The bluster was gone. "I gotta hand it to you, little lady," he said, shaking his head. "You got guts." He pumped her hand, making her grimace. "Oops. Sorry."
Felicity smiled a pained smile, and eased her hand out of his grasp. "It's all right."
"And you? You're all right?"
"A little sore, but I'll be fine," she assured him.
"Good. Good. Wouldn't want you missing any school, would we?" He shot her a quick look, one that said she'd won and he knew it.
Felicity smiled. "No," she said. "We wouldn't." Then, wanting it spelled out, she asked, "Does this mean you think you can trust me to know how to teach Sam now?"
Orrin Bacon smiled, too, a little self-consciously, then took a deep breath and nodded. "Said so, didn't I? I reckon I'll learn. I probably should say I'm sorry I pushed you to do this—" she opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand "—but I'm not. I admire you for it. You put your body where your mouth was, little lady. I'm proud to have you teach in our school. I'm proud to have you teach my son."
"Thank you," Felicity said faintly. "I'll do my best."
They shook hands again, more gently this time. Then Orrin Bacon left.
"I'm glad you're my teacher, too," Felicity heard Becky say soberly, and she realized that all this time the child had been sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. Now she came to stand next to the table where Felicity sat.
"You rode 'im good," she said. "Did my spurs help?"
"Oh, my, yes. Thank you."
"I'll lend 'em to you whenever you want."
"I … probably won't be riding any more bulls."
"Good. I don't want you to. I used to think I wanted to ride bulls like my dad, but after today, I don't think so." Becky still looked very worried.
"Not everyone gets hung up, Becky," Felicity said gently.
"But you did. You could've … you could've…" The little girl's lower lip quivered. Her green eyes were round and full of tears. "I'm glad you're not dead."
A faint smile lifted the corners of Felicity's mouth. "I'm glad, too."
"I wish…" Becky began, then her voice faded. She hugged her arms tightly across her chest. "I wish…" She tried again, then shook her head.
Felicity reached out and touched the little girl's cheek. They looked at each other. There were so many words, Felicity thought. None of which either of them dared to say.
Suddenly the room was filled with milling, whooping cowboys. "Hey, Felicity! Lookee here!" They crowded around her, beaming, and Becky got swallowed up in the throng. One of them handed Felicity a fistful of bills. "You won!"
She gaped at him. "Won? The jackpot?"
"You got a 65!"
"That's prob'ly 50 for Sunfish and 15 for you, but who cares?" Tommy Hill grinned at her.
"Not me." Felicity grinned, too. She felt giddy, disoriented, happy—and somehow desolate at the same time. Maybe she did have a concussion, after all.
"That'll teach ol' Orrin!" one of them crowed. "You better go out and celebrate! You deserve it."
"We all deserve it!" someone else yelled, and several more whooped their agreement.
"Of course," Felicity said, mustering what enthusiasm she could. "We will—with all this lovely money."
A general round of raucous cheers greeted that announcement. "Yea, Felicity!" And two of them made to hoist her onto their shoulders.
"Put her down!"
A sudden stunned silence filled the room. Taggart stood in the doorway, glaring at them, hands on his hips, green eyes flashing fire.
Slowly, with exquisite care, they put her down and stood staring at their boots.
"Back off," Taggart said tersely. "Give her some room. Better yet, get your carcasses out of here and let her rest." Felicity had never heard him sound this way before—harsh and angry, ready to fight.
"I'm all right," she protested, trying to lever herself off the table.
He ignored her. "Out," he said to the men. "All of you. Now."
They shuffled. They mumbled. They grumbled. They left.
All but Taggart—and Becky.
"You, too," he said to his daughter. "Grandma and Grandpa are waiting for you up at the house."
"Put—" Becky's gaze flickered from her father to Felicity and back again, worriedly, warily, as if she didn't know what was going on.
You're not the only one, Felicity thought.
"Go on now," Taggart said in a gentler tone. "I need to take Ms. Albright home."
"You don't—" Felicity began.
But Taggart was walking Becky toward the door. "Please, Pard."
She looked up at him. Their gazes met. Whatever passed between them, Felicity couldn't see.
Then Becky nodded once. She turned and looked back at her. "'Night, Ms. Albright."
"'Night, Becky."
Becky started down the steps, then stopped and looked back at her father. "She doesn't like carrots, either."
* * *
They rode the whole way to town in silence. Only when they reached the highway and Taggart had the choice of turning south toward Livingston or taking Main Street toward Apple Street, did he speak.
"You sure I can't take you to the hospital?"
"I don't want to go to the hospital." She hurt enough. She didn't want any more poking and prodding of her body that night.
Taggart didn't argue. His lips set in a firm line, but he turned on Main, and the next thing Felicity knew, they were in front of her house. It was dark and she hadn't left a light on. Of course, Cloris had her porch light on. So did Alice. She just hoped they wouldn't come running out when they saw Taggart driving her home instead of her coming by herself.
