by Joey Light
“You wouldn’t do that,” he dared, catching her earlobe between his teeth and continuing his feast along her cheek on his way back to her lips. It was as if someone had thrown a book in front of him years ago and he had never bothered to open it. Now as the pages fluttered in front of him, he realized he had never seen the words before. What a shame she hadn’t come into his life a decade ago. All that time wasted…the happiness lost. Not anymore.
She gave him a playful shove. “At this point, I don’t know what I would do.”
Because she deserved more than making love in the sunshine, where they could be discovered at any moment, he yanked her up and pulled her back into the wonderfully warm and slightly trembling circle of his arms. When they made love, and they would, the time would be right.
“Now I bring out the big guns.” He smiled to himself. She wasn’t even ready for the courting she was going to get. This lady didn’t trust. He would teach her.
For a moment she looked confused and then he pulled her by the hand over to where he had placed his .30.30 and .357 magnum.
Standing behind her, he put the gun with the eight-inch stainless steel barrel in her hands. She tested its weight. Then with his hands and arms supporting her, he aimed at the targets he had nailed against the stands. Amazing. The feel of his body curling against her back, her bottom, and her legs. His warm breath at her ear threatened her aim and concentration.
It was a different feeling from any she had ever known. Auras merged. It was as if every piece on a chessboard was lined up just right for the kill; as if she had the last king on the checkerboard and was about to jump six of his pieces. And only the fitting of their bodies together, here in the open with prairie breezes pushing past them did this?
“Take aim and fire when you’re ready, but…it’s going to kick and deafen you at the same time. It’s the long barrel. Either you can cock it and you have a hair trigger or you can just squeeze the trigger.” He was about to drown in her. The arms he supported her with wavered only slightly. Blood pounded through his veins and he thought his heart might burst.
He had known she fit to him, but not how well. He had known her kisses would send him soaring, but not how high. The lilac fragrance of her hair made him want to take her to the ground again. The knowledge of that was almost a threat to him. Almost. Caution was about to be thrown to the wind. The female scent of her soft skin and the strong grip of her hands, beneath his, threatened to push him over the edge of reason. Forcing his concentration back to the target area, he nearly lost it again when she was pushed back against him discharging the first bullet from the gun.
Grin wide, she looked back at him. “Wow.” She wiggled in his arms. “Let me try it on my own.”
“Sure, after you fire the other five rounds first. This is called practice. Keep your arm straight, support the gun butt like this with your other hand. Look down the ventilated sight plane and plug that target…in the middle,” he teased.
Bracing her legs farther apart, she adjusted herself straight on to the target. This time she cocked it and brushed the trigger. Right of the center. One, two, three, four more. The sixth one dead center. “Could have placed them all in the bull’s-eye if someone hadn’t been waving me off target.” And if she hadn’t felt the hard wall of his body each time she gave with the shot.
Even though the cylinder of the handgun was empty, he stayed in the firing position with her in his arms. “Have you ever been regressed? I’m beginning to think you’ve been reincarnated and you were William F. Cody in another life. Maybe that’s why you love this place so much and just maybe why you can shoot like this.”
She laughed, turning her face back toward his, his chin at the top of her head. “Couldn’t be I’m just good, could it, Cooper?”
“I don’t think so.” He let go of her then, even though it was the last thing he wanted. Showing her how to load, he handed her the gun and stepped back.
Her jeans fit snugly over slim hips and rounded buttocks. He wanted to trace his hands over the lines. The sound of her blasting away at the target grabbed his attention. She splintered the corner of the board and then homed in and circled the target.
“I love this. Now the Winchester .30.30.”
Shaking his head, he picked it up and put it in her hands. “And this afternoon I want to show you how to smooth out your riding and then in about a month we’ll start the barrel pattern.”
“Barrel pattern?”
“Yep. You’re just the right weight to ride a horse well in that event. Ever thought of rodeoing?”
She levered the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger, finding the target. Again and still again. Laughing, she answered his question.
“Why a month, and what do you mean smooth out my riding?” She reloaded.
“You still tend to ride English. You give too much with your legs and you almost post. This is the West. You ride smooth and easy, sitting back in the saddle and putting your weight there. You’re more in tune with the horse riding Western. In my opinion, the smaller the saddle gets, the less connection you have with the horse. We’re not chasing some damn fox with hounds yapping at our heels.”
“Oh, we’re not. That’s fine with me. Since I taught you to shoot skeet International, it’s only fair you teach me to ride Western well. But don’t think I’ll be bad at it.”
“You think you’re something, don’t you?” he teased.
She leveled the rifle and then caught it over her arm, flipping the safety on. Turning halfway, she frowned. “No. But I want to be something. I want to be…”
“A cowgirl?”
“Through and through.”
Taking the rifle from her, he planted a kiss on her nose. “Done showing off for now?”
“Thanks, Wes. I had fun. Don’t be too hard on me when we do the riding.”
“I’m going to be real hard on you. You want to be the best and I’m the one to teach you, but you’d better grow a thicker skin and get used to not taking offense. I want you to be the best, too.”
“Do I do that?”
