“I can only do as he asks,” Lesley said.
“But he doesn’t know what he really wants,” Mrs. Applegate insisted. “Not when his leg’s aching. Now, you listen to me, dearie, life is much too short to give up so easily.”
“Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Applegate, but I need to get back to the city.” She smiled at the older woman and left the kitchen.
Zane had made his feelings clear. He didn’t want to see her again.
Candy Hoffman hated to admit it, but Carl’s words had hit their mark. His question about whether she was male or female had hurt far more than she’d wanted to let on. She’d driven away with a lump in her throat that felt as if it would choke her. But she refused to give Carl the satisfaction of reducing her to tears. By heaven, she was a woman. All right, she didn’t dress in fancy frilly things the way others did, but that didn’t make her something she wasn’t.
Leave it to Carl Saks to find her weakest link and verbally attack her. Well, she was going to teach that man a lesson. The local Grange was sponsoring a dinner and dance Saturday night and for the first time since her father died and she took over running the feed store, Candy planned on attending.
Although she felt awkward, she put on makeup and dressed to the nines. The skirt, the same one she’d worn in college, was a little snug around the waist, but it still fit. She tried to remember the last time she’d worn it and realized it must have been five or more years back. The black leather boots went well with the outfit. She hadn’t done much with her hair in the past couple of years and was surprised how easily it took to a curling iron.
When she was finished, she squirted on a little perfume and coughed when the fumes got in her nose. She’d had the bottle for ten years or better and was amazed it hadn’t completely dried up, although it was about as potent as moonshine.
When Candy pulled into the Grange meeting hall parking area, she looked around at the cars parked in makeshift rows across the thick grass. Although she told herself she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, it wasn’t the truth.
She was hoping Carl would be there. She wasn’t sure how she felt once she realized he hadn’t come. At least his truck wasn’t in sight. It was just as well, really. She didn’t know if she could look the man in the eye, especially after the insolent way he’d kissed her. Especially after the brazen way in which she’d responded.
Candy parked her truck and climbed out of the cab. Music blared out from the open doors of the meeting hall, the country-and-western song loud and discordant. The sun had set and cast a golden glow across the horizon in a swan song.
Inhaling a deep breath, she swung her purse strap over her shoulder and headed toward the meeting hall. From the corner of her eye she saw three men sitting on the open tailgate of a truck. They companionably shared a bottle of cheap whiskey. She made a path around them. Not that she expected trouble. In fact, if they asked her to join in, she just might be tempted and avoid the stupid social altogether.
The dancing was in full swing when she stepped inside the Grange. She paused in the doorway, feeling out of place, and glanced around. No one appeared to notice that she’d arrived and none of her friends seemed to be around. Rarely had she felt more alone.
“Candy?” Slim Daniels, one of the men who worked at the feed store, strolled past and did a double take. “Is that you?”
“Shut up, Slim.”
“My, but you look…” He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure how she looked. “Pretty,” he concluded.
“I said keep your mouth shut,” she snapped.
He chuckled and moved on.
She made her way to the punch bowl, hoping someone had had the good sense to spike it. She wished now that she’d joined the men on the tailgate. Mrs. Doughtery, a local widow and well in her eighties, was serving up the drink. She smiled sweetly and handed Candy a small glass cup.
Candy hadn’t taken more than a swallow when she saw Carl Saks walk through the doorway. He’d come. He’d actually had the audacity to show up. He stood there bold as could be, hands on his hips, looking around. Whether he expected to find her or not, Candy didn’t know. When he did see her, she sure didn’t want him to find her standing next to the punch bowl, looking like a dejected wallflower.
Slim had the misfortune of strolling past. Candy knew a gift horse when she saw one and latched on to his arm. “Dance with me,” she instructed.
Slim looked at her as though she’d suggested they mud wrestle together.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to step on your toes.”
“Maybe not, but my wife may not take kindly to me dancing with another woman.”
