Sweetwater Seduction (3 page)
Read Sweetwater Seduction Online
Authors: Joan Johnston
Hadley was easily as tall as Big Ben, but he was lean and lanky where Big Ben had a barrel chest and heavy thighs that were the result of years spent behind a plow. Hadley had often wondered how Bliss could be so beautiful when he compared her delicate oval face with its pert nose and bowed lips to her father's square jaw and blunt features. He supposed all those hours in the sun were the cause of Big Ben's craggy face. Bliss, he knew, was never without a bonnet to protect her complexion. Looking at Big Ben's gray-streaked brown hair, he marveled at Bliss's golden chestnut curls, which had been soft and silky in his hands the afternoon he made her his own.
Thinking of Bliss that way in her father's presence made Hadley uncomfortable, and he blurted a greeting to cover his distress. “Hello, Mr. Davis. How are you tod
“What the hell does it matter to you how I am?” Big Ben replied.
Hadley forced himself to meet Big Ben's glare and cleared his throat to make sure he would have a voice to say, “Your daughter Bliss and I are good friends, Mr. Davis. I just wanted—”
“Nesters and ranchers can't be friends.”
“But Bliss and I—”
Big Ben grabbed a fistful of Hadley's plaid wool shirt and pulled him close enough that Hadley could smell the licorice on the farmer's breath when he ranted, “You stay away from my daughter!”
When Big Ben let go, Hadley stumbled against a counter, and a wire potato masher, a fruit jar cover wrench, and a tinned kitchen skimmer all clattered to the wooden floor.
A nester standing near the register guffawed.
Hadley lost both his temper and his good sense. “I'll see Bliss whenever I please,” he shouted. “And you can't stop me!”
“Oh, I'll stop you, boy. You set one foot on my place and I'll shoot you dead!”
In a small town like Sweetwater any kind of altercation could be expected to draw an audience. A gathering of both cowboys and nesters was on hand to hear the threats being aimed at Oak Westbrook's nearly grown boy by Big Ben Davis. It wasn't really clear whether it was a cowboy or a nester who threw the first punch. The only thing Hadley knew for sure was that it hadn't been either him or Big Ben.
By the time Sheriff Felton Reeves arrived on the scene, followed by Deputy Joe, who stayed carefully behind him, the rowdy free-for-all had spilled out of Tomlinson's General Store and into the street. Sheriff Reeves pulled out his Colt Peacemaker .45 and shot once into the air, freezing everyone in place. He took advantage of the moment of quiet to announce, “Anybody who ain't gone from here in one minute flat is going to spend the night in jail.”
Sheriff Reeves was a big, blond-haired, blue-eyed man, with a friendly-looking face and a deadly aim. After two years with Reeves as the sheriff of Sweetwater, nester and cowboy alike had learned to respect his word. The crowd quickly began to disperse.
Big Ben Davis made a point of confronting Hadley one more time. The farmer wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Just you remember what I said. You come near my girl and I'll kill you!”
It wasn't until he was halfway home that Hadley realized he hadn't picked up the supplies he had gone to town for. He started to turn around, but realized that his father's anger could hardly be worse than another scene with Ben Davis, so he kept on driving.
When he got home, he found horses tied up in front of the house that he knew from their bs belonged to Rusty Falkner, Cyrus Wyatt, and six other ranchers from surrounding spreads.
When Hadley walked in the front door, his mother took one look at his swollen face—he had a beauty of a black eye—and tried to haul him off to the kitchen in search of some steak to take down the swelling.
Hadley resisted her entreaties. “Where's Dad?” he demanded.
“He's in the middle of a meeting of the Sweetwater Stock Growers Association.”
Hadley stared at the closed door of his father's study and frowned. “Have they heard what happened in town?”
“Your father got word of it a few minutes ago from one of the hands who was there and saw the fracas. A brawl, Hadley! In the middle of town. And over that Davis girl. How could you?”
“Her name is Bliss, Mother. And I didn't start it.”
“That hardly matters under the circumstances. I'm sure your father is making arrangements right now to ensure the same thing won't be happening in the future.”
“What do you mean? He's not going to do anything to Ben Davis is he?”
“Well . . . I . . . I'm sure I don't know about that.”
Hadley feared the worst from what his mother hadn't said. He already had a hand on the door to his father's study before his mother realized what he intended to do. “You can't go in there, Hadley. Your father—”
Hadley stepped inside the room that served as a combination library, music room, and office for his father, shutting the door in his mother's face.
Oak looked up at his son from behind his rolltop desk, and after perusing the damage to Hadley's face said, “Sit down, Hadley. You've certainly earned the right to hear what we're planning.”
