Years (30 page)

“Rusty.” He smiled that lazy, melting smile, and nudged her thighs with his. “And what’s your first name?”

“Linnea.”

“Lin-nay-uh.” He rolled it from his tongue, syllable by syllable, as if tasting it. “Now isn’t that pretty?” Everything about him made her feel like somebody had just rammed a finger into the hollow of her throat, and she thought,
Damn you, Theodore, for making me do this!

She was surprised when her voice came out smoothly.

“Are you from around here, Rusty?”

“No, ma’am. Drifted in from Montana, and before that Idaho and Oklahoma.”

“M... my, that’s a lot of drifting.”

He laughed, giving a glimpse of straight white teeth, tipping his head back, then letting his indolent gaze drift to her face again.

“I ride the rodeos, mostly. It’s a driftin’ kind of life, Linnea.”

“So what are you doing here harvesting wheat?”

“The rodeo season is over. Got to have a dry bed and three square ones a day.”

It struck her why he was so honed-looking: more than likely there’d been many a day he hadn’t had three square ones, living the life he did. She suspected he’d danced this way with strange women in every western state of the union.

“So tell me. Do you win at this rodeoing?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His drawl was thick and teasing as he settled a little closer so that her breasts brushed the front of his jacket. “When I let you go, you take a look at my belt buckle. Won it for riding the steers down in El Paso last season.”

She tried to pull way but couldn’t; he’d drawn her so close she had to lean back to see his face.

“You ever seen a man ride the steers?”

She swallowed and tried to breathe normally. “N... no.”

“You ever seen a man ride anything?”

“O... only horses.”

“Broncs?”

She shook her head in two nervous jerks while he poured that molten, sexy grin over her at far too close a range.

“N... no. Just saddle horses.”

“You notice my belt buckle?”

Her throat closed tightly and her face turned the color of his shirt. His arms were strong and commanding, his shoulders hard as hickory. His fingers trailed on her spine and fired warning shivers down her thighs. He chuckled, throaty and low, and fit his chin against her temple... and her breasts against his chest... and his Texas longhorn against her stomach.

Theodore, come and get me, please!

Lazily, he tilted his shoulders back and smiled down into her eyes, leaving his hips cradled squarely against hers.

“Your cheeks’re all pink. You warm, honey?”

“A little,” she managed in a reedy voice.

“Cooler outside. Want to go see?”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think. Just follow me. We’ll check out the stars.”

She didn’t want to, but Theodore was laughing with Isabelle Lawler again, and before she could dream up an excuse, Rusty had tugged her to the ladder. He went down first, then looked up. “Sssst! Come on.”

She glanced down at his face and wondered if Theodore would miss her if she disappeared. Suppose he did, and asked her where she’d been. It would feel mighty sweet to be able to tell him she’d been outside looking at the stars with Rusty Bonner.

“Hey, you comin’ or what?”

Three feet from the floor, Linnea felt Rusty catch her waist and lift her down. She gave a surprised squeal as she felt herself suspended in his strong hands. Then he settled her against his hip, looped an arm over her shoulder and ushered her toward the door.

Outside, the harvest moon smiled down so brightly it faded the stars by comparison. The air felt good against her heated cheeks.

“Oh, it
was
warm dancing,” she breathed, covering her face with both palms, then dropping them to shake back her hair.

“Thought you said you were a beginner.”

“Oh, I am. It’s just that you’re — well, it was easy following you.”

“Good. Then follow me some more.” He captured her hand and tugged her around the corner of the barn, where the moonbeams couldn’t find them. In the shadow of the building he stopped, clasped her upper arms, and turned her to face him, rocking her lightly.

“So... you haven’t danced much. And you never saw a man ride a bull or a bronc. Tell me, Miss Linnea Brandonberg, pretty little country school teacher... have you ever been kissed?”

“Wh... why, of course, I’ve been kissed. And more than once!” she lied, inexplicably excited at the prospect of finding out what it was like to really kiss a man — at last.

“I reckon you’re pretty good at it, then.”

“I reckon,” she replied, trying her best to sound confident.

