Miss Delwin's Delights Read online

  Miss Delwin's Delights

  Raine Cantrell

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1997 by Theresa DiBenedetto

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition July 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-344-1

  Also by Raine Cantrell

  Wildflower

  Silver Mist

  Western Winds

  Calico

  Desert Sunrise

  Tarnished Hearts

  Darling Annie

  Whisper My Name

  The Homecoming

  Novellas

  The Bride’s Gift

  Miss Delwin’s Delights

  The Secret Ingredient

  More than a Miracle

  A Time for Giving

  Apache Fire

  Chapter 1

  Texas, 1878

  Kit Sidell was a man on a mission. The most sought-after bachelor in Denison had lost a bet which fueled him to make an absolutely outrageous one in return.

  A flock of wild geese honking above him on their way south seemed to mock his attempt to find a position in the saddle to avoid the gusts of October wind. He’d already been caught by a wicked gust that snaked its way between his sheepskin-lined jacket and his shirt. Old man Acheson, who carried the largest stock of glass in town, had been right to warn folks to fix up their windows—it was getting colder.

  Kit swore. His head felt like the dance drums drifting over the border from the Indian Territory.

  His early ride this morning was all his cousin’s fault. If Jasper hadn’t changed his mind about attending the county convention in Sherman, Kit would never have been in town after Jasper caught the train. No trip to town meant he wouldn’t have stopped at the Palace Beer Hall to sample a new barrel of six-year-old whiskey.

  No whiskey, no challenge to Jamie McCarthy—the bane of his life from the time they both learned to walk—to play a few games on the new billiard table. No game, no bet, equaled no loss and no mission when a sane man would be sleeping off his excesses.

  Kit swore again. “Damn, how could I let McCarthy goad me into that stupid bet?” If nothing else came of this, he would swear off drinking anything stronger than his sister’s lemonade.

  For at least two months, he amended.

  “What possessed me?” His chestnut stallion pricked up his ears. “Hell, you wouldn’t know the answer,” Kit muttered.

  His thoughts turned black. Of all the luscious, available females in town, why had her name come up?

  Bridie Delwin.

  “An’ make no mistake, horse, I wasn’t that drunk. Her name came tripping off my tongue like I said it once a day.”

  Bridie?

  Dear God in heaven, what had he done?

  The chestnut tossed his head as if reminding Kit what he had put at risk.

  “I won’t lose this bet. I can’t lose the best thoroughbred racehorse in the state.”

  The stallion picked up his pace. Kit couldn’t decide if the animal agreed with him, or was warning him that he had better not lose. Kit’s thoughts veered from his mission to the memory of seeing High Man for the first time.

  North into Indian territory the Cherokees held horse races. Men with the same fever for fine horseflesh, good whiskey and gambling were an irresistible combination that drew Kit time and again.

  One look at the stallion and Kit made an offer before the horse raced. The Tennessee-bred horse was everything he had been looking for in a stud for his growing stable.

  Heavy bets and steady winning helped him meet the high price demanded for the horse. Kit gladly paid. Two thousand dollars poorer, minus the stallion he had been riding, saw High Man wear his saddle in the race. The horse won and kept on winning.

  Kit knew he had gotten the best of the deal. And no one ever dared to accuse him of letting grass take seed when he went after something he wanted.

  But this had happened five years ago, when he was twenty-two, still a little wet behind the ears.

  He was a twenty-seven-year-old man now, with no excuse for what he had done.

  How could he have bet the pride of his stable that he could court, then get Bridie Delwin to accept his proposal of marriage?

  If that hadn’t been bad enough, he had been goaded on by Jamie’s demand that a time limit be set.

  “After all,” Jamie had drawled, “even water wore down rock when it had time enough.”

  Thirty days.

  He had thirty days to make good or High Man went to Jamie. Damn the weasel-smart, slicker’n-a-clay-hill-after-a-rainstorm bastard.

  Jamie was an envy-laden sidewinder. But that had been true of Jamie and his friendship since the days of spitting, tree climbing, rock throwing and pissing contests they had had as boys.

  Growing up had not changed much. They still found ways to challenge each other. All with the subtlety of one of Miss Mae’s gals hiding her wares.

  Kit could be thankful that no one else knew about the bet. But he knew, and he had given his word of honor.

  “An idiot, horse, that’s what you got for an owner.” How could he forget that for five years he had avoided Jamie’s attempts to sucker him into betting High Man?

  Jamie had wanted his horse the first time he had seen him.

  The opposite held true for Kit and Bridie. He had never teased her or chased her while they were in school. Never once tried to steal a kiss. Never once asked her to dance at the church socials. But then, he recalled, she had stopped coming to them a long time ago.

  Oh, he was polite and tipped his hat if he chanced to cross her path in town or at church. She was usually wrapped in a shabby cloak, walking head down, the wide sweep of her bonnet hiding her face. Truth to tell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her face or heard more than three words from her.

