by Unknown
He had given their relationship considerable thought throughout the day. Reluctantly, his mind kept returning to the peculiarity of her behavior. Last night she had been a sexy enchantress — much to his delight. But now that he was able to think with a clear head again, it had nagged at him all day long. He had realized from the beginning Blair was not like other women; in fact, her uniqueness was what first attracted him to her. Still, he found it difficult to believe she would have thrown aside all of her moral inhibitions so recklessly, unless she had been trying to prove something. Maybe she was trying to prove her womanhood, since she had been jilted, or she could be trying to forget that man by becoming involved with someone else. Those thoughts were sobering and they were difficult to accept. Still, in the glaring light of reality, they had to be considered.
Adam knew the right thing to do was just walk away until any questions in her mind were settled. But if he did, he could possibly be leaving her susceptible to any man who came along ... a man like Tom Bastrop, for instance. She was simply too vulnerable, too naive to handle an unscrupulous man like him. Besides, since he had taken her innocence and after what they had shared the previous night, what would his leaving do to her pride?
A strong feeling of shame washed over Adam. He had just tried to convince himself what he was doing was virtuous and noble, but the truth was, he loved her. And, he would do anything within his power to win her love. That admission was dredged from a place he could not lie to or hide from: his heart and mind.
Adam watched her with a glint of adoration in his eyes. Even though he was jealous, pride welled deep within him as he decided it was a wonder that Blair was not surrounded by every unmarried man there.
She was by far the most beautiful woman at the dance. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. She had piled it high, but left wisps to coil attractively against her cheeks and neck. A yellow satin ribbon that matched her dress had been wound through the ebony strands. Her cream-colored complexion enhanced the color of her dress, a pale primrose, having slightly puffed sleeves, a low but not overly revealing neckline, a form-fitting bodice, and a full gathered skirt. Yellow lace and ribbons trimmed the sleeves and waistline. Around her long, slender neck hung a cameo on a black velvet ribbon. Her dress, although simple in design, signified her good taste and a natural flair for elegance. She was not overly dressed or better dressed than the other young women, but compared to Blair, they all faded into the crowd, appearing bland and drab.
Then, when a man moved away, Adam saw her face more clearly. Even from the distance he could see that her expression was disturbed and strained, as if she felt self-conscious from all of the attention she was getting. That made him feel relieved.
"I think it is time for Blair to be rescued!" he stated aloud, ignoring the strange look a woman gave him for talking to himself.
Moving over to where the chairs had been placed in two long Hues, Adam worked his way through them toward her, approaching from the side. The musicians were about to strike up their first song when he politely pushed his way past two of the men, tapped her on the shoulder and allowed his fingers to trail sensuously down her arm.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, when she whirled about to face him. It was obvious she thought one of the young men had taken liberties and she was about to give him a tongue lashing. That made him feel even better.
"Oh, Adam!" she murmured, relieved. "Y-yes, of course, the first dance belongs to you!" Then she gazed at him accusingly. "I was beginning to think you never would get here!"
"Some unexpected business came up in town. Sorry, but it couldn't be helped."
Adam could have sworn she was about to stick out her tongue as she tossed her head haughtily and spoke in a smirking tone to the men still gathered around her. "See there, I told all of you that I had an escort for the evening, but no one believed me!"
Over the objections of her adoring entourage, Adam took Blair in his arms and they seemed to float out on the dance floor when the musicians began the sweet strains of a waltz. The music was slightly off-key and the tempo a little too slow, but to them, angel harps could not have sounded more beautiful.
He regarded her quizzically for a moment, then an uncertainty crept into his expression. Instead of her usual smile her lips were slanted downwards, there was a slight tremble to her chin, and her eyes were wide and uncommonly shiny, as though she was struggling not to cry.
Surely she would not be this upset over his arriving a little late. Reaching out, he brushed away a tear that clung tenaciously to her lashes. "What's this, a tear? Blair, is something wrong? Has something happened?"
