Years (22 page)

“Grab the cinch strap — ” He ducked, and with a cheek pressed against the horse’s side, reached beneath her belly. “— and bring it through this ring, then back up to the saddle ring as many times as you have to, till all you have left is enough to tie off. You tie it at the top... now watch.” She moved slightly closer. “First take it to the back, then around, then up through. And make sure the knot is always flat — see? — then you give it a tug.” With a few deft movements the knot was fashioned. One powerful tug made it secure, men his fingertips tucked the loose ends underneath.

“There. You think you can do that?”

He glanced down to find her studying the knot with a dismayed expression. “I’ll try.”

He reversed the process, then stepped back to watch. It was the first time he’d ever seen her so nervous. Having been around horses his whole life, he’d forgotten how intimidating they could be. He smiled secretly, watching her sidle up to Clippa cautiously.

“She knows you’re here. No sense sneaking.”

“She’s really big, isn’t she?”

“As horses go, no. Don’t be scared. She’s a gentle one.”

But when Linnea reached under Clippa’s belly, the mare sensed someone strange and pranced sideways, rolling her eye to check who it was.

Linnea leaped back.

Immediately Theodore stepped forward, taking the bridle, rubbing the mare’s forehead.
“Pr-r-r.”
At the soft, rolling sound, the horse quieted. Linnea watched Clippa’s brown hide
twitch and tried to submerge her fear, realizing how little it had taken for Theodore to calm the animal. Still holding the bridle in one hand, his expression softened. “You’re strange to her. She had to look you over a little bit first. Go ahead. She’ll be still now.”

She was, though it was with great diffidence that Linnea reached a second time under the thick belly. But things proceeded without a hitch until it was time to tie the knot. She tried it once, twice, then raised her eyes guiltily.

“I forgot.”

He showed her again. Standing at his shoulder she watched his strong, brown fingers fold the leather into the shape he wanted, his broad thumbs flattening the knot before drawing the end of the strap behind and giving it its final tug.

Their arms brushed as she reached toward the saddle. Neither of them spoke as she took the cinch and began undoing Theodore’s handiwork, studying it carefully in reverse. He noted how she held the tip of her tongue between her teeth while concentrating. She made a false start and mumbled under her breath.

“Have you ever tied a man’s necktie?” he asked.

Her fingers stilled and she looked up at him. “No.”

Her face was lit from above by the golden lantern light. He noticed for the first time the dusting of freckles across the crests of her cheeks. Coupled with her dark, studious eyes, they gave her a guileless look of innocent youth. Had she been laughing or angry his heart might not have fluttered. But her expression was sober, as if she approached the lesson with utter seriousness. It reminded him again of how truly young and inexperienced she was — so young she had never saddled a horse before, and certainly too inexperienced to have tied a man’s necktie. He forced his attention back to the triangular knot.

“You have watched your father, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So handle it like a necktie, keepin’ it flat with your thumbs. Now start again.”

She bit the tip of her tongue and started again. Halfway through, his thumb reached up and pressed hers. “No... flat,” he ordered. His other hand clasped the back of hers and changed its angle. “The other direction.”

Fire shot up her arm and she bit her tongue harder than she’d intended. But his hands fell away immediately and she
was sure he had no idea how he’d affected her. “Now give it a good yank with both hands.” She grabbed, gave a jerk, and secured a perfect knot.

“I did it!” she exclaimed jubilantly, smiling up at him.

His smile, when he turned it on full force, was numbing. It turned her bones to butter and made her heart dance. Had this been one of her daydreams, she would have awarded the heroine at least a hug of approval. But it wasn’t, and Theodore only tapped the end of her nose with a fingertip and teased, “Yeah, you did, little missy. But don’t get too smart yet. Not till you do it without help.”

Little missy! Her cheeks grew pink with indignation at being treated like some adolescent in pigtails! She twirled toward the horse with a haughty lift of her chin and determination in each movement.

“I can and I
will
do it without your help!”

He stepped back and watched, grinning, while she not only untied the cinch, but reached up and whipped the saddle and pad off the horse’s back. When her arms took the weight, it almost tipped her on her nose. Amused, he crossed his arms and waited for the show to go on. She narrated it in a piqued voice and never shot him so much as a glance.

