Holding on to Heaven (5 page)

Estelle bubbled over with exuberance. "Your brothers said you'd be here discussing the wedding. Is there anything special you'd like me to bring?"

Belle sighed. "Simon has his heart set on fruit cake, and I've been doing my best to convince him Mother's chocolate-walnut would be best."

"Polly's chocolate-walnut took first prize last year at the county fair." Her aunt smiled and held her tone in check. "Fruit cake is traditional, so Simon's preference would also be nice." Estelle looked from Belle to Simon. "A little piece of advice from an old busybody who's been married to the same wonderful man for years: Choose your battles carefully, a secret formula for a lifetime of marital bliss."

Simon and Belle smiled. "I see no reason why we can’t have both," Belle added.

"We must be going, children. My dear, impatient Mason awaits us."

Out the door again, they headed for the buckboard. Her uncle stood behind the wagon loading a crate of horseshoes.

After climbing onto the seat, he turned to Lauren and Estelle. "Are we ready, my turtledoves?"

"I believe we have everything we need." Estelle shifted in the seat and tied the strings of her bonnet.

On the journey home, Lauren lingered in daydreams. No man should be as handsome as Creed Gatlin. Aloof and cool, the man had proven he could also be sociable, even amicable. She’d hoped he’d be dull and boring so she could discard the haunting visions from her mind.

At age twenty-two, and perhaps because he was the eldest child, clearly Creed's siblings admired him. Aunt Estelle claimed his height and broad shoulders came from his father, Sam. From his mother, Polly, he’d inherited the midnight hair and gray eyes. But from who had he acquired the beauty? Lauren sighed. Creed Gatlin left her weak-kneed and breathless.

By the time they pulled into Full Circle, Lauren's thoughts had wandered to the dance and barbeque. She drew a shuddering breath and realized she couldn't wait to see the man again.

* * * *

Creed gathered his siblings and they headed for home. His thoughts centered on the encounter with Lauren in town. People conversed around him, but he had trouble concentrating on anything but Estelle’s niece. The last time he saw her she lay sprawled in a cesspool of mud, her long hair caked in slime. He'd tried a hundred times to imagine her features beneath that grime, knew she embodied beauty, but nothing had prepared him for the picture she presented today. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her small nose. Her sun-kissed skin reminded him of honey. Delicate cheekbones and full, pink lips formed an erotic image of a naked woman behind his eyelids. Damn, the woman intrigued him.

He’d imagined her hair black, not the chestnut brown streaked with golden lights he saw today. The exotic dark brown eyes, he recalled. Only a demented fool could discard them from memory.

She'd challenged him with her confident expression, dared him to spill his guts to her aunt that she could hurl cuss words like a veteran salt. He had no desire to snitch on her, but rather another desire surfaced, primitive and potent.

He wanted to push her back onto the table and remove every stitch of her clothing, longed to run his tongue over her small, pert breasts, flat belly and slender thighs. He'd work his way to the soft mound of curls between her legs and bury his tongue inside her until she writhed beneath him like a wild thing. Before he fucked her senseless.

Overcome with need when she finally spoke, his pulse had launched into a staccato rhythm, matching his wild heartbeat. Recalling that sultry, rusty-hinged voice now, his cock expanded. Damn, Lauren McCain oozed trouble for him. He felt it with every drop of blood in his veins, yet all he could think about was yanking her to his chest and devouring those sweet lips.

One day he would.

Chapter Three

Ribbons of sunlight danced across Lauren's room, rousing her from bed. The day of the barbeque had arrived.

She wandered into the kitchen where the ranch hands, Hank and Justus, greeted her with smiles. Uncle Mason and Biddle each tossed her a cheery 'Good morning,' as she slumped into a chair. Her stomach rumbled when Nelly and Aunt Estelle set down platters of flapjacks smothered in syrup, grilled ham, and cornbread.

Twisting her hands in a sudden fit of nervous apprehension, Estelle slid into a chair with the grace of a dancer. "Mace, there is so much to do yet and no telling how many will arrive."

Her uncle put the newspaper down and shook his head. "I have it under control, Stella. It's unlike you to be in the throes of panic at this late hour."

"What about the lawn tables and benches?"

