by Jeanne Allan
“Want anything?” Jake nodded toward some cotton candy.
Gwen shuddered. “I’ll pass.”
Jake set Crissie on the ground. “You’re not eating this while you’re on my shoulders.” He handed Crissie a paper cone covered with a huge mass of pink spun sugar, and took back his hat. “I’d end up looking like a pink-haired clown.”
Crissie danced along beside his long legs as the three of them walked back to where Gwen had parked her car. “Jake’s a clown, Jake’s a clown,” Crissie crowed, her mouth stuffed with cotton candy.
“You’re both going to spoil your lunch.”
Jake tore off a huge hunk of his candy. “I think Gwen needs a little sweetening up. What do you think, pardner?”
“Gwen likes sugar. She puts bunches and bunches on cottage cheese.”
“That settles it. Open up, boss lady.”
Gwen backed away. “Get that nasty stuff away from me.”
“Not nasty.” Crissie licked some off her nose. “It’s good. Try it. You’ll like it. You say that.”
“I say that when I’m talking about broccoli. Not—” Her words were lost in a clump of pink fluff. The minute the cotton candy hit her mouth, the spun wisps of sugar melted against her tongue. Returning Gwen immediately to childhood. “Umm. I’d forgotten how decadent that tastes. Give me another hunk.”
Jake held his cone of cotton candy beyond her reach. “Now, boss lady, I wouldn’t want to spoil your lunch.”
“Crissie will share, won’t you?”
Crissie giggled and danced away. “Eat Jake’s. Eat Jake’s.”
“Here.” Jake’s eyes gleamed with laughter as he tore off a hunk of candy. “Open wide.” He shook his head. “No hands, boss lady. I like feeding you.”
“Like Mack,” Crissie piped up.
“Just like Mack,” Jake said. “Hold out a bone and he’ll follow you anywhere.”
Gwen thrust her chin into the air. “On second thought, I don’t want any cotton candy, and I certainly wouldn’t follow you anywhere.”
Jake waved the candy under her nose. “Cotton candy, cotton candy, get your cotton candy right here,” he said in a low singsong voice.
Gwen’s mouth watered as the sweet, enticing scent filled her nostrils. She licked her mouth once, and then, almost before she knew she was going to do it, Gwen leaned forward and closed her lips over the candy, sucking the spun sugar into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the childish pleasure of feeling the strands dissolve against the roof of her mouth and searching out with her tongue every tiny undissolved crystal of sugar. Greedy for the last succulent drop, she licked Jake’s forefinger and thumb.
Then realized what she was doing and froze. Melted sugar trickled toward the back of her throat. She risked a peek upward at Jake. An indecipherable something stirred at the back of his eyes. Suddenly Gwen realized her lips were still locked around his fingers. Her mouth sprang open.
Jake slowly withdrew his thumb and finger, brushing against the sensitive surface of her bottom lip.
“I’m done,” Crissie announced. “I can eat yours.”
Jake started, then looked down at Crissie. “Listen, pardner,” he said in fake growl, “you don’t take a man’s horse or his cotton candy.”
“I’m still hungry.”
“So am I, pardner.” Jake gave Gwen a long, deliberate look. “So am I.”
“Well, well, well, look who’s here. Uncle Bert’s clever little girlfriend.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE sneering voice from behind caught Gwen off guard. It took a moment for her to switch mental gears from Jake’s subtly provocative statement to the comment of a totally different nature delivered by Bert’s nephew. She turned slowly, telling herself she’d explained her and Bert’s friendship to Gordon as many times as she was going to explain it. “Hello, Gordon. Did you come for the parade, too?”
“I don’t like the bad man.” Crissie scooted over to stand behind Jake, her head peeking between his legs as she clutched his jeans with sticky hands.
Jake reached down and ran a soothing hand over her hair.
Gordon glared at them both before transferring his attention back to Gwen. “I thought you were getting rid of this gorilla. What happened? Get lonely out there in the boonies? A woman like you always needs a man around.” He ran a contemptuous gaze over Jake. “A real man. You should have called me.”
Jumping in before Jake reacted to the slur on his manhood, Gwen said, “How kind of you to offer to help me at the ranch, Gordon. Especially considering that you’ve been trying to get it away from me.”
