Did she feel such anger because hed danced with her and then betrayed her?
Again she was forced to hear her own truth: No-because you danced with him and your own body betrayed you.
With her face lifted to the wind and her eyes closed, she could see him standing beside her table at Smoky Joes, looking down at her with the little yellow flame from the candle in the globe lamp on the table burning in his eyes. And as she gazed into them, the boisterous crowd seemed to close in around them, surrounding the two of them with a wall of noise and heat and cigarette smoke and darkness, so that all at once she was aware only of him-of his heat, his masculine scent and the blackness of his hair, lying like a skein of silk across one shoulder.
She remembered how warm his hands had been, covering hers. Shed felt the wiry, coiled-spring tension in his hips beneath her palms, the swaying rhythm, blatantly sexy-and her body had grown hot. Shed lost track of the music and the steps of the dance until suddenly shed found herself face-to-face with him. Face-to-face and chest to chest. Frozen, shed felt his arms come around her, gathering her in, and the cool silk of his hair against her cheek, his heart thumping in counterrhythm to hers.
Had that been a lie, too? Could he control the timing of his own pulse? With this man, even that seemed possible.
Theyd danced that dance and then another, and with each note, each measure, it seemed to her, their bodies had moved infinitesimal fractions of inches closer together, until it felt as if they would melt into each others pores.
Hed guided her with a touch so light and sure she wasnt even aware of it. Shed followed him effortlessly, as if theyd been moving together, dancing together for years, a lifetime. Shed felt weightless, light as cottonwood fluff floating on a summer wind. At the back of his neck, her fingers had begun of their own volition to explore the dark mystery of his hair, while on her back shed felt his fingers moving, slowly navigating the bumps and hollows of her spine.
And then suddenly, just like that, it had ended. Bronco had taken her back to McCulloughs table and left her there with polite but cursory thanks. Lauren had been so shaken shed barely registered the conversation from that point on, was only dimly aware that shed nodded acceptance of McCulloughs asking price for Cochise Red without so much as an argument and agreed to go out to his ranch and take a look at the stallion the following day.
She didnt see what started the fight. All at once, it seemed, Smoky Joes had erupted in bedlam. There was a roar of sound, and the crowd surged like a single entity toward the back of the room, toward the area near the dance floor.
Unaccustomed to violence of any kind, Lauren uttered an exclamation of alarm as she started to rise. Gil McCullough, who had begun to swear matter-of-factly in a low voice, gestured for her to stay put and at the same time waved a couple of his men, whod been leaning against the bar nearby nursing long-necked bottles of beer, over to the table.
About then the crowd parted raggedly and Johnny Bronco emerged, struggling and swinging clumsily in the grip of two beefy-looking guys wearing black cowboy hats and vests that said Smoky Joes across the back. Before Lauren had time to draw breath, theyd hustled Bronco out the front door.
About then the crowd parted raggedly and Johnny Bronco emerged, struggling and swinging clumsily in the grip of two beefy-looking guys wearing black cowboy hats and vests that said Smoky Joes across the back. Before Lauren had time to draw breath, theyd hustled Bronco out the front door.
The two Smoky Joes employees walked back into the bar, dusting their hands and grinning, waving to mixed cheers and boos from the crowd. They gave a thumbs-up to a couple of uniformed deputy sheriffs sitting at the bar, who merely smiled and shook their heads before returning to their burger and fries. McCullough leaned back in his chair and spoke to his men.
See he gets home, he growled in an undertone, then turned back to her with a smile of apology. Ol Broncos the best damned horse wrangler west of the Mississippi, but he cant hold his liquor worth beans. Never could. Its a racial thing, I guess. Hes a half-breed Apache, you know.
Lauren sat silently, sipping her beer. She didnt reply, partly because she was still too shaken by the close and unaccustomed brush with violence, but also because the comment made her intensely uncomfortable. Her firsthand knowledge of Native Americans was limited, but she disliked the term half-breed, and had been raised to consider blanket statements about race objectionable on general principles.
Unperturbed by her silence, Gil shook his head. Its a sad story, a sad story. Unfortunately not a very unusual one in this part of the country. He grew up around here, you know.
Lauren nodded; she remembered the rodeo announcer saying he was a local boy.
Yeah, ol Johnny was quite a hero in these parts a while back.
