“Stoney,” she began, “I swear…I did not climb up in that tree with the intention of—”
“I’m sorry, Viola,” he said, “but Buddy was right. Stickin’ out yer tongue at folks is a bad habit. Somebody’s gotta teach you some manners.”
Violet was rendered breathless—completely breathless and covered in the bliss of erupting goose bumps—as Stoney’s mouth pressed moist and warm to her neck. He kissed her neck just below her right ear, and a pleasurable shiver raced through her. She had meant to struggle—to attempt to free herself from his restraint—but as his lips slowly traveled along the length of her jaw, she forgot.
He kissed the hollow of her throat, and she trembled when she felt his tongue lightly taste her flesh there. He kissed her chin—her cheek—the corner of her mouth. Violet struggled for a moment—tried to free her arms so she might wrap them around his neck, pull him closer to her. Yet Stoney held her wrists tightly pinned to the ground, so she ceased her endeavors to fulfill her desire to embrace him.
He paused in placing tender kisses to her cheeks and chin. Violet gazed into the fascination of his eyes, her mouth watering for want of knowing his kiss pressed to it.
“That’s just a terrible habit, Viola,” he said, his voice low, enthralling, as alluring as temptation itself. “Somebody has got to teach you a lesson. I guess it might as well be me.”
“I guess so,” Violet breathed.
She didn’t move, didn’t struggle as he pushed her hands up over her head, pinning her wrists with one hand as he cradled her chin in the other.
She gasped, sighed, and allowed euphoria to overwhelm her as his mouth crushed to hers. His heated kiss demanded response, and any remaining sense of propriety Violet owned a moment before was lost as she met its demand. Though he yet sat on her legs—his torso hovering above hers—she could feel the warmth of his body, sense the scent of his skin. His rough whiskers chafed the tender flesh about her mouth, but she didn’t care. If only he would release her, allow her to hold him as every thread of her being silently begged to hold him. How desperately she wanted to lose her fingers in the softness of his hair, feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her palms. Yet he held her wrists pinned fast as he continued to instruct her mouth to meeting his in a passionate, flavorful melding.
Impish thoughts began to intrude upon her mind—thoughts and wishes that Layla Asbury would return to the old cottonwood and find Violet overcome by Stoney Wrenn. She thought she would do anything he asked of her in that moment, follow him anywhere he chose to go. How desperately she loved him! How entirely, how eternally, how utterly unconditional was her love for him. She would never be separated from him again—never!
All these thoughts were Violet’s as she bathed in the bliss of Stoney Wrenn’s kiss.
Stoney tightened his hold on Violet’s wrists. He feared his grip was too strong—that he might bruise her tender hands—yet he could not allow her to touch him. Were she to struggle free, were he to feel her hand on his face, his shoulder, his chest—were Violet Fynne to touch him in any way—he would lose any shred of self-restraint he had left. She tasted like the nectar of heaven itself, and he feared he would never quench his thirst for her enough to release her.
He crushed his mouth to hers, devouring her passion, drawing vigor from the sense she was meeting his demands with a driven fervor of her own. For a moment, he wondered if she loved him—truly loved him—was in love with him. Surely this response, the passion he could feel flowing through her, surely it was not simply bred of the guilt she’d borne for so many years—the guilt of having left him behind. Surely it was more than that—more than guilt—but in the next instant, doubt owned Stoney Wrenn.
Violet gasped as Stoney suddenly broke the seal of their lips. She gasped again as he stood, pulling her to her feet.
“Have ya learned yer lesson this time, Viola?” he asked.
Violet stared at him. He seemed unaffected, as if nothing had happened, as if it had merely been a conversation they’d shared and not flaming passion.
“Y-yes,” she stammered in a whisper.
“Then let’s get you home before someone finds us out here and thinks…” His voice trailed off as he began to lead her, not toward the road but to the creekbed. Violet followed as he held her hand, pulling her along as he followed the creek toward town.
They didn’t speak—just walked. Soon the back of the little house was visible. The sun was beginning to set as Stoney turned to Violet.
