Heiress (25 page)

He grabbed at her hand and yanked her against his body, naked and hard, the heat of his flesh firing her skin. "Who taught you that?" he growled.

"You did," she whispered. "Just now."

Abbie wondered if he realized just how much he had taught her. Before this moment, she'd never known so much pleasure could be derived from exploring a man's body, that it was something to be enjoyed as much as the kisses and caresses.

With a twisting motion, MacCrea lowered her onto the narrow bed and followed her down to lie along her side. She turned to him eagerly. "Make love to me, MacCrea," she urged, more than ready for him, she thought, only to have him show her how wrong she was as he kissed, fondled, and caressed her body, building the aching tension inside her until she was raw with need, while he resisted the stimulation of her hands and the urging of her lips.

At last, when the throbbing ache was almost unbearable, he shifted his weight onto her and entered her as smoothly as a blade into its sheath. A storm of sensations drew her into its vortex, everything centering lower and lower, the fusion culminating in a glorious explosion that sent her soaring, for a few shattering seconds transported to a purely physical plateau where all was sensation.

Then it was over and she lay nestled in his arms, her head on his chest. After all that she'd learned about MacCrea in the last hour, she wasn't surprised that he continued to hold her instead of rolling over to light a cigarette or climbing out of bed to get dressed. This intimacy after the act was part of making love, too. She was so content she wasn't sure she ever wanted to move.

But she rubbed her cheek against his chest and sighed. His chin moved against the top of her head. "You know you are damned near perfect, Abbie?"

"And I thought I was perfect," she mocked, smiling.

"Maybe if you were a little taller."

Like Rachel, she thought and immediately wished that name had never come to her mind. All her contentment seemed to flee, as if a moment ago it hadn't even existed. Abbie stirred restively, her peaceful mood gone.

"What's the matter?"

Abbie pretended to glance at the curtained window and the blackness of nightfall beyond it. "It's later than I thought. I'd better be going." She left the warmth of his arms and swung out of bed, reaching for her clothes scattered around the room.

"There's no hurry, is there?"

"Momma doesn't know where I am. I don't want her to worry." She finished tugging on her jodhpurs and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots. The mattress shifted as MacCrea sat up.

"She'd probably be more worried if she knew."

"Probably." Abbie smiled at him.

He combed the hair back from the side of her face. "I still say you have the bluest damned eyes."

So does Rachel. Dammit, Abbie railed silently. Why was she thinking about her? Trying to block out the unwanted thoughts, she leaned over and kissed him. She waited for him to say something, to indicate that he wanted to see her again. But he made no response.

She left the trailer a few minutes later without knowing whether she'd ever see him again.

Chapter 14

One more bale of hay would do it. Pausing to gather the needed strength and breath, Abbie wiped the sweat around her mouth onto the sleeve of her blouse, every limb trembling from her overworked muscles. But no matter how sore and weary she was, the horses had to be fed.

Bending her aching back, Abbie slipped her gloved fingers under the baling twine and attempted to heft the heavy bale onto the flatbed with one mighty swing. But she rammed it against the edge of it instead, unable to lift it high enough, and quickly used her body to pin the bale against the flatbed. Then grunting and straining, she struggled and shoved to push it over the edge. Almost immediately, she collapsed against the flatbed trailer, letting it support her, too exhausted to stand on her own and too tired to cry. She didn't even feel human anymore, just an itchy mass of hay chafe glued together with sweat.

"Why do you not wait for me to help with those bales?" At the sound of Ben's scolding voice, Abbie hastily straightened to stand erect. "What you think? That you are Superwoman?"

In no mood to be lectured about her strength or lack of it by an irritable old man, Abbie swung around to snap at him. But one look at his tired and wan features reminded her that these last six back-breaking days had taken their toll on him as well. They were both cranky and out of sorts from the mental and physical strain of trying to take care of all these horses, working practically from dawn 'til dusk. Even then there'd been tasks they'd had to neglect, like the training of the yearlings and two-year-olds, and the cleaning of the empty stalls in the barns.

