25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

T hanksgiving at the Stone Ranch was a noisy, happy event.

The breeze was blessedly chilly, trailing through open windows, cooling the hot flurry of activity in the kitchen. Isa and Poppy helped Lucy prepare dinner while the menfolk minded the children. Sol had brought his dining table over in the back of the buckboard, and he and Junior lined it up with the Stones'. Junior's hair beneath his brown Stetson caught Isa's eye from the dining room window, gleaming like a golden coin, distracting her from setting the table. He was playing football—a growing favorite amongst the general population—and allowed himself to be tackled by five exuberant children. Samuel was the victor of the dog pile, holding the oblong pig bladder full of air aloft with a triumphant yell. His father ran past and neatly snatched the pigskin up. The children's outraged screams were audible through the window screens.

Later, the family said grace at the two tables. The children's end was adorned with bright decorations and games, and the boys wore turkey tail feathers in their hat bands and shirt pockets. Ally used her feather to tickle her little sister. Everyone gorged themselves with turkey, stuffing, and pickled vegetables. The air was redolent with savory stewed onions and roasted sweet potatoes. A cured ham was picked clean. Pumpkin pie was passed around despite the groans of full bellies and claims of being unable to eat another bite. Isa entertained everyone with a discussion about automobiles, dams, and electricity.

When the older children went outside to play within view of the yard. Poppy fed Agatha beneath a blanket while Sol spooned bites of pie to a sleepy Autumn. Everyone sagged contentedly in their chairs, and Isa felt the urge to speak up. What better time to spill the beans than while everyone was present…and too sluggish to catch her if she had to flee?

"I have an announcement to make," Isa declared, purposefully avoiding Sol's eye.

To her left, Junior set his coffee down. His nose was no longer raw, and his voice had lost the thick sound of congestion. He looked braced for the worst.

Isa lifted her chin fractionally and said, "I'm not returning to Austin after the new year."

Before she could take her next breath, Sol was happily slapping the table. "You're stayin' home! Hellfire—"

"No, I'm not." Isa held up a staying hand. "I quit my job at the bank and have plenty saved up for what I truly want to do."

Everyone's eyes were on hers. Blue, hazel, brown—all curious. Why was it so hard to say?

Poppy, the most considerate of everyone, asked gently, "What do you wish to do?"

"I wish to travel abroad," Isa said. "I'll take a transatlantic ship to England, and once I arrive, I can procure a companion to travel with me." She was very conscious of Junior beside her. Of their conversation.

You could come with me and see it, if you'd like.

Yeah?

After a beat of shocked silence, everyone began talking at once.

"Oh, how exciting!" Lucy cried, clapping her hands a little. Her husband lifted alarmed brows at her.

"That's quite a journey," Poppy said, mouth smiling, eyes worried.

"Like hell you are." Sol's voice was the loudest of all. The spoon he held in front of Autumn's face wavered, and her open mouth followed. "Wasn't there a bunch of women gettin' killed overseas?"

"There were a series of murders a few years ago in London, but they stopped." Isa pointed her fork at him. "We had something similar happen in Austin in '85, if you'll recall? The Servant Girl Annihilator?"

Sol's mouth clacked shut. Then he seemed to notice that Junior was the only person who hadn't acted surprised at this news. "Did you know about this?"

Junior held his hands up. "Since when have I ever been able to control her?"

Again, Poppy tried to smooth the conversation. "Tell us where you're planning to go when you get there. I've never traveled outside the country."

Sol shot his wife a look of betrayal.

Isa refused to let Sol smother her excitement at the prospect of travel. "It will be a Grand Tour. I'd like to begin in England for a month, then cross the English Channel to Calais, France. I only know passable French, so I'd prefer for my companion to be French-speaking. Then we'll sojourn to Geneva before crossing the Alps. Once across, I shall stop in Italy and spend much time visiting Florence, Pisa, and Venice."

Lucy's eyes lit up. "My papa hails from Italy."

Sol looked unhappily on, mouth opening and closing as though he'd like to interrupt but didn't quite dare.

"Italian men are very passionate," Lucy explained. When Ben cast a jaundiced eye her way, she hid a smile. "Or so Papa says. He's told tales of village boys following behind beautiful women in the street, sweet-talking and whistling."

Lucy, Isa, and Poppy laughed. The men looked horrified.

"She's definitely not goin' now." Sol set Autumn down from his lap and leaned across the table to catch Isa's eye. "How can you afford somethin' like this? You been plannin' it for a while?"

Isa sobered. "Yes. I wrote the itinerary during my first year of college. That's all the college boys would talk about. Their Grand Tour ."

