Lessons of the Heart

by HELEN HARDT

  Garth sat up in bed, his heart thundering. He slowly reached for his throat. Always did. So many times the nightmare had disturbed his sleep. Yet when he awoke, he always checked his neck.

  At least he’d stopped yelling in his sleep. That had scared Mary Alice something awful. Back when Lizzie was alive, she’d felt his agitation and awakened him before he screamed. Once she was gone, though, the bellowing had begun. After a few nights of waking up to Mary Alice shaking him, her petrified little face glowing in the moonlight streaming through his window, he’d willed himself to wake before the yelling started.

  If only he could will away the nightmares altogether.

  He turned in his bed and gazed out his window. Sunrise. Time to get up anyway. He had morning chores, and then a teacher to visit.

  * * *

  Land sakes, the schoolhouse was stifling, even today, when a cool morning breeze was blowing. Ruth’s morning drive had been pleasant. The crisp wind had drifted over her body like a sweet embrace.

  She set her reticule on her desk and then walked back outside to raise the flag. Once done, she sat down on the wooden steps and breathed deeply. Might as well enjoy the breeze outside while it lasted. Her students wouldn’t arrive for another hour, and by then the temperature would be rising. She leaned back against the solid brick building and closed her eyes. Ah, morning. Her favorite time of the day. Especially in Dakota spring heat. Only two more weeks of school.

  Ruth looked forward to summer. Church picnic socials, sneaking to the swimming hole adjacent to her pa’s land, lazy walks in the evening after the sun had set. No papers to mark. She smiled. If only a nice man—would it be too much to ask that he be taller than she?—would come courting.

  “Miss Blackburn?”

  She opened her eyes with a jolt. Garth Mackenzie, in all his raw male glory, stood at the bottom of the steps. Where on earth had he come from? She hadn’t heard him drive up.

  “Goodness, Mr. Mackenzie, you scared the daylights out of me. May I help you with something?”

  “As a matter of fact, ma’am, you can.”

  Ruth stood and straightened her brown calico skirt. Lord above, he was a fine looking man. His blond curls were moist against his chiseled cheeks. He’d bathed this morning no doubt, most likely in a cool creek on his land. She warmed in spite of the waning dawn breeze. Inhaling, she cleared her throat. “What might that be?”

  He didn’t come closer. “I’ll thank you to leave the care of my house and my child to me in the future.”

  Glory, he couldn’t be angry that she’d fixed his supper last evening, could he? Why, she’d done him and Mary Alice a favor. Probably the first decent meal they’d had in months. Years, even.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, sir.”

  “I’m certain that you do, ma’am.” Still he did not walk up the steps. “You had no business barging into my home and doing Mary Alice’s chores for her. Her work is her responsibility.”

  Ruth’s dander rose. Icy prickles bit the back of her neck. Responsibility? The nerve of him. “Mr. Mackenzie, your daughter is eleven years old. I understand she has responsibilities, but my goodness, it’s not a crime to avail herself of some help when it’s offered.”

  “The house and cookin’ are her responsibility.”

  “And she is your responsibility, sir. A responsibility that—I’m sorry to say—you’ve been neglecting.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t stutter, sir. You heard me.”

  Now, he did take the steps—slowly and calmly. As each step brought him closer, her body tingled with awareness. She steadied herself, determined to keep calm and not let his nearness intimidate her.

  If only she could stop the inner trembling.

  When he reached the top step, he stood only inches from her. She drew in a deep breath.

  “It’s customary for a gentleman to remove his hat when conversing with a lady, Mr. Mackenzie.”

  “For corn’s sake.”

  His husky voice speared into her, chilling her skin underneath her dress and petticoats. But he did remove his hat.

  “It’s also customary to offer a word of gratitude when a neighbor shows you a kindness.”

  “Now what the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “That language is not welcome in my schoolhouse.”

  “We’re not in the schoolhouse, missy.”

  “We’re right outside the door, and you may refer to me as Miss Blackburn or ma’am. Not missy.”

