Lone Star Bride. Carolyn Davidson
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“Pay the price? What is that supposed to mean?” She looked stunned at his words, and he found himself rethinking the harsh statement he’d made.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Alex. Far from it, in fact. I think you’re a smart lady, not likely to fall for a line of blarney from any man. I expect one day you’ll marry well, and make your daddy proud of you.”
“And the price I’ll ask for that is?”
“A license to marry, a good bank account and the promise of a man who will cater to your every whim and follow you around like a faithful hound for the rest of your life.”
She turned away, and he swallowed hard. She was worth every bit of that, and he wondered if she had even considered what it would take for a man to come up to her father’s requirements for her hand in marriage.
“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked.
It was his turn to laugh, and he did so with pleasure. If the woman only knew! “I like you, sweetheart. Well enough to haul you off into the woods and make love to you till morning. But, of course, I’m not gonna do that. I’d be layin’ my head on a chopping block if I tried such a stunt.”
She turned back to him and her chin was lifted a bit, her eyes flashing green fire in his direction. “And you think I’d have nothing to say about that? You think I’d just go along with you without a protest?”
“If I wanted to cart you off, you wouldn’t have a word to say. At least you wouldn’t be saying anything. I’d have your mouth sufficiently covered to make sure you didn’t sound an alarm, and we’d be in the midst of those trees in seconds.” He grinned at her again. “But don’t get upset, I’m not plannin’ on any such a thing, Alex. When I take you to bed, it’ll be all aboveboard and legal.”
“Legal?” She seemed stunned and he leaned forward, taking advantage of the moment of indecision on her part, placing his mouth squarely on hers and lifting his hand to the back of her head. The kiss was long, warm and wet, Jamie not averse to exploring her mouth, no matter the men who worked just yards away and were likely to be watching.
She pulled away, and he allowed it, removing his hand from her head to hold her shoulder, lest she leap to her feet and disappear. “What do you mean?” she asked. And then blushed as if his words had finally penetrated her mind. “Legal? Like in marriage?”
“Like in marriage,” he said quietly. “I’ve learned not to leap into the fire ahead of the bucket brigade, sweetheart. I’m not into taking a virgin’s prized possession ahead of time. I can wait.”
She flushed even deeper, her face rosy, her eyes widening. “You can wait? You surely can, Mr. Webster. For the rest of your life, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t try to kiss me again. I won’t have it.”
With another smooth, lithe movement, she stood and looked down at him. “I wish you a good night’s sleep, Mr. Webster. And unless a rattlesnake should come calling, you’ll probably be just fine in your blanket roll.” Not looking back, she strolled from his side and made her way to the chuck wagon, where Cookie sat on a bench, drinking a cup of coffee.
He looked up at his visitor and smiled a welcome, apparently asking her if she wanted to join him in toasting the night with a mug of her own. Alexis nodded and sat beside him, watching as he bent to pour another cupful from the pot over the flames. She took it from him, smiling with a dazzling display of white teeth, and then set about charming the old man, laughing at his words, drinking his coffee and knowing full well that James was watching.
He could almost read her mind, he decided. He’d named her rightly. She was a flirt, a woman without fear of being scorned by any man, and it was just his luck to be besotted by her. Even as he watched her, his hands itched to touch her perfect skin, to run his fingers through the length of her golden hair. She’d coiled it up atop her head in a braid, and he fantasized about taking it down, undoing the braid and fluffing it around her shoulders and down her back.
He wanted to kiss her again, and the memory of her soft mouth, of the sweetness of her flesh, was a spur in his hide, a burr beneath his saddle. He could, as ranch foreman, as overseer of the whole place, demand that she leave the camp in the morning, once the sun rose, and make her way back to the ranch house.
For her own protection, it would be the best idea. And yet, it would take her from his sight, from his hearing. That laugh that rippled on the air would be gone. The green eyes that sent him mixed messages would be miles away, and he would yearn for her presence here, no matter how she aggravated him and played havoc with his life.
The woman was exactly what he’d been looking for, during all the years when he played the field, when his methods had been so heartless, so uncaring to the females he’d loved and left behind. Now, this little girl…no, this woman, he thought, had turned his brain to mush, his manhood to iron and given him a foretaste of a sleepless night, one in which he would mentally seek out her bedroll and crawl in beside her.
He watched her as she rose and left the camp cook, wending her way through the three campfires that burned, each of them warming several men, each of whom owned admiring masculine eyes, all of them aimed in her direction.
When she’d made the half circle that brought her past his position, he called her name, softly, but with enough sound to carry to her listening ears. She halted her progress and looked at him, unmoving.
“Come here, Alex,” he said. And wonder of wonders, she did as he’d asked. Although commanded might be a better term, he thought.
“What do you want?” she asked, standing before him.
“I want you to unroll your blanket over here, near mine,” he said firmly. “I’m planning to keep an eye on you tonight.”
“You’re going to look after me? I doubt that.”
“You’d better believe it, honey. I don’t want your daddy on my tail should anybody cause you any trouble out here.”
“These men all know me. They know better than to give me any grief.” Her words sounded firm, but he sensed a thread of doubt in her posture, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her eyes shifting around the area surrounding them.
“Even so, Alex, I want you over here. I want to be able to see anything that happens during the night. And in case you’re going to protest, I’ll tell you right now that I’m a light sleeper. I don’t miss much.”
“I’ll just bet you don’t.” Stalking to where she’d stowed her bedroll, near the chuck wagon, she brought it back, halting about six feet away from him, then rolled it open and sat down. “Happy now?” she asked.
He deigned to answer, only shooting her a complacent look, guaranteed to make her stew, designed to fuel her fires of anger.
It was late when Jamie sought his bed. The girl who’d rolled up in a blanket near him was breathing evenly, her mouth partially open, soft sounds escaping in the night. “I’ll bet she’d be madder than a wet hen if I told her she snores,” he muttered to himself.
And decided that was one bit of information he’d do well to keep to himself.
“Coffee’s on.” It was the universal call of the chuck wagon, welcomed by all within the sound of Cookie’s voice. Jamie was no exception. He rolled from his place on the hard ground and made quick work of folding his bedroll, then placing it inside the wagon where he’d stowed his gear.
A head of golden hair, reflecting the sun’s earliest beams, lay almost completely covered by a blanket, and the owner was curled within the folds of the drab covering. “Alex. Time to get up,” Jamie said quietly. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Not hungry,” she muttered, pulling the corner of the blanket higher to better cover her head.
“You need to eat. Come on now.” Jamie walked to her, crouched beside her and tugged at the blanket. A pair of blinking eyes tried to focus on his face, and he