Sol ran a hand over his straight chestnut hair. "I don't know. I don't like the thought of you bein' an ocean away and me not knowing how to get to you. I wouldn't even know if you were in trouble."

Reaching her hand across the table to hold his, Isa made her face as serious as possible. "I promise I will not veer off the well-known paths. No risk-taking, no looking for trouble. Apparently, the only trouble I might have is with amorous locals."

The weak attempt at a joke fell flat with the men, but Poppy's lip quirked and Lucy teased, "My money is on a handsome stranger sweeping her off her feet. Isa will be back this time next year with a besotted new husband."

"I have no interest in that." Isa laughed awkwardly. Beside her, Junior was as rigid as a stone pillar.

Lucy waggled her eyebrows. "When it comes to tall, beautiful American women, you won't have to show interest; they'll court you anyway."

"If any man gets within three feet of her, they can court the business end of my pistol." The words came out hot and angry to Isa's left. Blond locks of hair trailed over Junior's forehead, and beneath them, his eyes seared into Lucy.

Bewildered, Sol asked Junior, "What, are you goin', too?"

Shoulders relaxing as though the effort cost him, Junior took a bite of dried apple pie. "Why shouldn't I go and chaperone her? Who else is gonna keep her out of trouble?"

Hiding her hands in her lap beneath the table, Isa asked, "Are you quite serious?"

"Why not?" There was a stubborn tightness to his chewing jaw that disallowed any argument. "I don't speak French, but I can keep Lucy's lusty countrymen from sniffing around your skirts."

"Then it's settled!" Lucy said quickly. She stood and widened her eyes at Isa. "Isa, will you help me clear the table?"

Isa grabbed her plate and followed Lucy into the kitchen before Sol could get a word in edgewise.

"I'm goin' for a smoke," Junior grunted behind them.

"I'll come with," said Ben.

Poppy and Sol were left alone to gape at each other at the table.

IF SOL HADN'T been suspicious of Junior's intentions with Isa before, he was now. Junior knew his friend wanted to have a word with him, but Poppy had insisted Sol help her put their youngest daughters down for a nap. Lucy and Ben made themselves scarce and took plates to Tia and Frank, the old couple who lived a short distance away, their arms bumping each other as they strolled along the path.

The screen door to the kitchen slapped shut, and Junior turned his head from watching the children play on the corral fence. It was Isa.

Leaning on the railing beside him, she asked, "Did you mean it?"

Her eyes looked as green as the dress she wore. It had been damned difficult not to look at her for too long. Her skin glowed. Her pink lips snagged his attention so often that it made him senseless.

"Did I mean what?" Focusing on her words was difficult when all Junior could smell was the perfume of her skin, the clean, powdery scent of her upswept hair. He would lie awake at night thinking of the way it had felt through his fingers in his parlor, how it had looked splayed on the pillow while he took her from above in the attic, and he'd fist himself beneath the sheets. Even when he was feverish and sick at home, his nose dripping like a cracked faucet, he'd wanted to crush her to him.

"Did you mean it when you told them you'd chaperone me during my Grand Tour?" Her question was carefully neutral, and he'd come to learn that meant she was anything but. But which answer did she want? Did she want him to stay here and not tag along like a nanny? Or did she want the opposite?

Junior decided the truth was the best course of action.

"'Course I'm going with you. We talked about this at the house." He nudged her with his shoulder, and she caught herself against a post.

"I suspected you were only joking." Eyes twinkling, Isa bumped him with her hip; he smacked his elbow on a wooden post before he could right himself.

"Ouch, you little wildcat."

They were busily tussling for the upper hand when hoofbeats in the yard brought them up short.

Junior released Isa's wrists, muttering, "What the hell is he doin' here?" as he hopped down the porch steps. He hadn't seen or heard from his father since their argument two days before, and yet, here he was, tying up his thoroughbred at the water trough by the well house.

John Stone ignored his youngest son and strode to the middle of the yard where Ben and Lucy's boys were running to meet him with cries of "Grandpa!" He ruffled the three boys' hair and gave Jack a silver dollar.

John said, "Walk with me." He didn't look at Junior or even appear to notice Matthew and Samuel's crestfallen faces.

Cursing the old man under his breath, Junior dug into his pocket for loose change. A slim hand settled on his wrist. Isa had sidled up to him.

"Children," she said, her face lit with impish delight. "How about we get the rest of you silver dollars, and you can help me saddle up Mirage for a ride. Would you like that?"

Matthew and Samuel whooped and raced each other to the barn. Isa wrinkled her nose in dislike at the old man's back.

