Where were her ethical standards? Where was her professional demeanor? Where were her brains, for goodness' sake? Men were the ones who were supposed to be governed by their hormones, not women.
How sexist is that, Felicity Jane? she asked herself.
Very. And it obviously wasn't true, either. God, what must Taggart be thinking?
She could feel her cheeks burning even now, twenty minutes later. She rolled down the window of the car and let the cold night air nip at them as she drove. But she'd need a blizzard to take the heat out of them after what she'd done.
"A cold shower for you, kiddo," she prescribed as she skidded around the turn that took her off the gravel road and onto the paved county highway.
But even the icy shower she forced herself to endure when she got home didn't totally relieve the burn of awareness or the memory of Taggart's lips against hers. It had been so fleeting she couldn't imagine why she could still feel their touch.
She told herself he wouldn't think anything of it. Taggart Jones had surely been kissed by plenty of women in his life. She doubted there was a man alive who'd been a world champion bull rider and never been kissed. One more wouldn't faze him a bit. He probably wouldn't even remember she'd done it.
And she might have made herself believe it if she hadn't glanced in the rearview mirror—and spied Taggart, standing stock still right where she had left him, staring after her, his fist pressed against his mouth.
"Fool," she called herself. "Idiot."
She went to bed and tossed and turned, hugged her pillow, then thumped it and tried to get comfortable. There was no comfort. She got up again and turned on the light. She would read. Reading would take her mind off things—off Taggart.
She reached for the book she'd left on the bedside table. And saw Dirk.
Of course every night she saw Dirk. She had his picture right where she would see him the last thing before she turned out the light and settled in. It was habit. It was ritual. She smiled at him, told him about her day, touched his smile, said good-night. Every night.
Except tonight.
Tonight she hadn't even remembered. She'd shut off the light and flung herself onto the bed, her mind whirling so fast she couldn't think, only feel.
"Oh, Dirk." She reached for his picture, then sank down on the bed, holding it, cradling it in her hands, looking down at him. "Dirk, what am I doing?"
He smiled at her the way he always had, supporting, encouraging. Dirk had always been the more even tempered of the two of them. He'd always rolled with the punches far better than she had. He'd been able to look at the bright side when Felicity had only seen the gloom.
She wondered what he'd see if he looked at Taggart Jones.
"I think you'd like him," she told Dirk's portrait. She ran her thumb lovingly over the glass that protected his smile. "I do."
But she shouldn't have kissed him.
She lay back on her bed and drew her pillow tight against her breasts. "Should I apologize to you?" she asked. It wasn't Dirk she was talking to.
* * *
She didn't have a chance.
"He's out of town," Becky told her when he didn't come to the screening of the tape about the parents' occupations. The students had all made invitations and taken them home. Most of the parents came. Only Sam Bacon's and Teresa Faraday's weren't there. And Becky Jones's father.
"He's got a school in Oklahoma this weekend. He left last night," Becky told her glumly.
Felicity had chosen a Friday to show the tape. Now she wished she'd picked a Monday or a Tuesday. Any day when Taggart would have been able to come. Two weeks had passed since her foolish kiss—long enough for her to be convinced that he'd forgotten—even if she couldn't possibly. She remembered it—him—more intensely than she wanted to. It was an odd feeling. Unrequited. Not at all the way she'd felt about Dirk. Except the interest. The interest was definitely there.
"He can stop by and see it after school someday," she told Becky. "You tell him."
But when Becky came back to school on Monday, she said, "He wants to know if you'll send it home with me so he can run it in our camcorder." She didn't look particularly happy about the request. Felicity wasn't, either, but she could think of no reason to refuse.
She hoped he might bring it back himself. He didn't. She thought he might ring her up and say he'd enjoyed it, that she'd done a good job with his bull-riding part. She had, damn it.
But another week went by and she never heard a word.
She shouldn't have been surprised. He'd made it quite plain that he didn't want to get involved. Not that she was desperate to get involved, either, she tried to tell herself.
