The Manning Sisters (6 page)

“I might,” he said, his strides long and purposeful.

“All right!” his sister cheered from behind him.

“T
aylor!” Russ pounded on the front door with his fist. This woman sure was stubborn. “I know you're in there. Answer the door, will you?”

“I can't,” a soft, feminine voice purred from the other side. “I'm wearing something much too revealing.” The purr quickly became an angry shout. “Army boots and fatigues!”

“I need to talk to you,” Russ insisted.

“Go away.”

Exhaling loudly, Russ pressed his palms against the door. “Please,” he added persuasively, knowing few women could resist him when he used that imploring tone.

“If you don't leave, I'm calling the police.”

“The deputy's name is Cody Franklin, and we went to school together.”

“That doesn't mean he won't arrest you.”

“On what charge? Wanting to apologize to my lady?”

The door flew open with such force that Russ was surprised it stayed on its hinges. Taylor's index finger poked him in the chest and he stumbled back a step.

“I am not your lady! Understand?” Deep blue eyes sliced straight through him.

Russ's grin was so big, his face ached. “I figured that comment would get a reaction out of you. I just didn't think it would be quite this zealous. Did anyone ever tell you you've got one hell of a temper?”

“No.” She obviously resented being tricked. She crossed her arms protectively around her waist and glared at him. “There's only one other man in this world who can make me as angry as you do and I'm related to him.”

“Which means you can't avoid him, but you
can
avoid me.”

Taylor rolled her eyes skyward. “The cowboy's a genius.”

Russ removed his hat and rotated the rim between his fingers. “I'm here to apologize for what I said earlier. I don't know what came over me,” he hesitated, realizing that wasn't entirely true. “All right, I have a good guess. I was jealous.”

“Jealous,” she exploded. “Of what?”

This wasn't easy. Confronting her was one thing, but admitting how he'd been feeling…An uncomfortable sensation tightened his chest. “I was thinking about other men dancing with you and it bothered the hell out of me,” he said in a low murmur, none too proud of it.

“That makes as much sense as my jeans being too tight. I already told you I wasn't going to the dance.”

“Yes, you are,” he countered swiftly. “You're going with me.”

To his consternation, Taylor threw back her head and laughed. “In your dreams, Palmer.”

There were any number of women in town who'd leap at an invitation to attend the Grange dance with him; he could name four off the top of his head. So it didn't set right that the one woman he really wanted to take had mocked his invitation. He could feel the red burning his ears, but he swallowed his protest. Still, he supposed he and Taylor were even now.

“Some women might appreciate those caveman tactics of yours,” she informed him, smiling much too broadly to suit his already wounded pride. “But I'm not one of them.”

“What do you want me to do? Get down on one knee and beg? Because if that's the case, you've got a hell of a long wait!” He slammed his hat back on his head.

Some of the amusement and indignation left her eyes.

Russ tried once more, softening his voice. “There isn't anyone in Cougar Point I'd rather attend the dance with,” he said. Their eyes held for a few seconds longer before Russ added, “Will you go with me, Taylor? Please?” That wasn't a word he said often; he hoped she realized that.

It was clear she was wavering. Maybe she needed some inducement, Russ decided. He settled his hands on her shoulders and brought her against him. She remained as stiff as a branding iron, refusing to relax. He could kiss her; that might help with her decision. Every time his mouth settled over hers it was like drinking rainwater, sweet and fresh from the heavens. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and felt some of the fight go out of her. A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. He knew she'd come around once she'd had a chance to think about it.

“Taylor?” he whispered, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes. What he saw puzzled him. Russ expected to find submission, perhaps even a hint of desire. Instead he discovered bewilderment and distress.

When she spoke, her voice was a little shaky. “I…it'd be best if you asked someone else, Russ.”

 

“You're going to the Grange dance, aren't you?” Mary Beth Morgan asked, popping into Taylor's room after class on Wednesday afternoon.

Taylor shook her head and riffled through a stack of papers on her desk. “I don't think so.”

“But, Taylor,” the other teacher said, “everyone in town will be there.”

“So I heard.” Taylor stood and placed the papers inside her folder to take home and grade that evening.

“Why wouldn't you want to go?”

Taylor hedged, wondering how she could explain. “First, I don't have anything appropriate to wear, and second—” she hesitated and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug “—I don't know how to square dance.”

Mary Beth smiled and shook her head. “You don't have a thing to worry about. You could show up at the Grange in a burlap bag and you'd have more offers to dance than you'd know what to do with. As for the square dancing part, put that out of your head. This isn't a square dance.”

“I'll think about it,” Taylor promised.

“You'd better do more than that,” Mary Beth said. “I personally know of three young men who'll be mighty disappointed if you aren't at that dance.”

“I suppose I could sew a dress,” Taylor said, her spirits lifting. She knew the minute she arrived that Russ would believe she was there because of him, but the thought of staying home while everyone else was having fun was fast losing its appeal.

“Listen, Taylor, there aren't that many social functions in Cougar Point. Take my advice and enjoy yourself while you can because there probably won't be another one until Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“Right,” Mary Beth said with a solid nod. “Now I'll tell you what I'll do. My husband and I will pick you up at seven.”

“I know where the Grange Hall is,” Taylor said, brightening. “You don't need to give me a ride.”

Mary Beth laughed. “I just want to see if it's Russ Palmer, Cody Franklin or Harry Donovan who takes you home.”

 

True to her word, Mary Beth and Charles Morgan came by to pick up Taylor promptly at seven on Saturday night.

