by Debra Cowan
She hadn’t paid him any mind since he’d refused her offer for help the other night. She was probably only sitting here now because the brandy had relaxed her guard.
He focused on redressing her wound. Her skin here was as silky and fine-grained as that of her face and neck.
She fidgeted in her chair, which she’d done several times. “You look like you’ve had a lot of practice with bandages.”
More than he wanted, thanks to his father’s accident. His jaw tightened as he said gruffly, “I changed plenty of dressings after Pa was injured.”
“What happened to him? You’ve never said.”
There was a reason for that. Russ didn’t cotton to telling anyone, especially Lydia, that J.T. had nearly died because of him. “He had an accident while stringing fence and his leg was impaled on a tree branch sticking out of the ground.”
“Oh, my lands. It sounds awful.”
“He almost bled to death.” Russ didn’t know why he was telling her anything about it. “We were lucky he didn’t.”
It was all luck and no thanks to Russ. When he tied off her bandage, he rubbed his thumb lightly over the area.
Lydia thought she could feel his touch through the dressing, which was ridiculous. She should get up and leave right now, but her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t seem to move anything. She wanted to lean into him, for just a moment.
Rattled, she fought the urge to squirm. “The wind is starting to blow something awful out there. Do you think it will rain tomorrow?”
“Hard to say. The weather could change in five minutes.”
She stared in arrested silence as his thumb continued making small circles on the neat binding. Finally, he seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped, his gaze going to her mouth.
Oh, Lord! Lydia’s pulse hitched. She nervously licked her lips and heat flared in his eyes.
He wanted to kiss her. The desire was plain in his eyes and set off a flutter of anticipation low in her belly.
As the silence pulsed between them, her breasts grew heavy and her nipples tightened beneath his regard. When his breath feathered across her lips, she realized only inches separated them and she jerked herself to attention.
She had to get away from him. Whether it was due to the brandy or the man, she felt as though she were slowly unraveling.
Unsteady on her feet, she rose and carefully slid her arm back into her wrapper. “I’d best turn in.”
He stood, too, towering over her.
She jerked the belt tight. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Happy to do it.”
She managed to move calmly, deliberately to the doorway, but she really wanted to run. “Good night.”
“Good night.” His husky voice slid over her like dark velvet.
She felt his gaze following her, could still feel his touch. All the distance she had managed to put between them the last few days had dissolved in an instant when he had insisted on redressing her wound. And Lydia knew why.
She wanted him. Inwardly, she groaned. That was not good. The only thing worse would be if he found out.
Russ had known he wouldn’t be able to get Lydia out of his head the night before and he’d been right. From the moment he’d startled her coming out of the kitchen, she’d been jittery, and he didn’t think it was because he’d seen her in her nightclothes.
That was definitely one reason he was twitchy. All night long, he’d thought about her in her nightclothes, out of her nightclothes. Tangled sheets. Damp skin. And he kept remembering the feel of her thick cloud of raven hair. He wanted to put his hands in it again, his face, feel it slide over his bare flesh.
It wasn’t just his body she had on low simmer. It was his mind, too. When he noticed her wound had reopened, he’d been stunned by an overwhelming need to take care of her. Russ hadn’t wanted to take care of her or sit so close to her or touch her petal-smooth skin, but he had felt compelled to.
She had told him she was downstairs the night before because she was bringing in a quilt.
It wasn’t her answer he found odd. It was the fact that she’d been coming from the kitchen rather than the back of the hotel. She could’ve been getting something from the kitchen, but she’d had nothing with her. And she’d been so skittish that he had wondered later if she might have been meeting someone. A man.
The thought had him clenching his jaw hard. He hadn’t noticed her spending time with any one man since she had arrived in Whirlwind, but he supposed she could be keeping it quiet.
He didn’t know why he cared if she had been meeting a man. She was the burr under his saddle right now, and it wasn’t only because she had rejected his idea for a gambling room. He couldn’t get her out of his mind and it was damn infuriating.
She had been flustered the night before and after Russ had almost kissed her, his calm, poised business partner had been even more flustered.
Every self-preserving instinct he had was screaming at him to spend as little time with her as possible, so that’s what he planned to do.
By five o’clock that afternoon, he had washed up, shaved and put on his best suit. As he locked his office, he tried to turn his mind to more pressing matters than wondering why he hadn’t seen Lydia all day.
He started toward the front doors. Except for a small amount of painting that remained to be done on the third floor, The Fontaine was finished. He was anxious to open to the public what he and Lydia hoped everyone would like. Russ figured the restlessness churning inside him was about the hotel. Until he saw her.
She glided down the stairs, looking like a vision. His chest went tight. Her gown of deep red was made from velvet and some stiff material that rustled slightly when she moved. The red bodice was cut low across her full breasts, so low he felt a jolt of anticipation that she might fall out of it.
His hands actually ached to get on her. In the next breath, he wanted to cover her up so no other man could see what he was seeing. Elbow-length sleeves hid the bandage on her arm and the bodice gloved her torso before flaring out slightly over her hips and the bustle in the back. Draped to one side, the red-striped skirt showed the solid red underskirt beneath.
