She felt his arm brush against her, and her whole being reacted as if she had been stung by a thousand tiny pinpoints of ice. Every atom in her body was aware of his presence.
"I think I'll have a talk with him tomorrow," Madison continued.
"I can talk to my own father," Fern said, gratified Madison would go to so much trouble, worried about her father's reaction, and a little irritated Madison would decide to talk to her father without asking her first.
"But you won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you've got it into your head the only way to be treated the way you want is to do more work than a man. You'll never be more than a poor imitation of a man. While I suspect if you give yourself a chance, you could be a very special woman. Good looking, too."
Fern was speechless.
Madison's scorn for her accomplishments made her furious. Did he know how really well she could ride, rope, or use a gun? No. Did he have any idea how hard she had worked to achieve the position he was blithely dismissing in a single sentence? Absolutely not.
He just made an assumption like he always did, based upon his experience in hoity-toity Boston, and took it for granted he was right.
But it was impossible for her to be angry at him. No one had ever called her a very special woman, or said she could be nice looking. And he had never seen her in anything except pants. It wasn't until today that she had stopped wearing her hat inside the house.
"What makes you say that?" Fern asked. She knew she shouldn't be so curious -- knowing Madison he was bound to say something she wouldn't like -- but she couldn't resist.
"What?"
"That I might make a good-looking woman." It was difficult to confess her curiosity. He would know she cared.
"You'd have to stay out of the sun and wind long enough for your skin to stop looking like old parchment." A slow smile curved Madison's lips. "You look more like an Indian maiden than a Boston miss."
His finger touched her shoulder through her shirt, and her body burst into flame like dry tinder.
"I'd much rather be an Indian maid than a Boston miss," Fern snapped. "At least there'd be some gumption in me."
"You've got plenty of gumption. It's one of the things I like about you."
"You didn't use to like anything about me."
"I've changed my mind."
"About what?"
"Just about everything. I still wish you wouldn't dress like you do, but you've got a very nice shape. It wouldn't be so easy to see all covered up in yards and yards of skirts."
Fern turned crimson. Until this very minute, she'd have ridden her cutting pony over anybody who had dared comment on her body. But Madison's fingertips were rubbing ever so gently against the fine hairs at the back on her neck. It drove her crazy. She couldn't concentrate enough to find the words to answer him.
"I like you without the hat though. You've got nice eyes. They used to be bloodshot from the sun, but they look pretty now. Most of the time they're hazel, but they turn pure green when you get angry."
He took a lock of her hair between his fingers.
"I'm surprised you didn't cut your hair. I'd like to see it falling down your back, billowing in the wind."
Fern wasn't about to tell him that her hair was the one feminine attribute she had been unable to part with. She considered it a weakness, and she already had enough weaknesses where he was concerned.
"It would catch in the first tree or bush I passed."
"I was thinking of you riding with me, not chasing those poor bull yearlings. Can't you think of anything else?"
"I wasn't thinking of--"
"I like it when you smile. It changes your face entirely. You're not meant to frown."
Boldly his fingers caressed her neck. Fern wondered how his touch would feel on her bare shoulders.
"You should take your own advice," Fern managed to slip in before he plunged on.
"You've got dimples. I didn't notice them at first."
Fern had. She had despised them for years.
"They're cute. They make you look less like a trail boss chewing out a green hand for stampeding the herd."
If he kept on like this, she was going to be sorry she'd asked him anything. She'd never known anyone who could make the things he liked sound so unattractive. At this rate she wouldn't be surprised to hear him say he was glad she looked like a bulldog calf, that he'd been looking for a girl like that for years and couldn't find a single one in Boston to fit his requirements.
"I'm relieved to hear that," she answered, "since all my sympathies would be with the green hand. My experience with Texas drovers has been something less than wonderful."
"You haven't met my brother, Monty."
"Rose keeps saying that. She seems to think I would prefer him to you."
She hadn't meant anything by that remark -- she was just repeating what Rose had said -- but it had an electric effect on Madison.
His jerked his hand back as he sat up and pulled away. She felt shock at his withdrawal.
Madison could hardly believe Fern's idle words would irritate him so much. He had never gotten along with Monty, but until now he'd never felt like strangling him. He didn't care if Rose liked Monty ten times as much as she liked him, but it hurt to think Fern might prefer his roistering sibling. He had come to think of Fern as belonging to him alone, and he'd tolerate no poaching, not even by long distance.
Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? If you heard anybody else talk like this, you'd take them for a fool.
Maybe so, but he couldn't help the way he felt. Neither could he help the desire which uncurled in him like slow-rising heat.
He'd been intrigued by Fern from the very beginning, but now he felt this overwhelming desire to touch and hold her. For some time he'd been aware of a strong desire to protect her, to help her find some of the happiness she deserved, but now he felt much more.
