A Little Time in Texas

by Joan Johnston

  “Not yet. It says here that a condom is ‘highly effective against pregnancy.’”

  “It’s used for both contraception and protection from disease.”

  “Like syphilis?”

  “Yes, and AIDS.”

  Her brow furrowed and he explained the devastation wrought in the past decade by the new disease. Meanwhile, syphilis was no longer the killer it had been in the past, but could be treated with medication.

  It was plain from her distracted look that her thoughts were elsewhere. “You can actually prevent pregnancy with these?” she asked.

  “A condom isn’t a hundred percent effective,” he said. “Pills are better for preventing pregnancy.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You have pills that keep a woman from having children?”

  “It a choice some women make,” he explained, keeping his voice low, aware that he still had an audience. “They take the pill until they’re ready to start a family. Then they stop.”

  “You can actually plan when to have children?” she asked incredulously.

  He grinned. “Sure can.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” she murmured, a faraway look in her eyes. To his relief she had pushed the cart onward.

  The subject of condoms hadn’t come up again. The subject of intimacy between them hadn’t come up, either. Not that he hadn’t been up. Lots. In fact, he found himself in an almost perpetual state of arousal lately. All Angel had to do was turn those blue eyes of hers on him and he felt himself harden. If she touched his hand, his body responded instantly. Which was why he was glad his leave of absence was also finally up. He didn’t know how much more of this close contact he could stand.

  If he didn’t get another thing accomplished today, he had to teach Angel how to drive. He needed her to be independent. And he knew she needed to be independent. She had chafed under the constraints placed on her by her ignorance of the twentieth century. She had learned more in a month than many people did in their lifetimes. And she had done it with guts and determination. He admired her more than any woman he had ever met.

  Which was another reason he was glad to be going back to work. He liked having Angel around entirely too much. He had no use for a woman in his life. A woman couldn’t be trusted to hang around for the long haul. Sooner or later Angel was going to start her wandering life again. The sooner she was out on her own, the better.

  “Are you coming?” Angel called from the cab of the pickup.

  “Coming,” he replied as he headed for the passenger’s seat. Once he was settled, he asked, “Do you want me to go through the instructions one more time?”

  “No, I think I’ve got it. I just need to practice.”

  For the next half hour she did.

  “It’s a good thing this piece of Texas is so flat,” she said at last, when she had mastered the basics.

  “Once you get a little more practice, even hills won’t be a challenge,” he promised. “Do you feel comfortable enough to take a little drive?”

  “Sure,” Angel said. “Where shall we go?”

  “How about if we drive over to visit Doc Philips?”

  Adam Philips had dropped by several times over the past month to check on Dallas, but Angel had always retired to her room. Angel was not ordinarily a retiring sort of person, but the doctor was suspicious of the whole gunshooting episode, not to mention her quaint speech and her enthusiastic reactions to items that to others were perfectly ordinary. He had not given up trying to discover what was “wrong” with her.

  Dallas had made very clear to her the danger of revealing the truth. People—like Adam Philips—would think she was crazy if she told them she was from the past. By the same token, she had to start being more social sometime. It looked like the end of Dallas’s leave was going to mean the end of her hiatus from contact with other people.

  “We don’t have to go there, if you’d rather not,” Dallas said, sensing her hesitancy.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “It would be a good chance to practice driving. Maybe I ought to change my clothes first and put on a skirt.”

  “Your trousers are fine.” He grinned. “A little baggy for my taste, but Adam won’t notice.”

  Angel grimaced. “If you say so.”

  So far Angel had refused to wear anything that didn’t cover her to the ankles. Dallas had vivid memories of what had happened when he took her shopping for clothes at the mall in San Antonio. He would never forget the shock on her face when she’d seen how the women were dressed. He had been embarrassed at some of the outfits, when he’d seen them through her eyes.

