Sinful Suspense Box Set (24 page)

“Hey,” a deep voice called from above. I peered up to the top of the bank. He was jogging along next to us, once again with an open shirt. But this time he had no gun holster, and he hadn’t taken the time to pull his suspenders up or put on his shoes. A bright white smile, that was as appealing as his smooth, clear voice, sparkled from beneath the shade of his hat brim.

I felt the blush return to my cheeks. “Forgive me. I heard the— sounds— and I thought someone was in trouble. I hadn’t meant to spy.”

He stomped down the slope.

“Whoa.” I pulled Gypsy to a halt.

He was definitely a man and not a boy, but he was young, early twenties like me. He walked closer and gazed up at me. “In trouble, eh? Trying to decide if I should be insulted or not.”

“I believe there’s only a fine line of distinction between groans of pain and groans of pleasure,” I said confidently, but suddenly I felt thoroughly ashamed that I’d stopped to watch.

He laughed. The sound was as rich as his deep voice. “And you know this because—?”

“That is none of your business, Mr.— uh, Jarrett, correct?”

“Yes, but you can call me Jackson. And you are—?”

“I’m Charli.”

He grinned up at me. “Short for Charlotte?”

“Nope. Just Charli. My mom’s dad was named Charles.” I glanced back in the direction we’d just come from. “Did you leave her alone up there?”

“She had a car parked up on the road. She had to get back home.”

“You didn’t feel the need to see her home safely?”

“Her pa doesn’t care much for me.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I said with a smile. “I thought she was blonde.”

“Yeah, well.” Lines creased alongside his mouth as it turned up in a grin. Everything about the man was appealing. Even those damn creased lines. He took off his hat and smoothed back the dark hair on top of his head. It was shaved short along the sides in the popular gangster undercut style and, with the roguish twinkle that seemed permanent in his blue eyes, it fit him perfectly. He reached up and patted Gypsy’s neck. The mare turned her muzzle his direction and pressed it against his arm.

“I must warn you, Gypsy is a notorious flirt.”

He stroked her nose. “She’s a beauty. Percheron, right? Is she yours?”

“No, she belongs to Sadie, the woman who performs with her in the show. I just take her out for rides occasionally.”

I looked pointedly at his naked chest. He started buttoning his shirt. Although, he seemed just as inclined to stand in front of me half-dressed.

“I’m just wondering what the odds are of meeting a man twice engaged in the same activity. Although, obviously with different partners.” I prodded Gypsy forward. He walked along next to us.

“Guess I’ve blown two chances to make a good first impression.”

“You’ve made an impression, all right. I’m assuming you are the town rake, the village heartbreaker?”

He stopped and pushed his hat back to get a better look at me. Gypsy stopped too. My horse was smitten. Jackson looked slightly hurt by my assessment. With the crisp black felt fedora, wrinkled hemp shirt and magnetic blue gaze, he looked one part city boy, one part country boy and one part trouble. “I haven’t broken any hearts that haven’t wanted to be broken. The women around here know what they’re getting into when they step out with me. They know I don’t give my heart or make promises to anyone.”

“So, what you’re saying is you’re heartless?”

He flinched at my words, which I hadn’t expected.

“Again, forgive me. Some men pride themselves on being heartless. It seems from your reaction, you aren’t one of them.”

“Not heartless. I just don’t give mine out. Makes life simpler.” Sadness edged his tone. He pushed his hat down and walked on. Gypsy followed without me prodding her. “You sure speak your mind freely.”

“A necessity that comes from growing up on the road, living in tents with carnival workers as my only family.”

“Makes sense, I suppose. Ouch.” He stopped and wiped something from the bottom of his bare foot and then hurried to catch up to us. “I guess your job is taking care of the horse?”

“Among other things,” I said. “Where are you heading anyhow?”

“I live a few miles up the road from the river. Pretty close to where your
family
is setting up. Looks like there is room for two on her back,” he said.

“Are you suggesting I give you a ride on my horse?”

The sunlight grew stronger as we reached the tail end of the forested path. Even with a hat to shade his eyes, he squinted as he lifted his face to me. “I’d be much obliged. We pass Hart’s Emporium on the way. I’ll buy you a ginger ale for your trouble. I’ll even spring the extra nickel to have one from the icebox. Nice and cold.”

