Sweetwater Seduction (16 page)

“I thought you had business out of town,” Kerrigan countered.

“So did I,” muttered under her breath.

“It'll wait,” Felton said.

The two men stood their ground, but it would only have taken one wrong move to set them at each other's throats. Eden didn't want any fighting in her home, and most especially not over her person. She stepped back, glancing from one man to the other. Felton's blue eyes had turned to ice. Kerrigan's dark eyes burned hot as fire.

“Before either one of you starts acting like an idiot, I suppose I'd better set two more places at the table.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Felton said.

“Tell me what?” Eden asked, her hand on the beveled glass door to the china cabinet.

Felton cleared his throat. “I ran into Reverend Simonson when I went to check on Pete Eustes at the undertaker. The reverend asked me to tell you he's going to spend the evening with Pete's brother. So he and his wife ain't coming to dinner.”

Eden's jaw dropped. “Oh.” She looked from Felton to Kerrigan to the table. “I guess I have the right number of settings after all.”

The two men circled stiff-legged around each other toward the table, resembling nothing so much as two wolves ready to do battle for a bitch in heat.

“I thought you understood Miss Devlin is mine,” Felton said through gritted teeth.

“That remains to be seen, doesn't it?” the Texan answered with a dangerous smile.

Miss Devlin cleared her throat to speak, and both men immediately glared at her. While she had been the source of their animosity toward each other, she no longer mattered in the scheme of things. This was male against male. She might as well not have been there. For a moment she considered simply walking out the door. Until she realized that really wouldn't solve anything.

“Why don't you two have a seat while I finish supper.”

“I'd rather stand,” Kerrigan said.

“Me, too,” Felton said.

Totally exasperated, Miss Devlin said, “Suit yourselves. I have to go cook the steak.”

But she didn't move, because the Texan's dark eyes were intent on her, telling her without words just how well her paisley linen princess sheath conformed to her waist and bodice. She closed her eyes in an attempt to thwart the feelings curling up inside her. Damn him! How could he do this to her so easily? And why didn't it happen when Felton looked at her?

When Eden opened her eyes, Kerrigan was grinning. And Felton's face looked like a thundercloud about to bur

“I'll be back soon.” She turned and shoved the door open between the dining room and kitchen—and immediately saw the relish tray she had prepared earlier. She hurried over and picked up the tray, which contained slices of raw carrot, sweet pickles (which were all she could abide), and pickled peppers, and hurried back out to the parlor.

“Can I offer you gentlemen something to whet your appetites while I finish dinner?”

She thrust the crystal dish into Felton's hands so he had no choice except to take it.

“I'll be back in just a minute. Make yourselves comfortable.” She gestured vaguely toward the reception chair and sofa in the parlor, and hurried back into the kitchen, letting the door between the two rooms swing closed behind her.

Suddenly she realized she hadn't offered the two men anything to drink, and rushed back the direction she had come. Only Felton had obviously had the intention of joining her, because as she came out of the kitchen he was heading in. The swinging kitchen door slammed right into the crystal relish dish in his hands, sending the contents flying into his face and across the front of his shirt. He stood there stunned for a moment, with sweet pickle juice dripping from his nose and chin.

“Oh no! I'm so sorry.” Miss Devlin took the crystal dish out of his hands and set it on the table. At the same time she grabbed a linen napkin and began dabbing ineffectually at his sticky face. “This is awful! Your shirt—your vest—”

“Don't worry about the shirt, I—”

She had Felton's vest halfway down his arms when he grasped her hands to stop her.

“I don't care about the shirt,” he said. “It doesn't matter.”

Eden's face was a picture of distress. “I'm so sorry, Felton. I never thought . . .”

“Look, Miss Devlin. I think maybe I better not stay—”

“Oh, no. You
must
stay. I mean—”

Felton watched Miss Devlin's glance fly to Kerrigan and back. His lips flattened as he pressed her hands and said, “I think maybe it would be better if I came to supper another time.”

“But it's all ready,” Eden protested. “Except for the steak, of course, and—”

Felton applied enough pressure to her hands to cut her off. “I'm a little too sticky to enjoy sitting down with company right now. Besides,” he said with a glance over his shoulder, “two's company. Three's a crowd.”

“But I—”

“I—” Eden's eyes widened as he released her hands and headed for the door. She turned accusing eyes toward Kerrigan, and waited only until the door had closed behind Felton to hiss in outrage, “This is all your fault!”

“Does this mean you don't want me to stay for supper?”

Miss Devlin fought the urge to throw something. “I want you out of my house.”

“It's a shame to let that steak go to waste,” he said with a grin.