“You and me mighta got off to kind of a bad start. Maybe I was a little hasty in my judgments. I’ve been thinking.” Gordon arranged his face in a heavy-lidded smirk. “There’d be extra-special compensation working with you.”
“He’s a bad, bad man,” Crissie said in a little voice.
Out of the mouth of babes, Gwen thought. She couldn’t decide if the greater insult was to her principles or to her taste. How could Gordon possibly believe she’d be interested in a disgusting cretin like him? She could kick him the way he’d kicked Mack or she could pretend to misunderstand his sleazy innuendo. She chose the latter course. Innocently widening her eyes, she said, “You told Bert there wasn’t enough money in the world to pay you to baby-sit cows and fix fences.”
He gave her a smoldering look. “I wasn’t talking about money.”
Gwen feigned puzzlement. “I can’t imagine what else... unless you mean, doing your taxes?”
“It’s not your pencil-pushing skills I’m interested in,” Gordon said through gritted teeth. “How’d you sucker in Bert if you’re so damned dumb?”
“Bad man said a bad word.”
“Can’t you shut that kid up?”
Jake hoisted Crissie into his arms and whispered something into her ear. Crissie looked at Gordon, giggled, and buried her face in Jake’s shoulder. Jake smiled serenely.
Gwen frowned at them. Gordon’s presence didn’t thrill her, either, but she didn’t intend to start a brawl in the middle of town. Suddenly she thought of a genial CPA whose long-winded explanations drove his colleagues to dash around comers when they saw him coming. “Shutting her up is the absolutely worst thing I could do. Children have to be allowed to express themselves.”
Droning on, Gwen thoroughly covered the subject of raising children, moved on to exhaust the topic of chewing tobacco, and was well into a monologue on filling out the Schedule F on Bert’s tax return, the unit-livestock-price method and how to claim gasoline credit, when Gordon edged away. “Are you leaving? I’m sorry, Gordon, I have a bad habit of going on a bit about taxes. It’s a CPA curse. Nice to see you again,” she yelled after him.
Jake chuckled.
Gwen turned on him as he stood holding Crissie easily in his arms. “I don’t know why you’re laughing. He insulted you as much as he insulted me.”
“No, he didn’t. He thinks you’d let him bed you. That’s more insulting than anything he can say to me.”
“Very funny. He slurred your manhood. I didn’t expect you to brawl in the middle of the street, but you could have flexed some muscles or something.” She’d never been an advocate of violence, but Gordon brought out the worst in her.
“Honey, a man doesn’t have to prove himself every time some tinhorn runs off at the mouth.”
Even if she ordinarily agreed with him, she refused to let the subject drop. Jake shouldn’t have stood silently by while Gordon slimed her. “I thought out west men stood up for women.” Before he could answer, she rushed ahead, “When I hired you to work for me, I expected loyalty. That means I expect you to help me. Which means any kind of help I need.”
Cool gray eyes rested on her face. “That’s what I thought, too, boss lady. When you need,” he emphasized the last word, “help, I’ll be there.”
“Then why didn’t you...” she began heatedly, only to sputter to a halt as his meaning reached her. “Oh. Y
ou mean I didn’t need help because I handled him on my own. Thank you. I think.”
“You’re welcome.”
Crissie tightened her grip around Jake’s neck. “He’s a silly man.”
Gwen looked at her niece in surprise. “You think Mr. Pease is silly?”
Crissie nodded. “Jake said. Green peas. He said you’d smash him with a fork.” Crissie giggled, then started singing, “Green peas. Smash, smash. Put in the garbage can. No more green peas. Smash, smash.”
Gwen wanted to laugh, but parenting meant teaching the proper behavior. “It’s not nice to make fun of a person’s name.”
“What happened to encouraging her to say whatever comes into her head?”
“It didn’t come into her head. It came into yours.”
Jake laughed. “You’re cranky because you’re hungry. Let’s go get a hot dog.”
“Let’s go get a nice salad lunch.”
“Honey, we’re going to the fair. We want walking-around food, sloppy food, dribble-down-your-face food.”
