When Edna hurried off to find Magdalena, Harmony sighed in resignation. This was definitely not the most restful summer she’d ever spent.
* * *
ROUNDUP WAS ALWAYS HELD at the end of summer. Neighbors, friends and hired hands came from miles around to help gather the fattened yearlings and to brand late calves. It was several days of hard sweaty labor, culminating in a fiesta at week’s end. Everyone pulled their weight, because the sale of cattle determined whether it would be a comfortable winter or a lean one.
No one worked harder than Ben Panau. He was up long before dawn, spent the hot hours hunting difficult brush-hidden steers, riding, roping, handling red-hot branding irons. Ben slaved as if the success of the entire roundup rested solely upon his shoulders.
The neighboring ranchers took Ben’s direction grudgingly, unaccustomed to doing a “digger Injun’s” bidding. Some grumbled outright, and two flatly refused, turning their mounts around when they discovered Old Clay was still bedridden.
Harmony had a panicked several moments, but to Ben’s credit, he forced no confrontations, gritted his jaw and pushed ahead with the work.
“What’s driving him?” Harmony wondered, not realizing she’d spoken aloud until beside her Randolf Wilkerson sneered.
“He knows he’d best earn his keep. That Injun’s on borrowed time—just wait till your daddy gets home.”
Harmony turned to him. Not once during the long days of the roundup had he lifted a finger to help, preferring to recline in the salon, offering unsolicited instructions and criticisms. “Mr. Wilkerson,” she asked evenly, “do you realize there’s a bit of sun on your face? You’re in serious danger of getting tan. You’d best get under the shade of the veranda.”
“It is hot,” he agreed, mopping his brow. When he turned and hurried toward the veranda, calling Magdalena to bring him a lemonade, Harmony gave an unladylike snort. She sifted through her mind for a polite way to ask when he and Edna would be leaving, but none came to mind. It simply wasn’t Western hospitality.
The next day Harmony rode out with the men, proving to them all once again that she could ride and rope as well as any cowboy. Ben stayed close by her side. Several times she felt the possessive weight of his gaze and wondered if others could see it, too. Around him, she felt more aware of everything, more alive. He complimented her on her skills and she found she liked his praise.
When they corralled their gather for the day, she was the last to dismount and care for her horse. She called thank-yous and accepted good-natured teasing about a steer that had eluded her loop.
Pulling the saddle from her tired mount, she hadn’t noticed that everyone had left but Ben until she saw him walking alone at the corner of the corral. He’d stripped to jeans, boots and hat and his legs were spread wide as he swung a hammer, pounding nails into a sagging end post.
Chest gleaming with perspiration, muscles contracting, Ben presented a picture of tensile strength and awesome masculine power.
Harmony’s mouth went dry. For long seconds she was unable to breathe, blink or swallow. It was as if, suddenly, nothing existed but Ben. Every detail of him drew her fixed attention: the corded muscles beneath Ben’s smooth skin, his bulging thighs, his ribbed abdomen, his flexing biceps.
Harmony took in the display of potent masculine virility like a slug from a forty-four. Every womanly part of her awoke and began to throb. Even her knees wobbled.
Sensual imagery flooded her mind—of his capable hands drifting over her skin, his large, work-hardened body covering hers in an explicit, physical act.
She was appalled and alarmed.
And completely incapable of not taking her eyes off of him.
Ben chose that moment to glance at her.
Before she could mask her feelings, he tossed the heavy hammer aside, straightened and sauntered over to her. With supreme nonchalance, he dipped his hand in the horse trough and slung water over his chest. Dipping his hand again, he scooped more and rubbed it over the back of his neck. Never once did he take his eyes off her. His gaze, steady and mesmerizing, held hers prisoner.
“Look all you want, Miz Harmony,” he said, drawling her name.
She flushed. “I’m not looking.” Move, she told her limbs. Walk away. But her traitorous feet remained rooted.
“Yes, you are,” he contradicted. “That’s all right. I sure enjoyed seeing you this way.”
Flush deepening, Harmony knew she should disregard his reference to that day at the creek. She should storm off, ignore the tall cowboy. Yet, somehow, she was powerless to do so.
