Educating Abbie: Titled Texans -- Book Two

by Cynthia Sterling

  “Think nothing of it.” Cam unrolled his napkin with a flourish. “I’m sure your company is worth two of any other woman.”

  Reg chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. Cam was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Surely he didn’t think a sensible woman like Abbie would fall for that kind of act?

  He turned to Abbie for confirmation of his opinion, but found her watching Cam with a look of interest. “You must be quite popular with the ladies back home in England, Cam,” she said, passing him the plate of beef.

  He smiled and nodded and started to speak, but Reg beat him to the punch. “Yes, a bit too popular at times. His flirtatious ways have gotten him into trouble more than once.”

  Cam’s smile hardly wavered, but his eyes were telegraphing evil messages across the table to Reg, who struggled not to laugh at his brother’s discomfort. “I’m sure whatever tales my brother has heard have been wildly exaggerated. In any case, I’m delighted to be in Texas.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Alan said. “Seems like everybody in town knows you now.”

  “Yes, well I do like to mingle with the natives, so to speak, wherever I go. You Texans certainly know how to make a man feel welcome. Everyone here, with one or two exceptions, has been most accommodating.” He sliced into the beef on his plate. “Which reminds me, I encountered one man who positively detests you, Reg.”

  Reg stabbed at a potato with his fork. “I imagine that was Tuff Jackson. He’s upset because I fired him.”

  “He’s upset because you whipped his a–, um, because you beat him up.” Alan sent an apologetic look to Maura, who smiled in return.

  “You mean you actually fought this Jackson character?” Cam leaned forward. “Whatever for?”

  “It’s a long story.” Reg concentrated on his plate.

  “Strange.” Cam chewed thoughtfully, then added, “I got the impression this Jackson person was rather envious of you.”

  Reg looked up in surprise. “Tuff, envious of me? On the contrary – he spent most of his time belaboring my ignorance and shortcomings.”

  “I don’t know, Reg. Your brother may have a point.” Alan waved his fork in the air to emphasize his words. “John Grady pretty much let Tuff run things when he had the ranch. It made Tuff mighty sore when Prescott sold the ranch to your syndicate, instead of Tuff himself.”

  “If Tuff wanted a ranch of his own, it seems there would be others he could buy,” Reg said.

  “On the other hand, perhaps Mr. Jackson envies more than your ranch,” Cam observed. “Perhaps he resents your intelligence and poise, your style, as it were.”

  Reg shook his head. But the thought intrigued him. Could Tuff – the consummate cowboy – really be jealous of a ‘greenhorn’ like himself?

  “Tuff Jackson is just looking for trouble,” Abbie said. “The best thing to do is ignore him. Most people do.”

  Reg glanced at her. “Do they?”

  She shrugged. “I do. Alan does. Anyone with any sense does.”

  She smiled, a look that melted into him. If only he could tell her how much her encouragement meant to him. He took a firmer grip on his knife and fork, resisting the urge to touch her.

  “The main topic of conversation in town seems to be this drought you folks are wrestling.” Cam took a sip from his water glass. “I must admit, I thought things were dry here most of the time.”

  “Not this dry.” Abbie pushed peas back and forth on her plate with her fork. “We hardly had any rain this winter and spring – not enough to do any good. What do you think is going to happen, Alan?”

  “What? Huh?” The rancher shook his head and tore his gaze away from Maura. “I’m sorry, Abbie, I was, um, distracted.”

  “Yes, I see.” She frowned. “I was asking what you thought would happen with the drought.”

  Reg scowled at Alan, but the rancher didn’t seem to notice. The man was hopeless – he’d choose a simple girl like Maura over a talented, intelligent woman like Abbie.

  “The places with the best water will come out ahead, though we may end up buying feed for the stock,” Alan said. “I’ll probably sell off some stock – steers maybe – and keep the breeding stock.”

  “You won’t get any kind of price for them in this market,” Abbie said.

  He shrugged. “Better some price than no price.”

  She traced the path of water droplets down the side of her glass with the tip of her index finger. “I’m considering drilling a well and putting up a windmill,” she said.

