by Peggy Webb
Her eyes widened, the blue deeper than ever. “An exotic man,” she whispered. “I once knew an exotic man. How did you meet Colter Gray Wolf?”
Jim didn’t want to talk about Colter Gray Wolf; he wanted to ask about her exotic man. Who in the hell was he, and why did her voice go soft and dreamy when she spoke of him? The vehemence of his feelings surprised him. That was no way to get through this damned Delta wedding with his manners and most of his honor intact.
He firmly squashed his maverick jealousy and answered her question.
“Several years ago he dragged me out of a waterfront bar and patched me up. He’s a doctor.”
She reached up and touched the faint scar on his forehead. “This?” Her hand gently followed the scar line across his forehead to his eyebrow.
“Yes.” He covered her hand with his, pressing it against his face.
“I’m glad.”
Jim smiled. “Glad he patched me up or glad he taught me to ride?”
“Both.” Her tongue flicked over her lips again. He leaned forward, imagining the feel of that tongue on his flesh. “I would have been all right, you know.”
“Would you?”
“Yes. I ride well.”
She made a small move to free her hand. Reluctantly he let it go.
“I’ve known that from the beginning.”
His free hand circled the back of her neck. She didn’t try to pull out of his embrace. Ever so slowly, he inched his hand upward, lifting her hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensations of soft, downy skin and soft, silky hair. Of all the places on a woman’s body, the back of the neck was one of his favorites, probably because it was such a vulnerable spot. If he’d cared to delve into the psychology of it, he’d most likely come up with something regarding his need to control. But psychology was as far from his mind as San Francisco. Right now he had the moment, and he had a curiously gentle Hannah in his arms.
He opened his eyes and watched her luxuriant black hair sift through his fingers. “From the moment I saw you, I’ve known,” he whispered.
“We’re not talking about horses now, are we?” she said.
“No.”
“I probably would have been better off with the snake.”
He kept his hand on the back of her neck, gently massaging.
“Is that what spooked your horse?”
“Yes. A cottonmouth moccasin, I think. Sometimes they crawl up from the creek.”
“I should be feeling very grateful to that snake.”
“Why?”
“You’re here . . . in my arms.” His hips shifted subtly against hers. “Where I want you to be.”
“I’m in your arms because I choose to be.”
He didn’t say anything; he merely quirked an eyebrow in question.
“I barely slept last night for thinking of you,” she continued. “One of the reasons I went riding this morning was to wipe you from my mind.”
He smiled. “Did it work?”
“No. You were very much with me. Then, when my horse spooked and you pulled that Apache rescue stunt, I was suddenly face-to-face with the man who had haunted my dreams.”
Her honesty delighted him. And for some strange reason, his very delight in her made him wary. The spunky, spicy, sexy woman he’d flirted with so relentlessly was finally in his arms, confessing that she was there willingly, and he felt an unusual reluctance to do anything about it.
“I like you this way, Hannah—soft and feminine and vulnerable.”
“I’m a woman, Jim . . .”
“A fact that never fails to escape my notice.”
“A woman who knows exactly what she is doing.”
Smiling, he lifted a hand and cupped her flushed cheek. “And what are you doing, my beautiful wildcat?”
“I’m testing myself.”
“You call this a test?” He hauled her so hard against his chest, her breath whooshed out. “I call it an invitation.”
“You call everything an invitation.” Slowly she put her arms around his neck. “I’m testing my control.” Pulling his head down, she traced his lips with her tongue. He waited, simmering from the heat of her nearness and from the heat of the morning sun. “You see, Jim, I once lost control with a man, and I intend to see that it never happens again. I’m in your arms to prove to myself that I can walk away— untouched.”
“You may walk away, Hannah, but it won’t be untouched.”
He took her mouth fiercely, savagely. His tongue slipped between her parted lips and plundered without mercy. The passion he’d sensed in her erupted. Small love sounds escaped her lips, and she pressed herself so close, their bodies seemed to be one.
