Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (6 page)

Get out, her wiser self insisted. Get out of here. Now.

She backed away another step, enough to clear the doorway, so she was standing in the hall next to a narrow mahogany table with curving claw-footed legs.

“Lynn.”

She froze again.

And he asked the question she didn't want to hear. “Why did you agree to come here with me?”

“I…”

“I answered you. Now answer me. Why?”

Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She watched him, unable, somehow, to break the hold of his eyes and get out of there. He started walking toward her, eating up the space between them with slow, deliberate strides.

Go, move, turn, run! her good sense shouted in her ear. But something else—a vivid longing that pulsed through her in heated, needful waves—held her there until he reached her.

He took her glass, set it on the claw-footed table. He set his own glass down there, too. Then he cupped her chin in both of his big, fine hands.

“Why did you come here?” he demanded, so softly this time. The feel of his hands on her skin was pure heaven. His breath touched her upturned face, melted something inside her.

“I…”

“Yes?” Urgent. He sounded urgent. Her own body seemed to answer that urgency with an erotic insistence all its own.

“Tell me.” He brushed his lips across hers. Oh, that felt lovely. She wished he'd do it again.

Maybe he would if she confessed the truth. “I didn't want the night to end.” Her voice was a throaty whisper. “It was wrong of me. So foolish…”

“But you came here anyway.”

“Yes. Because it's my birthday. And it's all been like magic. And I didn't want it to be over, I didn't want midnight to strike.”

“But it will.” His eyes looked sad now, sad and knowing. “Midnight does that,” he whispered. “It always comes. Eventually.” He ran his hands down her throat, an encompassing caress that made her heart stutter in her chest.

Then he took her shoulders, gently and resolutely. “Do you want me to take you home now?”

“No.” The word got out before she could stop it. And then once it
was
out, she accepted the fact that it was only the truth.

A smile played on his lips for a moment and was gone. “Then what
do
you want?”

“I want…” She gulped, then made herself tell him. “First, I want to know for certain. Is there any hope, any hope at all that you and Trish might—”

He shook his head before she could finish. “I meant what I said. Your sister is my secretary. That's all.”

She believed him. She'd known it all along, really. But it seemed terribly important that she make absolutely sure.

“What else?” he prompted, running his hands down her arms and back up again, a slow, warm caress that wreaked havoc on her thought processes.

She managed to whisper, “If we…” and then felt her face flushing hot and red. Oh, she could not go on.

“If we what?”

“If I…” She gulped again. She'd never been a liar, but right now she was thinking of the lies she might tell, thinking that yes, Lily Mae Wheeler had seen them drinking champagne at the State Street Grill, but that no one knew she had actually come to his house with him. That it was still early yet.

True, Trish lived with her in the family home that Lynn's father had left to Lynn in his will. Since Lynn always came home early, Trish would definitely notice if she suddenly returned very late.

But if she didn't stay
too
late…

And if she got Danielle to cover for her, to say…

Oh, sweet Lord, what was she doing?

It was wrong, terribly wrong, what she was letting herself imagine. And she would have to face hell, from her sister
and
her community—or tell an ugly string of lies—to get away with it.

And where would it go, anyway, if she
did
get away with it?

She had seen the coldness in his eyes when he talked of that law firm in Denver. She knew about his divorce, that it had not been a friendly one.

There was something…hard about him. Something closed in. She'd broken through that hardness tonight, with the help of a red dress and the strange, heady power her new look had given her.

But a woman would have a big job for herself, getting through his defenses on any long-lasting basis. What made her dare to imagine that she would be the one to accomplish such a feat?

Underneath the temporary glamour, she was still the same woman she'd always been: plain, reserved Lynn Taylor. The kindergarten teacher, born to be addressed as “Miss.” A woman at whom men like this one never looked twice.

Tomorrow she'd put on her regular clothes and her flat shoes. With the help of the diagram and the makeup samples Kim had given her, she might try to recreate some semblance of the magic. But it wouldn't be the same.

And his defenses would go back up.

