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And Dal Blake thought she was a manly woman, a real hell-raiser. It was funny. She was the exact opposite. Half the time she couldn’t even remember to do up the buttons on her coat right.
She sighed as she thought about Dal. She’d had a crush on him in high school. He was almost ten years older than she was and considered her a child. Her one attempt to catch his eye had ended in disaster . . .
* * *
She’d come to visit her father during Christmas holidays—much against her mother’s wishes. It was her senior year of high school. She’d graduate in the spring. She knew that she was too young to appeal to a man Dal’s age, but she was infatuated with him, fascinated by him.
He came by to see her father often because they were both active members in the local cattlemen’s association. So one night when she knew he was coming over, Meadow dressed to the hilt in her Sunday best. It was a low-cut red sheath dress, very Christmassy and festive. It had long sleeves and side slits. It was much too old for Meadow, but her father loved her, so he let her pick it out and he paid for it.
Meadow walked into the room while Dal and her father were talking and sat down in a chair nearby, with a book in her hands. She tried to look sexy and appealing. She had on too much makeup, but she hadn’t noticed that. The magazines all said that makeup emphasized your best features. Meadow didn’t have many best features. Her straight nose and bow mouth were sort of appealing, and she had pretty light green eyes. She used masses of eyeliner and mascara and way too much rouge. Her best feature was her long, thick, beautiful blond hair. She wore it down that night.
Her father gave her a pleading look, which she ignored. She smiled at Dal with what she hoped was sophistication.
He gave her a dark-eyed glare.
The expression on his face washed away all her self-confidence. She flushed and pretended to read her book, but she was shaky inside. He didn’t look interested. In fact, he looked very repulsed.
When her father went out of the room to get some paperwork he wanted to show to Dal, Meadow forced herself to look at him and smile.
“It’s almost Christmas,” she began, trying to find a subject for conversation.
He didn’t reply. He did get to his feet and come toward her. That flustered her even more. She fumbled with the book and dropped it on the floor.
Dal pulled her up out of the chair and took her by the shoulders firmly. “I’m ten years older than you,” he said bluntly. “You’re a high school kid. I don’t rob cradles and I don’t appreciate attempts to seduce me in your father’s living room. Got that?”
Her breath caught. “I never . . . !” she stammered.
His chiseled mouth curled expressively as he looked down into her shocked face. “You’re painted up like a carnival fortune-teller. Too much makeup entirely. Does your mother know you wear clothes like that and come on to men?” he added icily. “I thought she was religious.”
“She . . . is,” Meadow stammered, and felt her age. Too young. She was too young. Her eyes fell away from his. “So am I. I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he returned. His strong fingers contracted on her shoulders. “When do you leave for home?”
“Next Friday,” she managed to say. She was dying inside. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life.
“Good. You get on the plane and don’t come back. Your father has enough problems without trying to keep you out of trouble. And next time I come over here, I don’t want to find you setting up shop in the living room, like a spider hunting flies.”
“You’re a very big fly,” she blurted out, and flushed some more.
His lip curled. “You’re out of your league, kid.” He let go of her shoulders and moved her away from him, as if she had something contagious. His eyes went to the low-cut neckline. “If you went out on the street like that, in Raven Springs, you’d get offers.”
She frowned. “Offers?”
“Prostitutes mostly do get offers,” he said with distaste.
Tears threatened, but she pulled herself up to her maximum height, far short of his, and glared up at him. “I am not a prostitute!”
“Sorry. Prostitute in training?” he added thoughtfully.
She wanted to hit him. She’d never wanted anything so much. In fact, she raised her hand to slap that arrogant look off his face.
He caught her arm and pushed her hand away.
Even then, at that young age, her balance hadn’t been what it should be. Her father had a big, elegant stove in the living room to heat the house. It used coal instead of wood, and it was very efficient behind its tight glass casing. There was a coal bin right next to it.
Meadow lost her balance and went down right into the coal bin. Coal spilled out onto the wood floor and all over her. Now there were black splotches all over her pretty red dress, not to mention her face and hair and hands.
She sat up in the middle of the mess, and angry tears ran down her soot-covered cheeks as she glared at Dal.