“I’ll explain everything to Patty later,” Candy promised, half dragging him onto the dance floor.
He went with a decided lack of enthusiasm. He shuffled his feet back and forth while Candy threw herself into the dance as if she were auditioning for a Broadway musical. She kicked up her heels, threw her arms in the air and twirled around until the room spun hopelessly.
When the music stopped, she clapped boisterously and kissed Slim’s cheek.
Her partner’s face flushed red and he whispered, “You better go tell Patty you were the one who insisted on the dance, otherwise I’m gonna be in all kinds of trouble.”
“I said I would,” Candy muttered under her breath, and then with a good deal of show, she stepped off the dance floor, greeting people as she went. With her hand over her heart, breathing heavily, she made her way toward Slim’s wife. Patty Daniels glared at her husband.
“How about a dance, Candy?”
She looked up to find Derrick Showberg looming over her, preventing her from reaching Slim’s wife. Derrick had a problem with booze and was known to have a bad temper. His wife had recently divorced him and claimed spousal abuse. Candy didn’t doubt it was true.
“It shouldn’t be such a hard decision,” he said, his eyes holding hers.
Candy froze, not knowing what to do.
“I believe this dance is mine.” Carl positioned himself between her and Derrick. “Candy promised it to me earlier. You can dance with her another time.”
Derrick’s eyes grew hard as flint. “I asked her first.”
“I…I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
Carl cut Candy off before she could say anything more. “I said this dance is mine.”
“That’s too bad,” Derrick said, his eyes narrowing, “because Candy seems to have forgotten all about her promise. She prefers to dance with me.”
“Candy isn’t easily bullied,” Carl said evenly. He reached for her hand.
Candy jerked it free. She could see a fight in the making and stepped between the two men, her back to Carl. “I don’t think it would be a problem if I had one dance with Derrick,” she said, willing to comply if it meant avoiding a scene. Already the three of them had generated interest in the room.
Derrick tossed Carl a triumphant look and steered Candy toward the dance floor. After the fast pace of the previous number, the four-piece local band opted to play a slow dance. Her partner securely wrapped his arms around her waist.
His grip was uncomfortably tight as he snuggled up to her, nuzzling her neck with his nose. Against her will, Candy was forced against his hard, unyielding chest.
“You’re lookup real pretty,” he whispered in her ear.
“Thanks,” Candy answered without enthusiasm.
“I always said you’d be one heck of a woman if you ever decided to be one.”
Candy stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t go getting all riled up on me now. I meant it as a compliment.” He pressed his cheek to hers and she smelled the liquor on his breath. Great, just great. Derrick had been drinking, and he was a mean drunk.
“You and me have a lot in common, you know.”
For the life of her, Candy couldn’t think of a solitary thing she shared with Derrick, or that she would ever want to.
“Both of us have got hot blood runnin
g through our veins,” he explained.
“Hot blood,” she repeated. She’d never thought of herself as having a violent temper, nor was she necessarily quick to take offense. The one exception to that was Carl Saks. The man irritated her more than anyone she’d ever known.
“Yeah,” Derrick continued, breaking into her concentration. “We’re both physical people.”
“Physical?” She realized that she was beginning to sound like an echo, but she didn’t catch his drift.
“Right. The lovin’ between us would be so hot, it’d set the sheets on fire.”
His words shocked her so much, she snapped back as though he’d physically hit her. “There isn’t going to be any lovin’ between us, so you’d best get that in your head right now.”
Derrick laughed and slid his hand down the small of her spine. Abruptly he brought her back into his embrace. His grip tightened until she was plastered against him. “Don’t be so quick to turn me down. It’s apparent you’re looking for a little action, and I’m pleased you chose me over the new fellow in town.”
“I didn’t choose you.” She didn’t know where he was getting that message.
His hand dipped farther downward. “Sure you did, sweetheart. Trust me. You and me could have a real good time together. Real good.” He cupped his hand over her buttocks and shoved her forward.