Hadley edged over to the corner and sat down on the upright piano bench in time to hear Cyrus Wyatt say, “When does he arrive?”
“I don't know, exactly,” Oak replied. “His telegram said he'd get here as quick as he could. I'd say by the end of this week, or the beginning of next, the troubleshooter we hired should be here.”
“Troubleshooter? What's that?” Hadley's question was met by grim looks on the faces around the room.
Finally, Oak replied, “Just what you think it is, son.”
“A hired gun?”
“One of the best,” Oak said. “Maybe
the
best,” he ame
“Why do we need a gunfighter?” Hadley demanded.
“He's not just a hired gun,” Oak explained. “He's a troubleshooter—someone who comes in to solve problems of any and every kind. We're hoping he can find out who's been rustling our cattle.”
“And who's been cutting fences and laying the blame at our door,” Cyrus Wyatt added.
“And if need be,” Rusty Falkner said, “he can handle any other problems that crop up.”
Hadley flushed as the men in the room stared at his battered face. “Ben Davis didn't start the fight.”
“It doesn't matter who started it,” Oak said, his teeth clamping on his cigar. “I heard about the threat Ben Davis made against you, and I heard why he made it. It's time Big Ben learned a few hard lessons.”
Hadley rose abruptly from his seat. “I think you're making a mistake, Dad.”
“Because you find a nester girl easy on the eyes, son, is no reason—”
“Don't talk about Bliss that way!”
“Look, son, maybe you'd better go let your mother take a look at those cuts on your face.”
Hadley stood there, sickeningly aware of his inability to stop the events his father had set in motion. He had to see Bliss. He wasn't sure exactly what he would say to her, exactly what they could do. But he knew in that instant that he had to get to her and hold her in his arms.
He turned and bolted from the room. Hadley was running by the time he hit the front porch, not stopping to answer when his mother called out to him. By the time he found his horse in the barn and saddled him, it was dusk. All he could think about was what would happen if the troubleshooter his father had hired ended up killing Big Ben Davis. Would Bliss still love him then? Would she still marry him? He had to find out.
Hadley was so absorbed in his thoughts that he paid little attention to the night sounds around him as his horse made its way across the dusky landscape. It seemed forever before he arrived at the gate leading to Big Ben Davis's farm and reached out to free the latch. He glanced off toward the cottonwoods where Bliss usually had a warm blanket spread and waiting for him. They would wrap themselves up in it and hold each other close, shutting out the rest of the world.
Sometimes they talked about the uncertain future that lay before them. Sometimes they would stare at the sky and wonder if there were other beings out there somewhere among the stars. Eventually, they always turned to each other, and the passion that rose between them would leave them breathless and aching.
As he freed the gate, Hadley heard the distinct lever action of a Winchester r being cocked. He thought instantly of Big Ben's threat. He hadn't believed Bliss's father would really kill him, but apparently he had been wrong. Hadley knew he was an easy target outlined by the setting sun, but he tried to save himself anyway.
Luck wasn't with him.
Before he had even freed his boots from the stirrups, Hadley heard the sharp crack of the Winchester and felt a shocking jolt in his chest. In a reflex action his spurs dug into his horse's belly and the animal reared. Hadley lost his balance and, unable to hang on, tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap.
Hadley couldn't tell how bad he was hurt, but he was having trouble moving, and that scared him. He was bleeding pretty bad too. The whistling wind chilled him where blood quickly soaked his shirt. The sharp rock under his left buttock was killing him. He tried to get up, but his arms were as limp as a well-used rope.
That was when he realized that whoever had shot him—he refused to believe it was Bliss's father, although he could think of no other likely suspect—might come around to finish the job. And that really scared him.
But no one came.
That was when he figured the bushwhacker planned to let him bleed to death. It wouldn't take long if he kept on bleeding like a stuck hog.
He wondered what Bliss would think when he didn't show up. She would probably think he had decided not to tempt fate. He wondered, as he drifted into unconsciousness, who would console her at his funeral . . . if his father let her come . . . if her father let her go . . .
Chapter 2
Too little temptation can lead to virtue.
B
LISS
D
AVIS HAD ONE DRIVING THOUGHT, AND THAT
was to reach Miss Devlin. Everything had gone so wrong! Hadley had been shot practically on her doorstep last night, and she didn't know whether he would live or die. He had been taken home to the Solid Diamond, so she couldn't even be near him.
Sheriff Reeves had come to the farm today with Deputy Joe and arrested her father. Everyone had heard Big Ben's warning to Hadley in the general store yesterday and figured he had simply carried out his threat. Bliss didn't deny her father's temper, but she knew from experience he was more bark than bite. She simply couldn't imagine her father shooting anyone!