“Oh, my, we're in for a fun evening,” Mary Beth said as she walked a full circle around Taylor. Slowly she shook her head. “That dress is absolutely gorgeous.”

Taylor had been up until midnight two evenings straight, sewing. There was an old-fashioned dry goods store in town, where she'd found a respectable—and surprisingly inexpensive—assortment of fabrics and notions. She'd chosen a pattern for a western-style dress with a tight-fitting lace-up bodice and snug waist. The skirt flared out gently at her hips and fell to midcalf. An eyelet-ruffled petticoat of white dropped three inches below the lavender dress. Brown boots complemented the outfit.

“Yup, we're in for a really good time tonight.” Mary Beth chuckled as she slipped her arm through Taylor's and led her out the door.

The music coming from the Grange Hall could be heard even before they parked the car. Bright lights poured out from the large brick structure on the highway outside town. The parking lot was filled with trucks and four-wheel-drive vehicles. Without meaning to, Taylor started looking for Russ's truck, then quickly chastised herself.

She was hardly in the door when Mandy flew to her side. The girl's face was glowing with a warm smile.

“I knew you'd come! Russ said you wouldn't be here, but I was sure you would. Oh, Taylor,” she whispered wide-eyed when Taylor removed her coat. “Where did you ever find a dress that pretty?”

Taylor whirled around once to give her the full effect. “You like it? Well, I told you before there are advantages in knowing how to use a sewing machine.”

“You
made
your dress?”

“Don't look so shocked.”

“Could I ever sew anything that complicated?”

“With practice.”

“If I took all the money I've been saving for a new saddle and bought a sewing machine, would you teach me to sew? I'm not taking home economics until next term, and I don't want to wait that long to learn. Not when I can make clothes as pretty as yours.”

“I'd be happy to teach you.”

“Howdy, Taylor.” A young man with soft ash-blond hair stepped in front of her, hands tucked into the small front pockets of his jeans.

“Hello,” she said, not recognizing him, although he apparently knew her.

“I was wondering if I could have the next dance?”

“Ah…” Taylor hadn't even hung up her coat yet, and she would've liked to find her way around and talk to a few people before heading for the dance floor.

“For crying out loud,” Mandy muttered. “Give Taylor a minute, will you, Harry? She just got here.”

Harry's cheeks flushed with instant color. “If I don't ask her now,” he said, “someone else will and I won't get a chance the rest of the evening.” He blushed some more. “So can I have this dance?”

“Ah…sure,” Taylor said, not knowing what else to do. Mandy took her coat and Harry led her to the dance floor, smiling broadly as if he'd pulled off a major coup.

Once they reached the dance floor, Harry slipped his arm around her waist and guided her through a simple two-step. They hadn't been on the floor more than a few minutes when the music ended. Reluctantly Harry let his arm drop.

“I don't suppose you'd consider dancing the next one with me?” he asked hopefully.

Taylor hesitated. The room was growing more crowded, and she still hadn't talked to anyone.

“I believe the next dance is mine,” a deep masculine voice said from behind her. Taylor didn't need a detective to know it was Russ. She stiffened instinctively before turning to face him.

Russ stood directly in front of her in a gray western-tailored suit with a suede yoke, his gaze challenging hers. His look alone was enough to silence the denial on her tongue. His eyes moved over her like a warm caress, tiny glints of mischief sparking in their depths.

The music started again, and as Harry stepped away, Russ placed his arms around her. There wasn't an ounce of protest left in Taylor as he caressed the small of her back. She closed her eyes and pretended to be engrossed in the music when it was Russ who held her senses captive.

Several minutes passed before he spoke. His mouth was close to her ear. “I knew you'd come.”

Taylor's eyes shot open, and she jerked away from him, putting several inches between them. “Let me tell you right now that my being here has absolutely nothing to do with you, and—”

He pressed a finger over her lips, stopping her in midsentence.

Slowly Taylor lifted her gaze to his. Deeply etched lines from long hours in the sun crinkled around his eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered, and his warm breath tinged her cheek. Then he removed his finger.

“It wasn't for you,” she felt obliged to inform him, but the indignation in her voice was gone. “Mary Beth Morgan…invited me.”

Russ's mouth quirked just a fraction. “Remind me to thank her.”

His grip tightened, and although Taylor was determined to keep a safe, respectable distance from this man, she found herself relaxing in his embrace. He slid his hand up and down the length of her back, sending hunger shooting through her. She eased closer, reveling in the strength she sensed in the rugged, hard contours of his body. She didn't mean to, didn't even want to, but when he tucked her hand between them and rested his face against her hair, she closed her eyes once again. He smelled of rum and spice, and she breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent.

When the song ended, it was Taylor who swallowed a sigh of regret. Dancing like this was a lost art in the city. The last time she'd danced with a man who'd placed his arms around her so tenderly, she'd been with Mark, early in their relationship. She'd almost forgotten how good it was to feel so cherished.

Russ refused to release her; if anything, he pulled her closer. “Let's get out of here for a few minutes.”

Taylor groaned inwardly. She couldn't believe how tempted she was to agree. “I…can't. I just got here. People will talk.”

“Let them.”

“Russ, no.” Using her hands for leverage, she pushed herself free. He didn't offer any resistance, but the effort it had cost her to move away left her weak. And furious. How dare he assume she'd go into the parking lot with him—and for what? She'd bet cold hard cash he wasn't planning to discuss cattle breeding techniques with her.