The Rawhide Man (5 page)

“What did you buy?” Jude asked that afternoon when he came back from a budget meeting at a college where he was a trustee.

“A white Mexican dress,” Katy said before Bess could. “And I have to wear a blue one with—yuck—lace,” she added miserably. “Gosh, couldn’t I wear my boots and jeans?”

“Afraid not, tiger,” Jude said. “But you can always put them on after it’s over.”

“I guess.” She got up from the table. “Well, I’d better get my homework done, I guess. I hate school. Can’t I quit?”

“Sure,” Jude agreed. “When you’re eighteen or get your diploma, whichever comes first.”

Katy stuck out her tongue at him and went upstairs.

“Show me the dress,” Jude said unexpectedly.

“I’ll bring it down.”

“Wear it.”

She glared at him. “It’s bad luck.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I guess having to marry you is all I need of that,” he replied.

She raised her hand and hesitated.

“Go ahead,” he said with an insolent smile, staring at her. “But you won’t like how I get even.”

Her hand fell and she left. He was still drinking coffee when she came back down with the dress over one arm. She held it up to herself and let him scan it with cold, hard eyes.

“White?” he scoffed, his green eyes piercing.

Her chin rose. “I do realize that in this permissive age, anything goes. But I still have the right to a white wedding gown, and I’m wearing one.”

He frowned slightly, searching her eyes. “You’re a virgin?”

“Well, don’t faint,” she said curtly. “There are a few of us left!”

“I suppose I should have realized it.” He sighed. “You’re so damned controlled.”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” she agreed. Her eyes ran up and down him coldly. “Thank God I don’t have to sleep with you.”

She turned to leave the room, but he was on his feet before she completed the motion. He caught her arm and jerked her around with a grip hard enough to hurt, and pulled her so close that she could see the dark green circles around his pale green irises.

“Push a little harder, society girl,” he said harshly, “and see what happens.”

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered, shaken by the sudden, vicious motion of his fingers.

“You cut, too, in your own way,” he replied. His nostrils were flared with anger, and his eyes were glittering in a way that was a little frightening.

“You started it,” she said childishly, clutching the wedding dress in one hand.

He sighed heavily and the hand on her arm slackened a little. “I guess I did.” He searched her face for a long time. “You set me off, Bess. You always have.”

“I do realize that you’d rather die than have to marry me,” she said tightly. “I hope you realize that the same thing goes for me, double. But it might be a good idea for Katy’s sake to try and get along.”

“I am,” he said.

“With me!”

“That presents a problem.” He noticed his hand on her upper arm and seemed fascinated with it. He drew his fingers softly down to her elbow, feeling the warmth of her skin, and he frowned. “My God, you’re thin.”

“It’s fashionable,” she said tightly, disturbed by that slow, caressing motion that he seemed hardly aware of.

“So is sex,” he returned, catching her eyes. “But you haven’t followed the crowd in that respect. If you’re telling the truth.” He dropped her arm. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other, since I’ll never be concerned with your virtue—or your lack of it. This is a merger.”

“So cold-blooded, Mr. Langston,” she said under her breath, her pride stinging at what he’d said. “And so hard. You’re a rawhide man.”

“Sticks and stones, lady,” he said carelessly. “By the way, Katy doesn’t like going to bed at eight.” He must have noticed the new hours Bess had implemented.

“She told me so.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “But she’s still doing it.”

“As you said once, she likes me,” she told him smugly.

He started to speak but she glared until he changed his mind. He jerked off his tie and opened the top button of his shirt with a hard sigh. “Want a drink, debutante?”

“I don’t—”

“Drink,” he said for her, glancing over his shoulder. “I should have remembered that. No booze, no sex, no bad habits…all the virtues of a saint.” He wandered off into his study without another word and closed the door.

Without understanding her own actions, she picked up a small earthenware pot from a planter in the hall and threw it straight at the center of the door. It disintegrated with a pleasingly loud smash.

Jude jerked open the door and glared at her, his eyes falling to the polished wood floor. His eyebrows rose. “Planting a garden? Aren’t you a few months early and in the wrong spot?”

