Printer in Petticoats (16 page)

She moved over three places.

But when the music started up again, it was Edith who walked out with the sheriff. Her own sister! How
could
she?

Oh, the cruelty of it. She couldn't bear to watch. Her heart was cracking in two right down the middle.

“Noralee?”

Billy Rowell stood in front of her. “Wanna dance?”

Well, yes, she wanted to dance, but not with Billy Rowell. Would it be impolite to refuse him and then step out onto the floor with Sheriff Rivera?

She moaned under her breath. Yes, it would be. “Um, well, I...uh...”

Just then the music stopped. The sheriff brought Edith back to her seat and asked the next woman, Ivy Bruhn, wife of the sawmill owner, to dance. The fiddle struck up another waltz.

“Yes,” she blurted. “I'll dance with you, Billy.” At least if she was out on the floor she would be that much closer to the sheriff. She could watch his face, maybe even hear what he was saying to his partner.

Billy Rowell danced like a wooden soldier. They circled twice around the floor and all at once he halted. “Noralee, stop leading.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she mumbled.

“S'okay. I don't dance too good anyway.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sheriff Rivera return Lucy to her seat and head for the bar at the far end of the room. Surely he didn't drink spirits?

No. It was a glass of lemonade he held to his lips. Lemonade! She made the best lemonade in town; everybody said so, even Edith. Maybe someday the sheriff would...or she could take a quart jar of her fresh-squeezed lemonade with just a tad extra sugar over to the sheriff's office.

Billy returned her to the bench on the sidelines, bowed politely—
bowed
?
Billy
bowed
?
Just like the sheriff?—and left her. As soon as his back was turned, Noralee scooted over two more places to her right and waited expectantly for Sheriff Rivera to appear before her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

J
essamine lifted her head, waiting for the sheriff to respond to her query. She'd asked him, politely, how he liked Smoke River so far.

“Fine,” he said.

She waited. Was that all, just “fine”?

“Is there something in particular you find pleasing?” she inquired.

“Nope.”

“Nothing? Are you used to towns as small as Smoke River?”

“Yep.”

Jess bit her lip. “Well, what was your home in Texas like?”

“Small.”

“How small? Did you have a church? Or a schoolhouse?”

“Yep. Both.”

“And?” She smiled up at him and held her breath.

“And what?”

Oh, for mercy's sake! “What was your town in Texas
like
?” She hoped her exasperation didn't show.

“Like...Texas.”

Jess frowned. “Are you worried because I'm a newspaper editor? Is that why you are so, well, short-spoken?”

“Nope.”

“Perhaps you are afraid I will misquote you?”

“Nope.”

“Mr. Rivera, don't you
want
to talk to me?”

“Oh, sure. I'm talkin'.”

No, you are not
, she fumed. Or...a thought struck her. Maybe the man thought he
was
talking to her. Maybe he simply didn't have that much to say.

He might be tall and attractive, but as for
interesting
—that he most certainly was not. Perhaps if she were twelve years old, like Noralee, but she wasn't twelve. She was twenty-two years old, and she had a brain in addition to a pair of eyes, and she was bored by this man.
Bored
.

Suddenly it struck her as funny. She gulped back a giggle just as a warm hand slid about her waist and someone swung her out of Anderson Rivera's long arms. She swirled away into the arms of Cole Sanders. Her heart lifted.

“Oh, Cole, talk to me!”

“Wh-what?”

“Say something. Anything! I'm starved for conversation.”

Cole looked down at her eager face. “I thought you
were
conversing. Looked like it anyway.”

She hesitated. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah, tell me.”

“The past fifteen minutes with Sheriff Rivera have been the dullest fifteen minutes I've ever spent.”

“Is that right?” Cole worked to keep from grinning.

“Oh, yes, most definitely. Cole, it's no fun at all talking to a man with no observations or opinions or wit or...”

“Does he smell good?”

A laugh spluttered out of her mouth and she clapped her hand over her lips. “
Smell
good?”

“You know, like bay rum or tobacco smoke or peppermint?”

“Who cares how he smells? He doesn't
talk
!”

Cole pulled her close and hid his smile against her hair. “You like talking, huh?”