  Mackenzie blew out a breath and shook his head. “I mean it, ma’am. Stay out of my business.”

  He placed his hat firmly on his head and turned to leave. A waft of spicy male scent drifted over Ruth. Clean and woodsy, fresh and manly. She exhaled, clearing her mind. So he smelled good. He wasn’t the first man to ever smell good.

  “Tell me, Mr. Mackenzie,” she said to his retreating back, “did you enjoy the chicken pie?”

  * * *

  Did he enjoy the chicken pie? The words pounded into Garth’s ears. Best damned chicken pie he’d ever tasted. Better than Lizzie’s. Even better than his ma’s. How was it some man hadn’t snatched up Miss Ruth Blackburn? The lady was wasting her talents in a schoolhouse. She should be cooking for a family, keeping a husband’s bed warm at night.

  The thought sliced through his belly as he turned around and faced her solid stance. She sure was pretty. Those eyes sparkled as vibrantly up close as he’d imagined, with dark lashes as long as he’d seen. And that slender body. Damnation, she was the perfect length to press against him in all the right places. When his groin tightened, he erased the image from his mind.

  Enticing though she was, Ruth Blackburn hadn’t had any business coming into his home, taking over his daughter’s chores. And she sure as hell didn’t have any business telling him he was neglecting his daughter.

  He ought to tell her he’d fed the damned pie to his pigs. He was a lot of things, but he was no liar. Grudgingly, he opened his mouth to speak. “Yes, we liked the pie.”

  Her pretty pink lips curved into a saucy grin. There went his groin again.

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed it. Truly I am.”

  Garth sucked in a breath. Her smile was something out of heaven itself. “We are obliged, ma’am.”

  “Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  Difficult? He’d had to force the words from his throat. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d uttered them. Of course, he hadn’t had reason to. Nothing had happened in the recent past that was worthy of his thanks. Luckily, he didn’t have to answer, because she started talking again. Confound it, the woman liked the sound of her own voice.

  “Will I see Mary Alice in school today?”

  “Mary Alice is done with school for the year. She’s needed at the farm.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, why don’t you come in for a moment, then. I’ll write down a few things to keep her busy over the summer. I don’t want her falling behind when school starts up again in the fall.”

  Before he could reply, she turned and whisked into the schoolhouse. He had no choice but to follow.

  By the time he reached her desk, she had donned a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and was scribbling notes on a piece of linen stationery. Expensive linen stationery. A gift from a suitor? Of course, it had to be. A schoolteacher couldn’t afford such a luxury, and neither could Garth. Good thing he didn’t plan on courting a woman any time soon.

  She stood and handed him the cream-colored paper. “I’ve written down some work Mary Alice should do in her speller and reader. I’ve also taken the liberty of recommending a few books she might like. I have them all in my personal library, so she’s welcome to borrow them any time.”

  Garth perused the list. Charles Dickens. Jules Verne. Louisa May Alcott. Who were these people?

  “You’ll see I’ve recommended Little Men. I’m assuming she’s already read Little Women. My fourth reader class read it earlier this year. But since Mary Alice
is fairly new to my classroom, she may not have read it yet. In which case, she should read Little Women before Little Men. Dickens may be a little difficult for her yet, but she’s a fine reader, Mr. Mackenzie. You should encourage her gift. All other learning is dependent on reading, and she has a true aptitude for it.”

  Mary Alice liked to read? And she was good at it? News to him. Of course, the only book he had at home was the Bible, and he never opened that one. It was Lizzie’s.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Mackenzie, but I’m worried about Mary Alice. You know she nearly fainted the other day, and yesterday when I stopped by your house—”

  “It’s the heat,” Garth said.

  “Of course, the heat will add to almost anything, but I truly feel she’s overworked.”

  “Now just one minute—”

  “I know her mother is gone. I’m so very sorry about that, sir. And I know the work needs to get done. I grew up on a farm, and my pa’s a preacher, so much of the work fell to my ma, my sister, and me. I’m no stranger to hard work. But Mary Alice is still a child. She needs time to play. And she really shouldn’t neglect her studies. She’s so bright.”

