Deborah Camp (14 page)

“I’m genuinely grateful to you for helping me with the calf and I will submit if that’s the only way I can repay you.”

He had to run her offer through his mind again before he could believe it. Anger lashed him, trailed by an overwhelming desire to crack her icy exterior and make her reveal her inner feelings to him. Crossing over to her, he grabbed her by the forearms and brought her up to face him. Her eyes opened wide and fear floated in the green depths. He hated her for being afraid of him when he’d given her no call for it.

“You infuriate me, Zanna,” he said, shaking her a little. Locks of her hair fell over the backs of his hands, feeling like satin.

“I’m … I’m sorry. Just don’t hit me. Don’t hurt me.”

He released her, turning away while he reined in his temper and brought his voice down to a civil level. “I want to get two things straight with you.” Glancing at her, he saw a faraway look on her face. She was floating in a place that didn’t include him. “
Are you listening?
”

She jumped, swallowed hard, and nodded.

“One, I don’t hit women or children. Two, I won’t bed you unless you’re willing—not
submitting
, but willing. Is that crystal clear or should I repeat myself?”

“Yes … I mean, no.” Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lower lip. “I understand.”

He looked away from her stricken expression, wondering what shadows floated in her mind. Huge and oppressive or small and ephemeral?

“I won’t ever be willing.”

“What?” he asked, unsure of what she’d whispered in her thin, girlish voice. What had happened to the husky, don’t-mess-with-me-buster tone she usually used with him?

The light from the lantern caught in her cloudy green eyes. “I won’t ever come to you willingly. I never have … I …” She shrugged helplessly and her mouth twisted out of shape. “I’m no good at it. Bed, I mean. I don’t want any part of that anymore. That’s why I mar-married you.”

He propped his hands on his hips and stared at her, not knowing whether to be insulted or just plain mad. “That’s why you married me,” he repeated. “You married me because you didn’t think I’d be interested in having a woman? Is
that
the impression I gave you?”

“No, no.” She rubbed her face with her hands in a brisk up and down motion that left her complexion a stinging pink. “That’s not what I meant. I married you because I didn’t want someone who
expected
a normal marriage.”

“Tell me this; why the hell did you want a husband in the first place if you don’t want his attentions?”

She started wringing her hands, grabbing at the front of her gown and twisting it. “I wanted a man around the place.”

“What’s out there in the bunkhouse? Old maids?”

“No,” she said, clearly exasperated. “They’re hired help. I wanted a husband.”

“No you didn’t. A husband sleeps with his wife. I’m hired help. You didn’t pay money for me, but you bought
me, lock, stock, and barrel. I can hardly go to the outhouse without getting your permission.”

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it? You won’t let me ride the range. You want me to stay out there in the fields with no one to talk to except a couple of flea-bitten mules. If I was a real husband, I’d be with the other men instead of tied to your apron strings.” He paced aimlessly as resentment filled his heart. “I hate this! Do you know that or don’t you give a good goddamn?” he asked, no longer caring that his words were making her cry again. “I hate being treated like a piece of farm equipment. I’m a man, damn you! A man!”

“I know,” she wailed, spinning around so she wouldn’t have to witness his agony, his resentment of her, his entreaty to make his life better. “But I can’t do anything about it. You got yourself into this mess, not me. You’d be dead now if I hadn’t claimed you, so don’t blame me for the bad streak that landed you in jail. I’m giving you the best I can under the circumstances.”

“Under
what
circumstances?”

“I told you. I want a husband, but I don’t want one in my bed. I can’t give you that. You’ll … just have to make do.”

“With what? And don’t tell me the goats out back.”

She made a face, but refused to offer suggestions because she had none to give.

“If you’ll give me some money, I’ll buy some bed time in town.”

“No, not that.” She shook her head.

“Then
what
?”he insisted, forcing her to know the desperation he was feeling.

“You can’t take a woman in town or everyone will know it. I don’t want them talking behind my back.”

“Okay, so I’m waiting for you to tell me how to solve this little problem.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to be gossiped about and I can’t give you what you want. I won’t satisfy you, Grandy. You must believe me when I tell you this.”

