The Manning Sisters (5 page)

“Tell me to stop,” Russ said. “Tell me to take my hands away from you.”

Taylor knew she should, but emotions that had been hiding just below the surface overwhelmed her. She meant to push him away, extract them both from this temptation—and yet the instant her hands made contact with his hard, muscular chest, they lost their purpose.

“Russ…”

His answer was to kiss her, a kiss that felt anything but gentle. His hands were tangled in the wavy bulk of dark hair as he bent her head to one side and slanted his demanding mouth over hers.

Their kisses were tempestuous, intense, exciting, and soon they were both panting and breathless.

Suddenly Russ tore his mouth from hers. His eyes remained closed. “I haven't stopped thinking of you all week,” he confessed, not sounding very pleased about it. “I didn't want to, but you're there every night when I close my eyes. I can't get rid of the taste of you. Why
you?
” he asked harshly. “Why do I have to feel these things for a city girl? You don't belong here and you never will.”

Taylor's head fell forward for a moment while she thought about his words. He was right. She was as out of place in this cattle town as…as a trout in a swimming pool. She raised her head while she had the courage to confront him. Anger was her friend; it took away the guilt she felt for being so willing to fall into his arms.

“You think I'm happy about this?” she cried. “Trust me, a cowpoke is the last person in the world I want to get involved with. A woman in your life is there for your convenience, to cook your meals and pleasure you in bed. I knew exactly what you were the minute we met and I could never align my thinking with yours.”

“Fine then, don't,” he barked.

“I don't have any intention of getting involved with you.”

“Listen, lady, I'm not all that thrilled with you, either. Go back to the big city where you belong, because in these parts men are men and women are women. We don't much take to all that feminist talk.”

Taylor was becoming more outraged by the minute. Russ clearly had no conception that they weren't living in the nineteenth century anymore.

“Let's eat,” he snarled.

Taylor had half a mind to gather her things and leave. She would have if she'd thought she could get away with it. But Russ had made this dinner on a wager, and Taylor strongly suspected he'd see to it that she ate every bite. Knowing what she did about Russ, Taylor wouldn't put it past him to feed her himself if she backed out now.

Taylor wasn't sure how she managed to force down a single bite. Yet the salad was undeniably good. The broccoli was excellent, the sauce marginal, the baked potato raw, but the steak was succulent and exactly the way she liked it—medium-rare.

Silence stretched between them like a tightrope, and neither seemed inclined to cross it. At least ten minutes passed before Russ spoke.

“I shouldn't have said that about you not belonging here,” he murmured, stabbing the lettuce with his fork.

“Why not?” she asked. “It's true and we both know it. I
am
a city girl.”

“From everything I hear, you're a fine teacher,” he admitted grudgingly. “The kids are crazy about you and I don't blame them.”

She lifted her eyes to his, uncertain if she should believe him, feeling both surprise and pleasure.

“Word has it you're enthusiastic and energetic, and everyone who's met you says nothing but good. I don't want you thinking folks don't appreciate what you're doing. That was just me running off at the mouth.”

Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “I didn't mean what I said either, about not wanting anything to do with you because you're a cowpoke.”

Their eyes met, and they each fought a smile. Knowing she was about to lose, Taylor lowered her gaze. “I will confess to being a little shocked at how well you managed dinner.”

Russ chuckled softly. “It wasn't that difficult.”

“Does that mean you'd be willing to tackle it again?”

“No way. Once in a man's lifetime is more than enough. I may have lost the wager, but I still consider cooking a woman's job.”

“I thought for a moment that our wager would change your mind. But at this point, why do anything to spoil your reputation as a world-class chauvinist?”

Russ chuckled again, and the sound wasn't extraordinary, but it gladdened Taylor's heart. Something about this cowboy intrigued her. He wasn't like any other man she'd ever dated. His opinions were diametrically opposed to her own on just about every subject she could mention. Yet whenever he touched her, she all but melted in his arms. There wasn't any logic to this attraction they shared. No reason for it.

Russ helped himself to more salad and replenished their wineglasses. “Now that you know what Cougar Point thinks about you, how are you adjusting to us?”

“It's been more of a change than I expected,” she said, holding the wineglass with both hands. She rotated the stem between her palms. “It's the lack of conveniences I notice the most.”

He arched his brows in question. “Give me an example.”

“Well, I came home from work the other night, exhausted. All I wanted to do was sit down, put my feet up and hibernate until morning. The problem was, I was starving. My first impulse was to order a pepperoni pizza, and when I realized I couldn't, I felt like crying with frustration.”

“The bowling alley serves a decent pizza.”

“But they don't deliver.”

“No,” Russ agreed, “they don't.”

Feeling a twinge of homesickness, Taylor finished her wine and stood. “I'll help you with the dishes,” she said, feeling sad and weary as she glanced at Russ. Even in the friendliest conversation their differences were impossible to ignore.

“I'll do them,” he responded, standing himself.

“Nope, you made dinner,” she said firmly. “You're exempt from washing dishes—this time.” She turned on the tap and squirted a dash of liquid soap into the rushing water. Monster bubbles quickly formed, and she lowered the water pressure.

She was clearing off the table when Russ suggested, “How about a cup of coffee?”

“Please,” she said, smiling over at him.

He busied himself with that while Taylor loaded the dishwasher with plates and serving dishes, leaving the pots and pans to wash by hand.

