Breed True (20 page)

It had been friendly all right. She shuddered. "I was supposed to be the entertainment."

Grady looked blank, and then his face darkened before cold settled across his features. She looked away, but continued.

When Frank escorted her through the door, Alan Michaels had greeted them, slapping Frank on the back before he reached for Julie and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them until it hurt.

"Look what I have for you fellows."
He'd spun her into the room and made no pretense that she was anything other than part of the night's fun.

She'd tried to leave right then, but Frank blocked that move, although he was already upset at Michaels.

"It would have been worse," she continued telling her gritty story. "But for once in his life, Frank protected me. I
had
to sit in on the poker game. It was my job to distract the other players, while Frank fleeced them."

It had been Frank's determination to get her at the table, and next to a mark, that had saved her from Michaels' attentions.

"I picked the only man at the table dressed like a rancher and not in a three-piece suit. The Eastern bankers were already half drunk, and they were more interested in the fancy women in one of the back bedrooms than in playing cards."

"The rancher," Julie paused and then went on, "was a gentleman in control of his faculties. He had a cup of coffee in front of him, and it was obvious he was the only man at the table Frank would have to beat."

She'd sat next to him, prepared to flirt and practice her wiles. Instead, he'd looked at her sympathetically and given her advice.

"You don't belong with this crew, lass. Best get shut of that fool you're traveling with,
because he'll take you down."

She'd not acknowledged his warning even though it was true. But she'd felt better with him at the table. Alan Michaels had stood smoking a cigar and watching her when she'd resisted another banker's attempts to pull her out of her chair and into the bedroom.

Julie's thoughts returned to the present when Grady questioned her sharply.

"And did you distract them?" Grady's spoke with disgust and anger, but Julie continued, determined to finally tell him about that night.

"I don't know what would have happened if interest had not been turned in another direction." Julie's voice was grim; the moments of Grady's tender lovemaking sustained her need to trust him.

She had presented a distraction at the table, but not the kind Frank needed.

"So, Rossiter," Michaels stood behind her chair and deliberately looked at her
breasts that were on display in the gown cut lower than a whore's. "You don't care if I
fuck your wife, do you?"

She acknowledged her part in the deadly confrontation that had ensued. When the eastern banker had grabbed her by her hair, intent on forcing her from her chair, she'd picked up the only thing she could use for a weapon, pitching the rancher's cup of hot coffee over her shoulder into her attacker's face.

She didn't want to revisit the moment Frank had grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back while he propelled her into a second bedroom not yet being used by the businessmen.

"Rossiter," Michaels had called after him, mopping his face and laughing. "Don't
ruin her mouth. I have plans for it."

The rancher, who had been kind to her, had protested, and she'd heard a scuffle
when he tried to follow.

"Frank disagreed with my refusal and pulled me into another room to
discipline
me.

That's when Alan Michaels killed a man. When Frank heard the gun fired in the other room, he was more interested in that than in me. I took that opportunity to leave."

She'd had her leg over the sill and ready to climb out and down, when Frank
abruptly quit watching the bankers, locked the bedroom door, and followed her out the
window.

"Jesus, Julie. That maniac Michaels just shot the old man." When Frank called her
real name, she knew he was just as scared as she was.

They'd sneaked out of town under cover of night, not bothering to report what they'd witnessed to the sheriff of Eclipse.

"We left while they were disposing of the body, which I think, is the only reason I'm still alive."

She stared at her clenched hands, unable to look at Grady again. "Alan Michaels is not the kind of man you blackmail. I assume that Frank didn't understand that, and that's why he's dead."

Grady's question was tense, letting her know that he already suspected the answer.

"Who was it, Julie? Who did Alan Michaels murder that night?"

Julie closed her eyes so that she would not have to look at him when he repudiated her.

"Your father," she whispered. "I didn't know at first. No one introduced him, and it all happened so fast, he never introduced himself. But"—she stopped, opened her eyes, and met his gaze—"later, when word of Henry Hawks' shooting reached us in Albuquerque, Frank said that was the man Alan Michaels had murdered."

"I'm so sorry." Julie's stomach knotted in fear at the rage on Grady's face. "He was defending me. I caused it to happen. If I'd just played along and not made a fuss, your father would still be alive."

Her words hung between them before he seemed to grasp their import. Then he shook his head. "No, sweetheart, my dad would be proud to die for that cause, but Alan Michaels used the poker game as bait."

With his words, Grady removed the burden of guilt that she had carried over his father's murder.

"Everyone in Texas knew my dad liked a good game of cards. He got that invitation from Michaels a week after the business consortium hit town."

Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem to Julie as though Michaels had concocted a bold plan to eliminate Henry Hawks as a means of grabbing Hawks Nest land.

"My father's horse came in without him, and when we backtracked, we found his body on the trail home. Afterward, the sheriff and I talked to Michaels about the poker game. He said that my father had been the night's big winner and celebrated in the Golden Eagle before leaving."

Grady's eyes burned with promise. "Teddy James swore he talked to my father in the saloon before Da left."

"Teddy James was at the poker game," Julie told him. She was shivering—chilled by her memories and the grim look on Grady's face.

But when Grady hugged her close in his arms, saying, "None of it was your fault, sweetheart," the last remnants of her resistance to him ended.

*

Grady watched the play of emotions cross Julie's face. She was softer, warmer, and less frightened than he'd ever seen her. At the same time he was filled with grief and anger for his father's murder, peace was given to him in the form of this woman.

The fire burned low as she drowsed against him, absently running her fingers up and down his arm. "What is this," she touched the braid that circled his wrist.

His hunger for her and the wonder of this moment, wouldn't permit him to let her fall asleep.

