19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

H e shouldered through colorfully dressed women and soberly dressed men, hard blue eyes searching for a tall blonde in red. Junior's heart pounded as forcefully as the music jumping from the corner stage of the dance hall, his tanned skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The crush was sweltering, suffocating, and he clenched hands into fists until engorged veins wound along the tendons and knuckles. He couldn't stop thinking about Isa and what he'd say to her. What he'd do.

Her hair lay coiled in his vest pocket, a dark gold noose against his heart.

Junior had arrived late to the Fall Dance. Champion had thrown a shoe a mile out from the house, and by the time the gelding, and his newly restored horseshoe, was settled in the Dogwood Hotel's stable, Isa had already departed.

Cursing his rotten luck, Junior shouldered his way to one of the open double doors. He considered lighting a cigarette. Lanterns were lit, and through the double doors, he saw children run hither and thither, jumping over the fire, roasting nuts, bobbing for apples, and participating in three-legged races.

Finally, he saw the broad back of a man with curling black hair, arm in arm with a woman in blue. Ben and Lucy. Junior strode back into the sea of skirts, feathered hats, and felt bowler hats. Lucy, whose side was to him as she spoke to another woman, noticed him.

"There you are." Lucy reeled him into the group of people. The woman she'd been talking to stared at Junior. He avoided her ogling and searched once again for a red dress.

Lucy was talking but he didn't hear her. Impatience crawled along his spine, tightening his muscles. "Where's Izzy?"

"Dancing, I think," Lucy said. "She's been on the dance floor since Gareth brought her."

"I thought you brought her," he snapped.

"Gareth rode by the hotel to look at her filly, so they rode here together." Lucy spoke lightly, unbothered by his terseness. "The children weren't ready yet, in any case."

He was already straining to see over the heads of the men around him at the dance floor. There! A flash of dark crimson satin and black lace snagged his attention. Isa wore her gleaming hair in an evening coiffure with two black wings at the crown. She and her dance partner towered above the other dancers. Junior's lip curled.

Jealousy stabbed deep into his gut and twisted.

Lucy had continued her conversation with the woman, and Ben's deep voice could be heard discussing mundane things with a couple of men. Meanwhile, a woman in a blush pink gown sidled over from a neighboring group. From the corner of Junior's eye, he saw a lot of teeth and smelled a heavy application of gardenia toilette water. Something in her bearing reminded him strongly of Kristy Anne. Sinuses burning, he struggled not to lose sight of Isa's tapered waist, the flare of her red pleated skirts.

"Why, Mr. Stone. I've not seen you in these parts for some time," simpered the young woman to his right.

He grunted something. There was a roaring in his ears as Isa's head went back, her white teeth flashing with laughter. His fists clenched. A tinkling giggle escaped lips too close to his ear; he wanted to scrub the sound out with a finger.

"I see you are without a dance partner," the woman hinted.

Irritation flared.

"I'm dancing with her next dance." He nodded in Isa's direction.

The many teeth disappeared. After several moments' pause—was she waiting for an apology?—the female flounced off, cheeks the color of Ms. Ruth's spiked punch. Junior didn't care. Once upon a time, he would have twirled her around the floor and lavished her with praise for whatever dancing skill she may or may not have possessed on the off chance that Isa would see and be jealous. Such games didn't appeal to him tonight. That sharp twisting in his gut hadn't abated. He was too pent up to pretend with anyone. Too angry.

Finally, the string bass played its last jolly note of "The Yellow Rose of Texas." The dancers laughed, curtsied or bowed at each other, and dispersed from the dance floor.

"Oh, here she comes." Lucy waved Isa over. "Junior, have you met Gareth Glen?"

Unsmiling, Junior met the eyes of the man he'd walloped for kissing Isa six years before. He shook the young man's hand with enough strength to make the tendons in their hands pop. Beside Lucy, Ben straightened, a sleepy guardian dog coming to attention.

"Sure, I've met him." Junior's lips barely moved.

"How could I forget?" Gareth replied, his eyes dark shards above a pleasant smile.

Isa dabbed at her collarbones with a handkerchief, frowning at Junior and Gareth's endless handshake. "Are you two going to hold hands all night, or can I persuade one of you to get me a cider?"

Reflexively, Junior said, "Your legs work."

Gareth's answer was far smoother. "I'd be honored."

The handshake ended, and circulation returned, maroon fingers gradually returning to their normal shade. Gareth kissed Isa's gloved hand before he melted into the crowd, and Junior watched her surreptitiously wipe it against her skirts.

