by Rita Hestand
The very thought brought all kinds of imaginings to her mind.
Breaking her reverie, one of the hired hands pulled up to her on his bay, "Morning".
"Morning, Duke, pretty chilly this morning, isn't it?" she asked, happy to have a little company.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You don't have to ma'am me, Duke." She slanted him a full smile.
"No, ma'am. I mean, no, ‘course I don't."
"It's good being home."
"It's good seeing you back where you belong," he added, then shot her a quick look.
She smiled, despite his gentle reminder that this was home! "You think Mom's going to be alright, Duke?"
"She'll do just fine. You goin' somewhere?"
"Oh, eventually, I've got to get back. I'm on leave of absence, you know."
"Got one of them office jobs, do you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Like it?"
Abby thought about that question. "Not really, but I have a son to support now, Duke. And I make good money. I'd like nothing better than to come back here and live, but it's just not feasible any longer."
"Yes, ma'am." Duke went back to using her other name tag.
"So, I guess you and the boys will be playing poker tonight, huh?"
"Yes, ma'am." Duke answered, looking at her as though she'd suddenly lost her mind.
"Just wondering if anything had changed. You gonna tell me what happened between you and Bud?"
"No, ma'am, not if I can help it."
"I'd really like to know," she persisted.
Duke spit in the opposite direction over his horse, then eyed her keenly. "I just let him know that just because Ross Martin was gone, didn't mean he could—. Ah, hell. I told the bastard I'd kill him if he touched you."
Duke rode toward a stray and released him from the bushes.
Abby considered Duke's words about Bud, and wondered if everyone else had been right about the man. She sensed him lurking around her at times. It was comforting to know that her hired hands looked after her.
Abby caught up to him, "Thanks, Duke."
"Yes, ma'am." He tipped his hat to her. "Looks like things are getting back to normal, now that Bud’s gone." Duke kicked his horse into action and chased a calf out of a rocky ravine, waving to her as he went.
But Abby needed to talk to someone, and Duke was one of their oldest hands on the ranch. He’d been there when she was born.
"Duke, I figured most of the Travers boys would be settled down with a houseful of kids by now. How come Deke's the only one?"
Duke scratched his head, then put his hat back on,
"Rusty, he's sorta mooning over losing that Jennifer gal. Jake, he ain't showed much interest, he'll be leaving before long, I reckon. I reckon he was born to uphold the law. And Clint, ain't even been out with a woman in several years. Don't know what his problem is. He don't ever talk about it."
Abby frowned. Had Clint been fretting over the Platt girl that long?
Abby watched the old hand, and admired his speed and agility. Duke must have been born in a saddle, she marveled.
That evening, as the sun went down, she rode back to the house alone, as she watched some of men eager to end the day and begin their once a week poker game. Clint would be in on that. And why that thought saddened her, she had no idea. She missed him when he wasn't around, and she knew she was in for a big hurt very soon. Because, like it or not, she was quickly falling for the Travers charm again.
But when she went inside, she found her mother and son almost ready to leave. "Where are you two headed?"
"We're going to go on the hayride I promised Clay. We'll have to put off the candy making until tomorrow night. Can you come with us?" Her mother asked. "We'll be stopping off at the orphanage early for the kids toys. We could always use your help."
Hayride? Orphanage? She didn't really want to miss this. Would Clint be there? Or would he play poker with the boys? Maybe he would, and she wouldn't have to worry. Yes, a hayride would be fun. She hadn't enjoyed herself in a long time. Even though she had enjoyed the rodeo more than she cared to admit.
"I'd love to, let me change my shirt, though." "We'll have to bundle up, but we wouldn't miss the Christmas caroling for anything, now, would we, Clay?"
"No way." He smiled and put his hat and coat on.
Abby changed quickly, and after bundling up, she joined her mother and son in the living room. "We'll take this thermos of cider to warm us," Judy said as she tightened the lid.
"Oh, mom, you remembered! I love apple cider."