"I have this"—he lifted a tendril of red hair and pulled it gently, showing her what he meant—"with me at all times. Your fire warms me."

She blinked, her half-closed eyes holding an expression of puzzlement.

"I have the hair that you gave me at our wedding breakfast." He was smug, satisfied at her look of outrage. He'd taken her defiance and made it tribute.

He felt his lips quirk up in an unfamiliar smile that turned into a grin when she sat up on his lap. "My hair … you kept that hank of hair?"

"
'Your man is warmed by your fire.'
Dawn said those words to me. I didn't understand then what she meant." Julie inspected the braided bracelet he wore.

Grady explained. "We didn't get the chance to exchange rings. You probably would have thrown it at me, even if I'd had one along." He paused as both of them remembered the bizarre wedding.

"There was no time that day. I apologize now. But," he became serious, "my pledge to you was made with the hair you sacrificed. I am your man."

An unfamiliar reckless belligerence filled Grady. He needed her loyalty. He needed to know she was his. He stood, setting her carefully in the rocker, while he went to the box that rested on the mantle above the stone fireplace. He retrieved the turquoise stone ring that rested inside.

"This is the ring my father gave my mother. Will you wear it as a sign that you are my woman?" He asked her that, because she was already his unhappy wife. He'd not told her the truth when he'd said he wanted her to want him
. I want her to love me.

She unclasped the hands that were laced tightly together and slowly extended her left to him. "I will," Julie told him. She held his gaze as he slid the ring over her knuckle and seated it on her fourth finger.

"My mother wore this ring until she returned to her father's people. The day she left, she put it in that box on the mantle."

He wanted to let her know that he would not force her to stay. But he wanted her to know too, that she was in his heart.

"I hope that you will always remain with me, but if you choose to go, put the ring back in its box, and I'll understand."

She pulled her hand back as though he had slapped her and asked hesitantly, "When did your mother leave?"

"Two days after I was born," he answered, masking his shame beneath pride.

At her gasp, he explained stiffly, "My mother, like you, was only a pawn in the lives of men. My father wanted Kiowa land—this place he named Hawks Nest.

"My Indian grandfather was a shaman. He knew the days ahead would be troubled.

He made a bargain with my father so that I would be born; he believed that someday I would bring the land back to the Kiowa."

"And your mother?" Julie stood from the chair and took his arm, moving him so that he sat.

"There, that's much better." She eased into his lap and leaned back against his chest, pulling his arms around her.

Then she laid her head against him and told him, "It's not polite to give your woman a ring and then ask for it back. Because of the circumstances, I'll let it slide this time."

And then playfully she poked him in the chest. "Don't do it again."

He felt an easing inside of him—as though a spring that had been coiled tightly all the days of his life suddenly loosened and relaxed.

"You wouldn't go off and leave your baby, would you?" He knew the answer already and didn't need her confirmation. But he asked anyway.

She pulled his head down and nipped his jaw. "No, I would not. Did your mother ever come back?"

"My father went after her the first dozen times. Then, he let her go. He could have remarried. No one would have faulted him for taking a white wife once the settlers brought some here to choose from."

"He made a bargain with your grandfather and got you. It was enough for him." Her husky voice said the words his father had spoken many times, and he knew they were true.

They sat, learning each other in their mutual silence. Outside, the wind picked up, drying out the land that had been bogged down in rains. When daylight shone through the windows, the sun had already cut a path through the clouds and pointed the way to a clear, warm day.

He dressed and readied to go back to the work site, and she looked at the baked goods she'd made the day before. "I guess I went stall-crazy cooped up in this cabin in the rain."

"Can you put that stuff into a basket, or a couple of baskets?" It was a question asked as he went through the door, anxious to get a head start on the day as usual.

She was wearing her pink Mercantile dress when he came back inside. It should have clashed with her hair, but instead, she was beautiful.

"Get the girls dressed in something warm. We'll take these supplies up to camp and you can see my Herefords."

And he realized that he really wanted her to see the young bull his dad had imported.

Henry had been sure that this new breed would change the way of cattle ranching on Hawks Nest.

Chapter Seventeen

Emma and Amy were ecstatic to be outside. Grady drove, with his horse tied on behind. "Now pay attention," he warned her. "You might have to drive up to the line shack for me someday. Learn the way."

Julie took comfort in his words instead of being offended. She and the girls had a home here. They were safe. In her heart she'd accepted him. He called the passion from her, cherished her daughters, and asked only one thing in return—a son. Why her stomach clenched in protest made no sense.

But it happened anyway, and she couldn't get past it.
He says he cares for me. I have
feelings for him too.
That should be enough for a good marriage.
The real question remained unanswered. Would he still care for her if she gave him no son? Unbidden the memory of Comfort Quince's barren state came to mind.

I can give Grady a son.
She admitted the truth to herself. She didn't
want
to have another child. The memory of her first time was too fresh in her mind. After months of fear, pain, and finally abandonment, she'd survived. She knew in her heart that Grady Hawks would take care of her, but her head didn't trust what her heart told her.

"You're not paying attention." He was back to being his autocratic self, so she wrinkled her nose at him, and he responded by pulling her closer under the arm he had slung around her shoulders. The girls sat on a thick blanket in the back of the wagon, tied in place so they couldn't crawl out.

They were as excited about the trip as she was. It took a good while to get to the camp. Once there, Rowdy was first at the wagon, followed by Dan, and then Navajo.

"Took you long enough," Rowdy complained. "Something wrong down at the cabin?"

But then he seemed to notice the arm still slung around Julie's shoulders, and he swallowed whatever he'd planned to say next.

Dan had already untied the girls, who had climbed happily into his arms to be carried.