The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold

by Cathleen Galitz

  “Will you tuck me in?” she asked, her eyes heavy- lidded.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Judson asked thickly.

  But it was too late.

  Carrie’s eyes were closed, and she was already breathing deeply.

  “Damn you,” Judson murmured, laying her as gently atop the bed as a bouquet of wildflowers. “Don’t you dare pass out on me!”

  There was no response from the still body sprawled invitingly upon the lacy patchwork quilt. Judson lin- gered over the sight of her light brown hair splayed across her pillow and fought the urge to explore every inch of those soft, womanly curves. But despite what Cheryl Sue’s brothers had wanted to believe, he was not the type of man to take advantage of a woman—no matter how tempting the situation.

  Raw need strained from every pore in Judson’s body as he pulled off Carrie’s tight, squeaky-new boots and made himself stop where his imagination refused to. Tucking the covers around her, he wrapped her cozily from neck to toe, a picture of perfect innocence.

  “Poison. Pure sweet poison…” he muttered in a strangled voice as he headed for the door.

  Chapter Six

  Waking was agony. Carrie opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through yellowed lace curtains. Fighting her way out of a haze, she drew her arm out from under the covers to check her watch. It was almost noon, she was in a strange bed, and she had no idea how she had gotten there. Like a fish rising to the surface of a murky pool, flashes of recollection glimmered just out of sight: snatches of a conversation with Estelle Hanway, a bloody brawl, the apparent consumption of alcohol she didn’t even remember drinking….

  “Great first impression on the parents of the com- munity…” she moaned into her pillow, envisioning Carry Nation and her dedicated disciples of Christian Temperance descending upon her little schoolhouse with her hatchet, a sack of feathers and a bucket of hot tar.

  A note fluttering on the pillow next to her caught her attention. Flinging back the covers, she sat straight up. A wave of nausea washed over her as a mountain of fireworks exploded inside her head. Clutching her ach- ing head between her hands, she made herself focus on the note.

  Will be moving cattle for the next couple of days but count on seeing me at Open House this Thurs- day. We’ll continue the search for that missing key then…

  Jud

  The sight of that masculine scrawl caused Carrie’s heart to beat out a deafening staccato. Pulling the covers up over her head, she tried to block an onslaught of perplexing questions. Just what did that reference to a “key” mean? How could she face the parents of the community at Open House knowing what a complete and utter fool she’d made of herself last night? And how could she possibly confront Judson again when her memory was fuzzy at best?

  A knot of emptiness tightened in an already-sour stomach. Though Carrie didn’t remember spending the night with Judson, his note definitely placed him in her room. If he chose to leave her hanging like dirty laundry flapping in the breeze, she could well imagine how a conservative community that held its teachers to a strict display of moral standards would react.

  Gingerly climbing out of bed to face herself in the mirror, she asked her reflection, “Carrie, what have you done?”

  Disheveled and red-eyed, her image regarded her gravely.

  Crumpling the note in her hand, she cursed, “Damn your blue eyes, Judson Horn!”

  The following day found Carrie crouched in front of the old potbellied stove, rubbing her hands together in disbelief. The cold weather defied the calendar. Why just yesterday she’d needed only a sweater to keep warm. Apparently Judson hadn’t been kidding when he’d warned her of blizzards as early as September. Without so much as a whisper of protest, the glorious fires of early autumn had been obliterated overnight. A soft, persistent snow fell as gently as if from her grand- mother’s worn flour sifter. Looking at her own delicate fingers, Carrie thought of her grandmother’s hands: the knuckles enlarged, the skin splotchy, a lifetime of love and hard work etched upon them. If only Granny could somehow pass on to her the ancient strength in those gnarled, veined hands!

  She was sure Granny would make short order of this old potbellied stove—and of any man as aggravating as Judson Horn for that matter. Try as she might, Carrie had been unable to banish intrusive thoughts of the man whose cryptic note had left her hanging by her finger- nails.

  She crumpled sheets of old newspaper and stuffed them into the maw of the stove. Then she neatly stacked several thick logs atop, lit the paper and waited for the warmth to begin thawing out the chilly room.