"Thank you," she said tonelessly. She reached for the door handle, but he was out of the truck and coming around to open it for her almost before she'd moved.
Because he could hardly wait to be done with her, no doubt. Well, he could leave right now! She didn't know why he'd bothered to drive her home. Surely he didn't expect her gratitude to extend to a night in her bedroom! No, of course he wouldn't.
This was just some more stubborn Taggart Jones responsibility, she supposed. He needn't have bothered. She could get by just fine without his help. God knew in the long run she was going to have to. She'd accepted that over the past two days.
She couldn't control Taggart any more than she'd been able to control those bulls. He would do what he had to do, what he felt was right for him, and that was all she could ask. It hurt, but she knew that you survived hurt. She'd done it after Dirk's death. She'd do it again.
Taggart took her arm to help her down from the cab. She pulled away from him abruptly, hurting her shoulder as she did so. She sucked in a sharp breath. "I can move on my own!"
Taggart muttered something under his breath, but stepped back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and let her get down by herself. She was already stiffening up again, and she limped as she went up the walk. She thought perhaps he'd leave if she didn't acknowledge him, but instead he followed her up the walk.
She rounded on him. "You don't have to trail after me! I'm fine. Leave me alone!" She was perilously close to tears. Apparently knowing she'd survive and having to face it were two different things.
Was it the sudden depletion of adrenaline, maybe? The letdown after she survived her hang-up on the last bull ride? Or was it because she knew that for all Orrin Bacon would be singing her praises now and welcoming her into Elmer Elementary School, she also knew she couldn't stay.
It was like the old westerns always said—the town wasn't big enough for both her and Taggart Jones.
"I want to talk to you," Taggart said. He didn't come any farther, but he didn't leave, either. He stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at her.
"Now?"
He nodded.
Felicity gripped a porch pillar. "Fine. Talk."
He glanced around as if he could see the curtains twitching. "I'd like to come in."
Felicity gave her best imi
tation of an indifferent shrug. Whatever he had to say couldn't be any harder to listen to than everything he'd already said. "Suit yourself." She turned and opened the door, going in. Taggart followed her.
Felicity turned on the light, then turned to face him. "Forgive me if I don't offer you coffee, but I don't think you'll be staying that long."
"I'd like to," he said quietly.
She stared at him, jolted.
Was he expecting to go to her bedroom then? Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Taggart shifted from one foot to the other, looking less remote now than ill at ease. He still didn't speak, though. Neither did Felicity. She couldn't think of a thing to say.
Finally he ran his tongue over his upper lip and swallowed. "I know it isn't worth much," he told her, "but I wanted to tell you … I was proud of you." Green eyes met hers, deep and intense.
Felicity knotted her fingers in front of her. "Thank you."
"You've got guts."
"Thank you again.
His mouth twisted. "So, after a fashion, does Orrin—being willing to trust you with his kid. Even though you proved yourself, he's still taking a risk."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything.
Taggart dug his toe into the faded rug underfoot. "Made me think," he said, "how everybody else has guts but me." He slanted her a quick glance.
Felicity stared at him, breath drawn in, mute.
He sighed. "I talk a good fight," he told her. "You heard me." Once more a corner of his mouth lifted self-deprecatingly. "All that stuff about determination and willingness to risk and try. And I can do it on a bull. But I don't do so good in real life."
Which meant … what? Felicity didn't say a word, only waited.
Taggart ducked his head and stared at the floor for a long moment, then raised his eyes once more to meet hers. "What happened with Julie scared me spitless. I felt I'd let her down bad, and maybe I did."
"You don't have to explain."
"Yes, I do, because it's what I used it as an excuse not to try again. Like if you'd got thrown and never got on another bull."
"It's hardly the same thing."
"It's exactly the same thing. All that stuff I spouted about bull riding being like life. Well, it's true. Only I never managed the connection myself. You did. You got up and got on again. Didn't you?" His eyes bored into hers.
Felicity ran her tongue over her lips, then nodded slowly.
"You tried again," he said heavily. Then he gave her a look that was both hungry and wistful. "I'd like to try again, too."
Felicity felt like her tongue was welded to the roof of her mouth. Was he saying what she'd hoped for so long that he'd say? Or was she, in fact, concussed?
"Maybe I should have that X ray after all?" she said faintly, still disbelieving. Her knees wobbled and she gripped the back of the overstuffed chair.
Taggart closed the distance between them and put his hands on her arms, his grip gentle, but strong, supporting her. A rueful smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "You aren't concussed. Everything you're hearing is true. I love you, Felicity. I've loved you for a long time and it's scared me to death." He gave a shaky laugh. "I'm still scared, but I can't be any more scared than you were when you got on those bulls."
Lifting a hand, she touched his cheek. "I was terrified," she admitted.
"Yeah, well, so am I. And you ought to be to, 'cause I'm asking you to marry me."
Her eyes widened. Her heart leapt. She stared up into his gaze, hardly daring to believe his words. But she could see the truth there in his eyes. She saw his heart, his soul—his love—waiting just for her.
