Oklahoma kiss (16 page)

      
Blair could not believe what she was hearing. A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "But . . . Warren, don't I have any say-so whatsoever about my own future? It so happens, I do not want to teach, nor I do want to live in St. Louis. I want to stay here on the ranch."

      
He stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. Once he reached a decision, very few people questioned it. "I can't help what you want or don't want. If I say you'll go to St. Louis, you will go." He spread his hands. "And that's the end of the matter!"

      
"No, it is not the end of the matter!" There was a lethal calmness in her eyes, but her voice and the flare of her nostrils revealed her fiery temper. "The Bar 4 happens to be my home ..." Her voice broke, she clenched her hands, relaxed them, then took a deep breath as she struggled for control. "Please, Warren, let's discuss this calmly. We will not solve anything by shouting at each other. I will listen to your opinions and objections if you will listen to mine."

      
Jabbing his cigar vigorously into the ash tray, Warren spoke in a harsh, raw voice, "As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing to discuss. I’ve made my decision and there is nothing you can say to change it."

      
Blair leaned across his desk and ground out the words through clenched teeth, "Warren, I am not a child, and I am not one of the hired hands you can order about. You do not own me, and I am free and extremely capable of making decisions about my life. As I was saying, the Bar 4 happens to be my home the same as it is yours. Granted, I don't have the years or the work invested in this land the way you do, but I love it just as much! This is my home, but if you don't want me to live here. I’ll leave; however, I will go where I choose to go."

      
He smirked. "Where, Little Miss Smarty Pants? What would you do? How would you support yourself? Or, would you run to Collin or Samuel?"

      
"No, I wouldn't do that —I wouldn't involve them in something that is between you and me." Her mind raced at a furious pace. "I would ... I could always. . . ."

      
"See," he taunted, "you claim to be a woman instead of a child, but you can't even make a decision!"

      
"Until a few minutes ago, I didn't know I had to. Since it is my future that is at stake, I refuse to make a decision on the spur of a moment." She managed to shrug and say, offhandedly, "There are many things I could do though, I have a little money saved. I could go to Doughtery and open a bake shop — Tillie did teach me how to cook, and I haven't forgotten how. Or, I could open a medicinal shop. You said yourself the doctor in town hasn't been sober in the past three years." She gave her head a haughty toss. "Don't concern yourself about what I will do, I can take care of myself. I shall pack my bags and leave first thing in the morning!"

      
Warren glowered at her. He knew she was just stubborn enough to carry through with her threats. And regardless of what she thought, he only had her best interests at heart. If only there was some way he could stop her without appearing to back down from the position he had taken. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he cocked his head to one side. Then again, maybe there was something . . .

      
"All right, Blair, do whatever you want." His mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. "Go to Doughtery, to New Orleans, San Francisco, or anywhere you want, just don't come crying to me when you get down on your luck."

      
Her green eyes clawed him like talons. Not trusting herself to speak, she whirled and bolted for the door, but his precisely spoken words stopped her.

      
"I might have known you would run out on your obligations, but I guess that's my fault. What else should I expect from a child who thinks she's grown?"

      
With shoulders straight and head held high with defiance, she turned slowly and asked, "Just what did you mean by that sanctimonious remark?"

      
"I thought you were going to take care of Adam until his feet healed? So what if they become infected and he loses them, it's no skin off your back. I can honestly say, though, I never thought you’d try to get even by striking out at me through one of my friends."

      
The color drained from her face. Adam! In her anger she had forgotten about him. His wounds were serious —far too serious to go untreated. And if he was forced to see that drunken doctor in Doughtery . . . there was no telling what would happen to him.

      
She swallowed hard. "No, I said I would take care of him and I won't go back on my word. I'll stay until he recovers then I will leave . . . and there is nothing you can do or say to stop me."

      
His jaw tightened. "Don't worry, I won't try. The less we say to each other, the better." Then his brows drew downward in a speculative frown. "However, there is one detail we might be overlooking. Adam is a proud and stubborn man. I doubt if it would be wise if he knew you were staying just on his account."

      
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I'm not a fool, Warren. I won't say anything to him, or to anyone else about it either. I'd hate for it to be inadvertently mentioned. Although, I see no point in pretending we haven't argued. From the way we were shouting at each other, I'm sure the entire ranch knows by now."

      
He uttered bitterly, "Just remember, you little scamp, you're the one who started this nonsense!"

      
She imposed an iron control on herself and spoke with as reasonable voice as she could manage, "That's where you are wrong. You started it when you sent me away four years ago!"

      
After Blair left, Warren poured himself another drink and sank wearily into his chair. He had bought himself a week, a week in which to either convince Blair to go to St. Louis, or to invent a reasonable excuse so that she would have to stay at
      
the ranch. Although nothing had really changed, he didn't want her to live at the ranch, but he damned sure didn't want her striking out on her own either. Suddenly, he felt very alone, more alone than he had in his entire life. When he promised his dying father that he would take care of the family, he'd had no idea what he was getting into, the problems, the heartaches involved. Not that that would have made any difference.

      
Still, maybe he should have handled things differently through the years.

      
Warren let out his breath very slowly and lowered his head. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stood, walked to the window and stared forlornly into the darkness.

      
After composing herself as best she could, Blair walked into the dining room and was surprised but grateful to see that Tillie was the only one present. Perhaps Adam and Coy left before overhearing their argument. She hoped so.

