The rain flooded onto the windshield, making the outside world a gray blur. He unfastened his seat belt, settled himself crossways in his seat and stared at Keely.
The silence was a little unnerving. She glanced at him and found her eyes captured and held.
“Clark says the two of you are going steady,” he said.
Now what did she say, she wondered frantically. It wasn’t true, but Clark was using her as a tool of vengeance, apparently, for Nellie’s loss. She bit her lower lip and tried to find a graceful way out of the dilemma.
“Did he say that?” she asked, playing for time to think.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me,” he said curtly. “Are you or are you not getting mixed up with my brother?”
Sorry, Clark, she said silently, but no mere woman could have resisted that look in Boone’s eyes.
“I’m not,” she said, sounding breathless, as though she’d run a long way.
The tautness seemed to go out of him. “Well, thank God for one thing going right,” he murmured. “I could have slugged Hayes Carson!”
While she was trying to work out that puzzle, he’d unfastened her seat belt and pulled her over the console into his arms.
“I thought this week would never end.” His mouth ground down into hers as if he’d gone hungry for years and sought to satisfy the hunger in seconds. He crushed her up against him, mindless of her soft cry of protest. “I’m starving to death for you,” he whispered into her mouth. “Dying for you—”
Had she really heard him say that? She gave up protesting. It didn’t do any good, anyway. She curled up against him and ignored the pain in her shoulder and arm, going boneless as his ardor only increased at her response. Her head began to spin. It was the sweetest interlude of her life. Rain pounded on the roof, the hood, the trunk, the wind blew, but she heard nothing over the pounding of her own heart. She had no reserve left. Whatever he wanted, he could have.
Except when his hand searched under her blouse and up over her breast, inching toward the strap. She couldn’t, didn’t dare, let him feel her shoulder.
With a sharp little cry, she jerked away from him, her face flushed from his ardor, her eyes wild with passion and dread.
He misunderstood. His eyes grew cold. He pushed her away, dragging in harsh breaths, until he could control himself again. He’d taken her protests the first time he’d kissed her as virginal fears. But this wasn’t. She’d rejected him. She’d lied about her feelings for Clark. She couldn’t hide the fact that she didn’t want intimacy with Boone. His ego hurt, almost as badly as it had when Misty shied away from him in the military hospital.
“Boone,” she began slowly, dreading what she had to tell him now.
“Forget it,” he said, interrupting her. He put his seat belt back on and started the car. “Obviously you can’t get past your feelings for Clark. No sweat.”
He didn’t say another word, or even look at her, until they were sitting in front of her house with the engine running.
“It isn’t what you think,” she bit off.
“The hell it isn’t,” he returned icily. “Goodbye, Keely.”
The way he said it, she knew it wasn’t simply a temporary farewell. He meant that he wouldn’t see her alone again, ever. Her heart broke. He thought she’d rejected him and it wasn’t true. She couldn’t bear to see the look on his face if he got her shirt off. That would end any chance she had with him. Of course, she’d just done that, without the added trauma of what he didn’t know.
She drew in a quiet breath. “Thanks for the ride,” she managed in a polite tone. She opened the door and got out.
He still hadn’t said a word. He was down the driveway before her foot was on the first step up to the house. She didn’t look back. It wouldn’t help.
* * *
Her mother was still acting oddly. Almost a week had passed since Boone had taken Keely riding and kissed her. The rain had stopped and now the heat blazed. There were wildfires. Everyone was afraid to throw down a match or burn trash or even smoke a cigarette outdoors. It was almost time to harvest corn and hay and peanuts. The corn and hay would have to last the livestock through the winter; it was very important. Combines and tractors were sitting on ready, while the last days counted down to harvest.
On Saturday morning, the sounds of machinery could be heard everywhere. Winnie stopped by to pick up Keely for an impromptu lunch, assuring her first that Boone was out with the combines and wouldn’t be in all day. He’d taken a cooler with him, bearing lunch and beer.
“I hope I have enough eggs to do the egg salad,” Winnie murmured as they pulled up into her driveway past the huge posts that held the now-open gates that led to the house. “If I don’t, I may have to run back to the store. Why didn’t I think of it while I was in town?” she moaned. She glanced at Keely, who looked apprehensive. “Boone’s really out with the combine,” she promised. “I wouldn’t lie.”
Keely relaxed with a smile. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Winnie replied, leading the way into the house. “Boone raged about you all week, in fact, not to mention Hayes Carson—God knows why. But this morning something came by express. He took it into the office, and got all quiet. He went out without a word, walking really slow.” She grimaced. “God help the cowboys. Somebody will quit by sunset, you mark my words. He’s seething!”
“You don’t know why?” Keely had to ask. “It couldn’t have been something about my father…?”
