Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (32 page)

      
“Little Cat Eyes, sunning yourself, just like your feline friend here,” he whispered, crouching down to scratch a fringed ear. Without a sound, he climbed the diving rock from the back while his feline conspirator kept watch over the drifting girl.

      
He cut cleanly into the water and came up a scant three feet from where she had heaved herself upright and was furiously treading water. That great mass of dark hair went flying wildly about her shoulders as she craned her neck searching for the invader.

      
“You!” she fairly shrieked as he snaked out a long arm and brought her into his embrace. Her writhing, flailing body quickly quieted under the skilled ministrations of his hands and lips. He could touch bottom near a shallow area of the pool and quickly gained solid footing in the water, holding her small, silky frame melded to his own. In the water she weighed less than ever, butterfly light. Her skin felt soft and slick as he caressed the curves and hollows of her backbone, waist, hips and buttocks, never freeing her mouth from the ravaging assault of his lips and tongue. When he felt her respond with all the fierce, sweet abandon bundled up in her small body, he growled his triumph aloud and carried her from the water to the mossy bank.

      
Charlee's fright and confusion when she was startled by the sharp splash of a diver had quickly turned to anger at his unexpected reappearance in such a cavalier manner. Once he touched her, her mood shifted again to passion. God, but she could deny him nothing. The sensual part of her craved his touch; yet another small voice cried a warning.

      
Jim laid her gently on the cool, damp moss, reclining beside her. The setting sun made the droplets of water on their flesh amber and shimmering as they ran eager hands across one another's skin, sending the water flying. He bent over her and buried his mouth along the curve of her jaw, kissing her earlobe and throat, then trailing down to her collarbone and breasts.

      
When his hot mouth fused over a hardened nipple, she arched and gasped, her hands clutching frantically at his shoulders. He teased and suckled her upthrust breasts as she ran one palm up and down his back, her other hand tangling in his wet gold hair. They devoured one another frantically.

      
When he slid one hand down between her legs and caressed the glistening tan curls, she made a small whimpering cry and opened for him. In one smooth motion he raised himself over her and slid inside as she welcomed him. If his movements were fast and frantic, hers matched them in desperation. After the initial surge of hot, sweet pleasure assaulted his senses, he slowed them both to an easier, gentler rhythm, prolonging the ecstasy. He raised his upper body as he thrust in long, slow, delicious strokes, and looked into the depths of her eyes, glazed now with passion and some deeper, painful emotion he could not fathom.

      
“Charlee,” he whispered as his mouth descended to rain kisses on her eyelids, temples, nose, all over her face, until he could hold back no longer. His lips once more claimed hers, and he twined their tongues together in a consuming kiss, while the steady rhythm of his thrusts once more accelerated.

      
When he felt her stiffening in the tight, clamping contractions of orgasm, he could hold off no longer. Shuddering in exquisite release, he gently rolled them to their sides, still holding her tightly to him.

      
It’s just like the last time—the moon, the stars, and all the planets exploding inside me
, she thought in awe. As she held tightly to him, Charlee was unwilling to break the glorious joining of their bodies and face the harsh light of reality.

      
He gave her nose another soft, swift kiss and then pulled away from her, rolling onto his back to ease the wrenching ache in his side. Rubbing the wound, he marveled at the human body's ability to sublimate pain. Then, he sensed rather than heard her distress. Turning his head to look at her, he could see the crystalline tears mingling with water droplets on her soft golden cheeks.

      
“Charlee, love, what's wrong? This is hardly an appropriate response after what we just experienced together.” He reached one hand out to trace the tears’ path down her cheeks, caressing the silky skin softly. He leaned over her with a puzzled expression on his face. “Why?” he questioned again softly.

      
She turned her face away, but his strong, persuasive fingers forced it back, willing her to look into his hypnotic cougar's eyes. “All you have to do is put your hands on me and I...I just melt...I do whatever you want,” she finished helplessly.