“Here,” he said from behind her, “you might want this.”

She turned around to discover Russ holding the very apron he'd been so quick to remove when she'd arrived. Her hands were covered with soapsuds. She glanced at them and then at Russ.

“I'll put it on for you,” he said.

She smiled her appreciation and lifted her arms so he could loop the ties around her waist and knot them behind her back.

Russ moved to within two steps of her and hesitated. Slowly he raised his eyes to her face. Hungry eyes. They delved into hers and then lowered just as slowly until they centered on her lips.

Unable to resist, Taylor swayed toward him. Once more she found herself a willing victim to his spell.

Their eyes held for a long moment before Russ roughly pushed the apron at her. “You do it.”

With trembling hands, Taylor shook the suds into the sink and deftly tied the apron behind her. “I wish Mandy was here,” she murmured, shocked by how close they'd come to walking into each other's arms again. Obviously they both enjoyed the lure of the forbidden. Whatever the attraction, it was explosive, and she felt as though they'd been stumbling around a keg of lit gunpowder all evening.

“I think I'll call her and tell her to come home,” Russ said, but he didn't reach for the phone.

Once the dishwasher was loaded, Taylor vigorously scrubbed the first pan, venting her frustration on it.

“Are you going to the dance?” Russ asked her next, grabbing a dish towel and slapping it over his shoulder.

“I…don't think so.”

“Why not? It'll give you a chance to meet all the young guys in town and you can flirt to your heart's content.”

“I'm far beyond the flirting stage,” she returned coolly.

He shrugged. “Could've fooled me. Fact is, you've been doing an admirable job of trifling with
me
from the moment we met.”

Taylor's hand stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Take those jeans your wearing.”

“What's wrong with these jeans?”

“They're too tight. Stretched across your fanny like that, they give a man ideas.”

Closing her eyes, Taylor counted to ten. The effort to control her temper was in vain, however, and she whirled around to face him.

“How
dare
you suggest anything so ridiculous? You nearly kissed me a minute ago and now you're blaming
me
because
you
can't control yourself. Obviously it's all my fault.”

He grunted and looked away.

“My jeans are too tight!” she echoed, her voice still outraged. “What about my sweater? Is that too revealing?” She bunched her breasts together and cast a meaningful look in their direction. “Did you notice how far the V-neck goes down? Why, a mere glimpse of cleavage is enough to drive a man to drink. Maybe I should have you censor my perfume, as well. It's a wonder the good people of Cougar Point would allow such a brazen hussy near their children. And one with a big-city attitude, no less.”

“Taylor—”

“Don't you say another word to me,” she cried, and jerked off the apron. Tears sprang to her eyes as she hurriedly located her purse. “Good night, Mr. Palmer. I won't say it's been a pleasure.”

“Taylor, dammit, listen to me.”

She raced down the stairs to her car, barely able to see through the tears in her eyes. The whole world looked blurred and watery, but Taylor was in too much of a hurry to care. This man said the most ridiculous things she'd ever heard. Only a fool would have anything more to do with him. Taylor had been a fool once.

Never, never again.

 

Russ sat in the living room, calling himself every foul name he could think of, and the list was a long one. When the back door opened, he knew it would be Mandy and reached for a newspaper, pretending to read.

“Hi!” She waltzed into the room. “How'd dinner go?”

“Great,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the front page.

“Has Taylor already left?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shucks, I wanted to talk to her. Do you want to see the routine Chris and I made up?”

Russ's interest in his sister's drill team efforts was less than nil. Nevertheless, he grinned and nodded. “Sure.”

“Okay, but remember it's not the same without the music.” She held the pom-poms to her waist, arms akimbo, then let loose with a high kick and shot her arms toward the ceiling. She danced left, she leaped right, her arms and legs moving with an instinctive grace that astonished Russ. This was Mandy? Fourteen-year-old Mandy? She was really quite good at this.

She finished down on one knee, her pom-poms raised above her head. Her smiling eyes met his, seeking his approval. “So?”

“There isn't a single doubt in my mind that my sister's going to make the high school drill team.”

“Oh, Russ,” she shouted, “thank you!” She vaulted to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. “Just for that I'll finish the dishes.”

“Thanks,” Russ said absently. He didn't want to think about dinner or anything else connected with this disastrous evening. That would only bring Taylor to mind, and she was the one person he was determined to forget. He'd suffered enough. All week she'd been nagging at his conscience. He'd even dreamed of her. He hadn't felt this way about a woman since he was sixteen years old.

Then he had to go and say those stupid things. The reason was even worse. He'd been jealous. The thought of her attending the Grange event and dancing with all the men in town was more than he could bear. Other men putting their arms around her. Someone else laughing with her.

If anyone was going to dance with Taylor Manning, it would be him. Not Harry Donovan. Not Les Benjamin. Not Cody Franklin.

Him.

“Russ?”

He turned and found his sister staring at him. “What?”

“You've been pacing for the past five minutes. Is something wrong?”

“Hell, no,” he growled, then quickly changed his mind. “Hell, yes.” He marched across the kitchen and grabbed his hat, bluntly setting it on his head.

“Where are you going?” Mandy demanded, following him.

“To town,” he muttered. “I owe Taylor an apology.”

Mandy giggled, seeming to find that amusing. “You going to ask her to the dance?”