The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold (9 page)

Slipping an arm protectively around Carrie’s waist, Judson turned and directed her toward the door. She screamed a second too late to warn him of Cody’s wild roundhouse swing. The blow caught Judson square in the eye. He stumbled, dropping his arm from around
Carrie, who landed with a squeal upon a hard chair of knotty pine that skidded across the floor before coming to a halt and dumping her unceremoniously on the floor.

“Come on,” Jud muttered, righting himself and blocking a flurry of frontal jabs.

There was something frightening in Jud’s eyes as he took on his adversary. Something latent, primordial and savage lashing out at all the injustice in the world with the force of a piston. All the pent-up hurt and anger deep inside him went into a solid uppercut that con- nected with Cody’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted as the shorter cowboy fell to his knees clutching his nose.

“Ya broke it, ya sonufabitch!” he cried, watching the blood flow through his fingers in bright red gushes.

A couple of Cody’s friends rushed forward to grab him under each arm. As they dragged him ignomini- ously out the swinging doors, the cowboy mumbled through thick lips, “Don’t think I’ll forget this, ya stinkin’ Injun dog.”

Carrie’s knees were weak. The echo of that threat beat against her head like the steady thumping of war drums. She fought the urge to scream hysterically when she covered her face with her hands and discovered they were splattered with bright flecks of blood.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned.

“He’ll be okay. I’ve had my nose broken lots of times,” Judson reassured her, trying to downplay the incident.

Carrie looked at him in amazement much the way he assumed Jane must have first looked at Tarzan.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, wiping a streak of blood from his face and directing her outside into the crisp autumn air.

“Are you all right?” she questioned, the concern in her voice as caressing as the cool night breeze that en- veloped them.

“I’m fine,” he replied gruffly. “How about you?”

Because she was not really sure, Carrie declined to answer. She could make out the tracks in the dirt where Cody had been hauled to the safety of a waiting vehicle. “Do you think he’ll carry through on his threat?”

“Don’t know,” Judson said slowly, looking into the depths of those misty sea-green eyes as if searching for something that had eluded him all his life. “It’s never smart to make an enemy if you can help it, though I’ve made plenty of ’em for a hell of a lot less.”

Carrie wondered if “a lot less” entailed having had the misfortune of being born neither completely brown nor white in a world that set such great store by the color of a person’s skin.

“It’s all my fault,” she murmured by way of apol- ogy.

Brushing aside the hair that fell across his forehead, Carrie gently inspected his eye. Already it was swelling into an ugly purple mass. As her fingertip brushed against his cheekbone, she felt Judson quiver beneath her touch. Her fingers trailed the white ridge of the scar along his jawline and reluctantly dropped to her side. So much pain was written in that rugged, battered face. She wondered if Estelle was right. Could any woman ever tame his wild, skittish heart?

Beneath her heavy thoughts, Carrie felt herself sway. She was grateful for the steady support that Judson of- fered. As he guided her slowly down the old boardwalk in the moonlight, she drank in every detail of the man beside her: the mingled scents of cologne, smoke, sweat and blood; the determined set of his jaw; the raw
power emanating from every pore in his body. And though Carrie was appalled by the fight she had just witnessed, in some dark cavern in her heart, she had secretly thrilled to it. She felt protected and cherished.

The porch light back at the inn illuminated Judson’s bloodstained shirt as he opened the front door to let Carrie enter. It only took him a moment to discern that she was in no shape to navigate the way to her room by herself. Though the fresh air had helped to clear her head, Carrie was nevertheless unable to walk down the middle of the narrow hallway without bouncing off the walls.

“I feel awful funny,” she admitted with a hiccup.

“I imagine you’ll probably feel worse in the morning.”

Suddenly Carrie felt herself being swept up into a pair of masculine arms. Wrapping her arms around the strong column of his neck, she nuzzled against him, shamelessly enjoying the sheer strength of this man who had so savagely defended her honor.

“Judson?” Running her hands along the width of his shoulders, she looked him straight in the eye.

“What?” The single word was but a rasping chord stuck in his throat.

“Are you twitterpated?” The question sent Carrie into a fit of tinkling laughter.

He wasn’t amused. “Which room is yours?” Judson asked from between clenched teeth.

“Search me,” she giggled.

As her laughter faded to a soft, enticing sigh, Judson felt the fire of desire licking in his loins. She certainly wasn’t making this easy for him. Such an adorable mor- sel would be easy pickin’s for any randy cowboy on the make. He thanked God that he had been able to get
her away from the bar. He seriously doubted whether Cody Trent would have exercised the same restraint.

“Where are your keys?” he demanded in an angry whisper.

“I told you, search me,” she whispered seductively.