  Tarnation, this woman liked to talk. Who the hell did she think she was? Telling him how to raise his child. She was still squawking like a prairie chicken, mostly about his failures as a father.

  In a blaze of angry passion, he shut her up the only way he could think of with his body heating as it was.

  He gripped her shoulders, pulled her to his chest, and crushed his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Four

  “Mister—mmmmmpphhhh…” Ruth’s words stopped as lips—full, firm, male lips—pressed against hers.

  They slid, they nibbled, and then they settled on hers, and a growling, soft and low in his throat, hummed against her mouth.

  Goodness, she should put a stop to this unseemly conduct. And in her schoolroom, no less. Her hands wandered to his chest to push him away. But when the moist tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips—such a new and inviting sensation—she dropped her arms to her sides and went limp against his hard body.

  What to do? Part her lips? She knew how men liked to kiss. She’d heard enough about it from her married friends, but she’d never experienced the pleasure. What if she did it wrong?

  What if she did it with the wrong man?

  Garth Mackenzie was attractive. Handsome as any man. And God love him, he was tall. So tall and masculine and beautiful.

  But he wasn’t exactly a nice man. He didn’t seem to respect her or her position. Didn’t take the greatest care of his child…

  Ah, but his lips, so urgent against hers. Those little moans, those tiny nips.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  With a shallow breath through her nose, she parted her lips. His tongue glided into her mouth and his exotic vanilla spice flavor trickled into her. Smooth, masculine, and oh so very delicious.

  She inhaled again, another shallow puff, and his raw aroma permeated her body. More spice, a hint of tobacco, and the fresh scent of the open prairie.

  Ruth shuddered, her lips numb. She didn’t know how to kiss him, how to respond, but he didn’t seem to mind. He growled against her mouth and deepened his assault.

  He slid his large calloused hands up her arms, heating her skin through the fabric of her dress. He trailed over her shoulders to her neck, where he cupped her nape and drew her even closer into his embrace. He swept his other hand over her cheek to her spectacles. He removed them without disturbing the kiss.

  Where did he put them? Ruth didn’t care at the moment. She was lost. Lost in the sweet urgency of his mouth against hers.

  Her thoughts muddled, and vibrant images of him lying next to her emerged. His body, unclothed, pleasuring hers. A soft sigh escaped her, and he responded with a gentle groan.

  His hand left her nape, and glided his fingers down her arms to her hands. He clasped them both firmly. A shiver raced up her spine, spread icy heat throughout her arms, her torso, and landed as an uncontrollable flutter between her legs.

  Her hands trembled as Mr. Mackenzie—Garth—placed them on his shoulders. He removed his lips from hers and pressed a wet kiss to her cheek.

  “Touch me,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Touch him? Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to touch him everywhere. Where to start? How did a woman do this sort of thing? Perspiration—from the stifling schoolhouse or from the heat Garth ignited in her body, she wasn’t sure—beaded on her forehead and rivered down the curves of her neck. Shaking, she extended one hand to his cheek. His golden stubble scraped against her fingers. He turned, then, and placed a gentle moist kiss to her palm. A spike of energy hit her in the gut.

  “Oh…” she murmured.

  His gaze drew her. Those bronze eyes had darkened and seemed to smolder as he looked at her.

  “Your eyes,” he said. “The color of midnight.” He brushed his lips over hers, a feathery caress. “So lovely.”

  His mouth slid onto hers again, and she opened to him this time. She wanted his kisses. His embrace. She felt whole. Whole as she’d never felt before.

  Boldly, she slid her tongue past his full lips, and he rewarded her with another rumbling groan. She caressed both his cheeks and then his hard, muscular shoulders through the broadcloth of his work shirt.

  Her nipples beaded against her bodice, straining, aching. A fierce desire speared through her—a desire to explore everything unknown with this man.

