Chapter Seven

Sam reigned up beneath the willows and sat silently concealed in the deeper shadows. All his ferocious need had suddenly evaporated, leaving him feeling like an awkward kid about to pay his first call on a girl.

He was certainly more than a little worried about the reception he’d receive. He and Catherine hadn’t parted on the best of terms the last time he’d come here, and yesterday Cat had been as skittish as... well, as a cat. She was certainly mad at him. And probably scared, too. If folks knew she’d slept with him, her reputation would be ruined. They’d fire her from her job and run her out of town. She’d be at his mercy, and if he chose to turn his back on her...

But, of course, he had no intention of turning his back on her. Instead, he was wondering whether she’d turn her back on him, just as the only other woman he’d ever wanted had done.

Adora. He’d worshipped her, and he’d been so certain she loved him in return. He had even been willing to risk the terror of his father’s wrath in order to have her. They would run away, he’d told her, far away where no one would ever find them.

Even now he could still hear the harsh sound of her laughter as she scorned his fervent proposal. “Are you crazy?” she had asked. “Why would I go away with you? You’re a seventeen-year-old boy with nothing! I have a husband, and a home, and everything I always wanted.”

“But you don’t love him!” Sam had argued.

“I don’t love you, either,” she had replied.

Hurt and furious, Sam had threatened her. “I’ll tell him about us! He’ll throw you out without a cent!”

“I’ll say you’re lying. He’ll believe me because he’ll want to believe me, and he’ll kill you!”

Sam wasn’t afraid, but when he said so, she had countered with the most awful threat of all, the one so terrible Sam still shuddered to recall it, even after all these years. That threat had succeeded in silencing him, and Sam had sealed away his pain and humiliation forever.

His love for Adora had soured into bitterness and hate, and for the second half of his life he had kept careful guard over his heart. Since then he had never met a woman worth risking such pain for again.

Until now.

But Catherine wasn’t Adora, he reminded himself sternly, and he was no longer a seventeen-year-old boy. And the situation with Cat was different. Cat would be expecting a proposal of marriage from him. In fact, she should be grateful for one, especially if she’d started worrying about being pregnant.

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t allow himself to feel too confident. He had the uneasy feeling Cat might not react to the situation the way most women would. She certainly wasn’t like any of the women he’d ever known in most other respects, what with all that talk about nudity and posing for art classes and nipples, for God’s sake.

Resolutely, he swung out of his saddle, leaving his horse ground-hitched, and started for the school, where a light still burned inside in spite of the late hour.

Catherine waited tensely, willing herself not to look out the window again lest he see her watching for him. Her vigil had seemed hours long, although it was only a little past ten o’clock. He’d waited just until he was certain the townspeople were abed. Catherine, however, was not abed. She sat on one of her chairs, fully clothed in her usual dark skirt and white shirtwaist. If Sam Connors thought to find her in her nightdress again, if he thought she’d throw herself into his arms again, he was going to be disappointed.

His boots echoed hollowly on the stoop and his knock made her jump, even though she’d been anticipating it for hours. Forcing herself to move slowly, she went to the door and opened it.

As always, the sight of him startled her, making her nerves tingle and her heart flutter. He seemed enormous, looming in the doorway, his hat in his hand, his face carefully expressionless.

After what must have been a full minute, he said, “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, she stepped aside so he could pass. The scent of soap and hair tonic wafted from him, disguising somewhat the musky maleness she remembered so well from the other night. She held her breath for a second or two, until he had passed.

He stopped and turned back to face her, looking impossibly huge in the small room. She let the door swing shut so they would at least be assured of some privacy, although she stayed there beside it in case she felt the urge to escape.

They stared at each other across the narrow expanse of floor separating them. Aware of his gaze, she let her own roam over him, recalling all the details she hadn’t allowed herself to notice yesterday—his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the crinkles beside his eyes, the way his ebony hair swept back from his forehead, and the white band of skin where his hat blocked the sun.

As if uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he shifted slightly, and then she noticed the splash of color in his hand, purple and scarlet, the flowers that blanketed the prairies.

Seeing her surprise, he lifted the makeshift bouquet and held it out.

Catherine could hardly believe her eyes. Although she’d been half expecting it, the incongruous sight of Sam Connors holding a fistful of flowers took away her breath, and for a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even move.

Sam looked at her startled face and then back at the flowers. They were pathetic, scrawny and wilted. No wonder she looked like he’d offered her a snake. “They’re not much,” he muttered, tossing them on the table in disgust and wiping his hand on his pant leg.

What had possessed him to bring her weeds? She must think him a fool. The thought triggered an avalanche of unpleasant memories, and he grew defensive. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d never been with a man?” he blurted, knowing instantly he had said exactly the wrong thing.

She stiffened visibly, and spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “What made you think I had?” she demanded haughtily.

“All your talk about posing naked,” he replied, still defensive. “A woman who’d stand up in front of a bunch of men naked would do anything.”

“I never posed for men!”

“But you said—”

“I said I posed for students, female students.”

Sam needed a moment to comprehend the implications. “But all that talk... the things you said to me when I brought you the painting...”

