by Lonely Lady
"So they're that sort of dreams, are they?" he asked, chuckling.
"I don't suppose you dream about me," she fished.
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, he sat up and got to his feet gracefully. "I'm leaving while there's still time," he said, and he grinned at her.
"Craven coward," she muttered. "You'd never make a teacher. You have no patience with curious students."
"You've got enough curiosity for both of us," he told her. "Walk me to the door."
"If I must."
He paused with the door open and looked down at her with open possession. "One step at a time, Nat," he said softly. "Slow and easy."
She blushed at the tone and the soft insinuation. He bent and brushed his mouth briefly against hers. "Get some sleep. I'll see you Friday." "We're still going to Billings?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said gently. "Good night."
Frustrated and weak in her knees, she watched him stride to his car. She didn't know how it was going to work out, but she knew that there was no going back to the old easy friendship they'd once enjoyed. She wasn't sure if she was glad or not.
Chapter 4
There were plenty of nervous faces and anxious conversations when Natalie sat in the biology classroom to wait for the professor to hand out the written test questions. She'd assumed that the lab questions would require everyone to file into the lab with another sheet of paper and identify the labeled exhibits there. But the professor announced that the dissection questions were on a separate sheet included with the exam. Everybody was on edge. It was common knowledge that many people failed the finals in this subject and had to retake the course. Natalie prayed that she wouldn't. She couldn't graduate with her class if she flubbed it.
When the papers were handed out, the professor gave the go-ahead. Natalie read each question carefully before she began to fill in the tiny circles of the multiple choice questions. As she studied the drawing of the dissected rat and noted the placement of the various marks, she found that she remembered almost every single one. She was certain that she was going to pass the course. Mack had made sure of it. She almost whooped for joy when she turned in her paper and pencil. There was one more thing required—she had to fill out a rating sheet for the professor and the course, a routine part of finals.
She loved the class and respected the professor, so her answers were positive. She turned in that sheet, too, and left the room. There were still fifteen people huddled over their papers when she went out the door, with only five minutes left for completion.
She almost danced to her car. One down, she thought delightedly. Three to go. And then, graduation! She could hardly wait to share her good news with Mack.
The week went by very quickly. Natalie was almost certain to graduate, because she knew she did well on her finals. The only real surprise would be her final grade, and it would include the marks she received for her practice teaching. She hoped her scores would be good enough to satisfy the school where she would begin her career next term.
When Friday rolled around, she breathed a sigh of relief as she left the English classroom where she'd finished her final round of questions. It was like being freed from jail, she reflected. Although she would miss her classmates and her professors, it had been a long four years. She was ready to go out into the world.
She hadn't heard from Mack all week. Vivian called her Thursday night to ask if she was still planning to go out with them. She didn't sound very enthusiastic about the double date. Natalie tried to smooth it over, but she knew that her friend was jealous, and she didn't know what to do about it. She must discuss it with Mack, she decided.
She tried his cell phone, and he answered with a voice that held both terse authority and irritation.
"Mack?" she asked, surprised by the tone, which he never used with her.
"Nat?" The impatience was gone immediately. "I thought you'd have forgotten this number by now," he added in a slow, smooth tone that sounded amused. "What do you want?"
"I need to talk to you."
There was a pause. She heard him cover the mouthpiece and talk to someone in the tone she'd heard when he first answered the phone. Then his voice came back to her. "Okay. Go ahead."
"Not over the phone," she said uncomfortably.
"All right. I'll come over."
"But I'm ready to leave," she protested. "I have to drive to town to buy a dress for tonight."
There was a pause. "Good for you."
"It's your fault. You keep making fun of the only dress I've got."
"I'll pick you up in ten minutes," he said.
"I told you, I'm going—"
"I'm going with you," he said. "Ten minutes."
The line went dead. Oh, no, she thought, foreseeing disaster. He'd have the women in the clothing store standing on their heads, and before he was through, the security guards would probably carry him out in a net.
But she realized it wasn't going to be easy to thwart him. Even if she jumped in her car and left, he knew where she was going. He'd simply follow her. It might be better to humor him. After all, she didn't have to buy a dress today. She could wear the one he didn't like.
He drew up in front of the door exactly ten minutes later, pushing the passenger door open when she came out of the house and locked it.
His dark gaze traveled over her neat figure in gray slacks and a gray and white patterned knit top. He wasn't wearing chaps or work boots. She assumed he'd been instructing his men on how to work cattle instead of helping with roundup. He looked clean and unruffled. She was willing to bet his men didn't.
"How many of your men have quit since this morning?" she asked amusedly after she'd fastened her seat belt.
He gave her a quick glare before he pulled the big, double-cabbed truck out of her driveway and into the ranch road that led to the highway. "Why do you think anyone quit?"
"It's roundup," she pointed out. She leaned against the door and studied him with a wicked grin. "Somebody always quits. Usually," she added, "it's the man who thinks he knows more than you do about vaccinations and computer-chip ear tags."
