Wicked Temptations (15 page)

Adam took her face between his hands. "Maybe that just takes time."

"That's the problem," Priscilla said. "The more time that goes by, the more stories I hear about what the cattlemen are doing to the homesteaders, and the more confused I am about my feelings for you."

Adam kissed her then, not a deeply passionate kiss, but a light, short peck. "I want to love you too,"
 
he said. "Maybe I already do. I'm not sure. But while you're waiting for your answers, would it be so wrong for you to lift your tail and let me take care of your need? Maybe you'd get your answer then. Maybe it's the only way for you to know if what I have to give you as a man, is what you really want."

"I know exactly what you have to give me as a man, Adam," she said, "I just felt it. And I assure you, it's something I want very badly. But it's not the answer I am looking for. That's what's confusing me. Women are not supposed to be preoccupied with that part of a man and what it can do for them, and that's precisely what's happening with me."

"Then answer me candidly." Adam rested his hands on her shoulders and looked at her intensely. "Are you preoccupied with that part of other men?"

"Of course not," Priscilla clipped. "The idea of laying naked with another man and having him do the things you described is repulsive to me. Even the thought of seeing another man naked is abhorrent. But I can't stop thinking about the things you described that you'd do for me, soaping me in the bath tub, doing what you just did, and all the other things you said you'd do, or envisioning the sight of you naked in my bed while I take my pleasure in doing things I know would please you. I'm so restless to do those things, I feel on the verge of insanity."

"Good God, woman. When you talk like that you drive me crazy. We'll work this out. I don't know when or where, but you and I are going to take care of this obsession we have for each other. Very soon." He kissed her one more time and left. Priscilla fanned her face. Adam was right. Life had been so less complicated before she moved to
Cheyenne
.

***

Adam untied the mule tethered behind his buckboard and led him to the hitching rail in front of Seth Watkins' humble cabin. Looping the leathers from the mule's halter over the rail, he stepped onto the porch and knocked. A black man opened the door. Seeing Adam, his face hardened. "What you want?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"I've come to bring you this animal."

Seth eyed the mule. "How much you
askin
' for him?"

"Nothing. He's yours."

Seth eyed Adam, skeptically. "I know you," he said, his voice accusatory. "
You's
the cattleman
runnin
' for mayor of
Cheyenne
."

"Yes," Adam reluctantly admitted, though he wasn't sure why it made him feel penitent. He wasn't responsible for the man's mule being shot. But he wasn't so sure about some of the other cattlemen. At the Cheyenne Club he'd heard some vicious talk about what they'd like to do to the homesteaders, but he'd figured it was talk. Now, he wasn't so sure. He too would like to see every homesteader go back east and leave the grazing land free from fences, but that wasn't going to happen. Times were changing, and they'd have to adjust to them.

Seth Watkins folded his arms. "If you're
tryin
' to buy our votes," he said, "you can take that mule an go. Our votes aren't for sale."

Adam removed his hat and held it between his hands. "I'm not after your vote, Mr. Watkins, I'm after justice. I don't know who killed your mule, but this land is yours and you have a right to farm it, just like I have a right to run my cattle over government land."

Seth went to inspect the mule. He ran his hand down the animal's leg and over his withers, then looked into the mule's mouth.
 
"He's a right fine animal," he said, stroking the mule's large head. "Young, sound. He's got to be worth three hundred or more."

"He is," Adam said. "He'll work for you for a long time. If you get a good crop this year, you can pay me some if you feel you need to. But I'd rather see you put the money into fixing the roof on this place so your family will be warm and dry when winter comes."

Seth looked up at his roof, and said, "We've been
needin
' a new roof for a long time, but there's never enough money."

A young black woman stepped to the front door, a toddler on her hip, a boy about four clinging to her leg. "What's
goin
' on Seth?" she asked. "And who's mule is that?" She adjusted the toddler to accommodate her prominent belly, clearly nearing her term.

"He's yours, Mrs. Watkins," Adam said.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Adam Whittington," he replied. "I have a spread west of town."

"Cattle?" the woman clipped.

Adam nodded.

The woman looked at Seth in alarm. "I don't like the looks of this," she said. "He's one of them. Why's he
bringin
' us this mule?"

"It's okay, Tillie," Seth said. "He don't mean no harm. We'll pay for the mule when the crop comes in."

"And if hail takes it like it did last year? How you gonna pay for the mule then?"

"The mule is yours, Mrs. Watkins," Adam said. "You and your husband don't have to pay for him unless you have extra money."

Seth rubbed the mule between his large ears and stroked his muzzle. "He come with a name?" he asked.

"Mule," Adam replied. "The man I got him from said his name was Mule."