“I was trying to shock you, to put you in your place.”

He stared at her in silence, weighing her words.

“I guess you expect me to marry you.”

Catherine gaped at him, hardly able to believe her ears. Of all the pompous, arrogant, boorish bastards she had ever met, he was the worst! Was this supposed to be some sort of proposal? Grudgingly offering the protection of his name? Fury stiffened her spine, and she glared at him with all the contempt she could muster. “Why should I expect anything from you?”

“Well, after what happened the other night... ”

“Do you think I was trying to trick you into marrying me?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I never—” Sam frowned, unable to figure out why she was so mad. “If you didn’t want me, why did you let me in?”

Catherine froze. Why had she let him in? Oh, she’d been worried about David, but that didn’t explain her wanton behavior. “You forced your way in,” she replied defensively, unwilling to admit her own part in it. “I asked you to leave, but you ignored me.”

Sam felt his face heating at her accusation. She thought he was a rapist. No wonder she’d scorned his proposal. No wonder she’d scorned him. The pain of old wounds opening twisted in his gut. “Well, you won’t have to ask me tonight.” He started for the door, shoving his Stetson back on.

Catherine scrambled out of his way, since he didn’t seem inclined to stop. As she moved, she caught sight of the flowers lying scattered on the table and felt a pang. For a moment there she’d glimpsed the warm, sensitive man she had come to love, then somehow they’d started yelling at each other again. How had things gotten so far off track? Nothing was settled and now he was leaving! “Sam, wait,” she cried.

He stopped, his hand on the latch, but he didn’t turn to look at her. Her mind went blank. What on earth could she say? How could she open subjects so sensitive she didn’t even want to think about them? “I... why did you go to the Redferns for dinner yesterday?”

Slowly, he turned to her, his expression wary. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He let his hand drop from the latch. “I guess I hoped maybe at the Redferns’ house we could talk without fighting.”

Could they talk without fighting? Catherine was willing to try. “Opal thought you were courting me, and so did David,” she ventured.

“He’s probably jealous about it, too. I guess that’s the real reason he wouldn’t let me out of his sight last night.”

“Then you were coming to see me last night.” She noticed he hadn’t denied her charge that he was courting her.

“Yes, I was,” he admitted, softening in response to her obvious relief. He took a step closer. “I wanted to come Friday, but then I remembered you’d be staying at somebody’s house, and Davy didn’t know whose and—” He shrugged.

“And when you found out, you begged an invitation from poor Opal.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Poor Opal? She loved every minute of it.”

“Yes, she did.”

“And how about you? Did you like being the center of attention of all those men?”

She thought he sounded jealous, but perhaps that was only wishful thinking. “No, I found it unnerving, especially—”

“Especially what?”

“Especially when you—you touched me under the table.”

He drew a ragged breath. “You’re lucky that’s all I did.”

Every one of her nerve ends leaped to life. “What else did you want to do?” she asked, knowing she was leading him on and not feeling the least bit guilty.

“This,” he replied, reaching for her as she had known he would. His mouth was warm and hard and demanding. He parted her lips with his tongue, forcing his way past her teeth in an intimate invasion she didn’t even pretend to resist.

His body felt wonderful against hers, hard and strong and vibrant. His hands moved feverishly over her, stirring the embers of the passion he had awakened. He couldn’t get enough of her. Surely, he cared for her. He must!

His kiss went on and on, until the need for air forced them apart. They clung, breathless and gasping, his hand still cupping her breast.

“Cat, we shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“No, we shouldn’t,” she agreed, touched by his concern. She stroked the smooth curve of his jaw and noticed a tiny knick where his razor had slipped. He had shaved before coming. The knowledge made him infinitely more dear to her.

“You make me crazy,” he said against her mouth.

He made her crazy, too. How could she be melting in his arms when nothing was settled?

“I say things I don’t mean... ” he murmured, sealing her lips with his own.

What things hadn’t he meant? she wondered vaguely. His hand came up and stroked her throat, and she smelled the acrid scent of wildflowers. The memory of them undid what was left of her resolve. She knew she was insane to even consider what she was considering, but she loved him so much, and the only time they weren’t arguing was when they were making love...

“Stop me, Cat,” he begged.

“I—I can’t,” she said, meaning “I won’t,” pressing herself more closely against him. They could talk afterward. This time she wouldn’t be afraid to face him. This time, in the afterglow of their love, they would be able to open their hearts.

She found where his shirttail had come lose and slipped her hand beneath, touching heated skin. He groaned her name, pulling her closer as his mouth found hers again.

Her breasts swelled, straining against him, and little shivers danced over her, warming quickly into flickers of desire. He pulled her shirtwaist loose, but he encountered the unyielding barrier of her corset. Frustrated, he sought the buttons at her throat, unfastening them with little regard to their future usefulness. Her hands were busy with buttons, too, seeking the furred expanse of his chest.

He jerked her shirtwaist open, yanked down the thin fabric of her chemise, and brought her to him, flesh to flesh.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked breathlessly.

“No,” she whispered, exploring the velvet textures beneath his shirt.

