Taming Theresa (8 page)

He ran, still a little unsteady, but sobering
rapidly, back up to Theresa's room.

She sat stiffly up against the pillows
clutching her robe to her chest.

"Look! This’ll do the trick," he said,
holding up the ‘Boo Boo’ ice for her inspection. All he got for his
trouble was another dramatic eye roll.

Carefully securing the gel packs to her ankle
by wrapping them in a knotted towel from the bathroom, he stepped
back, admiring his handiwork.

"That does feel better," she said. "Still
hurts though. Are you sure it's not broken? Maybe we should elevate
it more?"

"Yeah, good idea." He stacked pillows and
gingerly moved her leg. When his hands touched her smooth shapely
leg, electricity shot through him. His fingers lingered longer than
necessary massaging tenderly. She said nothing, watching from her
pile of plumped pillows.

With an effort, he let go of Theresa and took
a step back. Embarrassed, he realized that the brief contact had
left him fully, almost painfully aroused. He took two or three
wooden steps in the general direction of the bathroom. "Uh, I'll be
right next door if you need anything. Okay? Good night, Theresa.
I'll see you at breakfast."

"Wait! Could you please help me go to the
bathroom?"

"Oh god," he groaned.

"What do you mean, oh god? If you hadn't
barged in on me like that, none of this would have happened. It’s
all your fault. Now, just help me this once. Please get me into the
bathroom and I won't ask you for another thing all night."

"All right, just give me a minute."

She stared at him. "Are you okay? Did you
hurt yourself too?"

"Uh, no. I'm fine."

"John? You're walking funny.”

"Yeah? Well, that’s all your fault."

The stranger had an honest face and kindly
manner. He was, Tamsin judged, one who might be trusted. As she
approached the table where they were seated, he turned his friendly
gaze in her direction.

By far the largest of the three men, his
ruddy farmer's face had been scoured by sun and wind and his hands
were callused and creased like the surface of the tavern table.

A size too small for his frame, his coat was
that of a hessian private, dark green with red collar and cuffs of
the Jaeger Battalion. His two companions were both dressed in
soiled brown homespun, battered tricorn hats on the table at their
elbow.

Wordlessly she retrieved the pewter plates on
which they'd eaten their supper of cold meat and bread. One of the
other men lifted his empty tankard and grinned at her as well, but
he looked less friendly then his larger companion.

"More ale gentlemen?" she asked, looking
quickly at each of them.

All three nodded their assent. The big man
pushed his mug toward her and quietly answered, "If you please
miss, we'd like that. An excellent ale you serve here."

"Thank you sir," she muttered, as she
gathered the tankards and turned away. Had one of them brushed his
hand against her backside as she turned, or had she only imagined
it?

Admittedly, Tamsin was not her usual cheerful
self today. She couldn't keep from brooding over the man she'd
thought she could trust, even believed she'd been in love with.
Jacob, with whom she'd had an understanding, had twice betrayed
her. She'd learned that he'd gone over to the other side in this
bitter war. Then she'd caught him rolling in the hay with that
slow-witted tart, Sally Applegate. He'd better not have the nerve
to show his face in here again. The more she thought of it the
angrier she became.

As she drew ale from the tap, she frowned at
the tavern's common room. Four or five tables were occupied by
small knots of men, engaged in their own quiet conversations.
Furtively, they eyed one another over their tankards.

In this neutral ground along the Albany Post
Road during the fifth year of war, any stranger was suspect.
Opposing armies and local brigands struck at one another, robbing
and burning. Loyalists and rebels, former neighbors, raided one
another's homes, carting men off to captivity on the thinnest of
pretexts. The unfamiliar big man and his two companions drew wary
glances from the other drinkers.

Turning, she stared briefly at her reflection
in the small looking glass that hung on the wall behind the bar
counter. With an effort, she changed her pained expression to a
more agreeable, if watery smile. Her long golden hair had slipped
from her bun and hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Slate blue
eyes could cast a piercing glance, or deepen to a soft gray,
inviting as the surface of a calm sea. Short and buxom, she came
from sturdy German and Dutch stock. Her breath escaped in a sigh of
resignation and her long skirts swept the floor, rustling as she
rounded the bar, deftly carrying three full tankards.