"Okay Mule," Seth said. "You and I are gonna try to finish
plantin
' the beans and beets and hope the hail don't crush the seedlings when they come up."

Adam looked toward a crisscross of fences and the hogs milling inside the pens. "You have some nice looking sows over there," he said. "And from the size of the apparatus on that boar, they should have no trouble producing some fine shoats for you. Maybe you should try building up your stock. There's always a need for pork here, and it's bringing in a good price."

"I've thought about that," Seth said. "I still have to plant crops to feed '
em
though. But I'm much obliged for Mule, and I intend to pay you back."

"Just take care of him. And I'll try to find out who killed your mule. If I do, they'll be the ones paying me back. You just take care of your family and be good to Mule." He shoved on his hat and headed for the buckboard.

As he gathered the reins, Seth called out, "Me and the Missus will be
castin
' our votes, Mr. Whittington, and I think we'll be
castin
' them for you."

"I'd appreciate that," Adam said, then clucked his tongue and left.

As he drove, he felt strangely contented, something that hadn't happened since Priscilla arrived to turn his world upside down. Nor could he suppress the smile of satisfaction that came from helping Seth Watkins and his family. But he'd resist the urge to send a couple of his men out to repair their roof. Watkins was a proud man, and he wouldn't appreciate any more handouts. But maybe he'd talk to the man about raising hogs on shares. Watkins would do the work, but he'd put up the capital for fencing, feed and additional sows. From the size of the testicles of that big boar, he'd have no trouble servicing many more sows.

But for the moment, all Adam wanted was to go to Priscilla and share his pleasure over what he'd done for Seth Watkins, not because he wanted to use that to get Priscilla into bed, but because he wanted to see her beautiful smile, and look into her golden-lashed hazel eyes, and see her freckled face flush with pleasure. Then, he'd take her to bed.

He let out a soft chuckle. Unlike the boar, he only had one sow to service, but servicing Priscilla could be a full-time job. He liked that idea. He just hoped he had the male apparatus to keep up with her. She was one passionate woman. But he no longer worried about his virility as he had earlier, because the more demanding and outspoken Priscilla became about her desire for him, the quicker that part of him reacted, until he was beginning to wonder if his ongoing state could have long-term dire consequences.

If he were married though, he reasoned, he'd get relief at least nightly. Or several times a night, he amended, when he realized the only woman he was interested in marrying was Priscilla. And he had not yet introduced her to the marital act. But when he did, he suspected she'd put a whole different connotation to the term. The word 'act' seemed far too inactive. Possibly Marital Acrobatics, or Marital Gymnastics, or Marital Tussling. He let out a little chuckle. Marriage to Priscilla would never be lackluster.

On the other hand,
not
being married to her was torture.

It had been over a week since she bared her breasts for his pleasure, and hers, and his
condition
was worsening. Surely a man could suffer permanent damage when the state was ongoing. But tonight, he
would
get relief, and it would come while bringing sexual gratification to a feisty, provocative, overtly sensual, red-headed vixen who was driving him to certain madness.
 
Anxious to get to her and end this misery, he clucked his tongue and jiggled the reins, sending the horse into a steady trot.

CHAPTER EIGHT

'Her mind has no womanly weakness. Her

perseverance is equal to that of a man...'

—
 
Queen Elizabeth's tutor, Roger Ascham

So many women arrived for
the Town Tattler
meeting the following week that Priscilla knew she'd have to find another place for future gatherings. She also realized she might have to go to a large quarto size newspaper instead of a singlesheet. The suffrage articles had generated so much interest they were running longer than she'd expected, the guest opinion pieces were stacking up, all the regular columns were filled, and there was no end to the questions for the
Miss Manners
and
Miss Valentine
columns. She was also inundated with campaign promotionals from both sides. After running the spot for Adam, along with the engraving, other candidates had taken out advertising space for their own promotionals. It was a very demanding time for all of them, and because she was so occupied overseeing the typesetting, Priscilla put Libby in charge of answering the questions for
Miss Valentine
, and Trudy, with the enthusiastic help of Lady Whittington, was answering the questions for
Miss Manners
.

Priscilla was surprised at how involved Lady Whittington had become, not only in helping Trudy with
Miss Manners
, but because the steady stream of events flowing into the society column had come from her circle of friends. The
Tattle Tale
column was also buzzing, as those same women threw barbs and circulated rumors with typical British civility. But none of Lady Whittington's friends attended the meetings, nor did they send in opinion pieces on women's issues, which was for the best, Priscilla decided. The homesteader's wives were occupying those columns, and they would consider it an affront if the cattlemen's wives tried to insert their ideas and opinions. So Priscilla prided herself in being able to successfully juggle both sides.