But the more time passed, the more she knew that wasn't entirely true. She had mourned Dirk for two years. Somewhere deep inside, she loved him still; always would. But she was alive, too. She wasn't even thirty years old. She wanted to love again.
And even though she told herself it was pointless, she wanted to love Taggart Jones.
At least she wanted to try to love him. Or even get to know him! Was that asking so much?
Apparently Taggart thought so. He clearly had no burning desire to get to know her. Her only consolation was that he would have to show up for the class production about the history of the valley. Wouldn't he? No, he wouldn't. Not if he could manufacture a commitment elsewhere.
Unless she got him to make a commitment to her.
* * *
He wasn't cooperating, Becky told Susannah. "Whenever I try to talk about her, he changes the subject. He won't even listen to what I do in school anymore. And he hasn't seen her in weeks! He won't go into town, either."
"Really?" Susannah said, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Good."
"Good?" Becky muttered. "I needed pencils and we could've got 'em at the grocery store, but he says we have to wait till we go to Bozeman. And he's grouchy all the time, too."
"Even better."
"Easy for you to say."
Susannah just laughed. "He wants to see her, but he's afraid to."
"You think so?" Becky said doubtfully.
"Of course." Susannah's tone was airy. "That's the way men are."
* * *
"You did what?" Taggart, who had been stacking bales of hay when Becky appeared bearing news, turned and glared at his daughter.
She stood her ground. "I told Ms. Albright you'd videotape our local history projects on Wednesday. She asked," Becky added when his glower deepened.
"She just came up to you and said, 'By the way, Becky Jones, I wonder if your dad would mind videotaping for us on Wednesday?" Taggart wasn't usually sarcastic to his daughter. This time he couldn't help it.
She bobbed her head. "Yes. She did! You don't think I'd tell her you would, do you? Without askin' you?"
"Yes," Taggart replied dryly.
Becky flushed, then gave him a long-suffering look. "Well, I didn't. You're too crabby lately. I'd never do that. You'd yell."
"I would not."
"You just did."
He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just … surprised."
And dismayed. He didn't want to go to Becky's class. He didn't want to see her teacher. He saw Felicity Albright often enough—in his thoughts, in his fantasies, in his dreams. He relived the kiss Felicity had given him so often you'd have thought it was the last one he was ever going to have.
It was sure as hell the last thing he'd ever expected.
He chewed at his lip now, aware that just thinking about it made him remember the feel of Felicity's soft mouth brushing his. It had made his nights long and his body hungry. He'd wanted to see her again—and knew he didn't date.
He'd stayed on the ranch since, not risking even one trip to town. He'd got Tess to pick up groceries for him or he'd driven down to Bozeman. He'd had Noah take in the horse trailer to get the broken brace welded. He'd only left to drive straight to the airport, and even then he'd been looking over his shoulder.
He knew, of course,
that he couldn't avoid her forever. But he figured he'd have his libido under control by the time he had to go to Becky's parent-teacher conferences. He wasn't there yet.
"Why me?" he demanded.
Becky shrugged. "Most parents don't know how."
"Noah does."
"Yeah, but—" Becky scuffed her toe in the dirt, then studied the mark it made.
"But what?"
She slanted him a look. "You want me to hafta tell Susannah you're chicken?"
"What?"
"Afraid of Ms. Albright." She spelled it out for him.
Taggart's jaw worked. He scowled at her, furious. "I'm not afraid of Ms. Albright!"
"Well, what would you call it?" Becky's stubborn little chin jutted out, dared him to come up with a better description.
He cussed under his breath. He fumed and muttered. He took off his hat, slapped it against his thigh, then jammed it back down on his head. "Oh, hell, all right."
* * *
Felicity wanted everything to go perfectly. She wanted the kids to say their pieces with the same enthusiasm she saw every day in the classroom. She wanted the parents to be proud of their accomplishments. She wanted them to think she was doing well by their kids. She wanted Taggart Jones to smile at her.
He was coming; Becky had said he was. She'd tried to search the little girl's expression for some idea of how Taggart felt about being asked—as if she didn't know—but Becky gave nothing away.
