Texas Lucky (9 page)

At first he had been angry, but gradually he began to think she might be telling the truth, especially when she pointed out that she had merely been a victim of the war like so many other people and driven to do whatever was necessary in order to survive.

She had also said she still loved him with all her heart and soul. That was when he had finally taken her in his arms. They had made love with abandon till just before the first light of day forced them apart, lest Mary Lou be seen leaving the barn.

Thus began their illicit love, although Mary Lou insisted it would not always be that way. She would divorce Tom, she swore, as soon as her father died. His war wounds had left him weak. He had a bad heart. The doctor said he probably did not have long to live. So Curt had to be patient, she said, because if she left Tom, it might upset her father and hasten his death, and she did not want that on her conscience.

Believing her—believing that she loved him and meant every word she said——Curt reluctantly accepted the situation. It was, however, a kind of hell, living with the deception, knowing she belonged to another man, worrying they would get caught…as well as feeling guilt for wishing Jordan Comstock would die.

And then he did.

Curt went through the motions of grief, all the while wondering how long it would be before Mary Lou asked Tom for a divorce.

He would lay away at night, arms folded behind his head, and stare up at the ceiling and think about how good life was going to be when he and Mary Lou were married and living in the big house. He was sure Tom would do the proper thing and see to it she got everything that had been her father’s. After all, he had a place of his own. So while it was a tense situation, Curt was positive everything would work out.

And that’s what Curt told himself over and over, night after night, as he tried to be patient, knowing there had to be a proper mourning period. Mary Lou could not bury her father one day and ask her husband for a divorce the next.

It was also hard not being with her, because she felt it was too big a risk for them to meet. If Tom found out, she feared there would be a lot of trouble.

So Curt tried to be tolerant, but when several months passed, he decided one day he just couldn’t stand it any longer. And, managing to catch her alone in the house, he fiercely told her as much.

And that was when she revealed she had changed her mind. Divorce, she said, was out of the question, for she had discovered that it was Tom’s money keeping the ranch going, not her father’s, and since Curt didn’t have any, she was afraid they would wind up destitute.

Curt argued that was nonsense, that he would keep the ranch going and make it prosper.

And what if Tom would not give her the ranch? she argued. What would they do then?

It would not matter, Curt had countered. They would start over somewhere else. They would be together. That’s all that mattered.

But not to Mary Lou, who was not about to give up her fine home and fine life. Things could go on like they had, she had adamantly declared. Tom wanted a baby, and she would give him one, and then she and Curt could continue their relationship, keeping it a secret. Everyone would be happy.

That night he had left the ranch, bitter and brokenhearted. His heart had eventually healed, but there were scars…scars that made him leery of ever trusting another woman.

There had been other women, and while he had kept a tight rein on his heart he had never taken one selfishly. Always he made sure they were pleasured…but never had he promised anything beyond the moment.

He closed his eyes and thought about Tess and how he found himself being drawn to her more and more. She was tiny and cute and getting spunkier every day, and even in their shared misery, she made him laugh with her wit and charm. Under different circumstances, he might have been in danger of being
too
drawn and started backing away, but here, what difference did it make?

Maybe he should pursue it. Maybe—

No.

He would not let himself think like that.

He would not take advantage of the situation and try to seduce her.

He would be strong and try to find a way out for both of them, and—

A scream split the black silence, and Curt was on his feet in seconds, yanking on his boots.

It was Tess, of course, and as she kept on screaming, he cursed because the fire was almost out. He had to take time to drop to his knees and blow the sparks and ignite another makeshift torch. The torches did not burn long, because there was no oil to keep them going, just strips torn from old blankets he had found.

He hurried toward the front. “I’m coming, Tess,” he shouted, his voice echoing off the rocks. “Hang on, I’m coming.”

He found her pressed back against the wall, eyes wide with terror. “It crawled on me. I don’t know what it was, but I was terrified.”

Curt glanced around and saw the tarantula a few feet away. The huge, hairy spider, about two inches long with a leg span of maybe five inches, looked as scared as Tess.

Biting back a laugh, Curt reached down and scooped him up and tossed him into the shadows. “Tarantulas look meaner than they are,” he explained. “They only bite when they’re threatened, and while it’s painful, the bite won’t kill you.”

She shuddered and whispered, “It would kill me, because I’d die of fright.”

He did laugh then and reminded her, “See what I mean? You don’t belong here.”

“You keep saying that,” she flared, “not stopping to think I’ve got a right to be upset when I feel something big and hairy crawling on me in the dark. If I’d been born here, I’d still be scared. And besides that, I’ve never seen a spider that big. I’ll wager the first time you did, you were scared, too, so I wish you’d stop badgering me, and—”

He kissed her.

He could not help it.

Did not plan it.

It just happened.

She was standing so close, hands on her hips, eyes flashing fire, bosom heaving with her indignity, and Curt was struck by an impulse too powerful to resist. He grabbed her in his arms to pull her close and kiss her long and deep.

At first Tess resisted, struggling and beating on his back with her fists, but when his tongue parted her lips, his mouth sipping hers, surrender came from deep within. She ceased to fight him, melting against him as her arms slipped unconsciously about his neck.

His hands moved to her shoulders, then up and down her rib cage to squeeze the sides of her breasts, inflaming him as he felt the soft, tender flesh through the thin dress she wore.