  The kiss went on and on, for how long, Ruth didn’t know. He nibbled across her upper lip, her lower, kissed her nose, her cheeks, the sensitive flesh of her neck. But always he returned to her mouth and pleasured her with his smooth and silky tongue. Ruth melted into the warmth of his mouth on hers, of his chest against hers. The hard male part of him pressed against her belly. He pulled her closer, kissed her deeper, ravished her with lips, teeth, tongue.

  Nothing existed except her and Garth and this kiss.

  Somewhere in the edge of her awareness, a voice crept into her mind. Two voices. Then three.

  The children, out playing in the schoolyard. They’d remain out until she rang the bell.

  The bell. School.

  Ruth ripped her mouth from Garth’s and touched her lips.

  “Oh, my! What on earth have I done?” Her voice pitched and sounded foreign.

  She eyed the handsome man before her, his gaze scalding on her skin. His firm lips were swollen and red. She imagined hers were as well.

  The cad still had his hat on, though it had jarred some and sat at an odd angle on the back of his head. She vaguely recalled fingering the rough felt as she’d struggled to get closer to him.

  Closer to a man who was a stranger to her.

  A man she wasn’t sure she even liked all that well.

  Goodness, what had gotten into her?

  She’d never been courted, never been kissed, and the first time a man showed her any attention, what had she done? Behaved like a common hussy.

  She cleared her throat, determined to regain her dignity. “Mr. Mackenzie, it is time for school and I must ring the bell. If you will excuse me, please. Be sure to tell Mary Alice she can”—Lord above, her heart was racing—“stop by my pa’s farm anytime for the books. If I’m not home, my ma can get them for her.”

  “Ruth—”

  “Miss Blackburn, please.”

  “Aw, tarnation.” His face reddened. “Miss Blackburn. I…” He shook his head. “I just want to say that I’m sorry—”

  “There is no need to apologize, Mr. Mackenzie. I…participated willingly in this little…er…dalliance. I hope you don’t think any less of me for my lack of self-control. I assure you it won’t happen again.” She spied her spectacles sitting on the desk and replaced them on the bridge of her nose. “Now I must ring the bell. If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

  Her body tingling, she rushed past Garth—such a masculine name for such a mascu
line man, goodness—and out the doorway to tug on the bell cord. The clanging of the school bell echoed across the yard and the children clamored into the schoolhouse, taking their places.

  “Where’s Mary Alice, Mr. Mackenzie?” a voice piped from behind her.

  Ruth turned to see Garth stopped in front of Laura Brighton’s desk. The empty place next to Laura belonged to Mary Alice.

  “She won’t be back to school, girl,” Garth said, adjusting his hat.

  “I’m having a birthday party next week,” Laura said. “I’d like Mary Alice to come.”

  “Mary Alice don’t have time for parties, child.”

  Garth, gaze straight ahead, strolled past Ruth and out of the schoolhouse.

  No time for parties, indeed. What an insolent man, keeping his daughter from the fun of being a little girl.

  How had she succumbed to his charms? She let out a scoff. Charms? The man didn’t have any. She’d succumbed to his kisses, pure and simple. The drive of lust fueled by his physical attractiveness.

  Never again.

  Time for school. Preparing for the day ahead, she inhaled a deep breath.

  Of spice, tobacco, and Garth Mackenzie.

  * * *

  The drive home was sweltering. Ruth swiped her hand across her sweaty forehead as she urged her mare, Miranda, forward. The poor horse was thirsty.

  Getting through the day had been a chore. Her mind wandered, and she hadn’t been able to focus on the students’ lessons. Finally, unable to concentrate, she’d sent them home a half hour early—a “reward” for their good behavior. Something she’d never done. Didn’t even believe in. The school day was the school day, and that was that.

  But not today. The memories of Garth Mackenzie’s kiss, of his touch, had flooded her mind. Still flooded her mind. Her pulse had hammered all day. She took in a steadying breath.

  A steadying breath hadn’t helped in the schoolhouse. Why should it help now?

  It didn’t.

  As she rounded a bend leading to her father’s farm, a black buggy came toward her. Doc Potter’s buggy. Her tummy lurched. Was everything all right at home?