A Way With Women

Instead of looking relieved at the confession, he pinned her with a particularly unnerving stare. “Harper,” he said flatly, “I’ve known you for years. You always know what possesses you.”

Oh, not always. She hardly wanted to examine her motives for suddenly caring so much about her appearance lately, for wearing this dress, for instance, or for pulling back her shoulder-length ash hair or spritzing her neck with perfume. “I was only doing my civic duty,” she found herself admitting.

“My, my,” he taunted, looking genuinely amused. “That sounds so patriotic. I’ll bet the U.S. government is having a meeting right now, wishing they had a few more postmistresses like you, Harper.”

“Macon,” she returned hotly, unable to stand the way he was mocking her. “You can’t rope in poor, unsuspecting women this way. Most women who responded to your ad need help.” She exhaled an exasperated breath. “You should have read those letters!”

Tilting his head to get a better look at her, he wedged a boot heel comfortably over a stair step and raised a golden eyebrow, his voice turning silky. “You really think so?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do!”

“Hell, yes, I should have,” he retorted. “They were addressed to me!”

Her heart pounding, she glanced around, her long-smoldering desire for Macon mixing with fury over the dire situations expressed in the letters. “There were pregnant teenagers.” She defended herself. “Mothers without enough money to feed and clothe their babies, foreign women wanting citizenship because they’ve been separated from children in the U.S. Some are so lonely they just can’t take it anymore.”

His expression was infuriatingly bland, as if the catalogue of horrors didn’t even touch his heartstrings. “Are you lonely, Harper?”

The words hit a nerve. She’d survived a teenage pregnancy and a mother who’d barely earned enough money to raise her. And yes, damn you, Macon, I’m lonely. Bruce had been gone two years, and Macon’s unwanted presence made it seem forever since she’d been touched lovingly. Why couldn’t he understand? “You can’t play with people’s lives like that!”

He surveyed her curiously. “Who says I’m playing?”

“I’d forgotten how impossible you are!” she snapped. No, she’d spent far too much time remembering the heat of his mouth and how his arms felt wrapped around her back. Forgetting her hair was up, she drew shaky, annoyed fingers through it, dislodging further wispy strands. “You have no concept, Macon,” she continued with a soft sigh of frustration. “You’ve never wanted for anything, but some of those women have absolutely nowhere to go.”

“Then why not let them come here?”

“Why not?” she echoed, stupefied.

His voice was a silken thread of danger. “If you hadn’t written to them, they could have,” he told her, his tone so reasonable she was flooded with guilt. “So, do you mind explaining why you’re interfering in my love life?”

“Love life?” she repeated, the lips she’d glossed with something called Goldust Glitter parting in astonishment.

His eyes hardened. “Yes, love life.”

“Since when does meeting strangers through Texas Men magazine constitute a love life, Macon?” Did he think she was jealous? she suddenly wondered. Even worse, was she? Cutting off the intrusive thoughts, she rushed on. “Macon, advertising for a bride in Texas Men is no joke.”

He looked furious. “Am I laughing?”

“Yes!” she exploded. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, the sudden drop of his heated gaze making her aware, a second too late, that the action caused her breasts to lift. “I believe you are laughing. I bet you and Ansel Walters struck a wager or something. I bet he said you wouldn’t have the nerve to advertise. Why else would you do it?”

“Because I want to get married?” suggested Macon.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “There’s got to be more to it than that. You’ve been back in town two months, Macon, and…well, I’ve heard you’ve already slept with every available woman in town.”

He had the audacity to chuckle softly. “Maybe some of the unavailable ones, too.” Before she could respond, he added, “Besides, how do you know who I’ve been sleeping with, Harper? I don’t remember seeing you in my bed.”

“You have so many women you wouldn’t remember,” she returned, offering a disgusted shake of her head. “And how can you make light of this? Do you expect me to believe you’re going to become monogamous just because a pregnant teenager or an illegal alien shows up on your doorstep?” Before he could answer, she shook her head adamantly. “Oh, no, I don’t think so, Macon.”

He squinted at her. “Why not?”

She found herself recalling his male appetite. “Because I know you.”

His voice turned silky again. “You most certainly do, Harper.”

Her heart was pounding too hard, and her lungs were nearly empty. If she didn’t take a deep breath soon, she’d get dizzy. She forced herself to do so, gathering strength. Someone had to stop this lunacy. “To be perfectly blunt, working at the post office puts me in a position to hear all the gossip, Macon.”

