City Girl (14 page)

Crystal was aware of his eyes on her, but she kept her stubborn gaze turned to the window. She knew without looking at the speedometer that they were traveling at an alarming speed; yet, she did not feel unsafe or frightened. Strange, but she knew he was totally in control, and, knowing this, she began to find the speed exhilarating.

After a while, he broke the silence. "We're going to have to try to get along a little better, you and I."

Crystal cast a surprised and speculative glance in his direction.

"We made a bargain," he went on, "a poor one, maybe, but a bargain nonetheless." His eyes left the road for a moment and took her in. "I don't
think
either one of us is of a mind to break it."

She let her silence pass for tacit agreement, and he went on. "I don't mean to be critical of you—or your aunt, for that matter." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "It's just that sometimes you act like you were raised in an ivory tower."

"Well, excuse me for living," she clipped sarcastically, stirred once again by anger to speak. "I might say that at times it seems you were raised in a barn!"

Suddenly his chameleon mood changed its colors again, and deep, infectious laughter boomed up from the deep well of his chest. "You wouldn't be a lot wrong about that," he admitted through a swashbuckling grin. "A whole lot of my raising was done in a barn. And a good thing, too, considering my prime occupation."

The twinkle in his eyes was equally infectious, and to her surprise Crystal found herself giggling.

Those vivid blue eyes, when they turned to her, were soft and cheerful, the doubtfulness and guarded hostility that often lay behind them had vanished. It was as if he had decided, just for the moment, just for now, that they would put away their mutual dislike and defensive-ness.

Immediately Crystal suspected his motives for such charitable behavior, but this was so much nicer than arguing that she allowed herself to relax and was caught off guard by an unidentifiable ache growing inside of her.

Before long, they turned back west, and without encountering another vehicle of any kind, flew along the narrow, hilly road at breakneck pace. Crystal felt roller-coaster excitement coursing through her. Sensing her enjoyment, Garrett urged more speed from the car. Crystal lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, exhilarated and trusting.

She knew, ironically, that she would have been terrified if anyone other than Garrett Dean had been behind the wheel of that hurtling car. She opened an eye and peeked at him. The hard lines of his profile were relaxed and less forbidding, devastatingly handsome. There was a commanding air about him. She could not imagine a situation which Garrett Dean could not control and manipulate effortlessly. Last night had proved that. It was both a comforting and disturbing thought.

Heritage Springs was a clean little town very much like the other little towns they had passed through on the trip down. Main Street consisted of two rows of red-brick buildings about two blocks long. Parking spaces were provided between the two lanes of traffic, each one flowing in a different direction.

Garrett parked the car, got out, and pocketed the keys, settling his hat just so on his blond head. She let herself out and came around to meet him. He allowed her a moment to look around the town. One side of the street provided a pharmacy with a doctor's office above it, a grocery market, a hardware store, an insurance agency, and the post office. The other had a little more to offer.

There were two clothing stores, a furniture store, a shoe shop, a small cafe, a five-and-dime, and even a theater featuring its first run of a movie she had seen two years ago in Dallas. At the west end of the street was the city hall, where a beige police car was parked. At the other was a gasoline station and a red-brick church.

"All the conveniences of the big city," he observed, waving a hand to take it all in, "just on a smaller scale."

"I like it," she decided out loud. "Looks friendly, like somebody's hometown."

"It is," he laughed, "a lot of people's."

Crystal pivoted and pointed back across the street where one of the old buildings was undergoing some restoration. "What is going to be there?" she asked.

"The bank. It's located over on Second Street right now, in what used to be an old gas station." Noticing her amazed expression, he laughingly explained. "It was the only place in town that had any sort of vault. You know, one of those old round things in the floor with a top that looks like a manhole cover. It is right under the bank president's desk."

They both laughed. Crystal shook her head in mock disbelief. "Dallas people wouldn't believe me if I went back there and told that." Her smile faded somewhat as his expression changed to one of seriousness.

