"I'm not doing it to be cheap," Gabe began.
"A spinning wheel is how you make cotton thread," Becky said importantly, looking up at them. "We learned about that in school."
"No, no, darling, a spinning reel," Maggie told her. "It's a kind of rod and reel that doesn't backlash."
"City slicker." Gabe glowered at Maggie. "What's the matter, can't you catch anything without expensive equipment? I guess you're used to that scented bait, too, and the electronic gadgets that attract the poor old fish—"
"I am not!" she shot back. "I can so catch fish with a cane pole!"
He crossed his arms over his broad chest "Prove it."
"All right. I will!"
She grabbed the pole and stalked out of the house, off toward the pond that was several hundred yards down the dirt, ranch road.
Becky giggled, holding her own pole over her shoulder as she and Gabe followed at a respectful distance. "Mama never used to get all funny like that," she told Gabe. "She sure is different."
"Yes, isn't she?" Gabe grinned, watching Maggie's straight back as she marched ahead of them.
"Can she fish?" asked Becky.
"I'm not sure," he replied. "I think so. We'll find out, though, won't we, honey?"
"You bet!"
They sat on the banks of the pond for over two hours. When they returned to the house, Becky had a fish. Gabe had a fish. Maggie had wet jeans and a broken line.
"Poor Mama," Becky sighed. "I'm sorry you didn't catch anything."
"She didn't have an expensive rod and reel," Gabe said, straight-faced.
Maggie aimed a kick at his very masculine seat and fell flat on hers when he whirled, anticipating it, and sidestepped.
The look on her face was comical. He grinned and extended a hand to help her up.
"Next time, don't put so much spirit into it," he murmured, delighted at the show of spunk. "You're going to have a hard time sitting down. Again," he added with an innocent glance.
She colored at the insinuation and fell quickly into step beside Becky, ignoring him.
"Isn't this fun?" Becky said, holding up her stringer of one fish. "Just like a real family. I'm so glad I can stay here,"
Gabe glanced at her. "Me too," he said. "It's kind of nice, having my own daughter."
Maggie felt warm at the thought of it. But she knew Dennis, and she was frightened. Gabe was formidable; but what could he do with a man like Dennis, who wouldn't fight fair?
She worried at the problem without finding any resolution. She thought about mentioning it to Gabe but knew he wouldn't listen. He wasn't even taking the custody suit seriously, he was so certain of winning. Maggie wasn't that certain. And she was afraid. Becky was her whole world. She'd do anything to keep Dennis from using her as a key to the trust Anything!
Gabe made blood-test appointments for himself and Maggie, and the next day, after they left the doctor's office, the couple applied for a license at the county courthouse. Then the waiting began.
Janet helped with the invitations, which were extended by telephone because there wasn't time for anything elaborate.
"It will be fine, dear," she assured Maggie. "We're just inviting some friends from Houston: John Durango and his wife, Madeline. They've been married four years now, and have two boys.
At first they thought their sons would be identical twins, but they're very different. They don't look anything alike."
"That might be a blessing," Maggie commented.
"I agree." Janet studied the younger woman. "Are you and Gabriel going to have children of your own?"
"Yes," Maggie said, smiling.
Janet nodded. "I'll like that. I'll like that very much." And she went back to telephoning.
"What do the Durangos do?" Maggie asked Gabriel the next day just before he left to help finish the branding.
"Do?" He stared at her. "Hell, John owns an oil company."
"Excuse me, I don't read minds very well," she muttered, glaring at him.
"Madeline is a mystery writer. She did The Grinding Tower, which ran as a miniseries on television," he added.
"That was one of my favorite books! You actually know the writer?"
"Well, I guess I do," he said. "She's just a person."
"She's a writer!"
"Just a person," he emphasized, "with a marvelous talent and a lot of sensitivity. Writing is what she does, not what she is. You'll see what I mean when you meet her." He pursed his lips. "She threw a pie at John and dumped spaghetti on him; she stranded him on a country road with a broken-down car—my God, he was lucky to have survived until she agreed to marry him."