"Biddle hauled them from the shed and they're leaning against the house."

"Yas'm, I is 'bout to set up 'em after we eat."

Estelle placed her fingers to her temples. "I wonder if we'll have enough food. Oh, and what about the tables for the porch?"

Mason offered her an indulgent smile. "Hank and Justus have the task on their list, dear."

"Very well. Has the barn been swept and sprinkled with a layer of sawdust?"

"I seen to that yesterday, Miss Estelle."

"Of course you did, Biddle." She shook her head. "Don't mind me."

"Anything else, Stella?" Mason blew air through his lips. "Let's go over it now so you can relax for the day."

"What about the race? Are the horses tacked and saddled?"

Hank spoke up. "Everything is in order."

Lauren gave Nelly a quizzical glance. "I'm able to assist this morning, Aunt Estelle, if you need me."

"Oh, no, dear, that won't be necessary. You've taken care of the entertainment for the afternoon, a monumental task." A nervous chuckle left her lips. "Perhaps we should go over the events one last time."

"Very well." Lauren fidgeted in the chair. "Festivities begin with the horse race after the guests arrive." She counted them off on her fingers. "Let's see... Edwin Kendall and his sister Abigail will race."

"Edwin is a fine horseman not to mention a fine—"

"You know I'm not interested in Edwin, Aunt Estelle."

"I know, dear, but he's so smitten with you. Do be cordial to him."

Lauren sloughed off her comment with an agreeable nod and continued. "Then there's Jonathan Gray."

"And his sister, Anna, don't forget," Uncle Mason interjected.

Lauren frowned. Everyone knew the woman lusted after Creed. "And Anna." She wrinkled her nose.

"The Gatlin's are excellent riders." Alight with mischief, Estelle's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps they came out of Polly's womb wearing spurs."

"Or horns," Lauren interjected meaning Creed, of course.

Her mental list grew until she lost track of the number. The impending race loomed foremost on her mind. Today she'd prove years of riding lessons would ensure a win. How grand it would be to put the overbearing workman in his place. She couldn't allow Creed to best her, not after her humiliating tumble in the corral.

Estelle clucked her tongue against her cheek. "In the South, proper young ladies ride sidesaddle adorned in the proper attire—a cumbersome dress, leather riding gloves, and boots."

Lauren snorted. "Don't forget the ridiculous hats perched on their heads."

"Social etiquette is of little importance here when it comes to racing. Dress the part of a formidable challenger, my dear niece: long pants of kid leather, knee-length boots, and a cotton blouse." A smile softened her aunt's features. "And forget about the hat. Tie your hair back with a ribbon."

"Thank you, Aunt Estelle; I'm relieved you don't hold to strict standards."

"What else do we have planned, Lauren?" Mason asked. "I want to be prepared."

"Horseshoe tossing contests for the men and gunnysack races for the younger children. The dance starts at dusk and Jonathan's mother has agreed to accompany the banjos and fiddles with her harmonica."

"We can always count on Eleanor for entertainment," Estelle said.

"Looks like we're all set." Mason swiveled his neck toward her. "Run along now, girl, and ready yourself. We want you to have a splendid time today."

Lauren scurried up the stairs to her room, hurried through her daily ablutions and changed into riding clothes. While pulling the boots over her feet, her aunt entered the room. Lauren rose and spun around in a circle. "What do you think?"

"Perfect!" Her aunt said with a clap of her hands. "A true woman of the plains."

"Plain?" A frown found her. "I don't want to look plain."

"Breathtaking!" Estelle corrected her. "I always thought it silly, women wearing fine dresses while riding. One must utilize their legs for balance and control, and more important, remain in the saddle during a race."

Lauren gave her a conspiratorial wink. "If one intends to win, yes."

Estelle stretched her neck and peered out the window before hustling toward the door. "I best change now."

"You have thirty minutes before they arrive, Aunt Estelle."

Stopping in her tracks, her aunt turned and faced her again. "Soon you’ll meet the other members of the Gatlin family, the parents and younger children."

"I’ll do my best to make you proud."

Her aunt snapped her fingers. "I knew I forgot one. You haven't met Brand yet."

"No, I haven't, but if he's anything like his eldest brother, I’ll forego the honor."

