Now and Forever (6 page)

“The answer is no,” he told her.

“To what?” she replied, hoping her voice sounded calm.

“Whatever Lena tried to bribe you into asking me. Something to do with Gus, no doubt,” he said as he rocked the settee into motion.

“She wants to go with him to Nan's party. I promised her I'd ask you,” she explained.

“But you haven't asked me, have you, baby?” he demanded, his tone cutting. “You'd drown before you'd ask me for a life jacket.”

“We both know you'd throw me an anchor,” she replied, pushing the swing into restless motion with one sandaled foot.

“I'd come in after you like a shot, and you damned well know it.” He sighed, and she caught the smell of smoke as it wafted toward her in the darkness. “I didn't mean to go for your throat this afternoon, Tish. What I said was in the nature of a warning, not a declaration of war. You're only going
to be here for two months. I want it to be as pleasant for you as I can make it.”

It was an apology. At least, she corrected herself, it was the closest he'd ever come to one. He accused her of being proud, but he wrote the book on pride.

“For what it's worth, Russell,” she said quietly, “I don't know how to seduce a man. And I really wasn't flirting. I…I thought I was teasing, like I used to when I was a little girl, remember? It was that…last summer, too, I didn't…”

“Are you that naive, Tish?” he asked suddenly, solemnly. “Two years at a northern college, dating all kinds of men…”

“I never dated anyone,” she replied, “except Frank. I know…what men expect from women these days, and I can't…I won't…Frank doesn't ask…” Her voice trailed away to a whisper of embarrassment.

“Are you trying, in your stumbling way, to tell me that you're still a virgin?” Russell asked softly.

“That's none of your business,” she returned, her voice sharp because of the embarrassment she felt.

“It's more my business than you'll ever
know,” he replied, his voice deep and slow and quiet in the darkness. The settee creaked softly as he shifted his weight. “Has he made love to you?”

“If you're going to get insulting, I'm going in,” she said, and started to rise.

“Insulting?” His tone was incredulous. “My God, did I put that saintly streak in you? If I did, I beg your pardon, I meant to give you a healthy attitude toward sex.”

She blushed to her toenails. “Russell…!”

Soft, deep laughter drifted with the muted sounds of crickets and dogs. “Saint Joan,” he taunted. “All you need are the robes.”

She swallowed, her lips trembling with unreasonable anger. “What did you expect, Russell, that the typical sharecropper's daughter would run true to form and turn up pregnant?”

“Damn you, shut up!” She stiffened at the tone of his voice. It was dangerous; she hadn't heard him like this in a very long time. Tears welled in her eyes and ran silently down her cheeks.

“By God, one day you'll push me too far,” he said in a tight voice.

Her eyes closed to blot out the shadowy
form so close against the wall. She could hear her own heartbeat, and she was a little girl again, cringing from Russell's fiery temper like a whipped pup.

“Pouting, little girl?” he asked shortly.

Without a word, she got out of the swing and stood up, moving past him slowly, blindly, the tears cold as they trickled down into the corners of her mouth.

She felt his big hand catch her wrist, but she didn't look down.

“Tish?” he asked, his voice low and almost tender now, the anger gone.

“W…what?” she choked rebelliously.

His hand abruptly loosed her wrist. Lean, hard fingers caught her hips, pulling her unceremoniously down onto his hard thighs. He whipped her against him, one hard arm curving to hold her while the other hand tilted her chin up to his glittery eyes. His merciless fingers traced the tears along her silken cheeks to the soft, proud pout of her mouth.

“Don't you ever,” he emphasized softly, deliberately, “
ever
throw that at me again. Do you understand me, Tish?”

She didn't, but it was easier to nod than
to risk another attack. She'd never seen him so angry, and she didn't even understand what she'd said that caused it. A sob shook her.

He held her face against his shoulder while he looked down at her. She could barely see his eyes, but she could feel his gaze as if he'd touched her. Against her side, she could feel the thunder of his heartbeat, strong and sure and heavy. His chest rose and fell quickly, and she sat very still, not daring to breathe for an instant. Against her cool face, his big hand was warm and strangely comforting. She could feel his breath against her temple, smell the tobacco and exotic cologne that clung to his body. Something about the contact made her strangely weak, and almost involuntarily she began to remember that eternity of seconds in the beach house.

She stiffened, feeling again the anger and fury and pain he'd inflicted on her.

His fingers traced the path of the tears down to her mouth. “You needn't start freezing on me,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“P…please let me up,” she whispered.

“Don't be afraid of me,” he returned, his voice as soft and sensuous now as it had been harsh earlier. “I used to hold you like this when you were just eight years old, and we'd listen to the hounds baying in the distance and talk about fishing. Remember?”