Lucy cocked a hip and looked at her husband. "I've missed something."

"That's the fellow who stole a kiss from Isa right before she and Poppy went missing," Ben reminded her. "We weren't at that dance."

Mouth rounding into a little o , Lucy opened her fan and vigorously fluttered it.

"What makes you think I wasn't the one doing the stealing?" Isa nicked Lucy's fan and began to wave it in front of her shining pink face. "I'm sweating like a pig in this dress. It'll be a miracle if Gareth comes back."

Isa didn't look like a pig. She looked dewy and sensual. He wanted to lick every inch of her exposed skin. It was damned hard to keep his eyes from the square neckline of her bodice and the swells of cleavage it revealed. It boggled the mind that Lucy let her show up without one of those little hankies tucked over her bosom. A black choker necklace with dangling obsidian beads drew the eye, and the dress's sleeves were slips of intricate lace. Elbow-length black gloves contrasted starkly against deep red skirts, and Junior itched to peel them off, one by one.

And then he wanted to choke her with them.

"Stop glaring at me," Isa hissed for his ears alone, waggling her fan in front of his face.

He folded his arms and stared. "I wasn't even looking at you."

"Yes, you were."

"A man can't stretch his eyes without a woman accusing him of something?"

Across the dance floor, the woman-scorned in pink chatted to a group of young women, pointing his way.

"Stretching your eyes?" Her lips flattened.

"Yep."

"You're unbelievable."

"Here you are, madam," said a voice to Junior's left. Gareth's center part looked foolish to Junior, especially paired with his wispy mustache. How old was the boy now? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? "Would you like to dance?"

Isa threw back the cider and shoved the empty cup and fan into Junior's unwilling hands. "I'd love to."

The handsome couple disappeared onto the dance floor, the hardwood vibrating with the stomping feet of an upcoming square dance. Lucy murmured something to Ben, then asked louder, "Junior, will you take me for a spin while Ben checks on the children?"

Releasing the tight clench of his jaw, Junior nodded and passed the cup and fan to a disgruntled Ben.

Lucy, the little devil, placed them right beside Isa and Gareth. For torturous minutes, he was forced to hook Isa's arm with his and twirl them around before returning to his position. She scowled when paired with him and beamed when paired with Gareth. It was enough to make him howl. To tear at his hair and run from the dance hall screaming. He wanted to go to the nearest saloon and drink his way through a bottle of whiskey. Then he'd fight the biggest man at the bar.

But to do that, he'd have to leave Isa in the company of this young, lean deputy, whose dark eyes marked the way her heels kicked up her skirts and the way her breasts bounced with each step. Junior, a fair-fighting man, wanted to gouge those eyes out. If the young man thought about pawing Isa again in some darkened alley the way he had six years prior, Junior would finish what he'd started. This time, he wouldn't stop. It was all he could do to dance this ridiculous dance and glare impotently from afar, hating.

A woman's high-pitched scream, followed by a ruckus from the sidelines, brought the music to a wrenching halt. People turned as one toward the end of the hall nearest the first set of double doors. Without hesitation, Junior and Gareth broke free from their partners and waded through the curious onlookers to the scene of the scuffle. Two men were in a scrap by the cider table. A faint woman was held up by two others a short distance away.

"Break it up," Gareth barked, hauling the younger of the men away.

Junior hooked his arms beneath the damp armpits of the older, burlier man and brought him back a few steps. "Might want to cool that temper before you spend the night in the hoosegow."

"That sonuvabitch owes me money," the man growled, straining against Junior's hold. "He had the nerve to show his face here, braggin' about the ring he bought his strumpet."

Several women nearby gasped.

"This is a family event," Junior said softly. Menacingly. "Keep your yap shut while you're around women and children or I'll shut it for you."

"Get your goddamned hands off me." The belligerent man began to struggle in earnest.

Junior strengthened his hold.

From his suit pocket, Gareth pulled free a pair of handcuffs and neatly shackled Junior's captive. "I'll take it from here," the deputy said, meeting Junior's eye. "Can't have him starting this up again around a bunch of families."

"Need a hand?"

"I got it. The other gentleman involved said it was unprovoked, backed up by eyewitnesses."

Before walking off, Gareth nodded grudgingly at Junior, then frog-marched his prisoner through the double doors into the night. Junior watched them go, irritated at the sneaking respect he felt for someone he hated on principle.

