Deborah Camp (16 page)

Monroe barked a laugh. “Competition?” He shook his head in a scolding gesture. “Drew, look who you’re talking to. I’m a fine specimen if ever there was one, while you—well, I think too much of you to tell you the truth.” He winked at Drew. “Aw, hell, I hope you change your mind. Give the girls a thrill and show off your handsome face tonight.”

“Get out of here,” Drew said, shoving Monroe away
even as a grin conquered him. “I intend to enjoy an evening of solitude. I’ve got me a good book to read and a couple of crisp apples to eat. I’m in heaven.”

“Looks to me like you’d be tired of your solitude,” Cassie said, sitting Andy in his high chair so that she could pull on her black gloves. “Wasn’t that what you hated in prison? Being all alone?”

“Being locked up and spending time by yourself aren’t the same thing,” Drew said, his gaze following her every move while she stood before a wall mirror to position a perky black satin arid lace hat on top of her blond curls.

Sensitive to his attentions, her heartbeats accelerated and her skin tingled. Thinking of being with him at the creek the other day, she wished for the hundreth time that she’d let him kiss her again, let herself go with him. All she could think about was what might have happened. Even in her dreams he haunted her. If she’d given herself to him at the creek, he’d be out of her system. Or would he?

She faced him once she’d secured the hat with two long pins and saw him blink away the naked longing in his eyes. Mule-headed man, she thought, wishing he would go to the dance so that she could take a turn with him. Being in his arms would be …

Clearing her throat and her head, Cassie picked up Andy again and then linked arms with Monroe. “Andy and I are ready to go.”

“Then let’s get that buggy moving.” Monroe opened the front door and escorted Cassie and Andy outside.

Cassie looked back once to see Drew’s silhouette in the doorway. Regret shadowed her heart. She forced him
from her thoughts and threw all her efforts into having a wonderful time with Monroe.

She smiled at him, his face illuminated by starlight, and wished he was closer to her age and that he had one chin instead of two.

B
reathless from dancing, Cassie joined a clutch of women standing near the table laden with cider, lemonade, cookies, cakes, and candy. She reached out for Andy, who was sitting happily on the lap of Ida Nelson, the sheriff’s elderly mother.

“Did you wear Monroe out?” the white-haired woman asked, sweeping a hand over the skirt Andy had wrinkled.

“He went outside for a smoke,” Cassie said.

“And for a nip of whiskey, no doubt,” Mrs. Nelson added with a wink. “The men think we womenfolk don’t know about that. They think we’d pitch a fit if we knew they were tasting some home brew.” The older lady set her rocker into motion and squinted up at Cassie. “You and Monroe sweethearts?”

“Sweethearts?” Cassie looked around at the expressions of interest and realized she’d been the center of gossip. “No, ma’am. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“But you were standing at the door saying howdy to everyone along with Monroe. I figured maybe you’d agreed to be his wife.”

“No, ma’am.” Cassie shook her head firmly, wanting to derail this train of gossip. “I like Roe, and he’s been mighty good to me, but I’m not interested in marrying him or anybody else, for that matter. Did Andy give you any trouble?”

“That sweet child? Lord, no. He sipped some cider and clapped his hands to the music. I don’t mind watching him one bit. You go ahead and dance, honey.”

“Oh, I think I’ll take a rest,” Cassie said, propping Andy on her hip and swaying to the music.

Monroe’s huge barn was full to bursting, and the musicians, made up mostly from one of the local families, had everyone tapping their feet and snapping their fingers. Gabe Brindle, dancing with a chubby redhead, came waltzing by and grinned at Cassie.

“You sure look pretty tonight,” he called to her, and Cassie smiled her thanks.

Viola Danforth approached from across the barn. She was a bit older than Cassie and had been married for a few years, but her husband had died after getting kicked in the head by a bull.

“Hello, Viola,” Cassie greeted her.

“Oh, hello.” Viola selected a cookie and a cup of cider. “I’ve danced so much I’ve worked up an appetite and a terrible thirst.” She eyed Cassie. “I saw that dress in the front window of Miss Hornby’s Tailor Shop, didn’t I?”

Did she? Cassie glanced down at the garment. Miss Hornby’s was the most expensive store in Abilene, and only deep-pocketed ladies could afford to shop there. She’d never for a moment considered that Drew had paid a high price for the dress, although it was clearly fetching and finely stitched.

