The Baby Notion Page 12

  He cleared his throat. “Much as I appreciate the dancing lesson, honey, I’m afraid I’m never going to be much of a threat to old whatshisname—the cat in the black-andwhite suit in those old movies.”

  “Fred Astaire,” Priss filled in for him. Actually, she was glad the music had ended when it had, because she’d come close to forgetting what they were supposed to be doing. She could’ve stood there all week, secure in his arms, swaying to the music, feeling warm and loved and sexy. It was getting so she couldn’t be around him for two minutes without wanting to curl up in his arms.

  And then he’d kissed her, and it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world until the old doubts began to creep in. Could her father have been right after all? That it was the Barrington bank account that was the big attraction?

  If that was the case, poor Jake was clean out of luck. The only part of her father’s estate she’d inherited was a small annuity, and she’d already overdrawn her quarterly allowance sending Rosalie to Dallas with gifts for all her nieces and nephews, plus enough blood pressure medicine to last her until she got back home.

  If, on the other hand, it was her virtue he was interested in, that was even worse. Because as embarrassing as it was to admit, she still had it. At the advanced age of twenty-nine, she was still depressingly whatever that latin phrase was that meant a virgin. She’d overheard it at the sperm bank. They’d made her answer a lot of nosy questions about her periods, her blood type, her income and her love life—things that were nobody’s business but her own. And then she’d filled out a long questionnaire, turned it in and waited, which was when she’d overheard the woman in the white coat talking to someone in the office, and then Miss Agnes had come in and things had gone from bad to worse, and she’d stormed out, spitting mad, and headed to Faith’s to buy toys for her children.

  “Priss? P.J.? Honey, are you asleep?”

  “What? Of course I’m not…” She realized she was stiff as a board, both fists knotted in her lap. For one brief moment she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. “Jake, I’m sorry. Once in a while I forget there are other people around and go off somewhere in my head.”

  Forcing herself to relax, she settled back against the hard cushion, relishing Jake’s warmth and the comforting feel of his arm across her shoulder. As angry as she’d been at the time, she supposed they couldn’t just give babies to anyone who walked in off the street wanting one. At least that part of it was over. Next time maybe they’d give her one of those little fertility kits and tell her when to come in again. She’d already been reading up on how to use it and all.

  “Go off somewhere in your head, huh? Sounds good to me.”

  He smiled that nice, crinkly-eyed smile and then they both fell silent. For the next few minutes, the only thing to be heard in the square, ugly room was the occasional creak of old boards cooling after the day’s sun and the sound of their own breathing, which had slowed considerably.

  As a child, Priss had learned to disappear into her own world when the real world came at her too hard and fast. As an adult, she sometimes still did. Her fourth-grade teacher had once called her a solitary child. The description had caught her fancy.

  Priss had enjoyed dramatizing herself at that age. She’d been, by turns, a foundling left on the wrong doorstep by mistake; Princess Priscilla, stolen by Gypsies and rescued by a masked man, and Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. Because fantasies weren’t required to make sense, hers seldom did.

  Somewhere along the way, the solitary child had turned into the lonely woman, but by then there wasn’t much she could do about it. The harder she tried to be like everyone else, the more of a mess she made. At least Faith and Rosalie and Sue Ellen had accepted her the way she was. And of course, she had the kids at the hospital.

  “Penny for ’em?” Jake drawled.

  There was no coffee table. They had scrunched down so that their legs were stretched out in front of them, crossed at the ankles. Jake’s were longer than hers. The boots he was wearing, while not new, were expensive. Having three pairs by the same bootmaker herself, Priss recognized the quality.

  “Nice boots,” she said.

  “You were thinking about my feet?”

  “Not your feet—your boots. I have some almost like them. Not as big, that is, but with almost the same design.”

  Jake fingered a piece of her skirt that trailed across his thigh. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before,” he said.

  “We only met day before yesterday—or was it the day before that? Way out here in the country, I lose track of time.”

