Angel Creek (8 page)

Not that she would have let him kiss her. After all, the man was intending to marry Olivia. But Olivia didn't want him. Dee knew how much her friend wanted to fall in love and have a family, that she was worried she would never have the chance. And Olivia wasn't even certain Lucas had any intentions of marrying her. After meeting him the second time Dee was certain that he wasn't the man for her gentle friend.

It had been nothing less than the truth that she couldn't afford for anyone to think she was available, and it was likewise true that she wasn't interested in marrying anyone. None of that, however, negated a third truth: She was human, and she was a woman. She had liked talking to him this morning, liked his company. He talked to her as an equal, giving her a subtle but delicious sense of freedom because she didn't have to censor her words or behavior for him. Most men would have strongly disapproved of the things she had said, but Lucas had seemed to enjoy the frankness of their conversation. And despite herself she had responded to him as a woman, her skin growing warmer, her breath coming quicker. If he
had
reached for her, would she truly have pushed him away? She was honest enough with herself to admit that the temptation was there.

She was a bit embarrassed by her own duplicity. No matter that she had told him she wasn't interested in men, no matter that she told herself she neither needed nor wanted his admiration of her as a woman; she was very much aware of him as a man, and it hurt her ego a bit that he didn't seem the least bit attracted to her. Then again, why should he? He was Lucas Cochran; he could have any single woman in town, and probably quite a few of the married ones. He was not only very good-looking, he was almost overwhelmingly male, tough and strong and sure of himself, mentally as well as physically. She could read plainly in his eyes that he could be ruthless, and that a person had to be either reckless or a fool to stand in his way.

She, on the other hand, wasn't anything special. She saw it in her mirror every morning when she washed her face. She was a woman who worked hard, and who was more inclined to spend any extra money on books than to buy clothes or luxuries for herself. There was nothing refined or delicate about her, though she did suppose she was fairly intelligent and better educated than most, the latter point due to her mother having been a teacher and instilling a love of books in her early in life. They were two characteristics that equipped her well to manage her own life but made her particularly ill-suited to be content under anyone else's rule.

There was nothing in her for a man like Cochran to
desire, and it was foolish of her to wish it were different.

Lucas never deliberately sought out Olivia except at social functions where they would have met anyway, for he saw no reason to solidify any relationship between them when it would be at least a year before he had any real time to devote to courting and marriage. Nor did he ever feel any great need for her company; she was pretty and pleasant, but she didn't fire his senses. As he rode into town that morning after leaving Dee, however, he not only made no effort to see Olivia, he was downright reluctant to meet her even by accident.

He liked Olivia; she was sweet and kind, a true lady. He could even imagine taking a great deal of pleasure in bedding her. What he couldn't imagine, however, was ever feeling aroused to the point of madness with her. When he thought of heated sex, of sweat and twisted sheets and fingernails digging into his back while he reveled in a female body beneath him, that body was Dee's, the face was Dee's, and it was long black hair that lay tangled on his pillow. Dee would never docilely accept him; she would fight against his domination, her hips thrusting back at him. She would claw and twist and fiercely seize her own pleasure. And afterward, lying exhausted, she would watch him with those enigmatic green eyes, daring him to take her again.

He couldn't even think of Olivia with those images of Dee burning in his mind. He wanted her with an urgency that surprised him. He had desired women
before, some passionately, but the mere thought of a woman had never made him feel as if he were on fire. And he hadn't even so much as touched her hand yet! But he would, and soon. He couldn't wait months to have her, or even very many weeks.

He gritted his teeth against a hard surge of arousal. The way he felt now, the time remaining to Dee's chastity could be measured in days, and even that was too long. He wanted her now; he was as hard and fractious as a stallion ready to mount a mare in heat.

Instinctively he knew that Dee was a virgin, even though she had lived alone for five years. Her innocence both hindered and helped. She would not immediately recognize the seriousness of his seduction and wouldn't know how to control her responses to him, which certainly gave him an advantage. But her innocence also meant he would have to restrain himself, to make certain she had been pleasured even before he entered her, and his control was already under a great deal of strain. Once he had her naked in his arms he would be near madness with the need to penetrate and find his ease within her. If he lost control and gave her only pain, she would fight like a wildcat the next time he tried to touch her.

No, no one in his right mind would ever categorize Dee as docile. She was a wildfire, while Olivia was as cool and contained as a mountain lake.

He stopped in at the saloon even though it was earlier than he liked to drink; maybe a beer would dull the ache in his groin. At that hour the saloon was almost empty, with only one other customer, who sat slumped sipping a whiskey with his back to the
batwing doors as if the light hurt his eyes. Lucas recognized the signs of a hangover and left the man alone.

The bartender was polishing glasses, not paying any attention to him after serving him a beer. The two saloon girls were playing cards together in a half-bored, half-lazy fashion, spending more time talking than playing.

After a while Tillie, the red-haired one, got up and sauntered over to Lucas. Though his senses were too focused on black hair and green eyes for him to react to Tillie's lush beauty, he admired the sensuousness of her walk. She didn't just walk; she swayed, she glided, she undulated. It was a movement so completely female that even the man with the hangover followed her with his bloodshot eyes.

“Good morning,” she drawled, sitting down at his table. Her accent was distinctly Southern, lazy and soft-sounding. She tilted her head at the other man. “He's got a reason for drinking, but you don't look like you're having a hard morning.”

He was having a hard morning, all right, in one sense of the word. “Just passing the time.”

“Or maybe you came in here for another reason.” Now her voice was even softer, slower, more inviting.

“I'm not in the mood for a woman,” he said abruptly.

Tillie gave a warm laugh, sitting back in her chair. “Oh, I think you are, sugar, but I'm not the woman, and that's exactly what your problem is. You've got that angry, hot-and-bothered look that a man gets when a woman doesn't lie down for him the minute he thinks he wants her.”