"Well," he said impatiently and more than a little apprehensively when she didn't reply at once. "What do you say?"
Felicity blinked. She sniffed. She managed a watery smile and winced as she raised her arms to loop them around his neck and draw his head down for a kiss.
"Yes," she said. "Oh, yes."
* * *
"What is that smell?"
Taggart knelt naked straddling Felicity's equally naked thighs as he rubbed the soothing salve into her back. He rued the bruises he saw forming. He bent to kiss each one. "Horse liniment," he said. "Bag balm. Oil of wintergreen. Camphor. A little turpentine." He grinned. "I really don't know what it is. My sister dreamed it up. She's trustworthy."
"Do I get to meet your sister?"
"Not today. Today you're staying right here." He straightened up and began to knead her shoulders.
Felicity sighed. "Heaven," she mumbled and tried to roll over, but he kept her trapped between his legs. She was smiling. He was glad. He wanted her to keep smiling for the rest of her life. He leaned down and feathered a row of kisses along her spine.
She shivered. "Taggart," she protested.
"Hmm?" He nuzzled her neck.
"You're insatiable."
"Uh-huh."
He was—but not just for her touch. For all of her. Forever. Mind and body. Heart and soul.
He'd come so close to losing her. Not just to Sunfish—though the memory of her hung up on that bull would haunt him the rest of his days—but to his own reluctance to risk, to love again. After his divorce from Julie, it had seemed smarter—safer—not to.
Why bother to try when you might only get hurt? Why dare when you might just get shot down?
When was love worth the risk it would take?
The sight of Felicity's tense, white face as she'd settled down on Sunfish this morning had answered that question for him.
First it had made him want to stop her. You don't need to do this! he'd wanted to say.
But the look she had given him froze the words in his throat. There had been a steadiness in her gaze, a centerness that he'd seen in other bull riders. One he'd found, when he was riding, inside himself. He recognized it, understood it. But there had been something else, too. There had been a connection—a link between them, a trust that he didn't think he imagined.
It was as if she had been saying, I can do this because you taught me how, because I know you believe in me.
And sensing that trust, he'd answered with his eyes. I do. I'll help you.
Now he hoped to God that, when it came to love and marriage, Felicity would help him, too.
She tried once more to turn beneath him, and this time he let her. They looked at each other a long time. Touched. Smiled.
The connection—the trust, the love—was still there.
"Come to me, Taggart," Felicity whispered then, and held out her arms to him. "I must be insatiable, too."
He sighed and settled into the warmth of her embrace. He should have been sated, loving her the way he had. But he wasn't. He didn't think he ever would be. He ought to let her rest. She had to be stiff and sore.
But when he said so, she just shook her head. "I'm fine. Must be that miracle salve you're using."
"I love you."
"Show me."
He smiled, no proof against her touch and the flame of love in her eyes. "Maybe I will," he murmured, feathering kisses in her hair, "just once more."
Felicity smiled. "Just once?"
"Well, maybe more than once." He kissed her mouth. And then, with exquisite care, he set about showing her how much she meant to him.
He drew her on top of him this time, then waited, letting her settle over him and take him deep inside. And then their gazes, their bodies, their very hearts and souls were locked together.
Two made one.
He still wasn't sure he deserved this love she was offering, but if it was his for the asking, he wasn't saying no.
He was saying yes, please, forever. And ever. Amen.
* * *
"When will you marry me?"
It was morning now. Late morning. His truck was still parked in front of her house. No doubt the neighbors would already have spread the news. If they didn't, the secretary at Elmer Elementary certainly would have, after Felicity had called at six-thirty to tell her she wouldn
't be in that day, she was just a little too stiff and sore.
And not entirely from bull riding, either, though she didn't mention that.
"As soon as you want," Felicity said now, nibbling along the line of Taggart's jaw.
"Tomorrow?"
"In a hurry, are you?"
"Damn right. Besides, ol' Cloribel and company will want you to make an honest man out of me."
"I will," Felicity promised. "But maybe we should wait till the weekend. I have to teach tomorrow."
Taggart smiled thinking about how her students would react to the news. "Wonder what Becky will say."
"I don't," Felicity said dryly.
He laughed. "Neither do I. She'll say I told you so." He rolled over onto his back and pulled Felicity on top of him. "When we get married, you'll have your daughter in your class. Think you can handle that?"
Felicity smiled lazily. "I'm looking forward to it. But I'm looking forward to having her in my family even more."
"She's going to be thrilled." And Taggart, remembering Becky's imploring looks, her desperate intensity, knew that thrilled didn't even begin to cover it.
"She can be my bridesmaid," Felicity said. "I'll make our dresses."
"She'll like that." An understatement if there ever was one. Taggart smiled, imagining the two of them—the women in his life—walking down the aisle to meet him. Then a grin split his face. He laughed.
"What?" Felicity demanded.
Still grinning he rolled her in his arms. "I was just wondering if we'll be able to talk her out of wearing her spurs!"
* * * * *
The Cowboy and the Kid Page 17
