Vampire Cowboy (3 page)

“Yes, madam, and some good-looking dinner rolls and some—”

“And rolls?” Was her voice squeaking?

“Yes, Miss Dunbro, some rolls fresh out of the oven. They might still be warm and—”

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

“That would be delightful, Miss Dunbro,” he said.

“I’ll bring my gun.” Just in case he wasn’t harmless after all.

“As you please.” He smiled pleasantly.

It was a beautiful night, the moon almost full, the sky filled with stars and nary a cloud. The little buggy was more comfortable than her wagon, no doubt about that. Mr. Hastings had a beautiful, deliciously soft blanket—had she ever felt anything so fine in her entire life? He spread it carefully over her lap and told her it was made from the wool of a special kind of goat that lived in China.

“You’ve been to China?” she asked.

He smiled. “A very long time ago. But I bought the blanket in London.”

“I bet it was real expensive.”

“That it was.”

It occurred to her that the stranger might really be able to buy her property.

“It’s pretty nice around here,” she lied.

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes. Friendly people.” Well a few—most of them were awfully mean as far as she was concerned. Heck, hardly a one of the women would speak to her since she’d been seen talking to Miss Susan, and as for the men, one or some of them had stolen her cattle and her smoked pork and none of them would tell her who.

“Um, we have a nice church supper every third month. And a square dance sometimes…” What else could she say about this godforsaken, flea-bitten, dusty, nowhere that she hated more every day that she had to live here?

“It does hold some interest for me.” Why was he looking at her that way? And what interest could Haley possibly hold for someone who had actually been to China?

“Well,” she said, “it’s a nice place so I’m glad to hear that.” Oh! Could the interest he was referring to be her? That was a very nice thought. She sure would like to get better acquainted with this man. She might even, sooner or later, like to get intimately acquainted with him. Sooner would be better.

She looked down demurely. “I hope you stay a while.” The first honest thing out of her mouth since she’d climbed into the buggy.

“I am planning to,” he said and when she looked up at him, he smiled. “I’m quite enjoying my stay.” Uh oh. Her heart sped up and got a little noisy. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he mean he was enjoying being with her? She sure did hope so.

Got to concentrate on getting out of Haley. I must stop thinking about this man that way. It doesn’t matter whether he likes me or not.

Never mind that he was so darned good-looking that he made her heart race and every single inch of her yearned for his caress. She needed to sell her place. She tried to figure the best way to ask him if he was enjoying his stay enough to want to buy her little ranch while ignoring the fact that her breasts positively ached with wanting his hands on them, and her private region was all in a dither. But he started telling her about some of the places he’d been, and she told him about growing up in Kansas City, which he declared to be fascinating, and she forgot all about selling her place.

“How did you come here to this remote, uh, paradise?” he inquired.

“When my parents passed on, my brother and I had to decide who got what. There was the house in Kansas City and this place here, which belonged to my granddaddy from way back when.”

“And you chose Haley.”

“We, well to tell you the truth, we played a game of poker—”

“Ah. A woman after my own heart.”

“I lost.” She immediately wished she hadn’t said that.

“I see,” he said. She thought she detected a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The same twinkle that had appeared when she referred to Kansas City as “the big city”.

They stopped beside a little stream. He helped her out of the buggy.
Such a gentleman
, she thought, but she was surprised that his hands were so cold. She wondered if he might try to kiss her after a while. And hold her and touch her. She sighed gently with delight at thought of his cool touch on her skin. She certainly wouldn’t shoot him in the foot. In fact, she longed to feel his lips against her own, she yearned to be in his embrace and if he wanted to warm those cold hands of his by running them up and down her back and along her sides, over her hips and her bottom, that would make her a very happy woman. Just thinking about those things made her heart do somersaults.

She watched him as he bent to spread a horsehair blanket on the ground and then put the soft one on top of that. He certainly was a fine figure of a man, even bent over. He set out a couple of pillows and indicated that she should sit on one, which she did. That’s when Eliza remembered that she was ungodly hungry and her mind filled with thoughts of chicken. And rolls.

Her eyes followed the picnic basket as he took it from the buggy. He placed it between them as he sat down across from her.

He uncovered the basket and there was something—it had to be the chicken—in a big bowl next to something wrapped in a napkin. The top of a bottle stuck out of several layers of white linen. She prayed that there was a heap of chicken in that bowl and a whole lot of rolls wrapped in the napkin. While she was at it, she threw in a little prayer of gratitude that she didn’t have to eat green beans.

“Champagne,” he said, smiling at her, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight as he lifted the bottle out of the basket. He pulled the cork out with a pop and poured the foaming, bubbling drink into two crystal flutes that he held in one hand. He handed one to her and they clinked glasses, smiling at each other, though neither made a toast.

She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. It tickled and wasn’t nearly as sweet as she’d hoped it would be, but it was still pleasant. Mr. Hastings seemed to savor each sip he took, so Eliza resolved to do the same.

She must have savored a little faster than he did, because her glass was empty by the time he set the bowl of Mrs. Timmons’ chicken on the blanket and unwrapped the rolls. “Looks like there’s a whole lot!” she said, licking her lips.

Daniel stared at her for a few seconds before setting out dinner plates and silverware for each of them. She was feeling uncommonly cheerful.

“This is like something in a book,” she said.
This is all so romantic.
And Mr. Hastings is ever so polite along with being so good-looking. I’m sure he would be quite a sight if I could get him out of those sissified clothes.
I’d run my hands all over that big chest of his
.
He’d bend down and kiss my breasts.
She blushed at the thoughts—where had they come from? Her imaginings usually weren’t that vivid.