His hand came up, and his thumb stroked her cheek lightly. The blue eyes scanned her face. "There may be hope for you yet, city girl."

Abruptly he looked away, squinting at the line of shops across the street. Strange things were happening to her. She felt both wary and happy, scared and eager.

Wordlessly she followed him across the street and along the sidewalk to a shop with a life-size plaster horse in front of it and windows filled with lariats and old saddles. She supposed the window displays were meant to create atmosphere, since the sign above the awning read "Porter's Western Wear."

The shop's proprietor, Amos Porter, was a big, soft, jolly man with a wispy mustache and a colorless head of closely shorn hair. Evidently Mr. Porter did not find it necessary to wear his own goods as advertisement. He wore instead a pair of suede slippers, a pullover with red stripes across the chest, and a pair of nondescript gray slacks.

"Hey, Dean!" he called out as they came through the door, its bell tinkling. "What can I do for you today?"

Garrett jerked a thumb at Crystal. "The lady needs some ranch clothes, Amos. This is Miss Crystal Gentry. She's working at my place for the summer."

"We-ell!" Mr. Porter appraised her frankly. "Welcome to town. Miss, is it?" Crystal nodded. He puffed himself up as if he had just uncovered a choice bit of gossip, causing Crystal to glance awkwardly at Garrett, who returned a blank, noncommittal stare.

"If you'll just come this way, Miss Gentry, I'll show you what we have in your size."

When they were done, she had five pairs of stiff new blue jeans, eight shirts, two belts, ten pairs of socks, a pair of boots, a hat, and sore ears, for Mr. Porter talked nonstop through the whole affair.

She protested periodically that they were buying far too many things, but no one paid much attention to her. When she insisted firmly that he was paying too much for the boots, Garrett told her sharply to just shut up and try them on.

She complied, but finally managed to talk him down to a less-expensive pair, Mr. Porter babbling away all the while. However, having given in on that point, Garrett then insisted that she should have a hat.

"Really, now, aren't we getting just a bit carried away here?" she insisted protestingly.

"If you had any idea what you needed, we wouldn't even be here," he admonished, fingering a sand-colored straw with a forty-dollar price tag.

"I don't need a hat," she asserted more firmly.

"You do unless you plan on having a sunstroke this summer," he returned, equally firm, and jammed the thing down on her head. Luckily, it was too large.

For the next ten minutes he positioned first one hat and then another over her dark head, tugging, slanting, eyeing, until he found one that pleased them both. It pleased him because the soft shell-beige straw looked just right with her hair. It pleased her because the price was far more reasonable than his first choice.

They waited while Mr. Porter steamed the high, waxed crown and creased it to Garrett's specifications. When he did not get the brim to Garrett's satisfaction, the tall cowboy simply stepped behind the counter, elbowed the proprietor out of the way, and did the job himself.

In the end, Crystal accomplished very little with her arguing. He was determined to outfit her exactly as he saw fit, and no amount of pleading or protesting would convince him to settle for less than he figured she needed. To keep her from making further protests, he sent her out onto the sidewalk to wait while he paid the final bill.

When he emerged a few minutes later, laden with bundles and boxes, he gave her a warning look and crossed to the car. She followed, and biting her tongue, seated herself in the car while he stowed their purchases in the trunk.

Garrett tossed his hat through the open door into Crystal's lap and settled himself into the driver's seat. "That's the last time I take you shopping," he growled. "From now on I'll just buy you what I want you to have and bring it home." He fitted the key into the switch and turned it, gunning the engine. "Buying is no fun when you have to wrangle over every cent!" he chided, and then broke into a wide grin. Reaching across, he chucked her playfully under the chin. "Or didn't anybody ever tell you that?"

Crystal felt the heat rising to her cheeks beneath his penetrating gaze, aware that the low, provocative tone of his voice had started her trembling.

"You really were too generous—" she began, but he hushed her with a finger pressed firmly against her lips.

"Shut up," he said, grinning like the devil, then put the car in reverse and backed out.

