Oklahoma kiss (33 page)

      
Watching Blair make her way through the crowd, Tom's face darkened, his hands clenched into tight fists, and a muscle worked furiously in his cheek. He could not remember wanting something so badly as he wanted Blair Townsend. If only he could keep his patience in check, he would figure out a way to get her . . . one way or the other.

Adam, wearing a tailored black broadcloth suit, a gray silk vest, new boots, a white shirt, and a black string tie, strode eagerly toward the stockade. He had been asked to stop and talk to the dance committee and was arriving much later than he originally planned.

      
He wanted to come early enough to watch the people as they arrived, hopefully to spot any potential troublemakers beforehand so he would know whom to keep an eye on throughout the evening.

      
From past experiences, he knew at these sort of gatherings there were always a few men who slipped outside and passed the bottle one time too many and often became rowdy or too eager to settle any differences with their fists. Usually, any ruckus raised was nothing serious, but with so much trouble in the area, tempers and nerves were already strained to the breaking point. The posters that had been tacked up over town announcing the dance clearly stated the social was for local citizens; but without any deputies to help him, if some of the homesteaders or the town rowdies decided to attend, the last thing he needed on his hands was a confrontation between the homesteaders and ranchers.

      
His steps slowed when he reached the rope corral. A quick count told him there were twenty wagons, mostly buckboards, waiting. As for riding stock, he estimated sixty to seventy horses under saddle. It was quite a sizable gathering, even for such a highly populated area.

      
Striding quickly toward the gaily lit opening, Adam was suddenly stopped by five men brandishing rifles.

      
"Go on, Harley, set I’m straight!" a voice from the back of the pack called.

      
"Where in the hell do you think you are going in such an all-fired hurry?" the man standing at the point asked in a surly tone.

      
Adam stared at him coldly for a moment, then started to step aside to pass.

      
"I asked you where you were going," Harley swapped a plug of tobacco from one bulging side of his jaw to the other and spat a stream of tobacco juice, which landed close to Adam’s boot before he leveled the rifle at his stomach.

      
With a significant lifting of his brows, Adam slowly looked down at the rifle barrel, then to his boots, before replying, "To the dance. Now if you will step aside . . ."

      
Harley gestured with his rifle toward Adam's guns. "Not wearing those, you're not."

      
"By whose orders?" he asked coldly. He had just come from a meeting where they discussed not allowing guns in at the dance. Under the circumstances, he felt if the men checked their pistols when they arrived and picked them up when they left, it could prevent trouble, but the committee had voted him down.

      
"I don't see that's any of your business. The boss gave the order and we're enforcing it, that's all you need to know." Harley stepped closer, clearly trying to intimidate Adam. "Fact is, I've taken a powerful dislike to you —I think you're nothing but a tinhorn gambler—so wearing guns or not, you can just turn your butt around and go back where you came from."

      
"I believe you are mistaken, it is my business," Adam said slowly, his gray eyes suddenly cold, hard, and unafraid. "But even if it wasn't, there is a lady waiting for me and I am late. Now if you will just step aside . . ."

      
The man smirked arrogantly. "You are going to be a hellava lot later if you don't turn around and git! The only way you'll attend the dance is to come through me and the boys here, and I don't think you are man enough to do it."

      
Adam was tired of arguing with him. He shrugged and moved as though to turn. Instead, he knocked the rifle aside, seized the man, spun him around, and grabbed him in a bear hug. He forced the rifle barrel up until it dug into the bottom of the man's chin. "You men drop your rifles! My trigger finger is stretched about as far as it can go. One wrong move out of any of you and I'll blow his head off."

      
Hearing steps behind him, Adam raised his voice, "Whoever is trying to slip up behind me, I would advise you to think twice. Even if you get me, he'll still be a dead man. I’m not telling you men again to drop your rifles!"

      
Reluctantly, the men tossed their rifles on the ground, even the man behind him.

      
"Now, I ask again—real polite like—who gave the order for you men to stop anyone wearing a gun?"

      
"Our boss did," someone muttered.

      
"Does he have a name?"

      
"Yeah, Tom Bastrop. And I'll tell you right now, he won't like this at all."

      
"I don't like it either. Go get him . . . and hurry," Adam said, his voice hard and ruthless.

      
It was only a couple of minutes before Tom arrived, out of breath and flanked by Logan Banner and Ross Reynolds, the hired guns Adam had seen him with earlier in the week.

      
" 'Evening, Tom," Adam said, simultaneously releasing his hold on the man, and kicking him in the seat of his pants, which sent him sprawling to the ground. It wasn't so much what Harley had done that angered Adam, he was merely following his boss's orders; it was the fact that he had taken so much pleasure in it.

      
Tom stared at Adam for a moment, then he turned slightly, putting his hands on his hips. "You goddamn fools! This man is a United States Deputy Marshal!" he railed.

      
Still holding the rifle, Adam splayed his legs and pushed back his broad-brimmed hat. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute . . . alone."

      
Tom motioned with his head and the five men moved toward the light. He challenged Adam by saying, "Ross and Logan stay with me. Anything you have to say, Cahill, you can say it in front of them."

      
"Suit yourself. I want to know who gave you the authority to station those men out here, turning back anyone who came wearing guns?" Adam asked curtly.

      
Tom's back became ramrod straight, he bristled with anger. He was not accustomed to anyone questioning anything he did. "No one gave me the authority. I took it on myself as a way to prevent trouble."

      
"Positioning six men ..."

      
"Six? I see only five." Tom gestured toward the men and grinned slyly.