Her “No” unleashed a tiger. In a frenzy of need, they undressed each other, frantically stripping away garment after garment, struggling with buttons and hooks and ties and boots and shoes and garters, until they stood before each other with nothing to hide.

Lamplight turned their skin to gold. Catherine thought she had never seen a more magnificent male body. Hard work had honed him to perfection, sculpting each muscle into bold relief. She admired the way the dark hair swirled on him, providing stark contrast to the whiteness of his skin where the sun had never touched.

Had she thought herself familiar with male anatomy? She realized now a woman knew nothing at all until she had seen the man she loved aroused by the sight of her.

His languorous gaze moved over her like a loving hand, stirring her like a physical touch. Had she ever been self-conscious about her body? Had she ever thought her slenderness less than feminine? All such doubts fled before Sam’s fierce approval.

He murmured her name in reverence and then scooped her up into his arms.

“The lamp,” she said as he swept down the covers and laid her on the bed.

“No, I want to see you this time.”

He lay beside her, pulling her close, enveloping her in his warmth. This time she knew what to do, and she wrapped her arms around him, returning his kisses with equal fervor.

With a groan, he rolled over on his back, carrying her with him so she lay sprawled full length upon him. His hands explored freely, finding the curve of her hips and the fullness of her bottom.

“You’re so soft,” he breathed against her breast.

She shivered as his callused palms grazed her tingling flesh. Kneading his powerful shoulders, she replied, “You’re so hard.”

For some reason he laughed, a breathless, gasping sound. “God, yes, always when I’m with you.” He captured a rigid nipple in his mouth and suckled avidly, sending shock waves coursing through her.

Her hips churned instinctively against his, urged by his eager hands. Beneath her, the swell of his manhood was hot and rigid, tempting and torturing her with the promise of fulfillment. An aching void formed within her, swirling and pulsing, a void only he could fill.

“Sam?” she whispered against the smooth curve of his jaw. He spread her thighs, abrading the sensitive inner skin with the roughened pads of his fingers. “Sam!”

This time he heard her, and in the next second she was on her back, bearing his weight and clinging to him, mouth to mouth, breast to chest. His hands still cupped her buttocks, and he lifted her to him. This time no barrier blocked his way, and he sank easily into her welcoming depths.

Her name rumbled from his chest, an agonized cry that might have come from pain, but Catherine knew otherwise. Her body cried out, too, but silently. A roar of pleasure filled her head and heart and soul as Sam had filled her body. He moved, and the roar reverberated until she trembled.

Clinging desperately, she met him thrust for thrust. The tumult within her grew and swelled, echoing back upon itself and redoubling into a resounding crescendo. Catherine gasped and panted, her nails scraping his back as she fought against what she most desired.

But she had no choice. The roar exploded into sunbursts of joy that tore the very soul from her body and sent it soaring into the light. Still quaking, she absorbed his shudders of release, hearing his groan as if from far away.

“Sam,” she whispered or thought she did, holding onto him with all her strength because she was slipping off into the realm of oblivion.

He clasped her to him, murmuring her name, but he couldn’t keep her. The inexorable darkness closed around her.

Sam shifted his weight, afraid of crushing her now that he was too wrung out to support himself anymore. Blessing the lamplight, he stared down into her sleeping face. She looked like a wanton angel with her golden hair spilling across the pillow and her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Her dewed skin glowed, as sleek and shimmering as satin.

“You’re mine now, Cat,” he said, knowing it wasn’t completely true, knowing only too well it took more than physical possession to truly make such a claim.

Catherine’s eyelids flickered but remained closed. He envied her the exhausted, blissful sleep of contentment. Although his body was sated, he was far from content and would not be until Cat truly did belong to him, until she lived in his house and slept in his bed and called herself by his name.

Longing sliced through him like a shard of glass. Surely, now, she’d marry him. In fact, she’d probably demand his compliance.

Sam smiled as he imagined her doing so, the way her blue eyes would flash and her chin would lift, defying him to refuse. He shook her, anxious for the confrontation. “Cat? Wake up.”

She murmured something and snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth but not awakening. “Cat?” he tried again. She didn’t even stir.

He sighed in frustration, wondering how long he would have to wait until she woke up. Minutes ticked by, five and then ten. He tried to rouse her again but got only unintelligible mutterings. Finally, he had to admit she was out for the night. Of course, he could curl up beside her and be here first thing in the morning when she awakened.

Sam grinned at the thought, knowing he didn’t dare risk such a thing. He’d already endangered her reputation enough by coming here in the dead of night. If anyone saw him leaving at dawn... No, he’d have to wait until tomorrow night for his answer.

Slipping reluctantly from the bed, he took a long moment to look at her, drinking in the sight of her alabaster body. Reminding himself how late it was, he resisted the urge to climb back in beside her. Instead, he pulled the sheet over her and resolutely turned away to collect his clothes from where they had been scattered in the haste of passion.

When he was dressed, he returned to her. Brushing the hair away from her face, he pressed a kiss to her mouth. Her eyelids lifted a fraction of an inch. “Sam?”

His heart leaped. “We need to talk, Cat.”

