The Texas Blue Norther

This person in back of her on the horse had mentioned they had found other pods. Who all had they told of finding them? Where were the ones they’d found?

This whole adolescent activity was only a confirmation that they were all bored. They had too much spare time with little to distract them. Well, Mike’s baby might distract him for a while.

Actually, Mike had had very little to do with his wife having a baby. She’d done all the work. Come to think of it, even at a time when his wife could be very uncomfortably pregnant, Mike had run off on a pod hunt. He had.

She said lazily, “Next time, I get to sit in back.”

“The wind’s at my back,” he said next to her ear. Then his voice was different, lower, huskier. He said, “I’m sheltering you.”

She accepted that as only right and asked, “Where are we going?”

“To the nearest house.”

She was courteous. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It began to rain quite nastily cold and wet. He pulled her head back under his chin, and she was protected. He slid his hand across her ribs below her breasts under the blanket. “You warm enough?”

Her mouth responded in a tiny, female way that was embarrassing. She told him, “My feet are cold.”

“Sit Indian-style. I’ll balance you.”

She was surprised. Here she was countering all her horse training. She was slumped back against a man and now her legs were crossed under the blanket and she was—warm.

He fumbled down her stomach and his hand slid into her trousers. “Oops, sorry. I’m trying to see if your feet’re okay.”

“They are.”

“Good.”

A lecher. She squinted a little, as she went over the karate lessons she’d taken because her daddy had insisted. She’d been good at it. She’d nailed the instructor. He’d been hostile to her after that.

If the instructor had gone along the whole way, instead of trying to escape, she would have thought he was letting her win. But he’d tried hard to win over her.

Winning had been heady.

Of course, she’d antagonized yet another male. Her father had laughed.

Her mother had altered the classic, “Never give a man an even break.” But her mother had added, “You’d lose.”

And she had. By being so confident and physically safe, she’d lost just about every male who’d come down the pike. Even all those who had been blinded by her daddy’s clout. She’d lost them all.

Which ones had she wanted?

And lying back against a crude man, she went over all of the contenders like turning pages of a diary, and there hadn’t been a one she’d really and truly wanted. To be a twenty-seven-year-old woman who had never really been tempted must be some sort of remarkable record.

She was probably freezing to death and looking back on her life in a farewell. Actually she was warm and cozy, cuddled down, cross-legged but secure on some man’s saddle. She was leaning back against him and wonderfully wrapped in his blanket and the shared coat. His right hand was innocently tucked under her left armpit.

His wrist was resting on the top of her breast, which moved with the horse’s stride. At least the man wasn’t groping her.

She didn’t realize his wrist was feeling her. Only hands did that. Not wrists or backs or arms.

Two (#ulink_f9f82ae0-7a79-5a73-89c7-c3aaaea4e09e)

The wind was howling and shrill across the empty land. There was nothing to sieve the sound, but it was moaning and serious.

The rescuer had turned the horse away from the storm, so the brunt of the wind was on the man’s back. He was Lauren’s.windshield. That was perfectly logical. Any man protected a woman. It probably started in TEXAS, when there were many, many more men than women, and women were precious.

Of course. Women should always be treated as if they are precious. They are.

The precious woman peeked around from her limited sanctuary. Where were they going? She was so covered that she couldn’t see ahead, but she remembered there was absolutely nothing ahead of them. They were just drifting as animals drift before a mean wind. That’s how cattle piled up against fences or went off bluffs or fell through ice.

She had clear memories of hearing her father raising verbal hell over the stupid cattle who’d done that. He’d been furious! Her mother had listened calmly, seated on the sofa, and watched Lauren’s daddy.

The daughters had been sent from the room. Their mother had said to them, “Hush. Run along.”

Then when he’d calmed down, and the daughters could hear only the sounds, they would hear their mother’s voice.

What had their mother said to their father? What had she done to soothe him? Lauren would have to ask her. Until then, it had been something Lauren had never realized she might need to know.

Her nose was down in the blanket and most of the blanket was surrounded by his opened coat. With all that and the wind, Lauren asked, “What is your name?”

Oddly enough, he understood her. He said in a questioning statement peculiar to TEXANS, “I’m listed in the book as Kyle Phillips? But I answer to just about anything if the caller is serious.”

She replied, “How do you do?” And she bowed her head a trifle, as those words had demanded since she’d first been taught the phrase, long ago.

He replied to her response, “Pretty good, so far. What’s your name, honey?”

Just the fact that he’d called her ‘honey’ was a clue. He was basic TEXAN. So she said, “I’m not sure I should give it out in these circumstances.”

“It’s okay.”

He was saying he was safe for her. If he knew her father’s name, what if he just decided to hold her for ransom? She could give her first name. “I’m called Lauren.”

“Lauren. That’s a real nice name.”

How strange to have such a conversation with the wind howling around them and the horse patiently plodding along. Occasionally they moved to one side or the other. It was probably done to avoid something.

Warm, her stomach growled. Could she ask if he had some tea and cakes?

She could be flipping out. Dreaming. Hallucinating? Was she actually on a horse riding. “Where are we going?”

“The place is yonder a ways. We’ll have a fire.”

“In the—place?”

“Yeah.”