“Yer gonna whip that Webster boy for me tomorrow, aren’t ya?” he asked.
“I…I’ll try,” Violet said.
“Good,” he said, nodding. Without another word, Stoney Wrenn turned and walked away.
Violet watched him go—marveled as the muscles in his arms and back moved as he walked. When he’d disappeared behind a grove of young cottonwoods, she turned. She’d locked the back door of the house when she’d first arrived. As she slipped around to the front of the house, she determined to unlock the back door once in a while. She peeked around the corner to see no one in the road. She looked toward town—no one in sight. Quickly she ran up the steps and into the house.
Once inside she looked out the front window. No one was in the street. It seemed she’d made it back to her house wearing Stoney Wrenn’s shirt without being seen. She thought of her stockings and boots, still lying in the grass at the foot of the old cottonwood. She hoped no one would find them, or Stoney’s reputation as a womanizer would be set in stone.
Still gazing out the window, she glanced down at the porch, to the abandoned plate of cookies. She thought of Jimmy Ritter and of what he told her—that she could turn Stoney’s head. Was it true? Could she win Stoney’s heart? It seemed too dreamlike to be real, too much to hope for.
Later, Violet decided not to wear her nightdress. Instead she lay in her bed swathed in Stoney Wrenn’s shirt. The scent of him still clung to it, bathing her in a sense of serene security. Come what may, Jimmy Ritter had been correct. There, snuggled in her bed, clothed in Stoney’s shirt, Violet allowed herself to admit that Jimmy Ritter had been right. She’d returned to Rattler Rock for one reason: she’d returned to find Stoney Wrenn and keep him.
Chapter Nine
“Are ya worried about the race, Violet?” Maya asked.
“I’m more worried about what the folks in Rattler Rock are gonna think when I hitch up my skirt to start running than whether or not I’m going to lose,” Violet answered.
She paused, as did Maya, their attention returned to the contest taking place before them.
“Stoney Wrenn will win this one easy,” Maya said.
“He will?” Violet asked, as the repeat of a rifle echoed in her ears.
“Oh, sure! Everybody knows he’s the best shot in the county. I don’t know why Sheriff Fisher even tries.”
“Well, Coby did shoot better than everybody else, the same as Stoney,” Violet reminded her friend. Still, she was anxious. She wanted Stoney to beat Coby in the shooting contest. So far Stoney had hit every target dead center.
Maya giggled.
“What?” Violet asked. She looked to Maya, who wore an expression of delighted amusement.
“A couple of years back, a bunch of the younger kids in town came up with the notion that Stoney was a gunman…a real outlaw. You should’ve seen them scatter whenever he walked into town,” she explained. “Of course the rest of us knew it wasn’t true.” She paused and smiled at Violet. “He used to give me butterscotch when I was little. I always felt special. He’d give me two pieces, but he’d only ever give Layla one. He used to whisper in my ear, ‘Because yer sweeter than yer sister.’ I think that’s why I always liked Stoney Wrenn so much, no matter what folks said about him. I used to dream I’d grow up and marry him one day. Of course, that was before he hired Jimmy. Once I saw Jimmy Ritter, I didn’t care how many pieces of butterscotch Stoney Wrenn had in his pockets. I was gonna marry Jimmy.”
Violet giggled as Maya gasped and clamped a
hand over her mouth. “Oh no!” she breathed. “I can’t believe I said all that! Please don’t tell anyone, Violet! I…I…”
“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Violet said. “Anyway, I already knew that you and Jimmy were sweethearts.”
Maya paused, and Violet watched as Coby Fisher hit every target Stoney had, with as much accuracy. Two men were now lining bottles up on a fence a ways out. Five bottles stood on the fence. Coby Fisher would try first.
Silently Violet began to wish bad luck on him—inwardly chanting the word miss. Coby took aim—careful aim—took his time. The rifle repeated, and the first bottle shattered. Everyone cheered and applauded. Again Coby took slow aim—steady aim. Another bottle shattered.