No, spending the night with him—making
love
with him, because that's what they'd be doing—was impossible. She was a teacher, for heaven's sake. There were certain moral standards that the people
of Whitehorn rightfully expected her to uphold. When and if she ever did make love with a man, she planned to be married to him first. She couldn't just fall into bed with someone she'd met face-to-face only that afternoon.

Lynn could hardly believe she kept letting herself consider it, kept thinking how much she
wanted
it, wanted him to kiss her—a real, deep, all-consuming kiss. Wanted his fine hands caressing her, all over her body. Wanted—

She heard a chiming sound, faint but still discernible, coming from downstairs. The clock on the mantel. Announcing the hour.

It was eight o'clock.

J
ust as Lynn was about to step back from him, Ross dropped his hands away and stepped back himself.

Something deep inside her cried out in hungry bewilderment at the loss of his touch, at the sudden absence of his body, which had been so deliciously, temptingly close.

She resolutely ignored that silent cry.

He said, “I'm sorry. This is foolish, just as you said.”

“Yes.” She made her head bob up and down to show how much she agreed with him. “We'd better go downstairs.”

“And talk a little about my client,” he continued for her.

“And then you can take me to the school.”

He picked up her brandy and handed it to her. Then he took his own. “Come on. Let's go.”

 

Ross shrugged out of his jacket when they got downstairs. He tossed it over a chair and they sat in front of the fire, on either end of one of those comfortable chenille sofas.

“Now,” she said in a businesslike tone. “What do you want to know about Jenny?”

“I want background, that's all. Just tell me about her. What you know of her history, what you've observed from contact with her.”

“Truthfully, Ross, I'm sure I don't have anything to say that you haven't already heard.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

So she shared what she knew.

Jennifer McCallum, natural daughter of Jeremiah Kincaid and Mary March, adopted child of Jessica and Sterling McCallum, had been through a lot in her five years of life. At first she was a mystery baby, found abandoned on the steps of the Kincaid ranch house. And then an evil woman intent on stealing her birthright had kidnapped her. Fortunately, Jenny had been rescued unharmed and the kidnapper had been caught. Then, at the age of three, Jenny was stricken with leukemia. For a time, they'd all believed she would die. But her long-lost half brother, Wayne Kincaid, had stepped forward, a perfect match for the bone marrow transplant that had saved Jenny's life.

“Now,” Lynn told Ross, “her health is stabilized—which I'm sure her doctor has told you.”

“Yes,” he said. “That's what I understood.”

“She's doing very well in school, which I think I already mentioned.”

“You did, that's true.” He laughed. He
seemed…totally relaxed now. And she felt relaxed, too. Those dangerous moments upstairs seemed long ago and far away, as if they had happened between two other people.

“What else?” he prompted.

She thought for a moment. “Well, socially, she's a dream. Friendly and outgoing. You wouldn't believe to talk to her that she's ever been treated with anything but gentleness and love.”

“You're saying she makes friends easily?”

“That's an understatement. You must have heard what they call her. The darling of Whitehorn. It may sound corny, but it's the truth. She is just that.”

“And she and Sara Mitchell…?”

“As Sara told you, the two are best friends.” Lynn chuckled. “They spend every moment they can together. And they won't stop trading their personal belongings. Snack boxes and art supply cases, sweaters and hair clips. You name it. At first I tried to keep the trading under control. But since neither Danielle nor the McCallums seem bothered by it, I've gotten so I just let it go. It pleases them so. And in the end, everything equals out. Or at least, that's what I tell myself….”

His gaze scanned her face. “The two of them, Sara and Jennifer, they're your favorites, aren't they?”

Was her preference that obvious? She tried to look stern. “A good teacher doesn't play favorites.”

“Still, deep in your heart, you feel something special for them.”

After what had transpired upstairs, she wasn't sure if she should be telling this particular man about anything that came from “deep in her heart.”

But then again, they'd pulled themselves back
from the brink, hadn't they? They had a tacit understanding now. She would give him the information he sought—and then he would drive her to her car.

It was only Jenny and Sara they were discussing now. Nothing risky. Nothing really personal.

