Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (50 page)

      
Wilcox's face turned from florid red to chalk white in the time it took Slade to step up on the porch and make his terse statement.

      
Before Billy could gather his scattered wits to reply, Charlee took matters into her own hands. Slipping from behind Jim, she reached for Billy's arm and began to turn him toward the door to the ballroom. “Mr. Wilcox is quite right to defend me, Mr. Slade. After all, I did arrive with him, and a lady should always leave a party with the gentleman who escorted her there.” With that sally she led the befuddled Billy into the house.

      
“If that's the way you want to play it, you little witch, so be it,” he called after her. Shrugging nonchalantly, he turned to amble down the stairs and vanish into the darkness.

      
It took only a few minutes to ride to the boardinghouse, despite the revelers still abroad. He walked Polvo quietly to the backyard and dropped his reins. Then Slade looked carefully around. The kitchen was dark. Good. Noiselessly he entered and let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Sadie was asleep, along with the elderly boarders. The rest were out at various festivities in town—at least he hoped so as he climbed the stairs at the end of the long hall. Charlee was using the big bedroom Deborah had occupied. Knowing that, he opened the first door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside.

A pair of bright green eyes narrowed to lazy slits, glowing through the darkness. The cat was reclined in the center of the bed, eyeing Slade with the disdainful curiosity felines reserve for their humans when the latter make feeble attempts to be amusing.

      
“Hellfire, old boy, how'd you like to take a ride back to Bluebonnet and visit your favorite mole hole?”

Chapter Twenty-One

      
“I don't like it, Sadie, not one bit. He's been gone for two whole days.” Charlee sat on a kitchen stool, scrubbing sweet potatoes, her face screwed in concentration and worry.

      
“Dat critter be back when he got his catterwallin' done,” the black woman replied with a snort of dismissal.

      
“But he's never taken off for more than one night. I'm afraid something's happened to him, damn his worthless old tomcat hide!” She threw the brush down and tossed the last fat golden potato into a pan. “Here, rub these with butter and I'll stick them in the oven when I come back.” She shoved the pot toward her helper and then paused. ” Hellfîre loved butter so...oh, drat!”

      
“Doan go takin' on lak he daid. Mark me, dat debbil cat smart. He be back.” She nodded her head in finality.

      
Charlee felt little reassured, but she nodded and walked outside. She had felt so restless, confused, and unhappy since that terrible night at the dance. “Every time I set out to have fun he comes along and ruins it,” she said aloud to the empty back porch.

      
Of course, that was not strictly true. Even without Jim Slade's arrogant interference, she would not have enjoyed the dance. Slobbering pawing by clumsy boys like Billy was becoming increasingly repellent to her, as was their banal conversation and puppy-like adoration.

      
She was bored, bored, bored, not even considering the aching sexual frustration buried deep inside her awakened woman's body. She cried for satisfaction, a satisfaction and completion that would bind her irrevocably to the one man she feared most, who could crush her spirit and destroy her very soul.

      
Forcing herself from such dark ruminations, she considered her options. “Face it, there's no man you've met here in town who you'd even consider spending time with, much less marrying.” However, she concluded with forced joviality that even without a man in her life, she could live damn well and provide for herself. She had her health, her brains, her business—and
her body
, a traitorous voice from deep within added spitefully.

      
She kicked petulantly at the solid wooden porch post and was rewarded with an aching toe; then she decided to head down toward the garden beyond the shed. Maybe there would be some beans ready to pick for the table tonight.

      
Lee caught sight of her solitary figure wending its lonely way to the vegetable patches as he pulled Liso up to the kitchen porch. Nervously, he dismounted and rehearsed his speech for the hundredth time as he ran to catch up with her.

      
“Wait up, Charlee!” He watched her turn as that instant, winsome smile wreathed her lovely face. This had better work!

      
“Lee! You're early for supper but very welcome to stay. I missed you at the fandango the other night. Do you have a
novia
hidden somewhere you're not telling us about?” she teased.

