Deborah Camp (22 page)

He couldn’t tell what she was thinking when she looked at him, her eyes soft but somehow haunted. Rising from the chair and feeling stiff and swollen, he reached out to touch the bruise on her chin.

“What happened here?”

“I got kicked by a calf we were branding. It’s nothing.”

“Could have been something, though. You take on too much, Cassie. You should let men do that work and you—”

“Bake bread and breastfeed the baby?” she cut in. “I can do all that
and
help with the ranch.”

“But you don’t have to,” he said, trying not to pick a fight, especially with passion for her still smoking his mind and thickening his blood. “That’s all I’m saying. You don’t have to. Since you trust me now and you value my work—”

“Yes?” she asked, her head coming up, interest sparking in her eyes.

“You ought to go out more.” He almost winced, hating to speak the words, although he knew they were the right ones. Yes, he could take advantage of her now, but he wouldn’t. He thought too much of her. She needed a good man, a man worthy of her, and he knew that man wasn’t him.

Her brows met in a scowl. “Out where?”

“Out,” he said, gesturing toward the front door. “Out to socials or whatever. Out to town.”

“Town,” she repeated with a snarl. “What is it with you and town? You’re always wanting me to go there.”

“That’s where you’re more likely to meet a man.”

“Meet a man?” she parroted again, this time with a
short laugh. “I don’t have to go to town for that.”

“You mean Monroe?”

“Yes. And you.”

He shook his head. “You need to hook up with someone closer to your age. You up and married my father and he was way too old for you, and now you’re messing with Roe and he’s too old for you, too. You need someone younger.”

“Like you?” she persisted with a sly smile.

Drew edged away from her while he still could. She was working on him, chipping away at his defenses, making a mockery of his honorable intentions.

“Someone my age or younger. Like Ice.”

“Ice?” She laughed again. “I don’t want to take in someone else to raise, thank you.”

“You can do better than Roe. You need someone to help you raise that boy and give him brothers and sisters.”

But you couldn’t do that, huh? Something wrong with your equipment?”

He sent her a black look. “No, but I’m not fit to raise any children.”

She gave him a once-over. “And why not? You look fit to me.”

“In here.” He tapped his chest. “Just like my old man, my heart is dried up. He sure wasn’t a good father. I grew up with no one to look up to, to fashion myself after. Then in prison … Well, what heart I had is as hard as stone now.”

Cassie shook her head. “Don’t blame A.J. for your reluctance to love anyone, Drew Dalton. If we can’t rise above our families, then many of us are lost at birth. You pointed out before that Ice is a good man, but some
of his relatives aren’t. We all have free will, Drew. Even you.” She propped her hands on her hips, and the robe opened a little. He jerked his gaze away from her. “By the way, Viola dropped by to let you sample her wares. She was awfully disappointed to find you gone.”

Drew scratched absently at the bristles sprouting on his cheeks and chin. “Who? Viola? What are you talking about?”

“Viola Danforth,” she said somewhat angrily. “She came by today with a big basket of fried chicken to tempt you. We ate it for dinner. Wasn’t all that tasty, although Viola said she was famous for—”

“Danforth? Is she George’s sister?”

“Sister-in-law. She’s Lawrence’s widow.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about him dying, but I don’t recall seeing her—”

“She was at the barn dance.” Cassie pulled her robe more tightly around her and went into the parlor. She sat on the sofa and hugged herself. “She’s wanting to measure you for a wedding suit.”

He batted aside that notion. “I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Well, me neither.”

Drew slanted her a dubious glance. “That’s not true. You’re a nest builder. You came here to marry a stranger, you wanted a nest so bad. And you had yourself a baby soon as you could. You’re the marrying kind, all right.”

“How come you’re so dead set against it?” she asked, combing her fingers through her long hair and working out the tangles he had put there.

“Just doesn’t interest me.” He could see that she didn’t believe him, and he didn’t know what he could
say to convince her. In truth, he had never wanted to marry, but thoughts of a life with her kept intruding on him, messing with his head, his heart. It was damned unsettling. “You’ll marry again, though, if you ever get out and about and find yourself somebody worth your while.”