She murmured a sleepy agreement that made him smile. He stroked her cheek, and she nuzzled his hand like a fawning kitten. Unfortunately, she fell instantly asleep again. Sighing his disappointment, he turned away, blew out the lamp, and left, consoling himself with the knowledge he would return tomorrow to claim her for his own.

Amos Pettigrew cursed softly as his horse picked its way along the almost invisible trail. In spite of the warmth of the spring evening, he was sweating like a pig, starting at every rustle of the wind.

Damn those Taggerts, anyway. Why in the hell couldn’t they have chosen a more civilized time and place to meet him? Riding around this country in the dark was dangerous enough, but he also knew those two would murder their own grandmother for two bits. At that thought, he touched the gun he wore under his coat, verifying that it would be close at hand if he needed it.

Of course, even mongrel dogs didn’t bite the hand that fed them, so Pettigrew figured he was pretty safe—at least until he’d paid them off.

Suddenly, his horse’s ears flicked up, and Pettigrew reined to a halt. “Who’s there?” he called into the outcropping of rock up ahead toward which his horse was looking.

“That you, Pettigrew?”

“Yeah, it’s me. That you, Taggert?”

Taggert didn’t deign to reply. Instead, Pettigrew heard two horses shuffle into motion, then they materialized out of the shadows. The brothers each carried a Winchester propped on his thigh. Pettigrew’s sweat chilled instantly.

“You boys sure picked the darkest night of the year,” he said, trying to sound amiable. “I like to never found this place.”

“Don’t worry. We’d of found you,” Will Taggert said, and his brother giggled stupidly. “You got the money?”

Pettigrew reached into his coat pocket and drew out an envelope, which he held out at arm’s length. Will Taggert nudged his horse a few steps closer, so he could reach it, then snatched the envelope from Pettigrew’s hand.

Taggert struck a match and examined the contents of the envelope. “I oughta charge double,” he said when he had shaken out the match. “Connors shot my brother, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Floyd said, sounding aggrieved. “Hurts like hell, too. We oughta charge double.”

“You should have told me,” Pettigrew said, shifting nervously in his saddle and wondering if they were crazy enough to shoot him down in cold blood because he hadn’t read their minds and brought more money. “Connors claimed he’d hit one of you, but nobody knew for sure. I don’t have any more money on me now, but I can—”

“Shut up. We just want to know what you want us to do next.”

“I—” Pettigrew stared at them in dismay, hoping they couldn’t read his expression in the dark or smell his fear. “I really didn’t want you to do anything except cut Sam’s fence. I told you before, I only wanted you to make Sam mad enough to turn against the small ranchers.”

“Well, now, Mr. Pettigrew,” Will said silkily, “are you telling us we’re fired?”

“I’m telling you I don’t have any more work for you.” Pettigrew could hear the fear in his voice and cleared his throat. “Things are going to get pretty hot for you boys around here. Connors recognized you, and if you so much as show your faces, you’re liable to get strung up.”

“We don’t mind a little heat, do we, Floyd?”

Floyd giggled again. The sound made Pettigrew’s flesh crawl.

“In fact,” Taggert continued, “we like it real fine around here. We’ve got ourselves a hideout nobody’ll ever find, so we can just keep on doing little jobs for you until we get tired of it, can’t we, Floyd?”

“Sure can,” Floyd snickered.

Pettigrew felt the sweat pouring down his ribs, and he shifted in his saddle. “But I don’t have any more jobs for you to do.”

“Then we’ll have to think up some of our own, won’t we, Floyd? See, Pettigrew, we’ve got a score to settle with Connors now, so we’re gonna keep on pestering him till we figure we’ve got it settled. And you’re gonna keep on paying us to do it.”

“Now see here—” Pettigrew began, but caught himself just in time. He had to remember how tenuous his position was. They could kill him right here and no one would ever know. “I... why should I continue to pay you?”

“Because if you don’t, we’ll let Connors know it wasn’t Nylan’s bunch who cut his fence. I don’t think he’ll be too happy when he finds out you turned on him, and besides, you’ve got fences of your own to worry about. Long as you’re paying us, they’ll be safe.”

Pettigrew stared at the two men in horror. He was being blackmailed, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. If the community found out he’d hired the Taggerts to cut Sam’s fence in order to force Connors to take a stand, they’d all turn against him, and if he refused to go along with Taggert’s scheme, his fences would be ruined.

“How—how much do you want?” he asked hoarsely.

“Well, now, let me just think about it for a minute,” Taggert said smugly.

A few minutes later, when Pettigrew had disappeared into the shadows again, Will Taggert turned to his brother. “You in the mood for some fun tonight?”

Floyd cackled. “I always am. What you got in mind?”

“Connors has got him a bull he’s mighty proud of. What say we pay it a little visit?”

Floyd’s laughter echoed in the night.

Lulie Nylan awoke with a start, knowing instinctively one of her children needed her. She lay awake, listening to the sounds of the darkness but hearing no cry. Puzzled, she slipped out of the bed, taking care not to disturb her husband, who snored in contented oblivion.

The main room was empty but the front door hung open, so Lulie looked outside. Jessica stood on the porch, wrapped in a shawl and staring up at the sliver of moonlight.

