Nelson's Brand

by Diana Palmer

“Aren’t you forgetting how my parents brought me up?” Allison asked gently.

  “No, I’m not,” Winnie replied tersely. “But I’m telling you that ideals and principles have a breaking point. Sexual attraction is physical, and the mind doesn’t have a lot of control over it.”

  “I can say no,” Allison replied. “Now let’s go and watch some television. Okay?”

  Winnie started to speak, but she realized it was going to be futile. It was like trying to explain surfing to an Eskimo. She could only hope that Allie’s resolve was equal to Gene Nelson’s ardor when it was put to the test.

  Gene pulled up in the yard at exactly five o’clock the next afternoon. He was wearing gray slacks with a Western shirt and a bola tie, a matching gray Stetson atop his head and hand-tooled gray boots on his feet. He looked elegant, and Allison’s heart skipped when he came in the front door behind Winnie.

  She looked good, he mused. She had on a pretty lilac vintage shirtwaist dress with a flowery scarf, and her hair was loose, hanging down her back like a wavy dark curtain almost to her waist. The dress clung gently to her slender body in just the right places, enhancing her firm, high breasts and narrow waist. She had it buttoned up right to her throat, but it only made the fit more sexy to Gene, who assumed that the prim fashion statement was a calculated one. He smiled gently, liking her subtle gesture.

  Allison, unaware of his thoughts, smiled back. “Is this dressy enough, or should I wear something else?” she asked. “I’m not used to fancy restaurants.”

  “You look fine,” Gene assured her.

  “Indeed you do. Have fun,” Winnie said gently. She glanced at Gene. “Take care of her,” she said worriedly.

  “No sweat.” He linked Allison’s soft hand in his and led her out the door, leaving an unconvinced Winnie behind.

  “Why is she so protective of you?” Gene asked when they were out on the main highway in his sleek black Jeep.

  Allison studied him from the comparative safety of her deep bucket seat. “She thinks you’re too experienced for me.”

  He raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Am I, cupcake?” he asked with cynical mockery.

  She laughed softly. “Probably. But you don’t scare me.”

  “Give me time.” He draped his hand over the wheel casually. “You haven’t asked which movie I’m taking you to.”

  “No, I haven’t. Is it a good one?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see movies too much these days. This one is supposed to be about the cattle business. But if it follows the trend, it’ll be about people taking their clothes off to discuss gene splicing and cloning of pedigree cattle.”

  She laughed involuntarily at the disgust in his voice. “You don’t think much of ‘modern’ films, I gather?”

  “No. Too much skin, not enough substance. Sex,” he replied with a glance in her direction, “should not be a spectator sport.”

  “You’re right,” she said, averting her eyes to the darkening skyline. She was glad of the dimly lit interior of the Jeep, so that he couldn’t see the slight embarrassment the remark caused her.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. He took a detour to let her see a bit more of Wyoming, going north and west several miles out of the way so that she could see one of the area’s most fascinating sights.

  When he mentioned that they were traveling through Shoshone Canyon, Allison didn’t need to be told that, because the eerie sound of the wind and the gnarled outcroppings of rock in their desert colors gave her cold chills. She remembered what Winnie had said about the area, and she almost asked Gene about it, but the tunnel through the mountain came into view ahead and her curiosity vanished in sheer fascination at the engineering job it must have been to put that long tunnel through solid rock.

  Once they were through the tunnel, it was just a little way into Cody. Gene pointed out the famous Buffalo Bill Cody museum and the rodeo grounds on the way through the small city, adding that one of the first water systems in the West had been funded by Bill Cody with labour provided by the Mormons.

  “Why, this looks like southern Arizona!” Allison exclaimed as she looked out the window when they were driving north out of Cody.

  “Yes, it does,” he said. “But when we go through the Pryor Mountains and head into Montana you’ll see the difference in the terrain. Wyoming is mostly jagged mountains, and southern Montana is mostly buttes and rolling grassland.” He smiled at her. “I love both. I could happily spend the rest of my life in Billings, but I suppose I’ve gotten too used to Wyoming.”

  “Where were you born?” she asked.

  His face hardened and his lean hands gripped the wheel convulsively. “My birth certificate says Billings, Montana,” he replied tersely. “I suppose that’s where my mother and her…husband lived at the time.” He didn’t add that he’d never had occasion to look at his birth certificate in all those years—even when he’d joined the service, his mother had provided records to the authorities. Why hadn’t he ever questioned it? It wasn’t until after Hank Nelson died that he’d seen all the paperwork—the birth certificate with the name he was born under and the adoption papers. God, it hurt to realize how easily he’d accepted the lies….

  Allison hesitated. She could tell that it was like putting a knife into him to answer the question. But his own avoidance of the subject had surely added to his discomfort.

  “You don’t like to talk about it, do you?” she asked quietly.

  “No,” he said honestly.

  “When a splinter gets under the skin,” she began carefully, “pulling it out at once prevents it from doing too much damage. But when it’s left inside, it festers and causes infection.”