  Bras worn as outerwear. Slinky, skin-tight, lace-edged pants worn as cutoffs. Short shorts that revealed sexy buttocks. Not that those things had ever bothered him before. It was hearing Angel’s opinion that made him rethink the appropriateness of such garments in public.

  “Those women aren’t wearing enough clothes to dust a fiddle!” she hissed in his ear as she clutched at his elbow. “You’re not going to suggest that I wear what they’re wearing, are you?”

  Actually, Dallas had been imagining what Angel would look like dressed up—or rather undressed—in twentieth-century fashions. “I’m sure we can find something more conservative for you,” he said.

  What he’d had in mind was a skirt that came to her knees. Angel, however, was having no part of that.

  “You expect me to walk around exposing my limbs for any man who wants to gawk at them?” she asked, aghast. “I most certainly will not!”

  At first Dallas had been angry at her inflexibility. “Everyone does it,” he insisted.

  “Not where I come from,” she pointed out. “I would never feel comfortable dressed like that. A prairie dog knows his own hole, Dallas.”

  He gave up the fight when he realized that what he really wanted was to see her legs himself. It dawned on him that he wouldn’t mind at all if no one else saw Angel’s legs. He wasn’t particularly proud of the feelings of possessiveness her attitude raised in him, but he didn’t deny them, either. “All right,” he said. “We’ll just have to find something you do feel comfortable wearing.”

  They ended up in a country and western clothing store. There Angel found mid-calf-length cotton skirts and denim split riding skirts that, together with a pair of soft leather boots he bought her, conserved her modesty. They also found several lovely, very feminine blouses with western yokes to go along with the skirts.

  Dallas had hesitated over whether to take Angel into the lingerie store in the mall, but he knew for a fact that she hadn’t but one set of underwear. Having encountered resistance once, he took the time to explain to her what he was going to do.

  “Women’s undergarments have changed, Angel. I don’t think we have the kind of thing you’re used to wearing.”

  He saw her eyes go wide as she viewed all the undergarments displayed in the window of the store, for men and women alike to view. He felt her discomfort as his own and wished there was something he could do to make things easier for her. That was when he spied the saleswoman. He ushered Angel inside and walked right over to her.

  “Can I help you sir, madam?” the woman asked.

  “Uh…she needs some underthings,” Dallas said.

  “Do you have anything particular in mind?”

  Angel blushed painfully.

  “She needs a little of everything,” Dallas said. “Bras, panties, slips…you know.”

  Fortunately the saleswoman was good at what she did and was used to male and female inhibitions around lingerie.

  “Just let me take this young lady—what is your name?”

  “Angel,” Dallas said, when Angel remained mute.

  “Angel, how lovely. Let me take Angel back and measure her, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Dallas had to admit that Angel looked miserable when she headed back into the dressing room with several lacy brassieres in hand.

  When she came out, she admitted to Dallas, “It’s a great improvement ov
er a corset—not that I ever wore one much—but I feel dressed up like a sore wrist when I have one on. Isn’t there anything that’s more like what I’m used to wearing?”

  The saleswoman looked at Dallas for further instructions. He matter-of-factly described for her what he had seen Angel wearing in his bathroom.

  The saleswoman beamed and said, “I think I have just what you want.”

  The smile on Angel’s face when she came out of the dressing room for the second time said it all. She was effusive in her praise of the undergarments the saleswoman had found for her. “They’re so silky. And they feel wonderful next to my skin. As soft as Red’s nose.”

  Dallas wanted to feel all those silky things for himself. Forget the silk. He was pretty sure her skin had Red’s nose beat all to hell for softness.

  He bought her several of the silk camisole tops and tap pants to match, which she found more familiar and less indecent than the bikini underwear the saleswoman had suggested.

  After a short, pithy argument, Dallas had agreed to let Angel repay him for the cost of the clothes once she’d gotten a job. Both of them had been stymied about exactly what kind of work Angel could do. When he’d reminded her about taking some classes at the junior college, the subject of driving had come up.