After Priscilla had settled the women down for the meeting, Trudy gave her presentation on the Rational Dress Society, which contended that fashion’s roots were ornamental rather than practical. Trudy spoke with a natural ability that Priscilla greatly admired, having never had the gift herself, always wanting to be the mouse in the corner instead of the one on the stump. And Trudy had clearly captured the women's attention as she talked about a woman's right to protest the introduction of any fashion that deforms the figure or impedes the movements of the body, such as tightly-fitting corsets, and high-heeled shoes, and heavily-weighted skirts like crinolines, fashions that rendered healthy exercise almost impossible.

Trudy ended her presentation by encouraging women to seek fashions that embrace health, comfort and beauty, after which, the women got into a lively discussion about whether to wear bloomers or divided skirts, which were being promoted by the society. Two of the women owned bicycles, and several were talking about taking up the pastime. But after the subject of dress reform was exhausted, the issue of the cattlemen driving out the homesteaders came up again. A short while later, as new incidents were being recounted, Priscilla's attention was divided between what the women were saying, and the fact that Trudy seemed to have disappeared, which surprised her. Trudy had said that she wanted to hand out new flyers she'd made to help her father. Certain that Trudy was not in the crowd, Priscilla went upstairs and checked Trudy's room, but she wasn't there, which baffled and concerned her. But as she was descending the stairs, Priscilla heard Adam's name, which distracted her from thoughts of Trudy for the moment.

The incident the woman was recounting happened two nights before at the woman's neighbor's place, when his wire fence had been torn down and dragged off. "Lord Whittington's behind it alright," the woman said, "maybe not doing the dirty work himself, but he's sending his cowboys out to do it. My neighbor, Jess, said he saw the younger of the two men with Lord Whittington when they were in town a few weeks back. Jess shot at the young man to scare him off and clipped him in the arm, so we'll be watching for him around town. But he probably won't show up until his arm's healed."

"Why didn't your neighbor report it to the sheriff?" another woman asked.

The first woman gave a cynical laugh. "It would be like sending the fox to guard the henhouse since the lawmen are appointed by the cattlemen in the stockmen's association."
        

Other women joined in...

"When one of them runs for mayor, like Lord Whittington's doing, it's all about helping cattlemen. He talks pretty, but it don't mean
nothin
'."

 
"Then we'd better make sure he don't get into office," another called out, "and make sure we get out there and cast our votes."

"Amen."

The subject finally exhausted, the women returned to dress reform and exercising in garments that didn't restrict such activities as bicycling and playing tennis.

But now, Priscilla's attention was divided between the women's accusatory words about Adam and the notion that one of his men could have dragged off someone's fence, and the fact that Trudy was still missing. Deciding to draw the meeting to a close so she could search for Trudy, she raised her hands to get the women's attention, and said, "Thank you all for coming tonight, and for your subscriptions and contributions and other support for
The Town Tattler
. We'll meet again in a week, and I'll be posting on the front door where the next meeting will be, since it's too crowded in here. I'll talk to the pastor about the meeting room at the church."

After the women filed out, Priscilla was about to get on her rover and pedal to Adam's house to see if Trudy was there, since Adam's house was just on the next street and only a few blocks down, when she heard harsh voices of what sounded like a man and a woman arguing, the sound coming from just behind the building. She rushed through the storage room and swept open the door, and was shocked to find Trudy with a tall, lean cowboy, who had his arm in a sling.

...Jess shot at the young man to scare him off and clipped him in the arm...

Trudy looked at Priscilla in alarm. "I swear to you, Miss Priscilla, Tom didn't touch me," she said in a worried voice. "I was telling him that he can't come here, that it's over between us."

"You're Tom Rafferty," Priscilla said.

Eyes narrowed, he nodded, but said nothing.

Priscilla eyed the sling. "What happened to your arm, Mr. Rafferty?" she asked.

His face hardened and his lips compressed, as if he were about to tell her it was none of her business. Then his eyes shifted to Trudy and back to Priscilla, and he replied, "I was cleaning my gun and it went off."

"You told me Tanner was holding the gun," Trudy said.

Tom's jaw muscles flexed and his eyes held a hostile glint. "It was my gun."

"But you said that—"

"Hell, what difference does it make. I got shot in the arm!"
He shoved his hat on his head and turned to go. But as he was stepping off the back porch, Priscilla called after him.

"Just a moment, Mr. Rafferty. I have something else to say." She turned to Trudy, and said, "Please go to your room, Trudy. I want to talk to Mr. Rafferty alone."

Trudy shot Tom one last look, then slipped past Priscilla and dashed through the back room. A few moments later, Priscilla heard footsteps ascending the stairs. Raising her eyes from the sling, she said, "You'd better get your story straight, Mr. Rafferty. The only part that rings true is that you got shot, and I don't think the bullet came from your gun."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he said in a terse voice. "If I say I got shot with my own gun, then that's what happened. You nesters come here taking up our land and cutting off our water supply and when something happens you blame us."