The way he looked at her was making her breasts ache for those kisses she’d imagined, making her whole body yearn for his touch. She wanted to undo the buttons of her gown all the way down to the bottom, to open it wide to him. She unbuttoned the top button.
Why am I feeling like this? There’s chicken here I need to eat.
She undid another and then the next one. She felt compelled to move closer to him, considered climbing right into his lap.
But I hardly know him, how can I?
That didn’t matter. She needed to put her arms around his neck and…

Before she could act, Daniel turned away suddenly as though annoyed, and immediately those very improper sensations and thoughts paled beside her need for the chicken and rolls. She did her buttons back up and went back to having a pleasant time at a picnic on this soft blanket with this intriguing stranger, gobbling the chicken and rolls just as fast as she could.

Daniel stopped himself in time and looked away from her, breaking the spell. He had some power over the desires of mortals, had used some of that power on her to make her agree to an evening picnic. But he didn’t
want
to use it. Not on this woman. Not now. He was annoyed at himself that he had, albeit for only a brief moment, compelled her to lust for him.

“I’d venture a guess that you are extremely fond of fried chicken,” he said, fighting to keep his voice normal. “And champagne. May I refill?” She held out her glass and he poured some of the sparkling liquid into it.

“The more you drink it, the better it tastes,” she said, drank half of it and then took a big, savage bite out of a roll. It would be easy—too easy—by simple force of will to make this woman desire him. He wanted her on her own terms. He wanted her to desire him simply because she did, not because he compelled her to do so, as he had so many others long ago. He hoped that she would come to desire him as he did her. Soon.

He wanted to feed and he could remember no one from whom he wanted to feed as urgently as he wanted her blood. But not now and not by using his will to compel her.

She looked up at him, nodding and smiling, although she didn’t stop eating. His heart began a loud staccato in his ears as he felt a stirring of real carnal desire for her. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time. He desperately wanted to touch her, to run his fingers through that black-as-night hair, to explore the sweet curves of her waist, of her bottom, to cup those round breasts. He yearned to kiss and lick and suck and finally to
drink
. But he would wait and see if any answering interest developed on her part.

Eliza swallowed, polished off her champagne and said, “This is so delicious.” He smiled at her. It had been more than two centuries since he had become the blood-drinking creature he was now, and all those years of compelling women to want him had dulled his desire, made him feel like a monster, a puppet master. Sex for himself, he’d decided long ago, had been spoiled for eternity, reduced like the feeding to an occasional necessity to be dealt with as efficiently as possible.

It had become offensive to him to simply take the blood he needed. Thus he preferred to use women who could be paid, making sure afterward that they remembered little of the encounter, except that the foolish gentleman had left thrice the normal fee.

This was different, very different. He felt far more for this pretty American woman than the usual mild tinge of interest. There was something about her—the way she talked and moved and laughed. And there was the way she had cowed a roomful of men. He smiled at the memory. He even found the way she tried to convince him that Haley was a good place to live—when she so obviously did not think so—charming. He hoped she’d lied because she wanted him to stay.

Could it be that she was awakening passion in him, passion that had lain dormant for two hundred years? Yes, he wanted to feed, yes, he wanted—needed—blood, but he craved the taste of hers. He longed to have sex with her as well and there was something more, something he had not felt for all those centuries. Perhaps not since he’d been a mortal man several lifetimes ago. He was overcome with raw sexual desire mixed with a yearning for her, a longing to be united with her.

Disconcertingly he realized he could love this woman and might want this woman to love him. It was absurd—and dangerous. She didn’t deserve to become entangled with a monster like him. It would be best for her if he left Haley as quickly as he could.

He shifted uneasily on the cushion, pushing the chicken around his plate. Best to end this encounter quickly, but what could he say? He had no wish to be discourteous. In fact he wanted to please her, wanted to see her smile the way she had when she felt the softness of the cashmere blanket. He wanted her eyes to light up at the sight of him as they had when he opened the picnic basket and revealed the chicken.

He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to caress her delectable body and hold it tight to his own while she looked at him with her own uncompelled desire.

“More,” she said, holding out her glass. His hand trembled slightly as he poured. He wanted her all right. A lot. He was hard and pushing against the stiff fabric of his new American trousers. His heart was pounding

She knocked back about half the glass and again set to eating the chicken with considerable gusto. As though she hadn’t eaten in a while. Or she had very bad manners. Or both. Daniel watched, fascinated, as she gobbled one piece of chicken after the other. He found it barbaric and strangely arousing. As if he could be more aroused than he already was. He watched her sink her teeth into the flesh of the chicken, and imagined her biting him in passion, thought of his fangs piercing her firm skin. She flicked her tongue against her lips. He longed to lick where she had, to follow that tongue with his own, into the sweetness of her mouth.

He pulled himself back firmly. A few more thoughts like that and he’d easily forget his resolve to refrain from compelling her to lust for him. He tried not to stare at her neck where he’d like to kiss and nip and…

A bit of chicken fell onto the breast of her extremely modest gown. He wanted to pick the piece up with his fingers, touching her there ever so gently, and then put that bit into her inviting mouth. He’d like to leave his fingers there between her lips for a few seconds to feel the slick, warm, softness.

He hadn’t felt like this for years and this was not the time to start. He didn’t need to be disturbed this way, his carefully controlled emotions and desires unleashed. And he should not upend her life. He would leave Haley just as soon as he could. She looked up at him from what remained of the chicken she’d been eating. She grinned. He smiled back.
Nice, friendly woman
, he thought,
more interested in eating the chicken than she is in me.