Taming Theresa (11 page)

"Sorry, I'm stupid. My bad. Won't do it
again, promise."

She shook her head. "No, it's not you. It's
just everything else, and..."

"Tony?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "No. Tony isn't why I'm
crying."

"Okay then. We can talk about something
else."

Theresa dabbed at her eyes and snuffled. "I'm
crying because I wanted to say yes, you idiot! I just broke my
engagement and I want you to kiss me. What’s wrong with me?”"

He blinked. "Okay...and there’s something
wrong with kissing me?"

"I really want you to! It makes me so mad.
What kind of person am I anyway?"

"Probably a far better person than you know,"
he said softly.

"I shouldn't want you to kiss me, but I do
and I don't really understand why. I just broke my engagement with
that jackass a few days ago and I shouldn't...." She grabbed
another handful of tissues.

"Oh, I see." He smiled. "Now everything is
perfectly clear, just like mud. Women. I'll never understand...."
Leaning over, he took her beautiful face in both hands and softly
placed his lips on hers. Theresa held tightly to him as John pulled
her close, lost in the heady taste of her kisses. His fingers moved
over her breast, stroking the tip and she whimpered into his mouth
then pulled away.

"The rain’s stopped," she said breathing
rapidly. "We should be going."

"Right," he murmured, kissing her again.

“We need to get the wine to the farm. Vicky
and Jack will be wondering.”

“Uh huh,” He grunted, unwilling to release
her

“They might be worried."

"Yeah." John sighed and shifted uncomfortably
in his seat. He reached up with a cloth to wipe the fogged
windshield. Starting the engine, he drove slowly and carefully
through the puddles, winding his way through woods and fields until
the country lane connected with the county road. Something was
stirring inside him. Something he hadn't felt for a very long
time.

Tamsin was terribly afraid to be out on the
road alone. There hadn't been an incident recently between Tories
and Patriots, but still.... Perhaps these men were growing tired of
war. When her father insisted she take the loaded pistol on her
trip she hadn't argued, but tucked it beneath her seat on the
little two-wheeled trap.

The clip-clop of her pony's hooves echoed
sharply in the still morning. She tried to convince herself that
there was no danger. It wasn't that far to her cousin's home and
for a while she listened to the birds and hypnotic tattoo of hooves
on stones as her fears gradually subsided.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of horses
coming from behind. She pulled on the reins and stopped to listen.
The world was silent, even the birds had ceased their song. Was she
mistaken? Had she imagined it?

Her heart began to race as she flicked the
reins sharply, urging the horse to pick up his pace. Rounding a
bend, the figure of a man loomed in the shadows and abruptly
stepped forward blocking her path. She sucked in her breath and
reined in sharply as her small cart slewed round as it came to a
stop. Cold fingers of dread seized her heart; she was too terrified
to speak.

His boots scraped the rough stones in the
roadway as he approached her horse and seized the bridle. He began
stroking the heaving animal and murmuring softly to calm it.

"Let go of my horse and get out of my way,"
she ordered in as forceful a tone as she could muster.

"Wait just a bit, Miss. No need to get huffy.
Ain't safe for a young lady to be out by herself in these times,
and that little rickety cart there looks none too sturdy for these
rutted roads. Where are you bound in such a hurry?"

It’s the man from the tavern who thought my
favors could be purchased like some common wench! Hot fury
supplanted her fears. She'd struck the impertinent fellow for his
insults the day before and now he would be seeking revenge for the
humiliation.

"That is none of your concern. Now get from
the road and allow me to pass." Tamsin couldn't keep the tremor
from her voice. Then recalling the pistol her father had given her,
she reached under the seat. Clutching the reins in one hand, she
pulled out the heavy gun, pointing it in his direction. It wavered
wildly in her shaking hand.

"Get out of my way or I'll shoot! And don't
think I won't!"

"Now hold on, Miss." He held his hands up in
front of his chest moving closer as he spoke. "Now put that thing
down before someone gets hurt."

Panicking, she closed her eyes, silently
praying she was doing the right thing, and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.