  Flames leapt like bright orange tigers…and died just as quickly. Frowning, she sacrificed more newspaper to the ill-natured stove and lit it again.

  “All right, you sorry son of a Ben Franklin, fire up!” she commanded.

  Grinning behind its open grate, the crotchety stove remained indifferent to her pleas.

  What she needed to build a proper fire, Carrie belat- edly realized, was some kindling. Determined not to be beaten by an antiquated piece of iron, she marched back to the woodpile intent on splitting at least enough to last her through the week.

  When he spotted Carrie awkwardly wielding an ax, Judson felt an odd catch in his chest. She almost toppled over backwards beneath the weight of the heavy tool hoisted high over her head. He started to get out of his pickup to offer his assistance, but the look of sheer de- termination upon that lovely, soot-streaked face stopped him in his tracks. Abe Lincoln she obviously wasn’t, but there was a look in her eyes that caused him to wonder if she might not be distantly related to Lizzie Borden!

  Clearly this woman had something to prove to that old woodpile, and he dared not interfere.

  What exactly was it, he wondered, about this woman decked out in an old coat and sweatpants, swinging an ax, that he found so inexplicably endearing? Dressed thus, she was far more appealing to him than the fash- ion-conscious Easterner who not so very long ago had stepped off the plane at Rock Springs.

  Plucky Ms. Raben was proving full of surprises. Jud- son had to admit that he had been wrong about her from the start. Far from shying away from her responsibilities as he had predicted, she instead embraced them whole- heartedly. Judson knew that the fact Carrie was an out- sider had merely provided him a convenient excuse to distrust her. Past experience provided the foundation for his suspicions. His ex-wife had spent the better part of her high school years trying to convince him that racial prejudice was merely an outdated phase in American history well on its way to virtual eradication by an en- lightened press. Ironically, she’d failed to win her own family over to that belief, and it was surely a merciful God who had prevented Judson from being beaten to death in their brotherly act of retribution for his crime of loving a white woman.

  The labored sound of chopping called Judson back to the present. It was beyond all reasoning that the sight of his children’s teacher was able to stir in him some- thing so urgent that it threatened to overshadow the bit- ter lessons of the past.

  Don’t be a fool! he told himself fiercely and, pressing the accelerator to the floor, left without making his pres- ence known.

  Jud was running scared, and he knew it.

  The rest of Carrie’s week passed in a blur. Open House was scheduled Thursday evening to accommo- date working parents who couldn’t get off during the day. It was held the second week of school just so par- ents and teachers could get acquainted with one another without getting too hung up on grades so early in the year. Carrie just managed to squeeze in dinner before parents began a steady parade through the doors of the old schoolhouse. Far from the dismal turnout which school functions warranted at her old school, all the parents and guardians turned up. Every parent save one.

  Carrie could only surmise by Judson’s noticeable ab- sence all week and the fact that Cowboy and Brandy had been riding the bus to and from home that their father was either still moving cattle as his note had in- dicated or that he no longer felt the need
to check up on her. As twilight succumbed to night, she found her- self wondering if Judson would make his promised appearance at all. She had just about given up on him when she caught the far-off purr of an engine.

  Seconds later a gleaming black snowmobile shrieked to a halt just outside her door. A picture of the devil himself, Judson took off his helmet, tucked it beneath his arm and made his way up the front steps with a cheerful whistle on his lips.

  How he managed to look sexy sporting a big black eye was beyond Carrie, but that was exactly the term that came to mind when he sauntered out of the dusk and into the light of her classroom. Dressed in tight jeans and a faded denim shirt, he looked every inch a country road warrior. His only concession to the cool outside temperature was a worn leather jacket and a pair of sturdy gloves.

  Feeling a wave of heat go through her, Carrie wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. Was God’s only purpose in making such heart-stopping men simply to test wom- en’s fortitude? As he stood there holding his helmet in his hands awaiting his turn to speak with her, Carrie had a vision of him in his youth. She felt a sudden pity for his mother as she thought both of Judson’s broken noses and of his shattered marriage. The poor woman’s life surely was a succession of administering to one black eye after another.

