Vampire Cowboy Page 2

  “Next time one of the cowboys comes by, I’m gonna get him to kill me a couple of those birds,” she said to herself. “Everyone around here would laugh their heads off if they knew I can’t bear to chop off their heads myself. And they’d laugh even harder if they found out that I cry when I think about the dreadful fate of my cattle.

  “And now someone around here has my poor creatures. And he cleaned out the root cellar.” The thief or thieves had taken all the smoked pork and the bag of dried corn she stored there. Four jars of pickled green beans were all that was left. She sat down at the bare kitchen table and rested her head in her hands.

  Not one of the local men would say who did it, but she was pretty sure they knew. Ugh. The men of Haley. Uncouth and unwashed, every one of them. Not a single one appealed to her in any way. That handsome stranger, however, was polite and clean and very intriguing. She sat back in her chair. She’d thought about him all the way home and hadn’t given a thought to food until she’d walked into the pantry.

  He talked a little funny—but that was probably the way they spoke in England. His pale-gray, almost transparent eyes set in a white-as-a-clean-sheet face were strange but she liked them a lot. His pretty blond hair was kinda wasted on a man. She absent-mindedly ran her free hand through her own black locks. And those broad shoulders! She wondered for a minute what he might look like without the jacket. Oh heck, what was he like without his shirt and string tie?

  She got damp imagining him taking her in his strong arms and holding her tightly, crushing her against himself. He’d feel so good, his body hard against her softer one. He’d look down at her with those pale-gray eyes filled with desire for her. She ran her hands over her breasts and her belly.

  She sighed. Although thinking about that fancy cowboy—or whatever he was—might make her damp, it wasn’t enough to totally distract her from the fact that right now what she wanted more than anything, including the stranger, was something to eat that wasn’t green beans, fresh or pickled. Unless she got up her nerve and killed one of the chickens, it was nothing but green beans for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  She sighed and walked outside into the bright moonlight and studied the For Sale sign she’d put up out front. It leaned at a precarious angle but that didn’t really matter because anyone in Haley or the surrounding countryside who had enough money to buy her place wouldn’t be dumb enough to do so.

  She turned around and studied the house. It needed paint—probably had needed paint for the last twenty years. The weathered boards curled here and there, the hitching post lay rotting on the ground and the tiny porch sagged alarmingly. The roof on the side of the house, where the leak was, looked as if it was about to cave in. Lucky it almost never rained in these parts.

  Eliza sighed. She hated living here. She’d worked hard to try to make something of this little ranch but nothing ever went right and now she was flat broke, hungry and sick and tired of the dust that was everywhere.

  The twenty-four head of cattle had been her last chance. She’d even arranged with two cowboys to herd them to the railhead in a few days. If I could just get my hands on some money to pay my way, I’d go back to Kansas City with the next stagecoach.

  Eliza turned her head at the sound of a horse and buggy trotting her way. Could the sheriff have decided to come courting after dark? That man never seemed to understand that she was one hundred percent not interested. She would shoot him somewhere even more painful than his foot if he ever tried to touch her again, even if she had to go to jail.

  The buggy that came into view in the dim moonlight was not a familiar one. It pulled u, and the easy-on-the-eyes stranger in the brand-new clothes leaped down.

  “Good evening, madam.” He tipped his hat and bowed slightly, his straight blond hair falling forward. He stood and pushed the hair back, his strange gray eyes meeting her own.

  “Hello,” she said. In spite of being so very white, he was most definitely more handsome than any man had a right to be.

  “My name’s Daniel Hastings, Miss Dunbro. I heard you were putting your house and land up for sale.”

  She nodded and pointed to the sign. “Can’t keep the place with all the rustlin’ and stealin’. No way I can make a living that way.” Stupid thing to say, when what she wanted was to sell it. At least she hadn’t let loose about how the roof leaked and the dust crept inside, or how desperately she wanted to escape and go back to the city where she belonged.

  “That is a real shame. Perhaps I can cheer you up somewhat. I wondered if you might join me for a little moonlight picnic.”

  Moonlight picnic with a man she didn’t know—a stranger in Haley? Hah! She’d done some real stupid things in her day, but she wasn’t that stupid. Even if he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her entire life. Even if she were hungry. Very, very hungry. Painfully so, actually.

  He pointed to a basket with a snow-white cloth covering it sitting on the seat of the buggy. Eliza recognized it as a basket that belonged to Mrs. Timmons over at the hotel. She must have lent it to him. Mrs. Timmons sure had a way with fried chicken.

  Eliza had had some of that fried chicken one time at the church potluck dinner. She herself had brought a huge bowl of green beans to the event and had eaten an embarrassingly large amount of the food that other people had brought. It had been no contest—Mrs. Timmons’ chicken was the best food there. Sadly other people had thought so too, and it had been eaten up before she got a third helping.

  If her mouth watered any more than it already was, she’d be drooling. And she most definitely did not want to do anything that undignified in front of this man.