"What happened?" Isa asked from behind him, so close he felt her breath on his neck. It hadn't taken long for her to come sticking her nose right into the fray.

He considered leaving. It would be strictly an act of self-preservation. Instead, he reluctantly gave her a quick breakdown of events. Ben and Lucy were nowhere to be seen—probably gathering their children up during the melee. Surrounded by strangers, he and Isa were alone. Through the hum of gossip around them, the band started up a sweet, slow song. He turned to face her, and they observed each other warily.

Without a word, he drew her into the dance.

She let him.

It felt dreamlike, whirling her around with the other couples. No family was looking on, and no jealous suitors were nearby. It was just the two of them, like when they were on the trail.

"You ever miss being on the trail?" he asked, then cursed himself for asking.

She answered candidly. "Yes. I miss it all the time. It was peaceful."

"Yep. Quiet."

She nodded, and her eyes, pale as gilded whiskey, drifted from the top of his styled hair, to the black kerchief at his neck, to the tailored fit of his dove gray vest. His own gaze trailed from the onyx bird wings in her hair to the delicate strength of her shoulders under the revealing dress's sleeves, then stopped. He'd be damned if she caught him ogling her breasts, no matter how tempted he was.

"You look pretty," he said softly so no other dance partners could hear him.

Her eyes shuttered. "Where is your fiancée?"

Not this again. "I told you. I don't have a fiancée."

"That's not what everyone else believes." She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, but her temple flickered.

"I called it off like I said I would." It was hard to keep his anger in check. She made him feel violent. Desperate. "Which shouldn't have been necessary as I've never asked anyone to marry me before, Izzy. You want me to go up on stage, grab the megaphone, and announce it to the whole town?"

"Be my guest."

"Alright." He released her and strode purposefully toward the band, weaving between twirling couples, ignoring dirty looks. A hand gripped his arm at the elbow. He hid his smirk before Isa turned him around. They continued their dance, her color heightened. More seriously, he said, "I'll always call your bluff."

She looked intently at him beneath lowered brows. "I know."

They danced in silence, breathing each other in, gazes tangled together.

JUNIOR RODE IN the back of Ben's wagon around midnight. Two of his nephews listed to one side of the wagon bed. Jack had already nodded off on the bench seat; his little head rested on Lucy's lap, drooling onto her skirts.

"I'll put the wagon up," Junior murmured to Ben once they had parked in the hotel stable.

Arms full of his two oldest sons, Ben grunted his thanks and followed Lucy and Jack through the back door. In the stable breezeway, the sounds of Isa putting away Mirage's tack made the quiet night less lonely. Once he inhaled long and slow, Junior freed Ben's horse from the yoke and took him to an empty stable beside Isa. He and Isa worked in silence, the stable wall between them. There were so many things he wanted to say that pride wouldn't give voice to.

The silence was choking him.

Then, "How was your supper with your mother?" Isa's tone was deceptively offhand.

His hands paused beneath the horse's halter. "Quick."

"Quick?"

He needed to see her face. Junior abandoned the horse and entered the stable adjacent to him. A disinterested Mirage's jaw worked around a mouthful of hay, loud in the stillness. Even in the watery street light, her coat glistened. Meanwhile, Isa paid him no mind, warning him that whatever truce they had come to during their last dance was still quite shaky.

"Mm." His jaw worked while he watched the jut of her bustle beneath her slim back. "I reckon my pa is looking everywhere to hand me an ass whippin' I won't forget for the way I spoke to Mother and Miss Kristy Anne."

"That bad?" Her back was to him, but she'd ceased moving.

Junior closed the stable door behind him and treaded closer, boot heels muffled by straw and dirt. "I reckon it was for them. My ma wants to manage me. Tell me how to live, who to talk to, who to marry. I can't wrap my head around why it has to be this woman; I've barely spoken to her."

"I heard she has a bloodline the queen herself would nod to," Isa said. Her neck was long and vulnerable beneath her twisted updo. Fine hairs drifted to her nape, soft as feather down.

"Like I give a damn about that in a woman."

Her hands stopped moving. "How do you like them?"

Junior had never seen her so motionless. Licking his dry lips, he stepped closer, his hip brushing her bustled skirt. "I like 'em feisty." Giving into the temptation, he ran his thumb from the downy hairs at her nape to the line of her spine. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh. She shivered. "I miss your braid."

"What are you doing to me?" Isa whispered, head bowed.