      
Despite his swarthy complexion, he blushed but denied it. That was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “I only came to tell you some important news, not to eat supper. That dratted cat of yours has gone crazy, Charlee.”

      
“Hellfire's at Bluebonnet?” She was incredulous at his nod of agreement. “But that's two hours' ride on a good horse. How did that scamp get so far afield, and why?”

      
“I don't know, but he's raising hell all over the place. He got into a fresh catch of fish and really chewed them up yesterday afternoon, and last night he tangled with Mutt again. Near clawed the poor old dog's right eye out. Weevils is threatening to brain him with a skillet, and Asa's threatening to shoot him. As if that wasn't bad enough, this morning way before sunrise he set to caterwauling right in the middle of the hall and woke the boss out of a sound sleep. Jim hasn't been sleeping too well since the two of you split up, Charlee. He was kind of cross.”

      
She smirked. “I'll just bet he was! He ought to import another lady of the evening to help him relax at night. Then he'd sleep well enough,” she added saucily. “But why on earth couldn't you just bring Hellfire back home to me?”

      
He shrugged. “Like I said, he's acting crazy. No one can get near him, not Weevils or Asa, not even Jim or me. You'll just have to try your luck yourself.”

      
“Oh, get Patchwork from the stable for me, will you please, while I change into a riding skirt. I'll bring that rascal home tonight!” She tripped off jauntily to the house and Lee headed to get her filly.

      
They rode to Bluebonnet at a leisurely pace, enjoying the warm, clear afternoon air. The closer they came to the ranch house, the more nervous and restive Charlee felt. She could sense her young friend's questioning eyes on her as they rode.

      
Finally, he said, “Something bothering you,
chica
?” He knew what her problem was even before he asked.

      
She squirmed on Patchwork's back for a moment and then sighed in resignation. “All right, I hate to confess cowardice, but will Slade be at the house when we get there? I really don't want to have another run-in with him.”

      
Lee said guilelessly, “He's off to Houston City to talk to the president. Be gone a week.”

      
“I thought President Houston was with the assembly in Washington-on-the-Brazos,” she replied questioningly.

      
“Er...he must have been called home for some emergency or other, I guess,” the youth improvised.

      
“Well, if you say so...”

      
When they rode up to the big house, Charlee scanned the yard and corral area nervously, looking for signs of Slade more than for signs of Hellfíre. “Let me call him. Do you think he'd be around the kitchen or down by the barns?”

      
“Oh, he might as well be in the house. It's been warm the last few days, and Weevils has had the kitchen door open. He comes in all the time,” Lee replied.

      
As soon as she jumped down from Patchwork, he took the reins, saying, “I'll just take her down to the watering trough for a little drink.”

      
When Charlee entered the front door, that same old feeling hit her once more, part nostalgia for the bittersweet homecoming, part apprehension, for the essence of Jim Slade seemed to permeate the very air around her.

      
“Weevils?” She headed toward the kitchen, hearing no one stir. Of course, if Slade was gone, the cook might not be preparing a full dinner just for Asa and Lee. “Hellfire? Where are you, boy?”

      
Just then she caught sight of an orange blur heading lickety split up the hall stairs. “You devil! Sadie's right. Come back here.” She picked up her skirt and dashed upstairs after the bobbing tail that whisked around the corner into Slade's bedroom.

      
Warily she slowed down, then got a grip on her faltering courage and took the last several steps into the room. The sight that greeted her caused Charlee to gasp in indignation.

      
Slade was negligently stretched across the bed with the cat sitting attentively alongside him while he fed the feline several bits of what looked to be raw beef. “He's disgustingly predictable when it comes to food,” Jim said with a disarming grin slashing across his face. “Ouch!” The grin turned to a scowl when the cat's sharp incisors connected with his thumb in quest of the last meat scrap, which he had neglected to release quickly enough. “He's also disgustingly greedy.”

