Sweetwater Seduction

by Johnston, Joan

  Suddenly she realized she hadn't offered the two men anything to drink, and rushed back the direction she had come. Only Felton had obviously had the intention of joining her, because as she came out of the kitchen he was heading in. The swinging kitchen door slammed right into the crystal relish dish in his hands, sending the contents flying into his face and across the front of his shirt. He stood there stunned for a moment, with sweet pickle juice dripping from his nose and chin.

  “Oh no! I'm so sorry.” Miss Devlin took the crystal dish out of his hands and set it on the table. At the same time she grabbed a linen napkin and began dabbing ineffectually at his sticky face. “This is awful! Your shirt—your vest—”

  “Don't worry about the shirt, I—”

  She had Felton's vest halfway down his arms when he grasped her hands to stop her.

  “I don't care about the shirt,” he said. “It doesn't matter.”

  Eden's face was a picture of distress. “I'm so sorry, Felton. I never thought . . .”

  “Look, Miss Devlin. I think maybe I better not stay—”

  “Oh, no. You must stay. I mean—”

  Felton watched Miss Devlin's glance fly to Kerrigan and back. His lips flattened as he pressed her hands and said, “I think maybe it would be better if I came to supper another time.”

  “But it's all ready,” Eden protested. “Except for the steak, of course, and—”

  Felton applied enough pressure to her hands to cut her off. “I'm a little too sticky to enjoy sitting down with company right now. Besides,” he said with a glance over his shoulder, “two's company. Three's a crowd.”

  “But I—”

  “Good night, Miss Devlin.”

  “I—” Eden's eyes widened as he released her hands and headed for the door. She turned accusing eyes toward Kerrigan, and waited only until the door had closed behind Felton to hiss in outrage, “This is all your fault!”

  “Does this mean you don't want me to stay for supper?”

  Miss Devlin fought the urge to throw something. “I want you out of my house.”

  “It's a shame to let that steak go to waste,” he said with a grin.

  “It can rot for all I care!” Miss Devlin felt tears of frustration filling her eyes and fought to keep them back.

  Kerrigan started toward her.

  “Stay away from me. Don't touch me. I—”

  She tried to evade him, but his arms encircled her, his hands offering comfort as they roamed across her back.

  “Hey. You aren't going to let a little spilled pickle juice get you down, are you?” he teased.

  She kept herself as rigid as she could, her head turned away from him, her eyes staring blankly across the room as she spoke in a choked voice. “I didn't think anything else could go wrong tonight, you know, because my mashed potatoes turned out lumpy, and the pumpkin pie is burnt—but raw on the inside—and the snap beans are ruined. But then Felton showed up. And you showed up. And now he's gone. And you won't leave.”

  “No,” he murmured. “I'm here to stay.”

  “You can't stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don't like the way I feel when . . .”

  “How do you feel, Eden,” he said in a voice that was soft, coaxing.

  Somehow she found herself cradled in the Texan's arms, with her head on his shoulder, and his chin resting against her temple. His hand reached up under her coiled hair and caressed her nape. Eden felt her body relaxing and forced it back to rigidity. “This is ridiculous. Let me go.”

  “All right. As soon as you tell me how I make you feel.”

  Eden's head snapped around to face him. “No!”

  The callused fingers at her nape thrust up into her hair, and he used his hold to tug her head back so she was staring up into his dark, fathomless eyes.

  Sheed her eyes to shut out the need in his eyes . . . fearing he would see the answering need in hers. The hold on her hair tightened and she opened her eyes against the beginnings of pain.

  “Don't look like that,” he said in a fierce voice.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a green-broke bronc in a thunderstorm. Skittish. Ready to run. What are you so afraid of, Eden?”

  The quiver in Miss Devlin's chin warned her she was about to lose control. She never got the chance.

  Kerrigan's lips came down hard on hers. It was an angry kiss, his mouth rough and demanding. She had no time to feel frightened; she was too busy feeling other things—anger, and then passion, hot and biting, and totally overwhelming in its intensity. His touch softened, and his tenderness was even harder to resist.

  She was panting hard when Kerrigan finally wrenched his mouth from hers. Her hands were tangled in his hair, while his hands—were in places they ought not to be.

  “How dare you!”

  “I think we've been through this before,” he said sardonically, letting his hands slide (one up, one down) to her waist.

  “Let me go.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  Suddenly, she was free.

  Kerrigan walked away from her to retrieve his sheep-skin coat from the sofa, hooking it over his shoulder with two fingers. “I'll be in touch.” He dropped his Stetson onto his head and quietly closed the door on his way out.