Lulie took her own shawl from the hook on the wall and joined her daughter outside. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

Jessica jumped. “Ma, I didn’t hear you.”

“You shouldn’t be out here in your nightdress. What if one of the men was to see you? He might think you was offering something you’re not.”

Jessica sighed impatiently. “Maybe I was hoping one of them would.”

Lulie grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. “You mind your tongue. You’re talking to your mother, don’t forget.”

“I can’t forget,” Jessica snapped, jerking free of Lulie’s grasp. “You remind me all the time.” She sighed, brushing aside a lock of hair the wind had teased into her eyes. “I’m so sick of this place I could scream.”

Lulie made a rude noise. “At least you got a chance of getting away. All you gotta do is find yourself a man.”

“I already found him. Problem is, I gotta get him to marry me, and he don’t seem too interested just yet.”

“Davy’s still young,” Lulie said wisely. “Give him a little time.”

“I don’t want to wait! I’m sick and tired of taking care of babies and wearing rags and never having any fun. I want to get married now!”

“Getting married ain’t that much fun,” Lulie reminded her sharply. “And what makes you think you won’t have babies of your own to take care of?”

Jessica laughed derisively. “Davy’ll hire me a nurse. I’ll have somebody to cook and clean for me, too. When I’m living in that big house, I won’t ever have to turn my hand. All I’ll have to worry about is keeping him happy in bed... ”

Lulie grabbed her daughter with both hands this time and shook her violently. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”

“None of your business,” Jessica said, wrenching away. “But maybe you’d like to know where I learned to keep a man happy... and from who.”

Lulie gasped, clutching at her heart. “You ain’t been with no boys, have you? What if you get yourself a baby? Davy Connors won’t have nothing to do with you then.”

“I’m not stupid! I don’t let ’em put it in me.”

“They! You been with more than one?”

“I’ll never tell,” Jessica simpered, feigning shyness.

“You’ll burn in hell, girl!”

“Hell’s a long way off. Right now I’m worried about where I’m gonna spend the next fifty years, and I sure don’t want to spend ’em with somebody like Pa. I want a husband who’ll amount to something.”

“Your pa’s a fine man,” Lulie insisted.

“Sure, fine and poor, dirt poor. Once I leave here, I’ll never be poor again.”

Lulie stared at her daughter, unable to believe the bitterness in her young face. “You might’ve set your sights too high. Chances are, Davy’ll find himself some rich girl to marry.”

“Not if I get him first.”

“And his brother won’t want him marrying into our family,” Lulie said with bitterness of her own.

“He won’t have no choice if I’m carrying Davy’s baby.”

“Jessie, you wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I? That’s how you got Pa, isn’t it?”

Her mother gaped, aghast.

“You didn’t think I knew, did you?” Jessica charged. “I saw the dates in the family Bible, and I figured it out. Like they say, like mother, like daughter.”

“It wasn’t what you think, Jessie. Your pa and me, we were in love. We planned to marry anyway.”

“Then you were a fool. You should’ve held out for somebody important.”

“You can’t just—” Lulie made a helpless gesture.

“Can’t I? You haven’t seen the way Davy looks at me. I can and I will, and I’ll get him before he can even think about other girls. And Sam Connors won’t have a word to say about it!”

Catherine awoke slowly, only gradually becoming aware of who and where she was. Even more slowly did the memories return, and when they did, she reached instinctively for Sam, but the bed beside her was empty.

“Sam?” she called, sitting up and squinting into the predawn darkness. But he was gone, as she had known he would be. She sighed in frustration and lay back down, trying to remember everything from the night before. Their conversation came back to her in bits and pieces—his grudging proposal, her heated reply, her absurd accusation, him storming out or starting to, the flowers...

The flowers! Catherine jumped up from the bed, heedless of her nakedness, and found the flowers lying on the table where Sam had tossed them. They were limp and lifeless now, their vivid colors a mockery in death. She gathered them lovingly and lifted them to her nose.

They still bore the faint scent of wildness she had first noticed on Sam’s hand.

The memories came flooding back then—his hands, his lips, his body moving in hers, and... nothing more. Good heavens, she had fallen asleep! So much for her intentions of talking to him afterwards. She had a vague recollection of Sam kissing her before he left, but perhaps it had only been a dream.

Why hadn’t he awakened her? She tried to think of a logical explanation, but nothing reasonable occurred to her. Instead, she had visions of him slipping silently, carelessly, away into the night. Why should he awaken her? He’d gotten what he came for, after all.

Had all his protests been pretense? Was he so sure of her response he would allow her to make the first move? Had she been a fool to think he truly cared for her?

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry. If Sam did think so little of her, she wouldn’t humiliate herself any more by weeping over him. And if, by some miracle, there was an explanation for his leaving without a word, she didn’t want to waste her tears.

Still holding the flowers, she climbed back into bed and inhaled Sam’s scent from the pillow where he had lain. Love throbbed painfully in her heart, and she wondered how she had come to such a pass. Her friends in Philadelphia would laugh at her, prudish Catherine surrendering at last to an uncontrollable passion. Sensible Catherine taking a lover who wooed her with wildflowers and arguments.

