.
It felt dreamlike, even yet. His blue eyes danced in the lamplight, and she found something else to feel grateful for—his encircling arms holding her up. She felt so light-headed she could swoon, foolish or not. Peter Connor's kiss had felt nothing, nothing like that!
On some level she knew she should fight this. She knew this was wrong. But she barely had the strength to duck her head, to brace it against the brocade vest he wore. Another level reminded her that she wasn't the woman she'd been this morning.
She had short hair....
Even now Jack rested his cheek against her curls. “Oh, Lordy,” he said with a gasp ... and the tickle of his breath sent the most incredibly languorous feeling down her spine, sweet as molasses.
She had to r
ein in those shivery feelings. She had to! Even if she would not slap him—had she not practically invited this?— she must stand alone. “Please,” she whispered against his chest.
“Please what?” She could hear the smile in his voice as it sent more shivers through her. His hand had slid down from her scalp to cradle the back of her neck, so tender ...
“Please let me go.”
There. She had said it, though not without extreme effort. And, to Jack Harwood's everlasting credit, he did just that. She was not sure she could have pushed away, especially not after he whispered, “Yes, ma'am,” against her temple.
Somehow she kept from falling in the sudden, cold void that followed his release. She forced herself to face him, afraid of seeing ... what? Anger, she supposed. Peter had been so angry when she had rejected his advances.
But Jack watched her as he had in the mirror, if a little sleepier. Admiring. Fascinated.
Her hands itched to reach out to him. Her mouth tingled, hungry. What was happening to her?
Somehow she managed words. “I should not have let you do that.”
“Why is that?”
When she looked away from the temptation of his warm eyes, his surprisingly soft lips, he ducked his head to hold her gaze. She had to answer. She owed him that much.
But it was so hard to remember the right answer! “Because I am a teacher,” she managed finally.
“If they let me, I have to ... it is my responsibility to set a good example.”
Yes, that was it. With each reason, her back felt stronger, her stance minutely more sure.
But when Jack brushed a curl behind her ear, she did not have the power to push his hand away.
“Who is going to know?”
Oh, she wanted to lean her cheek into his palm; longed to sink against his firm chest; ached to kiss him again. Never had she so doubted her ability to behave herself. But she must not kiss him again!
Ever! She prayed for Melissa's return. “We wil know. Do know!”
“We also know how good it felt,” he reminded her, and leaned closer. “How good it could be if we do it again ...”
She shut her eyes. “Please ...”
His body sheltered hers; his breath brushed her cheek. “Didn't you like it?”
“That's not... not the point. Please, Jack. Please go.”
And the kiss never came. Worse, she felt bereft that it didn't. She was a hoyden!
“Your cal ,” said Jack. When she opened her eyes, he was collecting the coat he had removed before cutting her hair. “Good luck with the school board.”
She opened her mouth, but did not know what to say. Before tonight she would have known. She would have known whether to slap him or simply rebuke him. She would know whether to wish him good night or to tell him not to cal upon her again. There were rules for it, for all of it!
But he ought not have come in the first place, and she was as responsible as he for their behavior this evening. Rules did not apply with Jack, and their absence left her at a loss.
At least, until he opened the back door to leave. Then she spoke from something desperate, deep inside her, instead of from any learned etiquette. “Jack!”
He stopped, looking over his shoulder at her.
“Thank you,” she told him, and could have wept with relief when he smiled. It was not his best smile, but he was so very handsome, even a weak upturn of the lips was a joy to see.
“You're welcome,” he said—then continued out.
She followed to the stoop, in the puddle of lamplight spilling out of the house. “Jack?”
He turned to face her again, though he did not stop walking. He merely walked more slowly, backward. “Yes, Audra?”
“I... I did like it.”
His grin flashed, white, from the shadows. “Matter of fact, I got that impression.”
They were hardly being discreet. Perhaps she should ask him to keep this a secret, as she had before. Somehow, though, she could not. It seemed insulting to consider it. If word got out, it would be true and by no means undeserved.
“Audra,” he called softly. He'd stopped walking.
“Yes?”
"You keep your head up when you face down that school board. You didn't break any rules.
Remember that."
To her shock, she laughed. It sounded panicky, likely the result of this overwhelming day, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to try to capture it. Heavens! She'd broken too many rules to count!
She only hoped she could have a second chance. Or a third chance ...
“Audra?” Now she could not even see Jack's teeth or white shirt. Just shadows, hiding the source of his soft drawl.
Even the sound of her name felt scandalously intimate . . . and she savored it. “Yes?”
