Long, Tall Texans: Jobe

by Diana Palmer

“Good. Then you can come and dance with me, can’t you?” She coaxed him onto the dance floor. He went, but his heart wasn’t in it. If only he could keep his eyes off Sandy, damn her!

  Sandy, unaware of the reaction she was causing, ate barbecue with her handsome boss and then sat and talked computers until the music changed to slow, sultry songs.

  “Care to dance?” Jobe asked suddenly.

  She jumped. She hadn’t realized he was so close. She hesitated.

  “Oh, go ahead,” Mr. Cranson chided. “You’ve been talking business with me all evening. Go enjoy yourself.”

  Jobe glared at the man, but he nodded politely as he took Sandy’s hand and pulled her along with him.

  She was stiff in his arms, so tense that she felt brittle.

  “Relax,” he muttered angrily. “What can I do to you on a dance floor?”

  He’d be amazed, she thought wildly. Her heart was acting up, so was her breathing. Her legs felt like jelly under her. Only by holding her body rigid could she retain some semblance of dignity. She wanted nothing more than to press close, as Missy had earlier, and feel his strength. But that was the one thing she didn’t dare do.

  His big hand spread between her shoulder blades. His fingers linked into hers. His cheek rested against her temple as he moved slowly to the music. His sigh was warm in her hair.

  “You always smell like violets,” he murmured.

  She didn’t know how to answer that. He had his own unique fragrance, a spicy smell that clung to his face, one that she always associated with him. Odd how keen her senses were when he was close. Not that he ever was. She’d only danced with him once before in her life, and that had been a square dance. This was different. It was far too close, too intimate. She was vulnerable, and she didn’t want to be.

  “I’m…tired,” she protested, weakly pulling against his arm.

  “No, you aren’t,” he replied, holding her in place. His head lifted and he caught her eyes relentlessly. “Now, relax,” he commanded softly.

  He seemed able to make her body obey. Little by little, she relaxed into him and shivered slightly at the reaction their closeness provoked in her. All her senses seemed to come alive at once, in a riot of sensation.

  His big hand smoothed up and down her spine, riveting her to the lean, powerful length of him. She shivered again. Involuntarily, her cheek went to his warm, muscular shoulder and she gave in to all the forbidden longings of the past.

  He sighed unsteadily. He was having his own problems with her closeness. It was good. It was better than he’d ever imagined it would be. His eyes closed. She felt soft and sweet against him, womanly soft. The lights were low and they were a little apart from the other dancers, in the shadows. Impulsively he lowered his head until he could feel her soft mouth under his searching lips. He made a sound, deep in his throat, and stopped dancing. His mouth opened, became demanding, fierce and hard on her trembling lips. They parted for him. She stiffened a little and then pressed close, a sobbing moan rising from her chest.

  His hand was at her neck, coaxing, guiding. He lifted his mouth only to lower it again, in soft biting kisses that made her tremble.

  “Sandy,” he groaned, looking around him in agonized hunger. There was a big tree close by and nobody was paying attention to them just yet.

  He maneuvered Sandy behind the tree and levered his body down against hers in a fever of need, crushing her gently between the tree and himself.

  “No,” he whispered when she managed a weak protest. “No, sweetheart, no, don’t fight…”

  His mouth covered hers again, with slow, sweet ardor that brought her arms around him. She made no more protests. He kissed her until she would have fallen, but for the support of the tree and his arms. So many dreams came true in that space of minutes, so many painful longings. She hadn’t dreamed that the two of them would generate such sweet desire between them. She wanted him with all her heart, loved him, needed him. The world spun away and there was only the two of them and the desire that grew like a seedling.

  Eventually he had to stop. His body ached, but he ignored it, pulling Sandy free of the tree trunk and into arms that were suddenly gentle and protective.

  She couldn’t stop trembling. She shivered helplessly in his arms while he rocked her in the warm evening silence, broken by sweet, muted strains of music.