She shot up from the sofa, swayed on her feet, then placed a hand to her head and shut her eyes. “I’m too tired for this.”

Drew had an arm around her for support before he realized he’d moved. She slumped against him, and it was too late to withdraw his arm, too late to make her stand on her own. With her body against his, her heat mixing with his, his other arm circled her of its own volition. Natural. Right as rain. She sighed and tipped her head back to look into his eyes.

He wanted badly to kiss her again, but he knew he couldn’t stop himself again from taking all of her, and he didn’t think she’d try to stop him either.

Instead of kissing her mouth, he brought her hand up to his lips. He stroked her slim fingers and ran the pad of his thumb across her short nails. How he loved her hands. These hands she covered with gloves, keeping them soft and unblemished. A lady’s hands. He pressed his lips to her middle knuckle and she trembled. Her eyes were luminous, her breath sweet.

“Drew,” she whispered, “I swear, if you don’t—”

He curved his other hand at the back of her head and brought her face to his shoulder, stopping her words. Her useless, pointless words.

“You should go to bed,” he said, and he felt her stir restlessly against him, but he held her even closer, imprisoning her. “You can sleep up in the loft. I’ll make
do in the bunkhouse.” He let go of her and strode toward the front door. “It’s raining buckets, so nobody will get much work done. I’ve already told T-Bone to work without us today. We’re both dead on our feet. The way it’s raining, though, nothing much will get done.”

He meant to leave then, just leave and not look back at her or give her a chance to call to him, to say one more word to him, but something compelled him to pause, to look over his shoulder at her. She was sitting on the sofa again, her eyes bruised and dark, full of questions.

“When Ice comes to, I know he’ll thank you, but I want to thank you, too. We’re both beholden to you.”

She blinked slowly, then shook her head. “I did what anybody would do.”

“I’m not so sure. You did more than just patch him up.” He smiled, thinking how deceptively dainty she appeared. “For a little thing, you’re mighty strong.” He dipped his head. “’Night, Cassie. Get some sleep.” Then he opened the door to the wet day and plunged into it.

Cassie reached out, meaning to detain him, but none of the words in her head made it to her throat. Her hand fell back into her lap and she closed her eyes. She was drained. Wrung dry of emotion. Listlessly she made herself rise from the sofa and labor up the ladder to the loft. It wasn’t until she was halfway to the bed that it dawned on her she hadn’t been up here since Drew had claimed it.

Irritated at his intrusion, she’d refused to mount the ladder even to gather laundry. He’d brought her important papers and ledgers downstairs to her when she’d asked for them. She noted that he had shoved her desk,
crates, and the rest of her belongings into one corner and had draped a sheet over them.

His bed was simply a collection of blankets and bedding on the floor. An oil lamp and a box of matches lay atop a crate beside it. She approached the arrangement with trepidation. Could she sleep here, smelling him on the bedclothes, letting the blankets that warmed his flesh warm hers?

Slipping out of her robe, she eased her tired body onto the pallet and found it surprisingly comfortable. It was thick, and the blanket and sheet she pulled up over her were cozy. And they did smell of him.

Cassie inhaled the scent of Drew and cursed him for getting her all fired up over him and then acting as if she’d called him a bad name when she’d forgotten herself and said she was falling for him. What did he expect? Did he think she was the kind of woman who threw herself at a man when she cared nothing for him?

Well, of course he does
, an inner voice mocked her.
That’s exactly what you did with his father, isn’t it? Threw yourself into a marriage when you had barely met the man? Why shouldn’t his son think of you as no better than a whore?

Especially now, after she’d all but asked him to kiss her, to make love to her, would have if he hadn’t stopped her.

Her body throbbed with unspent desire, and she clutched at the bed covers and writhed with longing. Oh, the way he kissed her! The way his hands moved on her! Heaven. Sheer heaven. How could she sit back and watch some woman take him, seduce him, win him? Someone like Viola Danforth.

He might not be the marrying kind, but he was the
wanting kind, and he had wanted her—for a few minutes.

