Miss Delwin's Delights Read online

  “You’d better leave.”

  Kit didn’t hear her. Why hadn’t he noticed that her hair, dappled in sunlight and shadow where she stood at the edge of the wood, was the same color as his chestnut stallion? Just as thick and long as the horse’s tail. A man could have dreams about that braid, how he’d hold it, slowly unwind it and wrap it around his … Kit broke his thought.

  He spied the cloth she held. It appeared to be a sheet.

  What was Bridie doing dragging a sheet from the woods? Suspicion sent a scowl over his features. He knew what use he would put a sheet, shady woods and a willing female to. But this was Bridie-the-timid-Delwin. No mistake. She had admitted as much.

  Innocent Bridie didn’t know what went on between a man and a most desirable female. How could she? He’d have heard if anyone found Bridie desirable. But this reasoning didn’t stop him from casting a narrow-eyed, searching glance around the yard. Her horse was in the barn. Alone. In the small fenced pasture next to the barn, a cow chewed her cud with her calf cuddled close by. Chickens pecked the dirt in their pen. No one had answered his knock.

  Staring at Bridie again, he watched her shift her weight. Impatient, was she? He’d just bet she was anxious to get back to what she had been doing.

  “Who’s here with you?” Not a question, but a demand. A downright, forceful, possessive sounding one, too. Kit wasn’t sure if he or Bridie was more surprised by it. Her lips parted on a strangled sound.

  “Well, Bridie?”

  He threatened her with the scowl marring his features. Tension rolled off his tall, lanky body. Bridie didn’t understand why he asked such a foolish question. She looked for a sign of blood. He must be wounded and fevered out of his head.

  “Are you hurt? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No.” Well, Kit amended, that wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t hurting when he rode up, but he was sure hurting now.

  “If the leaves weren’t turning, Kit, I’d believe you had too much sun. Asking me who’s here? You know there is no one but me since my daddy died.”

  “Then what are you doing with that sheet?”

  She looked down, having forgotten she still held on to the cloth. “I was gathering pecans when I saw you ride up.”

  “Nuts?” He felt like seven kinds of fool.

  “That’s right, Kit, pecans are nuts.”

  It was her Miss Maples now-do-we-understand-class voice. Kit usually grew annoyed when he heard it. Not today. It explained why she dressed in those outrageous breeches. No, he couldn’t look any longer. And he didn’t understand why a calm rolled over him learning the sheet was for gathering nuts. What the devil was happening to him? She had him at a loss for words.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, needing to do something with them. He rocked back on his boot heels and couldn’t drag his gaze from her.

  Bridie gripped the sheet with both hands. Her nerves were in an awful state. Her stomach churned again, her knees shook, and she couldn’t draw a full breath. Lord, but he was handsome. She wished he would smile. Kit had a wonderful smile that made her mouth want to turn up its corners too. She’d die for a peek of that cocky grin, the one MaryLee claimed made her want to find the nearest dark cornér. Bridie couldn’t imagine the connection, but it was a sight to make her heart beat faster.

  She took a step back. It was a fine, brave thing to tell herself that she had backbone. Fine to tell herself she could be as brazen as she liked. Acting as if it were true was harder.

  She had something else to worry about. Kit still stood close to the kitchen door. She didn’t want him to look inside. Yet, a funny feeling that they could go on for hours chasing words around made her summon courage.

  “You’ve never said why you’re here.”

  “I’ve come calling.”

  “Calling? For what?” Her eyes tracked the moves of his strong-looking hands as he set his hat back on his head. Long fingers held the front and back edge of the brim to adjust the slant. She was sorry he covered up his thick, curly, black hair. When she had sat behind him in school, she had ached to touch it. Just once. Just to see if it really felt like Janny Sue’s mamma’s silk shawl.

  “You’ve got to leave. I have work to do.”

  Kit stepped to the edge of the porch. Things had gotten off to a bad start. Hell! How was he supposed to court a woman who blindsided him?

  “I’m not calling for a thing, Bridie. I’ve come to call on you.” There, he’d said his piece, as honest as he could make it. But he wished she would stop squirming. He had not, after all, looked his fill. One second he had to admire the curve of her hip, or the length of shapely legs, and in the next, his gaze was drawn back to the gaping spot in the middle of her shirt where something white and frilly peeked enticingly.