She forced out scathing words. “I’ve no interest in you.”
“No? That why you can’t stop lookin’?” he asked, and she realized with angry chagrin that her gaze had again dipped to his glistening chest.
“It’s all right, Harmony.” He abandoned his taunting tones and his voice became huskily encouraging. “You’re a normal woman, with normal urges. I don’t mind. How about we take a swim in the creek together, look our fill at each other?”
Scandalized, her gaze flew to his flashing eyes. A swim would feel heavenly on her perspiring skin. But she knew he was asking for more. “With no shirts on?” she gasped.
“With nothin’ on.” He smiled, his teeth very white. “Come on. You used to be fun. Remember as kids when we rode horses together through the fields, picked blackberries and fed each other? Remember swimming in the creek, splashing and yelling?”
Despite her shock, memories rushed back and Harmony thought longingly of those carefree times. The constant decision-making of running the cattle ranch had begun to wear on her. It was hard, damn it all. And now Ben offered a tantalizing freedom from responsibility and worry—if only temporarily.
She bit her lip. The temptation to take him up startled her even more than his offer.
“I’m still fun,” she whispered, evading the issue.
“Prove it,” he dared. “Come swimming. I won’t touch you, if you don’t want. I swear. You can trust me, can’t you? Have I ever betrayed you? Lied to you?”
She was forced to admit he had not.
What devil goaded her into agreeing to meet him near sundown at the creek, she never knew.
* * *
SHE WOULD NOT ALLOW him to touch her, that Harmony vowed. As she slowly guided Apache closer, she watched Ben, already floating in the water. Dusk threw lingering shadows from the reeds and trees, but the heat of the day still endured. Ben’s gelding cropped grass. Harmony dismounted, loosened her mare’s cinch and picketed her nearby. Her hands went to the buttons of her blouse.
Was she really going to do this?
In the creek, Ben did not glance up. No man as alert as Ben could have missed her arrival. She could only assume he was giving her time to work up her courage. In the trees, two squirrels chattered a domestic argument. Higher up, doves nestled. Fading sunlight cast a dusky glow over the clearing.
In the water, Ben waited.
She shrugged to herself. She could be as cosmopolitan as the next woman. She could swim with a man and maintain control of the situation. To make certain, she would keep on her camisole and drawers. For insurance, she hid her clothing behind a rock.
At water’s edge, she kept careful watch on Ben. The lure of his healthy sexuality pulled at her, but she had a virgin’s natural fear. They would not be touching each other.
Still, he made no move to look, so she sank down and slipped off the grass-slick bank into the cool water. Like an otter, she submerged and kicked out, coming up with her hair sleeked back.
Keeping her shoulders carefully beneath the surface, she sighed. It felt wonderfully cool after the stifling day. Ben turned to her and smiled. With his long, wet ebony hair pushed away from his forehead, he suddenly looked younger, almost as he had when they were children. His black eyes danced with the same pleasure that swirled through her.
“Feels good, huh?” He moved a little closer.
“It’s splendid.” She sighed and closed
her eyes. “Just what I needed.”
When he touched her shoulders, her eyes flew open. He was in front of her, his face level with hers. He filled her field of vision, yet his expression was nonthreatening, his hands gentle.
“You cheated,” he said.
She raised one brow.
“Your underthings.” He jerked his chin toward her body. “You’re still wearing them.”
She said nothing at all. Was he truly...unclothed beneath the water? Nervously, she kept her gaze fixed on his face.
“I would never hurt you, Harmony. You’re safe with me. Do you understand that?”
She nodded, and Ben knew a falling away of the bitterness that he’d always been unable to shed. He couldn’t believe Harmony had come. He couldn’t quite grasp the fact that she was here, in the water with him, nearly nude. For how long had he yearned and dreamed to have her see him as an equal? How many bleak years had passed while he agonized over a way to make something of himself, so he’d be worthy of her?
If she thought the sleeveless white top she wore was preserving her modesty, she was dead wrong. The few inches of clear water did nothing to hide her, and through the thin fabric he could plainly see the outline of her rounded breasts and their rosy centers.