“What’ll happen if they both hit all the bottles?” Violet whispered to Maya.
Maya shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody has ever gotten this far against Stoney.”
Violet looked to Stoney. He was standing nearby, casually leaning up against an old tree stump. He seemed as calm as a summer’s day as Coby Fisher hit the next bottle.
Violet watched, anxious. She wanted Stoney to triumph, and it looked like he might not. After quite some time, time spent on gauging a steady aim, Coby Fisher hit the third bottle. The fourth bottle fell and then the fifth.
“Nobody’s ever gotten that far before,” Maya said. “It usually ends long before this. Sheriff Fisher’s been practicin’.”
Violet watched as Coby Fisher inhaled deeply and nodded his thanks to the crowd of onlookers.
“You’ll have to hit every bottle, Stoney,” Mr. Deavers said as Stoney stepped forward. “Even if ya do hit ’em all, we’ll have to think of somethin’ else…or just call it even.”
Stoney smiled and patted Mr. Deavers on the back. “Don’t worry, Alex,” he said.
Violet held her breath as Stoney leveled his Winchester.
“He’d better take his time,” Maya whispered.
Before the words had entirely escaped Maya’s mouth, however, Violet startled as a shot rang out. The shattered pieces of the first bottle hadn’t even hit the ground before Stoney had cocked his gun and the next bottle shattered—then the next—the next—the last. It had taken Coby Fisher several minutes to do what Stoney Wrenn had done in a matter of seconds.
The crowd cheered, and even Coby Fisher smiled as Stoney Wrenn lowered his rifle.
Violet smiled, entirely delighted. She applauded with everyone else in town as Mr. Deavers handed Stoney a blue ribbon.
“Hmmm,” she mumbled aloud.
“What is it?” Maya asked.
“How can a man who shoots like that shoot at a trespasser and miss?”
“Maybe he don’t see too good in the dark,” Maya giggled.
“Oh, Stoney! That was wonderful!” Layla Asbury chimed, taking Stoney’s arm.
“Thank you,” he replied.
Instantly, Violet’s temper was pricked. She thought of the way Stoney had kissed her the day before—thought of the way he hadn’t kissed Layla when she’d wanted him to. She wished she could just run up to him, throw her arms around his neck, and kiss him square on the mouth in front of Layla and everyone else in Rattler Rock. Still, though she’d shared the most impassioned kisses she could ever have dreamt with Stoney Wrenn, kisses were all they shared—kisses and a connection to the past. She had no claim on him, and he’d made no claim on her.
Violet tried to remember everything Jimmy Ritter had said to her. She tried to imagine that the young man had been right—that Stoney truly cared for her and she could win him. Still, as she watched Layla shamelessly flirting with Stoney, her stomach churned.
“Layla thinks that tomorrow, when Stoney comes for supper, that he’s gonna ask Daddy if he can come courtin’ her…officially,” Maya whispered.
Violet didn’t respond. Her stomach was too wound into knots for her to speak.
“Do you think Stoney Wrenn has ever kissed Layla?” Maya asked.
“What?” Violet gasped.
Maya smiled, and Violet noted a certain mischief in her eyes.
“I don’t think he has,” Maya whispered. “But I bet he’s kissed you. Hasn’t he?”
“Wh-whyever would you think something like that, Maya?” Violet stammered.
“Well, for one thing, yer as red as a beet right now,” Maya giggled. “And for another thing…well…I want to ask ya somethin’…about Jimmy…about me and Jimmy.”
Violet glanced around, wondering if anyone had been standing close enough to her and Maya to have heard their conversation. No one seemed to wear an aghast expression of surprise or disapproval, however. Her heart was madly pounding, both from fear of being overheard and from the memories of Stoney’s kiss.
“I want to know if ya think I should let Jimmy kiss me if he tries,” Maya whispered. “I mean, I want him to…but I know Layla wouldn’t approve and—”
“Layla?” Violet exclaimed in a whisper. “You’re worried about what Layla would think?”