"Is the wagon stopping here, or do we need to meet somewhere?" Abby asked, almost as anxious as Clay.
"I just talked to Emma, said they were just leaving, so I'm sure it'll be by very soon."
Clay clapped his gloves together, and followed his mother to the window. "What will we sing, mommy?"
"Oh, almost all the Christmas songs, honey. The wagon goes all over the valley."
Clay jumped up and smiled, "Oh, boy! Will there be other kids?"
"Sure, Sammie Jo's coming, and several others." "Yippee! Sammie Jo will sit with me."
Making sure everything was turned off, Abby heard the carolers outside, and laughed, "There they are, you two ready?'
Clay nodded. "Uh huh."
It was nearly loaded, and finding a place in the wagon that wasn't taken was pretty hard to do. Judy squeezed in beside Bertha and Cal, and took Clay on her lap until Abby could find a place to sit. The wagon was full of heavy blankets and smiling faces.
Abby tried to get close to Clay and her mother, but Sammie Jo immediately dove for a spot beside Clay, and Abby was pushed aside. Abby knew Clay would rather sit beside Sammie Jo than her, so she didn't protest, but since this was his first hayride, she had assumed he would want her by his side. He hadn't muttered a word, except how glad he was to see Sammie Jo.
Abby took it in her stride, and climbed in the wagon, wishing she were closer to her own family. She had spotted Emma and Deke on the other side, and she thought she saw Rusty. Some were ducking under the hay for other purposes. She smiled to herself, wishing those days weren't past. Just as she was about to lay back and look at the stars, a cowboy jumped in beside her. The smell of hay splattering around her had her laughing. But she wished the cowboy would have found another spot. She could barely see Clay now.
Abby wanted to object, but felt it was bad manners, and said nothing as the cowboy readjusted his hat.
Now she was at least four or five people away from her son. But everyone was already singing and having a wonderful time, now was not the time to protest.
She laid back and looked up into the cold night air. The stars were shining clearly, and she felt her eyelids closing, when a voice soft and gentle coaxed her back to reality.
"I didn't think you'd be joining us tonight," Clint said as he peered over her.
Immediately awake, Abby shot up and straightened her clothes.
"I didn't think you would, either. I thought you'd be playing poker with the boys in the bunkhouse." She tried to keep the tone of her voice from declaring her irritation.
"I don't gamble much these days. Only bet on sure things. Besides, I haven't missed a Christmas' hayride in years," Clint said with a smile, as he picked up a piece of straw and chewed on it.
"Okay, everyone, 'Jingle Bells'! We're nearly at the Simpson's place." Bertha roared above everyone.
Abby glanced over at Clay, but he was having much too good a time with Sammie Jo to notice her. She sighed heavily. By the time the cider got passed along, it was empty.
But when they stopped off at the orphanage, she watched eagerly while her son took presents to the kids. Clint had several little girls crawling all over him, and he was patient with each one. Abby tried to distract herself, but it was nearly impossible when the little girls were doing what she longed to do: kissing Clint. The priest had a buffet of goodies out, and everyone munched, the adults sang songs, and the kids were so excited that bedtime would
probably come early.
"Well, Clint, you still riding those broncs?" The priest asked.
"No, I gave it up. Or maybe I just grew up," Clint laughed.
"I often envied you, with the sport." The father was saying as the children gathered about him.
"And that girl you told me about—what of her?"
Clint tensed and pulled the father out of hearing distance as Abby came near.
An hour or so later, they were back on the hay wagon, and singing in such great harmony that Abby just listened for a long while.
She heard Clint's voice, and was drawn like a moth to the flame. He smiled and took her hand, then pitched a blanket over the two of them.
Abby tried to reject the blanket, finding it a bit too intimate to be with Clint under one blanket, but he insisted cheerfully that it was just too cold not to.
Seeing no one else eager to snuggle with, she decided to not make a scene, but she stayed away as far as she could.