Her taut muscles began to relax just a little. “You didn't yell at me so much then,” she said accusingly.

His lips brushed her forehead. “You didn't set off my temper so often, either. Will you relax, for God's sake, all I can feel are bones!”

“I can't help being thin…”

“Here,” he grumbled, shifting her so that her head and breast were resting against his warm, broad chest, her arm caught over his shoulder. “You're still all knees and elbows.”

She nuzzled against the soft cotton shirt. This was strangely familiar, the feel and smell of him, so big and warm and protective in the chill of evening, in the silence of night and darkness. She felt safe with Russell as she'd never felt safe with anyone or anything else. Just to know he was in the
house when it was dark and she was alone was always enough to put her to sleep.

“You make me feel so safe…” she murmured the words aloud, drowsy as he held her.

Deep laughter echoed under her ear. “If you were a few years older, that would be the least flattering thing you could say to me,” he said.

“Why?” she asked innocently.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asked.

“I could. You're so warm, Russell.”

“Warm isn't the word for it,” he said. His arm drew her gently closer. “Tell me about Tyler and the beach. What did you do?”

“Swam, talked, listened to his mother, played chess, listened to his mother, went shopping, listened…”

“…to his mother,” he chuckled. “She looks the type. Possessive?”

“Very. And better than just about anybody, too,” she laughed softly, with a heavy sigh. “When she found out I was one of
those
Curries she couldn't do enough to get me together with Frank. That's why I was invited to the coast.”

“You were?” he asked darkly. “Or your name? Does she know…?”

“No!” she said quickly. “And if you…!”

“Will you shut up?” he asked impatiently. “My God, I didn't bring you home to spend the whole damned two months swapping blows with you.”

“Why did you bring me home?” she asked, her eyes fighting the darkness as she looked up at him. “Was it really just because of Eileen?”

His finger touched her mouth softly, gently. “Maybe I missed you, brat.”

“I missed you, too, Russ,” she said honestly.

He drew her against him hard and sat just holding her, rocking her in his bruising arms, his face buried in the soft hair at her throat. The sensations that swam through her body puzzled her; vague hungers, restless stirrings made her young blood race through her veins. Her short, sharp nails bit into him as she felt him easing her relentlessly closer to his hard body, closer and closer until she felt his ribs through the muscle as the em
brace became no longer gentle or affectionate, but deeply and frankly hungry.

“Tish, are you out here?” Eileen's voice came hurtling through the sweet, heady silence, shattering it to lovely splinters.

Russell's chest lifted in a harsh sigh as he eased the painful crush of his arms. “We're here, Lena,” he called. “What is it?”

She followed the sound of his voice and stopped when she saw the two shadowy forms on the settee. “Gee, whiz,” she murmured impishly. “Isn't that cute? Russell and his baby…”

“I'll drown you in ice water while you sleep,” Tish threatened as she stood up quickly, letting her sense of humor chase away the unfulfilled hungers Russell had stirred. “I'll nail your shoes to the floor. I'll…!” She ran toward the giggling, retreating teenager, and laughter floated back onto the porch as they ran into the house.

T
he week before Nan Coleman's party went by in a haze of teas, visiting, and staying out of Russell's way. Tish couldn't explain even to herself why that was so important, but she was suddenly tongue-tied and shy around him. To make it worse, he could bring a scarlet blush to her cheeks just by looking at her, a pastime he seemed to enjoy. Breakfast, for instance, was becoming an ordeal.

“One of the girls I know at school is getting married next month,” Eileen remarked
one morning over bacon and eggs and fresh, hot biscuits. “She got a job in the office after she graduated, and she's marrying Mr. Jameson. He's the physical science teacher.”

“He's a good bit older than your friend, I suppose,” Tish said, her eyes on the yellow mound of moist scrambled eggs on her plate.

“Oh, yes, he's ancient,” Eileen said, drawling out the word. “He's twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight?” Tish said in mock horror, with a mischievous glance at Russell, who was leaning back in his chair with one eyebrow raised over glittering dark eyes. “My goodness, he's almost ready for the home, isn't he?”

Russell's dark eyes dropped to that portion of her anatomy which was visible above the table. He stared with a bold intensity that brought the blood flaming into her cheeks. His eyes caught hers, holding them. There was a new sensuous look about them that thrilled her. “Age has its advantages, baby,” he said with a taunting smile. “Although I don't sanction cradle robbing.”

“You wouldn't think he was robbing any cradle if you could see them together,” Eileen said absently. “Jan is very sophisticated.”

“A rare trait in a teenager,” Russell commented as he drained his coffee cup.

“Jan's nineteen,” Eileen argued, “that's not really teenaged.”