"Sounds like a rough courtship," she remarked.
"It was. He made her pregnant," he said softly. "And she tried to run, thinking that he'd only want her out of misplaced responsibility."
Her eyes searched his. "And did he?"
Gabe smiled. "He'd loved her for years. She didn't know, until then."
"What a nice ending."
"They thought so. John's brother, Donald, was sweet on her, but he gave up with good grace, went off to France and married a pretty young artist. They have a daughter now." He brushed back her hair with a gentle hand. "Stay out of the sun. You're getting blistered."
Maggie made a face at him. "Look at yourself."
He grinned. "Like leather," he murmured. "My skin doesn't burn anymore."
She wanted to reach up and kiss him, but then she remembered that he didn't want her love. It wasn't going to be a love match. She had to keep that in mind.
He ruffled her hair affectionately. "See you later." And he moved off the porch to light a cigarette, every step vibrant and sure. She loved to watch him walk. He was so graceful. He looked all man, delicious.
She turned with a hard sigh. She had to stop making love to him with her eyes. God forbid he should notice. That wasn't what he wanted from her, after all.
And in the days that followed, it did seem that he wanted nothing more than companionship. The night before they were to be married in a quiet ceremony at the small country church nearby, Maggie was living on her nerves. Gabe hadn't even touched her since the morning he'd taken her and Becky fishing. He'd been roughly affectionate and polite, but nothing more.
"When do the Durangos get here?" she asked him after supper, when Janet had taken Becky upstairs to read a story and Jennie had left.
"In the morning," he told her. "They'll fly up and back the same day. John's in the middle of some financial manipulating. Oil's about hit rock bottom, you know. He's had to diversify pretty quickly."
"Too bad," she murmured. She sipped her coffee, oblivious to the quiet, steady look he was giving her.
"Suppose I lose everything one day," he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair. "What would you do?"
Her eyebrows shot up. "Get a job, of course."
He burst out laughing. "Always the unexpected." He shook his head. "Get a job. Would you leave me?"
"No, I wouldn't leave you," she said reasonably. "Why should I?"
"Forget it. I suppose I'm thinking out loud." He drained his coffee cup and stood up. "You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow's the big day. Got the rings?"
He'd given them to her the day before, a small diamond and a matching gold band. Nothing fancy at all, and she'd been a little disappointed because he'd only given her the box and walked off without bothering to put the engagement ring on for her.
"Yes," she said, her voice sounding hollow. "I have them."
"You aren't going to back out on me, are you, Maggie?" he asked suddenly, pausing at her chair. "No." She looked up. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"Not at all. Why?"
"I just wondered," she said, staring at her mauve slacks. "You don't seem to..." She hesitated, glancing up at him. "Well, to want me anymore."
"Not want you!" The words were half-amused, half-angry. "Why?"
She was embarrassed now, shy of him when he looked at her with that vaguely superior, very adult e
xpression on his hard face. What was she supposed to tell him? That since he never made any advances, she'd decided he was regretting his decision? She couldn't!
"Why?" he repeated.
Her face went rigid. "You don't touch me."
"Sure I do," he argued gently. "I touch you all the time."
"Well, not like you did before," she muttered.
"You haven't been all that approachable," he said. "I thought you didn't want it."
She threw up her hands. "Since when did that ever stop you? Weren't you the one who was backing me up against trees when I'd barely gotten here in the first place?"
His eyebrows arched. Maggie in a temper was a new and tantalizing proposition. He tilted his chin up, pursing his lips as he gazed down at her. "My, don't we sound frustrated, though?"
“We aren't frustrated." She threw her napkin down and got to her feet. "I think I'll go to bed.""So early? It's barely seven o'clock," he remarked with a glance at his watch.
"I'll need plenty of rest to cope with tomorrow," she said, turning.
"Maggie."