“You bristle up from time to time.”
“Maybe it’s the way you teach. Maybe you expect too much too soon or maybe you simply don’t like a female being as good as you. I blew you away at trap.”
“In your lifetime, you couldn’t be as good as me.”
She popped him then, good and hard in the shoulder.
“Ow. What a charley horse. I’ll have a knot for a week.”
When had the camaraderie set in? She didn’t know but they were easy with each other. Comfortable and she liked it. She also liked the excitement that hovered around them, nudged her nerves alive, and she liked the way the man enjoyed life.
Gathering up the weapons, they headed back toward the buckboard they had used to haul everything up there. Once on the seat next to him, she stopped him from tapping the reins against the horses’ rumps to start the drive back.
“You know, I can almost feel them,” she told him as she looked around. Many times she had walked up this hill and many times she had wondered what had gone on, years before, right where she stood now, exactly on this spot of earth.
Wes nodded. “The Indians, the pioneers, the outlaws, and the settlers. Me too. Just about where we are now a small church once stood. It’s said that the preacher taught the Indians all about the white man’s god. For years they listened and believed and then the other white men showed up. The ones who wanted the red man’s land and weren’t willing to pay for it.”
Victoria listened to the smooth story-telling sound of Wes’s voice and looked out across the field trying to picture a small, poorly constructed place of worship, the preacher dressed in dark clothes and a wide-brimmed hat standing in the doorway. The breeze whispered across her face while the sun reddened it.
“The preacher was hard put to make the Indians understand that they must learn to live with the white man, especially when the white-eyes killed their buffalo and chased them off the land. For a wh
ile the little church was abandoned as both sides fought for control. After the white man won, the preacher held on to his church and waited for the Indians to return. He had faith that someday they would. Well, they didn’t, until that night six years later and the old preacher heard someone at the door of the church. He opened it and there he stood. The old chief, broken war lance in hand, a party of young warriors behind him.
It seems it was time for him to die and he wanted to die here, so that he could find the peace the white man’s god promised and the preacher had taught him about.”
“So the preacher’s sermons hadn’t fallen on deaf ears as he had thought.”
“No. The old chief was brought into the church and the preacher cared for him until he passed on. As it turned out, the old Indian asked to be buried near the church so he could always be near the smart god-man. Also in hopes that if there was a heaven he would be guaranteed better passage coming right from holy grounds.”
“That’s a nice story. Do you ever feel them in the town? Glory Town? I do. Like lost souls coming home. I know it was all built years ago and was never a real Wild West town, but if I were the soul of a brave sheriff who had died defending his town or a weary cowboy almost finished the trail drive and drowned crossing the river…someone like that would feel at home in our town. There’re ghosts here. I wish I had lived in those days.”
He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I don’t. Then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company or your very vivid imagination.”
A smile played its way across her lips. Lips that wanted to be pressed against his again. “Who knows? Maybe we both lived back then. Maybe we even knew each other.”
“Unlikely. I would have remembered it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. But it would explain my feel for the rightness of being here. My ability to ride and shoot without instruction.” “Ability?” He teased. “You still ride like a girl, and the shooting, well, it could be luck.”
“You hope it is. There’s a barn dance tonight. The first one that has been advertised in town. You going?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. I like to put Katie to bed…”
“Afterward then.”
“You asking me for a date, Vic?”
She winced when he used Buck’s nickname for her. She reached over and tentatively took his hand in hers. Looking directly at him, she decided to be as honest as she could be. “I’ve decided to open my heart and really see. For the first time. I think I only saw what I wanted to see. Maybe I never gave reality a chance before. I don’t know where all this is going, if anywhere. But I find, despite the fact that I resent your being here…I like you. I like you a lot. Yes, I’m asking you for a date.”
He grinned wide and slapped the leather across the horses’ backs. “I’ll be there tonight.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed hers. “I like you, too, Vic. And I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Wes put everything away and headed out to go over some more roping tricks for the upcoming rodeo with the men. And, he thought, there should be a parade at the beginning with flags and trick riding. It should look just like the real thing. When he was done with them, it would be the real thing. He just hoped he could keep his mind on the task at hand.
After spending a congenial morning with Victoria Clay, the stubborn, unwanted Easterner…wanted now at least by him, he wasn’t sure his world could ever be the same. Life had lifted the sash on the window of what could be, and he liked it. He needed it. He craved it. He still worried that she would never believe him if he was completely honest with her and was unwilling to take the chance. He watched as she crossed the dusty road of Glory Town and wondered if in some strange way they had been catapulted back in time and no one noticed. Not even them.
The barn dance was going to be a success. Victoria stood on the sidelines and all but clapped her hands. Many local people drove out to park their cars beside the potholes and beneath new construction to see what was happening different in a very old business that had simply been there forever.
From the looks of the costumes, crinolined skirts and Western shirts and bob ties, some interest had been stirred. It might only be from the lack of entertainment in the vicinity, but Victoria didn’t care why they were there, just that they were. It made a nice mixture. Crew, tourists, and locals.