Something akin to summer lightning flashed in Judson’s eyes. He set her down and pressed her back against the wall. Unbuttoning the pearl fastening of her blouse pocket, he slipped his hand inside. Beneath the cool, red silk, Judson felt how warm and very soft her breast was, and he stifled a groan as the nipple hardened under his caress. Sliding his hands down the length of her, he stopped momentarily to encircle the small cir- cumference of her waist before plunging his hands into both back pants’ pockets. He noted that Carrie’s shapely behind was as firm and rounded as he had imagined. He pulled her toward him, grinding his hips into her, making sure she felt how hard she made him. He was rewarded with a slight gasp. Continuing on, one front pocket at a time, Judson delved their depths stopping just short of the inviting warmth between her legs.

“Damn,” he muttered out of frustration and need. “I still can’t find the key.”

Carrie smiled coyly, her eyes heavily lidded. “That’s because I didn’t lock it. It’s room number seven.”

Lucky number seven,
Judson thought to himself. Lift- ing her cotton-candy lightness back into his arms, he carried her to her room. With one hand, he turned the knob and pushed the door open with a boot.

“Will you tuck me in?” she asked, her eyes heavy- lidded.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Judson asked thickly.

But it was too late.

Carrie’s eyes were closed, and she was already breathing deeply.

“Damn you,” Judson murmured, laying her as gently atop the bed as a bouquet of wildflowers. “Don’t you dare pass out on me!”

There was no response from the still body sprawled invitingly upon the lacy patchwork quilt. Judson lin- gered over the sight of her light brown hair splayed across her pillow and fought the urge to explore every inch of those soft, womanly curves. But despite what Cheryl Sue’s brothers had wanted to believe, he was not the type of man to take advantage of a woman—no matter how tempting the situation.

Raw need strained from every pore in Judson’s body as he pulled off Carrie’s tight, squeaky-new boots and made himself stop where his imagination refused to. Tucking the covers around her, he wrapped her cozily from neck to toe, a picture of perfect innocence.

“Poison. Pure sweet poison…” he muttered in a strangled voice as he headed for the door.

W
aking was agony. Carrie opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through yellowed lace curtains. Fighting her way out of a haze, she drew her arm out from under the covers to check her watch. It was almost noon, she was in a strange bed, and she had no idea how she had gotten there. Like a fish rising to the surface of a murky pool, flashes of recollection glimmered just out of sight: snatches of a conversation with Estelle Hanway, a bloody brawl, the apparent consumption of alcohol she didn’t even remember drinking….

“Great first impression on the parents of the com- munity…” she moaned into her pillow, envisioning Carry Nation and her dedicated disciples of Christian Temperance descending upon her little schoolhouse with her hatchet, a sack of feathers and a bucket of hot tar.

A note fluttering on the pillow next to her caught her attention. Flinging back the covers, she sat straight up. A wave of nausea washed over her as a mountain of
fireworks exploded inside her head. Clutching her ach- ing head between her hands, she made herself focus on the note.

Will be moving cattle for the next couple of days but count on seeing me at Open House this Thurs- day. We’ll continue the search for that missing key then…

Jud

The sight of that masculine scrawl caused Carrie’s heart to beat out a deafening staccato. Pulling the covers up over her head, she tried to block an onslaught of perplexing questions. Just what did that reference to a “key” mean? How could she face the parents of the community at Open House knowing what a complete and utter fool she’d made of herself last night? And how could she possibly confront Judson again when her memory was fuzzy at best?

A knot of emptiness tightened in an already-sour stomach. Though Carrie didn’t remember spending the night with Judson, his note definitely placed him in her room. If he chose to leave her hanging like dirty laundry flapping in the breeze, she could well imagine how a conservative community that held its teachers to a strict display of moral standards would react.

Gingerly climbing out of bed to face herself in the mirror, she asked her reflection, “Carrie, what have you done?”

Disheveled and red-eyed, her image regarded her gravely.

Crumpling the note in her hand, she cursed, “Damn your blue eyes, Judson Horn!”

The following day found Carrie crouched in front of the old potbellied stove, rubbing her hands together in disbelief. The cold weather defied the calendar. Why just yesterday she’d needed only a sweater to keep warm. Apparently Judson hadn’t been kidding when he’d warned her of blizzards as early as September. Without so much as a whisper of protest, the glorious fires of early autumn had been obliterated overnight. A soft, persistent snow fell as gently as if from her grand- mother’s worn flour sifter. Looking at her own delicate fingers, Carrie thought of her grandmother’s hands: the knuckles enlarged, the skin splotchy, a lifetime of love and hard work etched upon them. If only Granny could somehow pass on to her the ancient strength in those gnarled, veined hands!