Now Felicity wiped her palms on the sides of her navy pleated trousers and tried to get the kids to focus on their math assignment. But most of them were far too keyed up at the notion of the program they were putting on for their parents in half an hour.
Felicity was keyed up, too. Because Taggart was coming.
"I hafta go to the bathroom," Geri Tibbets interrupted for the fourth time that morning.
So do I, Felicity thought, but she could hardly keep running to the lavatory. "Go on," she said.
"Can I get a drink? My mouth is dry," said Randy Decker. So is mine, Felicity thought, but trips to the drinking fountain were equally unacceptable. She wet her lips with her tongue. She was always slightly nervous before such events because she wanted everyone to do well, and it was, of course, out of her control. But she couldn't ever remember being quite this strung out before.
"He's here," Becky said suddenly in the hush that fell over the classroom, and Felicity looked up to see Taggart in the doorway. It was the first time she'd laid eyes on him since she'd kissed him. If she'd entertained any notion that she might have got over her awareness of him in the ensuing weeks, she was glad she hadn't counted on it. She was as aware as ever. More so. Her eyes went right to his lips. Heat burned her cheeks.
She managed a smile. "Ah, Mr. Jones. I'm so glad you could come and help us out."
"Ms. Albright," he drawled. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
Becky and Susannah exchanged significant looks, which caused Felicity's cheeks to heat even more. Her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. "We appreciate your willingness to help out."
"My pleasure." He didn't look as if he'd been dragged here kicking and screaming. But he didn't look all that happy to see her, either. Probably he hadn't given her a thought. Probably he'd just been busy, not avoiding her.
Oh, Felicity, you ninny, she chastised herself. You silly dreamer. Her feet landed back on the ground.
Taggart slipped off his backpack. "Brought my own camera."
"I have one."
"Easier to work with the one I know." He was opening the pack even as he spoke, not really looking at her, just taking out the camera and battery with the same quick competence with which she'd seen him tighten a bull rope or climb a fence with a cup of coffee in his hand.
The children, who had quieted when he came in, began to murmur again when they saw him begin to get the camera ready, as if they suddenly realized why he was there. The nervous chatter rose to a crescendo. Felicity cleared her throat.
"Girls and boys," she said in her best soothing tones. "Having someone come into the classroom is no reason to forget what we're supposed to be doing. We just have a few more minutes to get things in order before our presentation, so let's use them wisely. Moaning doesn't help, Lizbeth, Randy." She singled out the two most vocal grumblers. "I think most of you know Becky's father, but if you don't, this is Mr. Jones. He's going to help us today by making a videotape of our local history presentation."
Talking steadied her, made her focus on the children, on her job—not on Taggart. As she talked, the experienced teacher in her took over.
Taggart settled into the back of the room, fiddled with the equipment, gazed into the viewfinder, followed her with it. That was a little unnerving, but Felicity soldiered on, doing her best to ignore him. But out of the corner of her eye she watched him.
She saw Tuck McCall sidle up to where Taggart was perched on the back counter—still flouting the rules, Felicity thought, smothering a smile.
"Hey, Taggart."
"Hey, Tuck. How's it goin'?"
"Okay." Tuck stood watching while Taggart panned the classroom, catching Felicity looking at them. Quickly she looked away. "Can I come watch your school sometime?"
"Sure. Got one in two weeks. You gonna learn to ride?"
"Naw. I wanta draw them bulls."
Taggart lowered the camera. "Draw 'em?"
Tuck nodded gravely.
Taggart gave Tuck a slow smile. "Well, sure, why not?"
Tuck grinned. "Thanks. Me an' Jed saw a coyote last night. Up near Flathead." He launched into a tale that amazed Felicity. It was the most voluntary conversation she'd heard from Tuck McCall. Having tried to converse with his uncle and guardian Jed McCall about participating in the "parents' occupations" video to no avail—"Can't," Jed had said—she had suspected Tuck's reticence was genetic.
Perhaps she'd been wrong.