Jim exulted in the feel of her—her firm slender body, her hair, whisper-soft and silky, her lips, lush and hot. Special. The word sang through his mind. This woman was special.
Unconsciously he gentled the kiss, slanting his lips tenderly across hers. The heady sweetness drugged him.
“Hannah.” He sighed against her lips. “My Hannah.”
“No.” She pulled back a fraction of an inch, her breathing heavy. “I can’t be yours . . . heaven help me . . . one last taste.” Her lips were on his again.
She savored him for one final heart-stopping moment before pulling away. Then she drew the tattered edges of her control around her like a protective cape. Raking her hand through her disheveled hair, she looked him squarely in the eye. “That was a nice try, Jim, but I’m not touched.”
He roared with mirth. “You lie so beautifully. If it wasn’t for that bedroom look in your eyes, I’d almost believe you.” He turned away nonchalantly and reached for the reins of his horse.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d catch that white stallion so you’d have a ride back to the barn” —he vaulted onto the filly and grinned down at her— “unless you have another mount in mind.”
Hannah suppressed her grin. Jim’s wickedness reminded her of her own irrepressible brothers, especially Tanner and Jacob. Besides that, his devil-may-care attitude helped dilute the spell of passion she was under.
“If that’s an offer to ride with you, I’ll stay here with the snakes.”
“You’re more than a match for them, Hannah.”
“Why, thank you. You say the most romantic things.”
“I try.”
“By the way, I expect that’s all you’ll be doing with El Diablo—trying. Tanner and I are the only ones who can handle him.”
Jim chuckled. “Yesterday when Tanner showed me his horses, I had the stallion eating out of my hand. I’ll be back before you can miss me, Hannah.”
She shaded her eyes against the sun and watched Jim ride toward the stallion. Just as she had predicted, El Diablo bolted at Jim’s approach. She wasn’t sure what happened next. All she knew was that she’d witnessed another example of Jim’s remarkable horsemanship. The sound of pounding horse’s hooves echoed around the pasture as the small chestnut filly closed on the stallion. Suddenly Jim was in the air, flying across the space between the horses. Then he was in El Diablo’s saddle.
The stallion, recognizing a master’s touch, trotted obediently back to the creek, proudly bearing his new rider and leading the filly.
Jim slid from the saddle, lifted Hannah off her feet, and set her unceremoniously on the filly. “The stallion is too much horse for you to handle, wildcat.”
Before Hannah could protest, he was trotting off, leading her bridle as if she were a child. No man ever had dared treat her in such a high-handed manner. But then, no other man was called the West Coast Warrior. It was more than a name, she thought: It was a description. Jim Roman was a warrior in every sense of the word.
“Are you taking me captive?”
“The thought did occur to me.” He moved the big stallion in close enough to pat Hannah’s cheek. “But I prefer that you come to me.”
She fought the quick rush of desire that surged through her. “Never.”
He
quirked an eyebrow upward in that sardonic, wicked way of his and grinned.
Hannah knew she had been bested. Instead of feeling anger, she felt a strange kind of triumph. On the heels of the triumph came the old wariness.
Turning her head away from the West Coast Warrior, she rode the rest of the way to the barn in silence, plotting her revenge for his tyranny.
o0o
Hannah was saved further battling with Jim by the arrival of a lavender Eldorado Cadillac convertible. As the horses rounded the barn, the convertible came to a gravel-scattering stop in the front yard. The driver pressed the horn, and a raucous metallic rendition of Alabama Jubilee split the air.
“Hallie’s home.”
Jim watched as a carbon copy of Hannah emerged from the car. Wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots and surrounded by two Great Danes and a huge, smiling man, Hallie didn’t merely step from the car: She made a grand entrance into the yard, like a brass band. No wonder Josh Butler was smiling, Jim thought. He was a hell of a lucky guy to have a woman like Hallie.
