by Anna Jeffrey
A bitter smile quirked one side of his mouth. “The usual way. I’m not without sin in this.” He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “What the hell. It was a long time ago. It’s not your problem, darlin’.”
She was darlin’ again. A door had slammed shut. She drew a calming breath, unable to leave it alone. “I know about Jimmy. Your sister told Piggy.”
He turned toward her slowly, his eyes narrowed. “What is it you think you know?”
“That—that he doesn’t have Down’s. That it’s fetal alcohol syndrome because his mother…drank.”
The muscles in both his jaws twitched. “That little sister of mine. I’m gonna put a half-hitch in her tongue yet.”
“She wasn’t being malicious. I’m sure Piggy asked her questions. If you want to talk about it, I don’t mind listening. Everyone needs to unburden sometime. And I don’t spread tales.”
“Laying blame on somebody else’s doorstep, you mean.” He shook his head. “I said more than I intended. Bad thing, letting Jack Daniel’s do my talking. Jimmy’s not something for you to worry your pretty head about. And neither is my ex-wife.”
The snow had changed from a few gentle flakes to a swirl about them and her feet felt like stumps, but she couldn’t bring herself to disrupt the first time he had said anything substantive about his life. “You obviously have strong feelings about putting Jimmy into school away from home. It would be hard for any father to do, but the important thing is improving the quality of his life, isn’t it?”
“It is. Where that boy’s concerned, you won’t hear me argue about something that helps him. We’ve covered it. That’s the end of it. I’ve said enough.”
He was impossible. She gasped and started to wheel away. Unexpectedly, he caught her coat collar and drew it together under her chin, tipping up her face with his thumbs. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “I don’t like it when you to turn your back on me.”
His hands, warm and gentler than his firm voice, framed her face, his mouth close. “Kiss me,” he murmured. “You know damn well you want to.”
No, yes, I don’t know. Before she could swallow the flutter in her throat, his head bent and his mouth covered hers. She grasped both his wrists to pull away his hands, but just like that morning on the stoop, she couldn’t make herself stop him.
He sucked at her lips, gently drew her tongue into his whiskey-sweet mouth. Taking her arms around his neck, he pulled her closer. Unable to think of anything but the pleasure swimming around in her body, she locked her hands behind his neck and kissed him back.
His hand moved down to the small of her back, pressed her against the solid evidence of his desire, but she made no attempt to push away. They kissed for a long time.
“Dahlia,” he murmured, raising his lips from hers. “As pretty as the flower. I looked up a picture.”
Her name, spoken in his husky baritone, rolled off his tongue like a song rehearsed a thousand times. It was the first time she had heard him say it. She drew a shaky breath, forcing her own voice. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why not? You liked it. So did I.” He slid his arms beneath her coat, his palms holding the sides of her breasts. “You know what I want. I think you want the same thing. This place is as good as any.”
His thumbs brushed her nipples. The flutter in her throat plunged lower, considerably lower. “You don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about you.”
“I’m easy to know. A simple man. I play straight up, all cards showing.”
He was anything but simple and she suspected he wasn’t anywhere near showing all his cards. But standing here in the warm circle of his arms, her feet freezing, her secret places blazing, she was dangerously ready to believe anything he said. She looked into his eyes. “I’m lousy at card playing.”
“It comes natural between a man and a woman, darlin’. One of those things that’s meant to be.”
A vision of their naked bodies plastered together under warm bedcovers skipped through her head. Piggy’s forecast came back to her and she wondered if he did have condoms in his pocket.
Of course he does. All men have condoms in their pockets, especially if they’re cowboys. “I should go home before the roads get slick.”
He smoothed his hands up and down, his thumbs pressuring the sides of her breasts. His lips, too sculptured to be on such a masculine man, tipped into a smile, lazy and slow. “You’re too late, darlin’. It starts freezing again the minute the sun dips.”
She chewed on half her lower lip. “This is crazy. You can’t…Just because you want to doesn’t mean you…”
The swirling snow had become a veil between them. He glanced up and around. “Let’s go inside before we get buried. We can dance while you think it over.”
Think it over! She didn’t dare. There’s nothing as seductive as having a sexy guy look you in the eye and tell you he wants to screw you. Piggy’s words, frighteningly true. “Dance? Where?”
He tipped his head toward the door. “There’s a dance floor in the bar.”
She nodded, gave a thin smile. “Oh. Well. Maybe dancing would warm up my feet. They’re frozen.”
He offered his arm. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow seemed the logical thing to do. His hand covering hers, his gaze traveled down at her sandals. “I’ll just bet they are. We’ll sit down and I’ll rub ’em.”
She angled a dubious look up at him.
He winked.
Damn him. Here she was again, letting herself be led in a direction she hadn’t planned to go.
Or had she?
Chapter 10
Luke had managed to cool down to a simmer. His jeans felt a little less binding. He was pretty sure she was thinking about what he had said, but he had already figured out she wasn’t one to take decision-making lightly.
He had told the waiter to bring her check, her bottle of champagne and some toothpicks into the Hearth Room. She attempted to out-grab him for the check, saying she would pay for her own dinner. Brushing her hand aside, he gave David a fifty.