  His eyes sliced through her. “And that’s what my past is, do you think? A splinter that’s embedded?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she replied. Her eyes fell to the firm set of his lips. “I imagine it was the shock of your life to find out who your father was in such a way. But I agree with Marie. I think your stepfather meant to tell you and kept putting it off until it was too late.”

  His pale green eyes flashed. He didn’t like being reminded of it, but what she said made sense. It was just the newness of discussing it, he supposed. He wouldn’t let Marie or Dwight talk about it around him. He couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t already cut Allison dead. He knew instinctively that she was sensitive enough that one hard word would stop her. He just couldn’t seem to speak that one hard word. The idea of hurting her didn’t appeal to him at all.

  They drove into Billings, along the wide streets, and Gene pointed out the landmarks.

  “The airport sits on the Rimrocks,” he added, nodding toward his left as they turned toward the hotel. “Yellowstone Kelly’s buried up there, and the old graveyard is down the hill from the grave.”

  “I’ll bet I could spend a whole day just looking around Billings,” she remarked.

  “Billings is big, all right,” he agreed, his eyes on a traffic light up ahead. “And the surrounding area is full of history.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said excitedly. “The Custer Battlefield is somewhere nearby, isn’t it?”

  “Over near Hardin,” he said. “I’ll take you there one day if you like.”

  Her heart jumped. He made it sound as if they were headed for a real relationship, not just a quick flirtation. She stared at his profile with a feeling of slow warmth building inside her.

  “I’d like that very much, Gene,” she said softly.

  He was grateful that the traffic light changed in time to distract him, because the expression on her face could have hypnotized him. He’d never seen such warmth in a woman’s eyes. It drew him like a blazing fire on a snowy night.

  “You shouldn’t look at me that way when I’m trying to drive,” he said curtly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He glanced at her as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, mentally praying for an empty spot. She looked blank, as if the remark didn’t register.
>
  “Never mind,” he murmured, his keen eyes on the last space, where a car was backing out. “The answer to a prayer,” he chuckled.

  “The parking spot?”

  “You bet,” he agreed. “The food here is something special, as you’ll see, so it’s usually crowded on weekends.”

  He pulled into the vacated parking spot and parked. The night air was warm and the city smelled of anything but exhaust fumes. Perhaps it was its very spaciousness.

  “This doesn’t look like Arizona, but it’s just as spread out,” she remarked, staring around her with interest.

  “Most Western cities are,” he said. He escorted her into the lobby and then into the elevator. They rode up to the restaurant near the top of the building and were seated by a window overlooking the Yellowstone River and the railroad tracks. A freight train was barreling through the darkness and Allison’s eyes followed it wistfully.

  “Do you like trains?” he asked, glancing down at the passing train.

  “Oh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I used to dream about having an electric train set of my very own, when I was little. But I was taught that there were many things more important than toys.”

  He smiled gently. “Such as?”

  She returned the smile. “A pair of shoes for a neighbor’s little girl who didn’t have any. Glasses for a seamstress who was the sole support of three children. Insulin for a diabetic who could barely afford to pay rent.”

  He had to search for words. He hadn’t expected that reply. “Taught by whom? Your parents?”

  She nodded. She looked down, toying with her utensils. “They were…very special people.” She had to bite down hard to keep the tears back. Nightmare memories flashed through her mind.

  Gene didn’t miss the sudden look of panic on her face. His lean hand crossed the table and caught hers, enveloping it tightly. “You can tell me about it later,” he said quietly.

  His compassion startled her. Her lips parted as she met his pale green eyes and searched them, while her fingers curled trustingly into his. “It’s still fresh, you see,” she whispered huskily.

  “You lost them recently?”

  She nodded. Words couldn’t get past the lump in her throat.

  “So that’s why you’re here,” he said, thinking aloud. “And why Winnie’s so protective of you.”

  She didn’t disagree. There was so much more to it than that, but she couldn’t talk about it just yet. Instead her fingers curled against the firm, comforting strength of his.

  “If it helps, I know what you’re going through,” he said. His voice was as comforting as his clasp. “You’ll get past it. Take it one day at a time and give yourself room to grieve. Don’t shut it inside.”

  She took a steadying breath and forced a smile. “Look who’s telling whom not to shut it inside,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  He laughed softly. “Okay. Point taken.” The smile faded and he frowned with real concern as he studied her wan face. “Want to give this a miss and go back to Winnie’s?”

  Her lips parted. “Oh, no, please,” she faltered. “I’m okay. It was just…sometimes I think about them and it hurts. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.”

  “What makes you think you have?” he asked quietly. “I know how it feels to hurt inside. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

  She took a steadying breath and smiled. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “No sweat. Are you hungry?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  “Good. So am I.”

  Their waitress made an appearance, almost running to keep up with the demands on her, apologetic as she deposited a menu and then took their order. Gene found that Allison shared his taste in food, because she ordered a steak and salad and coffee, just as he had. He grinned.

  “Coffee will poison you,” he reminded her after the waitress had left it and gone off to the kitchen.

  She put cream and sugar into hers. “As long as it doesn’t cripple me, I’ll be okay,” she said. “You’re drinking it, too,” she pointed out.

