Lauren’s breath caught in her throat, and she stared as one hypnotized at the bulge between his thighs. The tight pants emphasized and detailed his anatomy. To Lauren, who was raised in deliberate ignorance of the opposite sex, it was a bold display. How could anyone be so flagrantly nonchalant about his… person? she wondered.
Her palms grew moist within her gloves.
She forced her eyes to move from his crotch. The buff-colored shirt was shoved sloppily into his belted waistband. Only the last two buttons of the shirt were closed, and the soft fabric fell away from a broad chest that rose and fell with his even breathing. The wide chest tapered to a flat belly and was covered with light brown hair that glinted with golden highlights as the sun filtered through the branches of the pecan tree and shone on him.
Lauren had never seen a man shirtless before. Once a member of Reverend Prather’s congregation had caught a deadly fever and she had glimpsed his upper torso as one of the married women in attendance had bathed him. The sufferer was fat; his skin was pink; and his chest was smooth and hairless. No, he had looked nothing like this.
Lauren swallowed hard and pressed her hand against the fluttering in her stomach.
Jared Lockett groaned again, and she held her breath, afraid that he would awaken and find her looking at him with this shameful temerity. But he only sighed, making a deep hollow of his stomach under his rib cage. His hand moved onto his chest, where it stirred restlessly before remaining still. The hand was tanned and large, with strong, slim fingers. The same sun-bleached hair that covered his chest sprinkled the back of his hand.
A strong column of throat extended from the powerful shoulders. Lauren raised her eyes to his face and was crushingly disappointed. His features were covered by a black, flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat. Her curiosity was piqued by this son of Ben’s, and she wanted to view the face that belonged to this long, hard body.
Lauren almost jumped when Ed Travers said briskly, “There. I think we can leave now.”
So engrossed was she with Jared Lockett’s form that she hadn’t noticed the man returning from his errand.
“You are extremely kind to do this, Mr. Travers.” Lauren’s level voice surprised her. The tickling sensation in her stomach had spread into her chest and throat. These symptoms of “the vapors” were uncharacteristic of the usually serene Lauren Holbrook.
“No problem at all,” Travers hastened to assure her.
He clucked to the bedraggled horses and began maneuvering them through the traffic on the streets of the state’s capital. They dodged trolleys, buggies, and horseback riders as they made their way through the city. There were no motorcars, which Lauren had seen on recent trips to Raleigh.
She enjoyed looking at the capitol building from the different angles their route afforded her. “I think you’re justifiably proud of your capitol building. I’ve read about it. It’s very impressive.”
Travers smiled. “The red granite came from a quarry near the Lockett ranch.”
“Keypoint,” Lauren said. She remembered Ben’s proud voice as he told her about the ranch. Her comment on its clever name, which used a play on words with Lockett and Keypoint, caused him to bea
m at her astuteness. “You’d be surprised at how few people catch that,” he said. As he grinned broadly, the furrows on either side of his mouth deepened into facsimiles of dimples.
Lauren smiled at the memory, and Travers glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. So she knew about Keypoint. Did she also know who lived there? Conversationally he asked, “Have you ever been to Texas before, Miss Holbrook?”
“No, I haven’t. That’s why I was delighted to accept Ben’s invitation to come and stay with his family for a while.”
The wagon lurched when Travers suddenly jerked on the reins. She was going to stay with them? In the house in Coronado? Or at Keypoint? Either place was inconceivable. This girl was as innocent as the day was long. Had Ben Lockett gone mad?
They were outside the city now and heading west on the well-traveled road. When Lauren pulled the long pins out of her hat, Travers warned her, “I wouldn’t take that off if I were you, Miss Holbrook. Our sun is hot. You might get a burn on that pretty nose.”
Lauren agreed and readjusted her hat, but slipped out of her jacket. The slight breeze stirred by the movement of the wagon cooled her damp skin somewhat.
When she was settled again, Travers returned to his thoughts. That wild buck in the back of the wagon was enough reason not to keep any decent woman under the same roof with him.
Jared Lockett was notorious throughout the state for whoring and drinking. When he was younger, his activities had been deemed “sowing wild oats,” but since he had passed his thirtieth birthday, they had become a matter of public scorn. When was Jared going to start acting responsibly? No time soon, Travers mused glumly.
Just last month, Jared had caused a big disturbance at the Rosenburg depot. He and some of his feckless cronies had gone into the Harvey House there and had spent the afternoon drinking and gambling. They had made their presence known in the restaurant by behaving like a pack of wild dogs. Jared made an unseemly proposition to one of the more winsome Harvey girls. The girls who worked as waitresses in the restaurant chain that served the Santa Fe Railroad were known for their scrupulous morals. If a man proposed anything to one of those young ladies, it had better be nothing less than marriage and a vine-covered cottage.
When the girl summarily rejected his suggestion, Jared had become more aggressive. The management had ejected him from the place, but not before Jared, fighting like a demon out of hell, had wreaked havoc on furniture, dishes, and a few of the patrons. It had taken six men to subdue him.
Well, sighed Travers mentally, it was probably just as well that this young woman didn’t know about Jared Lockett’s antics. They would no doubt scare her to death.
“Is it always this hot in September?” Lauren asked, trying to draw the station manager into conversation. She had had years of practice making small talk in the Prathers’ parlor. Mr. Travers had been kind to her, but she was made uneasy by the wrinkled brow and the puzzled expression that would cross his face whenever he looked at her. Was she that different from the women in Texas?
“Yeah,” he answered, reassuring her with his easy, open smile. “We usually get our first norther about the end of October. Most years, September is hotter than June or even July. Is it this warm in…?” He let the question trail off suggestively, and she didn’t disappoint him.
“North Carolina. I lived—live—in Clayton. It’s a small town not too far from Raleigh. And no, it’s not this hot there in September.”
“Is that where you met Ben?” he asked curiously. At her affirmative nod, he prodded, “And what was Ben doing in Clayton, North Carolina?”