“Too seriously, I’m thinking.”
He went back to chopping.
Jackson knew he wouldn’t be nominated for any congeniality awards today, but he wasn’t seeking any. All he wanted was to get the brides to the men in Kansas in one piece, and if he had to act like an overseer in order to accomplish his goal, then so be it. The women were rawer than the greenest army recruit. They were going to have to be toughened up, and if wanting to take a buggy whip to him for issuing orders about their underwear added to that toughness, he was all for it.
“You know,” he said between swings of the ax, “I respect your business sense and that razor-sharp mind, but neither of those attributes is going to mean much to the teams you and the other women are going to have to drive for hours on end, or to the rivers they may have to ford, or to the hundred other dangers that might lay ahead.”
He paused and looked her way. “Even if this trip is smooth sailing all the way, it’s still a very serious undertaking. I’ve got every faith that these women can make it.”
“Even if you didn’t think so at first?”
He wanted to kiss that sassy mouth of hers until she saw stars. “Even if I didn’t think so when I hired on. The ladies worked hard today.”
“Then you should tell them that,” Grace pointed out. “It would mean a lot. When I left, they were talking about boiling you in oil.”
He chuckled. “That bad, huh? Then maybe I should.”
Grace was glad the tension had dissipated.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asked frankly.
“No. You’re right about the corsets. We do need to be able to breathe.”
“Good.”
In the silence that followed, their eyes held. Grace could feel herself beginning to drown in his eyes.
“You know,” he indicated softly, “There are certain advantages to not wearing a corset. Remind me to show you the next time you come around looking to be kissed.”
Grace could’ve sworn the ground swayed beneath her feet. “That isn’t going to happen,” she somehow managed to retort.
His eye said he didn’t believe her. Neither did her pounding heart.
Deciding now would be a good time to hoist anchor, Grace said more hastily than she’d intended, “I’m going to my tent now. I’m glad we talked.”
“So am I.”
As he watched her head back the way she’d come, he said again, “So am I.”
Chapter 6
That evening after dinner, Jackson called everyone together. As the tired and weary women took seats at the trestle tables, Loreli leaned over to Grace and whispered, “Do you know what this is about?”
Grace shook her head. She hoped it had to do with her earlier suggestion that he say something positive to the women, but after his declaration this afternoon concerning their undergarments, who really knew why he’d convened the gathering.
Once everyone was settled, Jackson stood. “Ladies, I brought you together just to let you know what a fine job you did today.”
A stunned silence filled the air.
Someone called out humorously, “What did you do with the real Blake, mister?”
Laughs followed, and even Jackson had to smile. “I’m serious. I know I didn’t win any prizes from you today, but you ladies won one from me. Oh, you grumbled and fussed and wanted to boil me in oil, or so I heard—”
He looked at Grace. She ducked, her head hoping he wouldn’t see her grin. “But you worked hard, and I’m real proud of you.”
Just as Grace had predicted, the women looked pleased as punch. Any animosity they might’ve been holding seemed to slip away.
“Does this mean tomorrow’s a holiday and we don’t have to work?” someone cracked.
Jackson replied through the resulting laughter, “Nope. We’ve got to start driving lessons and get that second horse pen built.”
Mock groans filled the air.
He shrugged his wide shoulders and smiled. “Sorry.”
As a group they spent a few more moments discussing tomorrow’s agenda and then the meeting adjourned. The women drifted back to their tents with a bit more pep in their step than they’d had when the meeting had begun. Grace attributed it to Jackson’s praise.
“Thank you,” Grace told him, once they were alone at the tables.
“You’re welcome, but I should’ve thought of doing that myself. Being decent is something I used to be fairly good at, believe it or not.”
“I think you’re pretty decent now,” she admitted. “You don’t think of yourself as decent.”
“Not as decent as I once was. No.” As a wanted man, he could never reclaim the man he used to be, the man decent enough to pin on a star.
Grace saw a bitterness in his eyes she’d never seen before. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
Grace sensed a darkness in him she wanted explained. What secrets did he harbor? She realized she knew very little about him. “Will you tell me about it someday?”
The question surprised him. He searched her eyes for a moment and read the concern. “There’s nothing to tell.”
He’d lied because he didn’t want her involved in his past. If she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t be drawn into whatever awaited him in Texas.
“You’re lying, Jackson Blake.”
That caught him off guard, too, and he chuckled lowly. “Says who?”
“Says me. You’re not being fair, you know.”
He wanted to ease her into his arms and give that very perceptive mind of hers something else to think about, like his kisses. “What am I not being fair about?”
“Remember last evening, when you made me tell you what was on my mind?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?” he asked with mock innocence.
“It’s time for you to reciprocate.”
“That’s another one of those highfalutin words.”
“And that’s your attempt to keep from speaking the truth.”
Jackson knew she was right, but he was a wanted man. How was he supposed to tell her that? He stated seriously, “Grace, if and when the time comes, you’ll know.”