She heard him softly chuckle and her eyes
popped open to see him quickly closing the distance between them.
He reached out and snatched the pistol from her delicate hand.

"You've got to cock the hammer before pulling
the trigger, Miss. Like this here," he said, demonstrating by
thumbing back the hammer to full cock. His condescending grin
reignited her anger.

The man stiffened as the sound of horse's at
the gallop came from the road behind her. Motioning for her to
follow, he swiftly moved to the shallow ditch at the roadside. Not
knowing who was friend or foe, Tamsin was gripped with terror, but
instinctively followed him. Maneuvering her protectively behind
him, he held the pistol at the ready.

As the riders came into view, he fired
without hesitation. The deep bark of the gun caused her to start
and shriek with fright. From the trees at the other side of the
road came a quick fusillade of a half dozen more gunshots and the
mysterious riders halted. They paused, startled for only a second,
before turning and thundering back the way they'd come.

Through the powder smoke swirling about her
head, she saw one of the men slumped in his saddle. Their hoof
beats faded away in the distance.

The man presented the now empty and useless
pistol to her, butt end first. "Thank you, Miss. I recommend you
put this away. You won't be able to hurt anyone with it, least not
till it's loaded again."

She couldn't decide whether she was more
angered or terrified.

From the trees on the roads opposite side
several men appeared. In their lead was the big man wearing the
worn hessian coat. It was the pleasant stranger she'd served at the
tavern, but today he wasn't smiling.

From: Love in Rebellion, by Tori Baxter

"Mind if I interrupt?" asked Jack, as he
entered the office.

Vicky glanced up from her computer and
smiled. "Hey. What's up?"

"I was wondering what happened to Theresa.
Didn't she go to the winery this morning? The rain out there's been
coming down like crazy and there are flood warnings. Shouldn't she
be back by now?"

"Don't worry, I told John to make sure he
went with her. Maybe they're running some other errands. I'll text
her." She reached for her phone where it lay on the desk.

Jack nodded towards her computer. "How's it
coming?"

"No problems really," she said, studying the
cell phone and tapping at the screen. "You know, sometimes when I'm
writing, I get a weird feeling that I've actually witnessed things
happen." Vicky studied her computer screen thoughtfully and then
continued, "No, that's not exactly right either. It's as though I'm
writing what really happened in the past, even though I'm writing
about fictional characters and history that occurred a couple of
centuries ago. Am I making sense?"

"No sweetheart. I don't get you." Jack
smiled.

"Well, it's like déjà vu, you know what I
mean? It's as if I was there in the past and saw it happen. It's
only a brief feeling that comes over me occasionally while I'm
writing. Kind of funny and a little weird..."

He nodded slowly and said, "Yeah I guess I
understand. You're a little psychic huh?"

Gravel crunched in the driveway. They were
both relieved to see John's black Ford Explorer pull in.

Anthony DePalma looked at the endless flower
arrangements decorating the lobby of the Scarlet Pippin B & B
with disgust. Looks like a friggin' funeral home in here. Reaching
for a cigarette, he remembered the now nearly universal ban on
smoking indoors and contented himself by nervously playing with his
lighter instead.

"Hello. May I help you? Do we need
accommodations this evening?" The proprietor, a well-dressed man,
had appeared soundlessly while Tony's head was turned. Middle aged
with graying hair, his smooth rosy cheeks and beaming smile were a
bit too large for the little man.

"Nah, not tonight. Just looking around. Hey,
I think my folks booked a room at this place for a wedding."

"Yes, of course. The Buonadies - Conner
wedding, no doubt. It should be an absolutely lovely affair."

"You the owner here?"

"Yes. I'm Dennis, but most people call me
Denny. My partner, Danny, and I own it together. He does the
cooking. Danny just loves to cook and I must say we do provide a
marvelous breakfast, but what is it I can do for you,
mister...?"

"DePalma, Anthony DePalma. Thing is, I'm
scouting out some potential investment property or real estate
that's got development potential. My people are looking to maybe
open a new restaurant in town here. Just looking around,
understand? You do a pretty good business here?"