Unfortunately, he looked intrigued, not contrite, as if he couldn’t wait to see what she’d say next. “When it comes to me, I bet it’s juicy, huh?”

“I don’t ask to hear the gossip,” she said, not gracing his question with a response. “Nor am I saying any of this for your amusement.” She suddenly gaped at him. “C’mon. Are you denying you and Nancy Ludell didn’t leave Big Grisly’s Grill until four a.m. last Saturday night? Or that you and that new teacher, Betsy, had breakfast the next morning, before you took your mother to church?” She paused, staring at him hard. “Or that you and Lois Potts didn’t also go bowling in Opossum Creek?”

“Serious charges,” Macon returned solemnly. “Bowling should get me the electric chair. And church…why, that should rate a lethal injection, don’t you think?”

“I should be so lucky,” she muttered. “Can you honestly tell me you weren’t teaching an underage girl to drive a stick shift last week, and that when she drove your truck into a ditch—”

Macon’s disbelieving chuckle stopped her. “Harper,” he said in warning, peering at her as if she’d just stooped lower than the human eye could see, “that was Diego’s niece.”

She ignored the rush of relief. “Maybe that time,” she countered. “But that’s not the point. Everybody in town knows what you do, which is probably why you’re trying to find a—” somehow she couldn’t force herself to say bride “—woman from out of town.” When Macon’s jaw tensed, Harper’s eyes lingered a second too long on its firm, clean-shaven line. For a second, she was sure he was considering grabbing her, and she had no idea which way she’d run—out the door or into his arms.

“Dammit, Harper.” The sudden rasping curse hardly offered any comfort. “Since when are you so interested in what I do with other women, anyway?”

“I have no choice! Someone has to take an interest!” The words rang with conviction. “Don’t you understand, Macon? Some of these women don’t even speak English! What kind of relationship could you have with them?”

Anger had begun stoking the fire in his eyes, and now they looked lively, burning into her. “A relationship based on something other than talking?” he suggested, his tone deceptively mild.

She sighed ruefully. “I’d hoped you’d changed over the years.”

“Over the years? I’m only thirty-four, Harper. Hardly over the hill.”

“Your adventures around Pine Hills make that perfectly clear.” Swallowing hard, she mustered her most controlled tone. “Which is why I wrote those women. Macon, the simple truth is, you’re not ready to marry.”

He stared at her. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Throwing up her hands, she glared. “You really want to make an honest woman out of someone? You want kids?” The words honest woman echoed in her mind, filling her once more with guilt since she’d never told him about Cordy.

“You have a problem with that?”

Damn him! Of course she had a problem with that. Was she really going to live in the same town with Macon McCann while he married one of those young, pretty women who kept answering his ads? “You’re going to marry a stranger, Macon? Have a family with her?”

His smile vanished, and she had the distinct impression she’d finally gotten through to him. “You have a child,” he muttered, “so you must know how fulfilling it can be.”

Our child, Macon. Haven’t you realized Cordy’s ours? She could barely find her voice. “What you’re doing doesn’t even make sense,” she managed to say. “You’ve known plenty of women, so why write to strangers? And why come back from Houston, anyway?” For years, she’d prayed he would—and prayed he wouldn’t. “Everybody said you loved it there. They said you were never coming back.”

He hesitated, and as sunlight shifted through a window behind him, a shadow fell, erasing the grooves around his mouth and wrinkles around his eyes, making him look so much like the boy she remembered that she could have cried.

“Cam’s health isn’t what it used to be.”

“Oh, Macon.” Instinctively, she stepped forward and touched his arm. A heartbeat later, when his flesh gave a quick quiver beneath her fingers, she knew getting this close to him was a mistake. Seeing male awareness come into his eyes, she stepped quickly back, edging toward the wall. “Macon, I’m sorry.”

“He’s had a stroke already. Lost some mobility in his left arm. Now he’s got to watch his blood pressure, Harper. He’s got to slow down.”

So do I. She was still feeling the hot touch of Macon’s sun-warmed skin. “You think he’ll be all right?”