“Yes, you might have,” Cassie answered Viola. “I didn’t pick it out.”

“Oh?” Viola lifted a thin brow and waited for Cassie to elaborate, but Cassie’s attention was now riveted to the front of the barn, where moonlight spilled through the open doors.

Suddenly her chest was so tight she could take only shallow breaths as she stared, almost afraid to believe her eyes, at the man who had entered. Her lips formed his name—
Drew
—and her heart somersaulted with joy. She hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped he would change his mind and come to the dance until that moment, when the world seemed to grind to a stop and her heart seemed to burst from her chest.

“Who is
that?
” Viola asked. “He looks familiar, but—”

“Why, that there is Drew Dalton,” Mrs. Nelson said. “He was sprung from prison, but I hear-tell it wasn’t because he was innocent but because he got together enough money to hire himself a slick lawyer.”

“That’s not true,” Cassie said. “He
is
innocent. He should never have spent one day in prison.” Cassie realized that her fervent declaration had attracted attention from the women around her, and her face suddenly felt as hot as an August sun.

Mrs. Nelson chuckled. “If you say so, honey. If you say so.” She wiggled her fingers at Andy, then held out her arms to him. Cassie let the older woman take the baby from her again.

“A judge and jury said Drew Dalton was guilty of stealing cattle from around here,” one of the other women said. “That’s why he went to prison.”

“But another judge said the first judge was all
wrong,” Cassie explained. “Drew Dalton is innocent.”

“Now that he’s out, I sure hope no more cows get took,” another woman piped up. “My man said he’ll blow a hole through anybody he sees on our land who ought not to be there.”

“My husband swears he’ll do the same,” someone else replied.

“Y’all might ought to let my son handle the law and order of this here county,” Mrs. Nelson said. “If’n you don’t watch out, your husbands will be the ones in prison!”

That silenced them, but they directed baleful glares toward Drew. Cassie ignored them and dedicated herself to studying the man she’d defended so fervidly. He’d changed clothes, she noted, admiring his black trousers, black vest, and boiled white shirt. His boots were spit-polished and his hair was carefully combed. He held his hat in his hands and searched for someone, those beautiful blue eyes of his moving slowly to take in the crowded dance floor and the clusters of people standing near the food and drink tables.

When his gaze touched her and stayed, she realized she was the one he hunted. He started toward her. Cassie’s heart bucked, and happiness arced through her like a rainbow.

Before Drew could reach her, Monroe returned, stepping in front of her and cutting her off from Drew.

“Did you miss me?” Monroe asked, taking one of her hands in his.

“You weren’t gone long,” she said.
Not nearly long enough
.

“It’s crazy to spend time with some ugly men outside when I have a pretty woman waiting for me in here.”

Cassie glimpsed Drew behind Monroe. He hesitated, and she could tell he was trying to decide whether to interrupt or leave them be. She held her breath, hoping, hoping… He frowned and turned aside. Disappointment crashed into her.

“Monroe Hendrix,” Mrs. Nelson said, “how come you haven’t played us a song tonight on your harmonica?”

“Those boys don’t need me,” Monroe said, looking toward the makeshift stage. “But thanks for asking there, Grandma Nelson.”

“Them boys is good, but they don’t have nobody playing the harmonica. You brung it, didn’t you? Then go on up there and play us a couple of tunes on it.” She looked around at the people nearby. “Don’t y’all want to hear Monroe Hendrix blow his harmonica tonight?”

Expressions of agreement rose from the onlookers. Out of the corner of her eye, Cassie saw Drew face them again. She squeezed Monroe’s hand.

“Go on,” she urged him, then pulled her hand from his. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing you play. Won’t you do this for me?” She looked into his eyes and placed a sweet smile on her lips. As she expected, his resolve melted.

“Very well. For you, Cassie.” Monroe bowed at the waist, then withdrew a silver and gold harmonica from his inside jacket pocket. With a definite strut to his stride, he made his way to the front of the barn, where the musicians were finishing a rousing rendition of “Turkey in the Straw.”

