Free Wild Texas Rose by Martha Hix Page B

anything, beyond rhyme or reason.” Who was the woman he’d loved with such abandon? Even Gail had mentioned her, but with no specifics. Was she a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead? Where was she now? Mariah was curious why she had turned her back on such a man. Why hadn’t she wanted his love? From all Mariah had gathered, he was a good man, decent and honorable.
    â€œMay I have this dance?”
    She turned to the deep sound from behind her, turned to Whit Reagor. Again that strange, magical, unexplainable feeling assailed her. Was it his golden voice? Though his inflections were indicative of Texas, she noted–and not for the first time–the special richness imbuing his tone. It should be a sin to be so handsome, she thought while drinking in the sight of his black hair and tanned, olive-toned face, the coloring that complemented and contrasted to his blue eyes. But, it was not those things that were the most appealing aspects of Whit Reagor, but rather the tenderness he tried so hard to hide.
    Hitching a thumb at the dance floor, he dimpled a grin. “Well?”
    Though the tune held a waltz’s tempo and a line about “pretty new shoes” went along with the rhythm, she was unfamiliar with the dance steps. “I’m sorry, Whit, I can’t dance to that.”
    â€œI’d be honored to teach you.”
    He aligned his right side with her left, then instructed her to bend her elbows up. He grasped her fingers, and she caught the clove scent of bay rum and warm, clean man. Whit’s scent.
    â€œPoint your left toe,” he instructed, deep and sweet. “Now cross it over your right ankle. That’s it, darlin’. Now step forward with your left foot, then your right.”
    Mariah tried. Her heel encountered her petticoat and the sound of ripping material caused her to freeze. “I’m no good at this.”
    â€œJust relax. Let yourself go with the feeling.”
    That was exactly what she did and within moments she was caught up in the music ... and the grace in which Whit executed the dance. He exuded power and confidence, attributes much admired by his partner.
    Whit angled his chin to whisper in her ear, “Farthing for your thoughts.”
    â€œFarthing?” She giggled as the wind of his breath wound down from her earlobe. “How British.”
    â€œJust wanted you to feel at home.” The piece ended, and Whit whirled around to grasp both sides of her waist. They were standing under the loft in a shadowy area well away from the crowd gathered around the bride and groom. “You’re wonderful, Mariah.”
    â€œYou’re pretty nice yourself.”
    â€œI’ll bet you’re good at everything you do.” His eyes held hers, and his mouth dipped low.
    Heart racing, she parted her lips. She welcomed his kiss, had yearned all day for it, even though she hadn’t made that inward admission. His warm, punch-scented breath tickled her lips, and the ability to breathe deserted her. Oddly, he changed course, the kiss landing on her cheek. Disappointment grabbed her heart.
    â€œHullo, you two. Issa beautiful wedding, iz-shn’t it?”
    They broke apart at Gail’s inebriated words.
    â€œAre you all right?” Whit asked the teetering woman.
    â€œYeah.”
    Despite her embarrassment at being caught by the very person who had accused her of being interested in Whit, Mariah was surprised at the brunette’s state. Obviously Gail had consumed a great deal of alcohol in a short period of time, and Mariah wondered what had caused her to do so.
    â€œSay, Whit, how’s about getting us two little ladies some more hootch. I mean”–she hiccuped–“I mean punch.”
    â€œYou’re drunk already,” Whit observed.
    â€œSo? Go ’way. I wanna tawk to Mariah!”
    â€œGail Ann Sutherland,” he said sternly, taking her arm, “I’m going to walk you back to the