I was trying to save time." Abbie lied rather than hurt his pride by telling the truth, that he was too old to stand up under this kind of heavy labor. "How is Amira's foal?"

Problems just kept coming their way. One of the new foals had come down with a severe case of scours, a relatively common occurrence when the dam came back into season. They had isolated the pair immediately to avoid the risk of spreading the diarrhetic condition to other sucklings in the pasture.

"She is not good."

He needed to say no more. Abbie knew how critical it was. Foals had little reserve. If the lost fluids weren't replaced, the resulting dehydration could kill them or weaken them so badly they'd contract other diseases.

Abbie glanced toward the house. "Maybe we should call Doc Campbell."

"We will see."

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then closed it, deferring to his judgment. If Ben didn't believe the foal's condition was critical enough to warrant calling in the vet, there was no point in questioning his decision. He had years more experience than she did. And, Lord knows, they probably already had a huge outstanding veterinary bill that had accumulated over the spring foaling and breeding season.

Judging by the barrage of phone calls they'd received in the last few days, they owed practically everyone in the whole county. Abbie sighed dispiritedly, Nothing could be done about any of that until the estate was settled, so there was no use thinking about it, not when they had so many horses to feed before dark.

In an attempt to cut down on the amount of time spent distributing hay and grain to all the horses, they had turned most of them into the pastures for mass-feeding from wooden troughs. This meant that some of the horses would be bullied out of their portions by the more dominant members of the herd, but it couldn't be helped.

"We might as well get on with this." Abbie turned and faced the flatbed trailer and laid her hands on its wooden floor, preparing to jump onto it, but her weary muscles simply refused to make the effort. "Will you give me a leg up, Ben? I can't make it." She didn't even try, and instead stepped onto the cupped hands he offered and let him boost her onto the trailer. As he walked toward the tractor hitched to the flatbed, Abbie stopped him. "I meant to ask you if they're going to deliver that grain tomorrow. We don't have much left."

"They wanted to speak about the bill to your mother first."

"That's right. You told me that." Abbie frowned, irritated with herself for forgetting. "I meant to call them this afternoon. As soon as we get done here, I'll phone Mr. Hardman at home tonight."

And this time she vowed she wouldn't forget. She let her legs dangle over the side of the hayrack and leaned against the bale behind her, too grateful for its support to mind the bristly stalks that poked her back. The tractor roared to life and jerked the flatbed after it, briefly jarring Abbie, but she didn't move, conserving her energy for the moment when she'd have to hop off the back and scurry around to open the pasture gate.

She couldn't remember ever being so tired and sore. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in her body ached. The only thing that kept her going was the certain knowledge that this situation couldn't last much longer. The estate would be settled. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. But why did she have the feeling it was a train?

Above the noisy engine of the tractor, she heard the rumble of a pickup truck. She felt a little leap of anticipation in her heart, hoping it was MacCrea's. She hadn't seen or heard from him since that night. Maybe. . . She sat up and tried to swallow the bitter disappointment when she recognized the rusty old pickup that belonged to Dobie Hix. He pulled in front of the pasture gate and stopped, blocking the entrance. She had a pretty good idea of why he'd come.

As the tractor lumbered to a halt, Abbie jumped off the back of the flatbed and charged around to the front to confront Dobie as he climbed out of the truck. "If you've come about the money we owe you, we still can't pay it. Nothing's been settled yet. There's your precious damned hay." She gestured wildly at the hayrack behind her. "Go ahead and take it!"

A look of shock crossed his face as he swept off his battered straw cowboy hat and held it in front of him. "That's not why I came, Abbie. I don't want that hay. You all need it for your horses. It's yours. I just came to give you a hand. I know you don't have any right now and—"

"Dobie, I. . . I'm sorry." She was miserably ashamed of the way she'd unjustly lashed out at him. Feeling incredibly tired and defeated, she ran a gloved hand over her face, wondering why she'd said those terrible things. "There was no excuse for what I said."