The strangers murmured their thanks as she
set down their ale. She was about to speak, when one of them, stood
and turned to face her. He was unsteady on his feet, and she liked
not at all his lecherous leer. One hand stretched out
tentatively.

"I'll own for a price miss, you'd be willin'
to show me what's under that lovely apron and those pretty skirts
now," he said in a voice much too loud for the subdued tavern
room.

From the big man came a cautioning, "Isaac,
sit yourself down."

Something inside of her snapped like a
fraying cord. Anger and frustration had been building in her all
day. Without thinking, she swung her open palm in a wide ark,
landing with a whip crack on the upstart's face. He reeled and
fought to keep his balance. Tamsin wasn't finished. With both
hands, she shoved hard, sending him toppling over his chair, where
he fell into a frothing pool of spilled ale. Everyone in the
tavern, including his friends, erupted with hearty laughter.

From: Love in Rebellion, by Tori Baxter

Vicky leaned back, reading over her last few
paragraphs. “Love in Rebellion" would be her eighth in a series of
torrid historical romances. Fascinated by the legends surrounding
Paulding's Rest, she'd tapped into a wealth of information when she
began researching the tavern’s history. Even though there were
wedding details that required her attention, she felt the need to
get the story onto the page, while still fresh in her mind.

Jack entered her small corner office behind
the farmhouse kitchen. Setting down two mugs of steaming coffee at
her elbow, he gathered her in his arms for a kiss.

"Good morning,” he spoke softly into sweet
smelling hair and was rewarded with a beaming smile as he sat in
the chair beside her desk, cradling his own cup.

"Thanks, this is just what I needed.” She
took a tentative sip of the coffee testing the temperature on her
lips.

“How's it coming?"

Vicky turned back to her laptop. "Pretty
good, I think. You know it's amazing how simple little things in
life continually give you new ideas to write about."

"Are you going to tell me about the new
book?”

She looked at him mischievously. “I’ll need
you to do some research for the love scenes.”

Jack smiled. “That goes without saying, but
what’s it about?

“You’ve probably guessed with all my
questions about the past. It’s based on John's history of the
tavern and all his tales of the Revolution in and around Dutchess
County."

“That’s all you needed to get started?” Jack
looked surprised.

“Well, that and many hours of research. I can
take liberties with my characters, but the history must be
accurate.”

“When can I read it?” he asked sipping.

“I haven’t gotten much past the outline and
first chapter.” She hesitated, frowning at her computer screen.
“I’ve never had anyone see my writing before I was finished. I
could bring it on our honeymoon then you could read it over and
we'll talk."

“Not on our honeymoon.” He leaned in and
kissed her passionately, murmuring into her ear, “We'll be too
busy, Sweetheart. Why don’t we start now?”

Vicky giggled and pulled away. “How am I
supposed to get any writing done?”

“Well, you were asleep when I got home last
night and I didn't want to wake you. By the way, how was the girl
party?"

"Let me see,” Vicky held up her hand and
began to count on her fingers. “Marsha was still nauseous and
didn't want to eat, and of course, couldn't drink. Theresa seemed
upset and left early. I guess her mind was on the break up with
Tony. Penny didn't stay long. The baby has the sniffles, and Jimmy
has a nasty cold. Diane's all bummed out because everyone else
seems to be getting married and she doesn't even have a date for
our wedding. Then she got all weepy and hit the cheesecake and the
Mojitos pretty hard. She slept here last night, but she won’t be up
any time soon. Other than that, we had a blast.” She smiled at
Jack. “How about you?"

“We had a good time. Doc and Ralph put out a
big spread and the food was great, not that I could eat much after
Aunt Rose’s feast. Everyone told jokes and gave me their advice on
marriage. John got loaded, so Vince had him stay in town at the B
& B."

“That’s good.”

He paused for effect, grinning broadly. "The
stripper was really hot. Want to know the details?"

Vicky rounded on him, eyes wide. "What?"