She was sure Granny would make short order of this old potbellied stove—and of any man as aggravating as Judson Horn for that matter. Try as she might, Carrie had been unable to banish intrusive thoughts of the man whose cryptic note had left her hanging by her finger- nails.

She crumpled sheets of old newspaper and stuffed them into the maw of the stove. Then she neatly stacked several thick logs atop, lit the paper and waited for the warmth to begin thawing out the chilly room.

Flames leapt like bright orange tigers…and died just as quickly. Frowning, she sacrificed more newspaper to the ill-natured stove and lit it again.

“All right, you sorry son of a Ben Franklin, fire up!” she commanded.

Grinning behind its open grate, the crotchety stove remained indifferent to her pleas.

What she needed to build a proper fire, Carrie belat- edly realized, was some kindling. Determined not to be
beaten by an antiquated piece of iron, she marched back to the woodpile intent on splitting at least enough to last her through the week.

When he spotted Carrie awkwardly wielding an ax, Judson felt an odd catch in his chest. She almost toppled over backwards beneath the weight of the heavy tool hoisted high over her head. He started to get out of his pickup to offer his assistance, but the look of sheer de- termination upon that lovely, soot-streaked face stopped him in his tracks. Abe Lincoln she obviously wasn’t, but there was a look in her eyes that caused him to wonder if she might not be distantly related to Lizzie Borden!

Clearly this woman had something to prove to that old woodpile, and he dared not interfere.

What exactly was it, he wondered, about this woman decked out in an old coat and sweatpants, swinging an ax, that he found so inexplicably endearing? Dressed thus, she was far more appealing to him than the fash- ion-conscious Easterner who not so very long ago had stepped off the plane at Rock Springs.

Plucky Ms. Raben was proving full of surprises. Jud- son had to admit that he had been wrong about her from the start. Far from shying away from her responsibilities as he had predicted, she instead embraced them whole- heartedly. Judson knew that the fact Carrie was an out- sider had merely provided him a convenient excuse to distrust her. Past experience provided the foundation for his suspicions. His ex-wife had spent the better part of her high school years trying to convince him that racial prejudice was merely an outdated phase in American history well on its way to virtual eradication by an en- lightened press. Ironically, she’d failed to win her own
family over to that belief, and it was surely a merciful God who had prevented Judson from being beaten to death in their brotherly act of retribution for his crime of loving a white woman.

The labored sound of chopping called Judson back to the present. It was beyond all reasoning that the sight of his children’s teacher was able to stir in him some- thing so urgent that it threatened to overshadow the bit- ter lessons of the past.

Don’t be a fool!
he told himself fiercely and, pressing the accelerator to the floor, left without making his pres- ence known.

Jud was running scared, and he knew it.

The rest of Carrie’s week passed in a blur. Open House was scheduled Thursday evening to accommo- date working parents who couldn’t get off during the day. It was held the second week of school just so par- ents and teachers could get acquainted with one another without getting too hung up on grades so early in the year. Carrie just managed to squeeze in dinner before parents began a steady parade through the doors of the old schoolhouse. Far from the dismal turnout which school functions warranted at her old school, all the parents and guardians turned up. Every parent save one.

Carrie could only surmise by Judson’s noticeable ab- sence all week and the fact that Cowboy and Brandy had been riding the bus to and from home that their father was either still moving cattle as his note had in- dicated or that he no longer felt the need to check up on her. As twilight succumbed to night, she found her- self wondering if Judson would make his promised appearance at all. She had just about given up on him when she caught the far-off purr of an engine.

Seconds later a gleaming black snowmobile shrieked to a halt just outside her door. A picture of the devil himself, Judson took off his helmet, tucked it beneath his arm and made his way up the front steps with a cheerful whistle on his lips.

How he managed to look sexy sporting a big black eye was beyond Carrie, but that was exactly the term that came to mind when he sauntered out of the dusk and into the light of her classroom. Dressed in tight jeans and a faded denim shirt, he looked every inch a country road warrior. His only concession to the cool outside temperature was a worn leather jacket and a pair of sturdy gloves.

Feeling a wave of heat go through her, Carrie wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. Was God’s only purpose in making such heart-stopping men simply to test wom- en’s fortitude? As he stood there holding his helmet in his hands awaiting his turn to speak with her, Carrie had a vision of him in his youth. She felt a sudden pity for his mother as she thought both of Judson’s broken noses and of his shattered marriage. The poor woman’s life surely was a succession of administering to one black eye after another.

Thinking how Cowboy was bound to be the spitting image of his father, Carrie felt a vise tighten around her heart. She prayed that the hooded pain in Judson’s eyes would never dim the ever-present sparkle in Cowboy’s cornflower blue ones. There was something so utterly captivating in the boy’s happy-go-lucky attitude that Carrie lost all objectivity where he was concerned.