She stopped with her back to him. "Yes?" He moved closer. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the warmth of him behind her. "If you want me to make love to you, all you have to do is tell me. Not even that. Cut your eyes around, smile at me, flirt with me.... Men need a little encouragement. We don't read minds."
"I've done everything except take my clothes off for you," she said through her teeth.
"No, you haven't. You've managed to keep right out of my way all week. I haven't been avoiding you, honey. It's pretty much the other way around."
She drew in a slow breath. He was right. She hadn't realized it, but he was right. "I'm sorry, Gabe," she murmured. "I've been worried—about Dennis, and if we're doing the right thing to marry.... I've been worried about a lot of things."
"Want to talk?" he asked gently.
She nodded without turning her head.
"Come on, then. The cattle can live without me for a while." He caught her hand in his and led her into his study, closing the door behind them. "I won't lock it," he said dryly, letting go of her hand. "Does that make you feel more secure?"
"I'm not afraid of you that way," she told him, surprised that he should think so. "You're nothing like Dennis. I know you won't hurt me."
"I suppose that's something," he said gently. He held her gaze for a long moment, feeling the electricity all the way down to his toes. He laughed because it disturbed him, and he turned away to perch on the edge of his desk and light a cigarette.
He'd cleaned up for supper but was still wearing denims and a green print shirt. He looked very Western, completely masculine, and Maggie's fingers itched to run through his thick black hair.
He was doing his own share of looking at the picture she made in loose mauve slacks and a taupe blouse, both silky and very sensuous. With her short dark hair framing her face and her green eyes wide and soft, she was a vision.
"You look more and more like your mother," he remarked unexpectedly. "She was a beauty, too."
Maggie flushed. "I'm not pretty."
"You are to me," he replied. "I like the way you look."
"Thanks." She sat down on the long leather divan and folded her hands in her lap.
"You wanted to talk," he said, waving his cigarette in her direction. "What about?"
"What if we lose the court case?"
"For God's sake, we aren't going to lose," he said shortly, impatient with her. "I won't let him have Becky."
"If the court says so, we'll have to."
"The court won't say so." He lifted the cigarette to his mouth.
"I can't help worrying." She sighed. "Becky and I have had some hard knocks because of him. She's worried, too."
"Well, I'm not," he told her. "Everything's under control. There's no need to dwell on it."
"That's right, just tell me. Like you tell everybody." She got to her feet, lashing out at him for the first time. "You're Tonto and the Lone Ranger; nothing bothers you, you can beat the world...."
"I can sure as hell try," he agreed, smiling. "Come here, saucy little woman. You're just frustrated, and I can take care of that."
"Oh, can you? How?" she asked with a cold, level stare.
His eyebrows arched. "Ouch," he said. "You want to bite, don't you?"
"I hate men," she muttered, glaring at him.
"I figured it would come out sooner or later. I guess it's a good thing it was sooner." He crushed out his cigarette, slowly and deliberately, and came off the desk into a posture that made her heart race.
"Don't you touch me," she challenged, backing up. "I'm not in the mood to be subdued by the superior male."
"Oh, I think you are," he said with a slow, devilish smile. He moved toward her, holding her eyes, backing her toward the divan she'd vacated. "I think that's exactly what you want—to be shown that I still find you desirable."
"I won't beg for your exclusive attentions!"
"I wouldn't beg for yours, either," he replied easily. "I don't think people need to be put in that position." He stopped when she'd reached the divan and, watching her, began to unbutton his shirt with slow, careless motions of his lean fingers.
"What are you doing now?" she asked breathlessly.
"Getting comfortable," he murmured. "Lie down, Maggie."
"You said we wouldn't...!"
"And we're not going to," he promised. "But I think you need some reassurance. Maybe I need it, too. Marriage is a big step."
"Yes, I know."
"Come on, lie down," he coaxed. He took her by the waist and eased her down onto the wide divan, sitting up long enough to strip off his shirt.
His chest was broad and brown and covered with a thick wedge of hair, and she stared at it helplessly, remembering how it felt to run her hands over it, to experience the touch of it against her breasts. Her lips parted on a wave of remembered pleasure.