She had no more time to consider the notion, though, for more parents were beginning to straggle in.
Most of them she'd met while doing the earlier video. Both Tess and Noah Tanner arrived, Noah carrying a little boy and Tess waddling alongside, so pregnant that Felicity found herself hoping she didn't deliver during the presentation. Randy Decker's mom was there. His father, a truck driver, couldn't make it. Neither, not surprisingly, could Jed McCall. Geri Tibbets had a full complement of parents and grandparents in attendance. Sam Bacon's father didn't come, but his mother was there. That pleased Felicity, because she knew Sam needed all the encouragement he could get. He was clever and quick with his hands, but his strengths didn't lie in the area of traditional learning. She'd heard from his teacher last year how little success Sam had had in school. He'd had quite a lot in the local history project. He'd started it rather apprehensively, but by the time they were finished, he was contributing as much as anyone. She was happy his mother would see how well he'd done.
She smiled in Mrs. Bacon's direction. The woman gave her a tight smile in return. A few more parents came in.
Felicity greeted them all, then quieted the kids, nodded at Taggart to start taping and began to introduce the program. "It's important for our children to know something about the world in which they live. The immediate world," she added. "And that means the valley they're growing up in. They need to see themselves as part of a larger context—a process, if you like, of which they are a small but significant part. It's been going on for a long, long time. Eons," she told them, scanning the crowd of proud and interested faces. "And so we'll begin with the geology of the region. Becky?"
Becky, face flushed, got up and walked over to the map she'd labored over so long. Together she and Sam propped it against the blackboard. Felicity held her breath, but the mountains stayed put, and so did the trees and the tiny ski resort stuck in the Bridgers.
"This is where we live," Becky said in a serious, grown-up tone. And then she began to explain how the valley had come to be. She talked about the formation of the valley, the shift in the earth's p
lates. On cue, Tuck and Sam got up and showed, with pieces of corrugated cardboard, exactly what had happened, how the earth's crust had slipped and buckled. While Becky talked about the inland sea that had covered much of the earth's surface, Tuck showed drawings he'd made of the plant life that had left fossils in the region. Then, when Becky had covered the geological history of the area, she started pointing out things as they were in the valley and surrounding mountains today.
Felicity glanced back at Taggart. He was watching his daughter through the viewfinder. He was also grinning all over his face.
Felicity sent a prayer of thanksgiving heavenward, then turned her attention back to the class.
After Becky, Susannah gave her report on the people who came to the valley, and Tuck showed drawings he had made to illustrate them. Then Sam showed his display of the replicas of artifacts he'd made: the rifle, the bow and arrows, the powder horn, the buffalo horn spoon. He talked, at first haltingly, and then with more enthusiasm, about what he'd learned.
When he sat down, with obvious relief, he was smiling, too. He looked at his mother and grinned. He got another of the tight smiles she'd given Felicity earlier.
Poor little kid, Felicity thought. But she couldn't spare him much more consideration just then, because Randy and Teresa were getting up to talk.
Each group in turn shared the results of their explorations. One group wore costumes that depicted the clothing of the various people who'd lived in the valley at certain times. They explained why the clothing was appropriate to the lifestyle of the time. Another group talked about the animals and birds of the valley, using photos and a record of bird songs and a deer skin.
At the end, Felicity led them in singing a song they'd made up about the valley and the people and the animals who had lived there. Becky, she noted, sang louder than anyone.
Only when the parents had finished their enthusiastic clapping did Taggart stop taping. But when he put down the camera, he was still grinning. For an instant his eyes met hers.
Felicity felt the combined weight of the entire third and fourth grades of Elmer Elementary School slide from her shoulders. She breathed again.
Afterward, parents and children crowded around, looking at each exhibit more closely, talking among themselves and to her. There was excitement in the air. Enthusiasm. Noah and Tess shook hands with her, telling her how much they liked the program, how much they thought Susannah was learning. So did Geri Tibbets's mother and Lizbeth's and Randy Decker's.
The Cowboy and the Kid Page 9