It hadn't taken many days before the allure of her body seduced him into forgetting his disapproval of her pants. She had a trim waist, rounded hips, and long slim legs, the image of which had taken up permanent residence in his thoughts and dreams. There was just enough sway in her walk to tantalize any red-blooded male.
He liked the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her body. He found himself dreaming of holding her close, of making love to her, slowly, thoroughly, with satisfying attention to every part of her body.
He no longer saw her as a female who defied custom. Neither did he see her only as a person with whom he felt a strong bond of sympathy. He saw her as a woman who excited his desire, a woman longing to be loved.
But even as he felt tension pull his muscles taut, he held back. Something about the way Fern always kept her distance warned him to proceed with caution. Instinctively he knew some experience had hurt her badly. In his ignorance, he could hurt her just as badly again.
And Madison didn't want to do that. Her life had already given her too much pain and too little pleasure. As much as he would like to make love to her right this very minute, he would condemn himself to celibacy before he would hurt her.
Her expression of guilty concern almost caused him to smile. It also made him feel better. He didn't mind her feeling a little ashamed of what she said. It showed she had come to care about his feelings as much as he cared about hers.
Neither did he mind that she seemed concerned she had upset him. She had been keeping him at a distance ever since they met. This just might be the wedge he needed to break through this wall she had built around herself.
And he did intend to break through. Like a fragile sea creature, Fern had encased her most valuable possession, herself, in a shell so tough no one had been able to crack it.
But Madison had set his heart on capturing that treasure. And he meant to do so tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Fern wished she could unsay her words. Madison looked crushed.
No, he never looked crushed. Disappointed
or upset, but nothing could crush this man. If he didn't accept what you told him, he would try to change it.
But he did look hurt, and she was as mystified at his reaction as she was shocked. It didn't make sense unless he liked her a lot. But the way he talked, that seemed unlikely.
But he must. Otherwise he wouldn't be telling her all the things he liked about her. His idea of sweet-talk wouldn't sweep a woman off her feet, but then Fern didn't want to be swept away. She just wanted to feel pretty, desirable, to be liked.
Fern's attention was caught by a man walking slowly down the street. He didn't stop, but he kept glancing in their direction. She was glad she had refused to let Madison teach her to dance. She didn't recognize the man, but she was certain he'd have spread the news over half the town before midnight.
"Rose says Monty's cow crazy," Fern said. "I could never like a man who preferred cows to women."
Madison relaxed, but his hand stayed away from her neck.
"What was a saying?" he asked.
"That my dimples kept me from looking like a crazed drover, though how that's supposed to be an improvement on being compared to a heifer I don't know."
Madison chuckled easily.
"I threw that in just for fun. I thought you might be getting too satisfied with yourself."
Fern squared up to Madison. "You tell me my face looks like old parchment, that no self-respecting woman would parade about in these clothes, that everything I've said, thought, or done in my whole life is wrong, and you have the gall to say I might be becoming too set up in my own conceit. That gives me a very strange notion of the women you consort with."
Madison laughed again and pulled her back against the bench.
She loved his touch. His magical touch. This time he was more adventurous. His arm moved around her shoulder, his fingers gently teasing the flesh beneath her shirt.
Fern had never suspected that skin could be so sensitive to the slightest touch, the barest pressure, the smallest change in warmth. It seemed as though every part of her mind had focused itself on her shoulder.
"You are the most peculiar man," Fern said, trying to decide if this was a loverlike declaration or if she was crazy to think she had heard a caress in his voice. She had no experience with men, nothing but instinct to guide her. George didn't behave like this with Rose, and no one could doubt that he worshiped his wife.
Madison's body remained unbending, but the distance between them seemed to be shrinking. She could almost feel the softening in his eyes. All the while his fingers were saying things to her his lips never had.
Then she realized it was just as hard for him to admit to feeling any deep emotion as it was for her to admit she was a woman subject to all a woman's wants and needs. He might not even know he felt something out of the ordinary for her, but she did. She could see it in his eyes.
His arm closed around her, pulling her gradually to him. "I also said I liked your gumption. I think I like you best when you're a little angry and can't decide whether you want to hit me or ride me down."
"What kind of man would prefer a woman like that?" she asked. Clearly his wits were addled. She hoped they would stay that way for a little while longer.
"I don't know," he replied, apparently as mystified as she. "Certainly not the kind of man I thought I was. It seems that Kansas is bringing out my protective instincts."
"Didn't anybody in Boston need protecting?"
"Not like you."
"Me! From what?"
"Yourself, your father, this town, and something else you won't tell me about. Your father may overwork you, but he would protect you."
Fern noticed that man again. He was coming back up the street. He seemed to be walking slower this time. He was definitely watching them. She experienced a tiny shiver. She was glad Madison was here. She found his presence comforting.
"I can't tell you," she said.
"Why not?"
"Some things are too hard to explain."
For a moment, Madison looked as though he wasn't going to honor her wish for privacy. But unexpectedly his gaze softened, and Fern felt he was suddenly offering her a bottomless wellhead of understanding.