Funny—while she’d been so busy protecting her heart from Judson’s charms, both of his children had rushed in and stolen it outright.

Carrie tried to focus her attention on Mr. and Mrs.
Benson, who were on their way out the door. While Tommy’s father was a taciturn man who seemed to ob- serve her from behind a mask of wrinkled leather, Mrs. Benson was effusive in her praise.

“Tommy’s never been much for school, ma’am, but since you’ve showed up, he’s excited about learning. I can’t get over the change in him,” the woman said, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “We can’t thank you enough for offering to tutor him after school.”

Mr. Benson shook Carrie’s hand, expressing with a firm squeeze the appreciation he was unable to put into words. She felt a rush of gratitude to all of the genuine folks who had gone out of their way to make her feel truly accepted into their close-knit community. As the door closed behind the Bensons, Carrie’s eyes glistened with emotion.

Snow was steadily piling up in huge, fluffy marsh- mallow mounds outside the window. As Judson skirted the rows of desks in a few, long pantherlike strides, it seemed to Carrie as if a twist of fate had somehow left them the only two people alive on earth. That sexy, loose cowboy gait sent her heart somersaulting as sud- denly he was wonderfully, frighteningly close. The faint smell of bottled musk mingled with his own unique masculine scent in an intoxicating combination that sent a curling sensation spreading through her like warm honey.

Wincing at the sight of a garish black-and-blue eye, she murmured apologetically, “I am so sorry about that.”

Feeling as guilty as if it had been her own fist that had delivered the blow, she reached up on tiptoes to inspect the nasty plum-colored bruise. It proved almost
impossible to dismiss the overwhelming urge to kiss it better.

“It’s nothing,” he replied with an indifferent shrug.

Instantly aroused by Carrie’s feathery touch upon his swollen cheek, Judson wondered if, like a chosen few of his people, she was blessed with the gift of healing. Where her fingers touched, his skin tingled, and a swift stab of desire, hot and urgent, surged through him. His mind fought against the truth that his body was so eager to embrace. Had he ever wanted a woman quite so badly?

He tried to move. Couldn’t.

Self-control was a thin wall holding back his need to devour her, body and soul. The flame of his desire was mirrored in Carrie’s eyes. Looking into those hungry eyes, Judson decided, was like being held in the vortex of a tornado. And caught in the eye of that tornado, the rest of the world spun out of control. Minute details sprang into vivid clarity: the clean scent of shampoo tangled in hair highlighted with gold and umber; thick eyelashes shading a pair of kelly-green eyes unguarded and trusting; the sensuous curve of red lips open in breathless expectation.

The invitation was unmistakable..

Judson had never wanted anything more in his life than to claim the sweetness of those lips.

He was going to kiss her! Carrie thought, tottering beneath the realization that she desperately wanted him to. Unfortunately his attempt to steady her by placing both hands on her shoulders had quite the opposite ef- fect. Her bones turned to the consistency of melted can- dle wax.

All that stood between them was the tiny sigh that escaped her lips. The pounding of her heart echoed so
loudly in her own ears that she couldn’t help but wonder if Judson could hear it, as well.

Peering into the depths of those sky-blue eyes, Carrie watched a battle being waged. Pain creased Judson’s brow with the effort, and his hands knotted into fists at his sides. Witnessing lust succumb to restraint in the grapple, Carrie realized that she was wrong about that kiss after all.

Damn! When was the last time she had been right about a man? Scott was a liar, but she had trusted him right up until the moment she had been confronted with the undeniable truth. On the other hand, Judson had told her up front that he didn’t much care for her; she had refused to accept that. Perhaps she had only imagined the raw desire smoldering in the depths of those blue eyes.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she had deluded herself. Though Carrie had believed Scott respected her decision to save herself for marriage, he later alleged her prudish ways had pushed him into the arms of that eager, young nymphette. The memory of those senior girls making sport about her virginity was still excru- ciating. She suspected their mocking laughter would ring in her ears forever.

What was it about her that men found so utterly re- sistible?

Deliberately busying herself with a stack of papers, Carrie attempted to turn the conversation to the topic of his children.

“Cowboy is a delight to have in class.”

“He likes you.”

“I like him, too.”

A tender note leaked into her voice. The boy had somehow managed to work his way into the most secret
part of her heart. Since the first day of school, the charming, little imp had proven an intractable ally, showering her with everything from apples and artwork and an amazing array of “critters” for science class. And although the thought would surely provoke his fa- ther, Carrie secretly hoped to cultivate the child’s innate love of learning and broaden his horizons beyond the corral that housed his prized horse.

“And Brandy?”

“She’s extremely bright.”