  Miss Devlin slumped into the reception chair, her body still tingling from the aftereffects of Kerrigan's kiss. She couldn't understand what had come over her. He could make her feel . . . so many things. It would be lying to say she wasn't attracted to him. She was. But it was more important than ever not to let her heart lead her head. She had to do a better job of keeping her distance.

  But that was going to be much harder after this kiss, and all the firsts that had come along with it. The first time a man had nibbled on her lip in a touch racing the border between pleasure and pain. The first time a man had touched her breast, the brush of his thumb against her nipple causing it to harden against his hand. The first time a man's hand had soothed the flesh along her hip. The first time a man had pulled her close so she could feel the hard evidence of his desire for her.

  Miss Devlin moaned. No wonder Claire Falkner had cried out against taking an oath to forgo such pleasures. She could see now how the kettle of worms she had opened could easily become rattlesnakes.

  Miss Devlin moaned again. Tomorrow night was the annual Sweetwater Halloween Party and Dance. She would have to face ase husbands and wives knowing she was responsible for keeping them apart. Not even her plan had been enough to avoid another shooting—this one resulting in death. She would need to speak to the women to make sure this latest incident did not deter them from the course they had set. It was more important than ever that they remain firm.

  At least she wouldn't have to worry about running into Kerrigan at the dance. After dark he disappeared out onto the plains in a deadly hunt for rustlers. She wasn't worried about the Association's hired gun. Eden Devlin wasn't going to let herself care enough for any man to worry about him. But she did want peace in the valley. And that was how she justified the thought that sprang into her head.

  Please, please, let Kerrigan find the rustlers without any more violence.

  Chapter 8

  Buckshot leaves a mean and oozy corpse.

  CLOUDS COVERED THE MOON, CAUSING THE KIND OF blackness you would expect for a truly bloodcurdlin

  g Halloween. Kerrigan smiled at his sense of the ridiculous. He had promised himself he would dance with Miss Devlin at the Halloween celebration being held at the town meetinghouse, but it didn't look like he was going to get his wish. An itch at the back of his neck warned him the rustlers would strike tonight. He trusted his instincts because they had kept him alive through more than one ambush. So instead of whirling Miss Devlin in a lively polka, he was sitting in the dark on his paint horse
in the bitter cold waiting for the rustlers to make their move. He had picked a spot in a stand of pines on Solid Diamond land that provided cover and still gave him a good view of the herd grazing on the grassy plains below him. On a hill in the distance he could see the line shack where Oak Westbrook had stationed a couple of hands to help keep an eye on things.

  The light in the shack had gone out over an hour ago. The lonesome melodies from a mouth harmonica he had heard coming from the darkened shack had ceased. It was quiet, except for the lowing of cattle now and then.

  Kerrigan warmed his gloved hands with his breath. The weather would soon put a stop to rustling for the duration of the winter. If he hoped to catch the cow thieves, he needed to do it soon, before the snow left drifts too deep to move a rustled herd to the nearest railroad head.

  The clouds had drifted by, revealing moonlight so bright that he saw the rustlers long before he heard them. They came from the south, five of them, muffled up in heavy coats, their hats tied down with bandannas against the bitter wind. He couldn't see their faces. They worked as a team and quickly cut out about twenty head and herded them off in the direction of Sweetwater Canyon.

  Kerrigan smiled grimly. If luck was with him, he might make it to the Halloween dance after all.

  The church pews had been moved along the walls, and the town meetinghouse now served as a dance hall. Husbands stood clustered in groups of three and four on one side of the room, while wives stood in similar circles on the other side. The trio of musicians played to a dance floor bereft of revelers.

  The men's groups remained divided along rancher and nester lines, but their vow of celibacy had united the women in a common bond that had nester and rancher wives exchanging war stories with desperate animation.

  So far, the traditional Sweetwater Halloween Party and Dance was a dismal failure.

  Miss Devlin approached the hen clutch that contained Regina Westbrook and Persia Davis and asked, “Isn't anybody going to dance?”

  “I'm not speaking to my husband, thanks to you,” Regina said.

  “And my husband isn't speaking to me,” Persia added with a brittle smile.

  “Then why did you bother to come?” Miss Devlin wondered aloud.

  “I'm not going to give Oak the satisfaction of knowing I'm upset that he's not in charity with me,” Regina said. “And since Hadley insisted he was well enough to come, here I am.”

  “Where is Hadley now?” Miss Devlin made a glancing search of the room, without seeing her pupil. She knew Bliss had hoped to be alone with Hadley at the dance, so she could tell him about the baby. “I saw him earlier,” Miss Devlin continued, “surrounded by young people. I believe he appeared something of a hero with his arm in that sling.”

  “Hadley's the main reason I haven't given up on this fool idea of yours,” Regina said.