      
“Only what I want?” He teased gently. “It seemed to me you rather enjoyed it, too, my prickly little Cactus Flower.”

      
She wrenched her face away from his fingers, spitting out the words, “Yes, I enjoyed it...I loved it!”
I love you
. Taking a deep breath she let the words go in a frightened rush, “And I might get pregnant, I might already be pregnant!”

      
He stroked her jaw with his fingertips, coaxing her face around once more, smiling wistfully at her. “And would that be so terrible?”

      
“That's easy for you to say. You're a man. No one would blame you, only me. I'd be the one alone, with an illegitimate child. I—”

      
“No!” He interrupted her, feeling a fierce surge of protectiveness. “So that was it, the reason you were trying to run from me at the boardinghouse?” She nodded imperceptibly with her thick bronze lashes still shielding her eyes. Slade sighed raggedly. “I suppose I deserve that, after what I said to you the night of the dance. Oh, Charlee, I said it because I was jealous and angry. God, I didn't mean it! Why is it we always seem to bring out the worst in one another? Except when we make love, that is.” He planted a soft butterfly kiss on her lips.

      
“But there's a danger in that,” she said, trying to free herself from his grasp.

      
“Damn right there is. It's habit-forming. All I could think of on my ride home was you. I could get scalped being so preoccupied, woman. Only one answer to the whole situation, seems to me.”

      
Her heart froze in her chest as she found herself staring up into his mocking golden gaze. “What's that?” Her voice was surprisingly steady.

      
“We'll just have to get married, and work on that baby business, too. Not necessarily in that order...” Without waiting for her reply his mouth came down on hers with hot, sweet persuasion.

* * * *

      
Tomasina pulled her gelding up in front of the big house at Bluebonnet, waiting impatiently for one of the young vaqueros to help her dismount. When a boy assisted her, she briskly handed him the reins and smoothed her skirts, turning to ascend the front steps. She gave a brief, perfunctory knock, then entered the front hallway, glancing into the parlor and dining room.

      
“Good evening. Diego? Is anyone here?” She stood in the center of the long polished hall, tapping her foot impatiently. Then, she heard the floorboards groan, and the shambling bulk of Weevils filled the kitchen doorway.

      
Wiping his meaty red hands on a towel, he greeted her. “Evenin’ Miz Carver.”

      
“I've come to visit Don Diego. Please tell him I am here.”

      
“Wal, ma'am, ya see...” Weevils did some quick calculating. Jim had gone after Charlee around three quarters of an hour ago. If he found her in the water, the old cook would have bet his best batch of spring tonic on the two of them being there together for quite a while yet. “Mr. Slade went up ta th' pond, on sorter whut yew might call an inspection visit. Now I reckon I could send someone...”

      
“No, that is quite all right. I can find him myself,” she said with a predatory gleam in her eyes. The sharp tap of her high-heeled riding boots quickly faded out the front door.

      
Weevils’ smile went from ear to ear, revealing a fulsome amount of gums and tobacco-darkened teeth. “Yep, yew'll find him all right, 'n a whole lot more'n yew bargained fer, I betcha, Miz Prissybritches!” Whistling, he shuffled back to the kitchen, towel slung rakishly over one shoulder.

      
Before she rode clear of the thick, brushy cover surrounding the pool, Tomasina heard the clear, strong peal of masculine laughter. Perfect. If she found him in the water, undressed and alone, she would find her bargaining all that much easier.

      
Then, another bubble of laughter erupted, a high, clear soprano! It could be none other than the McAllister tramp. The sounds of mingled voices, laughter, and splashing water drew her nearer. Her rigid Hispanic pride demanded she turn her horse and ride away. But an insidious, unwilling female jealousy and curiosity drew her closer. She dismounted and began to walk silently through the shrubbery, mesmerized by the sounds beyond.