His gaze swung around to Hannah, who sat atop the chestnut filly with the air of a sleek, exotic cat waiting its chance to pounce. Lord help the man who hitched his fate to Hannah’s.
o0o
The Donovans poured from the house to greet Hallie and her fiancé.
Everybody started talking at once. Somehow a little order finally crept into the chaos. Breakfast was served, bags were carried upstairs, and various groups were formed.
After he had insisted on cleaning up the kitchen— and won—Jim went off to interview Hallie and Josh while Hannah accompanied her mother and her brother Paul to the church.
Hannah knew she should be feeling relieved that she no longer had to battle with the indomitable Jim Roman. Instead, she felt deprived.
She loitered on the church steps, thinking of all the ways Jim outraged her and of all the ways he made her blood sing. Heaven help the woman who walked down the aisle with the West Coast Warrior.
She was grinning when she went inside the church to help with her sister’s wedding preparations.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You’re breathtaking, Hallie.”
Hannah sat on an old steamer trunk in the attic, watching as her sister modeled the gown she would wear for her wedding.
It had been a hectic day. After she and her mother and Paul had left the church, they’d gone by the florist shop, then stopped for a consultation with the organist. This was the first breather she’d had.
“You think so?” Hallie lifted the antique lace veil from a box in an ancient armoire and arranged it on her head. “I don’t smell like mothballs, do I?”
Hannah laughed. “How could you smell like mothballs? Mom’s been getting that dress ready since the day you called and said you were going to marry Josh Butler. She keeps it up here in Granny’s armoire only for sentimental reasons.”
“It’s funny that she didn’t bring it out for my first wedding.”
“No, it’s Mom. She’s smart. She knew Robert was Mr. Wrong for you.”
“Thank goodness, she saved this gown for Mr. Right. I thought the day would never come.” Hallie gazed off into the distance. “Do you think Jacob will make it?”
“I’m certain of it. He’d never miss anything as important as your wedding.”
“You’re right. He’ll come in from some faraway place, laughing at all of us for being worried.” Hallie backed up to her sister. “Undo me, please.”
Hannah began unfastening the tiny pearl buttons on their grandmother’s wedding dress. “It all worked out for you, didn’t it? Just the way I told you it would.”
“Better than I ever imagined. Josh’s brother seems to be fully recovered from his alcoholism, and his dad—” Hallie paused, laughing. “Hiram has become quite a live wire. He’s a favorite around the theater with my special children. And the best news of all is that he’s getting married.”
“To that feisty woman you told me about, your landlady?”
“Yes. Her name is Debbie. They’ll be here tonight for the rehearsal dinner.” Hallie carefully slipped the dress over her head and began to arrange it on its padded hanger. Suddenly she turned to her sister and held out the dress. “You try it, Hannah.”
“Who? Me? I won’t be wearing a wedding dress.”
“That’s what I thought, too, until a very special sister told me I couldn’t keep ignoring my feelings.” Hallie hung up the wedding dress, then sat down beside Hannah and wrapped her arm around her sister. “Rai Ghayami happened a long time ago. I don’t like to see you denying yourself so much pleasure because of one unhappy affair.”
“You know me too well.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Hallie pointed to their reflections in the mirror. “You’re like an extension of myself; I feel what you feel. Sometimes I’m even sick when you’re sick. Remember the chicken pox?”
Hannah laughed. “How could I forget? You were at Camp Tik-a-witha, and I was on the Gulf Coast with Uncle Matt and Aunt Lettie. We broke out with chicken pox on the same day.”
“It’s eerie sometimes.”
“Yes, it is.” Hannah eyed the wedding dress. “Thank goodness love isn’t catching.”
“If it were a contagious disease, I’d try to give it to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know that you have a great capacity to love.”
“I love my work and my whales and my dogs. . . .”
“It’s not enough. I love my work, too, but I’d be bereft without Josh.”