He saw that, and something in him began to burst with delight. Her eyes were sultry. He loved the way they devoured him acquisitively. She wanted to touch him. He wanted that, too.
His ribs swelled with a deep breath. "Go ahead," he whispered. "Touch me there."
She didn't need a second invitation. Sitting up, eyes glowing intently, she tangled her fingers in the liberal growth of his chest hair and caught her breath, loving the wiry feel of it, the play of muscles beneath it, the sudden quickness of his breathing.
"You make me burn when you do that," he whispered above her head. "I don't think you realize how expressive your eyes are when you look at me."
"You have a very sexy chest," she murmured, pressing her hands flat to savor its warm strength.
"I could return the compliment," he said dryly. "You're a sweet sight, too."
His hand had worked its way between them. His knuckles were drawing gently over her collarbone, her shoulder. He ran them slowly down to the soft swell of her breast and farther, to the nipple that grew swiftly hard at the tender abrasion.
"Wouldn't you like to lie against me with your shirt off, Maggie?" he asked at her ear. "And feel my chest against your bare breasts?"
She trembled. He made it sound sinfully delicious. Yes, of course she wanted it; but why did she have to admit it?
He laughed, as if he could read her mind. "Unbutton it," he whispered, moving his hands down to her waist. "It's more exciting if you let me watch you take it off."
It was. She trembled at the impact of his eyes when she let the silky fabric fall from her shoulders. She wasn't wearing anything under it, and he had a delicious view of firm, pink-tipped breasts that were just slightly swollen with passion.
"Like...this?" she whispered, needing reassurance. She felt inadequate; she always had since Dennis's cruel needling. But Gabe wasn't laughing. He reached up, lightly touching one perfect breast, and found it cool and soft and wonderfully responsive.
"I don't know why," he said absently, watching her with a rapt expression that was totally mal
e, "but I've always liked women who were small, like you. Not that you're all that small. But my God, how perfect!"
She felt herself swelling, as much with pride as desire. Her back arched just a little, a helpless response to his voice, his touch.
"I'm going to lift you against me," he said, taking her waist with both hands. "Feel you. Absorb you."
He brushed her against him, watching where they touched, his eyes on the pink flesh that buried itself in the thick dark hairs of his muscular chest
"How does it feel?" he whispered.
"Exquisite," she whispered back. She arched her spine, letting her head fall back so that she pushed against him.
His hands contracted. "Is this what you want?" he whispered, and bent his head to her shoulders.
"Yes," she sighed, holding his head. "Only...lower."
"Where?" he teased softly. "Tell me."
"You know."
"Tell me, or I won't do it."
"Yes, you will." She laughed, feeling him laugh, too; feeling his mouth go warm and moist down her bare arm, over to her ribs, her waist, and then back up to tease around the very edges of her breasts.
Her breath came in tiny gasps. She was burning up, on fire for him. She moaned.
"Lie down so that I can do it properly," he breathed, easing her onto her back. He knelt beside her, one hand lifting her back, the other cradling her head. And his mouth worked on her, explorative, deliciously thorough. He did things to her with his lips that she'd read about and heard about but had never really experienced. He made her shiver and burn, his mouth fierce and demanding on her warm body, his breath coming as fast as hers.
"Maggie," he whispered. He moved, rising, holding her eyes as his body lowered slowly over hers.
She shivered a little as he approached, because he was fully aroused. "Are we...going to?" she asked helplessly, because if he said so, she would. She couldn't help herself; she already wanted him.
"No," he said softly. "Not until we're married. I just want to feel you."
"You want me," she whispered recklessly. "I know."
"It would be hard to miss," he agreed with pained humor. His mouth explored her nose, her chin. “Open your mouth...."
She did, meeting the probing kiss with headlong delight. She reached up and held him, twisting her mouth under his with blind pleasure. He was all man. He was hers. He was the whole world, and everything in it.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 24