"I still say you're wrong about Creed, but you're old enough to decide for yourself." After a curt nod, Estelle fled from the room.

They met up on the landing a short time later and walked outside together. Harness bells jangled and horses neighed as guests arrived in wagons, buckboards and carriages. Lauren watched her aunt glide through the yard to shake hands with neighbors and embrace close friends. At the moment, Estelle was engaged in an animated conversation with a tall, broad-shouldered man and a petite woman with black hair, presumably his wife.

Estelle motioned her forward and Lauren's stomach lurched when her aunt introduced them. "I'd like you to meet Sam Gatlin and his wife, Polly."

Lauren extended her hand, shook Sam's, and turned to Polly. "Pleased to meet you."

A child introduced as Jack rested on Polly's hip and another named Minnie clung to the folds of the woman’s skirt. With her fine features and gunmetal eyes, Lauren should have put two-and-two together before her aunt introduced them. Creed favored his mother.

"I've been meaning to ride over to meet you, Lauren, but I'm afraid spring planting has kept me tied to the ranch."

Distracted by a flurry of activity—horses neighing and men laughing¯Lauren had trouble concentrating on the conversation. She managed to squeak out, "Aunt Estelle speaks of you often."

Emily and Belle stepped forward and Lauren's heart launched into a tremulous beat. They exchanged warm greetings before the girls drifted off to greet other friends and neighbors in the yard.

Finn appeared and took her hand. "Miss McCain, how nice to see you again."

"Lauren."
Lord, the boy's smile was infectious.
"It would pain me to think we must call each other Mister Gatlin and Miss McCain all day."

"Lauren it is." He turned to a lean, handsome man beside him. "Have you met my brother, Brand?"

Tall like Creed, and well-muscled, the man's blue-violet eyes reminded her of amethysts. "Brand." She extended her hand and took note of the angular planes of his face, a handsome man in his own right.

"I've heard so¯"

"—much about you." How she wanted to deliver a stinging retort to the man watching her like a keen-sighted hawk.

"From your aunt." Brand's engaging smile put her at ease.

"In that case, it must be good." Lauren locked her arms between Brand and Finn's, led them to the table of liquid refreshments, and hoped Creed noticed her direct cut.

Soon the yard overflowed with people and the conversation turned to the anticipated horse race. Guests wandered toward the corral to inspect Mason's fine steeds and then her uncle stepped forward and cleared his throat.

He waved a paper in the air and held it before him. "Here are the rules for the race. To be declared the winner, you must adhere to them."

The crowd fell silent.

"Now then," Mason continued. "Beginning at the corral, two riders will mount and wait for the sound of my pistol. When the shot rings out, the riders will head for the open field, one heading left, the other right. On both sides, I've placed five bales of hay one hundred feet apart."

Heads turned in unison toward the field.

"The horse must jump every bale. If the rider falls from the mount, they’re disqualified. When you reach the opposite end, you must maneuver your horse around the three bales." At no one in particular, Mason winked. "The bales have been placed in a crazy-eight pattern. When you've completed this portion of the race, you cross over and do the same thing on the opposite side."

"Then what?" Jonathan Gray asked.

"Then ride like hell to the finish line." Mason drew a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Right here."

Giggles and nervous chatter scattered in the air.

Mason motioned to his wife. "Stella, if you'd be so kind." She stepped forward holding a cluster of wheat stalks in her hand, her closed fingers hiding one end. "Who draws first?" she said. "Come on, don't be shy. If you plan to race, you have to draw."

"Do we want the long or short straw?" Edwin asked.

"The two shortest will race first, then the next two shortest." Her uncle scanned the nervous crowd. "The winner of each race will receive a spool from Estelle and retreat to the sidelines until you're called for the second round." Mason waved his fingers toward his belly. "Step up, let's get on with the race."

Jonathan Gray and Abigail Kendall drew the shortest straws, picked out their mounts, and climbed into the saddles. Cheers and whistles rose above the crowd when the shot rang out. They were off, racing neck and neck until Jonathan overtook Abigail at the far end of the field and finished well ahead of her.

"A superior finish!" Lauren squealed and slapped Jonathan on the back after he dismounted.