  “How will you get around if I have your truck?” Angel had asked.

  “I have a car. After Cale was killed, one of the other Rangers brought me back here and I left it in San Antonio. I didn’t need it, so I haven’t picked it up. But I will when I go back to work.”

  Which he would have to do tomorrow. His captain had called him last night from San Antonio to give him another assignment. He had to be in Hondo in the morning. Some neighboring ranchers had been having a dispute over cattle that one claimed the other had rustled, and the local police had asked for the Texas Ranger’s assistance in the investigation.

  “Will you be coming home every day?” Angel had asked.

  “It depends,” he’d said. “If I’m working late, maybe not.” He had realized then that she must learn to drive.

  Today, on the way to Doc Philips’s, Dallas was hoping she would prove that she could. He had already covered her on his insurance policy and made sure she knew everything she would have been tested on had she gotten a license. The license itself would have to wait until he got her some identification.

  “We can go the back way to Adam’s place,” Dallas said. “It’s a dirt road and doesn’t get much traffic.”

  Angel followed Dallas’s directions to Adam’s Lazy S Ranch without any trouble. She was grinning by the time she got there. “I did it!”

  “You sure did!” Dallas opened his arms and Angel flung herself into them.

  It really was the most innocent kind of hug, a sort of celebration of Angel’s accomplishment. At least, that’s the way it started. The instant Dallas felt Angel’s soft breasts against his chest, he knew he was in trouble. His hands slid around her shoulders and up into her hair. Fingers tangled in silk. Blood pumped. Muscles tautened. Lungs heaved to suck air.

  He murmured her name to feel his lips against her skin. He kissed her on the cheek, the nose, the eyes and finally found her mouth. All the hunger, all the need that had been building for a month was in that kiss.

  Angel knew she was lost when his mouth found hers. The need, the hunger, wasn’t all on his side. This time, when his tongue slid along her lips, she opened her mouth. Then he was tasting her, and she was kissing him back.

  Dallas wanted more of their bodies touching, but the stick shift was on the floor between them. He had to half lift Angel to drag her across the seat into his lap. To his great satisfaction, she seemed both willing and eager to aid him in his endeavor.

  However, as Angel angled herself for better access, she ended up wedged against the truck horn.

  A truck horn at a rural doctor’s residence was a sign of emergency. Those working on the Lazy S responded accordingly. Cowhands came out of the woodwork, the housekeeper left the kitchen, and Doc Philips headed the horde as they all came on the run.

  The blare of the horn interrupted Dallas and Angel long enough for Dallas to catch sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye. He pushed Angel away slightly to get a better look, and they both watched in growing dismay as the crowd converged on them.

  “Let go!” Angel cried.

  “I’m trying. Your hair is stuck in my shirt,” Dallas retorted. “Move your leg.”

  “Not that way! Let go of my arm.”

  “Good grief! Straighten your blouse,” Dallas said, helping her yank it back down to her waist. He looked down and groaned at the visible bulge in his trousers.

  By then Adam had arrived at the driver’s side of the pickup. “Are you two all right?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Just fine,” Angel answered in an equally breathless voice. She shoved a hand through her tangled hair.

  Adam took one look at Angel’s flushed face, her swollen lips and glazed, unfocused eyes and glanced at Dallas. Then he caught sight of Dallas’s Stetson on his lap.

  “We just came over so Angel could practice driving,” Dallas said in a casual voice.

  Adam’s lips twitched in amusement. “I see you arrived all right.” He grinned as he looked from Angel’s mussed up hair to Dallas’s flushed face. “In fact, it looks like you’re both doing just fine. Would you like to come in and visit for a while?”

  Dallas exchanged a quick look with Angel and saw the almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Uh, no,” he said. “Thanks, anyway. Be seeing you.”

  Completely flustered, Angel managed to stall the truck twice before they got out of the driveway. The sound of laughter followed them down the road.