"Oh indeed. We have tourists year round. In
autumn, our guests come to view the foliage and in spring, there
are the apple blossom festivals. When we both retired and were
looking for second careers, this was just the thing for Danny and
me. The Scarlet Pippin has been a perfect fit for us."

"Yeah? Apple festivals? That's nice. You guys
got much competition here?"

"No, Mr. DePalma, we're the only B & B in
town. There is a motel a few miles north, on route nine, but that's
the closest thing. So, will you be attending the wedding?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." Not a bad idea.

"I'm certain that it will be absolutely
lovely. Why the reception will be just around the corner at the
Paulding's Rest Tavern."

John parked his Ford Explorer behind the
Shell Station and walked briskly out to Main Street. It was already
growing dark as he rounded the corner and stepped onto the porch of
the Scarlet Pippin, or The Red Apple Inn, as he liked to call it. A
strange man came barreling through the front doors, nearly knocking
him down. The man barely glanced at him as he hurried down the
steps, inserted a cigarette between his lips, and strode up the
street. No apology. No greeting. John frowned at the stranger's
retreating back and muttered, "Huh. Rude S. O. B. Must not be from
around here."

Walking through the bright red doors and into
the lobby, John was lamenting his promise to help. This wedding
stuff is turning into a full time job, the last thing I need right
now.

"Hi, Denny," said John as he approached the
desk. "Who was that guy that just walked out of here?"

"Mr. Van Wart, it’s nice to see you." He
glanced back at the door and lowered his voice. "He said he was a
real estate developer." Denny rolled his eyes. "I think he's from
down in the city, but tell me, how is Miss Buonadies? Did she get
that ankle looked at?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. The doctor wants
her to keep off her feet and avoid stairs, so she asked me to pick
up her things. Sorry we didn't get back over here yesterday, but
with the doctor and everything...,"

"Say no more." Denny held up a hand. "I
understand perfectly. It's no problem, really. Please let Miss
Buonadies know that we're refunding her for last night's bill. It
was so unfortunate that she injured herself and I fully understand
that she was unable to get back to us."

"I'll do that," said John.

"It's a shame you both missed our lovely
breakfast yesterday. Danny made some absolutely splendid pumpkin
muffins with tiny chocolate chips and a lovely apple crumble coffee
cake. Very seasonal, don't you think?"

John was distracted. With the recent vision
of Theresa in the seat beside him, he wasn't paying attention to
Denny. He saw her face upturned to receive his kiss and imagined
the feel of soft hair....

"Don't you agree?" Denny waited for his
response.

"Huh? Sure thing."

Denny looked puzzled.

"Don't you worry," said John. She'll stay at
her cousin's farm for a while, and then she'll be coming back. I've
got a long ‘to do’ list of wedding errands after this. Somehow I
got volunteered."

Denny chuckled. "We all know what weddings
are like."

On impulse, John inquired about the
availability of the rooms for the next weekend. "They're very nice
rooms," he said.

"I'm glad you liked them. Let me check my
computer. I think those two adjoining rooms are the only ones not
booked for next Friday and Saturday. Well, Miss Buonadies had
reserved her room, but I've been waiting to hear from her on that.
What with her being injured...now, we've been booking lots of folks
for the wedding. Such a lovely couple. You're in the wedding party,
I believe? Yes, here we go. Both rooms are a-vail-able," he crooned
with an up octave lilt in his voice.

"Good, here's my credit card. I want to
reserve both for Friday and Saturday nights. I really appreciate
this. I've got the key to her room. Do you mind if I just go up and
collect her things?

"That'll be fine. Be my guest," he chuckled.
"Pardon the pun."

"John grinned weakly at Denny's little joke.
"Hey, call me John. Lose the Mr. Van Wart."

"Of course." Denny smiled at him as he
started up the stairs.

He opened the door to her room and stepped
into the confusion they'd left two nights before. She'd given
explicit instructions on where everything was, but he moved
awkwardly around scooping up anything that looked as though it
belonged to her, uncomfortable with his task. He paused when he saw
her silky bra and panties on a chair. Picking them up, he stroked
the soft fabric, imagining them on her, and then thrust them
guiltily into her suitcase. Why couldn't some woman do this
job?