“I know something I’d like to plant,” she returned, and her eyes measured him from head to toe. She draped the wedding gown across the banister and bent to pick up the shards of pottery.

He bent to help her and their heads collided. He caught her shoulders to stop her from pitching over backward and held her in front of him. She looked into his eyes at point-blank range and time exploded.

She could feel his breath on her mouth, he was so close; she could smell the expensive cologne he wore. It was like a dance. They both rose together to their feet, with his lean, hard hands gripping her shoulders. His eyes searched hers, and his thumbs made wild patterns on the insides of her shoulders as they moved involuntarily, finding the smooth skin under the beige top she’d bought to go with matching slacks.

His darkening eyes went slowly down to her mouth as hers went to his. His lips parted and she could see their chiseled perfection, the hard, firm lines of them with the faint darkness above the upper one where he needed a shave. It was exciting to feel his breath mingling with her own, to see his mouth so close to hers. For a long, long time she’d wondered how it would feel if he kissed her. Part of her had feared it, but another part was hungry for it.

His hand suddenly caught the thick bun of her hair and pulled her head back. His eyes glittered down at her; his nostrils flared. He was watching her mouth with an unblinking intensity, and his fingers on her shoulder and in her hair were hurting. But she could feel the long, hard line of his body against hers and it fired a hunger she’d never felt before. Just the touch of him made her weak and shaky, and she couldn’t get her breath. He couldn’t, either, if his raspy breathing was any indication. He muttered something and abruptly bent his head.

But even as his mouth was opening to take hard possession of her own, Katy’s voice burst out from the top of the staircase. “Holy cow, what happened?”

Jude jerked as if he’d been hit, almost throwing Bess away from him. She turned and picked up her wedding gown, feeling shaken and confused and more than a little angry at her own responses.

“Your mother-to-be was planting flowers,” Jude said curtly. He turned and went back into his study with a hard, dark glare at Bess. As if it were her fault, she thought wildly.

Aggie came in, and Bess ran for it, dress in hand and watched by a giggling Katy.

Bess kept out of Jude’s way the next day, but he was at home and his eyes watched her accusingly. She knew he wasn’t going to let her escape so easily, but she still wasn’t quite prepared for what happened. Katy had gone out to groom her calf and Aggie was working on lunch when Jude strode angrily into the living room where she was busy addressing invitations for the wedding.

“There’s something you and I need to get straight,” he said, ramming his hands into the pockets of his slacks, looking so darkly handsome that she hated the sight of him. “I don’t like having flowerpots flung at my head.”

She felt the accusation all the way to her toes and her body tingled when she met his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked stiffly.

“Don’t be haughty, it won’t wash.” He moved closer, so that he was looming over her. “You threw that pot deliberately.”

“So what if I did?” she said curtly.

“I need your damned shares in my corporation. That’s why we’re getting married, remember?”

“That’s why you’re getting married,” she said, straightening as pride came to her rescue. “I’m getting married for Katy.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s leave it like that. No complications.”

“I…” She dropped her eyes to his chest, where the gray patterned knit shirt he wore strained across his powerful muscles. Under it was a shadow, and she wondered absently if he was hairy or smooth there.

“You what?” he asked.

“I didn’t mean that to happen, out in the hall. You just make me so mad, Jude,” she said helplessly, looking up into his eyes.

“We’ve always made sparks together,” he agreed. His eyes narrowed. “But it’s got to stop.”

“Then quit baiting me,” she returned. “Treat me like a human being instead of some festering thorn.”

“Is that how I treat you?” he asked. “I thought I was being kind. For me,” he added with a hard laugh.

“I don’t imagine you can help being the way you are,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Do you think you understand me, miss debutante?” he asked with a mocking laugh. “By all means, tell me about myself.”

Her eyes met his and went back to her list. “I wouldn’t presume that far.”

“I don’t have much respect for women, if that’s what you meant,” he said, bending his head to light a cigarette. “Katy’s mother taught me a lot about them.”