  She studied Mr. Hastings as he stood there quietly looking at her. His sensuous mouth, clean-shaven chin with a slight cleft and broad shoulders made her long to get close, really close. She yearned to run her fingers through that blond hair, over those tantalizing lips. She put her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch what she shouldn’t, and looked him over. He was all male in that immaculate white shirt, black jacket and string tie, new trousers and fancy boots. She imagined him smiling at her as he pulled off the tie and then the jacket. He’d stroke her hair as she undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing the pale skin.

  She mentally shook herself. She needed to make a decision, not get herself all hot and bothered. A man that clean and neat couldn’t be dangerous, could he? She was a pretty good judge of character, wasn’t she? For example, she would never go on a moonlight picnic alone with the sheriff and she knew him right well. A midnight picnic with Mrs. Timmons’ fried chicken wasn’t the sheriff’s style anyway. Oh how she wanted to spend some time with Daniel Hastings. And oh, how she wanted some food.

  “You got chicken in there?” She pointed to the basket. Of course she wouldn’t go along for a nighttime picnic in the middle of nowhere with a perfect stranger, no matter how clean and neat and charming. Not even if there really were several birds in that basket. He was, after all, a man who had whopped Billy Joe and thus was clearly dangerous, even if he did make her heart turn somersaults, to say nothing of the fact she needed desperately to touch him and be touched by him. Surely she didn’t need a proper dinner that bad, surely she wouldn’t risk her life—and her virtue such as it was—just to have some fried chicken. Of course not. She wasn’t that desperate.

  “Yes, madam, and some good-looking dinner rolls and some—”

  “And rolls?” Was her voice squeaking?

  “Yes, Miss Dunbro, some rolls fresh out of the oven. They might still be warm and—”

  “Okay,” she said. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

  “That would be delightful, Miss Dunbro,” he said.

  “I’ll bring my gun.” Just in case he wasn’t harmless after all.

  “As you please.” He smiled pleasantly.

  It was a beautiful night, the moon almost full, the sky filled with stars and nary a cloud. The little buggy was more comfortable than her wagon, no doubt about that. Mr. Hastings had
a beautiful, deliciously soft blanket—had she ever felt anything so fine in her entire life? He spread it carefully over her lap and told her it was made from the wool of a special kind of goat that lived in China.

  “You’ve been to China?” she asked.

  He smiled. “A very long time ago. But I bought the blanket in London.”

  “I bet it was real expensive.”

  “That it was.”

  It occurred to her that the stranger might really be able to buy her property.

  “It’s pretty nice around here,” she lied.

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, yes. Friendly people.” Well a few—most of them were awfully mean as far as she was concerned. Heck, hardly a one of the women would speak to her since she’d been seen talking to Miss Susan, and as for the men, one or some of them had stolen her cattle and her smoked pork and none of them would tell her who.

  “Um, we have a nice church supper every third month. And a square dance sometimes…” What else could she say about this godforsaken, flea-bitten, dusty, nowhere that she hated more every day that she had to live here?

  “It does hold some interest for me.” Why was he looking at her that way? And what interest could Haley possibly hold for someone who had actually been to China?

  “Well,” she said, “it’s a nice place so I’m glad to hear that.” Oh! Could the interest he was referring to be her? That was a very nice thought. She sure would like to get better acquainted with this man. She might even, sooner or later, like to get intimately acquainted with him. Sooner would be better.

  She looked down demurely. “I hope you stay a while.” The first honest thing out of her mouth since she’d climbed into the buggy.

  “I am planning to,” he said and when she looked up at him, he smiled. “I’m quite enjoying my stay.” Uh oh. Her heart sped up and got a little noisy. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he mean he was enjoying being with her? She sure did hope so.

  Got to concentrate on getting out of Haley. I must stop thinking about this man that way. It doesn’t matter whether he likes me or not.

  Never mind that he was so darned good-looking that he made her heart race and every single inch of her yearned for his caress. She needed to sell her place. She tried to figure the best way to ask him if he was enjoying his stay enough to want to buy her little ranch while ignoring the fact that her breasts positively ached with wanting his hands on them, and her private region was all in a dither. But he started telling her about some of the places he’d been, and she told him about growing up in Kansas City, which he declared to be fascinating, and she forgot all about selling her place.

  “How did you come here to this remote, uh, paradise?” he inquired.

  “When my parents passed on, my brother and I had to decide who got what. There was the house in Kansas City and this place here, which belonged to my granddaddy from way back when.”

  “And you chose Haley.”

  “We, well to tell you the truth, we played a game of poker—”

  “Ah. A woman after my own heart.”

  “I lost.” She immediately wished she hadn’t said that.

  “I see,” he said. She thought she detected a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The same twinkle that had appeared when she referred to Kansas City as “the big city”.