      
"I included the man who tried to slip up behind me," Adam stated coldly, noting how quickly that statement made Tom’s grin disappear. "It so happens, I favored the idea of not wearing guns to the dance, but the committee in charge voted against it. It wouldn't have bothered me, though, if you and the other ranchers had selected one man each and stationed them out here. But the men you selected reminded me of a pack of wild dogs; they would have caused more problems than they would have prevented."

      
Adam's gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It made him wonder if Bastrop did not do it deliberately.

      
He continued, "I figure I have enough trouble on my hands without people like you adding to it. If I need help, I’ll ask for it, but until I do, stay out of my business, and let me do my job the way I see fit."

      
Tom muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm warning you now, Cahill, you are making a big mistake."

      
"Really? What makes you think so?" Usually he did not waste his breath arguing, he'd always thought it was pointless. But there was something about this man that rubbed him the wrong way.

      
Tom's face tightened as he glowered at Adam. "I'm not the kind of man you want for an enemy."

      
Suddenly Adam was tired of this quarrel, it could last all night if he let it. Besides, each could crow about being the randiest rooster in the barnyard, but until either of them decided to prove it, it was meaningless.

      
"Look Bastrop, I don't give a damn if you are my enemy or not. I'm issuing a warning now though, don't cross me . . . that goes for you or your hired guns." His eyes flicked to Logan and Ross. "I don't scare easily . . . and I’m not scared now. This entire area is sitting on a powder keg, and I was hired to see that some damn fool doesn't set a match to it. I can't give you credit for having good sense, but you are smart enough to know as well as I do that the homesteaders are not responsible for what's going on around here. It's coming from the inner ranks, and probably someone I'd least expect."

      
"And you think it's me."

      
"To be honest, I haven't quite decided if you are a suspect or not. You're trying awfully hard to look like one, but then again, you may be stupid enough to think bringing in hired guns is the solution. Regardless of who's responsible, I'll show no partiality — even if the man I have nothing but contempt for is innocent. Just remember, stay the hell out of my way and I'll do the job I was hired to do!" With that, he pushed his way past Tom and sauntered toward the dance.

      
Anger made Tom tight-lipped. "I want you to kill that son of a bitch now!" he whirled and said to Logan.

      
Logan shook his head. "Me and Ross don't do any back shooting . . . especially if it's a lawman involved. Either one of us will call him out, but we'll have witnesses and it will be a fair fight."

      
"Never mind, it was anger that issued that order, not me. If he was killed, there would be ten more to take his place." Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully, then began to laugh. "I'm beginning to get an idea how I can solve two problems at one time. And it is probably the best damn plan I've ever come up with." He swore bitterly into the darkness, "Adam Cahill, you will live to regret this night!"

      
Chapter 20

      
The musicians were fine-tuning their instruments when Adam entered the dance arena. He hung his hat on a rack someone had provided, then slowly looked around. Almost immediately, he spotted Blair standing near the front of the bandstand, completely surrounded by men who were laughing and engaged in friendly jostling in an obvious attempt to make an impression and to catch her eye.

      
Jealousy flared in him instantly. There had never been any doubt in his mind that he cared deeply for Blair, but at that moment he realized exactly how much. That realization was alarming because he knew he had met her at a very crucial time in her life and even after what happened between them the previous night, it was quite possible there was nothing but misery ahead for him.

      
He had given their relationship considerable thought throughout the day. Reluctantly, his mind kept returning to the peculiarity of her behavior. Last night she had been a sexy enchantress — much to his delight. But now that he was able to think with a clear head again, it had nagged at him all day long. He had realized from the beginning Blair was not like other women; in fact, her uniqueness was what first attracted him to her. Still, he found it difficult to believe she would have thrown aside all of her moral inhibitions so recklessly, unless she had been trying to prove something. Maybe she was trying to prove her womanhood, since she had been jilted, or she could be trying to forget that man by becoming involved with someone else. Those thoughts were sobering and they were difficult to accept. Still, in the glaring light of reality, they had to be considered.

      
Adam knew the right thing to do was just walk away until any questions in her mind were settled. But if he did, he could possibly be leaving her susceptible to any man who came along ... a man like Tom Bastrop, for instance. She was simply too vulnerable, too naive to handle an unscrupulous man like him. Besides, since he had taken her innocence and after what they had shared the previous night, what would his leaving do to her pride?

      
A strong feeling of shame washed over Adam. He had just tried to convince himself what he was doing was virtuous and noble, but the truth was, he loved her. And, he would do anything within his power to win her love. That admission was dredged from a place he could not lie to or hide from: his heart and mind.

      
Adam watched her with a glint of adoration in his eyes. Even though he was jealous, pride welled deep within him as he decided it was a wonder that Blair was not surrounded by every unmarried man there.

      
She was by far the most beautiful woman at the dance. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. She had piled it high, but left wisps to coil attractively against her cheeks and neck. A yellow satin ribbon that matched her dress had been wound through the ebony strands. Her cream-colored complexion enhanced the color of her dress, a pale primrose, having slightly puffed sleeves, a low but not overly revealing neckline, a form-fitting bodice, and a full gathered skirt. Yellow lace and ribbons trimmed the sleeves and waistline. Around her long, slender neck hung a cameo on a black velvet ribbon. Her dress, although simple in design, signified her good taste and a natural flair for elegance. She was not overly dressed or better dressed than the other young women, but compared to Blair, they all faded into the crowd, appearing bland and drab.

      
Then, when a man moved away, Adam saw her face more clearly. Even from the distance he could see that her expression was disturbed and strained, as if she felt self-conscious from all of the attention she was getting. That made him feel relieved.