He made an uncomfortable movement and gave her a piercing glance before his foot went down harder on the accelerator. She noticed his boots. Clean and nicely polished.
"Jones quit," he confessed after a minute. "But he was going to quit anyway," he added immediately. "He thinks he knows too much about computer technology to waste it on a cattle ranch."
"You corrected him about the way he programmed your computer," she guessed.
He glared at her. "He did it wrong," he burst out. "What the hell was I supposed to do, let him tangle my herd records so that I couldn't track weight-gain ratios at all?"
She chuckled softly. "I get the picture."
He took off his gray Stetson and stuck in into the hat carrier above the visor. Impatient fingers raked his thick, straight black hair. "He was lumping the calves with the other cattle," he muttered. "They have to be done separately, or the data's no use to me."
"Had he ever worked on a ranch?"
"He worked on a pig farm," he said, and looked absolutely disgusted.
She hid a smile. "I see."
"He said the sort of operation didn't matter, that he knew enough about spreadsheet programs that it wouldn't matter." He glanced at her. "He didn't know anything."
"Ah, now I remember," she teased. "You took the computer programming courses last semester."
"I passed with honors," he related. "Something he sure as hell didn't do!"
"I hope you never take a course in teaching," she said to herself.
"I heard that," he shot at her.
"Sorry."
He paused at the highway to make sure it was clear before he turned onto it. "How did exams go?"
"Much better than I expected," she said with a smile. "Thanks for helping me with the biology test."
He smiled. "I enjoyed it."
She wasn't sure how to take that,
and when he glanced at her with a sensuous smile, she flushed.
"What sort of dress are you going to buy?" he asked.
She gave him a wary look. "I want a simple black one."
"Velvet's in this season," he said carelessly. "You'd look good in green velvet. Emerald green."
"I don't know..."
"I like the feel of it in my hands."
Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. "Oh, does Glenna wear it?" she asked before she thought.
"No." He studied her for as long as he dared take his gaze off the highway. He smiled. "I like that."
"You like what?" she asked irritably.
"You're jealous."
Her heart skipped a beat. She stared out the window, searching for a defense.
"It wasn't a complaint," he said after a minute.
"I still don't want to be anyone's mistress, in case you were wondering," she said blatantly, hoping to distract him. She was jealous—she just didn't want to admit it.
He chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."
It was a short drive. She told him where she wanted to go, and he pulled the truck into a parking space near the door of the small boutique.
"You don't have to come in, too," she protested when he joined her on the sidewalk.
"Left to your own devices, you'll come out carrying a black sack with shoulder straps. Where you go, I go," he said imperturbably. "Think of me as a fashion consultant."
She glared at him, but he didn't budge. "All right," she gave in. "But don't you start handing out advice to the sales-lady! If you do, I'm leaving."
"Fair enough."
He followed her into the shop, where a young woman and an older one were browsing through dresses on a sale rack.
As Natalie headed in that direction, he caught her hand gently in his and maneuvered her to the designer dresses.
"But I can't..." she began.
He put his forefinger across her soft mouth. "Come on."
He gave her a considering look and moved hangers until he found a mid-calf-length velvet dress with cape sleeves and a discreet V neckline. He pulled it out, holding it up to Natalie's still body. "Yes," he said quietly. "The color does something for your eyes. It makes them change color."
"Why, yes, it does," an elderly saleslady said from behind him. "And that particular model is on sale, too," she added with a smile. "We ordered it for a young bride who became unexpectedly pregnant and had to bring it back."
Natalie looked at the dress and then at Mack with uncertainty in her face.
"It's okay," he murmured drolly. "Pregnancy isn't contagious."
The saleslady had to turn away quickly. The younger woman across the shop couldn't help herself and burst out laughing.
"Try it on," he coaxed. "Just for fun."
She clasped it to her chest, turned and followed the saleslady to the back of the store where the fitting rooms were located.
How Mack had judged the size so correctly, she didn't want to guess. But it was a perfect fit, and he was absolutely right about the way it changed her eyes. It made her look mysterious, seductive, even sexy. Despite her lack of conventional beauty, it gave her an air of sophistication. She looked pretty, she thought, surprised.
"Well?" he asked from outside the fitting room.
She hesitated. Oh, why not, she asked herself. She opened the stall door and walked into the shop.
Mack didn't say anything. He didn't have to. His whole face seemed to clench as he studied her seductive young body in the exquisite garment that fit her like a custom-made glove.
"Well?" she asked, echoing his former query.
His gaze went up to collide with hers. He didn't say a word. His hands were in his pockets, and he didn't remove them. He couldn't seem to stop looking at her.
"It was made for you, my dear," the saleslady said with a sigh.
"We'll take it," Mack said quietly.
"But, Mack, I'm not sure..." she began. There hadn't been a price tag on the garment, and even on sale, it might be more than her budget could stand.
"I am." He turned on his heel and followed the saleslady out of the fitting room.
Natalie looked after them wistfully. She could protest, but Mack and the saleslady had just formed a team that the Dallas Cowboys couldn't defeat. She gave in.