  Alan shook his head. “That’s a lot of money to sink into a hole in the ground, and there’s no guarantee you’ll hit good water. Plus the windmills take a lot of maintenance.”

  “But if you do find water, you don’t have to depend so much on tanks and creeks.”

  “An expensive gamble, if you ask me,” Alan said. “I’m surprised you’d consider it. It’s not the kind of thing your father would have done.”

  Reg saw a melancholy look flicker in her eyes, and he watched her straighten her spine, as if shouldering a burden. He glanced around the table, but no one else appeared to have noticed the shift in Abbie’s mood. “Daddy didn’t think much of newfangled gadgets, that’s true,” she said. “But he taught me to be independent from anyone else. Finding my own water and having a windmill to bring it up to the cattle sounds like a good way to preserve that independence.”

  “Suit yourself,” Alan said. “Guess I’m too old-fashioned.”

  “I say – speaking of old-fashioned, I met one of the area’s first settlers this afternoon,” Cam inserted himself into the conversation once more. “He told the most fascinating stories. . . “ For the rest of the meal, Cam entertained them with his rendition of the Texan’s tales.

  Leave it to Cam to lighten the mood once more, Reg thought. No wonder his brother was so popular. He never seemed burdened with the kind of problems that plagued Reg. No doubt Cam would have had Abbie married off to Alan in no time at all, while cowboys and ranch hands gathered around to do his bidding concerning the ranch. If anyone had ‘style’ to be envied, it was Cam, not Reg.

  After the meal ended, the men gathered on the porch while the women cleared the table. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous sunsets before,” Cam said, nodding toward the horizon, where a half-circle of salmon-colored sun sat on a landscape bathed in orange and gold.

  “People in cities never get to see a sunset like that,” Alan said. “There’s too many buildings in the way.”

  “That’s it exactly. The land is so open here.” Cam turned to Alan. “No wonder you Yanks talk so much about freedom. A man comes to learn the meaning of the word in a country like this.”

  Reg studied his brother out of the corner of his eye. What had triggered Cam’s sudden interest in freedom?

  Abbie and Maura stepped out onto the porch, bringing the scents of soap and lavender sachet. Reg was drawn to Abbie’s side, despite the vows he’d made to keep his distance. She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed – from washing dishes, perhaps, or did nearness to him produce that lovely blush? He shook his head. Abbie had professed a physical attraction to him, but it was no doubt a fascination born of inexperience. If another, more suitable man had caught her eye, she wouldn’t have given Reg a second look. Abbie needed a cowboy, not a British dilettante.

  “I’ve been thinking of purchasing a horse.” Cam turned to Abbie. “Would you be interested in selling one of yours?”

  Why would Cam need a horse? He was free to use any of the Ace of Clubs mounts during his time here. Reg started to say as much when Abbie spoke up. “As a matter of fact, I do have a horse I’ve been thinking of selling. I bought him with the idea of training him for ranch work, but it hasn’t worked out. He’s a fine saddle horse, though.”

  “Would you mind showing him to me?”

  “Now?” She glanced at her guests.

  “The others won’t mind if we step out to the barn for a moment, will they?” Cam smiled at
the others on the porch.

  Reg glared at his brother. “As a matter of fact –”

  “Oh, go on, Miss,” Maura said. “We’ll entertain ourselves while you’re away.”

  “Don’t mind us, Abbie,” Alan added.

  “All right then. He’s just over here.” She set off across the yard, Cam beside her. Reg watched them disappear around the side of the house, supper resting like a rock in his stomach. Leave it to Cam to find a way to get Abbie off to himself. No telling what he’d try, given the opportunity.

  He glanced at Maura and Alan. They’d taken a seat in the porch swing and were deep in conversation about who knows what. As a matter of fact, most of their communication consisted of long looks into each other’s eyes.

  Reg looked away. It was hopeless. Abbie had about as much chance of attracting Alan’s notice as Reg did of winning ‘cowboy of the year.’