Violet couldn’t believe Maya was worried about what her sister would think. Layla? The same Layla that had fairly offered herself to Stoney Wrenn the day before?
“Layla’s the last person on the face of the earth that you should worry about,” Violet said. She glanced to where Layla stood talking to Stoney, still holding to his arm. Why couldn’t she just walk up and take his arm? After all, didn’t she have as much right to touch him as Layla did?
“Shh!” Maya scolded. She took Violet by one arm and pulled her farther away from the center of the crowd. “She’ll hear you!”
“I’m sorry, Maya,” Violet began. “It’s just that…and I don’t even know if you should be asking me. I’m not sure I should give you my opinion. It might not be what your parents would—”
“What would you do if you were me, Violet?” Maya asked. “If you loved Jimmy so much it hurt, and he wanted to kiss you, what would you do? Tell me the truth.”
Violet looked at Maya—looked past the fact she was sixteen and her pupil. In those moments, she saw only her good friend—a kindred spirit and sister in the world of loving a man so much it was painful.
“Of course you should let him kiss you,” she answered in a whisper. “And you should kiss him back. Don’t leave yourself open for a lifelong, very painful regret…just because you’re worried about what Layla might think.”
Maya smiled. “That’s what I was thinkin’,” she said. “I only just needed you to—”
“Come on,” Stoney Wrenn said, taking hold of Violet’s arm from behind. “The footrace is startin’ in a few minutes…and I got money bet on you.”
“What?” Violet asked, looking up to Stoney as he rather pushed her along. Layla was at his other side, hurrying to keep up.
“I think my Stoney has lost his sense,” she said. “He’s bet fifty dollars on you to win this silly race, Miss Fynne!”
“What?” Violet gasped. “Have you gone mad?”
Maya caught up to them. “Don’t worry, Layla,” she said. “If Mr. Wrenn thinks Miss Fynne can win the race, then I’m sure she can.”
“Fifty dollars?” Violet asked Stoney. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that Tony Asbury is too big for his britches,” he grumbled.
“My daddy says you shouldn’t even be runnin’ in the race, Miss Fynne,” Layla explained. “He says it ain’t proper…and that no woman can run as fast as a boy anyway.”
Violet stopped, yanked her arm from Stoney’s grasp, and glared at Layla Asbury. “Is that so?” she nearly growled. She looked up to Stoney—saw the grin spreading across his face, the daring twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes, it is,” Layla said. “And I must say, Miss Fynne…I agree with him entirely.”
“Do you?” Violet asked, seething with indignation.
“Oh, she’s mad now,” Stoney chuckled.
“You get out of my way, Miss Layla Asbury,” Violet said. “And tell your daddy he may as well hand Stoney that fifty dollars right now.”
“You do that, Stoney Wrenn,” Violet said as she leaned over to pull the back of her skirt forward—upward to tuck it in at her waist. “And be ready to make good on what you promised me.”
“What did you promise her?” Layla asked. “What is she talkin’ about, Stoney?”
Violet stepped up to Layla. Placing her hands on her hips and staring Layla Asbury right in the eye, she said, “Never you mind. You just run along and tell your daddy to get his money ready.”
She stormed off then, toward the place where everyone was lining up for the race. She ignored the gasps of several women as she passed by with her skirt hitched and her ankles showing.
Let them think what they want, she thought. “Let them think that Stoney Wrenn’s a womanizing son of a gun and that I’d be better off working as a saloon girl than teaching at the schoolhouse,” she mumbled.
Violet was angry. The fact was she couldn’t remember the last time she was so angry. She loathed Layla Asbury—loathed her for too many reasons to count! She wondered how it could be that Maya could be Layla’s sister—how two people from the same family could be so opposite.
“You sure you want to do this, Miss Fynne?” Mr. Deavers asked as Violet took a place next to Hagen Webster.
“There are four other girls in this race, Mr. Deavers, aren’t there?” she asked.
“Well, yes…but…” he stammered.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a smile and patting his arm with reassurance.
The Light of the Lovers' Moon Page 16