By the time Natalie changed into her slacks and shirt and tidied her hair with a small brush from her purse, Mack was signing a sales slip. He handed it to the saleslady along with the pen, and turned as Natalie emerged with the dress over her arm.
"Let me have it, dear, and I'll hang it for you."
Natalie gave it up, watching blankly as the saleslady put it on a hanger, draped a bag over it and tied the bag at the bottom.
"I hope you enjoy it," the saleslady said with a smile as she handed the hanger to Mack.
"Thank you," Natalie said, uncertain if she was thanking the saleslady or her determined escort.
Mack led her out of the store and put her in the truck after he'd hung her new dress on the hook in the back seat.
"Do you need shoes to go with it?" he asked.
"I have some nice black patent leather ones, and a purse to match," she said. "Mack, how could you pay for it? Everyone will think—"
His hand caught hers and curled into it hungrily. "Nobody will know you didn't buy it yourself unless you tell them," he said curtly. His head turned and he looked at her intently. "It really was made for you."
"Well..."
His fingers curled intimately into hers. "You can wear it to Billings," he said. "And when we go nightclubbing."
Her heart raced madly, as much from the caressing touch of his strong fingers as from what he said. "Are we going night-clubbing?"
"We're going lots of places," he said casually. "You don't start teaching until fall. That means, you'll have plenty of spare time. We can go on day trips and picnics, too."
Her body tingled from head to toe. She looked at the big, beautiful hand holding hers. "All four of us?" she asked, wondering if he wasn't taking this chaperon thing a little too seriously.
"You and me, Nat."
"Oh."
He turned off the highway onto a dirt track that led under an enormous pecan tree. He stopped and cut off the engine. The dark eye that met hers was somber and intent on her face.
"Are you serious about Markham?" he asked at once.
"I told you before, he's my friend."
"What sort of friend?" he persisted. "Do you kiss him?"
She frowned worriedly. "Well, no..."
"Why not?"
She sighed angrily. "Because I don't like kissing him. Mack..."
"You like kissing me," he continued quietly.
"You're making me nervous," she blurted. "I don't understand why you're asking so many questions all of a sudden."
He unfastened his seat belt and then hers before he pulled her across his body, her back to the steering wheel and her head resting on his left shoulder. He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke.
"I want to know if you have any long-range plans that involve your teaching colleague," he said finally.
"Not the sort you mean," she confessed.
His lean hand traced her shoulder and then slid down sensuously right onto her soft, firm breast. She gasped and caught his wrist, but he wouldn't budge.
"You don't have to pretend to be outraged," he said gently. "I've touched you like this before."
"You shouldn't," she whispered, flustered.
"Why not?" His hand spread in a slow, sensuous caress that made her nipples go immediately hard. "Your body likes it, even if your mind doesn't."
"My body is stupid," she muttered.
"No, it isn't. It has excellent taste in men," he mused, tongue in cheek.
"Will you be reasonable? It's broad daylight. What if someone drives down this way?" she asked, exasperated.
"We'll tell them a bee got in your blouse and I stopped to take it out," he murmured as his head lowered.
"Now stop worrying about slim possibilities and kiss me."
She tried to tell him that it wasn't a good idea, but his mouth was already firmly on her soft lips before she could get a word out. He nibbled at her upper lip in a lazy, sensual rhythm that made it difficult for her to think. When his hand slid inside the blouse and under the strap of the flimsy lace bra, she stopped thinking altogether.
She heard the soft moan of the wind outside and the closer sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She curled a hand into Mack's cotton shirt and lifted herself closer to him.
He bit her lower lip gently while his fingers felt for buttons and moved them out of buttonholes before he coaxed her soft hand inside his shirt and against warm, hard muscle and thick black hair.
It brought back memories of the rainy night he'd come to sit with her after Carl was killed. He'd held her close in his arms that night, too, and he'd pulled her hands inside his shirt, against his bare chest. She remembered his sudden, frightening loss of control....
Her hand stilled against him as she drew her mouth from under his and looked at him with traces of apprehension in her drowsy eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She swallowed. "I don't want to...to make things difficult for you," she said finally.
''They're already difficult." He shifted her in his arms so that her head lay in the crook of his arm, and his hand went under her blouse and around her to unfasten the hooks on her bra.
"We shouldn't," she tried to protest.
He lifted his head and looked around for a few seconds before his gaze came back to her. "There isn't a car in sight," he said. "And I'm not planning to ravish you within sight of a major highway."
"I knew that."
"Tell me you don't want this and I'll let you go," he said bluntly, hesitating.
She wanted to. She really did. He looked impossibly arrogant with his shirt half unbuttoned and his mouth swollen from the long, hard contact with her lips. His hair was mussed by her fingers, and he looked somber and dangerous. She should tell him to let her go. But his fingers were tracing under her arm, and her traitorous body was writhing in an attempt to get his hand where she really wanted it. She could barely breathe as she twisted helplessly against him.