He felt her head dip in a nod. “I do. You know I do. I never realized how much until tonight. I love it when we talk, Cole. When you tease me and we argue and... Oh, Cole, you are so
not
like Sheriff Anderson Rivera!”

“Yeah?”

“You are smart. And well-educated. And witty. And...well, fun.”

“Fun,” he said uncertainly.

“Of course.” She squeezed the hand that held hers. “I couldn't live without at least a little bit of laughter. Life is too short not to enjoy things. Not to laugh about things. There are enough sad and serious things in the world.”

His heart flipped up into his throat and for a moment he couldn't speak.

“You do understand, don't you, Cole?”

Oh, God yes, he understood. He folded her hand in against his chest and tightened his arm around her. “You know I understand, Jess. And dammit to hell, you know—” he steadied his voice “—that I love you.”

“Cole,” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“Right here? In front of Sheriff Rivera and everybody?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Right this instant. Especially in front of Sheriff Rivera and everybody.”

“No,” he whispered. “Come outside with me. I want to do this properly.”

Cole walked her around the corner of the barn, turned her to face him and drew her soft body against his. His thoughts careened around in his brain like caged squirrels. When she tipped her face up, he settled his mouth over hers and let himself enjoy what she offered.

After a long interval, he heard her moan and he lifted his head slightly. His groin ached with the driving hunger inside him.

“What brought this on all of a sudden?” he said against her lips.

“Dancing with Anderson Rivera.”

“How come you don't want
him
kissing you?”

“I should think that would be perfectly obvious,” she murmured.

He kissed her again. “Tell me.”

“I like you,” she breathed. “I think I may even love you. And I hardly know Sheriff Rivera.”

“That,” he said dryly, “is one helluva comfort. What about when you
do
know Rivera better?”

Her warm breath gusted near his ear. “Then I'll want to kiss you some more.”

All at once he had to set her apart from him. “Whoa, Jess. Slow down a minute.”

She just looked at him, her eyes beginning to darken the way they had when they made love that first night. Mercy, that was way last Christmas. Oh, God. She had no idea how many nights since then he'd lain awake, aching for her. Damn long nights.

He unhooked her arms from around his neck. “Jess, right now I can back off, but if we keep this up much longer, I won't be able to.”

“I don't want you to back off, Cole.”

He let out a long breath. “Hell's bells, honey, I thought you didn't want us to get serious. You're afraid of losing your newspaper, remember?”

“I do remember,” she said quietly. “And I know you don't want a committed relationship, either.” She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his neck.

“Jess, dammit, stop kissing me,” he groaned. “I want you like I've never wanted another woman, not even Maryann, but I'm only human.”

“What do you want, Cole? Tell me?”

“Ought to be pretty obvious. I want to get in that buggy and drive back to town and take you to bed. I want to make love to you.”

She gave him a long, misty-eyed look. “I'll get my shawl.”

* * *

Upstairs in her room, Cole puffed out the candle on the nightstand and reached for her. “Seems like years since I've been close enough to you to—” he slipped free the top button of her silky pink shirtwaist “—take off your clothes.”

He undid the rest of the buttons, slid the garment off her bare shoulder and pressed his lips against her warm skin. She tugged at his belt buckle.

Her fingers fluttered too close to his erection, and if she brushed against him he didn't think he could stand it. Quickly he stripped down to his underdrawers, then laid his hands at the fastening of her skirt.

She stepped out of the garment, and he carefully worked the hairpins out of the low bun at the back of her neck and dropped them to the floor. Then he untied her petticoat and next the ribbon of her chemise. Finally he unhooked her corset, tossed it away and spread his hand over her breast.

She murmured something. He bent, pressed his face between her breasts and ran his tongue over one nipple. God, she was sweet.

She made another little sound, and he turned to her other nipple. She brought his hands to her waist, and he freed the button of her pantalets. They slithered over her hips, and he shrugged off his drawers and fell backward onto the bed, bringing her down with him.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and he gathered it up in his fist, then brought it to his nose. “You smell like ripe strawberries,” he murmured.

“You smell like pine trees,” she said. She surprised him by running her tongue down his neck to his breastbone, and then on to his nipple, lightly nipping it with her teeth. It felt so exquisite he wanted to weep.