  “It was Thursday, but I’d seen you around town a few times before that. You were always wearing jeans.”

  “Everybody wears jeans. I hate to be conspicuous.”

  When he didn’t reply, she peered up at him and caught him grinning. “What?” she demanded. “Jake, what are you laughing about? Is it because for any woman not to be conspicuous these days, she’d have to be wearing maternity clothes? Honestly, did you ever see so many people getting pregnant? It’s a regular epidemic.”

  That hadn’t been exactly what he’d been thinking, but Jake let it pass. If she had any idea how conspicuous she was wearing jeans, she’d be embarrassed and so would he, on account of then he’d have to tell her how even though he’d never even got a good look at her face before Thursday, he could’ve picked her out of a crowd anywhere.

  “I probably ought to go up to bed. I’m thinking about checking on my apartment first thing tomorrow. It ought to be ready by now, don’t you think?”

  Jake didn’t have to think. He reacted instinctively, easing the reins. “Me, I’d give it a few more days, be sure they’re all finished up and cleared out before I moved back in, but it’s your call.”

  He watched a frown pucker her feathery brown eyebrows, watched her lower lip get snagged by a gleaming white tooth. And then he sent his next signal. “Did I tell you about the mares I picked up the other day? There’s one I’d kind of like to show you, see what you think of her. She’s got some age on her, but she’s still got a lot of class. I thought we might ride down to the south boundary in the morning, sort of try out her paces. I can show you the prettiest little creek you ever saw, and you can tell me if you think she’ll make a good ladies’ mount. I’ve got in mind selling her to a dude ranch down near the Frio River canyon.”

  His voice was easy, but there was a dark gleam in his eyes that made Priss think it was about time to say goodnight. If she was ever going to.

  “Yes, well…that sounds real nice. Hmm. I’m not really an expert, you understand, but I guess I could—Jake, did you know your right eye is twitching?”

  He shrugged. “Tired, I guess.”

  “You are, or your eyes are?”

  “Both.” Either he was closer or her own eyes were playing tricks. “Been reading too much fine print lately. Stuff gets smaller all the time. Priss—”

  “You need to have your eyes examined.”

  He scowled. “Who, me? Hell, I’m only thirty-five.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Priss?”

  It wasn’t just her imagination. He was closer. So close she could see her own reflection in his eyes.

  And then he kissed her. Again.

  She could have pulled away. Probably should have if she knew what was good for her, but then, she’d never known that. All she knew at that moment was that she wanted his kiss more desperately than she had ever wanted anything in her life. The hard heat of Jake’s body against hers. The soft feel of his hair under her fingers. The satiny texture of his skin, and his taste—

  Oh, my, yes, the taste of him—sweet, smoky, intoxicating…

  It was Priss who turned so that she was lying across his lap. It was Jake who found the small covered buttons that opened her dress on both shoulders. Before she quite knew what was happening, the soft, filmy fabric was caught on the tips of her breasts. And then he was kissing her there, his mouth leaving smoldering trails over
the hills and valleys even as his hands explored the shape of her knees, her thighs, easing her full skirt up until the tops of her stockings were exposed.

  She felt his breath catch at the sight of her bare skin, which, if she’d thought about it, would have surprised her, because skin was nothing unusual. Everybody had it. Most women showed more of it than she ever had, except in the swimming pool.

  Although, come to think of it, as many bare male chests as she had seen in her lifetime, the sight of Jake’s chest, with its scars and its wide patch of coarse curls and its flat brown nipples, had made her knees threaten to give way.

  He was breathing hard, but then, so was she.

  She knew he was aroused, because she could feel the hard ridge under her hip, straining against the front of his pants, and she wanted more than anything to touch him there, to explore him the way he was exploring her. To follow this aching, needy feeling wherever it led, and let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.