“If he quits working the ranch.” For a long moment, Macon was silent, his gaze trailing unabashedly to where two thin straps held up her sundress. His expression hardened. “I’m getting married, Harper,” he said, his gaze returning to hers. “I’m settling down in Pine Hills, and I’m not doing it alone.” Sounding gruff, he added, “I want a woman.”

The raw statement of male hunger made her knees weak, and as their gazes meshed, she felt oddly disoriented. Determined to ignore the palpable energy coursing between them, she kept her voice even. “I guess I didn’t want one more poor soul to get stranded in Pine Hills, the way my mama did.” It was as close to an apology about writing the letters as she could get.

“You could have left, Harper.” He glanced around. “Looks to me as if you did right well in this town, anyway,” he mused, suddenly sounding as if she wasn’t even there anymore. Finding her eyes again, he added, “Why’d you get married, anyway? It was so fast. I didn’t even know you were seeing Bruce. Back then, he was…he was just a pharmacist.”

Surely she was fooling herself, but she swore she heard something that sounded distinctly like pain. She watched with astonished curiosity as Macon stepped so close that she could feel waves of heat coming from his body. Warmth seemed to push into her, and there was simply no help for how the tips of her breasts constricted, noticeably beading under the strappy dress she never should have worn. The effect wasn’t lost on Macon. His voice dropped, becoming a lazy rumble, turning her bones to rubber. Her stomach muscles tightened; everything else inside fluttered.

“Why, Harper?” he repeated. “Why’d you get married?”

What did it matter to him? And why was he asking her now? Why couldn’t he have stayed in Houston and left her alone? She should have said she loved Bruce, but instead, she said, “I’ll tell you my motives for marrying whenever you tell me yours.”

“Touché.” It was only a whisper, and even if breath from the word hadn’t buffeted her collarbone, the rest of him would have told her his mouth was far too close. Suddenly his thigh was lightly pressuring hers, and fingers were gliding upward on her arm, making goose bumps rise on her flesh. “Here’s the deal,” he murmured, sounding oddly breathless. “I came by to get a few things straight between us.”

She felt faint. “I’m waiting.”

His fingers tensed on her arm, almost hurting. “You never waited, Harper.”

Her temper flaring, she stepped back, then realized she was pressed against the wall. Her hands skated behind her, flattening against the plaster for support. “Save the fancy verbal moves for your bride. You’re the one who left Pine Hills.”

“But I’m back.” Macon’s eyes captured hers, holding on so fiercely she didn’t think he’d ever let go. “This might be a small town, but it’ll have to be big enough for us both. From now on, leave my mail alone, and I’ll forget about the letters and not press charges.”

She swallowed around the unexpected lump forming in her throat. “Thanks for letting me off the hook.”

“No problem.” He drew a deep breath, and she sensed he was affected by the scent of perfume he took with it. “I know you planned to leave here years ago,” he said, seemingly trying to hide how affected he was by her proximity, “but you married Bruce, and now things haven’t turned out the way you wanted, so you’re meddling in my life. You’re mad because I left here and lived my dreams, Harper. But I forgive you.”

So that’s what he thought. Pain sliced through her at his lack of understanding. She had no idea where her mama’s dreams ended and her own began. Her mother had hated Pine Hills and wanted Harper to leave. Escape, she’d called it. But Harper had liked doing her homework in the Laundromat after school, listening to the familiar rhythmic sound of the dryers while she joked with customers. She’d liked sneaking off to meet Macon, too. She knew she was smarter than average, but she’d never needed to be somebody important. Her voice caught. “Maybe there were other dreams, Macon.” Like leaving town with you. She could hear her mama’s voice. You think that rancher’s boy cares about you, girl? No, ma’am. He’s the richest boy in town. To him, you’re just some girl that’s gonna wind up working in a Laundromat like your mama. For a breathless moment, dread pushed at Harper’s chest, and she thought she’d suffocate.

“Harper?”

All the air left her lungs. “I’m sorry for what I did, Macon,” she said, knowing she had to make him leave. “Really. Please, you’d better go now.”

He become utterly still. Only his breath moved, teasing her ears as he leaned nearer. “What if I don’t want to?”

Gazing at him, she suddenly couldn’t pull her eyes from his mouth. A kiss would mean so little to him, she thought illogically, craving a taste. According to gossip, he dispensed those kisses all the time. He let them fall from his damnable lips like spring rain. Maybe if she had just a taste of him, she could finally forget him.