  She was biting her lip when he repeated his reason for being here. The thought crossed his mind that he should pay a visit to Doc Walker. He might need spectacles. He could, and would swear, that the last time he had seen Bridie, she had no more curves than a piece of barn siding. If he weren’t so in lust with that feminine, curvaceous body, he would be furious that she had fooled him all these years.

  “Go on home, Kit. You must be drunk. I’ve got no time for your foolishness.”

  Bridie didn’t wait to see his reaction to her dismissal. She hightailed it into the woods, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks. Calling on her? Not likely. Not even in her dreams had she gone that far. Of all the cruel, insensitive things that had been done to her over the years, this was the meanest.

  “I’ll be back, Bridie. Tonight. Right after supper.”

  The wind carried his garbled shout to Bridie. Sobbing, she ran deeper into the woods. She didn’t understand what he said, and made no attempt to. If she had, she wouldn’t have believed him.

  Distance from Bridie eased the sexual tension that had gripped Kit. She aroused his hunting instinct by fleeing. Pure temptation beckoned to chase after her, but he didn’t believe she was ready for what would happen when he caught her. Yet the thought of chasing Bridie disturbed him. He blamed that and her curt dismissal for still feeling a bite of temper.

  For the first time Kit didn’t feel soothed as he rode over the rich, black prairie, farm and timber lands that comprised the four thousand acres he called home.

  What had been his grandfather’s log cabin was now a sprawling two-story farmhouse where smoke spiraled above the shade trees from three chimneys. His sister Alva hated being cold and kept the fires burning throughout the house especially when her husband Tom was away. Tom, a blood, bone, and heart farmer had traveled to Houston to see the first Texas rice crop. With a yellow fever quarantine over most of the south there wasn’t enough rice in Texas. Kit had agreed with Tom to investigate the chance of their growing rice, for the yield promised to be sixty bushels to an acre. Kit was not a man to turn down a chance to make more money. Tom had four imps to provide for, dowries for the two girls, and land and a house for the two boys.

  Several leggy colts raced along the pasture fence, showing off to their sire. High Man ignored them, but Kit felt a swell of pride for the young animals and the mares resting near the spring-fed pond.

  Nearer the stable, Kit’s appearance set the hounds yapping for attention. Kit wished Bridie had been half as welcoming. He greeted men by name, but the sight of a ghostly gray mare hitched by the corral set his temper on boil and intensified his thoughts about Bridie and the bet. Usually Kit saw to High Man’s grooming, but he cast the reins at one of the grooms employed to care for his racehorses, issuing orders in a terse voice for the stallion’s care.

  The very last person he wanted to see was Jamie McCarthy. His nemesis sat at the kitchen table. While his sister folded laundry, Jamie struggled to stop Kit’s year-old niece from grabbing what she could from the table.

  “Kit! Where were you? I worried when you left so early.”

  “Business, Alva.” Kit scooped the baby from Jamie’s
arms. He tickled her, loving her giggles and chubby arms hugging him. Over her curly head, he glowered at Jamie. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Don’t swear in front of Laurel. She’s picking up too many of your habits, Kit.”

  “Sorry, lamb,” he whispered, nuzzling the baby’s soft cheek. She grabbed his nose, bouncing up and down with a demand that he play horsey.

  “Not now, love.” Kit, never losing his patience, stopped her from using his collar-length hair to climb on his shoulder. Another demand for horsey had him snatch a cookie from the plate on the table. “Have this instead.” Her smile matched his. “Ah, you little heartbreaker, you’re getting more like your sister Katie every day.”

  He caught Alva’s frown over the cookie, but she didn’t say a word. They had fought over the other three children being spoiled with sweets at any hour of the day.

  “Smile, sister. What’s an uncle for?”

  “A single one makes me a target of every marriage-minded female.” Alva shook out a pillowcase with a vigor that made the cloth snap then folded it for the ironing pile. “Isn’t that right, Jamie? Your sister must tell you the very same. Both of you should be married with children of your own.”