With Monroe no longer standing in front of her, Cassie had a clear view of Drew. His eyes locked with hers and he approached her. She realized she was holding her
breath again. Forcing herself to breathe, she marveled that Drew could evoke such reactions in her. Why, she couldn’t recall ever getting so worked up over a man! She warned herself to rein in her emotions, but it was too late. They stampeded her good sense, and she found herself slipping her hand into Drew’s without speaking a word to him and allowing him to guide her onto the dance floor.

A space was made for them. She was vaguely aware of people staring at her and frowns directed at Drew. Did he notice how his neighbors shunned him, disapproved of him? If he did, he paid them no notice. His arm circled Cassie’s waist, and the rest of the world slipped away. She looked up into his eyes, shaded beneath his hat brim, and felt the sexual pull of him. She could not see his father in his eyes or in his face or in the way he touched her. She was glad, because she wanted no reminders of A.J. Her time with him had been short but not short enough.

Her tainted relationship with A.J. was something Drew could sympathize with, something he shared with her. She doubted if A.J. had ever had a loving union with anyone. He’d been too selfish, too greedy to view anyone as his equal or as his partner. Not his wife. Not his son.

“I’m glad you’re wearing that dress I picked out and didn’t make me keep it,” Drew said, his voice a husky whisper near her ear as he bent down so that his lips brushed her hair and teased her skin. “It looks so much prettier on you than it would on me.”

“Think so?” Impulsively she bussed his cheek.

His brows shot up. “What’s that for?”

“For coming tonight.”

“I said I wouldn’t be caught dead here. Didn’t say anything about showing up alive and well.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “I didn’t think of that. Well, thanks anyway. It’s high time you showed yourself and let everybody get their gossiping about you over with.”

“What are they saying about me?”

“The usual—what have you been up to, who you’ve been doing it with, what your plans are, if you’re innocent or guilty.”

He released a quick laugh. “Any man in here over the age of five is guilty.”

She laughed with him. “Same could be said of females, too.” Smoothing a hand across his shoulder, she felt the crisp, spring-smelling material of his shirt and decided he was the most handsome man she’d ever danced with, and she’d danced with more than her share. When she had worked in saloons, the men had sometimes wanted to dance with her first, like that somehow made what they did with her later more acceptable.

“You having a good time with Roe?”

“Oh, he can be amusing,” she allowed and caught the flash of jealously in his blue eyes. He would never admit to her that he wanted to spit green fire every time he thought of Monroe Hendrix putting his hands on her, but he didn’t have to admit it. It was written plain as day on his face.

“You must like your men old and ragged.”

“Ragged? You mean, rugged, don’t you?”

“No, I mean ragged.”

“Age don’t matter. It’s what’s in a man’s heart that means something to me.”

“Then A.J. must have been a disappointment, since he didn’t have one to speak of.”

She grimaced and wagged her head. “True enough. I was buying a pig in a poke and got what I deserved, I reckon. But it wasn’t so bad. I wanted a home and I got one. I wanted a baby and I got one.”

“What do you want from Roe?” His jaw looked like it was carved out of bedrock.

“What I’ve got. His friendship. If I wanted more—which I don’t—I surely could get it.”

“You certainly are sure of yourself and not the least bit shy about singing your praises.”

“The good Lord blessed me with a pleasing appearance, and I realized years ago that I shouldn’t ignore it but learn to use it instead.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You are a rare find, Cassie. A woman who sings her own virtues but who can’t be called vain. Yes, a rare find.”

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, trying to decide for herself. “Doesn’t sound like one, but then…”

“It is,” he assured her.

The music faded and Cassie’s pleasure faded with it. She applauded with the others and hoped Monroe would heed the calls for one more tune, but he was already stepping off the bales of hay that formed a makeshift stage and weaving among the dancers, making his way toward Cassie and Drew.

“Here he comes,” Cassie whispered, ever mindful of Drew’s arms and hands slipping away from her.

“Your knight, your suitor, your Romeo,” Drew taunted in a whisper. “The king of the county, coming to claim his queen.”

“Oh, hush up!” Cassie stomped her foot squarely on top of Drew’s. She smiled at his quick intake of breath and held out her hands to Monroe. “Wasn’t that grand!
Monroe Hendrix, you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel.” She hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about, since she hadn’t actually listened to Roe’s mastery of the harmonica. For all she knew or cared, he had been thumbing his nose.