His voice was mesmerizing. “What if I want to stay?”

“You always did do exactly what you wanted, didn’t you, Macon McCann?”

“Then I sure as hell shouldn’t stop now,” he drawled roughly, brushing his body against hers, the taut, hard sweep of his hips coming with a rustle of denim. She hadn’t looked down, hadn’t known he was aroused, but she felt it now. He felt so hard and hot and thick that her knees nearly buckled.

“Where’s Cordy?” he said.

Hearing her son’s name brought her to her senses, but Macon had already filled the space between them. How could she fight what she felt right now? She couldn’t bear to admit it, but she’d probably lured Macon here by writing those letters. The seductive dress, upswept hair and new makeup were telling, too. A heartbeat passed, then his throaty words slurred against her hair. “Where?”

She could feel his lips brushing the strands. Her heart beat wildly. Get away, she ordered herself. Sidestep. Brush past. Push open screen door. Step outside and breathe deeply. Clear your head, Harper. It should have been so simple, but the eyes riveted to her lips were all amber fire.

“Where, Harper?”

She shouldn’t have said it, but she did. “Not here.”

Hot was the first thought that came a second later, when Macon’s mouth crushed down on hers. Burning hot. Moving with unrestrained trembling hunger, he parted her lips with the slow thrust of his tongue. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he steadied her as he kicked the storm door, shutting out the summer sunlight. He threw the dead bolt, the loud click making her pulse soar, the masterful strokes of his tongue making her climb. Up through dark tunnels, she strained for the feeling, whimpering and aching as practiced, work-roughened hands deftly slid between their bodies, caressing her breasts and belly as they swiftly unbuttoned the front of her dress.

She reached down, her fisted hand opening on a hard-muscled thigh before sliding over to grasp him intimately. He was so aroused, so big, all throbbing ready heat pulsing through denim. Her dress was open, too—all the way now! Just as she squeezed him firmly, her fist closing around his length, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, making her head swim as he exposed her bra.

She couldn’t believe what this man did to her, no more than she could understand why she hadn’t felt this with Bruce. And then those thoughts were gone because Macon was admiring her with a hot gaze, looking down, his greedy eyes devouring her belly and simple white panties. He brushed his knuckles over the mound, lightly grasping her tangled hairs through the silk, then quickly, he unhooked the front clasp of the bra and pushed the cups back toward her shoulders. The way he looked at her bare, aroused breasts made her feel heartbreakingly beautiful. His whisper was hoarse, the words slurred. “I’ve missed this, Harper.”

Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, he used both hands, lifting and cupping her breasts from beneath, mercilessly kneading them, pushing them high and pressing them together, deepening the damp crevice between them as he locked his groaning, liquid mouth to one. Releasing a throaty growl that, alone, was enough to make her shatter, he ground himself against her, rolling his hips as she arched to meet him. She cried out, gasping as he bit, nibbled and soothed a painfully erect nipple with his mouth, leaving her so damp between the legs that she was shaking. Only after long, torturous moments did Macon lean back, tersely demanding, “Look at me, Harper.”

She did, and the past vanished. There was only their present connection—light and shadow playing on his face, the warmth of long-suppressed desire in his eyes and finally the blessed fusion of his searing mouth to the breast he’d already left glistening. Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she whimpered again, twisting for the rasp of his teeth. Chest heaving, she drew in the woodsy scent of him, everything inside her reaching higher, endlessly higher like a kite, as his urgent hand tugged down her panties.

“There, Harper,” he soothed, in a ragged whisper, his hand parting her knees, and then gentle thumbs pressing circles ever higher on her open thighs. When he reached the apex and stroked the pearl he’d laid bare, she was so lost she barely even heard the rake of his zipper, but she plummeted into a whirlpool of wet, blind darkness when his bulging thighs pressured hers again. She’d waited so long for this…for him. Dizzy, her knees weak, she clung to his shoulders. Lower down, she felt the hair that protected him, rough and tangled and wild, and then the raw living silk of his erection. She’d never known a man could get so hard. The dangerous thickness of the shape made her gasp, and he moaned his response, dragging his trembling lips back and forth across hers. “Harper…oh, Harper.”