The question rang alarm bells, and he whirled her around to face him, chucking two fingers under her chin. But it wasn't despair clouding her eyes. It was desire. Lids heavy with want, she gripped his shoulders, neck, biceps—anywhere her gloved hands could reach. What was he doing to her? What was she doing to him ?

"The same thing you're doing to me, Izzy. I'm going crazy here."

"What happens now?" she breathed, her dilated pupils focused on his lips. When his hands spanned her waist, her back arched into him until they were flush, their faces separated by inches.

"Anything you want," Junior said truthfully. He'd do anything for her, something he'd only just discovered. His irredeemable soul felt less heavy with her. Isa's presence was like rain washing muck and filth from his spirit.

"Anything?"

"If you don't want to marry, we won't marry. None of that matters to me anyway. I just want you." And if he couldn't have her, he'd throw her over his shoulder and convince her. He didn't care what it took.

Isa lowered her hands to his chest…and shoved him. Once, twice, thrice, until the stable door was at his back and he was forced to grip her delicate wrists and hold her still.

"Damn you," she choked out. Her attention was on Junior's eyes, lips, neck, and eyes again. "I was through with you."

"No," he grated, throat compressing like some invisible fist gripped it.

"I was." She grimaced and tried to pull free from his hold. "Release me."

"No," he repeated. Her upper lip looked slightly rouged, begging to be licked. He'd been dying to kiss her all night.

This time, she pulled harder and lost her balance, and they tumbled onto the hay at Mirage's feet. The horse scarcely gave them a second glance; her mouth steadily worked to put hay in her belly. Isa's mouth opened at the impact, and Junior took full advantage, kissing her. Her soft lips made him dizzy. Her scent, the way she groaned, vibrating his mouth. Her taste. His whole body went hard: arms, thighs, cock, the grip he had on her. It made him lightheaded, and he closed his eyes, tongue twining with hers. Straddling her voluminous skirts, he trapped her with his knees and attempted to overwhelm her presence the way she did his.

A deep voice called out in the darkness, bringing them both up, wide-eyed.

"Junior, you need help with the wagon?" Ben called from the hotel's back porch.

"Shit," Junior hissed, adjusting himself.

From her newly upright position, Isa rested her forehead on his stomach, breath uneven and hot through his shirt. He froze. When she kissed him directly over his navel, his heart stopped. Hands shaking, he cupped her cheeks and lifted her face to his. She was the most beautiful, sensual thing he'd ever seen.

"Meet me in the attic when everyone is asleep," Isa ordered softly.

A gun to his head couldn't make his voice work. He nodded, helped her up, and watched her walk unsteadily out of the stable. While she spoke conversationally to Ben across the yard, Junior squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed himself with a rough, staying hand, and cursed the day he was born.

"WHAT THE HELL are you doin'?" growled a voice from a rocking chair.

Junior's hand was halfway to his holster before he realized it was his brother, shrouded in darkness.

"What do you mean?" Junior asked cautiously, pulling a cigarette from his vest pocket and lighting it with a match.

"Something is goin' on between you and Sol's little sister."

The accusation was quietly said, but it affected the accused as though it had been screamed directly into his ear; he jumped.

"Why the hell would you say that?" Junior's tone was defensive.

"Don't give me that, boy." Ben leaned forward. Moonlight revealed a shirt stretched across a brawny chest and the lower half of his face. The lower half looked furious. "Me and Lucy see it clear as day. You were raised better than that."

Guilt took the sharp retort from Junior's lips. He inhaled a drag from his cigarette, its dizzying sensation reminding him of Isa's kiss. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

"Just"—Ben sighed, stood from the chair, strode to Junior, and clapped him on the back—"don't do anything stupid. Don't compromise her. Because Sol will kick your ass. And I'll let him."

Ben left Junior to his thoughts. His demons. The ex-Texas Ranger stood in the quiet of the back veranda, both exhausted and buzzing with energy.

Meet me in the attic when everyone is asleep.

The hotel's attic room was where Isa stayed in the Dogwood Hotel. Lucy and her family bunked in the family rooms on the second floor. Shame and guilt wrestled with need. With obsession. If he was a decent man, he would heed his brother's advice. He would treat Isa like a sister, not like a woman who made him laugh, made him hard, made him crazy. He finished smoking, at war with himself. Then he stubbed his cigarette out against his boot heel and gave in.

Junior had made peace with himself a long time ago about a fundamental truth.

He was not a decent man.