“It can rot for all I care!” Miss Devlin felt tears of frustration filling her eyes and fought to keep them back.

Kerrigan started toward her.

“Stay away from me. Don't touch me. I—”

She tried to evade him, but his arms encircled her, his hands offering comfort as they roamed across her back.

“Hey. You aren't going to let a little spilled pickle juice get you down, are you?” he teased.

She kept herself as rigid as she could, her head turned away from him, her eyes staring blankly across the room as she spoke in a choked voice. “I didn't think anything else could go wrong tonight, you know, because my mashed potatoes turned out lumpy, and the pumpkin pie is burnt—but raw on the inside—and the snap beans are ruined. But then Felton showed up. And you showed up. And now he's gone. And you won't leave.”

“No,” he murmured. “I'm here to stay.”

“You can't stay.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't like the way I feel when . . .”

“How do you feel, Eden,” he said in a voice that was soft, coaxing.

Somehow she found herself cradled in the Texan's arms, with her head on his shoulder, and his chin resting against her temple. His hand reached up under her coiled hair and caressed her nape. Eden felt her body relaxing and forced it back to rigidity. “This is ridiculous. Let me go.”

“All right. As soon as you tell me how I make you feel.”

Eden's head snapped around to face him. “No!”

The callused fingers at her nape thrust up into her hair, and he used his hold to tug her head back so she was staring up into his dark, fathomless eyes.

Sheed her eyes to shut out the need in his eyes . . . fearing he would see the answering need in hers. The hold on her hair tightened and she opened her eyes against the beginnings of pain.

“Don't look like that,” he said in a fierce voice.

“Like what?”

“Like a green-broke bronc in a thunderstorm. Skittish. Ready to run. What are you so afraid of, Eden?”

The quiver in Miss Devlin's chin warned her she was about to lose control. She never got the chance.

Kerrigan's lips came down hard on hers. It was an angry kiss, his mouth rough and demanding. She had no time to feel frightened; she was too busy feeling other things—anger, and then passion, hot and biting, and totally overwhelming in its intensity. His touch softened, and his tenderness was even harder to resist.

She was panting hard when Kerrigan finally wrenched his mouth from hers. Her hands were tangled in his hair, while his hands—were in places they ought not to be.

“How dare you!”

“I think we've been through this before,” he said sardonically, letting his hands slide (one up, one down) to her waist.

“Let me go.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Suddenly, she was free.

Kerrigan walked away from her to retrieve his sheep-skin coat from the sofa, hooking it over his shoulder with two fingers. “I'll be in touch.” He dropped his Stetson onto his head and quietly closed the door on his way out.

Miss Devlin slumped into the reception chair, her body still tingling from the aftereffects of Kerrigan's kiss. She couldn't understand what had come over her. He could make her feel . . . so many things. It would be lying to say she wasn't attracted to him. She was. But it was more important than ever not to let her heart lead her head. She had to do a better job of keeping her distance.

But that was going to be much harder after this kiss, and all the firsts that had come along with it. The first time a man had nibbled on her lip in a touch racing the border between pleasure and pain. The first time a man had touched her breast, the brush of his thumb against her nipple causing it to harden against his hand. The first time a man's hand had soothed the flesh along her hip. The first time a man had pulled her close so she could feel the hard evidence of his desire for her.

Miss Devlin moaned. No wonder Claire Falkner had cried out against taking an oath to forgo such pleasures. She could see now how the kettle of worms she had opened could easily become rattlesnakes.

Miss Devlin moaned again. Tomorrow night was the annual Sweetwater Halloween Party and Dance. She would have to face ase husbands and wives knowing she was responsible for keeping them apart. Not even her plan had been enough to avoid another shooting—this one resulting in death. She would need to speak to the women to make sure this latest incident did not deter them from the course they had set. It was more important than ever that they remain firm.

At least she wouldn't have to worry about running into Kerrigan at the dance. After dark he disappeared out onto the plains in a deadly hunt for rustlers. She wasn't worried about the Association's hired gun. Eden Devlin wasn't going to let herself care enough for any man to worry about him. But she did want peace in the valley. And that was how she justified the thought that sprang into her head.

Please, please, let Kerrigan find the rustlers without any more violence.

So instead of whirling Miss Devlin in a lively polka, he was sitting in the dark on his paint horse in the bitter cold waiting for the rustlers to make their move. He had picked a spot in a stand of pines on Solid Diamond land that provided cover and still gave him a good view of the herd grazing on the grassy plains below him. On a hill in the distance he could see the line shack where Oak Westbrook had stationed a couple of hands to help keep an eye on things.