  He buried his face in her warm, scented throat, hanging there as he fought to control the raging desire she’d kindled in him.

  Her eyes opened. She saw the shadowy leaves above them, and beyond them, the stars. It was like a moment out of time. She was afraid to break the silence, to speak. She didn’t dare ask why. She didn’t want to know. It was enough that he’d wanted her, even for such a brief time. She could live on it forever. Her eyes closed again and she stood against him without a protest, without a sound.

  He let her go inch by inch, his face as hard as stone. He didn’t say anything. She could feel his eyes, but it was too dark to see them. Her head lowered and she felt cold as he moved back.

  The sound of her own breathing was unusually loud. She didn’t look up. Her arms wrapped around herself to warm her in the chill of his withdrawal. Her legs still felt unsteady.

  They didn’t speak. A full minute later, Missy’s shrill voice calling to Jobe brought his head up. He cursed silently, but he turned and went to her. He didn’t want her to see Sandy like this, vulnerable and defenseless. He didn’t think any of his own turmoil would show in the dim light.

  “There you are,” Missy said, linking her arm through his. “They’re about to play the last song. I’m ready to go when you are. Wasn’t it fun?”

  He didn’t answer her. His mind was spinning.

  Sandy got her breath back and went in search of Phillip Cranson, smiling blandly at people she passed. No one looking at her would ever guess that she’d been so abandoned in a man’s arms only minutes earlier. For the rest of the evening, she was the perfect cohostess. She even managed a nice smile for Missy and Jobe as they left after the last dance. But she didn’t meet his eyes. She wondered if she would ever be able to look at him again after the way she’d behaved.

  * * *

  By the next morning, she’d convinced herself that it hadn’t happened, anyway. She slept late and had to be dragged out of bed by a disapproving Coreen.

  “Come on, sleepyhead, you can’t spend your life in bed! I want to go riding.”

  Sandy blinked. “Riding? Before daylight?”

  “It’s almost noon, you idiot,” Coreen chuckled. “Ted’s going to baby-sit while we’re out.”

  That got her attention. “This I’ve got to see,” she said, and got up.

  Sure enough, Ted was in the living room with his son, his face radiant as he held the little boy in his arms. It was amazing, the change in Ted since he and Coreen had married. Her taciturn brother was the picture of a contented parent, and a loving husband. It hadn’t always been that way. He’d given Coreen a lot of pain before he’d finally given in to his feelings for her and stopped dwelling on the age difference between them.

  He looked up as the women entered. “Take as long as you like,” he said generously. “I’ll stay home.”

  Coreen snuggled up to him and kissed him tenderly before she pressed her lips to her son’s tiny forehead. “Isn’t he a miracle?” She sighed.

  Ted was looking at her instead of the baby. “My life is one long miracle since I put that ring on your finger,” he replied.

  Sandy felt like an interloper. “I’ll go out and saddle the horses,” she offered with an approving grin.

  “I told Jobe to do that,” Ted said. “But he may need help.”

  Sandy’s eyes flashed. “Is Missy with him?”

  “Missy doesn’t work Saturdays,” Ted reminded her.

  “Amazing,” Sandy said under her breath. “I’ve got to get my hat,” she said aloud, because she didn’t want to go to the stables and be alone with Jobe, not after last night.

  “Don’
t take long,” Coreen called after her. “It’s going to rain later, they said.”

  “Okay!”

  She was back within five minutes, and Coreen went out the door with her.

  Jobe was lounging against a bale of hay when they walked in. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Sandy in her trim, well-fitting jeans, would have made any woman’s knees weak. He didn’t smile or joke or say a word. He just looked.

  “Thanks, Jobe,” Coreen called to him as they mounted.

  He shrugged. “No problem. I’m going out to check on the baler. They were having trouble with it earlier, and it’s due to rain. Mind if I tag along as far as the bottoms?”

  “Of course not,” Coreen said, ignoring Sandy’s hunted expression.