Five or six more families piled on the wagon in the next twenty minutes, and everyone was laughing and singing.
"Relax, I'll be the perfect gentleman." He said, when he saw she wasn't enjoying it.
The way he had said it, as though exasperated that she found him repulsive, made her ease up a bit. Perhaps she was being ridiculous. After all, this was a family affair, and there was no way Clint would take any advantage here.
So, she eased up, and smiled. "I'm having a great time."
"Good," he said, and then draped an arm around her. It brought back the memories of when they were just good friends, of the easy bantering between them, and she found herself loosening up, despite the alarm bells going off in her head.
They sang until everyone was nearly hoarse and half the wagon was asleep. Then one by one, each family was dropped off at their own place. As the wagon emptied,
Abby laid down and closed her eyes. She didn't notice that her mother and Clay were no longer on the wagon, nor that she and Clint were the last two. How had that happened, she wondered, as the wagon pulled out of the Travers' place and headed for her home.
"What happened to Mom and Clay?" she asked, as she sprang forward again.
Clint reached to pull straw from her hair, "I think they stopped off to visit with Emma and Deke. If I know Sammie Jo, she probably insisted Clay come over."
"They should have said something."
"Maybe she thinks you’re a big girl and can take care of yourself."
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you sent her some kind of message."
"Now, why would I do that?"
"You tell me."
"Relax, I don't bite."
Just the mere mention of bite had Abby's head full of ideas. Ideas she knew were not wise. Everything about Clint Travers was appealing, even to the point of nibbling. Abby shivered, and Clint pulled the blanket around them tighter, enclosing them in an almost embrace. Abby started to move, but Clint pulled her back to rest against him.
"Hey, I'm your best friend, remember?" He whispered into her hair.
Best friends didn't feel this electrical tension, Abby reasoned silently. She closed her eyes and for just a second relaxed against Clint. It felt like heaven, being this close to a man so powerfully compelling.
She wanted the moment to last, and she wanted it to stop—before it was too late.
But things were happening to her insides. Being this close to the man she had once given her heart to was too tempting, and trouble had to be around the corner.
He said he'd be a gentleman. Would he?
"What kind of shampoo do you use?" he whispered against her hair again.
"I don't know, it's an off brand, I think, why?" she shrugged gently, abrasively against him. Her insides started melting.
"I just wanted to remember it." He said softly. "And perfume?"
She giggled, "That's not perfume, that's baby powder."
"Sure smells sweet," he murmured near her ear.
She wondered crazily what kind of shaving cologne he wore, too. Not that it was important to her, of course, but at least they would be even. "What kind of cologne is that?"
She felt him smile against her hair, "I don't know, something I borrowed from Jake."
Needing to put some reality into the situation, she looked up at him, trying desperately not to show her feelings. "Doesn't Jake ever have any fun? He's always so serious."
He stared into her eyes, and her insides turned to jelly. Those eyes looking directly at her in the moonlight was too much.
"Jake's a pretty serious fella, alright."
"Unlike some I know." She chuckled.
"You don't think I’m serious?" he grinned.
That grin, those beautiful white teeth, against that dark, sunbaked tan of his was glorious in the moonlight.
His grin faded, so did hers. "That's—" he seemed pre-occupied with looking at her now. His stare was going all over her. "Not a fair question, at the moment."
Knowing what was happening between them, feeling the tension they were creating, she reached down and threw a handful of hay at him.
"Why, you little minx," he exclaimed, and followed her down into the hay.
Suddenly, neither of them were breathing. He was practically on top of her, and his lips were a mere feather's breath from hers. "Oh, God, Abby," he muttered thickly, as his lips bore down on hers in the most titillating kiss Abby had ever received. Over and over, his lips nipped and kissed and loved her. Over and over, she sighed into his mouth.