Against the vibrant ruby of the dress, her skin glowed like pearls. Her upswept hair bared her dainty nape and showed off a pair of dangling diamond earrings. The chignon of soft curls on top of her head was wound intricately with a red and silver ribbon. Russ wanted to rip out every pin holding the silky raven mass in place.
They had to pass the next few hours together so he couldn’t exactly avoid her this evening. Still, he didn’t have to spend every minute with her.
As he got closer to her, he was able to breathe, but that didn’t mean he could string together more than two words.
By the time she joined him at the now-open front doors of The Fontaine to begin greeting their guests, he had managed to find his tongue. And all he could think about doing with it was running it over every inch of her body, especially the luscious flesh swelling above her bodice.
Russ knew he wouldn’t be the only man thinking such things once the others got a look at her and that didn’t sit well.
She glanced at him, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Hello.”
“Hello.” His gaze traveled from the top of her silky hair to the tips of her matching red slippers. “You look mighty fancy.”
“It’s a special day.”
“You being in that dress makes it special for everybody,” he murmured.
Surprise flared in her eyes and a slight flush tinged her cheeks. “Thank you. You look very nice, too.”
She smiled, but beneath her outward poise, Russ felt a hum of anxiety. It was in him, too. Especially when he drew in a deep breath of her subtle lavender scent. “How’s the arm?”
“Better.”
“Does it still pain you? Did you do any more unpacking today?”
“No. And it doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as it did last night.”
“Good.”
“Thanks again for fixing me up.”
He nodded, studying her face carefully, looking for a sign of her nervousness from the night before. While he didn’t see any unease, he did sense a tension that reminded him of the moment when he’d thought about kissing her. He wondered if she was curious as to why he hadn’t. He sure was, because if he’d had a reason, it was gone now.
Before he could dig that hole deeper in his mind, Catherine and Jericho Blue arrived. The nurse who had tended Lydia’s gunshot wound introduced her tall, dark-haired husband then asked after the injury. As Lydia explained to the expectant woman what had happened last night, Russ exchanged a few words with the former Texas Ranger before the couple moved on, making room for Jake Ross and his family.
Turning to Lydia, Russ introduced the rancher and his wife of less than a month, Emma, who held her year-old half sister. Russ was used to Emma’s blond hair now, but when she had first arrived in Whirlwind back in August, her hair had been dyed and was nearly as dark as his. That had been part of a disguise she’d used to try and hide the infant from Emma’s abusive stepfather.
Jake’s uncle Ike, and cousin Georgia, visited with Lydia then Russ. He overheard Bram, Jake’s brother, ask Lydia to save him a dance later. She agreed, then encouraged everyone to look around the hotel, have some champagne and sample the menu.
She and Russ greeted people for close to an hour, including the man from Abilene from whom Lydia had bought their glass for the third floor.
As Russ and Lydia made sure the guests were serving themselves from the sideboards in the dining room and touring the hotel, the Doyle brothers began to play in the lobby. With Cal on the mouth harp and Jed on his fiddle, they started off the dancing with a reel to the music of “Durang’s Hornpipe.”
The dining tables and chairs had been moved against the far wall and the crowd spilled over from the dining room for dancing and mingling.
Several times Russ saw Naomi refilling food trays, dipping punch or pouring champagne. Ef stayed close to her, helping carry this or that. Russ had a feeling his friend’s days at the bawdy houses in Abilene might be over.
He found himself watching Lydia as she whirled around the brightly lit room with different men. Color tinged her cheeks and her smile never wavered. Russ couldn’t take his eyes off her, but she didn’t look at him once.
As the evening wore on, he danced with Zoe Keeler and all four of Jericho’s sisters as well as the man’s mother. During that time, Lydia danced with Matt, then Bram, then Matt, then Mitchell Orr, who was Charlie Haskell’s nephew. Then she was back with Bram.
Russ also partnered some of the older women around the floor, including Cora Wilkes. The tall feisty widow had already foregone a few dances to chat with Pa, who couldn’t dance because he was still confined to his wheelchair.
Watching J.T., the old familiar guilt twisted inside Russ. Then quick as lightning, the emotion edged into something hot and reckless when he saw Lydia again change partners from Bram to Matt. Russ knew his brother, knew how he operated with women because he and Russ operated much the same way. Lydia didn’t need to be finding that out firsthand, and she sure as hell didn’t need to be learning it from Matt.
Observing them from the corner by his office, Russ’s muscles coiled tight. His brother and Bram seemed to be engaged in a contest to see who could claim the most dances with her. Russ didn’t like either of them spending so much time with his business partner so he asked her for the next dance.
Giving the excuse that she needed to check things in the kitchen, she said no. The next time he asked, she begged off claiming her feet hurt and saying she wanted to rest. Both Bram and Matt “rested” with her, each bringing her a glass of champagne.
During one song, she didn’t dance at all. She stood beside Quentin Prescott’s wheelchair, drinking more of the bubbly liquor and talking to the former railroad worker who now set type for the Prairie Caller. She was probably only answering Quentin’s questions for the newspaper, but Russ didn’t like that, either. She was talking to everyone except him.