It was Saturday, and with all the chores she had to do with her mother, there hadn't been a chance for her to slip away. Once everyone had gone to bed, she had sneaked out of the house and started at a fast walk along the path toward school. She needed to talk to Miss Devlin. Miss Devlin would know what she should do.
Bliss was so absorbed by her woes, she didn't hear anyone approaching until she was practically surrounded by cowbo. She recognized the brands on their horses. They were from the Solid Diamond. Anxious for news of Hadley, she approached one of them. “I'm Bliss Davis. Please, have you heard anything about how Hadley is doing? Is he going to be all right?”
The Solid Diamond hands had been drinking in town at the Dog's Hind Leg Saloon. Ordinarily they would have shunned any cowpoke who even spoke a disrespectful word to a lady. But talk about the cold-blooded ambush of Oak Westbrook's son had inflamed already high tempers and put them in an ugly mood.
“That's her, fellas. The nester bitch whose father shot the boss's boy.”
“My father didn't shoot anyone,” Bliss retorted.
“Whatcha doing out here all alone, missy? Who you hopin' to meet?”
“No one,” Bliss mumbled, startled by the malice in the cowboy's voice. Frightened, she started walking along the path again, but one cowboy spurred his horse to ride beside her. He leaned down and Bliss was assailed by the rank smell of cheap whiskey. “You're drunk!” she said in the most disdainful voice she could manage.
“Not hardly, little lady. Leastaways, not enough so's you'd notice the difference. Wanta come on up here and say howdy?”
“I most certainly do not!” Bliss was mortified by his words, horrified by his evident intention. Before she could take breath to scream, the cowboy had yanked her off her feet. He held her with one arm around her waist as he pressed his mouth against hers. His mouth was sloppy wet and his tongue nearly gagged her. Before he could do more, another cowboy had dismounted and dragged her down into his arms. He tripped on her trailing skirt and they both fell to the grassy ground.
“Please stop,” Bliss cried. “Don't touch me. Let me go!”
The drunken cowboys encircled her, some reaching for her flailing arms while others tried to grab her kicking feet. The only sounds were the grunt of one of the men when she kicked him in the groin with her boot, and the foul oath of another as she bit into a hand that clasped hers.
“Let her go.”
The three words hit the silence like bullets. The astonished cowboys stared in awe at the extraordinarily tall figure outlined by the scant moonlight. The man was dressed entirely in black from his hat right down to his boots. The wind lifted his black duster and spread it away from his body. It was too close to Halloween for the same thought not to have risen in every cowboy's mind: Was this apparition real? Or not?
Out of the corner of her eye Bliss saw the cowboy on the ground beside her reach for his gun and shouted, “Look out!”
The gun had barely cleared the cowboy's holster when a shot rang out. The cowboy slumped sideways with a loud groan, his bloody shoulder sliding across Bliss's skir
“Anybody else got any smart ideas?” the apparition demanded in a steely voice. When there was no answer the faceless voice ordered, “Get on your horses and get out of here.”
The cowboys grabbed their wounded comrade and were on their horses and gone in a matter of moments. Bliss wasn't sure whether to be grateful or terrified. The cowboys' attack on her had left her quaking. As the apparition moved closer the trembling turned to terror.
“Please. Don't come any closer,” she whispered.
“I don't mean you any harm.”
His voice was reassuring, gentle almost. Bliss found that even more frightening. Perhaps he only meant to put her off her guard before he took her for himself.
“I only want to help you,” the voice said.
Bliss was too petrified to move. Strong hands lifted her and she was cushioned against a broad chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of what she would see if she opened them.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Bliss nodded her head vigorously, keeping her eyes closed. She thought she heard a chuckle.
“Can I take you somewhere?”
Bliss decided that no ghost she had ever heard of had a sense of humor. She opened her eyes and peered up into the moonlit face of the stranger who had rescued her.
“Why, you're handsome!” she said, her voice filled with indignation. Suddenly she realized what she had said and her hands rose to cover her face in embarrassment. “I don't believe I said that.”
The man threw back his head and laughed. “Would you be happier if I looked fearsome?” he asked when he'd recovered his voice.
“Well, no. But you sure scared the liver out of me. I half expected you to be Lucifer himself,” Bliss admitted.
The stranger's features hardened. “Some would say I am.”
Bliss shivered.
“I'm scaring you again,” he said, his lips pressed flat in disgust. “I'll take you home.”
“Oh, no! I can't go home. I have to see Miss Devlin.”
“Miss Devlin?”
“My teacher. Her house is down this path a little way. Please, I'll be all right. You can let me go now.”
The stranger pursed his liin thought, then marched off with her in his arms in the opposite direction from Miss Devlin's house.