“Show me... ”

Her heart caromed and a thrill of the forbidden shot through her as his head slowly tipped and his mouth touched hers. It was warm and firm and not wholly unpleasant. It rested lightly against her closed lips for some time before he backed away a mere inch. She opened her eyes to only the black shadow of his face and the underside of his hat brim. “More than once?” he murmured teasingly, bringing the blood surging to her cheeks. Again he covered her mouth with his, and this time the hot, wet tip of his tongue touched her.
What was he doing? Oh, mercy, he was licking her!
The shock sizzled down to her toes. Instinctively she drew back, but he captured her head in both hands, clasping her ears and threading his fingers into her hair as he drew her almost on to tiptoe. He ran his tongue around
the entire rim of her lips until they were wet and sleek. She pushed against his chest, but he only released her mouth long enough to order, “Open your lips... come on, I’ll show you more... ”

“No... ” she tried to argue, but his forceful tongue found the break in her lips and thrust inside. She struggled against him, but he shoved her flat against the cold stone barn wall and clasped one breast to hold her in place. She pulled at his wrist, but it was as taut as new wire fence, and while panic gripped her, so did Rusty Bonner. Again and again and again, squeezing her breast while she whimpered against his driving tongue and a stone painfully pressed her skull.

“Stop... “she tried to say, but again his mouth stifled the plea. She twisted violently and managed to free her mouth. “Stop! What are you doing?”

He caught her elbows and pinned them hard against the wall and ground his hips against hers until she felt dirty and more scared than she’d ever been before. Wildly she struggled to break free, but he’d ridden down broncs and Brahmas — one skinny little schoolteacher was nothing for Rusty Bonner.

“You said you’d been kissed before. More than once.”

Mortified by what his hips were doing, she felt tears burn her eyes. “I lied... please, let me go.”

His wrists were hard and corded and could not be budged.

“Easy, honey... easy. There now, you’re gonna like this... ”

She choked back a sob as he filled his hands with her breasts, nearly lifting her off her feet.

Then Theodore’s quiet voice intruded. “Miss Brandonberg, is that you?”

The pressure on her breasts disappeared and her heels touched the ground.

Relief made her want to cry and take refuge against Theodore’s solid bulk. But shame made her wish she could disappear from the face of the earth.

“Y... yes, Theodore, it’s m... me.”

“What you doing out here?”

Rusty’s voice was thoroughly unruffled as he turned indolently and answered, “We’re just talkin’ about Texas bull ridin’. Any objection, Mr. Westgaard?”

Suddenly Theodore thrust himself forward, grabbed Linnea’s wrist, and yanked so hard she thought her shoulder would
come unhinged. “You little fool! What’s the idea of coming out here with him like this? Don’t you care what people think?”

“Now whoa, just a minute, Westgaard,” the Texan drawled.

Theodore spun on Bonner, still gripping Linnea’s wrist. “She’s eighteen years old, Bonner! Why don’t you pick on somebody your own age?”

“She wasn’t objecting,” Bonner returned in that same easy tone.

“Oh, wasn’t she? That’s not how I heard it. And if she’s not, I am. You’re done here, Bonner. Pick up your pay in the morning and that’s the last I want to see of you.” Bonner shrugged and moved as if to pass Theodore and head back toward the dance. “And you’re not goin’ back in there. I don’t want anybody at that dance suspecting she was out here with you.” Theodore turned on his heel, yanked Linnea along after him, and ordered, “Come on.”

“Theodore, let me go!” She tried to squirm free, but his angry strides reverberated through her arm and made her head snap.

“I’ll let you go when you learn some common sense. For now, you’re coming with me. We’re going back up there and make them think you were outside talking to me. And if you do one thing to make them think otherwise, so help me, I’ll haul you into Oscar’s toolshed and blister your rear end, which your own father would do if he was here!”

“Theodore Westgaard, you let me go this very minute!” Outraged at being treated like a recalcitrant child, she tried to pry his thumb loose from her wrist, but it was useless. He stalked across the barn, then gave her a push that nearly put her nose against the third rung of the ladder.

“Now get up there, and act like you ain’t about to bust into tears!”

Angrily, she climbed the ladder, tripping on her skirts and cursing under her breath. All she’d done was exchanged one bully for another. By what right did Theodore Westgaard order her around?