Lover. She turned the word over in her mind and examined it, trying to make it fit Sam Connors. He wasn’t at all the way she had imagined a lover to be, but if a lover was the man you loved and the man with whom you made love, then Sam fit the description.

Would he ever be more? She remembered his Words, “I guess you expect me to marry you.” Catherine felt certain no woman had ever received a more ungracious proposal of marriage, yet she could not forget the wary expression on his face when he had offered it.

Sam must feel as uncomfortable at the thought of marriage between them as she did. Passion wasn’t everything, after all. She knew—or at least she had been told—that it faded quickly. Truly successful marriages depended on deeper feelings, common interests, compatible natures.

Compatible natures? Catherine laughed aloud at the thought, then sobered as she recalled her parents’ marriage, their mutual devotion, the quiet love that radiated so constantly in their home Catherine hadn’t even been aware of its presence until it had died with her father. She and Sam could never have such a relationship, and Catherine wanted nothing less.

Suddenly, she realized she still held Sam’s flowers. Slowly, deliberately, she laid them down on the pillow he had used. No, she had no future with Sam Connors, whether or not he truly cared for her, whether or not he had meant his grudging proposal. She had been a fool to surrender to her physical desires, and she would be crazy to continue the relationship.

Pulling the sheet tightly against her, she reminded herself of the dangers—pregnancy, ruin, humiliation. No man was worth such sacrifice. She must end this now, before things went any further, before she fell even more deeply in love with him. She must never see Sam Connors again.

The tears she had controlled before sprang up anew, and this time she did not fight them.

Sam squinted in the morning sunlight and cursed eloquently as his horse ate up the miles between him and the circling vultures. He had outstripped the other men in his eagerness to see what feast the birds had found, so he was the first to discover the carnage.

For a merciful moment, he couldn’t make out the animal’s markings for all the gore. The birds flapped and fluttered and danced reluctantly away from their prize, screaming their protest. Sam ignored them, not slowing his horse until he had reached the bloody mound of hide.

Then he saw the white face and recognized Sir Herald, the purebred Hereford bull he had bought last year. Sam sat and stared, numb with shock at the way the animal had been butchered, sliced from end to end. The vultures had dragged the entrails free, and flies swarmed in a pulsing, humming cloud. Sir Herald’s blood soaked the ground, forming a black shadow around the carcass.

Fury boiled up in Sam like a red-hot tide. He was swearing slowly and methodically when the other men caught up and reined in around him. Sam had ordered the bull directly from England, having him shipped over and sent by rail the rest of the way. He’d met the train himself and escorted Sir Herald back to the ranch in easy stages so the bull wouldn’t be too tired to do his duty when he arrived at the Spur.

Sam had set aside a pasture just for Sir Herald’s use and had brought him the youngest, healthiest cows. The bull’s blue blood would upgrade the herd until, in a few years, they were running only Hereford cattle, the heaviest, beefiest, most gentle cattle alive. Then they would no longer have to worry about droughts or blizzards or other natural disasters. They would keep the herd like pets, fenced in and protected from every calamity, and the owners of the Spur would be secure. Davy would be secure.

Now Sam’s dreams lay in a bloody heap on the prairie.

“Shot him right through the eye,” Black George remarked, spitting a stream of tobacco in disgust.

Sam nodded, having already noticed the darkened socket. At least the poor beast hadn’t suffered. Sam struggled with his rage, wishing he were angry because of the fortune he had tied up in Sir Herald or the trouble of setting up the breeding grounds. Instead, all he could think about was how heartbroken Davy would be to learn the magnificent animal was dead. And what the loss would mean to Davy’s future.

With a mighty effort, Sam got a grip on his temper and forced himself to think of more practical matters. “Careful there,” he called to the other men. “Don’t mess up the tracks. Maybe we can follow them this time.”

Sam swung down from his horse and began his examination, making a slow circle around Sir Herald. He found the trail easily enough. They had made no attempt to hide it, at least not in the beginning.

“Two men,” he said, feeling his fury hardening into resolve. “My guess would be the Taggerts were mad because I took a few potshots at them the other night.” Sam designated some men to go with him after the Taggerts and some others to see Sir Herald properly buried. He couldn’t just leave him for the vultures, he reasoned, not asking himself why Sir Herald in death was any different from any other member of his herd.

“At least they waited until Herald had a chance to service most of the cows,” one of the men said.

“Yeah, Sam. We oughta have us quite a crop of whitefaces this year,” said another. “Some of ’em have already dropped.”

“If we got any bulls, we better gather them up before the Taggerts figure out they can do me more harm.” Sam climbed back into his saddle and gave Sir Herald one last, long look. He had his anger under control now. It was like a hard, cold lump beneath his heart. He’d get those bastards if it was the last thing he did, and damn their souls, he’d get them before sundown so he could see Catherine tonight.

Catherine heard about the killing of Sir Herald from Twila Shallcross, who came over to the school as soon as the children had been dismissed to suggest David go straight home.

“There’s been more trouble?” David asked in alarm. “Sam’s not—?”