“A man never gets that look around you, does he?” Lucas countered.

“Not often, sugar, not often. Well, if you're not in here to drink, and you don't want to go upstairs, why don't you join Verna and me in a poker game? We get bored just playing each other.”

But he wasn't interested in a card game either, and he shook his head. Tillie sighed sympathetically. “Then there's nothing I can do for you, Mr. Cochran, other than wish you luck.”

“I don't need luck,” he growled, getting up from the table. “What I need is patience.”

Tillie's soft laughter followed him out of the saloon.

Olivia lingered in the dry goods store until she saw Lucas exit the saloon and head back in the direction of the Double C. It was cowardly of her to hide from him when he had never been anything but polite, but the possibility of meeting him in the street with innumerable eyes looking on had made her feel slightly ill. She wouldn't have been able to say a coherent word to the man, what with wondering about the whispering and conjecturing going on behind all the storefront doors. Nor had he looked to be in a particularly good mood. Even from a distance she had been able to see the dark scowl on his face. If Lucas was overwhelming when he was in a good mood, how much more intimidating would he be in a temper? She didn't want to find out.

M
AYBE IF
D
EE HADN'T BEEN SO TIRED IT WOULDN'T
have happened, but she had spent the morning replowing the garden, breaking up the huge clods of dirt into smoother soil, suitable for planting. The first few days of garden work were always the hardest on her, for her muscles had grown softer over the comparatively lax winter months. So when she climbed into the barn loft to fork down more hay for the livestock perhaps she wasn't as alert as she normally would have been, and maybe her reflexes weren't as fast. For whatever reason she didn't see the cat, and she stepped on its paw. The cat squalled; startled by the noise, Dee lurched backwards and misjudged her step. She hurtled out of the loft to land flat on her back on the ground, her head hitting with a soft thud.

For a long, agonizing moment that seemed like an eternity she couldn't draw air into her lungs, and she
lay as if paralyzed, stunned with pain, her sight growing dim. Then her insides decided to work properly, and she inhaled greedily despite her aching rib cage.

It was another several moments before she felt able to take stock of herself. Her arms and legs moved without undue pain, and her sore ribs felt more bruised than broken. Her head was throbbing dully. If the ground hadn't been covered with a thin cushion of straw, she had no doubt she would be in much worse shape than she was.

The cat leapt out of the loft and meowed at her in rebuke, then disappeared around the corner.

She staggered to her feet and managed to finish feeding the animals, but when she went back to the house she could barely climb the steps. Cooking seemed too much of a bother, so she didn't. She merely cleaned herself up with a sponge bath and gingerly brushed out her hair. Her head ached too much for her to be able to tolerate the tight braid she usually put her hair in for sleeping; she winced at the thought. It was all she could do to pull on her nightgown and crawl into bed.

She didn't sleep well because every time she moved in her sleep her aching muscles protested and woke her up; but when dawn came, and she opened her eyes for good, she was relieved to find that the headache was gone. She would have been in a fine mess if she had sustained a concussion, but thankfully that didn't seem to be the case.

Still, when she tried to get out of bed she sank back with a stifled cry as a sharp pain laced around her ribs.
She lay there panting for a few minutes before gathering herself and trying again. The second attempt was no more successful than the first.

She was loath to try again, but she knew she couldn't simply lie in bed all day. For one thing, she had natural needs that had to be attended to.

The third time she didn't try to sit up but rather rolled off the bed and landed on her knees, which probably added to her collection of bruises. She leaned against the side of the bed with her eyes closed, trying to summon the strength and determination to stand. Fortunately, getting to her feet was less painful than sitting up had been, but the effort still made her turn pale.

She managed to take care of her more urgent needs and gulp down several dippersful of water, for she was very thirsty, but the simple act of removing her nightgown defeated her. She could not raise her arms to lift it over her head. Even if she could, she wasn't at all certain she would be able to dress herself properly.

But the animals needed caring for, and it wasn't their fault she had been so stupid and clumsy as to fall out of the loft.

She had been lucky that in the six years she had been alone she had never before been ill or hurt. Knowing that she had no one else to rely on, she had always been extremely careful, even to the point of holding a nail with a long pair of tongs rather than risking hitting herself on the hand with a hammer. She had done everything she could think of to make her surroundings and her habits safe, but none of her precautions had kept her from stepping on that cat.

Even if she managed to get down the steps and wore
her nightgown to the barn, how would she feed the animals? She couldn't lift her arms, much less heavy buckets of feed.

She was so furious at herself for having been careless that she could barely think. It didn't help that each movement brought a renewed onslaught of pain.

Her legs were stiff and sore, but she rather thought that was from the unaccustomed exertion of plowing. Her back, however, seemed to be one massive bruise from shoulders to hips, and her ribs ached with every breath she took. She tried to sit and found that she couldn't. She considered simply falling onto the bed, but the thought of what she would have to endure when she tried to get up again kept her from doing that. Standing seemed to be her only recourse.

But the spring morning was chilly, and she was growing cold standing there barefoot, wearing nothing but a nightgown. The coals in the fireplace would catch if she could place a fresh log on them, but that, too, was beyond her. It looked as if she would have to go back to bed to keep warm, regardless of the pain it would cost her to get up.

When she heard the drumming of hoofbeats her first thought was that she had to get the shotgun, and she moved too quickly. The resulting pain shut off her breath, and she froze with a stifled moan.

“Dee!”

The shout made her almost weak with relief. It was Lucas. She would swallow her pride and ask him to take care of the animals today; surely by tomorrow she would be able to do it herself. Painfully she moved to the window just in time to see Lucas heading toward the barn to look for her.