His hands were still curved over her upper arms. She wasn’t shrinking away from him. She wasn’t fighting him. He held his breath, terrified she’d lose her courage and flee. She was a skittish cat, all eyes and careful wariness. He stroked her slim arms, as he would a kitten, sought to allay her fears. He ran his hands down past her elbows and beneath the water to her wrists, then back to her upper arms. When she shivered, but stayed put, a thrill shot up his spine.
“I...wasn’t going to let you touch me, Ben.” Harmony bit her lip. She drew a deep breath that lifted her breasts. They bobbed in the water and Ben found his willpower sorely tested as he forced himself to maintain eye contact; it seemed of paramount importance to her. He must proceed slowly, he understood that. At all costs, he mustn’t cause her to run.
She went on. “But you’ve always taken care of me. I can’t imagine you forcing me into anything.”
She’s asking for reassurance.
“Never,” he pledged. He drew a deep, lung-
expanding breath of his own.
She blinked, and he could see the desire to trust him reflected in her huge violet eyes. Her evident vulnerability and virginal curiosity touched him.
“I want to kiss you, Harmony,” he admitted. “To feel your mouth open under mine. For years I’ve wanted that, imagined it. I won’t lie to you, I’ve kissed other women, had them in bed. But there’s no one I’ve ever wanted as much as I want you.”
Her lips curved a tiny bit. “Is that really true?”
He nodded solemnly. But he wasn’t finished yet. “I want to kiss you and I want to touch your breasts, feel their weight in my hands. I want it so much, I’m shaking. Harmony, I ache for you. But I won’t do anything at all...unless you want it.”
When her eyed widened, he smiled tenderly. “You see? That’s how I’ll prove you can trust me.”
Normally confident and impulsive, Harmony would never be labeled timid. Having her so uncertain for once was a novel experience. His heart expanded. He would go slow, very slow. In her innocence, she was adorable. “The touching—it’s one way a man pleasures a woman.”
“And himself?” she asked shyly.
Trying not to smile, he nodded. “And himself.”
“Okay,” she said matter-of-factly, and he was stunned.
“Okay...what?”
“You may kiss me and...um, touch me.” She closed her eyes and lifted her chin.
Never in a hundred years would he be able to predict this woman. She was lovely, bold, generous, and he was bursting to have her. He found himself staring stupidly at her beautiful face. A gift from heaven, that’s what she was, he decided, swallowing thickly. A precious gift.
Wasting no time, he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers. She made a small start and he went perfectly still. Their lips a scant inch apart, she looked at him with wide eyes.
Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. He was so startled and pleased at her unexpected daring he wanted to laugh aloud. Carefully he drew her forward, closing the last bit of space between their bodies until the tips of her full breasts grazed his bare chest. Her camisole’s thin wet fabric acted as friction against his skin and he couldn’t hold back a groan of agony.
Gently he kissed the corners of her mouth, then slid his tongue inside, deepening the caress. Molding her taut waist with his hand, he slipped his right palm up her rib cage to cup her breast. The nipple, already budding from the cool water, tightened at his touch.
Even with the chill of the creek reaching his waist, Ben felt beads of sweat break out on his forehead. His manhood was rigid, pulsing with need. Helpless, he couldn’t stop from pressing himself against her soft belly. He needed to thrust himself inside her, claim her, love her. He needed it more than air. Harmony was his oxygen, his life. She always had been.
She responded by straining against him, folding her arms behind his neck, arching her body. Even in all his fantasies he hadn’t believed he might truly elicit from her such a passionate response. Years of need thundered in his ears like the stampede of a thousand steers.
Only seconds had passed, yet he knew that if he allowed the passage of just a few more, he would be overpowered by his own desperate passion to push her too hard, too fast. She was untried, untouched; he must remember that.
It was his great regard for her that enabled him to break their kiss and rest his forehead against hers. His arms locked around her back. Breath coming in difficult gulps, he said roughly, “That’s enough, Harmony. I can’t take much more.”
