The Texan (13 page)

“It shouldn’t happen between us,” she said with certainty. “We’re
friends
.”

He shrugged. “You’re female. I’m male. Sometimes it happens.”

“Not to
us
,” she insisted. She stared into his face suspiciously. “Or has it?”

“It might have happened once or twice. No big deal.”

She stared at the visible bulge in his jeans, then glanced up at him, her face flushed and said, “It looks pretty big to me.”

Billy couldn’t help grinning. “Summer, you can’t be this naïve. This is how a man reacts when he’s around an attractive woman.”

“You find me attractive?”

He saw the startled interest in her eyes and realized he’d opened another can of worms. He didn’t want her judging him as a prospective suitor. There was no way he could match up to the men her father presented to her on a silver platter.

“Any man would find a pretty girl like you attractive,” he said, backpeddling as fast as he could. He flipped one of her golden curls back from her shoulder and said, “Curls this bouncy, and eyes like topaz jewels, and a nose this nosy.” He tapped her playfully on the nose. “What man wouldn’t react like I did?”

“A
friend
wouldn’t.”

“I’m a man, Summer, not a eunuch,” he said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “I’ve never once touched you as a lover, never kissed you like one. Think about it, and you’ll realize I’m right.”

He saw her mind working. He was disturbed by what she said next.

“Do you have a lover?”

He touched the blush on her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Her skin felt as hot as it looked. It was also amazingly soft. “You never did know when to keep your mouth shut.”

“Do you have a lover?” she asked again, her heart in her eyes.

“If I did, it wouldn’t change what we have between us,” he said. Had she really imagined that he’d been celibate all the years they’d been friends? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see him as a man, or more likely, she simply hadn’t wanted to imagine him with other women.

“I guess that means you do.” She was looking at him with her head cocked like a little bird.

“Are you seeing me with another woman?” he teased.

“I’m wondering what it would be like to be kissed by you.”

“Let’s not go there,” he said. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship.”

“It wouldn’t,” she said, grinning suddenly. “I’d like to know how it feels. I mean, as an experiment.”

“Put the wrong chemicals together, and they explode.”

She frowned. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d like it? Or that I would?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to kiss you.”

She looked up at him shyly, from beneath lowered lashes, and gave him a cajoling smile. “Just one teeny, weeny little kiss?”

He laughed at her antics. Inside his stomach, about a million butterflies had taken flight. “Don’t play games with me, Summer.” He said it with a smile, but it was a warning.

One she ignored.

She crooked her finger and wiggled it, gesturing him toward her. “Come here, and give me a little kiss.”

She was doing something sultry with her eyes, something she’d never done before. She’d turned on some kind of feminine heat, because he was burning up just looking at her. “Stop this,” he said in a guttural voice.

She canted her hip and put her hand on it, drawing his attention in that direction, then slid her tongue along the seam of her lips to wet them. “I’m ready, bad boy. What are you waiting for?”

His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He was hot and hard and ready. And if he touched her, he was going to ruin everything.

“I’m not going to kiss you, Summer.”

He saw the disappointment flash in her eyes. Saw the determination replace it.

“All right. I’ll kiss you.”

He could have stopped her. He was the one with the powerful arms and the broad chest and the long, strong legs.

But he wanted that kiss.

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t expect fireworks. I’m only doing this because we’re friends.” And if she believed that, he had some desert brushland he could sell her.

Suddenly, she seemed uncertain, and he felt a pang of loss. Silly to feel it so deeply, when kissing Summer had been the last thing he’d allowed himself to dream about. Although, to be honest, he hadn’t always been able to control his dreams. She’d been there, all right. Hot and wet and willing.

He made himself smile at her. “Don’t worry, kid. It was a bad idea. To be honest, I value our friendship too much—”

She threw herself into his arms, clutching him around the neck, so he had to catch her or get bowled over. “Whoa, there,” he said, laughing and hugging her with her feet dangling in the air. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve changed your mind about wanting that kiss. I’m just glad to be your friend.”

She leaned back in his embrace, searching his eyes, looking for something. Before he could do or say anything to stop her, she pressed her lips softly against his.

His whole body went rigid.

“Billy,” she murmured against his lips. “Please. Kiss me back.”

“Summer, I don’t—”

She pressed her lips against his again, damp and pliant and inviting.

He softened his mouth against hers, felt the plumpness of her upper lip, felt the open, inviting seam, and let his tongue slide along the length of it.

“Oh.” She broke the kiss and stared at him with dazed eyes. Eyes that sought reason where there was none.

He wanted to rage at her for ruining everything. They could never be friends now. Not now that he’d tasted her, not now that she’d felt his want and his need. He lowered his head to take her mouth, to take what he’d always wanted.

“Stop that this instant, you jezebel! How dare you stand there in broad daylight on the porch of my house fornicating with my son!”

Billy felt Summer jerk free of his arms and drop to the porch. They turned to find his sister gawking and his mother red-faced and furious.

“There’s no reason to be calling names,” he said to his mother.

“I knew this would happen. I knew it!” she raged. “You swore to me there was nothing going on, Billy. I should have known better. God never intended men and women to be friends, he meant for them to lie down with one another. But I won’t have you lying with that Blackthorne bitch. Not ever. Do you hear me? Never!”

“That’s enough, Mother,” Billy said, leaping to the ground past the two broken back steps. “Nothing happened here but a simple kiss.”

“I want her off my property. Now. I don’t ever want to see her here again.”