      
Charlee smirked for a second, then felt a surge of anger rush through her. “Exactly how did he get here in the first place? And why are you here instead of in Houston? Did Lee know about this whole charade?”

      
Jim swung his long legs off the bed and stared at Charlee with a hypnotic golden gaze. “One question at a time, my little Cactus Flower. I sort of catnapped Hellfire, I guess. As to Lee, well he knew I wasn't in Houston. He's rubbing down the horses.”

      
A ripple of apprehension coursed through her now, fear replacing anger. “I am not sleeping the night beneath your roof, Jim Slade.” Why wasn't her voice steadier, dammit!

      
He stood up and slowly walked toward her in sinuous pantherish strides. “Not only will you stay beneath my roof, sweetheart, you'll sleep beneath my body.”

      
“Like hell I—” She was cut short in her angry retort.

      
Jim's arms grasped her slender waist, virtually lifting her into his devouring kiss. His mouth met hers with violence and hunger, forcing her head to drop back, holding her lips prisoner until they opened beneath his onslaught of passion. He groaned then and ravaged inside, probing her tender palate, gliding across her small white teeth, twisting around her tongue.

      
Charlee concentrated on remaining limp, hanging like a rag doll in his arms, but her senses swam. She was hot; she was dizzy; she wanted so desperately to kiss him back. Her tongue moved against his, and her lips returned the bruising pressure of his. There was nothing she could do to withhold her response as her arms clutched at his waist and her pelvis writhed against his hard belly and thighs.

      
Gradually, he gentled the caress, loosening his crushing grip on her arms, delicately tracing his hands and fingertips up and down her arched back. His kiss, too, became softer, nibbling, experimental. Then, he left her mouth and the warm, soft pressure of his lips trailed along her jaw, across the sensitive column of her throat, feeling the wild hammering of her blood as it pulsed through the arteries in her neck.

      
Her heart felt as if it would burst from its pounding trip hammer beat. When one of his hands softly insinuated itself around her side and upward to cup and stroke her breast, she felt the electricity shoot from him to her like shimmering waves of summer lightning. He bent down then and began to pick her up, intent on carrying her back to the bed. The sudden movement gave her reeling senses a tiny respite and she struggled to wrest free of his embrace.

      
“No, let me go.” It was more a breathless plea than the firm command she wished it to be.

      
Futilely, she pressed her small hands against his chest, but he ignored her protests and swept her onto the bed. When he reached his hand up to unbutton her blouse, she slapped it away and tried to roll across to the other side. However, he was sitting on her full riding skirt. Slade reached over and shoved her onto her back once more, then leaned over her, his face looming inches above hers.

      
“Don't fight me, Charlee. Just let it happen. You can't hide your feelings from me.” He lowered his head to claim another of those kisses that robbed her of reason.

      
She turned her face, trying to avoid his erotic onslaught. “Why are you doing this?”

      
“That should be pretty obvious, for both of us.” He breathed against her temple as he kissed her eyelids, cheek, jaw, nuzzling along her neck and trying to unfasten the blouse once more. This time he had more success, despite her twisting and bucking beneath him. When one large, warm hand slid beneath her sheer camisole and slipped a taut-nippled breast free, she gasped and arched. His hot mouth quickly followed his teasing fingers, fastening eagerly on the delicate pink bud.

      
Before she could stop him, he had the blouse and camisole both worked down to her waist and was dividing his attention between her breasts. And oh, how they ached for his suckling kisses and soft caresses.

      
Like some mindless thing, she felt herself slipping, giving way to erotic need. Desperation coursed though her body as he murmured soft love words in Spanish and English, all the while continuing to undress her ever so slowly. She was at the end of her resistance, moaning feverishly, when he slid her riding skirt off in one swift, smooth roll. Then he ran his hands down her sleek little legs and pulled off one boot, then the other, finally peeling off her pantalets. He kissed his way back up her body, stopping at her inner thighs. She reached her hands down and tangled her fingers in his thick, tawny hair.