      
"Where is everyone?" Blair asked, glancing about casually.

      
"Mr. Coy went out to the bunkhouse to see ifn they wanted to play some penny ante poker and Mr. Cahill went on to his room. Don't blame neither one for scatting though, the way you and Mr. Warren were shouting at each other, a-body would have thought the roof was raising!" When Blair offered no comment, she cut her huge eyes around at her. "Missy, Ah heard you two fussing, but more important, did you make up?"

      
"No, not really."

      
"Does he know you were 'spelled from that school?"

      
"Yes, he knows."

      
"Is he going to send you off to another one?"

      
"No, I ... I am staying here," She wiped a tear from her eye. "Please, Tillie, I don't feel like discussing it now."

      
"All right, Missy, but if’n you need old Tillie’s shoulder to cry on, just remember, A'm here."

      
Not trusting her voice, Blair merely nodded and went to the kitchen. Moving as though in a mindless daze, she put two huge kettles of water on to boil, then selected the plants and roots she had gathered to make a foot-soaking solution. Searching a drawer where she knew Tillie kept clean white cloths for bandages, she cut them into strips and rolled them so that they would be easier to apply. She crushed some roots —well known for numbing pain —with a salve to apply on his feet after they had soaked. Then she placed all of the items onto a tray and carried it to Adam's room.

      
"Adam, may I come in?"

      
"Yes, of course you may."

      
Blair heard the distinct sounds of papers being shuffled as she juggled the tray in order to open the door.

      
Seeing her struggle with the tray and the door, he started to rise. "Here, let me help."

      
"No, keep your seat. I can manage just fine." She hurried inside, then pushed the door shut with her foot.

      
"Did you think I had forgotten you?" she asked with forced gaiety as she set the tray on the table and knelt to attend to his feet. She had already decided to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

      
"No, I knew you would come." He shifted his weight in the chair and tossed the newspaper that had been on his lap onto the bed. He had decided what had happened earlier would not take place
      
again and was extremely careful not to touch her in any way suggestively, even by accident.

      
Adam knew it was natural for families to have disagreements, but it had made him feel uncomfortable to hear Blair and Warren shout at each other the way they had. That's why he had cleared out as soon as he realized they were arguing. Family disagreements were not his business. Still, he had a mind of his own and he had overheard enough to form the opinion that Blair had been in the right: on both accounts. Apparently she had been falsely accused and expelled unfairly, and he saw no good reason for Warren to keep her dangling in suspense. That seemed unusually cruel —which was not like the man he knew and considered to be his friend. But to give Warren the benefit of a doubt, perhaps he knew they would argue and had avoided speaking to Blair about it for that reason. Although, a tiny voice nagged at Adam, telling him that surely Warren had had an opportunity to speak to her privately sometime during the day.

      
Still, all things considered, he doubted if Blair was completely faultless. He had firsthand knowledge that she was a headstrong female, and she probably got into her share of mischief, but that self-righteous headmistress had no right treating her that way just because she was part Indian. And, there was no doubt in his mind, that was why she was blamed.

      
It seemed to him that the Indians were always getting the raw end of the deal. To his knowledge, every treaty ever made between the whites and Indians had been broken by the white men. The government taking a huge portion of the Indian Territory and opening it to the homesteaders was just another in the long list of atrocities committed against them.

      
He thought it was ironic that Indians were called savages, uncivilized heathens, and barbarians, when the truth of the matter was, the Indians who were forced to settle in the Nation were probably more civilized than most whites who lived here. But so many people — usually white trash, or the so-called, upper society—treated them just as that headmistress had treated Blair. He had to admit that Blair was right on another point too; half-breeds were treated with even more contempt, at least that's how it was around these parts, and he imagined it was even worse back east.

      
Surely Warren knew all of this. Why he put Blair in that type of situation when he wasn't there to help her was absolutely foolish. But then, maybe he shouldn't judge Warren too harshly, especially not knowing the circumstances surrounding his original decision.

      
Surprised at the depths of his thoughts, Adam cleared his throat and again squirmed uneasily on the chair.

      
"Am I hurting you?" she asked, looking up at him anxiously.

      
"No, not a bit." He noticed in spite of her seemingly nonchalant behavior, her eyes glistened unnaturally and tears trembled on her thick, sooty lashes.

      
"Is the chair uncomfortable? Would you like a pillow for your back?"

      
"No, I'm fine." As soon as Adam spoke, he knew it was a He. He wasn't fine. It felt as though he had been hit in the stomach by a runaway train. His opinion of Blair had changed immensely. Without a doubt, she was an attractive, provocative female. Her face was beautiful, sensual and alluring. Her eyes held the promise of too much desire, framed as they were by arching dark brows and surrounded by thick, sooty lashes, they were too intriguing, too bold, too inviting for her own good.

      
The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose would be a horror to a lady, but beautiful on a woman. Her skin looked as soft as satin and as warm as creamy velvet. Adam did not dare try to imagine what it tasted like. She smelled like she had just washed with a soap scented with lavender flowers. He wanted to bury his face in the bouquet of them.

      
But she was also his friend's sister!

      
Yet her sexiness came from more than a provocative face and sensual body. Regardless of their meeting, he had to admit being intrigued by her spirit, her vivaciousness. There was a wildness about her that begged to be tamed by anyone with enough courage to try. Her fiery nature was a challenge any man worth his salt would love to tangle with, if not to break, then to bend to his will.