“Thank you, Mr. Lockett,” she replied graciously. She wanted his understanding and she said, “I don’t want to be like them.” She had been horrified at her admission. “No, no, I don’t mean—”
“I know what you mean, Miss Holbrook. I’m sure that you have very few unkind thoughts, but you would like to have a broader horizon than the Prathers do, am I correct?”
“Yes! That’s what I was trying to say.”
“Remember, if you ever change your mind…” he reiterated quietly as they walked back toward the front door.
* * *
The sun beat down on the wagon relentlessly. Lauren was becoming weary. The muscles of her back and shoulders ached with fatigue from maintaining her erect posture on the uncomfortable leather seat. Though she had taken numerous sips from the canteen, her throat was parched, and she was covered with dust from the road. Just when she was despairing of ever reaching their destination, Ed Travers nodded his head forward and said, “Coronado.”
The wagon topped a hill, allowing Lauren a panoramic view of the small town where Ben lived when he wasn’t at his ranch. As the horses picked up their pace on the downward side of the hill, she asked eagerly, “How many people live here?”
“Ummm, about three thousand,” Travers replied.
“And how far are we from the ranch? From Keypoint?”
“About a three-hour ride west.”
Lauren’s disappointment was covered by her interest in Coronado as they drove down the main thoroughfare. She realized that people on the street recognized the large palomino tied to the back of the wagon. Several whispered conjectures were exchanged behind screening hands. Lauren resolutely ignored the man behind her and the persons speculating on his condition.
Her only purposes now were to see Ben again and to meet Mrs. Lockett. Examining her feelings for the man who had come to mean so much to her in such a short space of time, Lauren concluded that Ben Lockett represented the father she had never had. He was merry while her own father had been austere; he was big and robust while the pastor had been slight and less than hearty; he was warm while Gerald Holbrook had been reserved, even toward his own daughter. Ben’s deep voice and sharp sense of humor had attracted her to him, and she was breathless with excitement to see him in his own element.
Travers turned the wagon onto a wide, tree-shaded avenue that led south from the center of town. Through the trees, Lauren glimpsed the large house long before Mr. Travers directed the horses up the shell lane.
The house was a credit to whomever had designed it. It was Victorian in design, but not overly ornate, with only a minimum amount of trim. Graceful but sturdy railings outlined the porch that surrounded the house on three sides. On each of the front corners of the second floor were circular rooms domed by onion-shaped cupolas. The tall windows, three on each side of the front porch, were framed in brick-red shutters which contrasted beautiful with the cream-colored frame house. The front door was the same brownish-red and flanked by urns which sported a profusion of red geraniums. The lateness of the summer season didn’t hinder the zinnias, petunias, and roses from blooming in the lush beds that lined the front porch. The grass inside the iron picket-fenced yard was still green and clipped to perfection.
“Oh, how lovely,” Lauren whispered as she gazed at the house in awe. She sat for several moments relishing the fact that she was finally here at Ben’s house.
Travers eased his aching body out of the wagon and went toward the rear of it. He lifted out Lauren’s bags and set them at the end of the sidewalk that led up to the steps in front of the house. He then returned to the back of the wagon and, none too gently, nudged Jared Lockett with his fist. “Come on, Jared, wake up. You’re home.”
Lauren barely noticed the disgruntled groan that issued from under the black hat. She was distracted from her joy over the house only by Ed Travers coming to her side of the wagon and offering his assistance as she alighted. She straightened her hat as best she could without a mirror, shook some of the dust from her navy skirt, and was about to pull on her jacket when the body in the back of the wagon finally climbed down.
She stopped to stare at the rumpled figure. It leaned against the sideboards of the wagon and held its head as if in an effort to keep the head on its shoulders.
Impatient fingers were raked haphazardly through sun bleached brown hair that disobediently fell back into wavy disarray. The man bent from the waist and supported his upper body by placing his hands on his knees as he drew in several long, shuddering breaths. Lauren was fearful of seeing him plunged into the throes of nausea, but he slowly straightened up to his full height. Only then did he turn and see the young woman who was staring at him in fascination.
The deepening afternoon shadows prevented Lauren from having a clear look at his face. She thought his eyes must be dark, but his constant blinking to focus them made their color impossible to discern.
A sardonic smirk lifted one corner of his sensual mouth before he straightened his shoulders a trifle and took three stumbling steps. He stood within an arm’s length of her. She was entranced by this man and his barbaric behavior, and couldn’t find it within herself to move away from him.
Jared placed a hand over the left side of his chest, which lay bare under the loose, unbuttoned shirt, and said with a slur, “Your servant, Miss Ho… Hol… Holberk.”
He bent from the waist again, this time in a travesty of a courtly bow. Executing the gesture was beyond him in his present state. To Lauren’s horror, he continued on his way downward until he grasped her around the waist with two strong hands and leaned upon her bosom to break his fall. She gasped in mortification as he found what he considered to be a haven of repose. His head nestled between her breasts and
he sighed contentedly, not knowing or caring what a comical picture he made. Instinctively his hands slid around her narrow waist to her back, and he pressed her closer.
His breath was warm on her skin through the thin linen of her shirt. For an instant, when his nose nuzzled the inside curve of her breast, Lauren felt certain she would faint. Even more staggering to her was a fleeting, overpowering urge to clasp his head into the soft depth of her cleavage.
Suddenly Mr. Travers circled the wagon, angrily grabbed Jared by the shoulders, and hauled him off her.
“Lockett! My God, man, you’re an animal.”
The animal seemed oblivious to the insult as he slumped once more against the wagon, a stupid grin on his face.
A Mexican man came running from the back of the house to lend his assistance as the front door opened and a woman stepped onto the porch.
Lauren’s head was spinning. Things were happening too quickly, and she couldn’t take them all in. She wanted to see Ben and rely on his sturdy presence to restore some measure of sanity to this situation. Hurriedly she shrugged into her jacket before facing the woman who stood on the edge of the porch looking down at her.