Forget Me Not (19 page)

“Do you mind?” she finally said when he didn't have the decency to go back the way he'd come.

She detected the faint buttery sweetness of butterscotch candy on his breath as he leaned closer to her and said, “No, I don't mind.”

With his warm presence skimming over her exposed skin, her mettle faltered a degree, but she rallied with, “Well, I do.”

“I'm not leaving until you're finished.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.

What was she supposed to say to that? No man had ever imposed himself on her while she took care of private matters. Her state of half-undress should have been cause enough for his immediate departure.

She had to try her best to get him to do just that, but she ran out of ground before she even gained any. “I'm quite capable of . . . of . . .” Her words trailed. No lady would dare mention such a thing as washing herself to a man who wasn't her husband. And even then, the opportunity would not present itself to be openly discussed. She and Hugh had never once spoken of personal grooming. “What I have to do is of a private nature.”

“You'll be private behind the bush.”

Josephine clenched her fingers into fists at her side. “I will ask you once more to please return so that I can do what I need to do quickly.”

“If you were a man, I'd do just that. But you're not. And I saw the way Rio was with you.”

Flabbergasted, she blurted, “What?”

“I don't need any of the boys lurking off in the dark after you to take a peek at what you're doing.”

“Then how do you explain your presence?”

“I'm not watching. I'm guarding.”

“Guarding?” Josephine had never heard anything so ridiculous. She didn't need guarding. She, of all
people, who walked the streets of Manhattan unescorted on many occasions, didn't need protection from her fellow man. She'd learned how to walk quietly through the streets, seeing and hearing nothing that she ought not to see and hear, recognizing acquaintances with a courteous bow, and friends with words of greeting. She never talked loudly or laughed boisterously, so as not to attract the attention of unknown passersby. But if all that failed, and an undesirable made untoward comments or laid a hand on her person, she knew how to execute a blow with her parasol.

“You needn't guard me,” she said at length, wishing he wouldn't stand so close to her. She would have taken a few steps backward, but if she did, she'd feel the stab of thorns from the hawthorn. “I'm capable of fending off a stolen impropriety before it happens.”

“Stolen impropriety?” J.D. returned, and she could have sworn he gave a lopsided smile at her expense.

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Yes. I think I do.” His face inched closer. Josephine's breath hitched in her throat. “But you're not fast enough to get out of my way should I decide to steal an impropriety from you.”

“I wish—”

But he cut off her thought with his velvet-warm mouth covering hers in a slow, exploring kiss. Shock ran through her, tingling and needlelike across her skin. He tasted like the flavor of her favorite candy, butter and brown sugar, melted together . . . just like their lips. Like a silly girl, she felt her knees tremble. She was too mature for this . . . this folly. Too wise to succumb to him. But his lips were more persuasive than she cared to admit. A heady sensation claimed her, the air surrounding them suddenly growing thick and sultry.

Drugged by the expert touch of his mouth on hers, she felt a far-off thought bob to the surface of her
mind:
It would take more than a bash with a parasol to thwart J.D. McCall.

Worse yet, had she been holding one, she wouldn't have used it.

In J.D.'s arms, with his lips against hers, she was transported into a tangle of passion she knew nothing about. Her emotions spun a lustrous web around them, and she blocked out all reason. Her feelings were unlike any she'd ever known.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she clung to him. She could feel the tension of firm muscle beneath her light touch. His body next to hers was hard and enduring, as if he could lift her with a single sweep of his arms.

The night seemed darker, more seductive. The sounds around them seemed richer. She herself felt more complete. For the first time, everything in her, from head to foot, was feeling the same current of sensation: glorious.

She abandoned herself to the kiss for an endless moment, just until reality set in from some unknown place in her mind, and she remembered who she was. Who
he
was. Then she grew quite sober. Breaking away, she fled behind the hawthorn bush to calm her racing heart.

10

J
.D. had made a mistake hiring a woman cook. He'd made an even bigger one by ignoring reason and kissing her. Less than eight hours after the fact, he still didn't regret that he'd put his arms around her and enjoyed the feel of her soft lips against his.

Had it been anybody else, J.D. would have called him stupid—just before he fired him for trifling with the underwear-clad cook. J.D. couldn't give himself walking papers. Any more than he'd knock himself over the head by putting more into what had happened than truly had. So he'd kissed Josephine Whittaker. So he'd liked the feel of her in his arms. He kept telling himself it wasn't
her
exactly, but rather a woman wearing satin and lace . . . and his pants. But there was no mistaking the lady in question was Josephine. She'd smelled of wood smoke and sourdough batter, of apples and cinnamon. He knew leading into the kiss whom he was tangling with, and that had made the stolen moment all the more tantalizing.

J.D. was treading on dangerous ground. He was admitting his attraction to the cook. Last night, he'd told himself the only reason he was following her was to make sure nobody else did. Especially not Rio, who
liked to dally with the ladies—and most every lady liked Rio to dally with her.

Rio Cibolo was experienced and as smooth as any glass of fine brandy when it came to encouraging women. Whenever he was in money after payday, the chippies at Walkingbars cut cards to see who would have a turn with the wrangler first.

