Nan Ryan (17 page)

A white-hot flash of desire jolted through Lew when Mollie, sweetly molding herself to him, sighed and touched her tongue to his. At once he felt himself surge and harden while his heart hammered wildly in his chest.

Mollie was unaware of what she was doing to him; she was far too swept away by what he was doing to her. Awakened for the first time in her life to her own innate sensuality, she stood there in Lew’s embrace, responding totally. His exquisite, experienced lovemaking causing new and wondrous sensations to wash over her, she melted into him.

Her eyes shut, her arms twined around Lew’s neck, Mollie stood in the darkness on that hot June night eagerly kissing Lew Hatton, learning quickly, teasing him just as he teased her, purposely pressing her pliant body to the hard, ungiving length of his.

And Mollie blinked, confused and disappointed, when Lew abruptly took his hot mouth from hers, set her back from him, and said, “You said something about lemonade with ice?”

Mollie found herself faced with a dilemma
.

The raising of the First Methodist Church on a vacant lot two blocks south of the plaza was planned for Saturday, June twenty-first. Less than a week away. All the men of Maya, including the cowboys from the Willard ranch, would be helping with the work. Willing spirits banding together for a common goal—the good of the community.

The ladies of Maya would be there to lend moral support and to bring plenty of tempting foods to feed the hungry volunteers. Her best friends, Madeline and Patricia, had assured Mollie that the day would be most enjoyable and she had better persuade the professor to close the store so she could be there for the fun. If she wasn’t, her tall, raven-haired broncbuster might well get snatched away from her. After all, Patricia confided, every lady in town was talking about the handsome New Mexican horseman. And, Madeline put in, she had it on good authority that a certain divorcée, the rich, sophisticated Mary Beth McCalister, had made no secret of the fact that Lew Taylor was her idea of a real man. Gossip had it that Mary Beth had told her maid that if Lew didn’t soon make a move on her, she was going to make one on him, even if it meant riding out to the Willard ranch alone some dark night.

So Mollie was worried. The entire town knew that the voluptuous Mary Beth McCalister was fast and loose, yet the men of Maya grinned like dumbstruck fools anytime she passed them on the street, fluttering her eyelashes and swaying her hips. Mollie thought that Mary Beth was downright disgusting with her little-girl voice and her silly simpering and posturing. And she felt sure that Lew was far too clever to be snared by Mary Beth’s too-obvious charms. Still, Mary Beth was supposed to be the best dancer in all Maya. And therein lay Mollie’s dilemma.

The Saturday church-raising would end with a big celebration dance. Lew had already invited her to go to the dance with him. There was only one little problem. She did not know how to dance! The professor had taught her everything, except how to dance.

Frowning, Mollie exhaled heavily, leaned her elbows on the Emporium’s front counter, and rested her chin in her hands. Unsettling images filled her head. Lew whirling about on the dance floor with a smiling, flirting Mary Beth McCalister in his arms while she, Mollie the wallflower, stood at the edge of the crowd as everyone laughed and pointed and pitied her.

“Is business that bad this morning, Fontaine?”

Mollie looked up and gave a loud sigh of relief. “I need to talk to you.”

Smiling, the professor took off his hat and crossed to her. “Then why don’t you grab your bonnet and come along with me. I’m on my way out to the Willard ranch to take a look at a bay stallion L.J.’s been telling me about.”

“Do you think it would be all right?” Her violet eyes immediately lighted.

“I think Mr. Stanfield can spare you for a couple of hours.”

Mollie shook her head in impatience. “That isn’t what I meant, Professor!” She was already reaching for her bonnet. “We might run into Lew at the ranch, and—”

“Lew’s the one who’s breaking the bay. I’d like to see him work.” His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Would I!”

The flat, endless desert shimmered under a hot morning sun beating down mercilessly from a cloudless blue sky. As Mollie and the professor rode across the barren plain, the carriage wheels churned up loose sand, leaving fine dust hanging in the still air.

“I just know I shall be the object of derision come Saturday night,” Mollie was saying, clinging to the seat with one hand, her bonnet with the other. “Professor, I don’t know how to dance!”

The professor chuckled. “My dear, would you believe an old man if he were to tell you that young men find it both enjoyable and flattering to be called on to teach their sweethearts to dance?”

“They do? Did you ever teach a young lady to dance?”

“I did,” he said, remembering, a warm light shining in his pale eyes. “And it was one of the greatest pleasures of my life.”

“Really? Was she lovely? Who was she? Did she …?”

“Mollie, I simply wanted to point out that you needn’t worry. If Lew knows how to dance, and I’m sure he does, he’ll be more than pleased to teach you.”

“I suppose, but won’t he think it strange that I don’t know how?”

“He believes that you attended an academy for young ladies where you had few opportunities to be around young men. He won’t be suspicious. Stop your needless worrying.”

Mollie was still troubled. “Suppose Lew sees what a marvelous dancer Mary Beth McCalister is and wishes he was with her instead of me.”

Professor Dixon turned and looked directly at her. “What do you know about Mary Beth McCalister?”

Mollie shrugged. “Not much. Patricia and Madeline say she entertains gentlemen in her mansion like some … some …” Her face colored and she fell silent.

“Patricia and Madeline gossip too much. Mrs. McCalister may ‘entertain gentlemen’ on occasion, but Lew Taylor is not one of them.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s been with you every night.”

Mollie smiled finally, then immediately frowned. “He might go to her house after he leaves me!”

“He doesn’t,” said the professor with conviction.

He didn’t tell her that he had, from Lew’s first day in Maya, been having him discreetly watched. Highly protective of Mollie, he was taking no chances that Mr. Lew Taylor was anyone other than a rugged young broncbuster from Bernalillo who was genuinely interested in the sweet girl he knew as Fontaine Gayerre. If it was within his power, he would see to it that the charming child beside him would not be hurt or deceived.