He wanted to tear the nightgown from her body and show her how wrong she was, but he knew she’d scream the house down if he did. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her waist before she could bolt and kissed her, driving her lips against her teeth and wetting them with a stroke of his tongue. She squirmed against him and pressed her fists against his shoulders. He lifted his mouth, but kept her against him.

“You know what I think, Zanna? I think you were married to an old man who couldn’t make love to you, but that’s all changed now. Lucky for you, I don’t have that problem.” He nudged against her and laughed when her face flamed with carnal knowledge. “Feel that? All for you, darlin’. All for you.”

“Please, Grandville. Don’t do this,” she begged.

“I want to make love to you,” he said. “But not like this.” He released her and ambled toward his bedroom, his yen for retribution satisfied for the time being. “No, not like this.”

Inside his dark bedroom, he turned back to see her standing in a circle of light. He could see right through the thin material of her nightgown: her curves, her swells, her pebbly nipples, and the undulation of her belly as she breathed rapidly. “Why are you winded, as if you’ve run a race, Zanna?”

She pulled in her breath and held it. Grandy chuckled.

“Too late, darlin’. The die is cast. One night you’ll come to me willingly,” he promised. “And I’ll teach you things about yourself that’ll make you—” He looked past her toward the barn, remembering the uncomfortable desire he’d endured as he’d watched the calf suckle. His gaze swung back to hers.

“Ravenous,” he whispered, then shut the door and laughed at himself, at her, and at the lousy hand life had dealt them.

“Giddyap!” Zanna yelled, flipping the reins across the mules’ broad backs and jiggling the handles of the middle buster hitched to them. Kate and Betsy turned their heads to stare at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Don’t look at me like that,” Zanna ordered, pointing forward. “Look that way and get going. I knew I should have hitched up Sarge and Captain. You two are good for nothing but eating and sleeping.”

The mules pawed at the overturned earth, heads down, ears flat against their heads. The pungent aroma of damp soil rose to overtake her. Zanna glanced up at the robin’s-egg-blue sky and wished one of the small clouds would cover the sun and give her a reprieve from its brutal glare. Streams of sweat ticked the curves of her waist, her lower back, and the tender skin between her breasts—all those places a lady couldn’t reach in public. Zanna wiped her forehead with her shirt sleeve and batted flies from her hot face. Perspiration ran down her legs beneath the heavy material of her pants and trickled into her boots. She itched all over. Her knees shook with fatigue. Black spots floated before her eyes. And she hadn’t even made her way down one row yet!

“I’m one sorry excuse for a farm woman,” she scolded herself as she grabbed hold of the handles again and jockeyed the heavy middle buster into position so that it would line up straight and lay off two rows, exactly thirty-six
inches apart. “Okay, girls. One more time. Giddyap! Go! Get!”

Kate and Betsy took a few steps forward, more in confusion than in response to anything Zanna had said, then stopped and looked back at her again.

“Oh, fiddle!” Zanna took a deep breath and tried to recall Grandy’s magic words. “Gee,” she said, finding one in the recesses of her memory.

Kate and Betsy raised their ears and began to turn right. Zanna pulled back on the reins.

“No, no! Stop. I want you to go straight ahead, you darn fools.” She stomped a foot in frustration. Betsy balked, lunging forward and making Kate bawl and kick. “Stop that! Stop it! You’re making a mess. Did you hear me? Whoa! Please stop kicking. Please?”

“Whoa, girls. Whoa up there.”

Zanna jumped back, one hand covering her thumping heart, which steadied when she saw Grandy standing in the shade beneath an oak. He was dressed in work clothes and Zanna’s hopes soared. She glanced at the mules, now rock steady and ready for the next command from the man in charge. Realizing she was smiling, she ran the back of her hand across her lips to erase it. The action made her remember last night and the pressure of Grandy’s mouth on hers. She found herself looking at his mouth, recalling it in detail, and heat gathered in the center of her body to gradually spread to her limbs and neck and face. Zanna fanned herself with one hand and released a nervous sigh. She glanced at the quiet mules and forced herself to imitate their mood.