“All the bad things and none of the good,” Bess argued. “And how could you tell Katy that her mother was a…” She cleared her throat.

“Can’t you say the word? Would it soil your elitist tongue to say it?” he taunted.

“Anyway, it was cruel to say it in front of Katy. A girl needs at least the illusion of a mother, and you’ve robbed her of hers,” she returned. “She’s dead, after all. She can’t harm Katy.”

“Her memory could,” he said flatly, his eyes glittering. “I won’t discuss Elise with you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “But it would be kind if you could stop saying horrible things about her to Katy.”

“I can’t talk to you,” he ground out. “Everything I say winds up being defensive.”

“Pardon me for breathing,” she said calmly.

“Damn you…!”

She jerked at the hot whip of his deep voice, and pushed herself back into the cushions, crushing the list she was following in one hand.

He took a deep drag from the cigarette. “You make my blood run hot,” he said savagely. “I’ve never in my life wanted to hit a woman as much as I’d like to hit you, so don’t press your luck!”

She didn’t say a word. In that white-hot anger, he was more frightening than ever. She sat, stiff-backed, and tried not to back down.

He studied her pale face for a long time. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” he asked suddenly. His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I think you are. That’s why you’re so much on the offensive with me. Offense is the best defense, is that how you see it?”

He saw altogether too much. He rattled her. She put the list aside and stood up, moving quickly out of his reach. “I need to help Aggie,” she said nervously.

“No, you don’t. You just need to run off and hide.”

Her lower lip trembled betrayingly as she looked at him from the safety of the door. “I’ll be careful to keep my thoughts to myself from now on,” she said with dignity. “Will that satisfy you?”

He frowned and studied her. “You are afraid,” he said, as if it shocked him.

She turned and ran out the door, slamming it quickly behind her.

After that, he was strangely quiet around her. But watchful, and faintly calculating. It made her more nervous than ever.

Meanwhile, she was reacquainting herself with the ranch and loving every mile of its awesome spread. Katy had told her that wildflowers bloomed profusely in the spring—Bess had never been there at that time of year—bluebells and Indian paintbrush and Indian blanket, prickly poppies on the cactus, and maypop and lantana. There would be beautiful yellow black-eyed Susans with black centers, and Mexican hats with their festive yellow-fringed red petals around tall black centers.

Right now, though, it was winter and nothing was blooming except Bess’s growing but reluctant attraction to Jude. She found herself staring at him when he didn’t see her, her eyes glued to his tall, powerful figure as he walked around the ranch and the house. It was growing increasingly harder not to stare at him over the dinner table. And all the time, he looked at her with that strange, calculating expression.

On their wedding day, she dressed in the white gown, but with all her uncertainties showing in her eyes. Was she doing the right thing? Was it sane to let him force her into a marriage that might destroy her? She was afraid of him, all right, but not for the reasons he thought. She was afraid because she wanted him. That wild encounter in the hall had shown her just how much she wanted him. But he didn’t want anything from her except her shares. He’d made that perfectly clear. Could she risk living in such close proximity to him and go from day to day without letting everything she felt show? He was shrewd, and he could read rocks, much less Bess. And if he found out, every time they argued he would taunt her with her weakness for him.

She almost went downstairs and backed out of it. But it was far too late. The guests, friends of Jude’s and members of the Langston family, were already waiting for them at the little Spanish mission outside San Antonio. So what could she do but go through with it and hope for the best?

But she felt empty in a way even her mother’s death hadn’t made her feel. To live with a man like Jude was going to be a daily ordeal. One she was already half dreading, half anticipating as she gathered the bouquet of white-and-pink silk roses Katy had chosen, and went down the staircase.

Chapter Four

T
he mission San Jose y San Miguel de Aguayo lived up to its nickname, the Queen of Texas missions. The towering, imposing stone structure had a grace of design and a sense of history that made Bess tingle as she entered it on the arm of Jude’s neighbor Adam Teague, a towering gray-headed man she’d known for years who’d agreed to stand in for Bess’s late father.