Really? Lauren murmured, interested in spite of herself. The beer was warming her insides, easing her pulse back to normal. She focused on her companions clean-shaven face and close-cropped gray hair, and tried to block out the images that wanted to linger in her mind-images of a dark angry face, hard-edged features crisscrossed with strands of long black hair
Football, Gil clarified after taking a small drink of the beer hed been nursing most of the evening. Best damned wide receiver I ever saw-hands like a magician. All-conference, all-state his senior year-had colleges lined up to offer him scholarships. He shook his head again and made a smacking sound with his lips. What a waste.
What happened?
The rancher shrugged. The drinking got him. Finally either flunked out or got kicked out-depends on who you hear it from. Bronco, he doesnt like to talk about it much. He always was wild, drank too much even when he was in high school. Came by it naturally-his old man was a drunk, died in a car accident when Bronco was in junior high. Kid never had a chance.
He must not be doing all that badly, Lauren remarked with an edgy shrug. You hired him. And then she wondered why she felt a need to defend a man she didnt know at all, especially from a man who obviously knew him very well.
Pictures flashed in lightning-quick succession through her mind: Bronco up on Old Number 7, whirling in slow motion in a golden fog of sun-shot dust; a pair of scuffed and well-broken-in boots, spurs without rowels; a wry smile in a dark face, and the words spoken in a soft deep voice. Horse and I have an understanding
I hired him because when it comes to horses, hes the best there is, Gil said as if hed seen the images in her mind. But his narrowed eyes had a speculative glint that made her squirm inwardly as he watched her. As a lawyer she knew that feeling. It was the one she got when she thought she might have given away too much. Showed the opposition a few too many of her cards. And because I thought the kid had had some bad breaks, the rancher went on in a voice with added undercurrents. I helped him straighten himself out after he got kicked out of the military. Havent regretted it yet.
Well Lauren could think of nothing else to say. She suddenly felt depressed without the least idea why. I think Im going to have to call it a night, she said to Gil. Its been a long day. Thats all it is, she thought. Shed driven more than five hundred miles to get here and had very little sleep, and now the beer. She was just tired.
She settled on a time to meet with Gil the following day and jotted down directions to his ranch. Mindful of the lateness of the hour and the rowdy nature of the crowd, he graciously walked her to her truck, which, since she was pulling a fair-size horse trailer, shed parked far out on the periphery of the parking lot.
As she crossed the hard-baked dirt, bleached by the light of mercury lamps to the color of old bones, she thought about the man whod been dumped there only minutes before.
Dont worry about Bronco, Gil said as she unlocked her truck. My boysll see he gets home all right.
Unnerved by the ease with which the rancher seemed to read her mind, she said dryly, Id just hate to think he was somewhere on the road right now. She climbed behind the wheel and Gil closed the door. He waited with typical Western gallantry until shed started the engine, then touched the brim of his hat.
Drive safe now.
Yeah, thanks, I will. See you tomorrow.
He left her with a wave and headed off across the parking lot, but Lauren didnt watch him go. Nor did she immediately put the truck in gear and pull out onto the highway. Safely, blessedly alone, she sat and stared through the windshield, cringing inwardly as she opened the door on her own self-doubts.
Whats wrong with me? How could I have been so attracted to a man whos clearly nothing but bad news?
It must be some sort of wild gene, she thought, passed down to her from that pioneer ancestor, the one Aunt Lucy had told her about. How else to explain it? She was Lauren Brown, a bright sensible Iowa attorney, a good girl, one whod always done the right thing, lived by the rules, lived up to everyones expectations. She was engaged to marry the perfect man, a good man, not to mention handsome, witty and kind.
Why, then, had Benjamin never made her feel the way shed felt tonight, dancing with Johnny Bronco?
Johnny Bronco. What a name! Romantic notions aside, what he was was a half-Indian cowboy with a drinking problem, a propensity for violence and a undeniable way with horses and women. The last man in the world shed ever let herself get mixed up with. What could she possibly see in a man like that? What could they possibly have in common?
As if in reply, once again a wave of remembered sensation swamped her. Oh, how vivid it seemed-the slide of silken hair through her fingers, the faint smell of leather and sweat, his body heat soaking into her breasts, his hand moving like a magicians, scattering shivers like pixie dust down her back. Even now, just the memories made her breathing quicken, her nipples harden, her skin prickle and chafe against the restrictions of her clothing.