That wasn’t a lie. That was truth.
Grace realized he hadn’t given her much, but she accepted it and let the rest be. “I’m holding you to that.”
He nodded his understanding. Looking at her he realized that were he not a wanted man, he’d be giving serious consideration to the idea of courting her, plain and simple, even though she was probably destined fora man with a much higher social standing than he’d ever attain. He saw her with a doctor or a politician or some fancy Negro mortician with a gold watch in his pocket, not a Texan who couldn’t even give her his name.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Her voice brought him back to reality. “Just thinking about you being married to some fancy doctor or politician.”
Grace’s face filled with mock alarm. “Whoa, cowboy. I’m not marrying anyone.”
“Sure you will, eventually.”
Grace shook her head. “No. Never.”
“You sound pretty set.”
“I am. When a man leaves you at the altar, you never want to be burned that way again.”
Grace realized that thinking about that day no longer brought pain. She felt anger at Garth for being such a bounder, and at herself for being silly enough to think he actually loved her, but pain, no. “He assumed that because I was a banker’s daughter I was worth a king’s ransom. When he found out I wasn’t, he threw me over for someone wealthier.”
“What was his name?”
“Garth Leeds.”
Grace wondered what he’d do with the information and how it would affect their future dealings, so she told him, “It’s not something I’ll enjoy being teased about.”
“I understand,” came his soft reply, “but was this Leeds loco?”
She smiled, grateful for his support. “No, I was
.”
“How long did he court you?”
“Almost a year.”
Jackson could imagine how difficult it must’ve been for her to face her friends and acquaintances after the canceled wedding. Although he’d known her only a short while, he knew her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t’ve hidden herself away in response to such a public embarrassment. No doubt she’d gone on with her social life and her charity work, and tried to close her ears to the gossip that probably greeted her everywhere she went. Beneath all that fire and bossiness beat the heart of a woman far more resilient than women of her class were supposed to be and she deserved a man who’d value that, not some two-bit coyote who only wanted her money. He hoped he’d get a chance to meet this Garth Leeds someday.
“What’re you thinking now?” she asked.
“How I’d like to meet this Leeds, and how a strong woman like you needs a strong man.”
“Like you, I suppose?” she asked knowingly.
Enjoying this soft banter, he shrugged. “Maybe, but women like you don’t truck with men like me. Two different worlds.”
“I suppose, but stranger things have been known to happen.”
Grace and her father had often sat on the porch in the summertime talking about anything and everything under the sun until the wee hours of the morning, but those conversations differed from the conversations she’d been having with Jackson. This shared time felt more intimate, more personal. Even though he’d successfully evaded her attempts to get him to reveal more of himself, she still felt as if they’d become connected to each other somehow.
His voice interrupted her thoughts. “You know, that first night you snuck into my room, I’d no idea this is where I’d wind up.”
“You were rude and arrogant and far too high-handed for me.”
“I was hoping I’d scare you off.”
“I don’t scare easily,” she said with pride in her eyes.
“I noticed. I thought you were the bossiest female I’d ever met. Still do.”
She punched him in the arm. “I’m not bossy.”
“Ha!”
“I am not. I’m—firm.”
“You’re bossy, woman, but that’s part of your charm.”
Their gazes met and held. Even though it was now dark, it did nothing to mask the sparks arching between them.
She asked playfully, “Can I get you to write that down and then sign it?”
“Only if you asked to be kissed…”
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” she responded wryly, softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Otherwise, we’re going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m about two seconds from asking to be kissed.”
The air between them was hot and charged. One more spark and their world would burst into flame.
“Then let’s get you home.”
They made the walk silently, but each was as aware of the other as they were of their own breathing. More than once, Jackson fought down the urge to carry her off into the dark, but many of the fires and lanterns around the camp were still lit, signals that a good many of the brides were still awake. Yes, he wanted her, but he also cared about her reputation.
At her tent their steps slowed. The soft light shining from inside the canvas meant Belle was awake and probably reading her Bible, something she did every night before turning in.
“Belle’s still up,” Grace pointed out, in an effort to substitute small talk for her yearning and feelings.
As though cued, Belle suddenly appeared in the opening. She was dressed in her night clothes, and upon seeing Jackson at Grace’s side, drew back a bit. “Uh—hello, Mr. Blake.”
“Belle,” he said pleasantly. “How are you?”
“Fine, Mr. Blake.”
“Good. Miss Atwood and I were going to work on maps tonight, but she thought it best she check on you instead.”
Belle looked to Grace who hoped the girl couldn’t see the surprise on her face. What maps?
The girl smiled and said reassuringly, “No, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. Everybody’s been so nice. If you two need to work, go on ahead. Loreli’s already told me that if I need anything and you’re not around, just to let her know. Is she really a gambling woman, Miss Atwood?”
“Yes, Belle, she is.”
“Never expected a woman like that to be so nice.”
