Deborah Camp (2 page)

“Gabe Brindle?”

“Gabe’s on my payroll,” she said, regarding the stranger warily. He knew too much about her. Way too much.

“Who’s in the house with your baby?”

“None of your business.”

He surveyed the sagging roof, the gray, unpainted boards of the porch and railings. “This place is in a sorry state. You’re not much of a housekeeper.”

“I’m the boss lady, not the housekeeper, and A.J. is the reason this place ain’t fit for rats.” She huffed out a breath, peeved at herself for coughing up excuses to this cock of the walk. “But I have plans for this place. Big plans.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” she assured him. Rising dust in the distance snagged her attention. She squinted, spotting two riders. One rode a palomino—the men from last night! Her gaze snapped back to the fancy rider. “Are those your friends coming to join you?”

He twisted around to have a look. “Never saw them before.”

“They were here last night. Funny they should return at the same time you show up in my porch yard.”

He faced her again. “I told you I don’t know them.”

She moved backward and up onto the porch. “Stay in there,” she whispered to Oleta through the screen door, “and stay low and out of sight.” She pulled shut the wood door.

The stranger glanced from her to the approaching horsemen, and Cassie felt a change in him. He sensed the danger, same as her. Although he made no threatening moves, she could tell he was coiled for action.

“Hey, there, ma’am,” the man on the palomino greeted her, touching the brim of his dirty white hat. “Thought we’d visit you again and see how you be faring.” He eyed the blue-eyed newcomer. “This one of your ranch hands?”

“I’m the foreman,” Blue Eyes said before Cassie could answer.

She started to call him a liar, then decided to keep quiet. If he wasn’t with these two varmints, then he was with her, and she’d use that to her benefit.

“The foreman, huh? I’m Reb Smalley and this here is my partner, Dan Harper. We’re looking to buy us a ranch and we’re hoping your boss lady here will sell us this one.”

“I told you this place ain’t for sale,” Cassie said. “You go on about your business and don’t come sniffing around here anymore.”

“You got expensive clothes for a foreman,” Dan Harper noted. He ran his tongue over his yellow teeth, then spit brown tobacco juice in the direction of the jittery stallion.

The black horse snorted, but Blue Eyes held him in check. “She pays me well,” he said, glancing at Cassie, eyes dancing for a moment. “From the looks of you two, I don’t reckon you could buy yourself a one-hole outhouse.”

Reb threw out his chest. “Can’t tell a book by its cover.” His gaze shifted to Cassie again. “We been over t’the Hendrix ranch and heard that your man
done died and left you more than you can handle.”

“Did Monroe Hendrix send you over here?” Cassie asked.

“After last night we figured we’d come by in the light of day and look the place over,” Reb continued, ignoring her question. “Maybe make you an offer. Ain’t that right, Dan?”

“That there’s right,” Harper agreed, shooting tobacco juice through his teeth again.

“The Square D is not for sale,” Cassie stated again, gripping the gun handle while trying to keep an eye on all three riders. “Y’all be on your way. I got work to do.”

“You ain’t heard our offer yet,” Dan said. “You got to hear us out first.”

Reb grinned, showing off surprisingly white teeth and pink gums. “A lady listens when a man talks to her. So shut your trap and open your ears. We’re trying to do you a favor.”

Anger closed off her throat and seared her insides at being told by yet another man to shut up and do as she was told. Cassie meant to raise the gun and threaten them with it, but before she could move a muscle, Blue Eyes had filled both hands with his lethal .44 Winchester rifle. He levered a round into the breech and aimed the weapon between the men, ready to blow holes through both of them.

Reb and Dan stared at the Winchester, and their fingers and eyes twitched.

“Don’t be stupid,” Blue Eyes advised, his voice deep and full of confidence. “Take my advice and make tracks, boys. You don’t want to draw on me. I’d kill you before you could clear your guns.”

“Hey, hey!” Reb glanced nervously at Cassie. The
red whiskers on his chin almost bristled. “What’s this? You gonna let your man here threaten us? We weren’t doing nothing but trying to do some business with you.”

“You heard him,” Cassie said, nonplussed by having Blue Eyes referred to as “your man.” “Make tracks. And don’t come back!”