Everything in my head was telling me to just ride on. “I suppose you get everything you want when it comes to girls?”

His smile was nothing short of stunning. “Not everything.”

I huffed my consent. As tall as he was, Gypsy stood above seventeen hands. “If you can figure a way to hop up here without pulling me off, then I suppose a chilled ginger ale would be nice.”

He glanced around as he yanked his shoes on over dirty feet and pulled up his suspenders. There were no boulders to stand on. He took hold of Gypsy’s bridle and moved her closer to the slope. He stepped onto the higher ground. I scooted farther up on the horse’s withers. He braced his hands on her back and vaulted himself up and over, settling in behind me.

“Masterful,” I said.

“When I was a kid, we had a tall plow horse. I learned to climb on her back from wherever I was standing.” As long as Gypsy’s back was, there was still little room for both of us without some physical contact. I scooted back as much as I could. Warmth radiated off his body as his chest came whisper close to my back. He smelled of grass and shaving powder and perfume, his auburn haired friend’s perfume, no doubt. I pushed my legs into Gypsy’s sides. With some reluctance, she moved forward.

“Very nice. Is that French?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Is what French?”

“The perfume you’re wearing.”

“You like that, huh? I only wear it on special occasions.”

“Special occasions like having a roll in the forest and hitching a ride on a horse?”

“Yes. And the ginger ale. Don’t forget the ginger ale. Turn her here up to the road.” He leaned forward to point, and this time, his hard chest pressed against my back. I held my breath until he sat back. The climb up from the river was awkward with two riders. Jackson had no choice except to grab my waist. It was only a fleeting touch, but the heat from his hands lasted long after he’d removed them.

We reached the road. The shadows of midafternoon stretched out next to us. “So, Mr. Jarrett— Jackson— aside from keeping the women in town busy, what do you do?”

He laughed. “Damn, I guess I have no chance of ever redeeming myself in your eyes. I, uh, I’m in the exporting business,” he said.

“I see. I figured it was something like that. Your clothes, the haircut, the holster, they all point to
export
.” I squeezed my legs to push Gypsy on. “My horse is really milking this double rider thing.”

“Am I too heavy for her? I could hop off.”

“No, you’re fine.”

Either side of the road was covered with a carpet of tall grass and wildflowers. “It sure is pretty out here. Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Born in the house I was raised in,” he said proudly.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you speak with a little more sophistication than I would have expected from a boy who grew up out here. Or is that just an act to impress the ladies?” I glanced back, and ridiculously, I’d forgotten how close he was sitting. His nearness temporarily flustered me, and I shifted unintentionally sideways. He pressed a hand against my side to keep me from slipping off.

“Watch yourself. It’s a long way down. And in response to you observation— I don’t mind. It’s not an act. My ma was a teacher before she met my pa and moved here. She was a big believer in the power of books and learning.”

“Good for her. She must miss teaching.”

He grew quiet for a second. “Both my parents died while I was in France.”

“Sorry to hear that. Both my parents are gone, as well.” The clacking of Gypsy’s massive feet sent a flurry of birds from a bush. They twittered away in a cloud of feathers.

“This horse is a steady mount,” he said.

I reached down and patted Gypsy’s neck. “Wouldn’t be good to have a skittish horse under you when you’re standing on your head and doing somersaults on its back.”

“That makes sense.”

If not for the man sitting behind me, the serene landscape, Gypsy’s rhythmic movement and the warm sun would have made me sleepy. But he was tucked in close enough that I could hear his breathing, and his nearness kept me very much awake.

“You haven’t told me how you became part of the traveling show.” His smooth voice had been the first thing I’d noticed about him. Having it drift over my shoulder only deepened its appeal. For a second, I imagined what it would be like to have the man whisper something sensual or provocative in my ear. An involuntary tremble went through me at the thought of it.

“You can’t possibly be cold,” he said, obviously sensing my movement.

“Not at all. And to answer your question—” and to switch topics, I thought wryly, “my mother worked for the carnival. She was married to Buck Starfield. He’s my stepfather. After she died, I had no place else to go. So, I stayed with him. I’ve been on the road since I was eight.”