"I'll pay you back," Junior muttered, wishing he had the right to swat her bottom.

"Yes, you will." Cheekily, she smiled and followed the children to the barn, gathering up young Ally and Timothy on the way.

Longing to trail behind her like a lost duckling, Junior sighed and joined his father on the porch. John sat on the swing, his widespread arms and legs sending an unmistakable message. Junior folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen windowsill.

"You know," John said, pulling a cigar and a matchbook from his fine jacket pocket. A gold chain swayed against the red silk lining. "I talked to Loretta about the books. Had a look at them when we got home. Chuck told me about the men your mama let go, so she fessed up to everything."

Biceps tense over his fists, Junior asked, "And her reasoning?"

"Damned fool woman has been giving money to the Guthries." John sounded deceptively nonchalant.

"No wonder she wanted me to marry that woman so bad," Junior said, discomfited. "Izzy was right."

John ignored the latter. "Your mama figured they were as good as family."

Junior snorted softly. "But to give them a thousand a month? You don't even treat your own family that well."

"Watch your mouth." John wrenched his cigar from his mouth, his craggy face going from weathered brown to brick red. "I'm not too old to knock your front teeth out."

Expressionlessly, Junior eyed the man on the swing whose shoulders were not as broad as they used to be, the hair not as thick around the pate. He didn't feel anger or even hate towards his father. He felt nothing at all. "Anything else?"

A resentful silence expanded between them until the color in John's cheeks returned to normal. "I got a mite more to say to you. Might as well be now. I don't expect you know anything about a cripple runnin' around asking for your whereabouts?"

The only change in Junior's expression was the intensity of his eyes. They glittered like chips of sapphire.

Unabashed, John brought his cigar up, damp at the base, for another puff. "He was spouting all kinds of tomfoolery about you getting dishonorably discharged. Wanted to talk to you in a bad way, he did. 'Course, I had to run him off with my shotgun before your mama heard that kind of talk. How long has it been since the Texas Rangers kicked you out on your tail?"

Junior didn't speak. He couldn't. A tic in his jaw flickered, and it felt as though his tongue had become glued to the roof of his mouth.

John, however, looked satisfied. "Usually, it's your brother tucking tail and runnin'. Quite a change of pace, eh?"

Giggles interrupted the tension. Both men turned their heads as Isa walked Mirage past, Ally and Timothy on the mare's back. The sight of Isa—tall, elegant, beautiful—grounded Junior. Everything in his life was falling apart. Everything except her. He was an open wound. Infected. Drawing flies and vermin. And Isa…she was the cure in a brown medicinal bottle. Not bothering to acknowledge the bear trap his father had sprung on him, Junior turned his back on the swing and walked alongside Isa on the porch. He caught her eye and beckoned her over to the steps with a crook of two fingers. Face scrunching to show just how impudent she thought his behavior was, Isa reluctantly led Mirage closer. On the top step, Junior crouched so that he was eye level with her. He took his hat off and set it on her head.

Ally giggled when it fell over Isa's eyes.

While Isa pushed the brim up, Junior said in a carrying voice, "My pa apologizes for his poor behavior the other day. He knows better than to talk that way to a lady."

At the other end of the porch, John blew cigar smoke past his nostrils and down-turned lips, much the same way his youngest son did.

"Did he?" Isa asked.

"Yep. He also said you were right about where the money was goin'."

Instead of gloating, she only appeared mildly interested. "I'm happy the mystery is solved." Without sparing a glance at the elder Mr. Stone, Isa settled Junior's Stetson more firmly on her head and walked away. Junior winked at the children.

His father heaved himself up from the swing and made his way down the porch steps. He paused, his speculative gaze on the Stetson on Isa's head. "You know what you're gettin' into with that one?"

"Reckon so."

"Well, don't expect any wedding gifts from us." Junior didn't comment, so John dropped the cigar in the dead grass beside the porch and said over his shoulder, "Don't forget to ride by the house. You know how your mama misses you."

Junior descended the porch steps and ground out the small flame the cigar had ignited in the grass. In the distance, his father was but a speck.

IT WAS MIDNIGHT in the bunkhouse, and the men who had returned early from holiday celebrations were groaning and complaining as Isa won yet another round of faro. Junior had followed to keep an eye on her and leaned in a shadowy corner, watching.

Raking in coins and bills, Isa called out, "I can't believe you won't play with me, John Junior."

He shook his head, arms firmly crossed.

"I've never seen such a chicken," she cried, shuffling cards with frightening adeptness. A bold young man, eyeing the way Isa's hair fell from its pins, made soft clucking noises.