Candy swallowed tightly and frantically glanced around, looking for help. Any port in a storm, as the saying went. Every time she tried to put some distance between herself and Derrick, he took pains to press her more intimately against him. She searched the crowd, looking for someone—anyone—who could rescue her.
She found Slim but he appeared to be involved in a deep conversation with his wife, who didn’t seem to be any too happy with him. Biting her lower lip, Candy continued her frantic search until her gaze collided with Carl Saks’s. With a single flicker of her lashes she apologized and at the same time asked for his help.
Carl, however, seemed far more interested in drinking a glass of punch. He leaned against the wall, and braced one foot against the floorboard and the other against the wall.
She held his look while he raised the cup to his lips, downed the punch in one long swallow and then headed toward the dance floor, easing his way between the couples, moving in her direction.
Candy was so relieved, her knees went weak.
Derrick misinterpreted what was happening. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he whispered thickly in her ear. “I’ll get us out of here in a minute. If you want, we can go directly to my car. I’m as impatient as you.”
“No,” she said with all her strength.
“Okay. If you insist on a bed, we can go to your place, but I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to hold off that long. You might have to—”
Carl tapped Derrick on the shoulder. “I’m cutting in.”
Derrick ignored him.
“Let go of me,” Candy insisted, struggling.
Derrick stopped dancing and wore a stunned, disbelieving look.
“Let her go,” Carl insisted in words so frigid, they made Candy’s blood run cold just hearing them.
“Are you going to make me?” Derrick challenged in a loud voice that attracted the attention of the others.
Candy squirmed free, or so she thought. It soon became apparent that Derrick hadn’t released her and was looking to prove his claim on her.
The music stopped, and it seemed the entire room focused their attention on the two men and Candy.
“We don’t allow any fighting at the Grange,” Ronald Bader, a community leader insisted. Ronald made his way across the crowded dance floor.
“Let ’em settle it,” someone shouted.
“Take it outside,” another advised.
“No,” Candy cried, but no one, least of all Carl or Derrick paid her any mind. Both ignored her as if she’d vanished, or was of little consequence.
It seemed everyone inside the Grange hall followed Carl outside. Several of the men raced toward their cars, started their engines and then arranged the vehicles in a wide circle, keeping on the headlights so that a makeshift arena was formed.
“The winner gets Candy,” Derrick shouted.
“I refuse to be anyone’s prize,” she said in a huff, but the only ones who listened appeared to be the other women. Most of them tossed her disparaging looks as if to say this was all her fault.
Candy was willing to admit she’d made a terrible mess of this, but she couldn’t think of any way out of it now.
She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t keep from watching, either. The two men squared off. Derrick raised his fists and snarled at Carl.
As if this matter were of little concern to him, Carl removed his hat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. From the corner of her eye, Candy saw money being exchanged and realized that several of the locals were placing bets. From the bits of conversation she heard, Carl was the underdog.
She groaned inwardly. Carl didn’t have a chance of defeating Derrick. The other man outweighed him by fifty pounds, and was at least four inches taller. In addition, Derrick had been drinking and everyone in town knew he was a unscrupulous drunk.
Carl hadn’t finished rolling up his sleeves before Derrick threw a punch. The crowd booed. Carl’s head snapped back and his nose started to bleed.
Candy gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “Stop them,” she cried. “Someone, please stop than.”
No one listened.
Candy watched, amazed at what happened next. Carl wiped the blood from beneath his nose with the back of his hand then stepped toward Derrick.
The bully swung again, and missed.
With four rapid fire punches, Carl sent Derrick to his knees. A cry went up from the crowd and once again Candy saw a fistful of dollars being traded.
Derrick staggered to his feet and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Growling, he roared toward Carl. Candy was convinced if he could, Derrick would have killed Carl. She cried out a warning, but none was necessary. Carl easily sidestepped the other man, which only provoked Derrick further. He whirled around and went after Carl with his fists, swinging randomly, punching thin air. Carl deflected each blow and delivered a couple of his own.