“Sophistication depends on the individual, not age,” Russell said. He took a long draw from his cigarette, put the coffee cup in its saucer and settled back in his chair. He eyed Tish speculatively. “Tish is almost two years older than your friend, but I'll bet my prize Hereford bull that she doesn't even know how to kiss.”

Tish's face imitated a beet as two pairs of brown eyes studied her as if she were an interesting germ under a microscope.

“Do you, Tish?” Eileen asked, all curiosity.

“Of course I do!” she sputtered, and the look she threw at Russell spoke volumes.

“Oops, I'll be late if I don't hurry!” Eileen cried, glancing at her watch. She wiped her mouth with the linen napkin, laying it
back down crumpled and laden with coral lipstick. “Bye!”

“Keep it under fifty-five!” Russell called after her, his tone rock hard.

“In a Volkswagen, how could I go that fast?” Eileen called back, “Especially in
my
Volkswagen!”

“Point taken,” he admitted with a chuckle, and Tish couldn't help but smile at the picture of Eileen in her beat-up little yellow bug.

“How did she ever talk you into that car?” Tish had to know.

“Well,” he said with a heavy sigh, “it was Friday, and a sale day, and I was trying to load six heifers on the stock trailer…Oh, hell, she came up on my blind side, that's all. She was holding my checkbook, and I signed a check, and the next thing I knew I was part owner of a 1965 yellow Volkswagen. At least,” he added darkly, “that's what the receipt says. It looks more like a lawn mower with giant tires.”

“It's good on gas, I bet,” she said.

“So,” he replied, “is the school bus. You used to ride it.”

“Only because I couldn't get around you
like Eileen can,” she reminded him. “I was afraid to push you too hard. I still am,” she murmured with downcast eyes.

“I'd never hurt you, honey,” he said gently.

“I know.”

There was a long silence while he stubbed out the cigarette. He stood up, moving to catch the back of her chair with one big hand while he leaned down, so close that her pulse raced. His breath was on her lips.

“You told Eileen you knew how to kiss,” he said in a low deep tone. “Show me.”

“No!” she whispered frantically, and her face burned as she met his dark, dancing eyes.

“Afraid, Tish?” he murmured, and his thumb came up to brush sensuously across her lower lip.

“Yes! No! Oh, Russell…!” she groaned irritably.

He laughed softly, drawing back. “Coward,” he chided. “I wouldn't have hurt you this time.”

Those final two words were the ultimate humiliation, as if he were reminding her of that day last summer, of the angry crush of
his hard mouth, the painful bruising of his arms.

“I…I wish you wouldn't make fun of me,” she said quietly.

“Is that what I'm doing?” he asked. He tilted her face up to his, and the darkness of his eyes was unnerving. “You're very young, Miss Peacock.”

She clutched her napkin as if it were a life jacket. His nearness was making her tremble, and she'd rather have died than let him see it. “I thought you old people liked having us merry adolescents around,” she hedged. “To keep you young, you know.”

His big hand slid under the soft weight of her hair to caress the nape of her neck. He eased her mouth precariously just under his, so it was almost but not quite touching. Her heart raced like a drumroll.

“Old, am I?” he taunted softly. His mouth whispered across hers like a warm, smoky wind, teasing her lips.

“R…Russ…?” she whispered breathlessly. Her eyes were misty and stunned and unusually soft as they met his searching gaze.

His hand froze at her neck and tightened
for an instant. All at once he let go and pulled his tall frame erect. “Come on down to the Smith branch when you finish,” he told her. “I've got a few calves you can pet.”

“Calves?”

“Four. All Jerseys.”

“Oh, Russell, could I?” she asked.

“Sure, I'll have Grover fetch you,” he added idly, bending his head to light a cigarette. “Tell him to show you the new App stud, too.”

She wondered at the surge of disappointment she felt. She felt…empty all of a sudden, because Russell wasn't going with her to see the calves.

“You used to let me name the little ones,” she said, “before I found out about baby beef.”

“I used to take you to see them, too,” he replied, and his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “I can't let you get too close, honey. There's no future in it.”

“What?” she asked curiously.

“Forget it. I've got work to do.”

She watched him stride away while a pot
full of bubbling emotions brewed inside her. For some reason, she wanted to cry.

 

After the incident at breakfast, Tish was careful to keep upstairs until she heard Russell leave the house, and she did her level best to stay away from the supper table as well. It wasn't hard to find enough old friends, including Nan, to visit in the evenings. And if Russell noticed that her absences were deliberate, he never let it show. That was the trouble, she thought dejectedly, he never let anything show. It would be good to have Frank for company. There was barely a week before he and Belle were to arrive, and she was looking forward to it until she remembered how Belle had hung onto Russell and visualized her at Currie Hall. It ruined the day for her, even the excitement of baby bulls and thoroughbred Appaloosas.