  “Of course. I didn’t say it would poison me.”

  Her face beamed as she studied him. “I noticed.”

  He grinned at her. “I hope you also noticed that I’m not drinking.”

  “It’s hard to miss,” she confided. “You’re turning purple.”

  “I’ll survive,” he replied.

  Just then, the waitress brought their orders and then they were too busy eating to talk. Allison hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She ate, but, with every bite, her eyes were helplessly on Gene Nelson’s dark face.

  Chapter Five

  The theater wasn’t crowded, so Gene and Allison had a whole row to themselves, away from the few other people in the audience. Gene put his Stetson atop one folded seat and stretched his long legs, crossing one over the other while the previews ran. Allison munched the popcorn he’d bought her and tried to pay attention to the screen.

  It had been a long time since she’d seen a movie, because there hadn’t even been a television set where she and her parents had spent the past few years. She was behind the times in a lot of ways, and the fact was really brought home to her as the story unfolded. As Gene had predicted, despite the fact that the story was supposed to deal with cattle ranching, most of it seemed to take place in bedrooms. She watched, red-faced, during one particular scene replete with heavy breathing and explicit material.

  Gene glanced at her expression with faint curiosity. That wide-eyed gape couldn’t be for real. Nobody who had a television set could be shocked these days. Of course, it could be seeing a scene like this with him, a comparative stranger, that made her nervous. She might not be all that experienced, even if she’d been with one or two men. Funny how it disturbed him to think of her being with any man at all except himself.

  He reached for her hand and drew it gently into his, resting it on his muscular thigh. She resisted for a few seconds, until the contact began to weaken her and she gave in.

  His long fingers played with hers, teasing between them while things heated up on the screen. He lifted them to his lips and began to nibble at her fingertips with slow, sensual intent.

  Allison had never been exposed to this kind of thing. She felt his lips against her fingers and almost gasped at the sensations she felt when he nibbled them.

  She tried to draw back her hand, but he held it in a firm, gentle grasp. What was happening now on the screen had her rigid with disbelief.

  Gene glanced down at Allison, watching her reaction to the screen. Her expression was one of astonished awe, and something scratched at the back of his mind, only to be gone before he could let it in. Her fingers clenched around his unconsciously and he returned the pressure.

  “Amazing what they can get away with, isn’t it?” he murmured deeply, keeping his voice low. The nearest people were three rows away, so there was little danger of being overheard. His thumb rubbed slowly across her damp palm, pressing the back of her hand into the powerful muscle of his thigh. The sensation rocked him, because it was such an innocent contact. He looked back at the screen, all too aware of her warm touch. His chest rose and fell heavily as he watched the couple on the screen. “Does it embarrass you?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she moaned, giving in to honesty.

  “I thought you said you were a modern girl,” he murmured, and he smiled, but it was a kind smile.

  “I thought you said sex shouldn’t be a spectator sport,” she returned.

  He chuckled at the riposte. “Touché.” The screen suddenly drew their attention as the sounds grew louder and more frantic and finally ended in breathless cries of simulated ecstasy.

  Allison was almost trembling by now. Gene felt stirred himself. It had been a while between women. He looked down at Allison with fascination as he felt the shiver go through her. She had to be very sensitive to react so fiercely to a love scene.

  His hand absently moved hers up his thigh, until he r
ealized what he was doing and felt the almost frantic restraint of her hand.

  “Sorry,” he murmured dryly as he released her fingers and watched them retreat to her lap. “I guess it got to me more than I realized.”

  “They shouldn’t show things like that,” she faltered, still red-faced and unsteady.

  “I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t realize it would be this explicit.” He stood and tugged her along with him, ignoring the curious glances of much younger couples.

  “They think we’re crazy to leave, don’t they?” she asked as they walked through the lobby to gain the street.

  “No doubt. But they’re a different generation. Come to think of it,” he added as they reached the dark sidewalk, “so are you.”

  “I’m only nine years younger than you are,” she protested.

  He smiled down at her, the coolness of the night air calming his heated blood. “Almost a generation, these days,” he observed. He slid his hand into hers and clasped it gently, his head lifting as he heard the first strains of Mozart in the distance. “If you don’t care for explicit sex, how about soft music and ice cream?”

  “Soft music?”

  “There’s an ice-cream social, complete with orchestra concert, in the park on summer nights,” he explained. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  He helped her into the car and drove down to the enormous city park she’d seen earlier, with its ancient towering cottonwood trees and lush grass. Tables and chairs were set up for visitors, although plenty of the guests were sprawled on blankets or quilts on the dry grass. It was like something out of a fantasy, and Allison was enchanted.

  “How delightful!” she exclaimed.

  Gene lifted an eyebrow and smiled as he led her from the car into the throng, past where the symphony orchestra played magnificently. This was very much his kind of affair, and it touched him that Allison should find it so enjoyable, which she very obviously did.

  “I have to admit that this is much more my scene than risqué movies,” he mused. “Doing it is one thing, but watching other people do it—or pretend to—doesn’t really appeal to me.”