  Timid and plain always came to mind, if her name was mentioned.

  A scowl creased his face. A few months ago he had offered to carry her bundles to the buckboard. She had shook her head so hard refusing his help that he had a notion her bonnet would fly off. He remembered her barely mumbled thank you as she fled. And he remembered thinking at the time that Bridie was running scared of him as if he had asked her to do something sinful.

  As if he would. Annoyance crept into his thoughts. There wasn’t one feature to recall. Not her hair or eye color. Not shape or height. Only a vague sense that he had missed something.

  Not that it mattered. He had never, even once, had a thought to courting her.

  Truth was, and this had remained Kit’s secret, he was hankering after the women who baked the delicious desserts for the Planter’s house.

  He urged his stallion across a stream, his thoughts occupied with his fondness for sweet things. Wednesday nights the hotel had pecan pie. He always had three slices. Friday night’s offering was Chocolate Clouds. A man might die happy after eating four or five. He tried his best to get into town on Monday nights, too, despite his sister’s nagging. An eight-inch-high piece of chocolate cake flavored with pecans and bourbon set a man to thinking about other smooth, deliciou
s and silky things.

  His mouth watered. Kit frowned. He had tried his best to convince Jack Lea, the proprietor of the hotel, to reveal who did the baking. Jack claimed that if he told, the woman would sell to the Alamo Hotel, his biggest competitor. Not even for the size of Kit’s bribe would Jack risk losing what drew more cowboys into eating at his place than the food.

  Kit wasn’t about to give up. In the past few months he had narrowed down the most likely candidates to widow Marylee Hanna and the mighty flirtatious Sedalia Chadick.

  Twice now, he had accepted supper invitations to the Chadicks’ ranch. He couldn’t accept another without declaring his attentions. He was tempted. Both times, Sedalia had served him a chocolate cake every bit as good as the one at the hotel. Not as high, but just as smooth, sweet and silky.

  Then, Chocolate Clouds had shown up in MaryLee’s box lunch that he bid upon at the last church social. It was a good thing the men in his family didn’t run to fat, for she had let him eat all six of the delightful dessert.

  Despite all his charm—he’d been told it was considerable by enough women to believe them—he couldn’t get either woman to admit she was baking for the hotel.

  His daddy always said that Kit was like a bloodhound when he went after something. He’d find a way to overcome the woman’s scruples. And when he did, he just might marry the lady who had baked her way into his heart.

  Just thinking about those sweets was almost as good as remembering a rousing night of good sex.

  He jerked ramrod straight in the saddle, yanking the reins and causing the chestnut to toss his head in annoyance for the abrupt move.

  Thank the good Lord he had not bet that he would actually marry Bridie.

  If ever the Lord and man had fashioned a woman who would not excite a cowboy off a trail drive to lusty thoughts, that woman was Bridie Delwin.

  He would bet—and only with himself this time—that she had never been kissed.

  By a man, that is.

  A man who liked his females as hot as a working forge, with more curves than the Red River, and knew how to give as good as she could take.

  Kit, without modesty, admitted to having his share of such women. He had never gone without a willing female from the time he was old enough to understand the difference between a whispered no-come-convince-me-to-yes, and a flat-out no.

  Not that he had heard too many of those. His sister Alva, being the oldest, said women fell over themselves admiring the combination of green eyes, thick black lashes with hair to match and a cocky devil’s grin. Kit enjoyed the attention. Only a fool wouldn’t. But he knew it was merely luck that the Lord had taken the best of his folks and wrapped it up handsomely in him.

  He wondered if Bridie had ever noticed. He couldn’t recall her ever looking directly at him. She had to be the most timid creature walking the land.

  Now for the rest of her … no! He had to stop right there or he’d hightail it back home.

  Despite the chill, Kit broke out in a cold sweat. He had to go on. There was no choice. Patting the stallion’s neck, he mumbled an apology. He wasn’t going to lose his horse. Bridie would be courted.

  A quick glance showed him that he had ridden the three miles southeast of town and crossed onto Delwin land. He drew rein in a thick stand of pecan timber. The one-hundred-foot trees towered above him. Guilt ate at him for what he was about to begin. He reached high to touch one of the clusters of thin-shelled nuts hidden among the yellowing leaves. Another sign of winter coming.

  Bridie would blossom under his attention.

  Thirty days.

  His mamma had been fond of telling him that the Lord would always help him overcome his difficulties. Kit knew if ever he had needed divine guidance, he needed it now.

  Delay wasn’t winning him any bets. He rode forth to meet his fate.

  What was the stud of the county doing on her land?

  Bridie Delwin clung to the tree limb and stared in disbelief at the man who kept his horse to a walk through her woods not thirty feet from her.

  Kit Sidell had never called on her. And it was the middle of the week. No one came calling in the middle of the week. What could he want?

  She shimmied back along the limb until her boot hit the crook o f the tree. She was shaking so badly that she dropped the long pole she had been using to knock down the ripe pecans. Inching her way up to a sitting position, Bridie wrapped her arms around her middle.