His tongue entwined with hers and he began to work at the fastenings of her bodice, fingertips pausing now and then to brush her nipples, which had sprung to hardness, eager to be touched.

Her dress finally gaping open, he lowered his head to lick each breast in turn, lapping hungrily. Finally he closed on one nipple and held it against the roof of his mouth as he suckled deeply.

Wrapping his arms about her, he drew them both to their knees, lips still fastened to her bosom.

Her breath caught in her throat as she sighed deliciously and whispered, “Oh, my God…”

He lifted his mouth and said, “Tell me to stop if you don’t want me, Tess. Tell me—”

“No, no…” she shook her head wildly from side to side. “I mean yes…yes I want you. I…I’ve never wanted anything more.”

And Tess meant it.

For desire, raw and savage, was not something spontaneously evoked merely by his sweet, velvet assault. Too many nights she had dreamed of it happening. Too many days she had turned from him lest he see the longing in her eyes.

It was inevitable that they yield to what had been building as they had struggled to escape their fate, for this was here and now with no promise of a tomorrow, and they had to seize the moment…savor it…enjoy it.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he promised as he began to slide her skirt up about her waist.

Pleasantly surprised to find she wore no undergarments, he smiled as she shyly told him, “I…I washed my personal things…they’re drying…”

“And I’m glad,” he growled, nibbling at her ear and then diving down to feast upon her breasts once more as he parted her thighs almost roughly.

He was also pleased to discover she was wet, and the knowledge fed his urge all the more. He fondled her with his fingers, gently working between the folds of her sex to massage and probe, before plunging up and into her.

She gave a little gasp and jumped at the sensation, then sighed once more and relaxed against him.

He worked in and out, first two fingers, then three, wanting to make her ready for him, because he sensed…knew…it was her first time. He wanted to be as gentle as possible.

He raised himself long enough to unfasten his trousers and free himself.

His erection pressed against her thigh, and Tess jumped again. Then, after a moment, she touched him, hesitant at first, then boldly, fingers finally closing around him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

And she proved she was not by caressing and stroking, awed by the wonder of his manhood…as well as by the strange and wonderful emotions coursing through her body from head to toe.

Curt maneuvered to a sitting position. With his back against the wall, he put his hands about her waist and positioned her to straddle him.

“It won’t hurt as much if you take me this way,” he said. “You can control how hard and fast, though God knows it’s all I can do to hold back,” he added fiercely.

She did as he wanted, raising up on her knees until she was positioned just above him. Then, very gently, still holding her waist, he began to lower her onto him.

She swooned out loud with delight to feel him sliding into her ever so lightly, only to lift her up again, then down.

Curt began to undulate his hips delicately, not wanting to cause her discomfort, while at the same time provoking a sweet kind of torture that had her gasping for breath over the rapid pounding of her heart.

Finally he was able to release her so she could take over, rhythmically pumping herself up and down, and he cupped her breasts and squeezed, his thumb flicking over her nipples.

He pulled her closer, taking her in his mouth as she threw back her head, husky moans coming from deep in her throat as he tugged and suckled and squeezed, all the while their hips moving in unison.

And then she could stand it no more.

With one hard thrust and one quick pain, she settled onto the whole of him, marveling at how he filled her, not caring that it hurt. She began rocking up and down, moving around and around, and he bounced beneath her, releasing her breasts to clutch her buttocks and squeeze her yet tighter against him.

She felt it coming…the rush of joy from deep within.

And he felt his own and dared not believe it could happen at the same time for both of them.

But it did.

Tess screamed out loud with the wonder of it all, as Curt moved swiftly to flip her up and over on her back to propel them all the way to glory.

When it was over, Tess lay with her head on his sweat-soaked chest and thought how nothing would ever be the same between them. And, if fate did so cruelly decree that she should die, then at least she could go to her grave knowing, if only for a little while, what it was like to belong to a man.

Chapter Eight

There was no turning back.

And there were no regrets.

Neither thought of tomorrows, or yesterdays, instead savoring each day, each moment together.

They did not speak of love, and Curt saw no need to make it clear, as he had with other women in the past, that he offered nothing beyond the deepest passion he was capable of giving in the moment.

Tess expected no more than the joy at hand, yet could not help thinking how it might have been had they met and known each other in another time, another place, for her happiness went beyond the ecstatic, unbridled passion that they shared.

The reality was that she delighted in just being with him, for there were actually moments when they could put the dismal future out of their minds and pretend gloom and doom did not hang over their heads.

She told him about growing up in the East, and he shared with her some of his adventures in the war, as well as the untamed West.

But what Tess enjoyed hearing about most was ranching.

Curt told her how Texas was fairly drowning in cattle since the Civil War. Six million head, it was estimated. “It’s because several generations were born since the war started. Bulls, thousands of them, which would have been castrated if most of the cowboys hadn’t been off fighting Yankees, bred over and over. And to make things worse, tens of thousands wandered off untended home ranges.

“It’s being called the ‘Big Drift,’ and there’s no way of knowing how many unbranded cattle are miffing around, free for the taking. But till markets get reestablished, ranchers who do have control of their herds can’t afford to keep them, much less get more. They say”—he paused to give a bitter snort—“that a man’s poverty these days is judged by the number of cattle he owns.”

“But you wanted to start a ranch,” Tess reminded him.