  “Ouch.” Kit tried to appear contrite. He knew his sister was constantly pestered by requests to be in his company and Jamie had the same problem. But sympathy didn’t eliminate his anger at his friend. “Finished socializing, Jamie?”

  Jamie merely smiled. “Seems Kit’s in one of his black moods, Miz Alva.” Jamie met Kit’s warning look with a smirk. “Must’ve been mighty important business to take a man from his bed so early on a chilly morning. Ain’t that so, Kit?”

  Kit couldn’t resist the taunt. “You should know. You’re here.”

  “So I am.” Jamie sipped his coffee. “Just couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about protecting my—” Kit’s growl made him recall that the bet was a private one. “Investment, yeah, that’s what I’m doing. So how did your … er … business go?”

  “Smooth as this little lamb’s bottom. What else did you expect?” Little fingers, sticky with oatmeal and molasses, found their way to Kit’s cheeks, along with another demand for him to play horsey.

  “Sweetheart, like all women, you’re learning to have a one-track mind when you want something. Here, go spread crumbs on your mamma. I’ve got to see Jamie out.”

  “Kit! What’s wrong with you? That’s rude.” Alva had to drop the union suit she was folding to take hold of her daughter. “Did you leave your manners in the barn with your horse?”

  “No, sister, and Alva, you’re not mamma. Don’t take me to task in my house. Old Jamie here isn’t company. Out,” he ordered, taking the coffee cup from Jamie and putting it in the dry sink.

  “Forgive him, Jamie. My brother—”

  “No need to apologize, Miz Alva. I know Kit don’t mean to act like he’s been soaking up Yankee manners along with their whiskey.” But as he spoke, he rose from his chair. There was a time to push Kit and a time to back off.

  “That’s enough, James Michael. The war’s long over.” Feeling her hair slip free, Alva untangled her daughter’s fingers from her hair. She plucked a few hair pins from a crumb-filled palm. “Just you wait, Christopher Robert. I’ll get even for this. Come, love, mamma’ll wash you.”

  Kit shared a knowing look with Jamie. Alva always used people’s full names when she got into a snit.

  Jamie smoothed down straw-shaded hair that curled to his shoulders. He tucked his chair back in place, then went to the back door. Hat in hand, he turned to face Alva.

  “Thank you for the coffee and the company. A man sure appreciates something hot on a cold morning.” His grin spread to a taunting, devilish smile aimed at Kit. “Ain’t that right?”

  “Lord knows, boy, I sure did.” Locking his fingers together to stop from throttling his friend, Kit stretched his arms over his head. “Yep,” he added, licking his lips, “something hot and sweet sets a man up for whatever comes his way.”

  The slow drawl, coated with masculine satisfaction, and challenge to dare dispute his words, wiped the smile from Jamie’s face.

  Kit swallowed a lump of guilt for the lie. He blessed heaven no one knew about the bet but Jamie. And Jamie was not going to tell a soul. He could follow Jamie’s thinking process from stupefied expression to dawning knowledge that Kit knew more about Bridie Delwin then he’d let on when they made the bet. Smiling, Kit placed his hand on Jamie’s shoulder and urged him out the door.

  “Hold up, you two. What’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Alva warned. She looked at the two friends, both handsome in their own way, of similar height and build and identical innocent expressions. “Go on, tell me. I’ve seen this rooster-crowing game before.”

  “This ain’t no game, Miz Alva.”

  “Sure the hell isn’t,” Kit confirmed.

  The edge in her brother’s voice made Alva leave it alone. She shifted her baby’s weight to one hip. “Before you leave, Jamie, I want to know if we can count on you to come Friday night?” His blank look had her explain. “For the cakewalk? At the church hall? For shame, Jamie, how could you forget? We need every bachelor and widower to come. How else can we raise money for our needy brethren in New Orleans?”

  “What’s your sister talking about?”

  “Don’t you read the Daily News? Ah, Jamie, there’s yellow fever all over the state. Over three thousand have died. Last year, Mrs. Davis, came up with the idea of a cakewalk to raise money for new school books, and—”

  “I wasn’t here.”