Incensed, Derrick raged at him again and fell flat to the ground. When he stood, he had a knife. The steel blade glinted in the light of the cars’ headlights.
The crowd gasped, and someone called foul, but neither man paid any heed.
Candy screamed, certain Carl was about to be seriously injured, and all because of her. She’d been so stupid. She should never have come to the dance. She didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong anywhere.
Carl straightened, wary of the weapon.
Derrick taunted him with the knife, jabbing it at Carl in jest, laughing as if he thought himself clever. A low, disapproving murmur came from the men and women gathered around the two men. One thing was certain, Derrick wasn’t making any friends.
Candy wasn’t sure how Carl did it, but the next thing she knew, Derrick was on his knees, holding his crotch with both hands and groaning. The knife that he’d used seconds earlier was now in Carl’s hands.
It had happened in the blink of an eye. She had seen Carl raise his foot and noted the general direction it traveled. Then the knife flew into the air and seemed to disappear.
The crowd stood in speechless wonder as Carl handed the blade over to Ronald Bader. “I’ll trust you to properly dispose of this.”
“Yes, sir,” Ronald said, looking grateful.
Having dispensed with the weapon, Carl searched the crowd and stopped looking when he found Candy. A path was cleared as he stepped toward her. Everyone seemed to be waiting and watching for what he’d do next.
With the entire Grange community looking on, he walked over to her and reached for her forearm.
“You’re coming with me,” he said evenly.
How dare he speak to her this way. “I most certainly am not.”
“Yo
u don’t have any choice,” he announced in the same cool, measured tone. “I just won you fair and square. From here on out, you’re mine.”
Chapter Four
“MORNIN’,” ZANE MUTTERED as he sat down to breakfast.
Carl acknowledged him with what was best described as a low growl. Zane noticed the bruise beneath Carl’s left eye had started to fade to a sick shade of yellow. He never had learned how Carl came by the injury, but then, he hadn’t asked. Carl hadn’t been all that anxious to volunteer the information, either.
It used to be that the two of them had plenty to talk about, but recently they’d done little more than snarl at one another. Zane was well aware of the reason for his own general state of disagreement: Lesley.
His mood certainly hadn’t improved since the revised plans for the remodeling project had been delivered to the house the day before. He’d taken the blueprints and spread them across the table to study the alterations. As he had been the first time he’d seen the plans, he was awed by what she’d done. With a few strokes of her pen she’d captured the very heart of his home.
She’d captured his heart, as well, Zane reminded himself.
A muscle jerked in his jaw, just thinking about her. It was something he’d vowed he wouldn’t do. Proof again of how weak she made him—and weakness wasn’t a trait Zane tolerated, least of all in himself.
After the kissing incident in the barn, he had sworn he wouldn’t touch her again. At the time, he knew it would be difficult to keep that promise but not impossible.
Within a matter of hours, Lesley had proved him wrong.
The night of the storm, his leg had burned like fire. When he was at his weakest, she’d come to him like a vision. An angel sent from heaven above to torment him. Her hair was mussed, her skin pale and translucent, her eyes soft and loving.
He couldn’t believe she was there, and attributed it to a mind fogged with brandy and pain. Then, just when he was convinced she was a figment of his imagination, her hand had joined his to massage the spasming muscle. And her gentleness touched a space deep inside him, a spot he rarely acknowledged and chose not to expose.
Her delicate fragrance reminded him of his grandmother’s roses, and when her eyes found his, Zane’s body had ached with a longing that was impossible to ignore. Gone were the promises he’d made himself right along with the consequences. His desire had knotted his insides tighter than the constricting muscle in his leg. He longed to touch her. Longed to taste her. What he hadn’t understood was that those moments had condemned him to a deeper level of hell than what he already suffered. In that brief time with Lesley, his need left him more crippled than the explosion that had nearly cost him his leg.