“Blanket all the way up on the withers. Saddle ov-ver... ” She grunted and puffed, lifting it off the floor. “... and make sh-shure... ” She boosted it with one knee, but not high enough. He suppressed a smile and let her struggle. “Make sure the cinch is... is... ” She kneed the weighty load again and missed again, nearly pulling her arms from their sockets.

Theodore forced a sober expression and stepped forward, reaching to help.

“I’ll do it!”
At her angry glare he stopped cold, studied her puckered mouth, and backed off with a silent nod. Her shoulders weren’t even as high as Clippa’s back, but if the ornery little cuss wanted to prove she could do it, he wasn’t about to stop her. There was a nice solid stool in the tack room for her to stand on, but he decided he’d let her suffer away until she grew tired and asked for his help. Meantime, he enjoyed the sight of her adorable mouth, pinched in irritation, and her dark eyes snapping like lightning bugs on a clear, blue night.

To Theodore’s amazement, the saddle plopped over Clippa’s back on the next throw, and his eyes took on a gleam of respect. She hung onto the stirrup for a moment, resting and panting,
then stooped to capture the cinch. She executed a perfect flat knot, gave it a two-armed jerk, and spun to face him with her hands defiantly on her hips.

“There. What’s next?”

The lanternlight caught in her dark pupils. She was breathing heavily from exertion. Theodore wondered what the law said about mature fathers making advances on their children’s under-age teachers. With forced slowness he closed the space between himself and Clippa, nudging Linnea aside with an elbow. He slipped two fingers between the cinch and the horse’s hide.

“This could’ve been tighter. She starts runnin’, and you’ll find yourself upside down, little missy.”

“Theodore, I told you once, don’t call me that!”

He casually rolled a glance her way with his fingers still beneath the girth.

“Yeah. Miss Brandonberg, then.”

Her eyes blazed brighter and her fists clenched harder. “And don’t call me that either. For heaven’s sake, I’m not
your
teacher. Can’t you call me Linnea?”

Calmly he untied her knot and tightened it.

“Probably not. Wouldn’t be seemly — not when you’re the schoolmarm. Around here teachers ain... are never called by their first name.”

“Oh, that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

He turned to face her, reached around her shoulder, and sent her heart racing. But he only came away with the bridle from the edge of the stall behind her.

“What’re you so riled up about?” he asked coolly.

“I’m not riled up!”

“Oh?” With exasperating calmness he moved to Clippa’s head. “Guess I was mistaken. Here. You want to learn the rest?”

She glared at the metal bit resting across his palm, then whisked it up irately.

“Just show me what to do.”

One last time he smiled at her charming display of temper, then showed her how to place the bit in Clippa’s mouth, adjust the headstall, thread the mare’s ears through the browband, and buckle the throatlatch.

“All right, she’s ready to ride.”

To his surprise, Linnea hung her head and said nothing. He
studied her round shoulders and peeked around them. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly she lifted her eyes. “Why do we fight all the time, Theodore?”

His throat seemed to close and blood surged through parts of his body that had no business coming to life around a girl of her age.

“I don’t know.”

Like hell you don’t, Westgaard,
he thought.

“I try very hard not to get angry with you, but it never seems to work. I always end up spitting like a cat whenever I’m around you.”

He slipped his hands into his rear pockets and did his damndest to look platonic. “I don’t mind.” He certainly didn’t. Being close to a riled Linnea was a good bit safer than being around one like this. Disconsolately she studied the rein draped over her palm, her lashes dropped like fans to her smooth cheeks.

“I wish I didn’t.”

Everything hung too heavy and silent between them. He gripped his own buttocks inside his pockets and tensed his leg muscles. When he knew he was in danger of touching her, he had to say something — anything to keep him from his own folly.

“You want to ride her?” He nodded toward Clippa.

Dejectedly, Linnea answered, “I guess not. Not tonight.”

“Well, you better get up once, so I can adjust the stirrups for you.”