She attempted to smile. "N-nothing is wrong. Everything is just fine now that you are here."
Not for one minute was Adam convinced, but the music was getting too loud for conversation. Abruptly, he stopped dancing and glanced about, searching for a place where they could be alone. Noticing a recess in the wall of trees behind the bandstand, he took her by the hand and stated adamantly, "Come with me, I’m getting to the bottom of this."
When they reached the shadows, Adam gently grasped Blair by her shoulders and positioned her against one of the trees. He then propped his arm above her head and leaned closer until their lips touched. His tongue slid along hers, deep, deep, into the sweetest depths of her mouth. He twisted his lips against hers, realigned them and tasted her again. Her hands lovingly circled the back of his neck and she threaded her long, sensual fingers through his hair on the nape of his neck. The kiss worked a searing effect on Adam. He felt his loins quicken as molten heat surged through him. Pulling his lips from hers, he murmured huskily, "I don't think we ought to do that again tonight . . . at least not in a crowd, but later, if we could manage to slip away . . . ?"
"Let's go now, I need you to hold me."
He chuckled. "Sweetheart, Warren would have a search party out looking for you faster than you could blink an eye. And if they found us ... in my physical condition, you would be a scarlet woman and I would be hanging from the tallest tree."
She lowered her head. "I-I already feel like a scarlet woman."
Adam tensed. "Blair, there's no need in your feeling that way. I've offered twice to marry you . . ."
"Oh, no, Adam, you misunderstood," she said quickly. "I wasn't referring to us."
"I knew something was wrong when I first came in and saw the expression on your face." Suddenly, he felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. His face became serious, dreading the question he knew he had to ask, "Did you and Warren have an argument about last night?" Taut muscles suddenly stood out along his jaw. "I knew I should have . . ."
Blair quickly demurred, "Oh, no, Warren was not angry at all. Well . . . that is not exactly true. He was upset when I told him that Coy had not been at the line shack, but he and I have been getting along extremely well ... in fact, better than we ever have."
"Then why did you say what you did?"
She looked away and blinked back a rush of tears. "I’d rather not talk about it."
Cupping her chin, Adam gently chided, "I know you are upset about something. How can I help if you don't tell me what it is?"
Blair dropped her eyes before his steady gaze. "It's not that I . . . it's just . . . difficult to talk about." She steadfastly refused to look at him, concentrating all her attention directly ahead, looking neither to the right nor the left. "I'm not sure . . . something has ..." Sighing, she gestured helplessly. "I told you it was difficult to talk about."
Beginning to feel frustrated, Adam ran his hand through his hair. "Sweetheart, I don't know if I can help or not, but there is nothing I can do if I don't know what's troubling you."
She blurted suddenly, "It's the dance, Adam, or the people ... or I suppose it could even be me, but something or somebody has changed. I feel so strange . . . it's almost as though I am not welcome here anymore. I’ve seen them treat the town whore more cordially!"
Without
stopping to consider the consequences of his words, Adam said dryly, "I don't know. When I got here, it looked to me like you were getting a very friendly welcome."
Blair jerked her head up sharply, a heated reply on the tip of her tongue. "What do you mean by that?"
"All of those men clustered around you, ogling you until their eyeballs were about to pop out of their heads, they sure have a strange way of unwelcoming a beautiful young lady!" This time it was Adam who looked away. He felt ashamed of his outburst because he knew she had not encouraged those men to flirt with her. Something had happened or she would not be so upset.
In spite of her being distraught, a smile tugged at her lips. He was jealous! Adam was actually jealous! That was the second best indication she'd had that he cared for her.
"If you are referring to James, Roger, Lee, Ralph . . ."
"Good God! Don't tell me you can remember all of their names! They must have made a hell of an impression on you!"