As he helped her out of her coat, he let his gaze slide from her hair to her ankles. Her dress was thin-looking and showed her shape. The neck wasn’t especially low, but he could see the swell of golden, supple flesh that moved when she breathed and subtle cleavage that made his tongue itch. Lord, she was all woman, soft as a kitten and sleek as a high-blooded filly. He swallowed and told her she was wearing an awful pretty dress.
She said thanks and rubbed a palm up and down one arm, action that pushed a breast up and into a soft mound above the neckline. “It really isn’t right for this climate, but . . .”
She looked up then. The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile, like she wasn’t used to hearing compliments, which was hard to believe. “After being grungy all week, I felt like wearing something pretty. I didn’t bring many clothes, so . . .” She shrugged.
He turned to Cal. “Would you be bothered by some juke box music?”
The bartender turned down the TV. “Nah. I got too much to do to be watching TV anyway.”
Luke placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her to the juke box. He dug some quarters out of his pocket, pulled her against his hip as they studied the titles and she didn’t resist. Having her close beside him felt comfortable, as if they had been in this place in time before.
He still sensed unhappiness in her, as he had that first night he met her and he found himself wanting to put a smile on her face. He poked the quarters into the coin slot and told her to pick what she liked. She shook her head, so he did the choosing. When Willie Nelson broke into “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys,” he curved his arm around her waist and eased her away from the juke box’s neon glow and asked her if she like the song.
She smiled. “It would be traitorous for a Texan not to like Willie.”
“That wasn’t a yes or no, was it? Something tells me your heroes aren’t cowboys.”
“Well . . . Atually, no.
They aren’t.”
He sighed. “I was afraid of that. Is there something a lonesome cowboy could do to change your mind?”
She laughed. “If you help me get off this mountain without wrecking Piggy’s Blazer, I’ll rethink my opinion.
Rethink. Another word he didn’t often hear. He liked the way she talked.
He shuffled her in a circle around the dance floor, being careful not to step on her exposed toes. She followed the steps, but she was stiff as a plank. “Relax darlin’. Dancing’s supposed to be fun.
“I hardly ever dance anymore. Back home, there wasn’t a place to do it.”
He thought he might be able to tease her out of being so uptight, so he leaned back to where he could see her face. “That town that’s bigger than Callister? No place to go dancing?”
She frowned and gave his shoulder a little punch. “Loretta’s full of Southern Baptists. They don’t believe in dancing.”
“Sounds like you’re not one of ’em.”
“I grew up Catholic. Like my mother. She was Filipino.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t wonder about that.”
One of his questions answered. He grinned. “Nope. I won’t tell you I didn’t wonder, but what I thought was whatever the cross, it turned out just fine.”
Pulling her closer, he placed his chin against her temple. In her high heels, she fit the length of his body. Her soft curls tickled his nose as he breathed in her scent, the same perfume she had worn that day they went to Boise. Bringing her hand between them, he pressed her palm against his chest and covered her hand with his. “You smell real nice, like the flowers in my sister’s greenhouse.
“Thanks,” she said. “I guess.”
The soft thrum of bass seemed to fill the room as he moved her around the dance floor. Their thighs touched and he willed himself to control the lust that surged. He thought of the night he met her when she had told him she was named after a flower. “I like your name. It seems to suit you.”
“Thanks, again.”
“Filipino, huh? You born in this country?”
She pushed back from him and he saw fire in her eyes. “You think I sneaked in?”
“Hold on. All I asked is where you were born. No need to be so touchy.”
She freed herself from his arm around her waist, but he hung on to her hand. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was born in Loretta, Texas. And I’m not touchy. To my downfall most of the time, I’m disgustingly agreeable.”
“I hadn’t noticed that.”
“Hah,” she huffed and he could imagine steam spewing out her ears. “What you noticed is I’m only half white.”
He pulled her back to him, scrambling to explain. “You’re wrong. You’re making the question out to be something it wasn’t.”
“Oh, really? And how am I making it out?”
“Like me wanting to know is one of those racial things. So I’m guessing you see being a mixed breed as some kind of flaw.”
“Mixed breed?” She pushed against his chest again, but he tightened his arm around her waist and didn’t let her escape. “Let me go. I knew you’d be a bigoted sonofa—”
He laid his finger on her lips. “Nobody calls me that, darlin’. You don’t know any such thing about me. You’re all excited for no reason.”
He slipped back into the music’s rhythm, rubbing his right hand up and down, smoothing out the kinks in her spine. She moved with him, but he could feel her reluctance. “Cross breeding makes a good animal. Most of the time, you get—”
“You’re incredible. And insulting. If it weren’t for the—”
“Shh. You’re not listening. Producing high quality animals is what I know about. It’s what I do. Fact is, people aren’t much different. You’re an example of an exotic mix that turned out good.” He smoothed his hand down her arm. “Real pretty, soft skin. Golden coloring. Small boned, but not the least bit fragile. Your body looks and feels strong.” He picked some curls off her shoulder and rubbed them between his thumb and fingers. They felt like silk. “Thick, healthy-looking hair. I’d say, on the whole, you’d be a superior brood animal. If you were a mare, I’d put my best stud on you.”