When they still didn’t move, Blue Eyes raised the rifle and fired a round into the air. The stallion, although seemingly skittish, braced itself, ears laid back. The other two horses reared and pawed the air, ready to run. Blue Eyes waved a hand and shouted, sending the two horses racing for the horizon and their riders grabbing at reins and trying to stay on board.

Cassie couldn’t suppress a giggle, which brought those blue, piercing eyes back to her.

“They won’t give up as long as they think you own the place,” he said, slipping the rifle into the sling. “You’re not safe here. You’d better pack your things and head for town as soon as you can.”

“You don’t hear too good, do you?” Cassie asked, moving forward into the sunlight again.

The front door opened and Oleta stuck out her head. “Did somebody get shot?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“No.” Cassie flung her a frown. “Get inside.”

“Who else is in there with you,
señorita?
” Blue Eyes asked. “Besides the baby.”

“Just me,
señor,”
Oleta answered, batting her big, brown eyes at him.

“Oleta, hush up!” Cassie hissed. “And get back inside. And you….” She stepped onto the porch step. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t appreciate your questions or your advice.”

“Does Roe Hendrix have his eye on this place?”

“Yes.” She regarded him, catching the familiarity in his question. “You know Monroe Hendrix, do you?”

“Yes. Better than you do, I reckon.”

“Did he tell you I was looking to sell?”

“Haven’t seen Roe in almost three years.” He ran a hand through the horse’s ebony mane. “How did you aim to keep this land all by yourself?”

“I’m
not
by myself.”

“You have a couple of ranch hands and a nanny for your baby. This is a big spread. Eight hundred and eighty-five acres. What have you got—four or five hundred head of cattle?”

“More like five or six,” she said proudly, then scrutinized him. Damn if he didn’t know her holdings down to the last acre! Who had given him all this information if not Monroe or one of her ranch hands?

“As far as you can figure,” he drawled. “Hell, you haven’t done a head count. Don’t even know how many calves have dropped this week or last, do you?” He chuckled with derision. “No wonder Roe’s thinking he can make off with this ranch.”

“I know what he’s up to,” she said hotly. “He’s not pulling any wool over my eyes. Monroe Hendrix thinks he can flatter and charm and woo this land from me. He thinks I’ll get all gooey in my heart and marry him, but I won’t!”

“Marry him?” He blinked his sky-blue eyes and removed his hat. Sunlight swam over russet waves of thick hair that curled at his collar. “Shoot, he’s got twenty years on you.”

“Yeah, well, A.J. had fifty. That didn’t stop him any.”

He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with the cuff of his shirt, then froze and stared hard at her. “What’s that? Are you saying that old man Dalton was your
husband?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

He looked heavenward and laughed harshly. “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch! That dirty old fox, hitching up with a girl like you.”

“I’m not a
girl,”
she corrected him. “I’m a woman and the boss of this spread.”

His blue eyes measured her from the jaunty hat to the toes of her boots. Interest sparkled in those eyes before he averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

“What’s your name anyway?”

“Cassandra Dalton. Folks call me Cassie.”

“You must have wanted this place mighty bad to hook up with the old man.”

“I’ve got work to do.” She waved the gun at him, not liking his tone or his views. “Be on your way, mister.”

“That’s how you thank someone for chasing coyotes from your door?”

Justly chastised, Cassie delivered a stiff smile. “Thanks for your help, but I could have handled them.”

“Sure you could,” he said with undisguised disbelief. “Like you can handle this ranch? You’re dreaming, sweetheart.”

“I ain’t your sweetheart!” She raised the Colt again. “You get!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

One of the herding dogs burst from the bushes and yapped noisily when it spotted the stranger, then bared strong teeth and raised the blond fur along its spine.

“Is that you, Lasso? Hey, girl, it’s me. You remember me. Have you been swimming in the cow pond?”

The dog’s growl changed to a whine. She sat on her haunches and beat her tail on the ground, caking her wet fur with dirt.

“How do you know this dog?” Cassie asked, her curiosity seized.

“I belong on this spread more than you do.”

“Is that so? A. J. Dalton left this ranch to A.J. Dalton Junior—my baby. Seeing as he’s only ten months old, I’m overseeing the place until he’s grown,” she informed him. “I don’t mean to sell it, give it away, or have it stolen from me. If I have to shoot every vulture that lights on this land, I’ll do it. Don’t you doubt it, mister.”