As the sports car wound its way out of town and took to the open road, Crystal tried to deal with her conflicting feelings. His hostility and criticism she could almost handle, but this! This sudden tolerant, almost intimate, carefree mood was too delicious to be enjoyed lightly. The weakness produced in her limbs by his mere touch was too ridiculous to be tolerated—and too real to be ignored. She did not want to admit it, not even to herself, but this sudden kindness and cheerfulness frightened her.

The last thing Crystal wanted or needed was to become emotionally involved with a man, especially a man like Garrett Dean. Her experience with Jerry had taught her that love was not an emotion to be trusted. It was not something she felt she could ever willingly give herself over to again—particularly not with a man who might forever see her as a replica of his dead wife. She did not wish to compete for love, especially with a memory.

Crystal was musing all of these things over, when, a few miles out of town, Garrett picked a smooth stretch of road and pulled the car off onto the shoulder and stopped. Before Crystal could ask what was up, the car door slammed behind him, and he was coming around to open her door.

"Get out of the car."

"But why?" she asked in bewilderment.

"You're going to drive us home."

Crystal blinked in confusion. She must have misunderstood. He simply could not mean what she thought he had heard.

"Well, get out of the car," he repeated impatiently.

Crystal stared at the earnest face. He was serious! Didn't he believe her when she told him that she could not drive?

"But… but, you don't understand!" she stammered, peering up at him.

"No, it's you who doesn't understand," he replied calmly, poking a finger at her through the open door. "I'm going to teach you to drive. Now, get out of the car." He stepped back to allow her room to alight, but she shook her head.

She had already told him that she could not drive. Couldn't he leave it at that?

"Look," he said sternly, drawing himself up to his full height, "either you get out of that car or I'll yank you out, but, either way, you are going to learn to drive—starting right now!"

Crystal bailed out, practically bowling him over in angry haste. Who did he think he was this time, guardian angel? Father?

"I'd rather walk home than drive that thing!" she flung, jabbing at the car with a clenched fist.

The smirk on his face told her that it did not matter what she would rather do. He intended to have his way in this as he did in everything else. The generosity she had thought he had extended earlier was nothing more than his determination to have his own way about everything. Had she not bothered to protest, she assumed testily, he probably would have been more sensible about his buying.

"You can't make me drive this thing!" she insisted.

"Maybe not," he rumbled threateningly, "but if you don't, I'm going to turn you over my knee and spank you!"

Crystal's mouth dropped open. "You wouldn't dare!"

Again, that determined smirk. "Oh, wouldn't I? Somebody has to make you grow up, little city girl, and it looks like I've been appointed."

Crystal looked quickly around her. Not a vehicle or a sign of life anywhere. She took one step backward, and then another. He made no move toward her. A thought flashed through her raging mind. Maybe, in his smug arrogance, he could not believe that she would really run from him, and so, could be caught off guard.

She darted to the side, but not before the wide hand closed around her wrist. He simply reached out with one long, powerful arm and she was captured, yanked to his chest, and pinned.

"Stop it!" he scolded in a low, threatening voice. "If you are going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like a child!"

Crystal stopped her struggling. She could not hope to break free of him. It had been idiotic to try. Perhaps, if she behaved herself, he would release her before she lost control of the trembling that his touch evoked in her.

He snaked one arm between them and clamped her chin in his hand, lifting her face upward to meet his stubborn blue glare. "Don't you understand?" he barked. "This is not the big city. There are no buses or taxis here. I can't spare a man to squire you around every day. Now, get behind that wheel and start acting like a responsible adult!"

She dropped her gaze, blood creeping into her cheeks, disheartened by the realization that he was right. He must think her a fool not to have thought of this before now. Still, her pride demanded to be salvaged.

"I'm not going to be responsible for crashing that car," she mumbled.

He pushed her away, exasperated. His hands went to his belted hips. One booted toe tapped irritably in the gravelly dirt. "I hired you to do a job," he reminded, "and, by my word, you're going to do it!" His voice rose to a roar. "No matter what it takes!"