Southern Seduction (8 page)

Travis looked at Brooke with a raised brow.
“You probably should have asked me first.”

“I believe I told you earlier that I wanted to see the plantation.”

He smiled smoothly, betraying nothing of his annoyance. “Do you ride, Mrs. Hammond?”

“Of course, I can ride, you ninny.
Do you think I’d get on an animal if I couldn’t handle it?”

Something about the way Brooke spat those words at him ma
de chills crawl up the back of his neck. Travis didn’t doubt that she could handle just about anything. There was such an air of confidence about her . . . a determination that he’d not seen in other women. He almost admired her for that. “In that case,” he said, turning to Old Sam. “Saddle the gray for Mrs. Hammond.”

“I prefer that you call me Miss Brooke or just plain Brooke,” she said.

“You can use the gray while you’re here, Mrs. Hammond,” he said pointedly.

“What a stubborn man you are,” Brooke told him.
She took a step closer. “Don’t think you are getting rid of me. I’m here to stay and have no intention of going anywhere.”

Travis waited until Sam was out of hearing distance before he responded, low and quiet, under his breath, “You don’t belong here.”

Instead of shooting a remark back as he expected, Brooke gave him an odd look, and he could swear tears spiked her lashes. Up until now he had not thought of her as a woman with feelings and emotions. She had merely been a thorn in his side and a warm body to think about during the long nights, which made her the enemy.

“That’s the problem, you see.
I don’t belong anywhere,” she said in a soft voice, sounding almost defeated. Her golden eyes seemed to pierce his with the oddest, almost desperate expression. And she was much too close. “Do you know what it’s like not to belong?”

Travis’s gut tightened and he slowly nodded.
“I know exactly how it feels.”

“Then, I imagine that we are more alike than you know.”

Someone cleared his throat, and Travis and Brooke jerked away from each other.

Sam had returned with the horses and his intrusion broke whatever spell Brooke had cast over him.

Without another word, Travis waited until Sam positioned the horse, then Travis helped Brooke mount the sidesaddle.

As he closed his hands around her trim waist, he marveled at how small she was.
He could almost circle her waist with his hands, and there was no doubt in his mind that she wore no corset beneath her garments. Only thin material separated his hands and her warm skin. Steeling himself to resist the spell he was slowly falling under, he lifted her onto the saddle.

Her fragrance seemed to wash all over him, and his body’s reaction to it surprised the hell out of him.
He didn’t need to be attracted to Brooke, so he abruptly tuned and went to mount his own horse. He’d be damned if he’d allow that woman to see his growing attraction to her.

After Travis was situated on the white stallion, he glanced at Brooke’s pure profile.
She sat so gracefully in the saddle and with such dignity that she certainly appeared to be the master horsewoman. Her habit was cut so perfectly to the contours of her body that he could imagine her completely naked beneath the fabric. An image of her lying in bed, her golden mane of hair fanned out across a pillow flashed unbidden into his mind.

Travis’s bodily reaction was hard and quick, and he cursed himself.
Rather than remain there, trapped in her spell, he touched the white’s flanks with his heels and urged him forward. He had to put some distance between himself and Brooke.

Once out of the stables, he paused and took a deep breath to clear his head, then spurred his mount on, pushing him harder and faster than he knew he should.
Fresh air! That’s what he needed.

Only when Travis felt he was safely away did he allow his horse to slow.
He guided him to the top of a rise, which overlooked the river below, and then he drew his mount to a halt.

The telltale sound of another horse approaching told him he wasn’t going to be alone for long. And he’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d chased him away.
Travis forced himself to sit still and wait for her to catch up with him.

“What a beautiful horse,” Brooke said as she rode up beside him.
“Does she have a name?” She reached up and patted the mare on the neck.

The gray swung her head to the side trying to reach Brooke’s hand.
The traitor! Was everyone on the plantation falling under her spell?

Travis glanced over at the dapple
gray mare. He’d always liked that horse because she was so unique, calm yet spirited, far different from the rest of his stable. Much like the woman who now rode her. “Gray Mist.”

“I like the name.
I’ve never had a horse of my own. In England, I always had to ride someone else’s horse.”

Travis couldn’t pry his eyes off
Brooke. Something in her voice touched him in all the places he didn’t want to be touched. “Do you like her?”

Brooke nodded.
“Very much.”

“Then she’s yours.”

Brooke felt as if a thousand butterflies had been released in her stomach. Why was the man finally being kind to her? She knew she could point out that half of everything on the plantation belonged to her already, but she didn’t want to break the fragile truce between them. It felt much too good to spoil the mood with facts. “Thank you.”

Gazing down on the fields below them she saw what she presumed
to be sugarcane. Although it looked like very tall grass, perhaps four to twelve feet high, it appeared to be planted in rows four feet apart. Green leaves sprouted at the top of each stalk which swayed in the gentle breeze.

She saw several men in the fields.
The workers close to them swung long, curved blades and the stalks tumbled to the ground in piles.

“I take it,” she nodded toward the field, “that is sugarcane?”

“Good observation,” Travis said in condescending tone. “How much do you know about such crops? Or farming for that matter. I take it you grew up in the city?”

Brooke glanced at Travis who was looking straight ahead, taking in everything that was happening in the field.
She chose to ignore his suddenly ill manner. “You are correct. I’ve never been on a plantation before. Nevertheless, it doesn’t make me ignorant of the operation. I did manage to read every book I could find about cotton as I thought that is what would be grown on Moss Grove.”