"Well, I hope I remember their names!" She was beginning to get a little irritated over his anger, even though it pleased her that he cared enough to be so jealous. "I've known them since I was tall enough to reach the stirrups on a saddle. They happen to be good friends of Coy's . . . and they have always been my friends, too. And if you had not been so late in arriving, you would have known they are the only people here who have not been reluctant to talk to me! The girls I attended school with act as though I don't exist!"
Suddenly, everything fit into place. "Sweetheart," he drawled slowly, "I think part of that is your imagination, but even if it isn't . . . surely you know the reason why?"
She shook her head adamantly. "It is not my imagination. And no, I have no earthly idea why I am being shunned."
He reached out and tenderly traced the line of her cheekbone and jaw. "I can't pretend to know how a female's mind works but if you ask me, I think they are all jealous."
"Jealous? Of me? Why, that is absurd!"
"No, it isn't, not when you look at it this way." He started listing the reasons. "You are the most beautiful woman here tonight, your family owns one of the most successful ranches in the area, you have been back east leading an exciting and glamorous life ..."
"But I haven't . . ."
"They think you have," he quickly injected. "Then when all of your—friends —swarmed around you like they did ... no wonder they turned on you; I've noticed how often women do that to other women." He looked at her expectantly. "But I think I know of a way to put their minds at ease and to let them know you are not interested in their young men."
"How?" Blair had a hunch she knew what he would say.
"By not dancing with . . ." Adam's words broke off when another couple, laughing and giggling, entered the shadows and almost bumped into them.
"Sorry," the young man mumbled soberly. "We didn't know anybody was here. See there, Clara, I kept telling everybody we ought to sneak down here one night and clear out some of these trees, but no one would listen to me. I’ll bet they will after tonight though!"
Feeling embarrassed over being caught, Blair ducked her head to avoid recognition and quietly urged, "Adam, please let's return to the dance."
"If you're leaving, can we have this spot?" the young man asked eagerly. From the sound of his voice, Adam doubted if he was old enough to shave. "All the other good places have already been taken."
"Sure, be my guest," Adam said without much enthusiasm. He had hoped to spend a few more minutes alone with Blair.
The couples squeezed past each other, and before Blair and Adam reached the lights, she said to him, "Now, put your arms around me so we can dance out on the floor and hopefully blend in with the crowd, without anyone realizing where we've been."
He glanced at her strangely and wondered what was wrong with anyone knowing they had been alone. Unless . . . there was someone in particular she did not want to find out. That thought was very disturbing.
Blair had no idea Adam knew nothing about the notorious reputation of the small cubbyholes among the trees. It was where the young lovers — too young to even be courting—slipped away to be alone. Usually, the only girls who went there were extremely promiscuous, and she did not want her name sullied by the local gossips. Blair figured they would have enough to talk about if they learned she and Adam had spent the night together in a deserted cabin, even without knowing any of the spicy details.
They had just reached the center of the dance floor when the music ended and the musicians announced they were taking a short intermission.
"Let's go find Warren and ask if he has seen Coy," Blair suggested. "I want to talk to him."
Adam wanted to talk to Coy himself. Some of the rumors he had heard implicated Coy with the vigilantes, and they had been responsible for several attacks on the homesteaders. There had been no positive identifications made, and he had no real proof; still, he had a gut feeling Coy was involved. If he could only talk some sense into that boy's head, there would be no legal repercussions at this point. Thus far, only a small amount of property had been destroyed and one man had sustained a few bruises, but if the raids continued, sooner or later someone would be seriously hurt. If that happened, he would be honor bound to arrest any and all suspects regardless of who they were, or who they were related to.
"Blair, Blair, wait! I've been lookin' all over for you!" a grating, masculine voice called. "I seen your brothers and they told me you were here."
Blair's first impulse was to run, to try to escape, for she had recognized the voice. It belonged to Bobby Baker, the boy who had taken her home from the train.
"Oh, no, not him!" she muttered.