He was supposed to be avoiding her. He was avoiding her. So why couldn’t he stop looking at her?
Eyes narrowed, Russ watched his brother’s hand move lower to the small of her back. Without missing a step, Lydia guided Matt’s hand to a more appropriate place. Russ thought about cutting in, but as the song changed to the fast-paced “Buffalo Gals,” Bram swept her out of Matt’s arms.
Jake Ross walked up beside Russ. “Looks like your brother’s taken a shine to your business partner.”
“Looks like your brother has, too,” Russ said drily as he finished off another glass of champagne.
Jake chuckled. “This ought to be interesting.”
It was downright aggravatin’, but Russ didn’t say so. He hadn’t felt territorial over a woman since Amy. Just the thought of how that had turned out should’ve been enough to rein in the damn urge to stake a claim on another woman, but it didn’t.
After another glass of champagne, he danced with Josie then Catherine, then Susannah Holt. The blonde woman, who was married to Davis Lee’s brother, had taught Russ to dance a couple of years ago when she had arrived in Whirlwind. Several men had attended the charm school she ran out of Cora’s house.
Despite his enjoyable conversation with Susannah, Russ couldn’t keep his attention from Lydia. She was with Bram. Again.
The dark-haired rancher dipped his head and said something that had her smiling. The smile that made Russ’s world go end over end.
He didn’t know if Lydia’s smile tripped Bram up the way it did him and he didn’t care. She didn’t need to be smiling that way at anyone else.
That was when he finally admitted he didn’t want to avoid her at all. And he wasn’t going to.
Chapter Seven
I t was another twenty minutes before the musicians stopped for a break. Russ took advantage of the lull in the program and said a few words to the crowd then thanked everyone for coming. As Davis Lee made a toast, Lydia, standing across the lobby in the wide archway of the dining room, murmured agreement and raised a glass of champagne along with the others. Russ wondered how much liquor she’d had. He had lost count of the number of glasses he’d drunk.
When he saw her glance surreptitiously over her shoulder then duck into the dining room, suspicion shot through him. She had done that a couple of times this evening. What was she up to? Only one way to find out. He excused himself from his conversation with Jake.
He wove his way through the crowd, speaking to people as he went, but not slowing down. Several people were conversing in the dark-paneled dining room as he came to a stop in the kitchen doorway.
Lydia stood at the table, cutting a piece of pecan pie. Pie. The reason she had sneaked in here was because she was hungry, not because she was doing anything clandestine. Russ mentally smacked himself. What had happened before with Amy had made him paranoid. It didn’t help that he’d had so much champagne.
Fading gold daylight from the window across the room outlined her profile. She lifted the fork to her mouth.
Russ braced one shoulder against the doorjamb. “That looks good.”
She made a choking sound. Her silverware clattered to the table as she jerked toward him, pressing one hand to her chest. “You scared the fire out of me!”
“Sorry.” He folded his arms and grinned.
The tip of her little finger rested on the swell of one breast and Russ wanted to touch her there, find out if her skin felt as satiny as it looked.
“I had to eat something.” Dark eyes sparkling, she leaned toward him and said conspiratorially, “That champagne was goin’ straight to my head.”
Her honeyed drawl trailed over his body, sending a surge of hot hard want through him.
Turning back to pick up her fork, she slanted him a look from under her thick black lashes. “Want some?”
He damn sure did and he didn’t mean pie. His gaze lowered from her face to her breasts. “What el
se ya got?”
At his suggestive tone, her eyes narrowed as she said sweetly, “Possum pie. It’s at Pearl’s.”
He chuckled. “How do you think things are going out there?”
“Wonderfully!” She swallowed a small bite of dessert. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he murmured. It wasn’t the lingering aroma of cooked meats and desserts that had his mouth watering. It was her.
Knowing she’d had a little too much to drink put all kinds of ideas in his head. “Why won’t you dance with me?”
She blinked. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“We’re business partners.” She daintily brushed a crumb from the corner of her lips. “Someone might get the wrong idea.”
They sure would if they saw the avid way she was staring at his mouth right now. Tension coiled inside him.
The champagne had lowered her inhibitions. Hell, it had done the same to him or he wouldn’t have followed her in here. He wouldn’t be within five yards of her, let alone thinking about getting even closer.
A gentleman wouldn’t take advantage. A gentleman would leave, but Russ couldn’t make himself do it. Not when she was still looking at his mouth. No, he wasn’t going anywhere.
He pushed away from the door and walked toward her, liking the way she went still as he approached. “Is that the only reason? Because someone might draw the wrong conclusion?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
He wondered if she were aware that she was backing farther into the kitchen. And that he was matching her steps. He drew in a deep breath of lavender and woman. “Nobody’s watching us now.”
“You want to dance in here?”
“Why not?”
She laughed. “There’s no music.”
Right then, strains of “The Blue Danube Waltz” drifted into the room. He grinned. “There is now.”
He noted the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat. She licked her lips nervously and his body went tight.
“Well, I—”