“Just so you know,” he said. “That wasn't the favor.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Ten
Neither may teachers cut their hair immodestly short. —Rules for Teachers (modified)
Perhaps he'd been in too great a hurry to leave town. After that kiss, Jack doubted dynamite could blast him out of Candon.
He thought about that kiss whenever possible—while he misstocked a shipment of ready-made shirts, when he stretched out on his pallet in Ham's back room, and while he shaved. He'd enjoyed kisses before, of course. But kissing Audra—that was a whole different game! She hadn't reeked of cheap perfume or tasted of rouge or sweat, but of clean things—fresh air, clear water, sunshine.
And the way she'd responded! Women in the past had kissed him with more... assertiveness. But compared to Audra's slow unfolding, the shuddering catch to her breath, the kitten sound she'd made as she sank willingly against him ...
There was no comparison. Everything Jack had known of sport before now seemed gaudy and
cheap, somehow a form of trade even when no money exchanged hands. Audra gave her kiss from someplace so pure, he barely recognized it.
But he recognized enough to figure to stay awhile longer. Besides, such interesting things were going on! Over the next week at the store, Jack got to hear every bit of it.
Someone had been seen riding out the west road after dark the other night. Since the dreaded Mosier Valley lay to the west, folks were advised to keep their doors locked.
Mrs. Estry's widowed daughter Nora broke with her current beau, Fred Bowen, after church. That hope for marriage over, bachelors from Dallas to Fort Worth got spooky. Nora Parks had already been in the mercantile twice to buy gewgaws and exchange how-dos with Ferris Hamilton. Not surprisingly, Jack noticed, Ham was not cutting back on the laudanum.
But the biggest news, on more tongues even than what Nora Parks had shouted at Fred Bowen in front of God and everyone, was how the new schoolmarm had cropped her hair.
“Is that so?” Jack would murmur, measuring rice, wrapping lengths of fabric, or climbing a ladder to reach a particularly unusual item high on the shelf. Or, “You don't say.”
But they did say, and often. Apparently the gal had not even offered a good reason—trust her to protect Melissa even now. Did she have lice? Headaches? Had she sold her hair for money?
“Isn't that the gal's own concern?” Jack would ask, handing a candy stick to a child or retrieving a tray of jewelry from the glass case. But she was teaching children, after all , and children were everyone's concern.
Audra had certainly called that one right.
The most foolish fear of all was that Audra was one of those mannish women from back east, the kind who meddled in politics, smoked cigars, rejected marriage, and might well bring about the end of civilization as they knew it. Rumor had it her mother was a suffragette, after all .
There, Jack would just plain stop working and fold his arms. "Has she done a mannish thing since she's been here?"
“She cropped her hair!” noted Nora Parks. Jack felt thankful that, as a known dissolute, he'd escaped being branded prime husband material. Nora Parks was a shrill , skinny woman and he entert
ained suspicions about how her first husband had died.
He said, "And I hear your father hasn't had truck with tobacco since his fever, three or four years back."
She narrowed her eyes at the implication. Her mother still bought cigars on a regular basis—but she smoked those in private. That was what truly turned Jack's stomach about so-called
respectability. Most of it was just plain lies.
Then the door opened, and in walked perhaps the only truly respectable person in town: Audra Garrison herself. She'd dressed sedately in a broadcloth coat with bone buttons, puffed sleeves, and a high neckline, but her bonnet couldn't keep her sorrel hair from curling softly about her china-doll face. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the cold snap that had blown in or, more likely, from the stares she received upon her entrance.
Jack swallowed, remembering her silken hair against his fingers.
She scanned the room, a hunted-doe look to her eyes as folks averted their faces. Yep, this was some respectable town, all right. finally her pained gaze sought out his.
He smiled what he hoped she would take as encouragement. “Good day, Miss Garrison,” he
greeted, clearly enough that everyone in the store could hear. "You are looking particularly lovely today. Did you do something different with your hair?"
Audra's eyes widened—but her spine stiffened, too. Vulnerability hardened to disbelief.
“Or am I just being a lowlife cad again to say so?” he challenged, and held her gaze.
She caught on quick. “Yes, Mr. Harwood, you are,” she scolded. "A gentleman would be more respectful."
He snapped his fingers. “That would be the problem, right there.”
She looked down almost quickly enough to hide her blush. Did she think about last Saturday as well? When she looked up, she'd schooled her expression into one so prim, he longed to kiss it off her. Hell , he longed to kiss her until she couldn't remember what the word prim meant. “I came here for my mail, Mr. Harwood,” she said. “Not for abuse.”
“As soon as I finish here, I will be right with you, ma'am. With the mail, that is.”