Billy saw that Summer was frozen on the porch, staring at his mother, her face fiery red. He realized the only way she could leave was to walk past his mother, who would likely hurl more hurtful words at her. He put himself between his mother and Summer and said, “You’d better leave, Summer.”

Billy desperately hoped his mother would hold her tongue until Summer was gone, but as Summer passed them, his mother said, “Tell that mother of yours, when you get home, that she’d better keep an eye on you. Because I’m not having this, do you hear? I’m not having fornication between her blood and mine.”

“Her mother’s in a sanitarium,” Billy said, hoping to distract his mother long enough for Summer to make her escape.

His mother turned her head sharply and stared at Summer. “You mean you don’t know?” She laughed raucously. “Your mama’s home, girl. They let her out.”

Summer stopped, mouth agape, eyes wide with shock. “You’ve seen my mother? Here in Bitter Creek?”

“That mother of yours had the nerve to show up in church this morning. As if she could be forgiven her sins.
There’s no redemption for the likes of her. It’s the devil who’ll claim her soul. And it can’t be soon enough for me!”

Billy locked eyes with Summer. She looked lost. Frightened. She desperately needed a friend to hold her, to share her joy at the return of her mother and her fear of what this might mean to her father.

But he couldn’t be her friend anymore. Things had changed unalterably between them. They had played a dangerous game. And they had both lost.

“
WHY IS THIS CALLED THE TELEPHONE CANYON
Trail?” Bay asked.

“Because the army ran a phone line down the canyon during World War I.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Bay asked.

“I have no idea. Don’t you ever shut up?”

“I don’t see why I can’t ask questions.”

“I need to keep my eyes on the damned trail,” Owen said.

Bay figured he’d decided it was okay to swear in front of her—at least for the duration of this journey. “Anyone can look and talk at the same time,” she muttered.

She was so worried and frightened, she couldn’t stop talking. The farther they traveled into the wilderness, the more precarious her brother’s situation seemed—and the less certain she was that she could get out of here on her own if she found her brother and then decided they needed to escape from Owen.

She’d visited the Basin before, which was mostly green with foliage. But she’d never realized how godawful this part of the Big Bend was. No trees, no water, just rock and sand and plants that had adapted to life in the desert by growing deadly spines to keep from being
eaten. The canyon walls showed layers of history, proof they’d been here for a million years or more. Bay felt small and insignificant. And frightened.

But she wasn’t about to admit she was scared and get a lecture about how she should have stayed at home in the first place.

“It’s really hot, isn’t it?” she said.

He shot her a baleful glare.

“That was a rhetorical question. It didn’t require an answer. You could easily have kept your eyes on the trail instead of making a face at me,” she said testily.

Owen rolled his eyes. “Lord save me from the logic of women.”

“Women can be every bit as rational as men.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Owen said. “In a crunch—”

“I don’t know what kind of women you’ve been meeting, but I guarantee you I’m the picture of calm in an emergency.”

“I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“I suppose you’ve never panicked in a crisis,” Bay said.

“Nope.”

She ground her teeth. “I’ll have to see that to believe it.”

“My job doesn’t allow for mistakes in a crisis,” he said.

“Neither does mine.”

He eyed her assessingly. “I suppose that’s true. Why would you choose a life-and-death job like being a vet?”

“I focus on the life part of the job,” she said. “And do my best to limit the deaths.”

“Me, too,” he said.

She searched the ground ahead of her and said, “I don’t see anything. Are you sure my brother came this way?”

“If you’ll recall, you’re the one who told me this was the way to go.”

“You’re the one who knows how to track people down,” Bay shot back.

Owen had explained that it was possible to follow a trail from footprint to footprint by using a stick to measure a man’s stride and then laying the stick down on the ground in every direction until you found the next sign of passage.

He’d also explained that while you could certainly follow the trail that way, you’d be moving so slowly that you’d never catch up to the man you were chasing. The trick was to look for sign as far ahead along the trail as you could find it, move up to that point, and then look ahead again.

Bay hadn’t been able to discern anything that looked remotely like a trail left by her brother and the two men who’d abducted him. “Have you seen any sign at all?” she asked Owen.

“They’re traveling single file. I saw an army boot print when we crossed the top of the ridge, about a mile back.”

“You did?” Bay said excitedly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It was only a boot print.”

“Can you tell if it’s one of the guys who kidnapped Luke? How many folks do you suppose are hiking around out here in army boots?”

“Lots of hikers wear army boots.”

“If you noticed one boot print, how come you haven’t been able to find more?” Bay asked. “I mean, since you’re such a mighty hunter.”

“Because they’ve brushed them out.”

Bay stared at him a moment. “That means you’ve
been following their trail by watching for what—brush strokes on the ground?”

“Something like that,” Owen said. “I haven’t seen anything since we crossed the sandy bottom of that arroyo. They might have taken another path, or a switchback I didn’t notice. We might have to backtrack to pick up their trail.”

Bay grimaced. She didn’t relish repeating the trip they’d just made. She was hot and sweaty and tired. Telephone Canyon Trail was nearly twenty miles long, and the first three miles had been steeply uphill and difficult to follow. Her knees ached from bracing herself in the stirrups as they’d traveled a half mile back downhill to the Ernst Basin. It had been slow going through a sandy arroyo, and then uphill again a mile and a half to the top of a ridge, the highest point on the trail. The view had been awesome, but another reminder of just how easy it would be to get lost in this vast place. Then it had been more stress on her knees, as they headed back downhill to the bottom of Telephone Canyon.