“I’m not bereft, Hallie.”
“I know that, but you’re missing so much joy by not giving love a chance.”
“I gave it a chance once.”
“You made one mistake, just as I did.”
Hannah stood up and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the wedding gown. “Just listen to you, going on like Ann Landers and Dr. Ruth. Is that the way I sound when I give advice?”
Hallie laughed. “Precisely. How does it feel when the shoe is on the other foot?”
“I can’t say that I like being told what I should do. I’d much rather do the telling.”
“From now on you can. This is my first and last lecture.”
“What brought it on?”
“I don’t know. I guess I want everybody to be as happy as I am.” Lifting the skirt of the wedding dress, Hallie held it against her chest. “You don’t think it’s tacky, wearing a white satin gown the second time around?”
“Since when has a Donovan ever worried about appearances? Take my advice, Hallie. Wear it.”
Hallie kissed her on the cheek. “Take mine, too, Hannah.”
Hannah chuckled. “Not a chance. That domestic scene is not for me.”
“Someday somebody will come along to make you change your mind. And when he does, I hope he’s at least half as wonderful as Josh.”
With a gay wave and a lilting laugh, Hallie skipped down the attic stairs.
Hannah sat down on the trunk and stared at the wedding dress. She was still for so long, she was certain spiders had built their webs around her. The tiny beam of sunshine slanting through the attic window moved westward until it was shining directly across the white satin dress. The golden glow gave the wedding dress a mystic quality.
Slowly Hannah rose and walked toward the dress. Her hands caressed the satin folds of the skirt, then moved upward to the lace and pearls of the bodice. Almost against her will she took the dress from the hanger.
o0o
Hallie had told Jim where to find Hannah.
In the manner of the Apache, he silently climbed the attic stairs and pushed open the door. What he saw took his breath away. Hannah was dressed in a wedding gown. A beam of sunlight from the high attic window played over the white satin dress, danced over her creamy skin and her sable hair. She shimmered. She was an exotic, gorgeous woman, but in the wedding dress she was achingly beautiful.
Jim leaned in the doorway, watching. He knew he was seeing an illusion. Hannah
was wild through and through. She was not this soft, lovely creature who made him think of lace curtains at the window and slippers by the fire. In spite of all reason, he drank in the sight of her, imagined her with the wind in her hair, standing on the deck of his houseboat, waiting for him to come home.
He didn’t know how long he would have stood there if she hadn’t turned. Her indigo eyes widened.
Jim ducked his head under the low doorway and headed her way. He didn’t stop until he was close enough to touch her. Some trick of fate had turned her into his dream girl; he had to see for himself that she was the same bold woman he wanted to catch but not to keep.
She caught her breath as he reached up and adjusted her wedding veil. “I didn’t know the bride had eyes as blue as the Mediterranean.”
“I’m not the bride.”
“Then why are you dressed in white? Practicing?”
“Certainly not. I never intend to marry.”
“You know what they say about the best intentions.”
“Not in this case.” She reached up to take the veil off her head, but Jim’s hands stopped her.
“Don’t.” His eyes burned across her face. “I want to look at you a moment longer.”
Hannah held her breath. She was caught, and there was nothing to do but make the best of it. As Jim’s dark eyes raked over her, she cursed the fates that he had been the one to catch her parading around in her grandmother’s wedding dress.
“Why are you here, Jim?”
His hands left the wedding veil and bracketed her cheeks. “I felt the need for some excitement, Hannah.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place.”
“I think not. You’re the most exciting woman I know.”
His hands felt gentle on her face. She wished he wouldn’t touch her like that. She already was feeling sentimental, and his sweet touch was sending her right over the edge.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what, Hannah?” Even his voice was gentle. She felt as if she were falling into a tender trap.
“Please take your hands away from my face.”
Instead of obeying, he tipped her face up toward his. “Do I bother you?”