Mollie was satisfied at last. The professor had told her once that he knew just about everything that went on in Maya. She believed him.

“Professor,” she said thoughtfully, “would you think me terrible if I told you I love it that every woman in Maya is just green with envy because I have Lew and they haven’t?”

He laughed and shook his silver head. “I would think you are quite normal and painfully honest.”

Mollie frowned again. “Honest? We both know that I’m anything but.” She bowed her head. “What would Lew think if he …?”

“He doesn’t and he won’t. The past is dead. You’re a different girl.”

Mollie remained silent, wondering how Lew
would
feel if he learned the sordid truth. The disturbing thought caused a tightness in her chest. Distracted, she missed what the professor was saying. “I … I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t … what did you say?”

“I said, dear, that I will be going to California the first week of August. I try to get out there and check on my gold mines once or twice a year. I thought you might like to come with me.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Not much over two weeks … three at most.”

She hesitated, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. She was thinking about being away from Lew Taylor.

She smiled prettily, and said, “I have always wanted to go to California, but I don’t think Mr. Stanfield could do without me at the Emporium for so long.”

“That’s true. I failed to consider that.” He grinned and lifted a silver eyebrow, letting her know he was on to her.

She laughed merrily then, pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and said, “Mister, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!”

He threw back his head and laughed. They were both laughing when they drove through the tall ranch gates of L. J. Willard’s big upland spread.

Mollie felt her excitement mount as they drove past headquarters, a big, boxlike, two-story frame house painted a dismal shade of brown. Her palms grew moist when she saw—in the near distance—a piñon pole corral with a dozen or so cowboys and
vaqueros
milling around.

“There’s L.J.,” said the professor, pointing to the stockily built rancher.

Mollie nodded absently and anxiously scanned the rugged male faces, hunting for Lew. He was nowhere in sight. L. J. Willard was bearing down on them, a big grin splitting his leathery brown face.

“My, my,” he boomed, “what have we here? Miss Gayerre, we’re mighty glad you came out with the professor.” He whisked Mollie out of the carriage, took her hand, and pumped it. “Lordy, the boys will all be awantin’ to show off for you.”

While the three of them stood in the morning sunshine making small talk, Lew, carrying his favorite rigging, stepped out of the tack room not forty yards away. He stopped. Squinting from underneath the brim of his low tilted Stetson, he spotted her immediately. He felt his heart kick against his ribs, and a foolish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

The purely reflexive response was gone in a second, and he swore under his breath. He reminded himself that while the girl standing in the blazing sun was incredibly beautiful and had given him kisses that were so sweet they haunted his dreams, she was a cold, cunning criminal who had given other men a hell of lot more than kisses.

Lew threw his gear up onto the corral fence, forced a smile to his face, and started toward her.

Mollie, only half listening to the professor and L. J. Willard, looked up, saw him coming, and felt her stomach contract. Was it only last night they had kissed? It seemed like a millennium. She wished she could kiss him right now.

Breathlessly she watched him approach. He looked different this morning. She had never seen him in anything other than his dress clothes. While he had been outrageously handsome last night in a dove gray linen suit and snowy white shirt, he was even more appealing—if that were possible—the way he was dressed now.

He wore a collarless pullover shirt of pale lavender. A vest of buttery brown leather stretched across his broad shoulders. A pair of faded denim Levi’s were almost indecently tight, revealingly contouring his flat belly and slim hips and long legs. A wide leather belt rode low around his waist, its square silver buckle gleaming in the sunlight. Tied around his tanned throat was a lavender cotton bandanna that matched his shirt. A dark brown Stetson was pulled over his eyes, and thrown carelessly over his left shoulder was a pair of rough chamois shotgun chaps.

He walked with a sure, masculine stride, his long arms swinging at his sides. In charge. Sure of himself. All man. And he was smiling.

“Morning, everybody,” he said as he reached them.

“Good morning, Lew,” said the professor, warmly shaking the hand Lew held out to him.

“Lew,” said L. J. Willard, “I was a-tellin’ them how you don’t mind at all if Miss Gayerre watches you ride that mean bay.”

“If you do, Lew, I can—” Mollie began.

“Not at all,” said Lew evenly. “The more the merrier.”

The talk was of breaking horses, and Lew spoke with quiet authority, easily captivating his small audience.

Even the crusty old rancher nodded his head, saying, “Yes, yes, that’s right, son.” L.J. then told Mollie and the professor, “This boy is the best on the back of a beast I ever did see. Ain’t nobody like him.”

Mollie was impressed, but too distracted to pay close attention to the conversation. Lew, towering over them at six foot three, stood very close to her. His nearness was unsettling. She inwardly shivered when he casually lifted a hand to toy with the green ribbon that went around the crown of her straw hat and fell midway down her back. He slipped the grosgrain ribbon between two lean fingers, pulled the ends around over her shoulder, and idly fiddled with them as he spoke.

When finally he released the ribbon, allowing it to fall on her left shoulder, then pressed it with his fingers against the exposed flesh of her collarbone, Mollie felt as if she would surely suffocate.

“Well, guess I might as well get to it,” she heard him say and was relieved. “Come on, Fontaine. I’ll give you a front row seat.” He took her arm and propelled her toward the corral fence while L.J. and the professor lagged behind. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure he couldn’t be heard, Lew leaned down to Mollie and said, “God, I’d like to kiss you. Right here, right now.” He touched her bottom lip with a callused thumb. “Right there.”

Her lip trembled and she was momentarily terrified he would bend his head and kiss her in front of everybody. She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, Lew said, “You stand right here, sweetheart. And if that mean mustang heads this way, jump back fast.” He touched her cheek and was gone.