 

The day of the homecoming party, she carried the case of beer to the fields without really understanding her own motives, although she convinced herself that it didn't have anything to do with Russell's indifference. In the old days of her childhood, she'd
lugged jugs of iced tea out to the rich fields where the harrows had laid the earth open to the eyes of the sun. And she remembered the pleasure on Baker's face, and that of his son, when they drained the gleaming amber liquid while sweat shrouded their sunburned faces. It had been the same when Russell took over the monumental task of overseeing thousands of acres of farmland and the family cattle business. She'd seen him many times with the sweat dripping from his face and arms as he worked from sunup to sundown in the fields. But when Baker sent her away to school, the memories faded, and it had been a long time since she'd seen men stripped to the waist in the fields struggling with the haying.

Now, sitting quietly in the Mercedes with the sun blazing down on the field hands as the balers spit out bound bales of greenish brown hay, the years seemed to fall away. A twinge of hunger went through her as she looked at the vastness of the landscape and the sweet smell of fresh hay filled her nostrils. In her mind she compared the rustic beauty of this land with the rising steel beams and dirty streets of New York, and
wondered absently how she could ever have thought there was a comparison. Russell had called her a country girl, and amazingly enough it may have been the truth even though she'd spent years pretending it wasn't.

As she watched, Russell caught sight of the car and leapt gracefully down from the back of the huge, sideboarded truck where the bales were being tossed. She marveled at his agility, unusual in a man his size. He started toward her, calling something over his shoulder to the denim-clad hands around the truck.

She gazed at him with a new softness in her eyes, tracing the muscular lines of his imposing frame as he drew nearer. His shirt was off, disclosing bronzed flesh over conspicuous muscles and a broad chest heavily laden with a wedge of black curling hair that disappeared below his belt buckle. She'd seen him without his shirt all her life…but now it was affecting her in a new and vaguely terrifying way. She couldn't seem to drag her eyes away from him, and with an irritated patience, she opened the door and got out of the car as he joined her.

He took off his wide-brimmed Stetson and drew his forearm across his beaded, shining brow, and grinned down at her. “If you came out to help,” he mused, his dark eyes taking in the wispy fabric of her red and white patterned dress, “you should have worn something more appropriate.”

She shook back the waves of her long dark hair and smiled. “Sorry,” she told him. “Baker didn't raise me to be a farmer.”

He bent his dark head to light a cigarette. “Why did you come?” he asked, and his eyes narrowed as they met hers.

She shrugged. “I brought out a case of beer.”

“Beer?” One dark eyebrow went up.

“I know,” she said, anticipating the words. “To you, anything less than bourbon whiskey is sacrilege, but it's cold and wet and you look like you could use something. You're soaked.”

“The fruit of labor,” he said quietly, his eyes steady on hers. “You'll never see Tyler drowning in his own sweat.”

“If you're going to start that again,” she said, “I'll put the case of beer on the ground and back the car over it a few times.”

“Do it, and I'll back the car over
you
a few times,” he returned with a chuckle. “Hey, Jack!” he called to one of the slender young men who followed the big truck through the field to toss the bales onto it.

“You want me, boss?” came the reply.

“Lift this cooler of beer out and take it to the boys,” Russell told the younger man as he joined them at the car. “We'll take ten minutes. I don't like the looks of these clouds,” he added, gesturing toward the growing number of dark clouds drifting overhead.

“Sure thing. Thanks!” he said with a toothy grin. He lifted out the cooler and yelled “beer!” at the top of his lungs as he carried it off into the shade of a lone chinaberry tree past the stopped truck.

A number of throaty cheers followed the announcement, and machinery was left standing in the sun while the men joined the one called Jack in the shade.

Russell laughed deep in his throat as he watched the spurt of energy that the field hands were displaying. “Kids,” he chuckled. “Most of them are married with families, but they're just a bunch of boys.”

“Something no one would ever accuse you of being, for a fact,” she remarked idly. “Didn't you want a beer?”

He looked down at her, his eyes quiet and steady. “I'd rather have had a barefooted little girl with a jug of iced tea.”

She looked down at her feet. “If I'd thought of it in time, I'd have brought you some. You look so hot, Russell.”

“You've been avoiding me, Tish. Why?”

She brushed at a speck of lint on her spotless dress, trying not to look at the broad chest that her rebellious fingers were longing to touch. “I thought it was the other way around.”

“Maybe it was. I've been damned busy.”

“I know.” She looked up at him, her eyes sketching the hard, sweaty lines of his dark face. “You aren't mad at me about inviting Frank and Belle, are you?”

A cloud drifted over his eyes. “What brought that on?” he asked quietly.

“I don't want you to be mad. I want things to be the way they used to be between us,” she said, an appeal in her pale eyes that she wasn't even aware of.