  Jobe drew his own horse, already saddled, out of a nearby stall and swung gracefully into the saddle. They rode along in a pleasant silence for a few minutes.

  “Don’t hold those reins so tight,” Jobe chided Sandy. “You’ll hurt his mouth.”

  She loosened them at once. She didn’t argue or snap back, which was so uncharacteristic that Coreen shot her a startled look. But when she saw her friend’s face, she hid a smile.

  “I’m going to ride over and talk to Hank for a minute about the new foal we’ve got in the barn,” she said. “Be right back!”

  Sandy wanted to call after her, but she couldn’t admit that she was afraid to be alone with Jobe. Alone, she mused humorously, in the middle of a ranch with cowboys everywhere. What a laugh!

  Jobe’s gloved hand rested on the pommel. He didn’t look at her, but off into the distance, his broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his gray eyes. “That rain would be welcome two days from now. I hope it holds off until we’ve got this hay up.”

  “Will it be hard…to fix the machine?”

  He turned his head and looked into her eyes under the brim of her wide-brimmed straw hat, seeing the nervousness there, the unfamiliar vulnerability. He maneuvered his horse closer to hers.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said unexpectedly, holding her gaze.

  She laughed unsteadily. “Afraid? Of you?”

  “I wasn’t going to follow up on what happened last night, Sandy,” he said solemnly. “It was a moment out of time. Nothing to worry about.”

  Her heart fell. She didn’t look at him. “I see.”

  “Unless…”

  She glanced up. “Unless?”

  His narrow eyes fell to her mouth. “Unless you’re willing to take a chance with me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “What…sort of…chance?”

  He searched her drawn face carefully. “The sort we tried together last night,” he replied. “It was good. Better than I’d ever thought it could be. We’ve both had our share of false starts with the opposite sex. Why don’t we see how we do as a couple for a while?”

  She felt her heart stop in her chest. It was the last thing she expected him to say to her. “What about Missy?” she choked out.

  “What about her?” His face hardened. “I haven’t made her a single promise.”

  “Yes, I remember. You don’t make promises to women.”

  “Don’t make a joke of it,” he said flatly. “I’m not kidding. This is serious business.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared at him, half-afraid. “You’re a single man. You like it that way. I’m not…not in the market for an affair. I’m sorry.”

  She started to move away, but his hand caught hers where it held the reins.

  “I’m not talking about an affair, Sandy,” he said. He managed a smile. “Ted would kill me. He lives in the past, too.”

  She glared at him. “So I’m old-fashioned. So what?”

  “I don’t mind,” he mused, chuckling. “In some ways, I’m old-fashioned myself.”

  She moved in the saddle and heard the leathers creak. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Suppose we go out to eat and take in a movie?” he suggested. “Or is that too middle-class for you?”

  She flushed. “I’m middle-class, too.”

  “Like hell you are,” he countered. “You and Ted were born to money. You’ve never been without it.”

  “I earn my own way now,” she reminded him, refusing to admit why she’d decided to go out to work when she stood to inherit a fortune from a trust when she turned twenty-eight.

  “Yes, I know you do,” he replied. “And I know why.”

  She met his eyes, shocked. “You…do?”

  He started to speak, and just as he opened his mouth, Coreen came galloping up beside Sandy.

  “We’d better get moving,” she said with an apologetic smile, indicating the black clouds building. “That hay will be a dead loss if the rain gets it.”

  “So it will,” Jobe agreed. He shot a wistful glance at Sandy, tipped his hat and rode away.

  “Sorry I interrupted,” Coreen began.

  “In the nick of time,” Sandy said, forcing a laugh. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  If Sandy had hoped to avoid Jobe’s offer of a date, the rain didn’t stop him. He came looking for her late that afternoon, after the hay was in.

  It was dark and rainy outside and Sandy had been sitting in the garden room out back, watching the rain come down on the pecan trees.

  Jobe found her there, curled up on a sofa in white slacks and a brief blue top.