  “No, you were in Kansas buying cattle. Anyway,” Kit continued, “the ladies got together to hold a cakewalk to raise money for the needy. You’ll have fun, Jamie, and it’s for a good cause.” Kit smiled at the memory.

  “Can I trust him, Miz Alva?”

  “No, don’t answer that. Would I fool you? All the bachelors and widowers pay ten cents admission and get a number. They play music and we all do a few fancy dance steps. When the music stops, the man whose number is called wins some lady’s fancy cake. If you smile real nice at Mrs. Davis and pay another ten cents, they’ll let you dance again. Just think of all those sweet goodies to eat.”

  Jamie rocked back on his heels. “Why can’t we just pay ten cents and dance with the ladies?”

  “’Cause that’s not how it’s done,” Alva said. “Back before the war, Mrs. Davis’s family and friends gave a prize cake to the slave who strutted the best. Nowadays, it’s a good way to match up single folks.” She wore an expectant look as Jamie thought it over.

  Kit took the decision from him. “He’ll come. Jamie loves to show off his dancing for the prettiest gals and the best baking in the county.”

  “Heck, Kit, you ain’t so bad.”

  “Not as good as you. But what the hell, Jamie, we all know what I’m better at. Now say goodbye.”

  Once outside, Kit pushed Jamie up against the stone base of the house. All camaraderie disappeared. “What the devil got into you coming around this morning? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Now, calm down, Kit. It’s just like I said. Couldn’t sleep for thinking how I was going to protect my interest. And I wanted to see High Man. I’m mighty fond of that horse and can hardly wait till he’s mine.”

  “You’ll wait,” Kit snarled. “You’ll wait till cattle ranchers welcome sheep on their lands. I’m winning our bet.”

  Jamie’s expression turned sullen. “Hell, I should of guessed I’d lose my money if what you said about Bridie being that hot and sweet is true.”

  “You calling me a liar, boy?”

  Jamie blocked Kit’s swing. “Calm down. I’m not exactly calling you a liar. It’s hard to believe. If she’s so all fired hot for you, how come she ain’t chasing after you like Sedalia and MaryLee? My sister, too.”

  “Bridie’s a lady.” Another lie, but backed by the feeling that it was true.

  “Tell you wh
at, Kit. Why don’t you bring Bridie to this social Friday night? Yeah. I’ve got a right to see the progress you’re making in your courting. How else can I know what’s going on?”

  Kit swallowed the protest springing to his lips. He lowered his arm and stepped back. Jamie had a valid point. They hadn’t worked out all the details of their bet. Jamie couldn’t come with him, couldn’t sneak around and spy on him when he went calling on Bridie. Kit would beat him to a pulp if he did. But how the hell was he going to get Bridie to come? She never attended the socials.

  “Gonna do it?”

  “Sure. No problem, Jamie. I’ll bring Bridie to the cake-walk.” Kit nodded absently to Jamie’s parting remark that he couldn’t wait until Friday night.

  Hell and damnation! His lies brought him into a satan’s coil. He’d have to lie again. There was no way Bridie was going to the social if he asked her.

  If he asked her?

  Where had that stray bit come from? Why wouldn’t he ask her?

  ’Cause everyone would know you were courting the most unlikely female for the role of wife?

  Kit examined the unasked-for reason that a nagging little voice supplied. There was some truth in it, but memory supplied a better reason. Bridie, dappled in sunlight and shadow, fawn shy. His mind supplied another peek at the button-gaping shirt, figure-hugging breeches and that long chestnut hair. Glorious, arousing, and a true challenge.

  He’d be hung for a sheep rancher before he would let Jamie see Bridie the way he had. None of the rabble-rousing bachelors were going to get a chance to feast their eyes on Bridie.

  Appeased by the decision that painted him less black than his guilt had, Kit sauntered back into the house. He was aware of a smug, possessive streak running through him. Bridie was his secret. At least for a while. He’d do his damnedest to protect her while he won his bet.

  But he’d sure like to discover how she had managed all these years to hide that lust-provoking body.

  Lies. Guess he and Bridie had them in common. But he had a feeling he’d be telling whopper-sized ones in the near future.