  The fifteen-foot height hadn’t robbed her of breath or caused her heart to pound at a furious rate. Lordy! It really was Kit heading for her house. A strangled moan escaped her lips. The most sought-after bachelor in town had come to call.

  On her. Her stomach churned at the thought. Why?

  Did she really care to know the reason? If she could gather her courage, she could go after him and feast her eyes upon him. Bridie licked her suddenly dry lips.

  But she no longer stared at Kit’s receding back. She glanced down at herself. She couldn’t let him see her. She couldn’t let anyone see her. She would expire right on the spot.

  No, that wasn’t true. She couldn’t die. Wouldn’t.

  She could just stay right there, hidden in the tree, ignore Kit, swallow the curiosity that burned its way through her and spend the next month of Sundays calling herself all kinds of a fool for missing the chance to see him.

  Her gaze drifted down to the old mended sheet she was using to gather her pecan harvest. When in need, use what’s at hand. Papa had been fond of quoting that to her.

  Minutes later, having conquered her trembling, Bridie stacked the nuts at the base of the tree, then made her way through the forest toward her house.

  Reminding herself that this was her land helped her find backbone and steadied her breathing. She warned herself with every step that this time she would look directly at his face. She would even find a way to unstick her lips and tongue and talk to him.

  Brazen. That’s what she would be. Then, when he’d gone, she would hightail it into the house and cry for lost opportunities and for missing the line where the Lord had handed out feminine wiles, a flirtatious manner, a body that men tripped over their own feet to admire, and the knowledge to use them to capture the elusive Kit.

  Not that the man didn’t have enough women chasing after him. From her first day at school she had understood that Kit belonged to all the pretty girls.

  Now it was the pretty women. She knew what MaryLee and Sedalia were up to, asking her to bake goodies to tempt Kit and passing them off as their own. Like either woman needed more ammunition than what they were blessed with. And Janny Sue McCarthy wasn’t any better. She had come around for months, pretending to be a friend, while all the time she was trying to steal her recipes.

  A smile teased Bridie’s lips. She bit back a laugh. She had fixed Janny Sue. Leaving out an ingredient here and adding a few there, had showed Janny Sue that she didn’t have the talent to bake an upside down cake.

  The smile disappeared. Bridie admitted that she missed having female company. Fox sly though it was.

  She smelled the wood smoke from her chimney and slowed her pace.

  Where was she rushing? Who was she fooling? She didn’t have one thing that Kit wanted.

  Memories charged forth. Bridie froze. She had learned her school lessons well, and those that had taken place beyond the classroom. Nothing had changed in the years that slipped away, lonely day by lonely day.

  Squaring her shoulders, Bridie tightened her grip on the sheet. She was ready to confront the devil if need be.

  Kit called her a timid mouse of a woman. When other men were around, a knowing laugh always followed. She had had her fill of sly remarks. She was twenty-five years old and tired of dreaming, of hoping and praying for the moon.

  The sheet she had draped over herself for cover fell behind her. Dragging it forth with one hand, Bridie stepped into the clearing. The realization that she had arrived in time to stop Kit from
entering the house forced her to shout.

  “Lost your way? ’Cause I can’t figure why else you’d be standing one foot in and one foot out of my kitchen.”

  The husky taunting voice had Kit spinning around. He lost his breath somewhere between word one and the last. His brows felt like they were climbing to his hairline. He shook his head. He closed his eyes, only to open them and stare. This couldn’t be Bridie Delwin.

  Could not be.

  Chapter 2

  Bridie Delwin was a woman. An Eve. The kind of woman old Reverend Tobias preached would lead a man to sin. Hot damn, lead him away!

  Kit stared at the figure-hugging breeches, the likes of which he had never seen on any female. Blood rushed, pooled and heated his body. He was in lust. For the sake of a man’s sanity—his—he should look away before he lost his eyesight staring at the button-gaping, faded blue shirt she wore.

  Bridie yearned to retreat into the woods. She had never seen such an intent look on any man’s face. Not when he was looking at her. She couldn’t name it, but it frightened her. Moments later honesty forced the admission that the look on Kit’s handsome face excited her, too.

  Remember, you have backbone. Before her newly found backbone melted into a puddle, she propped one hand on her hip and used the other to flip back the lone braid whose end brushed the top of her thigh. They were moves she had witnessed countless times made by other women when they had flirted with Kit. Likely they used them on other men, too, but she never had cared.

  “Well?” she prompted in a husky voice.

  “B-Bridie?” Kit cleared his throat. He didn’t want to talk to her, just look his fill. He whipped off his hat just remembering his manners, then stood like a block of wood on the shadowed back porch of her neat little frame house.

  “You must be here for a reason.” But Bridie couldn’t figure it out.

  “Right. I am.”

  What had she done? Had her appearance so shocked him that he could not tell her?