Before he could stop her, she wheeled out of his arms and marched toward their coats, her high heels clicking like castanets across the wooden dance floor. He strode behind, grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt.
She jerked free and glared up at him, eyes clear and stark. “What is it? You’ve already made your desires plain. You want to check my teeth before you hobble and mount me?”
“What’s wrong with you? I paid you a compliment.”
She glanced away and let out a heavy breath. “I’ve never thought of being bi-racial in quite—in the way you described.”
“Well there you go. A different way to look at it.”
The music ended. He was out of quarters and he figured they were finished dancing anyway, so he reached for her hand. She balked and glanced toward the doorway, a wary rabbit look in her eye. “C’mon,” he said, tugging on her hand. “Let’s sit down. For the time being, you’ve got no place else to go.”
She seemed to wilt at being reminded of the reality of her situation. She let him lead her toward the small, round table where his hat and their coats lay. “I just told you what I see. No hidden meanings, no insults.” He squeezed her hand, then dropped it and pulled out a chair for her. “But if you don’t believe me, while we’re finishing off this champagne, I’ll let you call me all the dirty names you know.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t usually call people names.” She sank into the chair. “I know I don’t look like everyone else. People always notice. You can’t help it.”
“You know what? Cows and horses come in all kinds and colors, but they’re all still cows and horses.” Watching her smooth her dress, flip her hair back, he filled their glasses. “I don’t like that word, bi-racial. It’s a politician’s word. Doesn’t mean a damn thing when it comes to making it from one sunup to another.”
She angled an almost-civil look at him. “What is this, Luke McRae’s homespun philosophy?”
He grinned. She wasn’t such a bad sport after all. “And I don’t need to check your teeth. I’d bet they’re just fine.”
She huffed a laugh and shook her head. “Anyway, it isn‘t important. It doesn’t have much to do with, as you say, getting from one sunrise to another. Everything’s been upside down for so long, I don’t know who I really am myself. Someday, when I make that discovery, maybe I’ll be fun.”
“You’re fun now, darlin’. And I’m guessing you know exactly who you are, but you’ve got your spurs tangled up for some reason.”
“My spurs are not tangled.”
“Looks like it to me. Fact is, it sticks out like a bear-clawed stump.” He lifted the champagne bottle into the light from the juke box and checked its contents. “Tell me something. You having a private party or drowning a demon?”
“Maybe I’m not doing either. Maybe I just like champagne.”
He arched a brow. “Ahh. Now let’s talk about that. Champagne’s a social drink. You might see a dressed-up lady keeping company with a bottle of beer or even a shot of whiskey, but it’s real unusual seeing one all alone with a whole bottle of champagne.”
“It’s nothing as melodramatic as you seem to think. I don’t drink much, but I’ve been in a good mood all day. I felt like celebrating. Champagne makes me feel special.”
“Now that’s a crying shame it takes a bottle of liquor to make a woman feel special. She oughtta have some fella doing all he can to make her think she’s a queen.”
She smiled, ran her hand underneath her hair and cocked her head. “Since you made the statement, are you applying for that position?”
As he gazed into her jewel-like eyes, he feared he could be. Before he stepped into that trap, the weight of his past experience pressed down on his shoulders and he shoved the picture of himself as any woman’s bootlick out of his
mind. Been there, done that. Spent a fortune, bought nothing. No woman would ever put a ring in his nose again.
He cussed himself for spouting things he didn’t usually say, for sounding like some moonstruck kid. “I’m just telling the way things oughtta be, not the way they are. I’ve heard every excuse there is for drinking. I’ve never known hooch to make anything better, but I’ve sure seen it make things worse. And I didn’t learn that in college.”
“You went to college?”
He filled the two glasses the waiter had left. “You think I’m too dumb?”
“Of course not. It’s just that . . . well, I guess I’m surprised. I don’t know why I should be, really. Loretta’s a farming and ranching town, sort of like Callister. A lot of people I went to high school with went on to Ag school—”
“I didn’t go to Ag school.” He took a sip of champagne, watching her face over the rim of the glass. A discussion of his college days would have to include his ex-wife, a road better left untraveled. So he grinned, set down his glass and unwrapped a toothpick. “I gave up chewing snoose for toothpicks. I like these minty ones. They taste good with champagne.”
She leaned back and propped her elbow on her hand, her glass poised in air, putting distance between them. “Aha. You changed that subject in a hurry. And earlier, you had to be angry before you talked about your son. Why is that?”
“I’m not mad at anybody. I just don’t want to relive old history when there’s better things to talk about. Most of time it’s not worth the breath it’d take to tell.”
He winked again, reached under the table, grasped her calf and placed her foot on his lap.
Dahlia tried to jerk her foot back, but he held a firm grip on her ankle and started unbuckling her shoe strap. The shoe hit the floor with a thump and her foot was swallowed in the warmth between his thighs.
“Lord, this foot feels like a chunk of ice.” He rubbed it back and forth between his palms.
She closed her eyes as warmth crept back. “You can’t do this. This is a—”
“Real nice feet,” he said. “I like ‘em.”