“You expect to learn from a book?”
Travis chuckled. “What a novice you are. However, I do applaud you,” he said with a nod. “Not many women would bother themselves with such things. They would be more interested on the money coming in.”

Brooke made a quick involuntary appraisal of Travis’s features to make sure that he wasn’t making fun of her, yet again.
“I’m not like most women.”

“So I’m finding out.”

Brooke’s heart hammered foolishly at the thought that such a commanding individual was actually paying attention to her. She knew it unwise to be attracted to him, but the fact remained that she found Travis more than a little disturbing. Every time he moved, she could see the tight muscles flex under his shirt. For now, she wanted to learn – no, had to learn -- about the plantation, so she steered the conversation back toward business. “Why sugarcane?”

He shrugged impatiently.
“It’s the future.”

Travis kept switching from warm to cold, Brooke thought, but she had begun to detect a softening in him.
Or so she hoped. She’d made up her mind to be persistent, even if she had to drag every word out of him. “Is that all you grow?”

“We do have a couple of fields planted in cotton, but the rest is cane.
There is a great deal of money to be made with a good crop. But it’s also riskier.”

“Why more so than cotton?”

“Tariffs. And the weather. Sugar coming from other countries carries high tariffs. We can produce cheaper and in Louisiana cane grows faster. Cane is a ratoon crop.” When he saw her puzzled expression, he explained further. “The cane is cut at ground level so the roots of the plants are left there. Next spring a new plant will sprout from the roots. So I save the labor of planting for three years.”

“Well, that certainly sounds smart, but why only three years?”

“Thank you,” he said with a smile and a nod. “After the third harvest, we plow up the roots and the field is left fallow to replenish nutrients in the soil. In other words, the land is allowed to rest.”

Brooke smiled.
That was what she’d been doing for the past two years, letting her body lie fallow so she’d be good as new when she found a lover, or a husband, if she could convince Travis to cooperate.

She looked back over the field.
“So tell me ...” she paused “ ... everything.”

Travis’s brow rose.
He hesitated, measuring her for a moment before inquiring, “Are you certain you want to know?”

“Of course, I do,” Brooke replied quickly, a little too quickly, he thought.
But she did look sincere.

“I want to know everything about the plantation operations.
You can’t image what it’s like being cooped up in the city all the time. So far, I’ve found that I love this country with all its wide-open spaces, and I want to understand how it works.”

“All right,” Travis said.
He hoped by now she would have tired. He’d been wrong. Perhaps once she learned how much work was actually involved, she’d let up on her notion that she could somehow run a plantation. For God sake she was a woman after all. “Let’s ride down to the fields so you can see firsthand.” Travis nudged his mount down the levee. “Follow me.”

“
The land seems to be below the levee,” Brooke observed.

Travis was impressed at her observation, despite himself.
At first he thought she was pretending to be interested, but no one could be that great an actress. Perhaps, the woman wasn’t empty headed as he’d first thought. He found this notion very intriguing. “You are correct, madam. The land ranges from five to fifty feet below sea level here, and that is why you see so many levees. One of the most important tasks for those who live along the Delta is to maintain the levee system. As you can imagine, if any one of them broke we could lose everything.”

“What a frightening thought,” Brooke murmured, almost to herself.
She halted her horse in front of one of the fields. “It’s so tall,” she said, motioning toward the cane.

“A good ten feet.”

Brooke pointed toward a group of workers. “What are those people doing? Of course, I can see that are cutting the stalks with something, but explain what happens next? Explain the process.”

Again she seemed truly sincere, so Travis indulged her in spite of himself.
Something about her eagerness to learn intrigued him. It was most unusual in a woman.

He gestured toward the workers who were bent over from their arduous task.
Some had removed their shirts, their black skin glistening with sweat.

“Those men,” he indicated with a nod, “are cutting the cane at the base of the stalks with machetes.
They will trim the unripe joints at the top of the stalk and slash downward, removing the dead foliage. The cane will then be stacked on the mule-drawn carts over there,” he said pointing. “Then it will be taken to the mill, which you’ll see later on. Many trips will be made before the day is over. It’s important to get the sugarcane to the mill as soon as possible because of deterioration of the sugar. And that is the second reason that sugarcane is a dangerous crop.”

Brooke shifted her horse so that she could better see Travis and hear his explanation. She wanted to keep him talking while he was in good humor.
She wasn’t sure how long his present mood would last, but she much preferred him this way. “Does it take a couple of years to grow?"

He chuckled.
Travis’s smile was wide, his teeth strikingly white in his tanned face. “Hardly.”

She took a quick breath of utter astonishment.
He’d actually smiled, and what a difference it made in his appearance. She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile.

“In Louisiana, we cut the cane before it matures.
I actually planted early this season, so I could make sure to harvest before the frost. However this year it has turned cooler earlier, so it will be close.”

Brooke nodded.
“I heard that frost wasn’t good for the crops, but why?”

“If we have a frost it will destroy the sugar content.
We can’t even store the stalks because the sugar turns bad too quickly. Once we start the process, we must work nonstop until it’s complete. You’ll see workers out in the fields all night at harvest,” Travis explained.

“Something wrong, boss?”
A tall, thin, middle-aged man rode over to them. He carried a dangerous-looking whip tied to his saddle, and Brooke wondered if he used it on the workers. She hoped not. The man’s white straw hat shadowed his eyes and his shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows.