And then a pair of dark, velvet brown eyes rose up in her mind. Her knees weakened, and the enticing image of him rising over her in bed infiltrated her mind. A quivery feeling snaked through her, and she pushed the sinful thought away.
She absolutely had to stop worrying about this! It was going to drive her crazy.
As she rounded the corner in front of the drugstore the bane of her existence, Kyle Bolton, stepped in front of her. Had he been waiting for her? The coincidence of running into him at this time of day was small, and a harassed feeling tightened the soft lines of her face.
His hands landed on her upper arms in a move that apparently was meant to steady her. The feel of his smooth white skin touching her through the cotton of her dress inspired nothing but irritation and a small queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
She tried to put her feelings aside and attempted for a congenial tone of politeness. She wouldn't be rude to him, but she mustn't encourage him, either.
Her face was blank and composed when she lifted it to his.
"Hi, Becky. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Becky pulled back but he didn't let go. She could feel a mental wall rise inside of her to block him out. Her body stiffened. "I've got to go, Kyle. I need to get to the sheriff's. I haven't started his supper yet."
"You're always running around town, shopping for him, doing his errands. Isn't it enough that you have to clean his house and cook for him
? I don't like you working there." His voice was belligerent.
"Kyle, it's really not your concern where I choose to work. It's a good job, and the sheriff is easy to take care of." She tried to keep the anger from her voice, but her patience was wearing thin.
"You mean his house, don't you Becky? You take care of his house, you don't take care of the sheriff. When we're married, you won't have to do that anymore."
Becky thought about never being in the sheriff's house again and panic infiltrated her system. She loved his house. She loved working for him. It was the best part of her day. She couldn't imagine not getting to go there. "I can't marry you, Kyle."
It was as if she hadn't spoken. Kyle kept talking as if her acceptance was imminent. "You won't work there. In fact, you'll never have to work again. You'll have maids to do anything that needs to be done. All the cleaning and the cooking will be done for you, all you'll have to do is point to what needs doing."
Becky clenched her teeth. She had heard all this before. He constantly told her how easy her life would be. Sure it would. Especially the part where she had to crawl into his bed every night. She suppressed a shudder. Why was it like this? He was nice enough. In fact, if it weren't for his persistent pursuit of her hand, he was a true young gentleman. He was the most eligible bachelor in Waco, and all the girls were after him. Why couldn't she feel anything for him? Why couldn't she have womanly feelings for him? Feelings like---she ruthlessly suppressed the emotions that she always kept hidden. Very deep, where even she wasn't allowed to go.
Kyle continued at her silence. "Becky, are you listening to me?" His voice became soft and cajoling, his hands running up and down her arms. "I want you to marry me. You know that. I've asked you often enough. I know you're young and shy, but it will be okay, you'll see." His hands gripped her wrists while she held the white linen material like a shield in front of her. "You're the prettiest girl in Waco. Every man in town will be jealous of me. You'll make the perfect wife. I'll buy you whatever you want, and we’ll have the house decorated the way that will please you. I'll send back East for everything we can't find in Texas. Everything you might want. The best china. The highest quality silver. Linens, laces."
Becky thought of the huge brick house the Bolton's had been building on the river. It was beautiful, no doubt, but she prayed in her heart she would never live there. She didn't want to. It didn't seem like a home to her, it was a prison in her mind.
She jerked away from him and took a step back. "I have to go before it starts pouring. I'm sorry, I just can't marry you. You're a good friend, but--"
He cut her off with a snort. "I've got plenty of friends, Becky. Everyone in this damn town wants to be friends with me. Or with my parent's money. I want to marry you."
The emotion in his voice wrenched at her heart. He truly felt something for her, and she couldn't even summon up the first drop of romantic feelings in return. "I'm sorry, Kyle."
She rushed around him and hurried off to the sheriff's house.
****
Four hours later, Becky primed the pump and filled the pitcher of water to the top. She set it aside, and began to cut the brownies that were still cooling. She glanced under her lashes and grabbed a quick, secretive peak at the man who made her head buzz and her pulse quicken.
Sheriff Cooper sat at the table, plowing his way through her pot roast, silent, as he usually was. His hair was damp from the thunderstorm he got caught in, the dark strands spiky from where he had run his hands through it.
Although he mostly ignored her while he ate, Becky nonetheless had a strange sensation tickling her brain that it was a forced attitude for him, because she felt the constant sizzle that was like a livewire between them lately whenever they were in the same room.
The rain continued outside, pinging against the tin of the roof. It had been coming down in a slow, steady stream all day. There were mud tracks around the room where his big boots had tracked in the dirt and rain. The world was soaking wet outside, but inside, it was warm and cozy, the aroma of the food Becky had been cooking all day scenting the air. The small noise from the sheriff's fork hitting his plate was a soothing sound that permeated her being. A deep feeling of pleasure rose up within her.
She moved over to the table and set the plate of brownies down within easy reach of his hand. As she came within his radius, his scent enveloped her. A fresh, masculine scent of gun-powder and horses came swiftly to her nostrils. A quivery sensation ran through her system and her eyes went to his face.
She caught her breath as she found his dark gaze silently watching her.
His eyes were hooded as they followed her every movement, whatever he was thinking was hidden by a closed look that nonetheless left her trembling. He wiped his mouth on the linen napkin, and raised his glass and finished the water in it, his eyes never leaving hers.
Becky was caught and mesmerized by the harsh beauty of his countenance. His eyes were dark, a velvet brown, and every time she looked in them, she felt like she was drowning. His face was ruggedly handsome, and even though she knew he was not yet thirty years old, he had small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and deep crevices beside his sculpted mouth. His nose was blunt and dominated his face in a way that saved him from being truly beautiful.