“Guess you’ve seen a lot of the country.”

“Yes and no. We’ve never really taken the show west of the Mississippi. Buck has plans to go to California one day, when there’s enough money for new trucks. The ones we have now probably wouldn’t make it.”

“Turn on that path up ahead. It leads to the market and hopefully, a ginger ale, now that I’ve promised it”

“You realize if the store is out of it, then I have to ride you back to the river and dump you off where I found you.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I could come up with
some other way
to repay you for the ride,” he said suggestively. I ignored him. He was obviously as skilled at flirting as he was at vaulting onto a horse.

A small wood shingled building with a front porch and a big dust covered sign that read Hart’s Emporium loomed in the distance. With three front windows and shutters in bad need of fresh paint, it seemed the store had lived a previous life as a family home.

Two girls, who looked to be in their late teens, sat on the front steps of the store eating ice cream. Enthusiastic smiles popped up on their faces when they saw Jackson drop down off the horse. He turned around and unexpectedly reached up to take hold of my waist before I could slide off. I braced my hands on his shoulders. They were hard as steel beneath my palms. His hands were big and strong. They nearly encircled my waist as he lowered me slowly to the ground. He was even taller than I’d realized. We were mere inches from each other. I dropped my gaze, feeling suddenly shy about the whole, slow descent from Gypsy’s back.

Jackson removed his hands from my waist. I found the courage to peer up at him. “Cinnamon and gold,” he said in that rich whiskey tone.

“Pardon?”

“Your eyes. They are cinnamon and gold.”

My face warmed, and I looked away, toward the store. “You promised a cold drink.”

“I did. I’ll be right back.”

A short, stout woman with hair the color of caramels piled up high on her head and round rosy cheeks dotted with freckles was pulling a box off the back of a horse cart.

“I’ll wait out here with Gypsy. If anything happened to her I’d become an unwilling participant in the knife throwing act.”

“There’s a knife throwing act?”

“No, but there would be if I lost Gypsy.”

“Jackson? I thought that was you,” the woman called. She lifted her face to get a better view of me over the box of goods she was carrying.

“Just stopped by for a couple of cold sodas. This is Charli from the traveling show.” Jackson hurried over to her and took hold of the box.

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said. “I’m Mabel. If there’s anything you travelers need, be sure to shop at Hart’s Emporium. I have everything you can think of.”

I waved to her. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to let the others know.”

“Hey ya, Jackson, have you seen Bodhi?” One of the girls asked. “I’ve been looking all over for him.”

“He took off with Noah this morning. They were going fishing.” He disappeared into the store behind the woman.

The girl who had asked the question licked her ice cream cone and then tilted her head questioningly at me. “You came in with the show?”

“I did.”

They both squealed with excitement. “Are you almost open?” the other girl asked. “We’ve been waiting and waiting.”

“Next week.”

“Can’t wait. Are you seeing Jackson?” one asked boldly.

I smiled.  “No, I just gave him a ride on my horse.”

Jackson walked back out with two bottles of ginger ale. Rose had been right, ‘awfully damn pretty for a country boy’. I shook myself out of the thought. He was just a new face in a new town, albeit a really fine new face. In less than two months, we’d be packing up the tents and trunks and heading away from this place. No sense in even getting to know him.

He handed me the bottle. It felt like ice.

“You weren’t kidding when you promised a cold drink.” I put the bottle to my mouth. The liquid was fizzy and refreshing as it cascaded down my dry throat.

He watched me drink it. “Good, eh?”

“Delicious. Aren’t you going to drink some?”

“I was having too much fun watching you.” He lifted the bottle. His Adam’s apple moved along his throat as he gulped down half the bottle’s contents. Amazingly, he even made the simple, everyday task of drinking appealing. He lowered the bottle with a sigh. “My house is just a short walk from here. I suppose I can make it the rest of the way on foot.”

“Will you be coming to the show?” My head was telling me to leave off and not think about him anymore. But the frivolous part of me that yearned for companionship, for a man’s touch, seemed to be overriding my common sense.