Priscilla felt anger coiling in her stomach, not so much at his terse words, but because she knew he'd been one of the men to tear down the fence. She suspected the other was the one Trudy referred to as Tanner. But she refused to be intimidated by the young man. "Nesters don't tear down nester's fences, Mr. Rafferty. Cattlemen do that. But I didn't claim something happened, nor did I blame you for anything. I only said that I didn't believe the bullet you took came from your gun. But from what you just said, I have to surmise that it came from someone else's gun, maybe while they were trying to run you off their property while you were in the process of tearing down their fence?"

His lips spread in a feigned smile. "If you think that then why don't you tell the sheriff?"

"That would be pointless," Priscilla said. "But I will tell Lord Whittington. He might be interested in your conflicting stories. And one more thing before you go. Trudy's under my care while she's here, and if you try to contact her again, you'll be dealing with Lord Whittington about that as well. From what I've heard, he isn't a man to trifle with."

Tom's eyes took on the glint of steel and his nostrils flared, as he said, "Don't bother about going to Whittington. I won't be coming around to see his daughter anymore because I don't feel like getting my eyes scratched out by a loose-tailed hellcat." He shot a spate of tobacco at the ground. "As for what happened to my arm... Whittington already knows how I got shot." He turned and walked away.

...Adam Whittington's behind it... sending out his boys to do the dirty work...

It came to Priscilla that she really didn't know Adam at all. Not only could he and his men be behind many of the attacks on the homesteaders, but she'd never faced him when he was angry. She'd been around him when he was irritated and annoyed, but never when he was on the verge of losing control. His wife left him for a reason, yet, he'd never said why, and she never asked. She'd never been to his ranch to see how he lived out there, nor had they expressed their views on religion or moral values or almost anything else besides her newspaper and her desire to have him in her bed.

If truth be known, all there was between them was an obsessive physical attraction for each other bordering on deviancy. At least on her part it seemed deviant. It was not normal for a woman to lust after a man. Women were supposed to want tender love and warm hugs and gentle kisses, and in return they were duty-bound to alleviate the problem a man suffered when his male part got hard. Which was the deviant part of her relationship with Adam. She was the one who suffered when that happened, finding herself frustrated, and aroused, and yearning for him to alleviate his problem with her.

But that was about to change. The fact that Adam found her attractive meant that other men could find her attractive too, if she took some time with her appearance. Several men bid on her picnic basket at the church social, and they looked to be decent, God-fearing men who were quite presentable. And if she happened to find a man to her liking, and he asked her to marry him, she would very much like to be a virgin when he took her to bed.

Feeling an uncommonly strong sense of resolve, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. The next time Adam attempted to take her in his arms, as he was certain to do, he'd be expecting her to abandon herself to him, even strip off her clothes and beg him to relieve her shameless need. But she would steel herself against such wanton behavior. She'd let Adam know that giving up her virginity to a man who she did not love, and whom she had no intention of marrying, was no longer an option. Her maidenhead had been with her for thirty-nine years, and no moment of unrestrained passion, or reckless surrender, or unhealthy curiosity about what happens during the marital act was going to strip it away.

Holding that thought, she walked through the back room and headed for the stairs. For the first time since she'd met Trudy, she felt qualified to talk to her about the sanctity of remaining chaste until marriage. Or, if Trudy never married, to be resigned to remaining a virgin for the duration of her life. But as she started up the stairs, the bell over the front door jingled, and when she turned around to see who it was, Adam stepped into the room.

"Hello, love," he said. He tossed his hat onto the printer lever and walked over to stand at the foot of the stairs. The wide grin on his face, and the pronounced bulge in his snug-fitting trousers, left no question as to what was on his mind. And the effect on her was immediate. And unwanted. Holding that thought, she lifted her foot and backed up one step. "Before you say anything," she said, "you need to know that Trudy's upstairs."

"Not for much longer," Adam said in a low, husky voice. His eyes slowly roamed down the length of her and back up to focus on her breasts, leaving her feeling breathless, and vulnerable, and wanting what she'd vowed to reject. "She'll be going to her grandmother's tonight," he added. "Call her down and I'll take her there now."

Her chest rising and falling with her deep, erratic breaths, Priscilla backed up another step to put more distance between them, while also focusing on the reason she would not let Adam in her bed tonight, or any other night. "After
the Town Tattler
meeting this evening there was an incident here with Trudy and Tom Rafferty," she said.

Adam's face sobered. "What do you mean, an incident? What was he doing here?"