“I do.”
Again she had surprised him, and his eyes studied her briefly before he looked away. He reclined, stretching his long legs in front of him and supporting himself on one elbow. Lauren was reminded of the first time she had seen him and wished he would sit erect. She found it hard to keep her eyes diverted from the body so unabashedly displayed.
To cover her flustered state, she commented, “You always refer to your father by his first name. Why?”
He seemed momentarily irritated by her myriad questions, but then he laughed softly and said, “That’s what everyone else called him.” Jared shrugged. “He didn’t like titles. Didn’t need them. I felt the same way when I came back from Cuba and suddenly I was Lieutenant Lockett.” His muscles bunched in agitation.
“It must have been terrible there,” she offered quietly. “I read that our army fought the climate as much as they did the Spanish.”
“That’s an understatement,” he said. “I never drew a deep breath the whole time I was there. It was godawful. No matter how hard you tried to suck that heavy air into your lungs, you could never get enough. Most of us got a good case of malaria, and we went into battle with the fever and sweating weakening us until it was an effort to crawl. It got to where I didn’t care if we took the goddam hill or not.”
“There was a girl at home who was married to a soldier, a marine. We prayed for him and were so thankful when he returned with only a slight leg wound.” She shifted her gaze away from his belt buckle and plucked at a napkin spread over her thighs.
His eyes, narrowed to slits, traveled from the part in her hair to the toe of her soft boots. “What about you, Lauren? Didn’t you pine away for some sweetheart to come home to you?”
She flushed as much from his scrutiny as from his words. “No,” she said into her lap. “I had no admirers or… anything. Besides, I was too young then.”
“Oh. But what about later? Didn’t any of the deacon’s sons try to steal a kiss behind the church door? No hanky-panky in the choir loft under those voluminous robes?” As he spoke, his hand moved to her chest. His dexterous fingers worked the buttons of her jacket until it fell open. She was dizzy with emotion when she felt him fingering the pearl buttons on her shirt, though he didn’t try to undo them.
“Surely someone has made a pass at you.” His tone was teasing. He couldn’t know that his mockery conjured up abhorrent memories of William Keller. She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head violently, trying to dispel the hateful recollection.
Jared was alarmed. He had meant to shake her cool reserve, but her reaction was far stronger than he’d expected. His hand stilled, though he didn’t withdraw it. She composed herself slowly and finally raised her eyes to meet his. “No,” she whispered, “I never had any sweethearts.”
Of its own volition, his hand moved up so his fingers could settle lightly on her cheek. It just wasn’t possible that anyone could be as innocent as she appeared to be. No one that naive would leave the security of a parsonage for an adventure in Texas with a man, a stranger, as virile as Ben Lockett.
Why had she come with Ben? He was on the verge of putting the question to her, but stopped himself. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. The realization that the truth might hurt caused him to turn his frustration on himself. He looked away from the gray eyes that were now watching him closely. He wasn’t going to be a fool over his old man’s doxy. He jerked his hand away as though he had reached for something desirable and realized too late that it was decayed and hideous.
Lauren felt his withdrawal immediately. The course their conversation had taken was disturbing, but it was conversation, and she hated to give it up. Nevertheless, she was glad he was no longer touching her. His touch, no matter how slight, did strange things to her, set off reactions both alarming and embarrassing.
“We’d better start gathering those damn pecans,” he said tersely, and strode toward Charger to get the gunnysack he had brought along for that purpose.
Lauren put their eating implements away after rinsing them in the river. Then she repacked the remaining food. Jared had the sack half-filled with pecans when she bent down to help him.
“I can do it,” he said gruffly. “No sense in your getting dirty.”
She looked up the length of his body and met the amber eyes glaring down at her. What had she done to make him angry? “I want to help,” she said simply.
“Suit yourself,” he answered indifferently and turned away, looking for an area that hadn’t been harvested.
By the time he came stamping back to her, Lauren had gathered a pile of the nuts. He held the mouth of the sack open while she scooped her hoard into it.
“All done,” she said cheerfully, dusting off her hands. Licking her lips quickly, she asked, “Do you think we have enough pecans?”
He didn’t answer. He was too intrigued by the tongue which had raked across incredibly sexy lips and disappeared behind them to hide from him. Then he spun away from her, saying over his shoulder, “Let’s go. If I read my weather signs right, we’re in for a norther before long.”
They mounted their horses. He spoke only once. “We’ll go down the other side. It’s not as scenic and we have to go by the charcoal burners’ camp, but it’s closer. I’m afraid of getting caught out here without warmer clothes.”
They followed the spring-fed tributary that tripped over limestone until, at the bottom of the hill, it flowed into the Rio Caballo.
Lauren sniffed the air and caught the smell of wood smoke. As they rode around a bend, a derelict encampment, like an ugly sore marring the scenery’s beauty, came into sight. Tents and dilapidated shacks were scattered around pits from which the dark smoke rose. Ragged children ran among the fires with heart-stopping recklessness. Mangy dogs came running out from under various covers, barking ferociously. Several dirty, bewhiskered men ambled out of the lean-tos to see who the intruders were.
The women, dirty and as ragged as their children, scowled at Lauren as they squatted around campfires stirring pots of foul-smelling stew. One of the dirtiest men separated himself from the rest and shuffled toward them. Lauren suspected his nonchalant swagger was deceptive. His beady, deep-set eyes didn’t miss anything, and were bright under shaggy brows.
Jared looked at her out of the corner of his eye, never averting his head from the man. “Whatever happens, don’t get off your horse.” He had barely opened his lips to say the words, rasping them from behind his teeth.
Jared reined in their horses and waited for him to amble toward them. The man was short and stocky with powerful-looking arms that were too long for his body, giving him an apelike physique. He wore dirty, patched overalls, with only his red, faded long johns under them. Lauren shrank in disgust at the stained and moist armholes of the garment. He had several days’ stubble on his face, and his oily black hair was matted to his head when he scooped off a battered hat in feigned humility.
“Well, lookey here. If it ain’t Mr. Jared come to pay us a call with his new lady.” His teeth were yellow and broken, covered with thick dark scum. Lauren had never seen anyone so repulsive. Or menacing.