She wanted to shuck off her pretty shoes, to get a little more comfortable. And why not? She'd just slide them back on when it was time to go.

She pushed the shoes off, tucked her legs up to the side and teasingly warned, “You have to promise never to tell a soul.”

He set down his brandy glass on the coffee table and raised his right hand, palm out. “You have my solemn word. Now confess.
Are
they your favorites?”

She let out a big, playful sigh. “Yes, I'm afraid that they are.”

“Why?”

“Why not? They're both adorable. They love school. They're so…happy with the world. So
interested
in everything. So curious. And so verbal.” She made a show of rolling her eyes. “Boy. Is Sara ever verbal.”

“But there's more to it than that.”

She lifted one shoulder in a hint of a shrug. “No, I don't think so. And anyway, isn't that enough?”

“Come on. They're blond and blue-eyed, bright and talkative. Just like you.”

“Like me?” She frowned. “No, they—”

He cut in before she could finish. “They remind you of yourself at that age, don't they?”

A scoffing sound escaped her. “Of
myself?
Haven't you looked at them? They're beautiful little girls.”

“You're beautiful, too.” He said the words bluntly. Flatly. A statement of fact.

“Well, tonight…I mean, I guess I'm different tonight. Not my real self.”

“
Are
you different? Really?”

“Of course I am. You saw me this afternoon. Before my birthday appointment with Gracie and Kim.”

“Yes,” he said. “I saw you. Before.”

She didn't like his tone. Not at all. It seemed to say a lot more than his words did. She stated unequivocally, “I was never like Sara and Jenny.”

And then she found herself wondering,
Or was I?

When I was five. And my mother was still alive?

Was I like Sara and Jenny then? Talkative and friendly, sure that the world and everything in it was mine to enjoy and explore?

It was hard to remember. And maybe the truth was she didn't want to remember. It made her too sad to go back to those happy times.

Her mother had died when she was eight. That was when she first started to put on weight, after her mother died. It had been such a tough time. Not only had she lost her mother, but somehow it felt as if her father had gone away from her, too. Horace Taylor was lonely, just like Lynn was. He missed her mother so much.

And then he had met Jewel Hollis when Jewel hired on as a clerk at the family hardware store. Jewel had two daughters and her husband had left her.

When Horace had married Jewel, he'd adopted Trish and Arlene. They were all going to be a family, he had said. He and Jewel and their three daughters,
Arlene and Lynn and Trish. He had said that family was important, one of the most important things in life, more precious even than diamonds or gold.

Lynn had believed him. And from then on, her father hadn't seemed quite so lonely anymore. And Lynn had wanted them all to be happy.

She'd learned quickly that happiness in her new family could be achieved by doing what her stepmother wanted. By being the kind of daughter Jewel needed. Jewel already had two petite, pretty, popular girls. She needed someone she could count on. A dependable one.

Lynn had become that. The dependable one. Not popular or pretty, too tall and too plump. But reliable. Someone who helped Jewel with the meals and the dishes, someone willing to pick up after Arlene and Trish. Arlene and Trish, after all, didn't really have time for chores. Schoolwork was harder for them than it was for Lynn. And they wanted to spend their spare time with their friends.

“I'll bet you
were
pretty,” Ross said. “When you were in kindergarten. I'll bet you were good in school and that you laughed and that sometimes your teacher had to ask you to quiet down.”

Lynn smiled to herself, thinking of Sara, giggling so gaily—and promising to “zipper” her lip. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But it was a long time ago—and how did we get off on this subject, anyway?”

“It was a natural progression—from your favorite students, to why they're your favorites.”

“But we weren't even supposed to be talking about me.”

“I was curious, that's all.”

“Well. Is your curiosity satisfied?”

“As much as it's likely to be.”

What did that mean? She felt it would be wiser not to ask. “Is there any more you need to know about Jenny?”

“No, I think you've about covered it. I wonder if you could write me up a brief report of what you've just told me? Only a page or two. To put in her file?”

“Sure. I'll get it to you in a day or two. Will that do?”

“That will be fine.”