Adam instinctively placed a protective arm around her shoulders as they turned. His eyes narrowed with recognition; it was not so much the face, but the clothes and enormous hat. This was the same blustering kid who had come into the saloon that first night he was in town. Bobby glanced at Adam, observing the possessive arm around her shoulders and he swallowed hard. "I-I didn't know you were with someone." He studied Adam for a moment, then shrugged in
I resignation and thrust a grimy hand out to him. "Mister, my name is Bob ... I mean, Robert ' Baker," he corrected himself when he remembered his and Blair's conversation. "I jest wanted to tell ; you, there ain't no hard feelings . . . leastwise not on my part. You're a very lucky man cause Blair is a mighty pretty girl."
Adam first thought the kid had been referring to the hat incident, but apparently he was congratulating him about Blair. How did he know they were seeing each other? Other than their having dinner at the restaurant — and Warren was with them then—this was the only time they had been together in public. Not knowing what else to say, he answered politely. "I'm . . . pleased to hear that, Robert."
"Blair, I've been wanting to come out to see you, but I remembered what you said about having a beau back east ... he sure don't look like no eastern dude, though. Gosh darn it, Blair," he toed the floor with his brand-new pair of boots, "I really thought you was just telling me that to get rid of me . . . but I guess you were being truthful. Wish you hadn't been, though, I really do."
Blair looked a bit sheepish. "Robert, you are mistaken. This isn't ..." She glanced at Adam and frowned at the dark scowl that had slipped across his face. "This is Deputy Marshal, Adam Cahill."
"You mean . . . you're a lawman? That lawman who's been going around asking all them questions?" His eyes widened and he took a step backwards. "I ain't done nothing wrong!"
Realizing this kid should be handled carefully, Adam countered, his voice stern but not overly intimidating, "I'm sure you haven't, but I still need to talk to you, just as I need to question everyone I can who lives in this area. Over the years I have learned many people— innocent people —know something helpful, only they are not aware of it. Didn't your mother give you my message when I came out to your place the other day?"
Bobby's voice became surly and sarcastic, "Yeah, b
ut I've been real busy. What are you gonna' do, beat me to make me talk then throw me in jail?"
Appearing to ignore the kid's sarcasm, Adam laughed. "I don't know who has been filling your head with ideas like that, but that is not how I enforce the law. No one has said you are in trouble, I merely want to talk to you. Be in my office by nine o'clock tomorrow morning and I think we can settle this in no time at all."
"Well, all right, I'll try." He nodded his head. "Nice seeing you again, Blair, and I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Marshal."
Blair breathed a deep sigh of relief when Bobby left them. "Oh, good heavens, I was afraid he would ask me to dance."
Since Bobby had mentioned her eastern beau, it was with great difficulty that Adam was able to maintain a jocular tone, "You surprise me, Blair, it seems you have sweethearts strung from here to the east coast. How many more should I worry about?"
Blair chuckled. "I'll have to admit that I do like your being jealous of me, but there is no reason to be, especially over the likes of Bobby Baker and an imaginary man back east." She then explained how Bobby had asked to court her the day she arrived home and how she had invented a man merely to prevent his pestering her. Noticing the skepticism still on Adam's face, Blair also told him how Bobby had been her nemesis for almost all of her life and how unmercifully she had been teased because of him.
Adam smiled at her amusing anecdote, but it did not quite remove the sadness from his eyes. He started talking to keep from thinking about Blair's so-called beau. "I think everyone has a Bobby in their life. My Bobby's name was George Yates. He was a bully and I was scared to death of him —as were the other boys my age. He would get mad at the drop of a hat and when his face became red, we knew someone was in for a licking. We'd all take off running as though the devil himself was chasing us —now that I think about it," he said reflectively, "I suppose devil is a good description of George. Anyway, we'd run from him, but it never failed, he always caught the slowest runner, and usually it was me ... I never could run very fast. I'd go home bawling with a bloody nose or black eye almost every day."