“We want a light, healthy meal.”
“I wanna hot dog. Like Jake.”
“Growing children need nutritious food.”
“Wanna hot dog.”
“Hot dogs make you big and strong,” Jake said solemnly.
“Strong enough to smash peas?” Gwen asked sarcastically.
“Smash peas, smash peas, smash peas,” Crissie sang in a cautious voice. “Hot dogs smash peas.”
Gwen eyed her niece’s hopeful face and Jake’s challenging one. Easy for him to behave irresponsibly. The job of raising Crissie, making sure she grew up strong and healthy, didn’t fall to him. His right eyebrow shifted upward. As if he read her thoughts. And questioned her conclusions. “When someone else’s child is entrusted to you, you have to honor that trust.”
“You honor that kind of trust with love.”
Gwen blinked at Jake’s flat voice. A voice which appeared to hide pain, and not the kind of voice which invited questions. She stuck with his words. “Love is the most important thing, yes, but milk and vitamins and all that other stuff counts, too.”
“Wanna hot dog,” Crissie said in a voice which clearly indicated she was losing hope she’d get one.
“Ease up, Auntie. The world won’t come to an end if for one day you laugh and play and eat hot dogs.”
“Eat hot dogs,” Crissie echoed.
Gwen capitulated. “Oh, all right. We’ll have hot dogs. Don’t blame me if you end up with mustard all over you.”
“We’re also going to have laughter and play. Repeat after me, Auntie, we’re at the fair and we’re going to have fun. C’mon, say the words. We’re not moving one step until you say the words.”
“I’m not going to say the words. That’s silly.”
Jake groaned. “Oh, I’m soooo hungry. How about you, pardner?”
“I’m soooo hungry,” Crissie echoed dutifully, then giggled.
“You two are impossible.”
“Say it.”
“Say it, say it, say it,” Crissie chanted.
“You can’t make me.”
“Show her your hands, pardner. You want those hands hugging your nice clean blouse, Auntie? You want that filthy mug kissing you? Say it.”
Gwen backed away from them. “I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say.”
Jake’s laughing eyes held hers. “We’re at the fair and we’re going to have fun.”
“This is so—all right,” she shrieked as Jake zoomed Crissie, hands outstretched, toward her. “We’re at the fair and we’re going to have fun. For Crissie,” she added.
Jake leaned over and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.
“What was that for?” Her lips tingled. “You must really like hot dogs.”
“Could be.” He set off down the street, his last words floating back to her. “Could be I approve of my pardner’s aunt. Or it could be I like kissing you.”
Hot dogs he could take or leave. Gwen, on the other hand, and Crissie... Jake hoped whatever Michaels had sent him here to do happened soon. Not that there was any danger of him falling in love with Gwen. Love was something out of dime novels. Admittedly sometimes Gwen seemed like a character out of a dime novel. Her looks. Her independence. The way she put Crissie’s wants and needs before her own. Unlike Ma. He’d hurt, even hated, early on, but now he understood. Ma couldn’t help it she didn’t have Gwen’s strength.
Hell, the woman’s perfume had weakened his brain. Times had changed, but Gwen was a woman like any other woman. If she’d lived a hundred years ago, she’d have been like Ma. Needing a man to protect her from every turn and twist of fate. She’d have taken Gordon into her bed. Any man was better than no man. Sure there’d been a few women who managed without a man at their side. Tough, sturdy, pioneer stock. Or hard cases like Calamity Jane. The rest, Ma and Marian, were soft, delicate women. Like Gwen. Good for warming a man’s bed.
He slanted a look at her. Laughing at something Crissie said, Gwen wiped a smear of mustard from the child’s mouth. Mustard stained Gwen’s own lips. He wouldn’t mind licking that mustard off right here and now. He had to quit thinking about her mouth. Or her curves. Womanly curves, even if not the voluptuous curves of his Marian.
His Marian. What a laugh. Loyalty hadn’t meant much to the woman who’d promised to marry him. He wondered how Gwen thought about loyalty. Not that he gave a damn about her loyalty. Unless he could use it to get her into his bed before he left.
