Texas Moon TH4 (21 page)

The satisfaction died the instant he felt her linen gown against his legs, but he forced his thoughts to the discussion he meant to have with Tyler in the morning, and gradually his body relaxed. Moments later he slept.

When Janice awoke in the morning, she realized the sheets had fallen off the bed. The room was too warm to miss them, and she regretted her long nightgown, until the instant she recognized the greatest source of heat—the man beside her.

She had her back to him, but she knew he was naked. She remembered clearly that other morning when she woke in his arms to find him fully aroused and ready to take her again. Her cheeks burned with the memory, and a previously unknown tingle stirred inside her.

But the knowledge that their one time together hadn't left her with child gave her the strength to inch away. She might like to know what it would feel like to have Peter's hands touch her breasts again, but she was quite certain a man wouldn't be satisfied with just that. So the fact that the bodice of her gown suddenly felt tight held no meaning. She started to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.

His hand caught her arm and slid around to her waist, pulling her backward against him. Janice stiffened, trying to avoid the dangerous territory of her husband's hips, but that was an impossibility. She could feel his arousal pushing against the thin material of her gown, but he merely kissed the nape of her neck.

"I'm surprised our hosts haven't bestowed us with a fairy godmother bearing champagne and strawberries for breakfast, or at least installed an orchestra playing Mozart so we can waltz down the stairs," he murmured into the thick braid of her hair.

Janice giggled. She couldn't help it. She was so tense she thought she might break in two at the slightest wrong move, but the image of fairy godmothers and waltzing down stairs was so far removed from her current worries that her only recourse was laughter. She swore she could feel him smile behind her, and some of the tension slipped away. He was only human. She would have to remember that.

"I'm certain there's champagne left, and I'll look into the strawberry situation, if you like. I'm rather afraid the music will more likely resemble a hoe-down than a waltz, though."

He chuckled and caressed the undersides of her breasts. Janice tensed again, but he didn't seem to notice.

"With the Monteignes as the influencing factor in his growing up, I can see why Daniel turned out as he did. They're enough to make anyone believe in fairy tales."

Janice couldn't help smiling, even as Peter's thumb moved determinedly to caress her nipple through the soft cloth. The tender touch felt good, much too good, as long as she ignored the hard male length of his body behind her. That was hard to do when the place between her legs moistened just from the rumble of his voice near her ear.

"The Monteignes aren't quite real, are they?" she answered. "I think they're rather like a heady wine, too much and you're in trouble."

"I've had quite enough wine, thank you. My head is hurting from last night's abundance." Peter's fingers found the erect tip of Janice's breast beneath the cloth and tweaked it gently.

She gave a tiny gasp as he slid his hand back to the safer territory of her waist. The hand rebelliously stroked her hip and he gave a moan of frustration. "I'm hurting in any number of places, Mrs. Mulloney. If you don't mean to tend to me personally, perhaps you could bring me the rest of that bottle."

She practically jumped out of the bed, leaving Peter to grope the warm sheets. Her trunk had been transported to this room but not unpacked. She grabbed the first things that came to hand and fled for the far room.

Peter sighed and rolled over, giving the stiff flagpole of his manhood a disgruntled look. That was the reason he'd got into this mess, he had no doubt about that. His wife might not comprehend why he had married her, but he knew. He wanted to bury himself inside her and stay there for about six months at least.

But if he understood the calendar of human events, he wouldn't even be able to have her once before he left.

Damn.

He slammed his feet to the floor and reached for the well-worn contents of his saddlebag.

* * *

Tyler's study had more the appearance of an eccentric garden shed than an office. On the wall over the fireplace he had mounted a rifle and pistols, but someone had hung a shiny Valentine heart over the barrel of the rifle and a red paper rose stuck out of one of the pistols. The shelf of books to one side had obviously well-read volumes stacked haphazardly everywhere, interspersed with objects too strange for Peter to discern without obviously ignoring his host and studying them.

A rake rested in one corner of the room, several games of patience had been left in various states of disarray on a side table, and Tyler shuffled another deck of cards back and forth as he listened to his guest. Peter experienced some difficulty remembering why he had come in here. He kept waiting for the flying cards to leap into the air or scatter over the worn carpet.

"So you can see the loan would only be temporary," he heard himself saying. "We could repay it as soon as the deed is in our hands. You can practically name your terms."

Peter thought he'd said all that he'd come here to say. He was usually pretty thorough in these kinds of matters. Business was his strong point, after all. But Monteigne seemed to be looking over Peter's shoulder, and his cards kept flying back and forth between his hands.

The cards suddenly piled themselves up in a neat stack on the cluttered desk, and Tyler leaned back in his chair—so far back that Peter thought he would tumble over at any minute. Instead, the other man swung his boots up on the already scarred wood and grinned.

"I've got just the solution for you," he agreed. "This place eats up every piece of cash I ever get or I'd give you the money right out. I like gambling on sure things. But seein' as how that kind of cash ain't readily available, we'll have to wager for it."

Peter stared at him as if Tyler had just said they would have to go to hell and dig it up. "Wager for it?"

"Yep. I've got a horse that I've been meaning to race for some time now. We'll enter it into the holiday sweepstakes."

Peter grasped that notion well enough. He didn't like it, but he understood it. He raised his eyebrows uncertainly. "Holiday?"

Tyler grinned broadly. "Fourth of July."