  “Avoiding me?” he asked quietly.

  She sat up abruptly, flustered. “Why, no, of course not.”

  He moved right into the room, took off his hat and sat down beside her on the sofa. “I like thrillers,” he said without preamble. “There’s one at the theater downtown. If you’d rather see something else, I believe there’s a comedy at the Grand.”

  “I like thrillers.”

  He nodded. “We can have a pizza or a burger and fries before we go to see it. Or there’s a cafeteria, if you’d like that better.”

  He was testing her, she concluded, to see if she minded an inexpensive meal.

  She searched his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t have to go to the best restaurants or to the opera or a play, in case that’s what you were thinking,” she said gently. “I like a burger and fries, and movies suit me very well.”

  “It isn’t what you’re used to, though,” he added. He sighed. “To tell you the truth, I had second thoughts about asking you out at all.” He twirled his hat in his hands. “Maybe it’s a bad idea.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She shifted a little. “Whatever you want to do is fine,” she said.

  “Is that so?” His eyes glittered. He threw his hat on the floor, caught her around the waist and bore her down on the sofa, finding her mouth with his at the same instant.

  She couldn’t get enough air to breathe, much less to protest. He was rough with her, as if her reply had angered him. There was no hesitation, no tenderness, in his demanding mouth or the weight of his body over hers.

  She made a soft sound of protest and he relented, lifting his head to glare at her.

  “This is what I want to do,” he said harshly, looking at her as if he hated her. “It’s what I’ve wanted to do since you were seventeen, damn it!”

  She paled, seeing the self-loathing written all over his face. He wanted her and hated himself for it. If she had dreams of happily ever after, they turned to ashes from the look in his eyes.

  Suppressing quick tears of anger and disappointment, she put both hands against his shirt-front and pushed.

  “Let me up, please,” she said through her teeth.

  To her surprise, he did. He got to his feet and whipped his hat off the floor with an angry hand.

  “I don’t want to go out with you, thanks all the same,” she said in a choked tone. She sidestepped him and the instant she was an arm’s length away, she ran all the way upstairs, into her room, locking the door behind her.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them away angrily. He was the cr
uelest man she’d ever known. How could he treat her like that, after all the years they’d known each other? It broke her heart that he had no more respect for her than that. It made her furious that she’d let her guard down at all.

  She went into her bathroom and washed her face, cold with suppressed rage.

  She didn’t even think as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet and started packing. No way was she going to stay here after that.

  A quick change of clothing, from jeans into a neat beige suit, her hair in a bun and her purse over her arm, and she was on her way down the staircase.

  She paused at the kitchen doorway, where Mrs. Bird was cooking supper.

  “I have to go back to Victoria,” she told the woman. “An emergency.”

  “Oh, did the phone ring, then?” Mrs. Bird asked. “I was out in the yard getting in the throw rug, I must have not heard it.”

  “You must not have,” Sandy agreed with a straight face. “Tell Ted and Coreen that I’ll phone them later, would you?”

  “Of course, Miss Sandy.”

  She smiled at the housekeeper and marched out the front door and down to the garage.

  Jobe was leaning against the trunk of her car. She stopped short when she saw him, but only for an instant.

  “If you’d move, I could put my suitcase in the trunk,” she said with ice dripping from every word.

  He searched her wan face, noting the redness of her eyes. “You’re always running away,” he remarked.

  “And you don’t think I have good reason to?” she demanded.

  “This time, yes, you do,” he replied. His narrow gaze slid over her face. “I’m just as hesitant about getting involved as you are. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he added heavily, noting with a grimace the swollen place on her lower lip where his teeth had caught it.

  “No harm done,” she replied tightly. “Would you move?”

  He stepped aside, watching irritably as she put her case in the trunk and closed it.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to get it out of our systems?” he asked.

  She straightened. “Didn’t you do that, on the sofa?” she asked with cold irony.

  His jaw tautened. “I don’t make a practice of hurting women. I’m sorry.”