  Thinking how Cowboy was bound to be the spitting image of his father, Carrie felt a vise tighten around her heart. She prayed that the hooded pain in Judson’s eyes would never dim the ever-present sparkle in Cowboy’s cornflower blue ones. There was something so utterly captivating in the boy’s happy-go-lucky attitude that Carrie lost all objectivity where he was concerned.

  Funny—while she’d been so busy protecting her heart from Judson’s charms, both of his children had rushed in and stolen it outright.

  Carrie tried to focus her attention on Mr. and Mrs. Benson, who were on their way out the door. While Tommy’s father was a taciturn man who seemed to ob- serve her from behind a mask of wrinkled leather, Mrs. Benson was effusive in her praise.

  “Tommy’s never been much for school, ma’am, but since you’ve showed up, he’s excited about learning. I can’t get over the change in him,” the woman said, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “We can’t thank you enough for offering to tutor him after school.”

  Mr. Benson shook Carrie’s hand, expressing with a firm squeeze the appreciation he was unable to put into words. She felt a rush of gratitude to all of the genuine folks who had gone out of their way to make her feel truly accepted into their close-knit community. As the door closed behind the Bensons, Carrie’s eyes glistened with emotion.

  Snow was steadily piling up in huge, fluffy marsh- mallow mounds outside the window. As Judson skirted the rows of desks in a few, long pantherlike strides, it seemed to Carrie as if a twist of fate had somehow left them the only two people alive on earth. That sexy, loose cowboy gait sent her heart somersaulting as sud- denly he was wonderfully, frighteningly close. The faint smell of bottled musk mingled with his own unique masculine scent in an intoxicating combination that sent a curling sensation spreading through her like warm honey.

  Wincing at the sight of a garish black-and-blue eye, she murmured apologetically, “I am so sorry about that.”

  Feeling as guilty as if it had been her own fist that had delivered the blow, she reached up on tiptoes to inspect the nasty plum-colored bruise. It proved almost impossible to dismiss the overwhelming urge to kiss it better.

  “It’s nothing,” he replied with an indifferent shrug.

  Instantly aroused by Carrie’s feathery touch upon his swollen cheek, Judson wondered if, like a chosen few of his people, she was blessed with the gift of healing. Where her fingers touched, his skin tingled, and a swift stab of desire, hot and urgent, surged through him. His mind fought against the truth that his body was so eager to embrace. Had he ever wanted a woman quite so badly?

  He tried to move. Couldn’t.

  Self-control was a thin wall holding back his need to devour her, body and soul. The flame of his desire was mirrored in Carrie’s eyes. Looking into those hungry eyes, Judson decided, was like being held in the vortex of a tornado. And caught in the eye of that tornado, the rest of the world spun out of control. Minute details sprang into vivid clarity: the clean scent of shampoo tangled in hair highlighted with gold and umber; thick eyelashes shading a pair of kelly-green eyes unguarded and trusting; the sensuous curve of red lips open in breathless expectation.

  The invitation was unmistakable..

  Judson had never wanted anything more in his life than to claim the sweetness of those lips.

  He was going to kiss her! Carrie thought, tottering beneath the realization that she desperately wanted him to. Unfortunately his attempt to steady her by placing both hands on her shoulders had quite the opposite ef- fect. Her bones turned to the consistency of melted can- dle wax.

  All that stood between them was the tiny sigh that escaped her lips. The pounding of her heart echoed so loudly in her own ears that she couldn’t help but wonder if Judson could hear it, as well.

  Peering into the depths of those sky-blue eyes, Carrie watched a battle being waged. Pain creased Judson’s brow with the effort, and his hands knotted into fists at his sides. Witnessing lust succumb to restraint in the grapple, Carrie realized that she was wrong about that kiss after all.

