Behaving Herself
Page 15
“Not just for Cooper, either. That's a lot of money for me. Checkers isn't even my game.”
Relieved at the reminder of what he truly was, what he did for a living, she asked, "And pray tell , what is your game?"
“Poker—strictly according to Hoyle. That, and seducing schoolmarms.”
How could he speak so callously about that! “Stop it!”
"You stop it. You're the one judging me. I thought we had something between us. I thought we had a... a friendship. Now you won't even talk to me because you think I swindled Ned Cooper out of two hundred and five dollars in checkers."
“A hundred dollars,” she clarified.
"It was two-oh-five by time I finished with the old geezer. Point is, that's what has your dander up around me, isn't it?"
That, and so much else! His foul language. His use of her first name. His kisses.
Except... in all fairness, she had not been indignant about the kisses until she thought he'd taken money from Mr. Cooper. Rather, until he had taken the money! Rather ...
“You would say anything,” she protested, torn. She wanted so badly to be fair. She wanted him to be telling the truth. She wanted desperately, achingly, to be wrong.
But if she was wrong, if Jack truly was the sweet man she'd glimpsed over their autumn together, then . . . how could she further withstand the danger that posed to her reputation?
How could she withstand his threat to her very heart? She might have felt brittle and snappish these last few days, but at least she'd felt safe. If she forgave him ...
“Well, if you don't trust me, ask Cooper yourself. If you shout, he might even answer you.” He considered it. “If you shout really loudly, he might even answer you correctly.”
And that, she thought, was not a ... what did one cal it? A bluff. She could easily find Mr. Cooper to ask. He would be at the mercantile every single day and could easily clarify ...
Unless Jack paid him to lie!
Trying to second-guess him exhausted her. But she had to try once more. "Why would someone like you bother playing anything for pretend money?"
He narrowed angry eyes at her. "Damned if I know. Maybe someone's been a good influence on me lately." And with a bitten-off curse, he turned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and began to walk back down the path.
Away from her.
A good influence? Did he mean her? Audra needed several shaky breaths before she gathered the strength to turn and watch him leave. Then she barely had any breath left to cal his name: “Jack?”
He stopped, his back stiff. She'd barely heard her own voice over the throbbing of her heartbeat, the moaning of the early December wind, and yet somehow, he stopped.
She tried again. “Jack?” This time she heard it, too.
“What?” He did not turn. He meant for her to come to him?
But of course he did . . . could she blame him? Good for the goose, good for the gander.
Somewhere she found the courage to halve the distance between them. Then her steps faltered.
She'd been so accusing, so angry. She'd fed his pretty candy heart to the chickens!
“You are right,” she said, her voice wobbling terribly.
“How's that?” He still wasn't facing her.
Admit it. “I am very embarrassed.”
She stood in the same place, the trees and sky and rocks all stayed the same, and yet it felt as if the ground had crumbled from beneath her. She had made her choice—she chose to trust him,
gambler or not. She chose to be around him, proper or not. It might not be within the rules, but it felt... right.
Assuming he wanted her trust or her company after this.
To her relief, Jack slowly pivoted to face her. His mouth and jaw looked somehow softer than a few moments before.
“I told you so,” he said. Then he grinned, charming as ever.
That was when Audra burst into tears.
Chapter Thirteen
Women teachers must wear at least two petticoats.
—Rules for Teachers
“You're crying,” said Jack blankly.
She averted her face as if to disguise it—not that she could hide the hiccuping noise, or the jerk of her shoulders. Still, he caught her chin to investigate. He released it. She was crying, all right, and not prettily, either. She raised not just her hands but her forearms to hide behind them.
So why did he want to hold her so badly?
“What did I say?” he asked, meaning what did he say wrong.
She shook her head, curls bouncing.
“Then how did I make you cry?”
She shook her head and squeezed out the words; “You didn't.”
Well, that made no sense. When she turned further away from him, he stepped around her, still leaning to better see her. “Sure I did.”
She shook her head and turned again. A hairpin fell to the ground and her bonnet slid askew.
He kept turning with her. “Then why are you crying?”
“I... don't... know!”
Well, wasn't this a fine fix? But why would she? She hadn't known that she wanted to be kissed, either. She surely hadn't known she wanted to meet with him in the woods ... although he had no proof that she'd changed her mind on that one, what with her sobbing piteously.
If she'd played the good girl too long to recognize her too-human desires, would she recognize her sorrows? Glancing around them to ascertain their privacy, Jack took Audra in his arms, drew her off the path behind a sheltering stand of fragrant, dark green cedar—and to him. He closed his eyes when she rested her forehead against his shoulder.
How was it he could he feel both building panic and complete peace at the same time? especially when, on another hiccupy sob, her bonnet knocked him in the chin?
He longed to tell her everything would be all right, to tell her anything if only she would stop crying. But that would take more than his moderate capacity for dishonesty. Instead he made shushing noises and ran his hand up and down the back of her coat, savoring her warmth. "At least make a guess at what sort of feeling's deviling you. We'll work it out from there."
That made her cry harder, but at least elicited a confession; “I'm so ashamed.”