She glanced at the big clock on the fireplace mantel. As she did, a single chime rang out. Eight-thirty. She untucked her legs. “I should go.”

He said nothing.

She bent down to pull on her shoes. When she straightened to a sitting position again, he was staring at her. She read the look in his eyes. And answered it as if he had actually spoken. “Ross. It
is
getting late.”

“Eight-thirty isn't late.”

“I won't be home until nine, at least. And it's a school night.”

“So what? Live dangerously.”

Live dangerously. She wished he hadn't said that. All at once those moments upstairs didn't seem long ago at all. They came back to her vividly, stealing her breath: the two of them, standing by that claw-footed table, his hands cradling her chin, his lips brushing, only once, so sweetly, against her own.

She ordered such thoughts away. “I think I've lived dangerously enough for one night.”

He answered in a low voice, “No, you haven't. You've flirted with danger. And that's all.”

“That's more than enough, I think,” she told him tartly. “It's certainly more than I should have done.”

“But less than you wanted to do.”

Another sharp remark rose to her lips. She held it back.

Her silence seemed to anger him. “What? Say it.” His eyes were very dark. She saw heat in them. The heat of desire. Her body responded instantly, going weak. Pliant. Yearning toward him…

“I have to go.” She said it firmly. In a tone any one of her young students would have recognized. The tone that said she would not be pushed one inch further.

Ross got the message. “All right.” He watched her through unreadable eyes as she stood.

“I'll just get my coat and my—”

He silenced her by rising himself, a swift, fierce movement, one that frightened and excited her at the same time.

“Don't—” she said, and that was all.

He reached out, caught her hand and pulled her close. “One kiss,” he said.

His heat and strength surrounded her. She put her hands on his chest to push him away—and felt his heart beating under her palm. “Your heart,” she heard herself whisper. “I can feel it….”

He said her name, so softly. “Lynn…”

In his eyes she saw promises. Promises she knew he didn't think he was making. Promises he probably
wasn't
making. Promises she only thought she saw. Because she dreamed the bright, hopeful dreams of the plain girl, the overweight, unpopular girl, the hardworking, quiet,
dependable
one…

She said flatly, “You know very well it won't just be one kiss.”

“Do it anyway.”

She stiffened her arms a little, to keep him at bay. “Don't you…
dare
me, Ross. Not about this. This isn't a bite of truffle cake we're talking about now.”

His arms tightened around her. “Isn't it?”

“No, it is not.”

His eyes seemed to reach down inside her, to grab hold of her in all her most private and forbidden places. He muttered, “Maybe you need to be dared. Maybe there's a woman inside you that you need to let out.”

“That's my choice to make. Not yours to make for me.”

Those words stopped him. “You're right,” he said. “Get your things. We'll go.” He released her and stepped away.

And all she wanted was for him to grab her close once more.

Oh, what was the matter with her? She was a plainspoken, direct person. She never said one thing and meant something else altogether.

Or at least, she never had until tonight.

“Go on,” he said more gently. “Get your coat.”

It was a long walk to that front closet. But she made it. She had the closet door open and was staring at her plain brown coat hanging there when the truth hit her.

She shut the closet door.

She heard his footsteps, coming closer. And then he was there, at her back. She could feel him, feel the very maleness of him. So close. Too close…

“Lynn.” His voice was so tender, a caress of sound in her ear.

Her legs felt weak, her whole body trembled. She still had her hand on the knob.

She leaned into it, resting her forehead against the door. “I…don't want to go.”

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to, really. She closed her eyes, pressed her head harder against the ungiving wood, let out a ragged breath. “Isn't that crazy?”

She waited. Still he said nothing.

And she couldn't bear to face him, not yet. Not until she'd thoroughly confessed her own foolishness. She whispered, “It's all wrong. And I'm scared. I've never…done anything like this before. I hardly know you. And I'm a
teacher.
A teacher is expected to behave a certain way. But…” She couldn't go on.

After a minute he took her arm. She stiffened in self-defense against his touch, against the real kindness in it that seemed to her to verge on something like pity.