“Sam’s fine, but the Taggerts were out doing mischief last night. Sam’ll want you home right now.”

David mumbled an apology to Catherine as he gathered his things and raced out the door. When he was gone, Catherine released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and turned to Twila.

“Did you tell him the truth? About Sam not being hurt?”

“Yes, I did,” Twila assured her, laying a comforting hand on Catherine’s arm. “My goodness, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I... I’m just concerned after... I mean, he’s been shot at several times now.”

“Well, you needn’t worry. This time it was his bull that got shot at.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s got this bull, or rather, he had this bull. He sent all the way to England for it. Prettiest thing you ever saw, if you can imagine a pretty bull. Anyways, last night somebody shot it dead and gutted it.”

“How awful!”

“Worse than awful if you ask me. Losing any bull is bad, but this one cost Sam so much money, I can’t even bear to think about it. He was going to build a whole new herd with Sir Herald—that was the bull’s name, cute, ain’t it?—but now I reckon it’ll be years before he can afford to get another one like it, too.”

“Poor Sam,” Catherine said before she could stop herself. She knew she shouldn’t let Twila see how much she cared, but she couldn’t help herself.

Twila smiled slyly. “I guess Opal is right about you two.”

“Opal?” Catherine asked reluctantly, almost afraid to hear what the woman had said.

“She says Sam’s crazy about you and that you’re pretty interested yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Catherine insisted, trying not to feel too elated over Opal’s opinion of Sam’s feelings. “I barely know the man, and all we’ve ever done is quarrel over David.”

“Sometimes it starts with fighting, you know.”

“What starts with fighting?”

Twila batted her eyes coyly. “Romance.”

“Twila, really,” Catherine scolded, knowing her burning cheeks betrayed her.

“No need to be embarrassed. Anybody’d think you were doing something wrong.”

Catherine’s heart jumped to her throat. “What do you mean, ‘something wrong’?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Twila replied, oblivious to her friend’s rampaging guilt. “You act like Sam was married or something, and you didn’t have any right to him. I’ll tell you one thing: I’ve never known a more eligible bachelor than Sam Connors. It’s long past time some woman set her sights on him. And we’d all given up hope he’d ever find a woman to suit him. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s never cared about anything except that ranch and that boy. He acts more like a doting father than a brother, if you ask me. He needs a family of his own to distract him, especially now that Davy’s growing up.”

Catherine’s stomach fluttered alarmingly as she considered the possibility she already carried the seed of Sam’s “family.”

When Twila was gone, Catherine sank down into her chair, too weary for the moment to begin closing up the classroom. She had been right in her decision not to see Sam anymore. People had already sensed the attraction between them and were bound to wonder why Sam did not take their relationship to the altar.

And why should he? A man doesn’t buy the cow if he gets the milk for free. The crude aphorism reverberated in her mind until she could stand it no longer and forced herself to get up and close the schoolroom windows.

Catherine slept poorly that night, half listening for the sounds of Sam’s horse approaching while the other half of her worried about what she would do if he did come.

Of course, common sense told her he was out hunting for the Taggerts. He couldn’t leave his ranch at night, not after what had happened to his bull. She was relieved he couldn’t come.

Wasn’t she?

David didn’t show up at school the next day, confirming her theory that the search for the Taggerts was going strong. Some of the children told her their fathers were helping Davy and his brother scour the hills for the Taggerts’ hideout.

In the afternoon, when she would otherwise have been tutoring David, Catherine got out her sketchbook and drew Sam Connors from memory, drew him the way she had seen him the other night, naked and magnificent and thoroughly aroused. She stared at the sketch for a long time afterwards, until tears blurred her eyes.

Then she burned it. Having such a picture around could be dangerous, she told herself, touching a match to one corner and watching Sam’s figure crinkle and blacken and disappear. If someone happened to see it, she would be mortified. Besides, she didn’t need a picture of Sam Connors. His image had been burned into her memory by the heat of passion, and she knew she would be able to draw it just as clearly fifty years from now as she had today.

David came to school on Thursday morning, looking tired and apologizing before he was even off his horse because he couldn’t stay for his lesson that afternoon.

“Sam made me come to school, but I don’t like to be away too long in case anything happens,” he explained.

“He... you haven’t found the Taggerts?”

“No, and I don’t reckon we will unless we come on ’em by accident. They’ve got themselves a hidey-hole nobody can find. Sam says they must be in—” He caught himself and blushed furiously.

“What does Sam say?” she demanded.

“He says they must stay down in h—e—1—1,” he replied, lowering his voice so the younger children wouldn’t hear.

It sounded so much like something Sam would say that Catherine smiled in spite of herself, feeling warmed somehow. Knowing she was being foolish, she tried to change the subject.

“I’m sorry about the bull you lost.”

David’s face fell. “I wish you could’ve seen him, Miss Eaton. Sir Herald was beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Catherine asked incredulously.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. He was red with a white face and his hair curled all over and he had a great big—” David broke off, flushing furiously. “I mean, he was a bull and all... you know.”

Catherine thought she did but decided not to say so. “Did you ever paint a picture of him?”