The colored lights she had strung around the inside of the barn cast a festive mood. Crockpots full of chili and trays laden with rolls and pies lined the tables. Buckets of ice and cases of pop and beer sat here and there. The stereo blasted from a corner hidden from view.
Maybe she had finally done something that would make an impact on Glory Town. Victoria watched Buck. He stood on the outskirts of the barn, looking in and around. The darkness prevented her from deciphering the look on his face as one of pleasure or pain. She headed his way.
Buck saw her coming. She almost looked smug and, dammit, he had to admit she almost deserved to. The reenactment crew was actually taking pride in Glory Town and their roles. The acts were tightening up and looking very authentic. She had done one heck of a job with this old barn. One heck of a job. But then why shouldn’t she? He had already counted plenty of locals kicking up their heels and spending money. He rubbed his hands together and grinned when she approached.
“Not a bad turnout, Buck. What do you think?”
He grunted. It was too late to change his image now. He wasn’t sure he would if he could. “Time’ll tell.”
She nodded. “It certainly will. The hot dogs are delicious. We bought the best, the big fat ones that plump in the middle. And the fries are being cooked in peanut oil. You ought to try some.”
He shrugged, looking around. “Later, maybe.”
He was dragging at her good mood and she wanted none of it.
“Suit yourself.” With that she walked away from him, hands moving in time to the music.
Buck felt the slightest tug of rhythm in his feet and stood with his weight evenly distributed to discourage it. He wanted to dance. He wanted to get out there and do the hoedown. But then they’d have him made as an old softy and you couldn’t run a business if you were a marshmallow. Right? he asked himself. Hadn’t he done it right all these years? He watched as Victoria let herself be grabbed up by one of the men and kick up some dust on the dance floor. She seemed to manage to mix and mingle and still have the men’s respect. Could she actually have been right all along and he wrong? No, he decided. No way.
Chapter Seven
The minutes moved on quickly and to a timely beat. Victoria sipped on a cold glass of cola and watched from the sideline, toe tapping to the rhythm. She was watching for Wes.
Buck was still there. That in itself disturbed her. What did it mean? Was he gauging the worth of the event? Was he trying to decide if she was taking over, playing the big-kid partner again? Or…could it be that pretty older lady who seemed to be smiling at him from under lashes still thick and pretty? Victoria felt the corners of her mouth curl as she watched the scenario unfold before her. She deliberately eyed Buck. She wanted him to know she was watching.
The lady was probably in her fifties. Her hair was a soft champagne blond threaded with silver. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes were green. She had painted her lips a soft pink to match the dress that reached her ankles to top off white boots. Her nails were long and painted a rose color. Each finger sported a ring, either a plain band or one with a gemstone. She was pretty. And she was shy. She seemed to want to come over to talk to Buck. But instead she just watched him and from time to time would pull her gaze to the dance floor and clap her hands in time to the music.
Enough of this. Victoria walked over to the lady. “Hi. I’m Victoria Clay. Welcome to Glory Town.”
The lady’s voice was soft and rich. “Hello. I’m Emma St. Claire. It’s a wonderful get-together. I’ve been curious about this setup since I moved here a few months ago. It’s the first chance I’ve had to come out. I run the bookstore in Redwood. Takes up
a lot of time. But I took tonight off to come out with my daughter and her husband.”
Shoot. Married. Well, maybe not. “Your husband doesn’t like to dance?”
“He died last year. That’s why I moved out here from Maryland to be near the rest of the family. I like being with the grandchildren. It keeps me busy and I don’t have to think about being alone.”
Great. And an Easterner. That would teach Buck. If Victoria had a mustache, she would have twirled it. Plotting, she guided Emma toward the table supported by three sawhorses and overflowing with food. “We’re neighbors. I’m from Virginia. Come on over and I’ll treat you to a hot dog. I’m starving.”
The woman smiled a pretty smile and followed Victoria over to the table. Buck was only five feet away. Victoria made him wait. They laughed when they both reached for the ketchup. Taking a big bite, Victoria pretended to just spot Buck. “Hi, Buck. Great party, don’t you think?” She winked at him. He scowled at her.
“This is Emma St Claire. Runs the bookstore in town. Emma, this is my partner, Buck Mitchell. Together we own Glory Town. You two have running a business in common. Oh, I see Nick. I want to talk to him about the show tomorrow.” With a wave, she was off. Buck was left alone with the pretty lady. And Victoria almost prayed he would fall for her. Hard. An Easterner. It would serve the old crust right.
Besides, she hated to see anyone be alone.
Wes was late. Well, not late, she reminded herself. They hadn’t set a time. She berated herself for the fact that she wouldn’t have a good time until he arrived. “Nick. How’s it going?”
Nick looked handsome in his cavalry shirt and tight black jeans. He wore a new after-shave. One spicy and sweet. He beamed when she held out her hand and was glad when the music turned from fast to slow. “The Tennessee Waltz” played lazily along the sweet night air. He pulled her into his arms and moved to the beat.
They chatted, but Victoria didn’t pay much attention. She was looking around, seeing what needed attending to. Everything appeared to be going smoothly. And then he walked through the door.