  “Then you think it's working?” Miss Devlin asked, unable to hide her excitement.

  “If you mean, are our husbands ready to kill us for keeping them at arm's length, then, yes, it's working,” Persia agreed. “I don't think anyone is ready to give up yet. Especially after what happened to Pete Eustes. Big Ben is the stubbornest man I ever met.”

  “He's no worse than my husband,” Amity Carson complained.

  “Or mine,” Claire Falkner added vehemently.

  “How long are we expected to keep this up?” Mabel Ives asked.

  Miss Devlin let her gaze move from wife to wife around the circle, knowing all of them were appalled by what had happened to Pete Eustes, and feared more such incidents. “Until it works,” she said hesitantly. “Unless someone else has a better idea?”

  None of the ladies could meet her steady gaze, and apparently no one else had a better idea. “Every one of you must have the fortitude to keep your vows,” Miss Devlin said. “Surely, husbands can't resist your feminine wiles much longer.”

  Regina and Persia exchanged a knowing look before Regina said, “I don't suppose the rumors we've been hearing this week about you and Felton and that gunslinger have anything to do with your confidence that we'll succeed.”

  “I don't know what you mean.” But the two spots of color on Miss Devlin's cheeks left her words in doubt.

  “I mean,” Regina persisted, “that maybe you understand a little more about what we're going through now.”

  “I don't know—” Faced by so many pairs of accusing eyes, Miss Devlin couldn't lie. “Perhaps I do,” she conceded.

  “Just remember,” Persia warned, “you took the oath to abstain the same as we did.”

  “You're forgetting I am not a married woman,” Miss Devlin said indignantly.

  Regina chuckled. “That never stopped a determined man.”

  “I never—”

  “Excuse me, ladies. I want to ask Miss Devlin for the pleasure of this dance.”

  The rumbling bass voice was familiar, but not the one Eden had fretted about hearing. She pasted a welcoming smile on her face before she turned to greet the sheriff. It was the first she had seen of him since their confrontation the previous evening.

  “Good evening, Felton. Are you sure you want to dance? It doesn't seem to be the evening for it.” She gestured to the barren dance floor.

  “Then we can be the ones to break the ice,” he said. “I insist.”

  He already had her by the elbow, urging her toward the center of the room. There was no way she could escape without causing a scene. Naturally, the moment they reached the center of the floor, the music ended. There was nothing for them to do but stand there waiting for the next tune to begin.

  “I didn't expect to see you. Did you ever finish your business?” she asked.

  “I decided to postpone my trip.”

  Miss Devlin found herself staring at the sheriff's bushy mustache, wondering whether it was soft or not, and what it would feel like against her face during a kiss. Mercifully, before she could follow those thoughts any further, the music, a slow waltz tune, began.

  “Shall we?” Felton placed one hand firmly at her waist and held up the other, waiting for her palm to be placed in his.

  To Miss Devlin's surprise, Felton was quite an accomplished dancer. His step wasy to follow, and since she had so little experience dancing, she was grateful for his firm lead. If she hadn't felt quite so self-conscious about being the only ones on the dance floor, she might actually have enjoyed herself.

  She compared the feeling of being comfortable in Felton's arms with the anxiety she had felt being held by Kerrigan. Somehow Miss Devlin thought she ought to feel something more than comfortable and less than anxious when a man held her in his arms—although she wasn't sure exactly what.

  As Felton had predicted, several single gentlemen asked ladies to dance, so they were not alone on the dance floor long. Nevertheless, she was glad when the dance ended.

  “Thank you, Felton.” Miss Devlin's intended retreat to the ladies' side of the room was quickly halted when Felton once again snagged her elbow.

  “Surely I deserve another dance.”

  The tone of voice and the choice of words, especially after the scene with Kerrigan the past evening, raised Miss Devlin's hackles. “I'm afraid this dance is promised.”

  “To who?”

  “To whom.”

  “To whom?” he grated.

  “To me.”

  Miss Devlin whirled and found herself face-to-face with Hadley Westbrook.

  “Bound to be a little difficult to dance with that broken wing. How about letting me step in for you?” the sheriff cajoled with a confident smile.

  “I'll manage,” Hadley replied with an equally determined smile.

  “Excuse us, Felton. The music is starting.”

  Fortunately it was another slow waltz, and Hadley was able to manage by putting one hand on Miss Devlin's waist while she rested one han
d on his shoulder and the other on the crook of the arm he held in the sling.

  “That was quite gallant of you,” Miss Devlin said. “But I could have managed without your help.”

  “I wanted to talk to you in private,” Hadley said. “This was the only way I could think of to do it.”

  “What's wrong?” Miss Devlin asked, responding to the urgency in Hadley's voice.