Upstairs, he grabbed her elbow in a bruising grip, thrust her toward the dance floor, yanked her to face him, and started them waltzing without so much as a “May I?” She moved like a walking stick while he impressed a waxen smile on his face. Through gritted teeth he observed, “You’re moving like a
scarecrow. Pretend you’re enjoying it.”

She loosened up, let her feet follow his, and faked a smile. “I can’t do this, Theodore, please let me go.”

“You’ll dance, little missy. Now get on with it.”

She had wanted to dance with him, but not this way. Her stomach was quaking. Her eyes glittered dangerously. She was choking with the need to cry. Theodore’s hand on her back was stiff with anger, the other clasping her fingers with suppressed fury. But their feet moved to the music, and her skirts flared out as he swirled her in circles, pretending that they were having a wonderful time.

She held up for as long as she could, but when the lump in her throat grew too large to contain, when the tears grew too plump to hide, she begged in a quavering voice, “Please, Theodore, please let me go. If you don’t, I’m going to cry and embarrass us both terribly. Please... ”

Without another word he turned her by an elbow and walked her directly to Nissa. “Linnea isn’t feeling well. I’m driving her home, but I’ll be back.”

In a moment she was at the foot of the ladder again, crossing the barn with Theodore at her heels. Breaking into a run, she headed for the door, and once outside, dropped her face into her hands as a wretched sob broke from her throat. Uncertainly Theodore stood behind her, still angry, but moved by her tears more than he wanted to be. He finally touched her shoulder, but she spun away, burying her face in an arm and leaning against the barn wall.

“Linnea, come, let’s get away from here.”

She was too miserable to realize he’d called her Linnea for the first time. He led her, still sobbing, toward a grove of cottonwoods where the wagons waited. She stood drooping, crying, while he fought the urge to hold and comfort her.

“He’ll be gone in the morning. There’s nothing to be scared of now.”

“Oh, Th... Theodore, I’m, s... so ash... shamed.”

He stuck his hands hard into his pockets. “You’re young. I don’t suppose you knew what he’d do.”

She lifted her face. He saw the silver tracks of tears on her cheeks and heard the plea in her voice. “I d... didn’t. Oh, Theodore, honest, I didn’t.”

A cinch seemed to tighten about his heart. He trembled
everywhere and felt his anger dissipating.

“I believe you, little one. But you must be careful around strange men, didn’t your parents teach you that?”

“Y... yes.” She hung her head until her hair covered her face. “I’m s... sorry, Theodore. H... he said we’d j... just go outside and c... cool off, b... but th... then he k... kissed me and I... I only w... wanted to know wh... what it was 1... like.” A sob lifted her shoulders and she bobbed her head. “S... so I1... let him.” At the memory of what followed, she covered her face with both hands and leaned her forehead against Theodore’s chest.

His hands came out of his pockets and caught her shoulders. “Shh, little one. There’s nothing to cry about. So you’ve learned a lesson.”

Against his chest she spluttered, “B... but ev... everyone will know, and I’m th... the schoolt... teacher. I’m supposed t... to set a g... good example.”

“Nobody will know. Now stop crying.” His thumbs stroked her arms, but he stood erect, barrel-chested, trying to keep some distance between them. With each sob, her hands bumped his chest. A damp blotch formed on his shirt, then stuck to his skin, and his resolution weakened. He chuckled, but the sound was strained. “You know, I’m pretty out of practice at handling crying women.”

From beneath her trailing hair came a single choked laugh as she self-consciously tried to dry her cheeks. “My face is a mess. Have you got a hanky?”

He drew one from his back pocket and stuffed it into her hand, stepping back. When her face was cleaned he began to feel safer.

At last she looked up. In the dappled moonlight her eyes and lips appeared puffy, her hair in disarray. He thought of that bastard, Bonner, with his mouth and hands on her and felt the pagan urge to kill.

Without warning, she flung her arms about his neck and pressed her damp cheek to his. “Thank you, Theodore,” she whispered. “I was never so happy to see anybody in my life as when you showed up outside the barn.”

His eyes slammed shut. He stifled a groan and clasped her tightly to his breast. She clung tenaciously, pressing close, igniting his body. His hands found her back. Her skin smelled
of almonds, and her soft, messed hair pressed against his jaw, her breasts against his throbbing heart.

Then he stiffened and gently pushed her away.