a woman to go to a male dance revue, was it? She had to get educated somehow, and God knew Calhoun wasn’t about to let her date any men who knew the score. He saw to it that her only escorts were boys her own age, and he screened every one and made casual remarks about how often he cleaned his guns and what he thought about “fooling around before marriage.” It wasn’t really surprising to Abby that few of her dates came back.
She shivered a little in the cold night air. It was February, and cold even in south Texas. As she huddled in her jacket, she smiled at another young woman shivering in the long line outside the Grand Theater. It was the only theater in Jacobsville, and there had been some opposition to having this kind of entertainment come to town. But in the end there had been surprisingly few complaints, and there was a long line of women waiting to see if these men lived up to the publicity.
Wouldn’t Calhoun just die when he found out what she’d done? She grinned. His blonde-streaked brown hair would stand on end, and his dark eyes would glare at her furiously. Justin would do what he always did—he’d go out and dig postholes while Calhoun wound down. The two brothers looked a lot alike, except that Justin’s hair was almost black. They both had dark eyes, and they were both tall, muscular men. Calhoun was by far the handsomer of the two. Justin had a craggy face and a reticent personality, and although he was courteous to women, he never dated anybody. Almost everybody knew why—Shelby Jacobs had thrown him over years ago, refusing to marry him.
That had been when the Ballengers had still been poor, before Justin’s business sense and Calhoun’s feel for marketing had skyrocketed them to success with a mammoth feedlot operation here in south Texas. Shelby’s family was rich, and rumor had it that she thought Justin was beneath her. It had certainly made him bitter. Funny, she mused, Shelby seemed like such a wonderful woman. And her brother, Tyler, was nice, too.
Two more ladies got their tickets, and Abby dug out a ten-dollar bill. Just as she got to the ticket counter, though, her wrist was suddenly seized and she was pulled unceremoniously to one side.
“I thought I recognized that jacket,” Calhoun murmured, glaring down at her with eyes that were dark and faintly glittering. “What a good thing I decided to come home through town. Where’s my brother?” he added for good measure. “Does he know where you are?”
“I told him I was going to an art exhibit,” Abby replied with a touch of her irrepressible humor. Her blue-gray eyes twinkled up at him, and she felt the warm glow she always felt when Calhoun came close. Even when he was angry, it was so good to be near him. “Well, it is an art exhibit, sort of,” she argued when he looked skeptical. “Except that the male statues are alive…”
“My God.” He stared at the line of amused women and abruptly turned toward his white Jaguar, tugging at her wrist. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going home,” she said firmly, struggling. It was exciting to challenge him. “I’m going to buy my ticket and go in there—Calhoun!” she wailed as he ended the argument by simply lifting her in his hard arms and carrying her to the car.
“I can’t even leave the state for one day without you doing something insane,” Calhoun muttered in his deep, gravelly voice. “The last time I went off on business, I came home to find you about to leave for Lake Tahoe with that Misty Davies.”
“Congratulations. You saved me from a weekend of skiing,” Abby murmured dryly. Not for the world would she have admitted how exciting it was to have him carry her, to feel his strength at such close quarters. He was as strong as he looked, and the subtle scents of his body and the warmth of his breath on her face made her body tingle in new and exciting ways.
“There were two college boys all set to go along, as I remember,” he reminded her.
“What am I supposed to do with my car?” she demanded. “Leave it here?”
“Why not? God knows nobody would be stupid enough to steal it,” he replied easily, and kept walking, her slight weight soft and disturbing in his hard arms.
“It’s a very nice little car,” she protested, talking more than usual because the feel of his chest was unnerving her. His clean-shaven chin was just above her, and she was getting drunk on the feel of him.
“Which you wouldn’t have if I’d gone with you instead of Justin,” he returned. “Honest to God, he spoils you rotten. He should have married Shelby and had kids of his own to ruin. I hate having him practice on you. That damned little sports car isn’t safe.”
“It’s mine, I like it, I’m making the payments and I’m keeping it,” she said shortly.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes much too close to hers. “Aren’t we brave, though?” he taunted softly, deliberately letting his gaze fall on her mouth.
She could barely breathe, but he wasn’t going to make her back down. Not that way. She didn’t dare let him see the effect he had on her. “I’m almost twenty-one,” she reminded him. He looked into her eyes, and she felt the impact of his glance like a body blow. It made her feel like a lead weight. And there was a sudden tautness about his body that puzzled her. For seconds that strung out like hours, he searched her eyes. Then abruptly he moved again.
“So you keep telling me,” he replied curtly. “And then you go and do something stupid like this.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being sophisticated,” she mumbled. “God knows how I’ll ever get an education. You seem to want me to spend the rest of my life a virgin.”
“Hang out in this kind of atmosphere and you won’t stay in that sainted condition for much longer,” he returned angrily. She disturbed him when she made such statements. She had been talking like that for months, and he was no nearer a solution to the problem than he had been at the beginning. He quickened his pace toward the car, his booted feet making loud, angry thuds on the pavement.
Calhoun was still wearing a dark suit, Abby noticed. His thick dark-blond hair was covered by his cream dress Stetson. He smelled of Oriental cologne, and his dark face was clean-shaven. He was a handsome brute, Abby thought. Sexy and overpoweringly masculine, and she loved every line of him, every scowl, every rugged inch. She forced her screaming nerves not to give her away and attempted to hide her attraction to him, as usual, with humor.
“Aren’t we in a temper, though?” she taunted softly, and his dark expression hardened. It was exciting to make him mad. She’d only realized that in the past few weeks, but more and more she liked to prod him, to see his explosive reactions. She loved the touch of his hands, and provoking him had become addictive. “I’m a big girl. I graduated from the trade school last year. I have a diploma. I’m a secretary. I’m working for Mr. Bundy at the feedlot sales office—”
“I remember. I paid for the trade school courses and got you the damned job,” he said tersely.
“You sure did, Calhoun,” she agreed, her mischievous gaze darting up at him as he opened the passenger door of the vehicle and put her on the smooth leather seat, slamming the door once she was settled. He went around the gleaming hood and got in under the steering wheel. There was muted violence in the way he started the powerful white car, shot away from the curb and drove down the main town’s street.
“Abby, I can’t believe you really wanted to pay money to watch a bunch of boys take their clothes off,” he muttered.
“It beats having boys try to take mine off,” she returned humorously. “You must think so, too, because you go nuts if I try to date anybody with any experience.”