Darkness was still pooling in her thoughtless mind when his first hard, swift thrust lifted her. Lights flickered and went out, but she was climbing, her head flung back, her hands curling over powerful muscles, her fingers digging into work-honed shoulders, tightening with each new furious onslaught of scalding kisses that prepared her for the fall. Against her cheek, his words were rough, torn sandpaper. “I didn’t…won’t…”

Her mind was spinning. Come inside me? An old promise. Oh, God, what am I doing?

But she wanted this, she had for years. Heaven help her, but after Bruce died it was sometimes Macon she’d imagine, his body loving hers until she didn’t feel so alone. Suddenly, she was tumbling downward, spinning, her body shaking, the pulling depth of her shuddering climax making her mind blank again as she convulsed.

And then, just like that, he was gone. A wrenching gasp was torn from him. Another as she felt the warm gush of his release as he withdrew. The loss was so abrupt, so jarring, that her heart seemed to go with him. Stunned, strangely bereft, she wondered how this could have happened.

Macon had come about those letters, and the next thing she knew…

She steadied herself, her hands flying to her bra and dress, gathering the sides. She pulled up her panties so fast they wedged in her behind, and by the time her shaking fingers were through buttoning, he was buckling his belt. Even worse, the damn man was grinning. “Are we still here, Harper?”

Didn’t he know she felt like her dress—like she’d come apart at the seams? That she was still throbbing, her heart still racing out of control? Didn’t he understand what he’d just done to her?

Judging by his grin, she guessed he did. “I don’t know how that happened,” she whispered.

His breathing heavy, he eyed her a long moment, and by degrees, his grin vanished and his jaw set. “I thought things might be different now.”

Different from what, Macon? Different from when I came to tell you I was pregnant—and found you in your truck with Lois Potts? Different from when you went to Houston without me? A lump formed in her throat. “Different?”

“I thought…maybe with Bruce gone, and Cordy almost grown. And given the fact that Cordy and I are on good terms…”

Everything inside her seized up. “Good terms?”

He stared at her. “He does work for me, you know.”

She didn’t. Her heart missed a beat. “At the ranch?”

Macon frowned, his hand resting on the belt he’d just buckled. “He didn’t tell you I hired him to work Saturdays?”

No! She thought he came home dirty on Saturdays because of summer football practice. Why had Cordy gone behind her back? He had a generous allowance, a car, and he’d promised to concentrate on his studies this summer. The shock, on top of what had just happened between her and Macon, was too much. Realizing she’d buttoned her dress crookedly, she tugged it down, trying to smooth it, but Macon had wrinkled it beyond repair.

He was already opening the storm door, glancing through the screen as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world but in a dark hallway with her. “I guess you figure I’ll destroy your son the way I would any woman I marry,” Macon said, not bothering to hide his temper. “But don’t worry, Harper, I’ll tell Cordy that the Rock ’n’ Roll won’t be needing him anymore.” Macon shrugged. “Guess you don’t know everything about your son.”

She wished something, anything, would stop the too-fast beating of her heart. “You don’t, either, Macon,” she whispered miserably.

Lifting his hat from the newel post, Macon put it on and adjusted the brim. “Good to see you, Harper.”

Given what had just happened between them, the words seemed the worst kind of understatement. Her lips felt swollen. Tendrils of hair were glued to her neck with perspiration. She crossed her arms over the cockeyed dress, feeling ridiculous. “That’s all you’re going to say about what we just did?”

Macon shot her a level glance. “What do you want, Harper? A blow-by-blow analysis? A report?”

“No,” she said, coloring, “but—”

“If I think of anything to say, I’ll send you a postcard,” he assured dryly. “Somehow, I’ll bet you’re one of the people around this town who still gets her own mail.” Turning, Macon pushed through the screen, casually walking across the porch and into the sunshine. When he was halfway across the yard, he lifted the hat, waving it once as a parting taunt sounded over his shoulder. “I mean it. Real good to see you, Harper.”

She glared at his back, her eyes narrowing. Mustering her gamest tone, she offered her own sugary Texas drawl. “So glad to oblige, Macon.”

A throaty chuckle floated back.

Pressing her fingertips to the wire mesh, she stared at him through the screen, shaking her head. She’d repay him for this. She didn’t know how yet, but she’d think of something. And when Cordy got home, they were going to have a serious talk about his working on the ranch. For now, she simply watched Macon. Just as when he arrived, he was circling the lilac, forsythia and snowball bushes, then he got into his truck and slammed the door.