  “I have never been so mortified in my life,” she muttered.

  “It’s been a while since I was caught necking in the cab of a pickup myself,” he muttered back.

  Angel ground the gears as she shifted into third and hit the gas.

  “Hey, slow down,” Dallas said. “This road has a lot of—”

  The truck hit a pothole that sent both of them flying. Angel lost control and the pickup ran off the road. Dallas grabbed the wheel and managed to keep them from hitting a large live oak tree. Between the two of them they brought the truck to a jarring stop.

  “What bee got into your bonnet?” Dallas yelled. “You could have killed us both!”

  Angel turned on him. “You flapdoodle chaw-bacon! You clunch! You know darned well what I’m upset about! If you would keep your hands to yourself and—”

  “That tears it! I’ve had it!”

  Angel mashed her lips flat and glared at him. Was he going to throw her out of the truck? Make her walk home?

  “If you want someone courting you with words and keeping his distance, you’re in the wrong time and place.”

  “And whose fault is that?” she accused.

  “Look, Angel, men and women have a lot more freedom nowadays to explore their feelings outside of marriage. They—” Dallas thrust a hand through his hair.

  “They what?” Angel asked, her whole body tensed.

  “They do what comes naturally.”

  “Are you saying an unmarried woman can kiss…and touch…and even lie with a man, and nobody will think the worst of her.”

  Dallas trembled at the thought of Angel’s mouth and hands on him, of the two of them lying naked together. “Yes.”

  “What if I want the courting words…and the respectful distance?” she asked soberly.

  Dallas muttered an explicit four-letter word. She deserved the courting words and the respectful distance, didn’t she? Was it her fault she’d been flung into a world where virginity until marriage was the exception, rather than the rule? But if that was the way she felt, she was sitting on a keg of dynamite living with him. Because he wasn’t a marrying man, and he was having a helluva time keeping his distance.

  He couldn’t move her out into her own apartment; he’d spend too much time worrying about he
r. The only way he would feel comfortable was if he turned her over to someone else who cared about her welfare as much as he did. Suddenly he realized there was a way to solve both their problems—to give her a courting man and himself a little peace and quiet.

  “What we need to do, Angel,” he announced at last, “is find you a husband.”

  8

  The piece of artists’ charcoal in Angel’s hand moved almost with a will of its own over the paper before her. The junior college art instructor, Mr. Collinsworth, had said, “Choose a subject to draw that’s close to you, something you’ve seen or done.” Over the past three weeks of classes, Angel had done a series of drawings. The latest was a sketch of Belinda as she had appeared the last time Angel had seen her.

  The woman taking shape in charcoal looked hard, her eyes disillusioned, her mouth flattened by disappointment, her chin thrust in defiance. Yet it was apparent she was physically young, her skin soft, her lashes long and frilled, her face a sweet, nicely shaped heart. Her hair was coiled up primly on top of her head, but lush tendrils dripped from her temples.

  Her striped silk and taffeta dress was straight from the latest Godey’s Lady’s Book, but the breasts beneath the fabric strained for freedom. Though you couldn’t tell it in charcoal, Angel remembered the dress had been a deep red with tiny black pin stripes. The woman held a delicate parasol across her shoulder, with black fringe that the wind moved in a ripple, like a wave. Belinda’s fingerless mesh glove revealed broken and ragged fingernails.

  In the background Angel had drawn the exterior of the seedy-looking house where Belinda worked. Where she had met Jake Dillon. Where she had spent the last days of her life.

  It was a portrait of opposites: youth and age, constraint and abandonment, propriety and a prostitute. That’s what Angel mentally named the drawing when she was done.

  She was aware of the teacher standing behind her, observing her finished sketch on the easel. Angel had done a lot of pencil sketches to fill her spare time as she wandered across Texas, but she had shown them to no one. It was hard to let the teacher see what she had done, because Angel always put a part of herself on paper.