      
Peering through the dense cover of willow branches, she watched Jim and Charlee cavorting, splashing one another, diving and chasing, playing like two young otters. Their laughter rang across the water. When he finally caught her, she turned in his arms and they stood up in the shallows. They were both quite naked as they murmured soft endearments, unashamedly embracing, molding lips and bodies together. Then Slade cupped Charlee's small face in his hands. Their playfulness stopped, and they stood still and silent for a moment as he stared intently into her eyes. Slowly he lowered his head and she strained upward for a soft, sealing kiss.

      
At that precise instant, Tomasina realized Slade would never marry her. He was smitten with that scrawny, hoydenish kitchen maid. A sudden surge of fury seized her, washing over her in red waves; but she was rooted to the ground in voyeuristic horror, unable to tear her eyes from the couple in the water as they moved to the shore.

      
They sank slowly onto the bank and embraced once again, caressing and murmuring indistinct love words as they joined their bodies. Jim lay back, pulling Charlee's slight weight on top of him, urging her to grasp his shaft and guide it into her welcoming warmth. Brazenly, she impaled herself; then with his hands guiding her rhythm, she began to move.

      
When Slade made one final hard thrust upward and Charlee let out a cry of fulfillment and collapsed on top of him, Tomasina wrenched herself away from the tableau, feeling the simultaneous urges to retch and to run out and claw the small tan-haired vixen from his embrace. She succumbed to neither. Instead, she turned and silently retraced her steps toward her mount.

      
On the way back to the ranch, she had time to compose herself and plan a new course of action. There was always one last desperate gambit, her final fallback plan, one which allowed for the encumbrance of no men in her life. Markham had betrayed her. Now, so had Slade. Well, she could eliminate them both and let both be damned!

      
Returning to the big house, she smiled sweetly at Asa Ketchum, who greeted her with a look of perplexity at the door. As far as the old foreman knew, Weevils had gone off to his cabin for the night, Charlee was swimming, and Slade still had not returned. “Evenin’, Miz Carver. The boss ain’t home,” he said vaguely.

      
“Good evening, Señor Ketchum. Your cook already informed me that Diego has returned. He was supposed to be somewhere near the pond. I searched, but was unable to locate him. Please, may I write a message to leave for him? It is a matter of some urgency.”

* * * *

      
Later that evening, Slade paced in his study. He'd received a cryptic communication from Asa saying Tomasina had stopped by and left him a note. He sent an exhausted Charlee upstairs to bed and went in to his desk to open the missive. Apparently, Markham had contacted Sina. He debated heading over to Jake's ranch immediately, but decided against it. He'd had enough trouble soothing Charlee's ruffled feathers once today. Tomasina's information could not be acted upon until daylight anyway.

      
So reasoning, he climbed the stairs and opened the door to his room. Finding no Charlee, he stripped off his clothes, then padded barefoot into her room down the hall, whisked her sleeping body from the covers, and carried her back to his large bed. He sank down beside her and she snuggled into his arms. As he drifted off to sleep, Jim was almost certain he heard the faint noise of a cat purring somewhere in the darkness of the room.

* * * *

      
Tomasina turned from the window when she heard Chana usher Slade into her parlor. She had dressed carefully for the occasion, in a demure brown linen skirt and jacket with a starched white blouse. Businesslike and simple. No distractions or blandishments to make him wary.

      
“Good morning, Sina.” He stood in the door, looking her squarely in the eye, not a hint of guilt or remorse, not even a hint of unease marring his handsome face. The bastard!

      
She smiled coolly and glided over to offer her usual perfunctory kiss. Sina knew she must keep the routine, do nothing to make him aware that she had found out about his filthy liaison with such low-class trash as the McAllister slut.

      
“Your note said you'd heard from Markham.” He looked down at her and waited, his face unreadable.

      
Nervously, she turned and began to fidget with a stray curl at her shoulder. “Yes. He came out here yesterday and told me he meets with Iron Hand and his band around the twelfth, at a place along the upper San Marcos River.”

      
“I take it he'll be traveling with an escort?” His voice was laced with harsh irony.