Her? Well, he had finagled her into a few situations that she might otherwise have avoided—such as this one. “Ashamed of your behavior of late?” he prompted, and she nodded. Her hat, not made to stay on against a man's shoulder, fell off into the leaves and dirt.
Well, if she was ashamed of meeting with him, holding her probably wouldn't help her feel better, now, would it? He determined to let go ... any minute now.
Then Audra surprised him further. "I've thought so badly of you, just because you play cards. And
—“ Her wet sniffle was not that of a refined lady. ”It's not the f-first time ..."
Jack stopped stroking her back. Him? She was crying not over how she'd betrayed her upbringing, but how she'd disappointed him?
He felt suddenly cold, despite the windbreak of the cedar stand. He drew her even more tightly against him and kissed the top of her head. "I don't imagine you were raised to see my kind in the finest of lights."
“It should not matter how I've been raised.” She tipped her damp face up toward him. Despite the way her eyelashes spiked together and the hue of her nose, he could have gazed back down at her forever. He'd never seen anything more beautiful than how she looked at him. "What matters is that you are a good, dear man, and I accused you falsely because I was seeing you with my biases instead of with my eyes and ears and common sense—and that was wrong of me."
Tears flooded her pale eyes again; she hid her face in his shoulder. "I've been wrong!'
Adorable though he found her confession, he felt even colder. Well, it was December. He struggled to reclaim his own calm, his sense of humor, but the best he managed was a fair imitation. "And you've never been wrong before, is that it?"
She shook her head and he laughed shakily. “Never?”
“But not enough to get used to it,” he figured out loud.
She shook her head in silent agreement.
She had to be cold, her face all wet like that. He wasn't wet and he felt the cold bone-deep. Even the joy of Audra's softness, snuggled up against him just as he'd imagined it, did not help against this strange chill in his soul.
Bluff, Harwood. “I'd offer you a handkerchief, darlin', but I haven't one. Would you like to blow your nose on my sleeve?”
She should not have laughed just then, congested as she was—her hands flew to cover her face, but by then she and he were both laughing at her dishevelment. “No!” she insisted, turning her back to him; he loosened his hold to let her. “Oh, heavens! And I have my own ...”
As she protested, she pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her own coat pocket, dabbed at her averted face, and blew her nose delicately, but then, apparently frustrated, with more human gusto. Only then did she peek back at him. “Your coat!”
He made a dismissive sound, even as she tried to wipe at the shoulder of his coat. Had a woman fussed over his appearance since his mother's death? “You might look to your hat first.”
She made her own dismissive sound. “But you wear such fine clothing.”
That was because, traveling from place to place, he had learned to keep his wealth portable, such as in nicely tailored clothing. It also helped get him into high-stakes games, and to intimidate low-stakes players.
Jack chose not to explain any of that. Then he felt guilty for the omission. Years ago he'd given up guilt as a useless habit. What was it about this woman that had him regressing?
“I feel terrible,” she said, surveying his coat. As if she could have done much damage!
“Don't fret, darlin',” he insisted. “Ferris and I use a fine laundress.”
“I mean about how biased I've been against you!”
Oh. That. “You've had plenty of reason to distrust me.”
And maybe one or two excellent reasons even now.
Audra collected her bonnet from the ground, slapped the dust off of it, then raised her chin with determination. "No, I have not. You've proven yourself my friend from the start, Jack Harwood. You kept my secret about the schoolhouse, and you matched our funds for slates, and even after I condemned you for being a cardsharp, you helped when ... when my hair ..."
“I remember,” he said, again admiring those adorable short curls of hers.
"You haven't taken offense when I've insulted you—more than once—and you've worked to make things right between us. I've had no reason to distrust you except wild rumors about cards and gambling. Please accept my apology for so severely and repeatedly misjudging you."
As her face regained its usual porcelain coloring, she resembled a china doll again—complete with a certain stiffness to her expression. It revealed the toll speaking such words took on her—since she wasn't used to being wrong, and all . Maybe that fortitude had something to do with why, after avoiding real ladies for years, Jack found himself attracted to her, of all women.
“Well , don't you have grit,” he marveled, smiling.
She flushed and dropped her gaze. “Oh, no, I don't. My father has grit. I just—”
"Have the courage to stand here, risking your job, apologizing for something that isn't even your fault."
"Of course it's my fault. My mother says ... well , one would hope that a teacher could learn not just from books but from her own experiences."
Oh, would one? “And your experience with me has you thinking you've misjudged cardsharps?”
The idea twisted in his cold gut. He'd known plenty of gamblers he wouldn't trust within a mile of Audra; she ought not lose all her wariness around them!
He relaxed some when she said, “I've misjudged you.” But gratifying though it felt not to have her angry with him any longer, even that didn't leave him breathing easily.
“You think so,” he challenged.
She nodded, eyes alight with confidence. “I know so.”
Still unsettled, he said, “Well, what if I do this?” And before she could fully react, he took her shoulders in his hands, leaned down to her, and covered her mouth with his. Then he lost track of whatever he'd been trying to prove in the sheer bliss of kissing Audra.