Grace smiled, glad that Loreli had gone out of her way to make the young woman feel welcome.
“So, go on and do your maps. I’ll be fine.”
That said, she went back inside, leaving Grace to look up at Jackson and ask suspiciously, “Did you say you were once a sheriff or a confidence man? You led her exactly where you wished for her to go.”
“I know, but I wanted to spend more time with you.”
Grace wondered if there were some kind of root she could take that would make her less susceptible to him and all he seemed to promise.
He told her softly, “You can go on in or not, your choice, Grace.”
Even though the banker in Grace protested loudly, the woman in Grace chose “not.”
Since they’d told Belle they were going to look at maps, Grace and Jackson set out for the supply tent that also served as his office. Once there, he lit a lantern and the dark interior took on a soft glow. Grace looked over to him and realized that the vow she’d carved in stone this morning might as well have been written in sand. Being with him this way made her feel reckless and more than a little bit giddy.
“So, maps or kisses—which would you prefer to explore?”
Smiling, she had to turn away from his shadowy presence for a moment before turning back to say, “Whatever am I going to do with you, Jackson Blake?”
“How about this…”
And he pulled her in against him and kissed her languidly, deeply, and passionately. When she responded with a passion that rivaled his own, he deepened the kiss, nibbling on the tempting flesh of her bottom lip and tasting the opened corners of her mouth with the hot, seeking tip of his tongue. He vividly reacquainted himself with the lips he’d been craving for what seemed like an eternity and ran his hand up to the base of her neck to bring her even closer.
He savored her, ignited her, and Grace sought to do the same. She could feel the strong muscles in his back beneath her wandering palms and the hot, tempting pressure of his thighs against her own. As he brushed his mouth across her ear and over the edge of her jaw, she tossed aside all pretense of not wanting this man and let her desire soar.
Jackson wanted to touch her in all the ways a man could touch a woman. His lips sampled the scented column of her neck, and again the delicate curve of her jaw. He brushed fire over the high collar of her blouse where it met her skin and Grace sighed in the rising heat. She could feel his hands roaming slowly over her back, and up and down her sides, but when his big hand cupped itself around her breast, the sensations were so strong she drew back for a moment in an effort to clear the haze.
In the interim, he stood before her dappled by the shadows of the lone lamp, pulsing for her, hungering for her. Jackson knew he’d die if she didn’t want him to touch her again, but she was Grace, and not a cathouse whore. He had to give her a choice. “Do you want to go back?” he asked quietly.
Still breathing heavily, Grace shook her head. “No. I just need to catch my breath.”
He smiled. “Woozy?”
“Very,” she replied huskily. “You’re giving me quite an education.”
“Then shall we continue your lessons?”
His words were as hot as his eyes.
“Yes.”
He pressed his lips to hers gently in reward for her passionate willingness, then drew her back into his arms. He spent a few more languid moments kissing her until her senses sang, then she felt his hand rise to her breast and begin to caress it slowly.
When he dipped his head and gently captured h
er nipple with his teeth, she moaned aloud. Grace’s head dropped back and her virgin’s body arched invitingly. She’d never had a man touch her this way and the sharp sensations were as brilliant as the sun. He gave her other breast the same bone-throbbing caresses and Grace swore her whole body liquefied.
Jackson raised his head to capture her lips again, then filled his senses with the feel of her hips in his hands. He knew he couldn’t take her fully, not with all the risks it incurred, but he wanted to pleasure her in ways so vivid she’d never forget this night or him.
“I want to touch you, Grace…letme touch you…”
To that end, he slowly began undoing the buttons on her blouse. They were the only barriers standing between his lips and the silk-skinned treasures he wanted to explore. Grace knew she should not let him take the liberties he seemed intent upon; well-brought-up women did not encourage such scandalous behavior, but scandalous was how she felt and she didn’t want his lessons to stop.
She reeled as he brushed his lips across the now bared expanse of her throat. His mouth was warm; his tasting tongue against the tops of her breasts made her arch even more. It took all she had just to breathe. The knowledge that he was slowly undressing her was heady enough, but when he parted the halves of her blouse and worshipped his palms over the hard, dark tips of her breasts beneath her thin camisole, she just knew her body had burst into flame. He eased her camisole aside. His kisses came next, dallying, masterful conquerings of her breasts that left each nubbin pleading and hot. The sensual suckling in tandem with the lingering licks from his tongue made her keen pleasurably. She didn’t care that under the impetus of his big hands her skirt was circling higher and higher up the back of her thighs, nor did she care that the initial touch of his hand as it moved over her drawers scorched her waist and skin; all she cared about was this wanton desire burning in her blood.
Jackson wanted her more than any other woman before. The scents of her, the sounds of her passion and her warm silken skin made him want to find the nearest bed, lay her down, and fill her until the sun rose, but he couldn’t, not without compromising her, so he contented himself with her pleasure.