“Really, I'll be fine,” Bliss said. “I—”
“Be still.”
Bliss shut her mouth and kept it shut while the cowboy set her down and mounted a black-and-white paint gelding she hadn't noticed before. He reached down and grabbed her under the arms and lifted her as easy as you please into his lap.
“I think I'll make sure for my own peace of mind that you reach this ‘Miss Devlin' in one piece.”
Miss Devlin sat bolt upright in bed when she heard someone pounding on her door. She didn't even stop to put on a robe or slippers, simply dropped the volume of Greek plays she was reading and ran to throw open the door. Bliss Davis stood on her threshold. The girl's torn blouse was grass-stained and fresh blood smeared her striped cambric skirt.
“My God, Bliss! What happened?”
The young woman threw herself into Miss Devlin's arms, babbling incoherently about Hadley and cowboys and some devil dressed all in black. “Oh, Miss Devlin, it was horrible. I was nearly . . . I was almost . . . Oh, Miss Devlin, you have to help me.”
Miss Devlin felt Bliss trembling and her wrath grew for whoever had been so cruel as to molest the poor child. She settled Bliss on the brocade Victorian sofa in her parlor, unconsciously straightening the lace doily that protected the arm when Bliss knocked it askew. It was then she sensed the presence of someone else in the room.
Miss Devlin turned around and looked up—a surprise in itself since she was so tall—into the probing eyes of a man she had no doubt was Bliss's “devil dressed all in black.”
His face was masked by shadows, yet she saw a jutting chin (a sure sign of stubbornness), a blade of nose, sharp cheekbones, and dark, predatory eyes. It was the face of a hunter. Yet there was the look about him of the hunted—cautious, wary. From his challenging stance, however, she was certain he was the kind more inclined to fight than to flee.
Her heart was pounding, yet it wasn't fear she felt. He took another step inside the room, and the lamplight brought his face into definition. Upon a second, closer look she thought,
he likes to win, and probably does; he likes to be right and probably is;
and lastly, because she found his dark eyes and black, collar-length hair so compellingly attractive, she thought,
he's used to being fawned over by women, and they probably do.
As a teacher, Miss Devlin knew there was always an exception to every rule. And in this man's case, she was it.
“Miss Devlin, I presume.”
The sound of his voice, deep and melodious and touched with a hint of humor, shiver. She wasn't quite sure of the source of his levity, until she noticed his gaze lazily raking her from head to foot. It was only then she realized that her titian hair was haphazardly tucked up inside a quaint, lace-edged sleeping cap. She was also barefoot and dressed in no more than a plain cream-colored flannel nightshift which, mercifully, was roomy enough to completely disguise the feminine figure beneath it. To make her dishabille complete, she was still wearing her reading spectacles!
Despite her best efforts to prevent it, Miss Devlin felt a blush rising up her neck. By the time it had stained her cheekbones she possessed the appalling knowledge that if she didn't say something soon, the stranger would somehow divine her confused feelings.
“I'm Miss Devlin” was all she could manage. To her dismay, the voice she heard was throaty, almost seductive. There was nothing the least bit schoolmarmish about it.
“Somehow you're not what I expected,” he replied.
The grin that split his face gave Miss Devlin the goad she needed to get hold of herself. He certainly wasn't admiring her beauty; more likely he was ridiculing her appearance. Stunned at how totally she had succumbed to the mystery surrounding this dark stranger—who was openly laughing at her—Miss Devlin sought to gain control of the situation by taking the offensive.
“I don't allow guns in my house,” she said in an icy voice.
The stranger looked down at the Colt .45 tied low on his right leg and then back up at Miss Devlin. “My gun goes where I go,” he answered in equally daunting tones.
“Guns kill people,” she said.
“Yes, they do,” he agreed.
“I abhor violence.”
“I'm a peaceful man.”
Miss Devlin's mouth puckered. She arched her neck and looked down her nose at the gunman through her reading spectacles. It was a pose guaranteed to cow even the most argumentative man into submission. And to a point, it worked.
“I don't go looking for trouble,” the stranger amended.
“But somehow trouble always finds you,” Miss Devlin retorted, angry, but not sure why. “I've always suspected men like you wear guns in a futile effort to disguise your hebetudinous natures. And now I'm sure of it.”
The word
hebetudinous
rolled off Miss Devlin's tongue with all the ostentation of the wise preaching to the foolish. It wouldn't be the first time she had called a man stupid to his face with a word he couldn't understand. She was certain
hebetudinous,
spoken with just the right note of condescension, was exactly what she needed to put this dark-eyed stranger in his place.
To her amazemen the gunman retorted, “I've always suspected women like you use big words when they know they're in the wrong. And now I'm sure of it.”