Her lips tasted as sweet, as full as he remembered them. She made a helpless noise deep in her throat, and then sank—was she pulling away? He hoped not, and he wrapped his arms more
securely around her, drew her fully against him, turning his head more sharply to better tease her mouth. When her hand slid up his chest, finding purchase behind his neck, her gloved fingers weaving into his hair to caress his scalp and nudging his hat off-kilter, he made his own, more guttural, helpless noise.
Her sweet, peachy scent mixed with the tang of cedar. She smelled so good, felt so soft and pliant drawn against him, that he could imagine nothing better than to hold her, kiss her, forever. Her bosom pillowed against his ribs, her hips against his thighs. His blood burned for her; he felt his body reacting with ungentlemanly eagerness for more, frustrated by the thickness of their coats.
Longing to taste her soft skin, he kissed the corner of her mouth and down her jaw, down the delicate line of her throat until her woolen scarf stopped his exploration. He retreated to her ear, kissed it and nuzzled at her curls. She shivered in his arms.
“Mmmm,” she said dreamily, her eyes closed.
He took her mouth again, eased her lips apart with his tongue, then boldly flirted with hers. She squeaked, but instead of pulling away she snuggled more securely against him, blindly seeking more. He wasn't sure how to give it to her, wrapped in winter clothing as they were, but he made a go at it. He deepened the kiss, dropped one of his hands to her backside to ease her more firmly against the hard ache in the front of his pants. Yes. . .
Still, she did not fight him, did not protest. She clung to his neck and pressed against him, a beguiling combination of innocence and eagerness, as she awkwardly kissed him back.
A twig snapped nearby. Everything stopped.
Caught!
Jack and Audra froze against each other. He held his breath, as if he could stop time, keep the next minute, hour, day from happening. Slowly he turned his head toward their intruder, vaguely aware of Audra, still in his arms, following suit. He half expected to face a shotgun, and doubted he could defend himself, and not just because, lulled by the simplicity of this little town, he rarely traveled armed anymore. No, he couldn't defend himself because he was guilty.
But damn it, she wasn't. Not as guilty as folks would make her out to be. In the seeming infinity before he'd fully turned, Jack's mind dealt out possibilities for getting Audra out of this. Bribes.
Lies. Marriage.
finally, too soon, his gaze met another's, even more shocked than his. Audra, still in his arms, laughed a frightened, broken laugh. The deer spun and, with a flip of her white tail, leaped away toward the Trinity River.
A deer? They'd been found out by a deer.
Jack stared after it, belatedly remembering to blink—and everything else. Marriage?
He'd also considered bribing someone, he reminded himself quickly. And he'd considered claiming to have forced himself on her. That could get a man killed in these parts.
Audra laughed again—nervous relief—and tucked the top of her head against his chest so that he couldn't see her face anymore, couldn't kiss her. It was probably just as well.
He felt ill. Marriage?
He had to get out of here, had to figure out what the hell was happening to him. He stepped quickly back, hoping their coats masked his arousal. This was Audra, after all!
She didn't look quite so innocent as usual. She looked . . . tousled. Her hair needed combing, especially on the side he'd been nuzzling. At some point she
'd crumpled her bonnet in her hand.
Her scarf had pulled loose and hung askew. And her face! She chewed her damp lower lip, her eyes averted, but despite her obvious efforts to not stare at him, Audra al but glowed.
If she looked so sated after this amount of lovemaking, how beautiful could she possibly become after sharing someone's bed? No, not someone's. His bed.
Lordy.
“My,” said Jack after a gasp of breath. He really had to get out of there.
Audra nodded, blushing—and he could not find it in his heart to bolt the way the deer had. He had to make sure she was all right, had to make sure she got home safely. He had to pretend, for just a little longer, to be the “good, dear” man she somehow figured him to be.
Though how she reconciled his lovemaking with that image, he couldn't imagine.
Then he'd figure things out.
“Seems you have a few reasons yet not to trust gamblers,” noted Jack appearing unsteady. Audra felt as if her entire world had tipped sideways, but surely this was no new sensation for him.
For some reason, that thought brought a pout to her lips. “You didn't force yourself on me,” she admitted, looking at her ruined bonnet. Perhaps she should have fought him the way she had Peter, but she had not wanted to. She'd wanted the kisses, even more as they became shockingly intimate. She'd wanted his arms around her, touching her. She'd wanted him.
When had she become such a wanton?
“About that...” When she dared look up, Jack was scowling. Still, he offered his arm, and when she took it he led her to the stony path, in the direction of Aunt Heddy's house. "If we were caught, Audra, you should say I forced you. You're the one who has to live with these folks. Let me carry the blame."
“But that would be a lie!”
He inhaled through one side of his mouth, considering. “Let's cal it a bluff.”
“Let's cal it a lie.”
"I met you here uninvited, didn't I? You told me to leave you alone, and I forced my company on you anyway. Seems to me you'd have a good case."
He spoke some truth, there. She had told him to leave her alone . . . but she'd been mistaken. “You didn't make me kiss you.”