That would give him less than five weeks to get to New Mexico. Peter felt sweat break out on his forehead. "If the horse is a sure winner, won't the odds be rather low? That would take a lot of cash."

Tyler swung his boots down and stood up, the very picture of a man eagerly setting out to meet a challenge. "The horse never won a race in its life. Come on, let's go look at it."

Wincing inwardly, Peter followed the madman out of the house. He could feel his entire future sliding down the drain, and he had the awful feeling he could do nothing at all about it. God meant to punish him for his sins, unintentional or not.

Chapter 17

A tall man with the stooped shoulders of age stood beside Betsy's easel while the child painted the paddock scene before her. The man's hair was the same chestnut as Evie's, only faded and graying with time. Up close, Janice could see the dark eyes of Carmen and her brothers. James Peyton was the man who brought the separate heritages of Evie Monteigne and the Rodriguez family together. Janice smiled as Evie's father and Betsy launched into some argument over an object in the painting.

Her smile disappeared as her gaze traveled to the paddock and the men standing at the fence. Peter had discarded jacket and vest in the summer heat and leaned his shirt sleeves against the rail. He studied the horse in the paddock so intensely that he didn't even notice her approach. The man on his other side, however, turned and gave her his famous smile.

Janice shook her head, indicating that he not interrupt their conversation for her. Tyler grinned and returned to watching Benjamin cinching the horse's saddle, then grabbing the reins and hanging on while his mount flailed the air.

Peter protested, "The animal isn't even broken yet! Monteigne, you're out of your mind. Just look at it! I've never seen a more pitiful excuse for a horse. It's practically wall-eyed, and look at those flanks! Geld him and make him a plow horse, maybe, but race? I'll just end up owing you a thousand bucks with nothing to show for it."

Janice's eyes went wide at this startling information, but she kept her mouth shut. She hadn't heard the whole conversation. She may have missed something.

"Ben's had him out. The brute has the devil in him, but if anyone can handle him, Ben can. Just keep an eye on him." Tyler propped a boot on the bottom rail and pushed his light-colored frock coat back to shove his hand in his pocket. Even in the steamy afternoon heat, he looked cool.

Janice shook her head in amazement. She wore her thinnest gown and not enough petticoats to be decent, and still she felt like a steamed ear of corn. She eyed the raging horse and eased away from the fence. She didn't like horses, and she definitely didn't like the looks of this one.

"That young fellow certainly knows his horses," Peyton commented behind her. Unconsciously she had gravitated in the direction of Betsy and her tutor.

She didn't know which young fellow Peyton referred to, but she didn't think she agreed with his comment either. She merely nodded and kept at least the corner of her eye on the tableau in the paddock while she turned to admire Betsy's work.

She stared at the striking ebony horse leaping off the canvas. "Betsy, that's marvelous! That's not watercolor. However did you learn to do that?"

Too intent on trying to capture a particular gleam in the horse's eye, Betsy didn't even look up. "Mr. Peyton taught me. He let me use his paints."

Janice had a sinking feeling that the oil paints were considerably more expensive than the pitiful child's colors she had bought Betsy for her birthday, and she sent Peyton a look of gratitude. At least, she thought she was grateful. When Betsy had to leave the luxury of these new paints behind, she might be of a different mind.

"The girl's talented. She has a good eye. She's got a lot to learn when it comes to animals and such, but there's plenty of time. She's about outgrown watercolors. I couldn't keep her painting clouds and flowers forever."

This last was almost an apology, as if he understood Janice's financial predicament.

"I'm grateful for all the help you've given her, sir. I only wish I could reimburse you for your efforts."

Peyton grinned, a charming grin reminiscent of Evie at her worst. "Just send me the proceeds of her first sale, and we'll call it even. I'd only drink it up or gamble it, anyway."

The horse squealing from the paddock caused them to turn and watch the athletic display of man against beast. Ben was on the stallion's back, clinging to the saddle and the reins as the animal reared and circled and screamed in protest. It was an admirable contest, but Janice felt only fear as sharp hooves slashed the air dangerously near to the men at the fence.

As Ben brought the horse under control, Tyler ran to throw open the paddock gate. Peter was already moving away from the fence in the direction of the little group beside the easel, instinctively placing himself between the horse's path and his family. Janice hadn't thought he even knew they were there. Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps he was just sensibly removing himself from the path of danger.

It didn't matter. Nothing could have prevented what happened next. It was just one of those quirks of fate that one of the Monteigne youngsters chose that moment to dash out of a mock-orange thicket in pursuit of a puppy that had escaped his care, just as Ben and horse sprang through the paddock gate.

A scream split the air. Tyler jerked his head up in time to find his son on a collision course with death. He ran for the boy at the same time as Ben tried to wheel the horse away. It all happened too fast for Janice to ever put together completely.

Tyler grabbed his son and rolled out of the way of sharp hooves. The horse reared. Ben went flying from the saddle. And the stallion broke loose from all restraint. The animal's path to freedom led directly toward the little party at the easel.

Janice knew she was screaming as she grabbed Betsy and started to run. She had never screamed in her life, but she couldn't stop now. The horse was bearing directly down on them, breathing flames for all she knew or cared. She could hear Peter's shouts, but they were meaningless to her. All that mattered was rescuing Betsy from the tearing hooves of the beast racing toward them.