"Just kidding.” He held up his hands
defensively. “There was no stripper. You know Doc wouldn't have
allowed that. Wanted to see your reaction though."

"You want a stripper? I'll show you a
stripper.” She gave him a sultry look, got up, and straddled his
legs. Her skirt slid up her thighs as she slowly lowered herself
onto his lap. Brushing his cheek with a soft kiss, she opened her
blouse until it slipped off her shoulders revealing the soft mounds
of her breasts enticingly close to his lips. Tugging the lacy bra
down, Vicky offered her nipple and his lips parted.

"They're all asleep upstairs," she whispered.
“Probably will be for a while yet.”

Outside tires crunched on the gravel
driveway. They sighed and she reluctantly buttoned up again.

Holding her tightly, Jack kissed her once
more before she could stand up. “Hey,” he whispered. “Don’t forget
where we left off.”

She winked at him and quickly sat down at her
computer, saved her work and closed the laptop.

"When are you going to come out of the closet
and tell people that you and Tori Baxter are one in the same?" he
asked.

"Maybe never. I prefer it that way.” She
smiled. “It was a secret between just Marsha and me, until you came
along. You don't mind do you?"

Jack smiled. "Whatever makes you happy. Just
remember, if I could figure it out, anyone could."

"No, I don't think so.” She eyed him over the
rim of the coffee mug. “You're smarter than the average upstate
apple farmer."

Jack looked out the kitchen window. "It’s
John again. What now?"

The car raced up the gravel drive until John
pressed hard on the brake, jerking to a halt before he shifted
abruptly into park. Lowering his head to the steering wheel, he
groaned. There was sand under his eyelids. Without looking in a
mirror, he could feel the redness. Uncombed, his hair stuck up,
still wet from his shower.

“I'll help you out. Just stay there ‘til I
come around,” he growled at Terry. John pulled his long legs
gradually out of the car and stood slowly, squinting into the
morning sunlight.

“None of this is my fault,” she muttered.

He stretched and yawned, then winced with
pain. “You’re killing me, woman.” Hobbling around the car, John
opened the passenger side door and reached in, lifting her into his
arms. Giving the car door a shove with his hip, he made for the
porch door.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I’m delivering you to Jack and Vicky. Now
you're their problem!”

“I am not a problem! None of this is my
fault.

“Maybe now I'll be able to get some sleep.”
Kicking at the porch door, he called out, "Hey, anybody home? I
need some help here."

“I’d fight with you about this, but it feels
so much better than hopping on one foot." Theresa relaxed wearily
against his strong shoulder.

“Yeah sure, but just don’t get used to this
kind of treatment,” he said, taking the opportunity to goose
her.

She squealed, “Get your hand out of my ass!”
Reaching out she grabbed his ear and twisted.

"Owww!” John howled. “Stop that or I'll drop
you right here. Jack, for god's sake, give me a hand."

They stood, staring open mouthed at the sight
of Theresa thrashing in John’s arms.

Vicky wondered aloud. "I thought you didn't
like each other.”

“Never mind that. Could you let us in?” John
asked, trying to pry open the screen door with one foot.

Jack pushed open the door and stepped aside
as John shouldered his way into the kitchen with Terry in his
arms.

“We’ve been up all night,” John announced.
“We both had a little too much to drink and after Theresa slipped
getting out of the bathtub, we never got any sleep.”

"I beg your pardon. I didn't have too much to
drink. You were the one who was shit-faced. If it weren’t for you,
I wouldn't have slipped and sprained my ankle.”

“You begged me to stay.”

“Did not!” Theresa shot back.

John mimicked, “Oh please, John. My leg
hurts. Rub it for me.”

“You didn’t have to stay the whole night.
Nobody asked you to do that."

“And who would have helped you in and out of
the bathroom?”

“Looks like they're getting along just fine."
A playful smirk lifted the corners of Vicky’s mouth.

Jack whispered to Vicky, “They spent the
night together? What's up with that? Didn’t she have some issues
with John?”

“Just put me down!” Theresa struggled in
John’s arms.