For several seconds she stood still, silent. Finally she turned and reached up for the saddle horn. It was a long stretch, and to add to the difficulty her skirts got in the way. She hitched them up and hopped on one foot, making several false starts while Theodore fought the urge to put his hands on her backside and give her a boost. Persevering, she finally swung astride. But her skirts were caught, binding her legs. When she tried to stand and free them, her feet fell two inches short of the stirrups. She sat, waiting, looking down on Theodore’s head as he adjusted first one stirrup, then walked around and adjusted the other.

She wished she were more experienced so she’d know how to handle the feelings that seemed to be springing up restlessly within her. She wanted to touch his gleaming hair, lift his chin and study his eyes at close range, hear his laugh and his voice speaking gently of what mattered most to him. She wanted to
hear her name on his lips. But above all, she wanted to be touched by him. Just once, to find out if it would be as heady as she imagined.

He shortened the stirrups as slowly as possible, wanting to prolong their time together, wishing there were other favors he could do for her. It had been years since he’d felt this compulsion to be chivalrous. He’d thought it was something a man feels only when he’s young and raring. What a shock to experience it again at his age. He felt her gaze following him as he moved about the horse, but controlled the urge to look up. To do so would be disastrous. But when he could think of nothing more to do for her, he stood staring at her delicate foot. How long had it been since he’d wanted to touch a woman this badly? But she wasn’t a woman. Was she? Suppose he touched her — a simple touch, just once — what harm could come of that?

He reached for her ankle. It was warm and firm through the black leather of her new, sensible boots. His thumb bracketed her heel tendons, rubbing gently. There was no mistaking the touch for anything but what it was — a lingering caress. Nor was there any mistaking the fact that she sat with bated breath, waiting for him to look up, to go one step farther, to lift his hands and help her down. He thought of her name — Linnea — the name he refused to allow himself to call her lest it break down barriers better left unbroken. If he said it, if he lifted his eyes, he was certain of what would follow. Mistakes.

“Theodore,” she whispered.

Abruptly, he dropped her foot and stepped back, realizing his folly. He stuffed his hands into his back pockets. When he looked up, his face was just as impersonal as usual.

“You’re all set now. Make sure you put the saddle back in the tack room after you ride. I’ll keep Clippa in the near pasture so you won’t have to run clear to Dickinson to find her.”

His attempt to lighten the atmosphere failed. There was too much burning between them.

“Thank you.” Her voice held a faint reediness.

He nodded and turned toward the tack room with the pretext of searching for something, afraid if he stayed he’d reach up for her narrow waist to help her dismount and end up giving in to other urges.

By the time he returned she was removing the saddle.

“Here, I’ll take that. You go on up to the house now. You
probably got schoolwork to do yet.”

When she was gone he turned Clippa out, then returned the saddle to its proper place. After throwing it over the sawhorse he stood a long time staring at it. He touched the curved leather It was warm where she’d been sitting.

She’s only eighteen and she’s your boy’s teacher. Closer to his age than to yours, Teddy, you fool. What would a girl like her want with a man damn near old enough to be her father?

A short time later, in her room beneath the rafters, Linnea prepared for bed with an odd feeling, like she’d swallowed a goose egg. Had she only imagined it all day long with him? No, she hadn’t. He’d been aware of it, too. In the schoolroom. Then again when she’d watched him wash at the well. And tonight in the bam when he’d held her ankle.

It was awful.

It was awesome.

It was — she grew more certain by the hour — desire.

She blew out the lantern and went to bed to consider it. Flat on her back, she tucked the blankets painfully tight over her breasts, as if to keep the feeling from escaping. She could feel her heartbeat, heavy and fast against the strictures. She conjured up Theodore’s naked back as he’d leaned to throw water on his shoulders... his chest when he’d turned around with water dripping into the that of dark hair... his thick hair as he’d moved about the horse refusing to look up and meet her eyes.

The desire centered in her nether regions.

He’d felt it, too. That was why he was afraid to look up, to say her name, to answer when she’d spoken.

She closed her eyes and subtracted eighteen from thirty-four. Sixteen. He had lived and experienced almost twice as much as she. There were so many things she wanted to know and be for him that by virtue of her immaturity she could not know or be.