  They stopped beside a little stream. He helped her out of the buggy. Such a gentleman, she thought, but she was surprised that his hands were so cold. She wondered if he might try to kiss her after a while. And hold her and touch her. She sighed gently with delight at thought of his cool touch on her skin. She certainly wouldn’t shoot him in the foot. In fact, she longed to feel his lips against her own, she yearned to be in his embrace and if he wanted to warm those cold hands of his by running them up and down her back and along her sides, over her hips and her bottom, that would make her a very happy woman. Just thinking about those things made her heart do somersaults.

  She watched him as he bent to spread a horsehair blanket on the ground and then put the soft one on top of that. He certainly was a fine figure of a man, even bent over. He set out a couple of pillows and indicated that she should sit on one, which she did. That’s when Eliza remembered that she was ungodly hungry and her mind filled with thoughts of chicken. And rolls.

  Her eyes followed the picnic basket as he took it from the buggy. He placed it between them as he sat down across from her.

  He uncovered the basket and there was something—it had to be the chicken—in a big bowl next to something wrapped in a napkin. The top of a bottle stuck out of several layers of white linen. She prayed that there was a heap of chicken in that bowl and a whole lot of rolls wrapped in the napkin. While she was at it, she threw in a little prayer of gratitude that she didn’t have to eat green beans.

  “Champagne,” he said, smiling at her, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight as he lifted the bottle out of the basket. He pulled the cork out with a pop and poured the foaming, bubbling drink into two crystal flutes that he held in one hand. He handed one to her and they clinked glasses, smiling at each other, though neither made a toast.

  She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. It tickled and wasn’t nearly as sweet as she’d hoped it would be, but it was still pleasant. Mr. Hastings seemed to savor each sip he took, so Eliza resolved to do the same.

  She must have savored a little faster than he did, because her glass was empty by the time he set the bowl of Mrs. Timmons’ chicken on the blanket and unwrapped the rolls. “Looks like there’s a whole lot!” she said, licking her lips.

  Daniel stared at her for a few seconds before setting out dinner plates and silverware for each of them. She was feeling uncommonly cheerful.

  “This is like something in a book,” she said. This is all so romantic. And Mr. Hastings is ever so polite along with being so good-looking. I’m sure he would be quite a sight if I could get him out of those sissified clothes. I’d run my hands all over that big chest of his. He’d bend down and kiss my breasts. She blushed at the thoughts—where had they come from? Her imaginings usually weren’t that vivid.

  The way he looked at her was making her breasts ache for those kisses she’d imagined, making her whole body yearn for his touch. She wanted to undo the buttons of her gown all the way down to the bottom, to open it wide to him. She unbuttoned the top button. Why am I feeling like this? There’s chicken here I need to eat. She undid another and then the next one. She felt compelled to move closer to him, considered climbing right into his lap. But I hardly know him, how can I? That didn’t matter. She needed to put her arms around his neck and…

  Before she could act, Daniel turned away suddenly as though annoyed, and immediately those very improper sensations and thoughts paled beside her need for the chicken and rolls. She did her buttons back up and went back to having a pleasant time at a picnic on this soft blanket with this intriguing stranger, gobbling the chicken and rolls just as fast as she could.

  Daniel stopped himself in time and looked away from her, breaking the spell. He had some power over the desires of mortals, had used some of that power on her to make her agree to an evening picnic. But he didn’t want to use it. Not on this woman. Not now. He was annoyed at himself that he had, albeit for only a brief moment, compelled her to lust for him.

  “I’d venture a guess that you are extremely fond of fried chicken,” he said, fighting to keep his voice normal. “And champagne. May I refill?” She held out her glass and he poured some of the sparkling liquid into it.

  “The more you drink it, the better it tastes,” she said, drank half of it and then took a big, savage bite out of a roll. It would be easy—too easy—by simple force of will to make this woman desire him. He wanted her on her own terms. He wanted her to desire him simply because she did, not because he compelled her to do so, as he had so many others long ago. He hoped that she would come to desire him as he did her. Soon.

  He wanted to feed and he could remember no one from whom he wanted to feed as urgentl
y as he wanted her blood. But not now and not by using his will to compel her.

  She looked up at him, nodding and smiling, although she didn’t stop eating. His heart began a loud staccato in his ears as he felt a stirring of real carnal desire for her. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time. He desperately wanted to touch her, to run his fingers through that black-as-night hair, to explore the sweet curves of her waist, of her bottom, to cup those round breasts. He yearned to kiss and lick and suck and finally to drink. But he would wait and see if any answering interest developed on her part.

  Eliza swallowed, polished off her champagne and said, “This is so delicious.” He smiled at her. It had been more than two centuries since he had become the blood-drinking creature he was now, and all those years of compelling women to want him had dulled his desire, made him feel like a monster, a puppet master. Sex for himself, he’d decided long ago, had been spoiled for eternity, reduced like the feeding to an occasional necessity to be dealt with as efficiently as possible.

  It had become offensive to him to simply take the blood he needed. Thus he preferred to use women who could be paid, making sure afterward that they remembered little of the encounter, except that the foolish gentleman had left thrice the normal fee.