  His fingertips had just edged under the lace of her panties when she heard him mutter something softly profane. Her thighs sort of fell apart of their own free will, and she was hot and wet and throbbing. She slipped her hand in between them, wriggling it down toward his belt—feeling the rippling muscles under her fingers as he reacted to her touch. It was the most thrilling thing she had ever experienced.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  “Jake, could we—”

  He caught her hand just as she felt the unnatural knob in a place that was usually perfectly flat. “Sweetheart, not here. Go easy, will you? I’m too old to pull a fool stunt like this.” He groaned. His head fell back on the top of the sofa, and she stared at him, a little hurt, a little puzzled. Needing and wanting more than he was evidently willing to give her.

  “Timing’s off,” he rasped. “Here comes Pete.”

  And there he came. They had barely scrambled halfway back to respectability when the old man waddled into the parlor bearing a tray filled with mismatched mugs, a can of evaporated milk and the crusty sugar bowl.

  “You folks is mighty quiet in here. Want me to play ye some more music?”

  A few hours later, her hair in rag rollers, a layer of revitalizing creme on her face and throat, and castor oil on the new calluses at the base of her fingers, Priss lay awake and wondered about a lot of things. Such as how a woman knew when she was in love with a man. Such as how to tell when a man was seriously interested in more than just sex. Such as whether sex alone would ever be enough in case he wasn’t.

  Staring into the darkness, her thoughts turned to a more practical matter, and she wondered if riding could really be all that difficult. The last time she’d been up on a horse, she’d been five years old. She had wanted a pony. Instead, her father had put her up on his own horse, a big bay gelding that stood some sixteen hands high and had small, mean eyes and big, yellow teeth. She’d been so far off the ground she’d been terrified and had begged to be taken off.

  Her father had been so disgusted with her, he’d jerked her from the saddle, told her to grow up, and then stalked off and left her there in the paddock with the horse and the groom.

  The groom, who smelled of rum, horse sweat and snuff, but was unfailingly kind, had set her outside the gate and told her to run home and ask Rosalie for some ice cream, but by then the damage had been done. She’d been scared of horses ever since. Not petrified scared—more like a healthy-respect scared.

  On the other hand, once she’d conquered her fear of computers, she had learned to use one. She had learned to ski. She had learned when to plant what, when to prune what, and what would grow where. One year at summer camp, she had even learned to fly cast, although there wasn’t a whole lot of call for fly fishermen around New Hope.

  She could darn well learn to ride. Besides, she thought, punching her pillow and flopping restlessly onto her side, it was one more excuse to be with Jake.

  But for someone who was so good at learning, she was still dumb as a stump when it came to learning to protect her heart. Going from Eddie to a man like Jake Spencer was like taking off her training wheels and climbing into the cockpit of an F-16.

  So they rode. Jake could tell right off Priss was nervous. He tried to reassure her. And Priss tried to pretend it was a piece of cake, but he’d felt the tension in her when he’d taken her arm to steer her past the trough.

  She admitted she hadn’t ridden in a long time, and Jake thought, Yeah, like never.

  But he didn’t say anything. He owed her something to make up for her dancing lesson, and he’d already put the mare through her paces. She was steady as a rock, not likely to give trouble. Casually, so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, he went over a few basics while he saddled up. “I’ll be right there beside you, in case you get nervous or anything, all right?”

  “I’m fine. You should’ve seen the first horse I ever rode, which was also the last one. He was big as an elephant, with mean-looking little eyes.”

  “Yeah? When was that?”

  “I was five years old,” she said, her quick glance daring him to make something out of it.

  Jake shook his head. “Stirrups feel right? I can take ’em up some more.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, a stiff, bright-eyed smile making him want to kiss her until she loosened up some.

  Which probably wasn’t a real good idea. “Her name is Rebecca’s Baby Duckling.”

  “Goodness, that’s a mouthful. Can I call her Becky?”

  “Or Duck. Or Baby. It’s your call.”

  She took a deep breath, beamed at him, and said in a voice that was only half an octave or so higher than usual, “Then, let’s move ’em on out, Baby.”