His gaze traveled idly down her length. He wouldn’t mind those long, slender legs tangling with his under the covers. Damn the covers. He’d want to see every square inch of her. He’d want her giving him that same melting smile she gave Crissie. A smile filled with love.
Irritation coursed through him. Why the hell was he whimpering about love? He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears kid. He had one purpose for a woman. The only smiles he wanted were flirtatious ones, and the only promises he wanted, a woman could keep by raising her skirts. Those were the only kinds of promises a woman knew how to keep. Ma had promised everything would be all right when Pa died. Marian had promised to love him forever.
He no longer believed in a woman’s promises.
Michaels, now. Jake believed his promises. Michaels had told him after this trip, Jake could quit coming back. He would be at peace. Jake wanted peace.
He didn’t want any promises from Gwen. He didn’t intend to make her any promises.
The only promise was to himself. Before he left, he’d feel those legs wrapped around him.
A momentary repugnance shook him. He was no better than Gordon. He shrugged off the feeling. Gordon thought only of himself. He’d take what he wanted. When Jake left Gwen’s bed, he’d leave behind a satisfied woman. She’d have no regrets. Nor would he.
The woman’s gaze passed over the three of them, moved on, then flew back to Jake. Gwen swallowed a laugh. The woman was reacting no differently than ninety percent of the female fair-goers. Maybe Jake’s dark, good looks caught their eyes. Maybe it was his gentle way of handling Crissie. Or the sexy way he strolled along, his long legs snugly encased in worn denim. More than one woman had admired his tight behind. Totally self-possessed, his cool, don’t-give-a-darn gray eyes—even shadowed by his battered black hat—seemed to throw out a challenge to every passing female. The man literally reeked of testosterone and sex appeal. He knew his worth, and every woman who came into his orbit felt a certain gravitational tug toward him.
Except Gwen, of course. She felt only amusement. Naturally she didn’t mind being the envy of every woman between the ages of ten and one hundred they encountered. Having a gorgeous, sexy man at her side was another accessory, like great shoes or fabulous jewelry. The right outfit could make a woman.
The right man could make a woman, what? Happy? Smug? Forget that. Today the only emotion Jake Stoner aroused in Gwen was gratitude. She’d needed reminding that spontaneity could be healthy and good, too.
Wanting to
do the very best she could for Crissie, Gwen admitted sometimes she was a tad inflexible. Monica and Dan, Crissie’s parents, had taken spontaneity to its extreme. They’d loved Crissie, but on their terms. On a lark they’d decided to have a baby, and when the baby proved inconvenient, in moneyed times they’d hired a nanny; in poor times, they’d dumped her on friends and relatives or hauled her around with them. On at least one occasion they’d gone out, leaving Crissie alone. When Gwen had protested, Monica said they’d waited until the baby was asleep before leaving, as if that made it okay. Crissie had been a resilient baby, but until she’d come to live with Gwen, she’d never known any kind of schedule or consistency.
Crissie had never known a man like Jake, either. She didn’t give two hoots about a handsome face or a tall, lean, muscular body or broad shoulders. The face smiled at her and the tall body and broad shoulders held her securely up above the crowds. That’s what Crissie cared about.
Children and animals judged instinctively. From the beginning, Crissie and Mack trusted Jake and mistrusted Gordon. Bert’s nephew almost running the child down had merely solidified Crissie’s instinctive dislike.
“You wanted to ride today. Pick your horse.”
Gwen looked blankly at the cardboard stub held in front of her face, then realized they stood in front of the merry-go-round. Improbable steeds of every color cavorted in a circle. Crissie pointed to a gaudy dapple gray who appeared ready to leap into space. “I’ll stand and hang on to Crissie,” Gwen said.
“That’s what you think, boss lady.” Jake hoisted Crissie onto the gray horse, then pointed to the black horse next to it. “This fellow’s for you.”
“Merry-go-rounds are for children. I’ll watch and wave when the two of you go by.”
“Hang on tight, Crissie. I have to help Gwen up.”
“I’m not riding.” Large hands caught her firmly around the waist, and Gwen’s feet left the ground. Ignoring her protests, Jake plunked her down on the black horse. Her legs dangled down one side of the molded animal.