J.D. hadn't liked the heat of rivalry that had hit him out of nowhere when he'd seen Rio cozying up to Josephine at the wagon. He didn't think Rio was fool enough to step out of bounds on the drive. But just in case, J.D. had taken it upon himself to be her protector.

Trouble was, who was going to protect her from him?

This morning, J.D. hadn't awakened to the accented voice of his former cook. Josephine, in her crisp northeastern tone, had said, “Come and get it.” Even if she hadn't spoken, J.D. would have been awake.

The cool morning sluiced over him, making him lie beneath his blanket a moment longer than usual. Josephine had been rattling and banging pots and pans for an hour and a half. He'd opened his eyes and given up on shutting them again. Not to mention, she must have propped that alarm clock he'd entrusted to her care on a turned-over metal bucket. The resounding ring had been quickly muffled; she must have put the offending clock beneath her pillow until the chime played out.

The noise, the clatter of utensils, and the delicious aroma of coffee awakened the boys, who rolled over in their sougans. J.D. stretched and put his boots on. One by one, the boys followed suit, rolling their beds and dumping them near the wagon, then making their way to the washpan to get the sleep from their eyes.

J.D. was last in the breakfast line. Holding an empty bowl, he moved forward, his eyes on Josephine. She gave him a quick glance, then finished
Serving Dan's oatmeal. The cowboy nodded his thanks and went to the fire, leaving J.D. alone with Josephine.

“Mornin',” he said, picking up an empty coffee cup.

“Good morning,” she replied, her eyes downcast.

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Just fine.” She lifted her eyes to his. “And you?”

“Fine.”

They were both skirting around the issue, and he sensed she knew it, too. He felt he needed to say something about the kiss they'd shared, but he wasn't sure how to broach the subject.

She plopped a spoonful of mush in his bowl and said, “Sweetener is on the endgate.”

He didn't move. “Josephine . . . about last night—”

“Excuse me, but I need to check the coffeepot.” She whirled away and went to the fire.

J.D. held back, watching her. Seeing her with her hair in a neat coil and his old shirt covering her in a way that made her appear lacking in form, he couldn't stop reliving the way she'd felt in his arms. Soft and inviting.

After she'd run off behind the bush out of breath, she'd told him to go away, but he hadn't. He'd stood guard, listening to the splash of water as she quickly washed herself. When she'd reappeared, her shirt was buttoned up to the collar, the towel thrown over her shoulders as if she intended it to be armor. Silently, she'd walked past him back to camp. He'd left her at the wagon, and that had been the end of things.

Only this morning, in the sunrise-tinged sky that cast Josephine in its golden light, J.D. wasn't so sure. Last night might have just been the beginning.

•  •  •

Josephine hadn't slept well.

How could she have allowed J.D. to kiss her? She'd promised herself that after what Hugh had put her
through, she'd never let a man be in charge of her emotions again. But what had she done? The moment J.D.'s lips had touched hers, she fell into a chasm of wonderful sensations. Ignoring her conscience, she'd stood there and enjoyed the kiss. A flame of feeling for total intimacy had captured her, and she'd done nothing to stop him.

J.D. had reminded her that she was a woman. A woman who'd had her hopes and dreams dashed. Who thought that the ultimate happiness came through love and marriage. But she'd been in for bitter disappointment because she'd been born with money. And yet she was still a woman who craved companionship . . . and who longed for children in spite of nothing to show from a six-year relationship.

This morning, she'd truly thought she could put what happened behind her and face J.D. with casual indifference. It wasn't that easy. He was such a large presence. He was tall, and he was built tough. Wherever he stood, he stood out. Wherever he spoke, his voice was the deepest. And after she'd left him at the chuck wagon, wherever he went, her gaze had quietly followed.

As soon as breakfast was over, the camp presented a scene of vigorous activity. There was the dull thunder of hooves on the soft earth as Rio brought the horse herd in on the run. Ropes cut the air from all directions as each cowboy roped his own mount for the morning drive. Saddling was quickly accomplished, and the shouts to move out before the sun got a head start were constant.

During all the hubbub, Josephine washed the dishes, pots, and kettles and noisily stowed them in the wagon. When she was finished, Boots poured water on the fires, filling the air with the stench of wet wood ashes and greasy dishwater.

Bedding and duffles had been rolled up and left for Rio to load back in the chuck wagon after breakfast. The wrangler wasn't nearly as attentive toward her
this morning, having all he could do to keep up with the steady pace at which things were happening. J.D. and the cowboys rode off, then Rio hooked up the teams while Josephine finished the last of her duties with slow motion.

She was sore and stiff all over. She'd been tired and aching the night before, but she'd attributed it to all of the cleaning she'd been doing. But this morning, her backside hurt so much from the spanking it had taken on that hard bench seat of the wagon, she longed to take the pillow from her bedroll and sit on it. She would have if she thought Boots wouldn't make a comment. But he most surely would have; her sitting on a pillow nursing her tender behind would be too tempting a picture for him to pass up.

Even if she had named the stew after him.