  Damn! When was the last time she had been right about a man? Scott was a liar, but she had trusted him right up until the moment she had been confronted with the undeniable truth. On the other hand, Judson had told her up front that he didn’t much care for her; she had refused to accept that. Perhaps she had only imagined the raw desire smoldering in the depths of those blue eyes.

  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she had deluded herself. Though Carrie had believed Scott respected her decision to save herself for marriage, he later alleged her prudish ways had pushed him into the arms of that eager, young nymphette. The memory of those senior girls making sport about her virginity was still excru- ciating. She suspected their mocking laughter would ring in her ears forever.

  What was it about her that men found so utterly re- sistible?

  Deliberately busying herself with a stack of papers, Carrie attempted to turn the conversation to the topic of his children.

  “Cowboy is a delight to have in class.”

  “He likes you.”

  “I like him, too.”

  A tender note leaked into her voice. The boy had somehow managed to work his way into the most secret part of her heart. Since the first day of school, the charming, little imp had proven an intractable ally, showering her with everything from apples and artwork and an amazing array of “critters” for science class. And although the thought would surely provoke his fa- ther, Carrie secretly hoped to cultivate the child’s innate love of learning and broaden his horizons beyond the corral that housed his prized horse.

  “And Brandy?”

  “She’s extremely bright.”

  Hearing the reserve in her voice, Judson pressed for the rest of the story. “But?”

  Forcing herself to separate her feelings for the man from his children, Carrie briefly considered withholding her personal opinion. Needing to be sensitive as well as honest, tact was called for when discussing any child, let alone the chairman of the school board’s feisty little moppet. Still Judson had every right to know her con- cerns about his daughter’s social development, and, whether he liked what she had to say or not, he needed to hear it.

  “But some days she’s so angry that she verges on being unteachable. She has no trouble mastering the work, but there’s an impenetrable wall around her that makes it almost impossible to reach her.”

  A perceptive glint illuminated those eyes of bluest blue. Having had some disturbing glimpses of his daughter as a soon-to-be rebellious teenager, Judson welcomed Carrie’s opinion. Little did she know just how much influence she already exerted in his daugh- ter’s life. Like his son, Brandy was fond of quoting her teacher on a daily basis, and since C
arrie had taken over the class, Judson had noticed a definite softening around the edges of his rough-and-ready tomboy.

  “Suppose she gets that from me,” he said, adding with a philosophical sigh, “She’ll come around sooner or later, I figure. I’m afraid I’m not much of a mother to her…”

  The admission prompted the questions rattling inside Carrie’s head to tumble out without regard to conse- quences. “What about their mother? Do you share cus- tody?”

  Like a shadow playing across the face of a mountain, raw emotion crossed Judson’s features.

  “As far as my children are concerned, their mother is dead.”

  “Surely you don’t mean that! What would make you say such—”

  Though he had every intention of telling her to mind her own damned business, the harsh truth instead ex- ploded from Judson’s mouth. “Because I haven’t heard from her since she dropped them on my doorstep and turned her back on us all forever.”

  He hadn’t meant to disclose anything so personal. It was a pair of eyes the exact color of newly budded aspen leaves that was at fault, he decided. Something gentle and reassuring glimmered in their depths, invit- ing complete trust. How he longed to share with another human being the heavy burden he had been carrying alone for so very long, but his stubborn pride and cul- tural upbringing didn’t allow for such weakness.

  It would be too hard to keep the emotion from his voice to admit that the quarter of his native blood cours- ing through his children’s veins was what had prevented them from being accepted into the haughty McLeashe family. That fair European line deemed the offspring of their daughter’s ill-fated match to be nothing more than an appalling blunder to be remedied as quickly as possible. Even as smitten as Cheryl Sue had been with him at the time, she had not been willing to risk complete disinheritance.

  Choking back the bile that rose in his throat, Judson reminded himself of how grateful he was to her none- theless. It would have been far easier for a frightened eighteen-year-old to have gotten rid of her babies than fly in the face of her family’s wrath and carry the seed of his love to term. That in an act of desperation she handed the twins over to him was the greatest gift she could ever have given him.