“No,” David said with a sigh. “I sure wish I had, but I’m not too good with animals yet and I figured I’d wait until I was better. Now it’s too late.”

Catherine tried to console him, but before she could do more than mutter a few words of comfort, Jessica came running over.

“Oh, Davy, I heard about your bull. I’m so sorry. He was about the most elegant-looking bull I ever saw.”

Catherine stared after them in wonder as Jessica led him away. Elegant? she thought with a puzzled frown.

After a few minutes, she called the children in to begin class. As the day progressed, Catherine found herself thinking less and less about Sam Connors. Perhaps simply being away from him would be enough to cure her, she thought with a secret smile as she dismissed the children for the day.

As usual, David stayed behind but only to help her with the windows, since he wasn’t going to have a lesson today. Catherine was straightening the books on the shelf when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled in warning. Even before she looked up she knew Sam stood in the doorway, staring at her with those eyes that haunted her dreams.

David saw him at the same instant. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, delighted as always to see his brother.

“We needed some supplies, so I thought I’d come by and ride back out to the ranch with you,” he said, never looking at David but keeping his gaze fixed steadfastly on Catherine, who forced her quivering legs to unbend so she could rise to her feet.

“Great. I just need to get this last window, and then I’ll be ready to go.” David slammed down the window, and Catherine heard the sound as if from far away.

Sam hadn’t come for David at all. He had come for her. She knew it from the way his chin jutted out in determination. She also knew she should refuse whatever demands he planned to make.

“You need anything else before I go, Miss Eaton?” David asked.

Catherine shook her head, finding the motion required a conscious and concerted effort. “No, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Still, Sam’s eyes held hers as if some irresistible force had paralyzed her.

David headed for the door and paused on the stoop, puzzled, when Sam made no move to follow him.

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up,” Sam said. “I want to talk to Miss Eaton a minute.”

Looking past Sam, Catherine saw David’s chin jut out with the same Connors determination. “What do you want to talk to her about?”

“Not you, squirt,” Sam said, finally shifting his disturbing gaze to David. “We’ve got some private business, so run along.”

David hesitated, and for a moment Catherine thought he would refuse, prayed he would refuse. Then he turned away, trudging down the porch steps with the unmistakable tread of reluctance.

Slowly, Sam’s gaze swung back to her. He reached up and pulled off his Stetson, using his other hand to smooth his hair in an oddly self-conscious gesture.

Catherine folded her hands in front of her, clasping them so they wouldn’t tremble as he approached, his long strides closing the distance between them much too quickly for her peace of mind.

Her breath caught when he was an arm’s length away, when she thought he wasn’t going to stop. But he did, teetering on his toes as if he were only just able to hold himself back.

For a long moment he simply looked at her. Close up, she saw the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked haggard, and she imagined he had slept very little in the past few days. Even though she tried to feel nothing, her heart ached for him.

“How are you?” he asked at last.

“I—I’m fine,” she lied, thinking she might well faint if any more blood rushed from her head. “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry.” She felt like Jessica, mooning over an “elegant” bull, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ,,

“We didn’t have much time to talk the other night,” he said. “You—you fell asleep after—”

Now the blood was back in her head, scalding her cheeks. “Did I?” she asked inanely.

His lips quirked as if he might smile. “Yeah, I tried to wake you up, but you were out like a pole-axed steer... uh... ”

He gestured apologetically, and she saw his dismay at his choice of words. This time her lips twitched, even though she would have sworn she couldn’t possibly smile in his presence.

“You didn’t even wake up when I kissed you goodbye.”

It hadn’t been a dream! The heat in her cheeks spread inexorably, scorching over her body and settling into the pit of her stomach. “I—I wanted to talk to you.”

His fingers flexed restlessly, crushing the brim of his hat. “I know. Listen, I still can’t get away at night. We’re trying to set a trap for the Taggerts. Where’ll you be this weekend?”

She thought frantically, then sighed in disgust. “With the Nylans.”

“I don’t suppose Lulie’ll invite me to dinner,” he said with a self-mocking grin.

“No, I don’t suppose she will.” Catherine felt a flash of anger at the woman’s unreasonable dislike for Sam.

“I guess we’ll have to wait then.”

“Yes, we will.”

Vaguely, Catherine realized she had consented to see Sam again, the very thing she had vowed never to do, but somehow that no longer mattered.

“I—” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to see if David was in sight. He wasn’t, and Sam’s hand came out to touch her cheek. His dark eyes flared with desire, and an answering flame licked through her.

“Oh, Sam,” she whispered, forsaking all her intentions.

His face came down to hers. “Cat—”

“Sam? Are you coming or not?”

They jerked apart, glancing guiltily toward the door, but David was still not in sight. Sam muttered an imprecation and turned back to her.

“I’ll come as soon as I can,” he promised, and she nodded her assent. They stared at each other for another heartbeat before he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his for a quick, hungry kiss.

It was over almost before it began, and then he was gone, hurrying across the room and not looking back. Lifting a hand to cover her clamoring heart, Catherine knew he didn’t dare. If their eyes had met again, she wouldn’t have been able to let him go.