Enid asked pointedly.
"I came to ask Miss Howard if she'd like to see the flowers I mentioned to her the other day," he replied tightly. "Obviously, she does not, if it means suffering my company."
Amelia closed her eyes. Please go, she thought. Please go away. You remind me of him…
Enid got to her feet and took her son's arm, almost dragging him out of the room.
"What the hell is the matter with her?" he demanded hotly, glaring at his mother. "Did you see? She acts as if I have leprosy!"
"You treat her as if she does," she replied unflinchingly. "I wish Alan were here. He is gentle with her. Which is probably why the two of them are so compatible."
He glowered down at her. "And I know nothing of tenderness."
"That is so," she agreed curtly. "You have hardened your heart since Alice died. The sort of woman you seek these days has no need of tenderness. Why do you not take your precious Miss Valverde to see the flowers, King?"
"She has no interest in such things."
"Only in the money that pays for the land on which they grow," his mother said with faint venom. "Go and tend to your business. Amelia wants no part of you. Nor can I blame her. Surely her father is enough of a trial. It is no surprise to me that her life has been singularly lacking in male suitors. Probably she will live and die a maid for want of a little kindness from anyone!"
She turned and left her son standing there.
He didn't move for a long moment. That bruise on Amelia's arm made him feel like the lowest sort of desperado. Only a coward used brute force against a woman. He hadn't meant to hurt her. His emotions, always under impeccable control, had loosed the chain last night in the grip of the most insane desire he'd ever known. His hunger for Amelia had made him cruel. Now he felt guilty, but he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
Damn women, he muttered under his breath. Damn it all! He stomped down the hall and out the front door, banging the screen door behind him. Disguising his pain in bad temper, he went out to supervise the branding of the new calves. By the end of the day, more than one cowboy had evinced the opinion that who was getting their hides burned today was the men!
Chapter Five
« ^ »
Â
A melia heated water and poured it in the sink adding cold water from the hand pump to regulate the temperature. Then she washed the few dishes, while Enid did the sweeping. Dust came in through the doors and screens despite all Enid's precautions. Here in west Texas, she told Amelia, it was something that couldn't be changed, so it might as well be tolerated. Amelia couldn't help but think the same sentiment might be applied to King. But he was barely tolerable even on good days.
Roundup went on. King worked his men until late Saturday night, after which most of them got roaring drunk and began shooting up the desert behind the bunkhouse. The gunshots made Amelia nervous.
"I'll have King speak to them," Enid said. Both women had gotten out of bed at the clatter and were standing in the hall in their gowns and long, warm robes.
A door opened, and King came out into the hall. His dark hair was disheveled, and his jeans and boots had obviously been thrown on rather hastily, because his shirt was only half-tucked-in. As he moved closer, Amelia got an all too vivid look at a broad, bronzed chest covered with thick black hair.
"You aren't going out there without a gun?" Enid asked when he reached them.
"Why do I need a gun?" he asked with a glare. "They're only drunk."
"But they might shoot you," Amelia spoke up, her dark eyes wide and worried.
He stopped, surprised at the obvious concern. When he looked at her, his eyes lingered on her face in its frame of long, beautifully unruly blond hair. Her complexion was rosy from sleep, and in the lacy, ruffled layers of her nightclothes, she looked like a flower in bloom. He had to struggle to get his mind back where it belonged.
"I won't be long. Stay in the house," he
"I came to ask Miss Howard if she'd like to see the flowers I mentioned to her the other day," he replied tightly. "Obviously, she does not, if it means suffering my company."
Amelia closed her eyes. Please go, she thought. Please go away. You remind me of him…
Enid got to her feet and took her son's arm, almost dragging him out of the room.
"What the hell is the matter with her?" he demanded hotly, glaring at his mother. "Did you see? She acts as if I have leprosy!"
"You treat her as if she does," she replied unflinchingly. "I wish Alan were here. He is gentle with her. Which is probably why the two of them are so compatible."
He glowered down at her. "And I know nothing of tenderness."
"That is so," she agreed curtly. "You have hardened your heart since Alice died. The sort of woman you seek these days has no need of tenderness. Why do you not take your precious Miss Valverde to see the flowers, King?"
"She has no interest in such things."
"Only in the money that pays for the land on which they grow," his mother said with faint venom. "Go and tend to your business. Amelia wants no part of you. Nor can I blame her. Surely her father is enough of a trial. It is no surprise to me that her life has been singularly lacking in male suitors. Probably she will live and die a maid for want of a little kindness from anyone!"
She turned and left her son standing there.
He didn't move for a long moment. That bruise on Amelia's arm made him feel like the lowest sort of desperado. Only a coward used brute force against a woman. He hadn't meant to hurt her. His emotions, always under impeccable control, had loosed the chain last night in the grip of the most insane desire he'd ever known. His hunger for Amelia had made him cruel. Now he felt guilty, but he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
Damn women, he muttered under his breath. Damn it all! He stomped down the hall and out the front door, banging the screen door behind him. Disguising his pain in bad temper, he went out to supervise the branding of the new calves. By the end of the day, more than one cowboy had evinced the opinion that who was getting their hides burned today was the men!
Chapter Five
« ^ »
Â
A melia heated water and poured it in the sink adding cold water from the hand pump to regulate the temperature. Then she washed the few dishes, while Enid did the sweeping. Dust came in through the doors and screens despite all Enid's precautions. Here in west Texas, she told Amelia, it was something that couldn't be changed, so it might as well be tolerated. Amelia couldn't help but think the same sentiment might be applied to King. But he was barely tolerable even on good days.
Roundup went on. King worked his men until late Saturday night, after which most of them got roaring drunk and began shooting up the desert behind the bunkhouse. The gunshots made Amelia nervous.
"I'll have King speak to them," Enid said. Both women had gotten out of bed at the clatter and were standing in the hall in their gowns and long, warm robes.
A door opened, and King came out into the hall. His dark hair was disheveled, and his jeans and boots had obviously been thrown on rather hastily, because his shirt was only half-tucked-in. As he moved closer, Amelia got an all too vivid look at a broad, bronzed chest covered with thick black hair.
"You aren't going out there without a gun?" Enid asked when he reached them.
"Why do I need a gun?" he asked with a glare. "They're only drunk."
"But they might shoot you," Amelia spoke up, her dark eyes wide and worried.
He stopped, surprised at the obvious concern. When he looked at her, his eyes lingered on her face in its frame of long, beautifully unruly blond hair. Her complexion was rosy from sleep, and in the lacy, ruffled layers of her nightclothes, she looked like a flower in bloom. He had to struggle to get his mind back where it belonged.
"I won't be long. Stay in the house," he
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