a self-defense class she had taken. If you can, engage your attacker in conversation. Make him see you as an individual. Certainly there was no chance of some kindly police officer intervening way out here in the boonies.
“Wait a minute…P-please…” she stammered, back- ing slowly away.
But Judson wasn’t listening. Expressionless, he looked right through her. Raising the gun to shoulder height, he steadied his grip with his free hand and shat- tered the silence with a squeeze of the trigger. Carrie heard the bullet whiz past her and compelled her eyes to follow the direction of the smoking barrel.
There, curled up in the long grass just a step away from her discarded length of rope lay a huge gray and yellow diamond-patterned snake. Though decapitated, its body kept coiling and winding, doubling and falling back on itself. Fearing the still-groping tail could some- how find her and wrap itself around her, Carrie stepped back.
Judson holstered his gun. Then he rubbed his raw shin.
“What in the hell’s the matter with you? Are you deaf and blind both?” he demanded, the look in his eyes illuminating his doubts about the new schoolteacher’s mental stability.
“You scared me!” she snapped in her defense.
The woman was a master of understatement. The ter- ror glistening in her eyes reminded Judson of a fawn cornered by a pack of wolves. What had he done to make her come to such unflattering conclusions about his intentions? Bothered by the question, he told himself that it was enough just knowing that the district had entered into a nine-month contract with a crazy woman. One whose innate prejudices conjured up a bad B-movie fantasy based on the old preconceptions of what savage Indians did to white women. His eyes nar- rowed in cold fury.
Limping over to the dead snake, he picked it up by the tail and held it at arm’s length. Reaching into his hip pocket, he pulled out a knife and sliced off its rat- tles—ten to be exact. Stepping toward her, he shook his closed fist next to Carrie’s ear. As innocent as a baby’s rattle, it was indeed the sound of death.
“Whenever you hear this sound, stop and back away slowly. Rattlesnakes, not Indians, are the real threat out here, lady.”
Tossing the snake into the bushes, he added coldly, “One more step and we’d be having this conversation at the hospital.”
Judson’s words clicked inside Carrie’s head like the rattles of that diamond-backed snake lying dead beneath the afternoon sun. She battled the sudden flush that swept over her. It was a sensation that had little to do with the heat of the day and everything to do with the man who stood looking at her as if he should be helping her into a straitjacket. The rustling of aspen leaves seemed quite far away as terror drained from her body and the ground swayed precariously under her feet.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asked, hold- ing out both arms to catch her just in case.
Guilt pressed upon Judson’s heart like a grinding stone. It appeared he’d scared the poor thing to death.
Valiantly trying to insert a hardy tone into her voice, Carrie responded, “I’ve never fainted in my life.” But there’s always a first time for everything…
Struggling to regain her senses was like trying to find her way up from the bottom of a deep mountain lake. No, make that the depths of a pair of blue eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern. What was happening to her? A minute ago she was fighting this man with all her might, and now she was leaning against him for support, practically begging him to wrap those strong, sensuous arms around her again.
Putting both hands on his chest, Carrie woozily at- tempted to steady herself against that impenetrable wall and recover a modicum of her dignity.
Judson derived little satisfaction in being right about this rough country being no place for one so fragile. Damn it, shouldn’t being right feel better? Looking into Carrie’s pale, delicate face, he was reminded of his chil- dren. Perfect angels—when sleeping. And like his twins, she evoked in him a fierce possessiveness and the irrational desire to keep her safe forever.
Judson’s body, however, reacted in a manner that was far from fatherly. He was excruciatingly aware of Car- rie’s soft curves against his hard, lean frame. Her nip- ples were taut through soft silk; his arousal just as ob- vious through rough demin. If he didn’t get the hell out of here right now, he might as well hand her the knife to cut out his heart.
Good Lord! Just how many times did a man need to be horsewhipped to learn a lesson? The muscle along his jaw bunched at the memory.
Holding on to her by both elbows, Judson took a step back then let his arms fall loosely at his sides.
Bewildered, Carrie stood in front of him trembling like a butterfly, riveted to this singular spot of the spin- ning globe by the warmth centered deep inside her. This was definitely not the way she had intended to start the school year—in the arms of a blue-eyed Native American who had made it quite clear he didn’t even partic- ularly like her!
What must he think about her now that she had lit- erally thrown herself into his arms? In a community as isolated as Harmony, it couldn’t take much to set tongues wagging.
“Are you gonna be all right?” Judson asked, his voice a sexy, agitated purr that sent her imagination traveling down a road clearly marked Danger—Enter At Your Own Risk!
Swallowing hard, Carrie simply nodded.
Apparently unconvinced, Judson ran a work- roughened fingertip beneath her chin and tilted her face up. Beneath his close inspection, twin roses bloomed upon her cheeks.
Certain the most passionate kiss could not have been more erotic than the tenderness in that one callused fin- ger, Carrie felt her knees grow as weak as a baby’s. She hated herself for blushing again. It was the Raben curse—fair skin that acted as a barometer for every emotion and rendered her absolutely useless in a game of poker.
Seemingly satisfied at last that she wasn’t going to collapse and melt into a puddle of estrogen at his feet, Judson turned abruptly on his heels. Following after him like a scolded pup, Carrie heard the gravel crunch be- neath his feet as he reached his pickup and jerked open the door.
Climbing behind the wheel, he tossed her a gruff di- rective. “By the way, if you don’t have one, you’d bet- ter think about gettin’ yourself a gun.”
“But I don’t believe in guns,” she stated unequivo- cally.
Judging by his reaction, Carrie was certain a kick in the stomach would have had a less negative effect than this particular admission. Judson’s eyes glinted danger- ously, making her feel at once both vulnerable and fool- ish.
“What you don’t seem to understand,” he continued, speaking slowly as if English were not her native tongue, “is that our children need someone not just to teach them but to protect them, as well. There may come a time you’ll need a gun, say, to clear off the front steps of some such unfriendly critter as a rattle- snake or a bear.”
Carrie suppressed a shudder at the thought.
“Look, no one would blame you if you decide that you’re just not cut out for this job.” Pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from beneath the brim of his black Stetson hat, Judson Horn looked unflinchingly into her eyes. “Quite frankly, it would save us all a lot of grief if you’d make that decision right now instead of mid- term when it will be damned near impossible to find a replacement. Out here it’s a matter of survival.”
His words pierced Carrie’s heart like the rows of barbed wire that lined the road to Harmony. He was right, of course. She had come out West naively ex- pecting to leave heartache and urban crime behind only to be greeted by a rattlesnake in her front yard! Still Carrie could not allow herself to be so quickly deterred. What she had left behind had been a different kind of wilderness, and she knew that if she kept running away from her fears she would ultimately destroy herself in the process.
“I’m staying,” she said with sudden resolution.
Whether