Junior stared until the young man looked down.

"Just play one game," Isa cajoled, laying cards out into a horseshoe shape. "You already owe me two dollars."

"Hell no. You cheat."

"Prove it."

"You know I can't."

"There's no argument without evidence," she said, eyes gleaming from across the room.

That smart mouth had said similar words on those attic stairs just before he'd picked her up and had his way with her. Junior gripped his biceps hard with his right hand, wishing it was her throat he was strangling. She was driving him crazy on purpose. Every look, every taunt.

He let her finish one last game before he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the bunkhouse, much to the disappointment of the cowhands.

"I wasn't finished taking all their money," Isa complained. She tugged at the grip he had on her arm.

"Oh, yes, you are. I know you're cheating, and it isn't right."

"I don't have an ace up my sleeve, nor am I drawing from the bottom of the deck. Counting cards is not cheating."

"What the hell is counting cards?"

Isa went on about high cards, low cards, and neutral cards. She waxed poetic about percentages and strategy, shuffle tracking and hot decks. All he heard was balderdash, especially when she said words like "variable change." He tightened his grip on her arm and turned them to the barn.

"Why are we going to the barn?" she asked when he shut the enormous double doors behind them.

"Because you're driving me to distraction," he growled, cupping the back of her neck and bringing her in for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. She released a moan that turned his semi-hardness to iron, and he backed her into the feed stall. Her hands were everywhere, delving into his hair, spanning his shoulders, dragging nails down his back, tugging his belt. But when one clever hand unbuttoned his fly and made its way down the front of his trousers, it was his turn to groan.

Junior's hands found their way up her skirts, one on her buttocks, the other cupping her mons. Then lower, testing her readiness. The kiss that had started out rough grew rougher, their breath choppy, their moans stifled. Hands shaking, muscles straining, they tumbled into a pile of hay.

Needing her more than he'd needed anything in his entire life, Junior rolled her over and lifted her to her knees. After a slight hesitation, Isa reached beneath her skirts to fumble at the buttons hiding the opening of her combinations. Having taken what felt like hours unbuttoning his own clothing, he yanked the material of his trousers down and shoved her skirts high, exposing the open slit of her underwear. Filling his palms with her bottom, he pressed close, brushing against warm silk. Her back arched, and she pushed demandingly backward.

"Hurry," she whispered unevenly.

A monk couldn't have told her no.

After giving her a pathetically cursory caress, Junior lined himself up and slowly, carefully, eased his way in. His eyes closed, and his lips parted. He'd never felt anything as good as she did at that moment. And when she started rocking to and fro, carefully taking more of him in, one inch at a time, his fingers bit into her hips. He wanted to be gentle. But he couldn't.

He thrust in to the hilt.

Isa flinched and inhaled a shocked breath.

"You're doin' good, darlin'," he crooned. "Be still for me. You make me too crazy."

For once, she listened and held still. He could feel her inner thighs tremble minutely. Junior kept his thrusts slow and long, tip to root, gauging for the moment when her rigidity slackened into loose-limbed ardor. It happened in increments. Her thighs ceased trembling. Her movements returned, and her breath came in excited pants. The base of his shaft all the way to the tops of his thighs was drenched, and he instinctively roughened his thrusts, feeling the euphoric sensation of an oncoming climax centering at the sensitive place beneath the head of his cock and spreading all the way to his toes.

"Izzy, I'm getting close."

"So am I," she gasped.

Christ, that didn't help him a bit. Desperate, Junior concentrated on not climaxing and ordered, "Touch yourself. Catch up to me."

"Are you"—she contorted her body to comply—"challenging me to a race?"

"I'll beat you in this particular race every time," he gritted out, still holding back, still trying his damnedest not to finish first.

"Want to bet?" she moaned, her movements erratic. He felt the change in her internal muscles as they squeezed him, milked him, clenched harder almost than he could stand.

The minx had beat him. And that made him wild. Hissing a hard exhale through his teeth, he yanked out of her, swiftly grabbed himself in hand, and pointed down while he stroked himself through his end. The beat of his heart throbbed against his palm, and he missed what she said.

"What?" he croaked, sitting back on his heels, his heartbeat pounding hard and slow through every vein in his body.

"I said I beat you." In the darkness, he could just make out the exposed portion of her rear as she lay on her side in the hay.

"I let you win." Winded, Junior slapped her right buttock with the flat of his hand before falling to his side with her, cock still out. When the fog cleared from his mind, he kissed the back of her neck and said, "Come to my house tomorrow night."

Isa snuggled closer. "If you insist."