“And,” she breathed, “you taste like...late-summer plums.”

He touched his hand to the back of her head to keep her mouth where it was, but she moved to his navel and then—
damn!
—she wrapped her fingers around his erect member and touched the tip with her tongue.

His breath hissed in. In the next instant she drew his hand away from her breast, then pushed it farther down. When he slid a finger into her velvety folds, she cried out, and the next thing he knew he was inside her, moving in rhythm with her breathing and praying he could last until her release.

He had made love with her only twice before; each time it had been different, once sweet and once desperate. Tonight it was both. He didn't know how it happened, but something with dark wings settled over him and bore him up and up until he couldn't breathe. He wanted to shout, but he couldn't make a sound, could only move inside her slick warmth and soar far, far away.

She made a sound and suddenly went still. He felt her sheath close tight around him and begin to pulse in warm waves, and that pushed him over the edge.

“Jess.
Jess
.”

It had never been like this before, with anyone.

It scared the hell out of him.

Her cheeks were wet with tears. He kissed her face, her neck, licked up the moisture with his tongue and heard her long drawn-out sigh.

“Oh, my,” she said, a lazy smile in her voice.

“Jess.” He did his best not to withdraw; he wanted to keep holding her close. “Jess, I don't believe what just happened.”

“I do. It was beautiful, Cole. It is beautiful being with you. It always is.”

But then her breathing hitched.

Cole ran his hand slowly down her arm. “What's wrong?”

“I am wondering whether I am being fair to you.”

“To me? What about you? Your reputation could suffer. There could even be a child.”

“My reputation won't suffer if we are discreet,” she said. “And, if we are careful, there won't be a child.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I talked to Maddie Silver about how she...well, her twins were conceived by accident, but before she even knew she was expecting, she and Jericho were married. Doc Dougherty told her there are safe days and unsafe days for women.”

“So?”

“These are my ‘safe' days.”

“No,” he said flatly. “I'm not going to gamble.”

“But...but, Cole...”

He rolled to one side, taking her with him. “Let's get married.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I heard you. I just don't believe...how much whiskey have you drunk tonight?”

“Not enough, apparently. I'm stone-cold sober, and I'm asking you to marry me and I'm scared to death. And you think I don't know what I'm doing, is that it?”

“Maybe you do know, but
I
certainly don't. I thought you didn't want to marry again, ever.”

He hesitated. “I didn't. And I remember that you said you would never marry because of your newspaper.”

“I did say that, yes. And I meant it.”

“Then has something changed?”

“Nothing has changed for me, Cole. I still can't bear the thought of losing control over the
Sentinel
, but that doesn't mean...” Her eyes flooded with tears. “That d-doesn't mean I don't care for you.” She buried her face against his neck and he felt her body tremble.

He let out another groan. “Jess, I need to stop thinking about all this.”

“I can't stop thinking about it. Cole, listen. If I cut you loose, so to speak, you could find someone else, someone who wouldn't hesitate to be your wife.”

“I don't want anyone else.”

“Neither do I, really.”

“So...” He pressed his mouth against her hair. “That leaves us with each other.”

She nodded slowly. “You know, when you think about it, it's a matter of trust.”

“Damn right. You have to trust me not to usurp control over your family newspaper. And I have to trust you—” he gave a halfhearted laugh “—not to die and break my heart.”

“Oh, Cole,” she whispered. “I would never do that.”

He was quiet for a long minute, idly combing his fingers through her long, dark hair. “My wife didn't die accidentally, Jess. She was killed.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

He tightened his arms around her. “You came close, too, the night your office was firebombed.”

“Oh,” she said again. “I see now.”

He chuckled softly. “I'd still marry you. I'll just have to pray a lot.”

“I—I guess I'm the one who's not ready to take the risk.”

He sighed. “Guess not.” He felt as if he were butting up against an oak tree. She wouldn't budge, and he couldn't get her to bend. That meant he had no choice.

Damn. It was like opening a handsomely bound book to find all the pages had been ripped out. There would never be a story written on them. He pressed his lips into her hair. He loved her. And she loved him; at least she said she did.

But maybe not enough.