  Did that mean then that Abbie was condemned to live a spinster’s life? Surely there was some man among these Texans who could see not only her outer loveliness, but her inner beauty as well – her strength of will, her compassion, her uninhibited passion. . .

  What was Cam up to out at that barn? They’d been gone quite some time, hadn’t they? Surely they should be back by now? He walked to the end of the porch and leaned out to look toward the barn. The sun had all but set now, bathing the land in a gray twilight. But even in the dimness, it was clear the corral was empty. Maybe they’d walked around back.

  Or maybe they were inside. Cam must have persuaded her to step inside the building on some pretext. The man was infamous for the way he twisted women around his little finger. It was a wonder he hadn’t been shot for his many seductions, but his infallible charm saved his neck every time. Even women he’d loved and left were willing to forgive him, as if he were no more than a misguided boy.

  Cam wasn’t a boy. And Abbie was no innocent girl, despite her inexperience. The right words from Cam and she might very well be persuaded to kiss him. One of Abbie’s kisses would only leave Cam wanting more. . .

  “I’m going to check on them,” he announced, and took the steps into the yard two at a time.

  He heard voices as he approached the barn. Low murmurs – the sounds one would make speaking words to a lover. Choking with anger, he hurled open the barn door. “Cam, come out of there at once,” he demanded.

  Cam and Abbie turned toward him. Abbie’s eyes were wide with surprise. With one hand, she held the halter of a chestnut horse in the stall behind her. Cam smiled – really, the look was more of a smirk. “Is something wrong, brother?” he asked. “You seem upset.”

  Reg swallowed hard. “I, um, I feared something had happened to you, you were away so long.”

  “We got to talking about riding,” Abbie said. “I never realized there were so many differences in the English style and the way we do things here in Texas.”

  “Ah, well, I see.” Reg looked away from her, feeling his face redden.

  “I think my brother suspected I lured you here for immoral purposes.” Cam laughed and walked toward him. “I wonder where he’d get ideas like that.” He slapped Reg on the back. “If you’ll excuse me, I will return to the other guests. I’m sure I can trust you, brother, to see Abbie safely back to the house.”

  He strolled to the barn door, then turned and gave them a wink before shutting the door firmly behind him. Reg heard him whistle as he walked away. The sound faded and Reg was aware of the silence around them. He could hear the sputtering of the lamp hanging just inside the barn door, and the sough of his own breath. Something stirred behind him and without turning around, he knew Abbie had moved closer.

  He could feel the heat from her body, smell her lavender scent, mingled with the odors of fresh hay and horse. His heart hammered in his chest. He had only to put out his hand and touch her. Her skin would slide like warm satin beneath his hand. He curled his fingers into fists to stop their trembling.

  “Reg.” Her voice was a whisper, piercing him like a scream. He wanted to block his ears, to run from the temptation that dragged at him.

  A tremor rocked him as her hand sought his. Her grasp was firm, beckoning. “Reg,” she whispered again. “Why don’t you kiss me?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  For a split second, Reg stood frozen; Abbie feared he hadn’t heard her. Then, in a swift, fierce movement, he crushed her to him, and covered her mouth with his own. His lips were hard, almost hurting her. But as she melted against him, the pressure lessened and she felt his tension ease, replaced by an overwhelming tenderness. He cradled her head in one hand as if it were finest porcelain, and stroked her back in a way that both soothed and tantalized.

  “Abbie, Abbie.” Her name was both endearment and plea. She squirmed against him, longing to be closer, and opened her mouth to taste him more fully.

  His moustache was soft against her skin, his tongue satin slick as it danced within her mouth. He suckled and caressed until her lips were tender and swollen, and her whole body ached for more.

  Gripping the lapels of his coat with both hands, she urged him toward the bed of hay in a vacant stall. He raised his head and gave her a questioning look, his eyes dark with passion. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but she smothered the words with an urgent kiss, and pulled him toward the shadowed stall.