That crooked grin was back, making her feel funny inside, distracting her. “A. J. Dalton Junior, huh?”

“That’s right. I call him Andy, but his full name is Andrew James Dalton Junior. Named after his pa.”

“Uh-huh.” He threw a leg over and slipped from the saddle, landing with animal grace and a jingle of spurs. Lasso trotted forward to lick the back of his hand. He patted the dog’s head, but his gaze stayed on Cassie. “Boss lady, you’re on the horns of a dilemma.”

“Oh, how’s that?” Cassie asked, propping one hand on her hip and leveling the gun at his stomach.

“Because
I’m
Andrew James Dalton Junior, which makes
your
whelp A.J. the Third.” The other side of his mouth lifted in a full-out smile that dazzled her even as his words devastated her. “This ranch is mine. All mine.”

H
e had to hand it to her. She was tough. From his stance near the porch steps, Drew Dalton admired the pint-sized female. There sure wasn’t much of her, but what was there was put to good use. Plus she had spirit and courage. For her to stand before him, brown eyes sparkling with defiance after he’d snatched her baby’s inheritance from her took backbone.

“A. J. never said anything to me about any other children,” she said, her kittenish voice containing an underlying growl. “Funny to me he would insist on naming our son after him when he already had one walking around.”

Drew glanced toward the burial plot again, his insides knotting and his heart crusting over. “It’s not funny to me at all. Sounds just like something the old devil would do.”

She lowered the gun. “Guess you knew him, but that don’t mean you’re related to him.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you, Shorty. All you have to do is ask T-Bone or Gabe. They’ll tell you who I am and that this ranch is rightfully mine.”

She puffed out a sigh and swept a long strand of white-blond hair back from her face. “I’m not standing here on the porch, jawing with you all day.” Throwing a glare at his horse, she made a dismissive gesture. “See to that big stud and come on inside. I’m gonna grab something to eat before I join up with the hands again. You’re welcome to partake.”

“You calling me a big stud, or Dynamite here?”

She cast him a long, speaking glance. “You figure it out, Junior.” Then she flung open the door and sashayed inside, her split skirt hugging her backside and making his mind quiver.

“Holy damn,” he muttered as he led the stallion to the shade of a tree. After loosening Dynamite’s saddle riggings, Drew sauntered into the house where he was born and raised.

Things were different. First off, he didn’t smell stale body odors, chewing tobacco, and whiskey. Sniffing, he identified the soft, unmistakable smell of a well cared for baby. He recognized other aromas: fresh coffee, yeast bread, prairie flowers, and lye soap. Smelled like a real home, he thought, surveying the combination parlor and kitchen. He remembered the furniture, but now it was shined up and spread with doilies and lace. Vases of flowers perked up dark corners. Plump pillows of bright yellow and green lay scattered on the old sofa and the two big rockers sat by the fireplace. He looked down at the floor. God Almighty, it was clean! He’d never known the boards to shine, and he sure hadn’t known they were wide planks of knotty pine.

“Take off your hat,” she said, already sitting at the kitchen table and tucking into a bowl of stew. Her hat and gloves lay on a low table near the sofa. “I didn’t
have much breakfast this morning,” she explained between spoonfuls. “Got to keep up my strength for little Andy. Oleta, slap together some sandwiches for the boys. I’ll take them with me.”

“Sí, sí.”
The dark-skinned girl hurried to obey, but sneaked a few fearful glances at Drew.

Hanging his hat on a peg by the door, Drew searched the horizon for any signs of Dan and Reb. Seeing nothing, he joined Cassie at the table. She pushed a bowl of stew at him. “You want water or coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“You want it black?”

“With sugar, if you have it.”

“We’ve got it. Oleta, pour him a cup.”

“Sí, sí.”

“The word for ‘please’ in Spanish is
por favor,”
Drew said, giving the Mexican girl a smile when she set the coffee mug in front of him. “And the word for ‘thank you’ is
gracias
.”

“I know that,” Cassie snapped.

“Oh, so you’re rude and snappish on purpose.”

“Oleta and me get along fine.” She glared malevolence at him. “It’s you and me I’m worried about.”