Instinctively he pulled the cover over them, and his hand crept up and over her breast. She heard his intake of breath. She was on fire for him. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing. The wanting was so acute, so painful it had to be assuaged. She needed his lips for life-giving breath, as his hand somehow managed to slip inside her shirt and cast away her bra.
Suddenly his warm hand touched her. Not greedily like a lustful teenager, but more like a reverent fluttering. But when his touch ignited her skin and she puckered for that touch, his lips captured hers, his teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, and his hand gloriously massaged the pout of her breast. She moaned raggedly, and knew she was lost to Clint.
He could have asked anything of her at that moment, and she would have given it to him. She needed him, in so many ways. Being with Clint felt so utterly right, and yet something somewhere argued the point with her.
Suddenly, he moved, his hand was at her jeans, pulling, and then she realized what had nearly happened, and sprang up and out of the hay. She nearly bounced to the ground, trying to flee his wonderful touches and save her embarrassment at the same time.
The driver stopped, and she realized they were home.
Clint stared at her, his eyes wild with desire. She panted from the heat that had grown so quickly between them. God, how she wanted the man!
Clint shook his head. "Yeah, back to being a gentleman. I guess. G’night, Abby."
He was walking away. She stood there, staring after him as though she couldn't believe he would do such a thing. Just walking away, as though nothing had happened. But something propelled her to the house, not daring to look back at him. Not daring, because she knew if she did, she wouldn't make it inside—alone.
She closed the door, and fell against it in a slump of tears. Tears for what might have been, could have been.
***
Clint closed the door to the bunkhouse, and only a couple of wranglers were up. He stood at the door, his hand nearly wrenching it open again.
The last thing he wanted to do tonight was be a gentleman. He had the chance to tell her how much he loved her, why hadn't he taken it? Why hadn't he taken her? At least she would have been his one last time. But then he knew he would never let her go. He'd been too long without his Abby, and his gut hurt from not going to her now and making her his again.
He knew from the way she had responded to him that she wasn't immune to his love making. She had wanted him for a short while tonight, and that stunned him silly.
Could there be any hope for him? Could Abby actually care about him—a little?
The thought made him smile. It made him confident he had done the right thing. If Abby cared for him, then he had to bring her to the brink, and make her admit it. Somehow. He'd work on that, and work on this gentleman thing. And he'd suffer another sleepless night over a woman he wanted more than life.
The next day, he barely saw her. He knew she was hiding. She had to figure out how to handle their relationship. But he didn't intend letting her handle it for long.
***
The next evening, Abby felt very tired. She'd spent the day in the north pasture, helping Duke, avoiding Clint. The avoidance made her tired, because she felt her whole being wanting to rush back to his arms. Her resistance to his charms was wearing thin and making her downright weary. But that wasn't sensible, and she had to remember it.
Inside, her mother and son were talking and giggling and getting ready to make a big production out of taffy pulling. Abby smiled to herself, happy for once just to be home and around family.
She pulled off her boots, and walked into the kitchen in her socks. "Well, now. Looks like you and grandma are fixing to get busy."
"You gonna help, Mommy?" Clay asked, jumping into her arms when she bent to him.
"You bet, I wouldn't miss it." She laughed.
Judy had the beautiful liquid almost to the point of pulling on, and glanced at the two of them. "Well, what are you waiting for, you two? Get washed up, so you can help me pull this stuff. I only hope we have enough muscle to do it. I just don't have the strength I used to."
"I got muscles, grandma," Clay flexed his arm, and Abby laughed.
"You sure do! Come on, let's get ready." Abby motioned him from the sink.
Judy spread the candy upon wax paper, and turned to them, "Okay, it's hot right now, so your mother and I will get it started, and then you can join in as it cools, Clay. But first we gotta butter our hands."
"Butter your hands?" Clay shrieked. Then as Judy smeared butter all over his little hands, he laughed. “It’s fun, Mommy, it feels like mud.”
"Oh, yes. And you should know about that, huh?"
"Okay, Mamaw." Clay dried his hands on the towel and watched them.