"It's time you started being a woman and being proud of it. Your father probably wouldn't like it at first, but he'll get used to it. He might even grow to be proud of having a daughter like you."
Fern felt a nearly overwhelming urge to throw her arms around his neck and cry, but she resisted the impulse. Men never cried, and they hated crying women.
"What about you?" she said hoping to focus attention on him until she could bring herself under control.
Instead of answering, he took her by the shoulders and turned her so her face was out of the deepest part of the shadows.
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying."
"Okay, why are you not crying like that?"
"You're not making any sense," she said, a choke of laughter forcing its way through her tight throat.
"Neither are you."
"Females don't have to make sense. Didn't you know that?"
"I didn't mean to say anything to hurt you."
"You didn't. It was already there."
Instead of more questions or assuring her everything would be all right, he pulled her close and put his arms around her. With gentle strength, he drew her resisting body forward until her shoulder rested against his chest.
"They're the worst kind. They hurt all the time."
He kissed her on the top of her head.
It was the understanding in his voice that made her relax against him. He knew how she felt because he felt the same way. No one ever had. Not even Troy.
Madison understood it had nothing to do with being strong. It simply had to do with being. It wasn't something that would go away. It would always be there, and it would always hurt.
But if she could find a shield that would never go away, would never wear out, would be so strong and tough nothing could penetrate it, maybe it wouldn't always hurt so much.
She didn't know what that shield might be, but if she ever found it, she hoped it had something to do with being in Madison's arms. Never in her whole life had she felt so safe and protected.
All her life people had wanted her to change to suit them. But now, resting against Madison, his arms around her, she knew he wasn't wishing she was different. He knew where his arms were and was content for them to be there.
She knew he was being gentle with her because of her ribs, but even as she felt a twinge of pain, she wished he would hold her closer, harder. She longed to feel so tightly bound that nothing could ever tear her loose.
She felt her arms slowly encircle Madison's waist. She didn't direct them to do so. They just did it on their own.
It was a strange feeling.
Fern had never been held by a man. Uneasiness and expectation heightened the wondrous feeling of contentment until she felt she had found the answer to her every question.
But putting her arms around Madison was even more wonderful. He felt strong and sturdy, as though nothing could shake him. After a life of compromise built upon the shifting sands of human emotion, it was like finding herself come to rest on a monolith.
She felt in safe harbor. She felt home.
Madison's kiss was soft, his touch tender, but his embrace had all the reassurance of solid rock. There was a sweet persuasiveness about his kisses Fern found irresistible. She liked being coaxed to do exactly what she wanted.
Madison placed cool kisses on her waiting lips, but her willing compliance soon turned his coolness to heat. He covered her face with passionate kisses. Fern had never heard of a man kissing eyelids and ears, but she found she liked it very much.
She found it hard to believe that Madison, who could be so abrasive, abrupt, and dispassionately critical, could throw aside all his reluctance to show emotion and act so loverlike. He had changed as much as she had.
Sometime, somehow she had worked her woman's magi
c on him until he forgot he disapproved of her, forgot so completely he wanted to kiss her instead. It gave her a much more wonderful feeling of power than roping and throwing a steer ever had.
But his power over her was just as revolutionary.
She had never wanted to be pretty for some man. She had never wanted to be held close or feel protected. She'd never thought she would like being kissed, not even casually, certainly not in the energetic way Madison was now employing.
She gasped with surprise when he forced her teeth apart and his tongue invaded her mouth. She was certain nobody in Kansas did that. She had a deliciously exciting feeling that it was highly improper, that even the soiled doves would disapprove. But after a moment's hesitation, she found she liked that, too. Her tentative parry to his thrust caused his tongue to plunge deep into her mouth.
The pain in her ribs told her Madison was holding her too tightly, but she didn't care. It was a small price to pay to nestle in the comforting circle of his arms.
But everything changed when he pulled her into a closer embrace, when their bodies came together, chest against chest, thigh against thigh. It acted as a signal, an alarm, a tocsin.
From somewhere deep inside her, the fear that had lurked there for eight years awakened. Even as she leaned into Madison's embrace, even as she longed to lose herself in his arms, she felt her muscles begin to stiffen. Panic reared like an angry monster roused from a deep sleep. It routed the budding excitement that skittered along her nerve endings when she felt her breasts press against his chest. It evaporated the slightly nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach when their bodies touched from hip to knee. It robbed her of the comfort she found in the circle of his arms.
In its stead came an imperative need to break away from the prison of his arms. She felt her body stiffen, her muscles bunch for a supreme effort.
She tried to tell herself she trusted Madison, that he would never harm her, but her trust was too new, too untried to survive the onslaught of her fears. She must be free.
Even as she raised her hands to push him away, she searched her mind for an excuse. Madison would demand a reason. She couldn't tell him. She could never tell anyone.
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