  It was all Jake could do to keep from lifting her out of the saddle, holding her until some of the stiffness went out of her backbone and then laying her down in the nearest haystack and giving her another kind of riding lesson.

  They set out at an easy pace on a southeast tack toward the creek, which was man-made, but old enough to be pretty, with trees and high grass, some rocks and a few wildflowers. He figured she’d like it, seeing as how she kept bringing up the lack of any bushes around the house.

  He promised himself he wouldn’t let things get out of hand again, and he meant it, too. She was a permanent kind of woman, and he was anything but.

  On the other hand, he figured she owed him for that damned sausage. And his best and only suit. And his shirts. Not to mention all those nights when he’d come home from town after seeing her and hours later, he’d still be sitting out on the porch, nursing his solitary beer while he thought about ways of meeting her, ways of seducing her—ways he could satisfy the hunger she aroused in him.

  As they rode, Jake pointed out the bungalows where Rico and Joe lived with their families. He showed her the new barn, the training pen, and the pasture where the rest of his new mares grazed peacefully, tails swishing away the flies.

  “I’ve got a buyer interested already,” he confided modestly. “Never hurts to rachet up a little bit of interest before a sale.”

  He told her about the roan stud, and talked a little bit about buying and selling horses, and she seemed genuinely interested, which led him to talk some more about his plans for improving the spread. “I’m not talking big, understand. Just quality. I don’t need any more space than I have, but there’s considerable work that still needs doing before I can sit back and relax.”

  “Everybody needs a goal,” she said, and he thought about the short-term goal that had ended when he’d taken her into his home.

  Leastwise, it was supposed to have ended. Funny thing, he couldn’t seem to convince his body.

  “Jake, did you ever think about getting married?”

  He nearly swallowed his Adam’s apple. “No, ma’am, I never did. Leastwise, not since I was old enough to know better.” It was the truth. If he’d thought about it first, he never would’ve married Tammi.

  “Oh.”

  He shot her a curious look. Had Faith been talking? He fi
gured most folks around these parts knew he’d been married briefly, a long time ago—so long ago, it seemed like another lifetime.

  “Well. I just thought I’d ask,” she said, and then they rode on some more in silence while Jake sweated and wondered if he’d left his brains in his other hat.

  They came to the creek and she stopped, shifting her weight and easing back on the reins just as he’d shown her. She wasn’t exactly a natural, but she was a quick study, which sort of surprised him. A lot of things about the woman were beginning to surprise him.

  “Jake, it’s gorgeous!” she said, and he could tell she meant it.

  Hell, it was only an irrigation ditch old man Holloman had dug forty or fifty years ago. Jake had never thought of it as gorgeous, but he had to admit it was a right pretty place. Dropping his reins, he went to lift her down, knowing she’d be pretty shaky after riding even this short distance. He was so proud of her he could bust. She’d hung in there. Hadn’t asked any advice, either. She’d watched him like a hawk, and he’d been so caught up in his role as a silent teacher, he’d nearly forgot to enjoy the view of her butt rising over the cantle.

  Which was probably just as well.

  The trouble started when he lifted her down from the saddle. She more or less fell into his arms, and his arms just flat out refused to turn loose.

  “Steady there,” he said, and she laughed. The sound of that husky little chuckle wiped every scrap of common sense clean out of his head.

  “Ah, Prissy, you don’t make it easy on a guy, do you?”

  “My legs are wobbly,” she told him, as if that would explain it.

  “They’ll be stiff later on tonight,” he said hoarsely.

  That wasn’t all that was going to be stiff. She had to know what was happening to him. It wasn’t as if he could hide it. And, dammit, if she wasn’t as turned on as he was, she was giving a pretty good imitation of it, hanging on to him the way she was, with her breathy little sighs and her sexy little wiggles.

  One part of his brain whispered a warning.

  Another part warned that if he let her go, he would regret it all the rest of his life.