  They embraced again, her curves shaping themselves to the hard planes of his torso. Slowly, never breaking contact, they sank to their knees in the sweet-smelling hay. His hands cupped the fullness of her breasts, then slid around to find the buttons on her shirtwaist. With agonizing slowness, he began to unfasten them. Her already erect nipples quivered at the brush of his hand, and she arched her back, aching for something she could not name.

  At last, his lips left hers and sought her breasts. A cry of pleasure escaped her as he suckled first one and then the other. Her breath came in gasps, and she pressed against him, supported by his hand at her back.

  When it seemed she could stand no more, his hand delved beneath her skirt. He brushed his fingers across the sensitive interior of her thighs, and parted the slit in her drawers. She felt a rush of heat, and dampness as his finger delved into her. Her whole body trembled at his touch.

  “God, I want you,” he murmured into her hair. “But we shouldn’t –”

  “Shhh.” She put her hand to his mouth and felt his tongue graze her fingertips. “It’s what I want,” she gasped, in agony at the thought that he might leave her now. “Dammit, Reg, do I have to beg?”

  He moved away, but only enough to look into her eyes. “I am the one who should be begging you, my precious girl.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “And may the devil curse me if I ever hurt you.”

  She smiled at the flowery language. How like Reg to make a production out of everything. “Then stop talking and take your clothes off,” she said.

  He laughed, a joyous, bawdy sound that made her skin tingle. “Why should I be the one to do all the work?” He stretched his arms wide. “Mam’selle, I am yours.”

  She caught her breath, awed by the words and all they implied. But the passion burning in his eyes urged her on. With pounding heart, she began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Then she pushed aside the fabric and ran her hands beneath his undershirt, along his heated skin. He leaned toward her, and kissed alongside her ear. “Don’t dawdle, now,” he teased, his voice breathless.

  Smiling at his eagerness, she kissed a path from his neck down his chest, pausing to suckle at each nipple, a new wave of heat flooding her as his body jerked in response. She could feel his hard maleness pressed against stomach, urging her to hurry.

  But when she reached for the waistband of his trousers, he pushed her away. “Not yet,” he said, then lowered her gently onto the hay.

  He stretched out to lie beside her. “My sweet Abbie,” he breathed, and feathered kisses around her eyes, along her jaw. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt once more, and found the opening in her drawers. As he lavished attention on her lips,
his hand worked beneath her skirt, coaxing sensations she had never dreamed of before. He trailed kisses to her breasts, teasing her nipples with his tongue, scraping them with his teeth. She was in agony; she was in heaven. He slid two fingers inside her and she gave a cry. He pulled away. “Forgive me if I hurt you,” he said.

  “No. No.” She urged his hand to return to its explorations. “It feels so wonderful.”

  But instead of lifting her skirt once more, he unfastened his trousers and slid them down. She undid her skirt and slipped out of it, then lay back once more, breathless with anticipation.

  Reg was surprised to find his hands trembling as he worked to free himself from his clothes. He couldn’t remember wanting – needing – a woman this much. Not even when he was a green boy interested only in satisfying his physical urges. With Abbie this meant so much more. Her reference to begging had been his undoing. Until now, he had been selfish, thinking only of his own need to avoid entanglements, his precious dignity and honor. He hadn’t once considered her feelings and needs. Now he was determined not to disappoint her. He’d do his damnedest to see that she never looked back on this moment with regret.

  Naked at last, he lay down beside her once more and cradled her body against her. She wrapped one leg around him and arched against him, the contact sending fresh tremors of desire through him. She was ready for him, and he could wait no longer.

  He rolled her onto her back and she smiled up at him, eyes full of trust and longing. Moving quickly, he knelt between her thighs and entered her smoothly, groaning with pleasure at the warm caress of her. He hesitated, fearful of hurting her, but she clasped his buttocks and urged him on. As he eased further inside of her, he met no resistance.

  She blushed, as if realizing the avenue his thoughts had taken. “Sometimes, when a woman rides a lot –”

  “Shhh, my darling. I understand.” He leaned forward and kissed her, taking his time, until he felt the tension within her reside. “All the better for us now,” he whispered, and slid the rest of the way inside her, no barrier to his pleasure.