She would keep a tight rein on herself and not let herself fall too hard for him. She could do that. Wouldn’t be wise to let things go on too long, but a night or two of letting herself go, giving herself to him… how could that hurt? And by gum, she deserved it! She deserved to be with somebody who could make her heart gallop. Someone challenging. Drew had said it best.
Someone worth her while
.

Recalling the childhood game of tag, she let her fantasies run amuck in her mind.

“You’re it, Blue Eyes,” she murmured. “You’re
it.”

T
wo days later, T-Bone and Drew helped move Ice from Cassie’s bedroom to the bunkhouse. Weak but mending, Ice had insisted on vacating Cassie’s sanctuary, insisting that she should be back in her own room with her baby by her side.

Because Ice was showing signs of recovery, Cassie finally agreed. She wanted to sleep in her own bed again instead of taking Drew’s. She was tempted enough without having to lie upon bedding imprinted with his big, strong body.

The rain had stopped after soaking the land. Puddles glimmered in the sunshine, evaporating with each passing hour. The land greened up and the cattle were divided, some herded to the south pasture, the others winnowed out for market. They were put in a holding pen and given extra grain to fatten them for the trip the first of June.

Two young bulls were sold at high prices. Cassie heard that Monroe’s randy bulls were underweight and had crooked bones. Nobody had been interested. Finally Roe made a deal with Grandma Nelson, selling both for
half what one young bull had brought at the Square D.

After getting Ice settled into the bunkhouse, Drew brought the skittish mare out to the corral to work her. Spotting them through her bedroom window, Cassie quickly finished changing the sheets and went outside. Rain clouds scuttled off to the west, and the sun beat down, throwing diamonds into the mud puddles.

She loved to watch Drew work the horses, her fascination with his technique never waning. She’d heard of men, Indians mostly, who could speak a silent language to a horse and make the animal do his bidding, but she’d never seen the practice with her own eyes until she’d watched Drew. He could settle a nervous horse with a whispered word and slip a lead rope on with no trouble at all.

Climbing to the top fence rail, Cassie perched there and lifted a hand in greeting when Drew spotted her. He waved back before concentrating again on the jittery mare. The animal snorted and pranced nervously in the corral, flinging mud and attitude. The other animal in the pen, the two-legged one dressed in dark trousers, boots, dove-gray shirt, and red bandanna tied around his neck, moved with slow deliberation and in sharp contrast to the mare.

Cassie smiled, anticipation coiling pleasantly in her chest as she waited for the show to begin. She had found precious little time to be alone with Drew in the past two days. With Ice in the house, their usual routine had been interrupted. Drew had taken his meals with Ice in her bedroom to spend time with his friend and encourage his recovery. With Drew sleeping in the bunkhouse, T-Bone and Gabe had seen more of him than Cassie lately.

The time apart had given her a chance to cool off and
consider her desire for him. She wanted him, wanted to be loved by him, but she doubted she’d be satisfied with only a night or two in his arms. How could she live with the man after having him intimately but knowing she could not have him totally? It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, she told herself. He deserved a decent woman. He’d been through hell and back and he should have everything wonderful from here on. She just wished she could be that somebody wonderful.

The mare suddenly stopped, stared at her two-legged nemesis for a full minute, then reared and swung and trotted to the far side of the corral, tail swishing.

Drew chuckled. “See what she did?”

“What?” Cassie asked, knowing there must be more to what she had seen.

“She’s showing her disrespect. She told me to get along and leave her be.”

“What will you—”

He held up a hand to silence her. The mare was looking at him again, her head swung around, tail still swishing. Drew moved forward. The mare gave a whinny, showed her blocky teeth, and trotted to the other corner, farther away.

Wonder what she said then?
Cassie wondered. Drew sauntered forward a few steps, stopped, fingered the bridle in his hands, whistled softly. The mare’s ears flicked forward.

“Easy, easy, easy,” he chanted in a whisper in time with his footfalls as he approached the mare, not directly, but in a zigzag pattern.

The mare stood still, seemingly as transfixed as Cassie was. But when Drew was within reach of her, the gray horse whirled away. Drew whistled. The mare stopped.
Drew shuffled his feet in the dirt, turned on his heels, and walked away from the horse.