She blinked fuzzily, her eyes unfocused. “Goodness,” she whispered. “Goodness.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
Harmony continued to look into Ben’s dark features. In all her life, she’d remained in control of her senses, her thoughts. She was a proud descendant of the famous Heart lineage, an educated, intelligent, self-assured woman.
In one short kiss, Ben had wiped it all away.
It was the most dramatic, alarming experience she’d ever known. Like a storm moving off, the hazy sensuality fogging her brain slowly began to recede. She realized with shock that her arms were clamped around Ben’s neck, every finger of one hand thrust into his wet, black hair. Her body was pushed up against his, her back bowed in a way that thrust her breasts into his smooth chest. His very naked smooth chest. Something beneath the water pressed hard against her. She couldn’t allow herself to acknowledge the awesome tumescence resting against her stomach.
And yet it demanded acknowledgment. Harmony sucked in a breath.
Ben read her mind. He smiled knowingly, but somehow very sadly, like a man who’d suffered torments she’d never suspected. “Goodness.”
Quickly she unwrapped her arms and sank down into the water. Her voice thin, toneless, panicked, she whispered, “I think it’s time for me to go home.”
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON some one hundred men, women and children began arriving. Wagons, carriages and buggies drove up and horses were stripped of harnesses and saddles and turned into open pens. Wives brought covered casseroles of fragrant fried chicken, potato salads, watermelons and warm loaves of bread, while husbands gathered privately to smoke cigars, talk about range conditions and sample jugs of home-brewed moonshine.
An annual event, the gathering was held to thank everyone for their help in the roundup. Harmony had workers sweep out the barn where the dance would be held, directed others to hang streamers, put out chairs and arrange punch bowls. Magdalena covered long tables with cloths and shooed the errant rooster away. A four-piece country band tuned up in the corner. The cacophony of sound mingled with the excited chatter of children. The fiesta was beginning.
Before Harmony knew it, darkn
ess was falling and Magdalena bustled into her bedroom to help her dress. Her special gown of rose moiré was embellished with a neckline of Mechlin lace and a fitted waist. Matching rose slippers covered her feet. Daringly, she left her hair down, with only a white ribbon threaded beneath her nape and tied in a small bow atop her head. A full moon glowed and Harmony paused a moment by her open window to breathe in the night. Crickets sang. A warm breeze glided over her skin and the darkness felt velvety, tactile. The evening emanated a bewitching, rife-with-possibilities aura.
In the barn, the band struck up “Li’l Liza Jane,” and then “If You Were the Only Girl in the World.” The music drew Harmony downstairs. Dozens of couples were dancing and she had no lack of partners. With her skirts swirling around her ankles, she laughed breathlessly.
Ben, she noticed, kept to the shadows. He ate heartily but did not dance, nor ask her to, but every moment she felt his dark eyes upon her. Tonight, he wore a high-collared white shirt with a blue silk vest. His trousers were black and cuffed. Combed off his forehead, his ebony hair touched his collar, all that was visible beneath his black Stetson.
His gaze smoldered, never letting Harmony forget his embrace, the incredible impulses that had raced through her body. Nor was it possible to forget how even the piercing rays of the lowering sun failed to match the intensity in his blazing eyes.
The weakness, the desire to succumb and sink down with him in the fragrant grasses beside the creek were entirely outside her realm of experience. She was totally and completely drawn to him, fascinated and yet frightened by her rampant emotions.
In the wee hours the party began to wind down. The band put their instruments into cases. Families hitched up wagons, loaded empty casseroles and sleepy children and rumbled home. Tired but pleased that she could report the success of the party to her parents, Harmony smiled indulgently as she spied teenagers stealing a last kiss. In the corner of the barn, two stove-up old cowhands snored, arms slung loosely around each other’s shoulders, a jug empty on the floor beside them.
Warm and still, the night breathed with a life of its own. Silver moonlight dusted the buildings and cast intimate shadows. Picking up her skirts, she searched the back of the barn, glanced over the corrals, checked around the trees. Ben was not there. As she lingered beside the long horse trough, disappointment weighed down her heart.
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