“You certainly have a way with them,” Zanna said, her hand sliding from her heart down to her waist. Grandy’s gaze followed its progress.

“When you shout and scream at them they get confused,” he said, finally lifting his gaze from her hand to her face. “Talking low and quiet gets their attention a lot quicker.”

“I couldn’t remember the commands you’d used.”

“You never heard of ‘whoa’ before?”

“Yes, of course.” She looked away, angry at him and herself. “I meant the others.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“You … you will?” She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.

“Yes.” He studied the toes of his boots to hide the shadow of his smile. “I’ve been watching you getting nowhere out here. I couldn’t stand it another minute.”

“I thought you were working on the walkway.”

“I have been. Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes, but I thought you said you didn’t want to work out here.”

“I don’t.” He came toward her, motioned for her to move aside, and took his place behind the mules. “Now watch and listen. Once you get the hang of this, I’ll hitch up Sarge and Captain and we’ll both work this field. We’ll get it done twice as fast that way.”

“You’re going to work the field with me?” she repeated. “But I thought you—”

“Do you want me to help or not?” he snapped.

“Yes.” She extended a hand. “Please continue. I’m all eyes and ears.”

He sent her a dubious glance, saw that she wasn’t teasing, and cleared his throat with importance. “Gee means right. Whoa,” he said when the mules heard the word and started to move to the right. “See how they responded?”

“Yes.” Zanna stepped closer, fascinated with the mules’ sudden intelligence. “How did you know that language?”

“It’s universal. Every dirt farmer knows it. Just like every rancher knows about doggies and butch boys and chuck wagons. Haw means turn left. Whoa.” Again the mules began to make the turn. “Whoa-haw makes the mules make a sharp left by stopping and turning. Easy,
easy.” He held the reins tightly, keeping the mules in place. “Got it so fer?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, watch me step off this row and listen to my commands. Ready?” He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The mules set off in a straight, even line down the field. He turned the mules at the end of the row and started back toward her. When he was even with her, he called to the mules to stop and they did, with Grandy never even having to touch the reins. “Now you try it.”

“I think I should watch for a few more minutes,” Zanna said.

“Oh, no.” He chuckled, grabbed one of her hands, and pulled her to stand behind the mules. He took his place behind her, stepping close until his body brushed hers, making her painfully aware of him. “Take hold of the handles and don’t worry about those reins. You only use those once in a blue moon—say, when a snake or something like that spooks the mules.”

Zanna nodded, although it was difficult to hear him above the roar in her head. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was amazed Grandy didn’t mistake it for distant thunder, She’d thought she’d been hot before, but now she was boiling inside with a concoction of feelings she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t take her eyes from his arms bracketing her waist, all brawny and brown and covered with fine, curling hair. The ladies in town were right, she thought. He’s a good-looking man. When she recalled the others she’d seen in the jail, she cringed. Oh, she’d been lucky to get Grandville Adams. At least it didn’t hurt her to look at him. Didn’t hurt … but it
was
uncomfortable, she decided. Looking at him lately was something she avoided because every time her gaze wandered to rest on him she felt … fenced in. Yes, that’s it! Tied, shackled, hobbled. She felt as if she had to break free of her confinements or she’d burst. But what confinements? Why did
she feel like a filly in a small corral during a thunderstorm? What emotional fence did she yearn to soar over when she looked too long upon Grandville Adams?

Maybe she just wanted to break free of her situation, she mused. It was probably that simple; she wanted to jump the fence she’d placed around herself by marrying him.

“Any day now, Zanna,” Grandy said close to her ear.

Zanna jumped a little, once again aware of his body pressed against hers. She mimicked the clicking sound he’d made and the mules responded, making her stumble forward. Grandy’s hands settled on her waist to steady her, then slipped away when she’d regained her balance. Zanna controlled a shiver, chiding herself for reacting so violently to his every touch.

“That’s good,” he said, walking behind her. “Watch your rows. If the mules begin listing one way or the other, tell them which way they need to go to straighten the rows. They’re stepping too far to the right, so what do you tell them?”