"You're tired. This isn't work for you to be doing. Those bales are heavy even for a man to lift." He waved his hat in the direction of the flatbed. "Let alone a gal as little as you."

"I'm stronger than I look," she flared.

"I know you are, but it still isn't work you should be doing."

What other choice did she have? How else were all these horses to be fed? Was she supposed to let Ben do it all? What if he suffered a heart attack? What was she supposed to do then? Somehow Abbie managed to keep all those angry questions to herself. No matter how illogical and chauvinistic Dobie's statements were, she recognized that he was merely trying to be thoughtful.

"We appreciate your offer, Dobie. Thanks."

"That's what neighbors are for." He shrugged. "I only wish you had let me know that you were shorthanded. I would have been over to help sooner."

"You will stay for dinner."

"There's no need in that."

"I insist." She didn't want him or anyone else to think they didn't have enough food in the house to eat. Their present straitened circumstances were temporary, and she didn't want anyone imagining otherwise. "I'll tell Momma to put another plate on the table." And she'd make that phone call she'd forgotten earlier.

As she started for the house, Dobie climbed back into his pickup and moved it out of the way. Abbie listened to the sound of its engine, wondering how she could have mistaken its clattering roar for MacCrea's. She guessed she'd simply wanted it to be his, even though she'd known when she'd left his trailer that night that he probably wouldn't come around again. Why should he? After all, she hadn't made that a condition for going to bed with him.

MacCrea was a wildcatter, a gambler, hardly the type she could expect to have an ongoing relationship with. He was the kind who was here one day and gone the next. It wasn't as if she'd lost anything that she hadn't expected to lose, so why was she still thinking about him? But the answer to that was easy. With him she had felt alive and whole, possibly for the first time in her life. It wasn't a feeling she could easily forget.

She entered the house through the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Her mother turned toward the door, a slightly panicked expression on her face, and quickly placed her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver she held.

"Abbie. I'm so glad you're here," she rushed. "It's a Mr. Fisher on the phone. Long distance from Ohio or Iowa—I can't remember which. He's calling about some horses he sold to your father last year, but he says he never got paid for them. Abbie, I don't know what to say to him. You talk to him." She pushed the receiver at her.

"Just give him Lane Canfield's number and have him call there. Lane knows more than we do," she insisted wearily.

"I can't. You tell him, Abbie."

Stifling her irritation at her mother's inability to cope with something so simple, Abbie took the telephone and barely listened to the story the man recited. Her response was the same as the one she gave to all the recent callers: a referral to the man handling the settlement of the estate. Afterward, she hung up the phone and stood facing the wall, feeling mentally, physically, and emotionally drained.

"It's all so upsetting when they call like that, Abbie," her mother declared. "I never know what to say to them."

"I told you to leave the telephone off the hook," Abbie said tiredly, wondering why she had to deal with everything.

"But what if our friends tried to call and couldn't get through?"

What friends? Abbie thought, wondering if her mother had noticed how few had called since word had gotten out about their present financial straits. Maybe she should have expected it, but it still rankled. After all, they weren't broke. This was just a temporary situation.

She picked up the telephone and dialed the home number of the owner of the local feed-and-grain company. As soon as she identified herself as a Lawson, she had no difficulty convincing him to send out another load of grain, despite their outstanding account. She sighed as she hung up, relieved that the Lawson name still carried some weight.

"Before I forget, Momma. . ." Abbie turned and saw her mother standing at the sink, peeling potatoes—a sight that still seemed foreign. In the past when her mother had puttered in the kitchen, it had usually been to supervise the meal preparation, adding a touch here and changing something there, but never to cook herself. Now, she had no kitchen help to supervise. No one except Jackson, and cooking and cleaning were two things he assisted with only grudgingly, considering both to be beneath him. The brunt of the housework and meal preparation had fallen on her mother. ". . . we're having company for dinner tonight. Dobie Hix came by to help with the horses, so I invited him to eat with us."