Deborah Camp (24 page)

V
iola’s visit had left Cassie in a bad mood that she couldn’t seem to shake. At supper she poked at the steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed corn, and fluffy biscuits she’d prepared, taking over the cooking duties from Oleta because she had a burning need to impress Drew with her abilities.

Childish, she told herself, but was delighted when he made the appropriate sounds of praise as he tasted each item.

“Andy likes your cooking, too,” Oleta said, smiling as she spooned potatoes and gravy into the baby’s open mouth. Gravy dribbled down his chin and he giggled when Oleta spooned it up. He patted his hands, eager for more.

“You like Mama’s food, sweet cheeks?” Cassie asked, planting a kiss on her son’s blond hair. She smoothed his curls. “He’s growing like a weed. Before I know it, he’ll be riding horses and roping cattle.”

“He took to walking like a duck to water,” Drew said with a shake of his head.

“He’s running us ragged, isn’t he, Oleta?” Cassie asked.

“
Sí
. He is quick as a bunny.” Oleta lifted Andy from the high chair. “It is nice outside. I’ll take him for a walk with me. He likes to watch the chickens.”

After Oleta left with the baby, Cassie touched Drew’s arm. “I think Oleta has a beau.”

“Who?”

“A ranch hand from over at Monroe’s place. She met him at the dance. He’s shy. His name is Ben.”

“I thought she might strike up an acquaintance with Ice.”

“No, Ice is too wild for her. Oleta is afraid of most men. She likes the quiet type.”

“You think she’s meeting him now?”

“Could be. She takes a lot of walks lately.”

“But with the baby?”

“That way I won’t be suspicious and ask a lot of questions,” Cassie explained. “But I know what she’s up to. I’m glad she’s got someone, as long as he’s good to her.”

Drew glanced around the table, obviously looking for something.

“What do you need?” she asked, eager to comply.

“Where’s that jar of pear honey Viola brought?”

Cassie’s mood darkened abruptly. “Why?”

“I thought it would taste good on these biscuits. I put it on the table earlier.”

“I know. I took it
off
the table.”

He studied her for a moment. “You didn’t throw it out, did you?”

“No.” Surging up from the chair, she went to the cupboard, moved aside some tins and canisters, and reached into the very back for the jar of pear honey. She set it beside him with a thump. “There.” Then she began
stacking dishes and preparing wash water, keeping her back to him as much as possible. She wanted to pound him. Ungrateful buzzard! Asking for Viola’s concoction to pour on her own perfectly prepared biscuits! She was a good mind to snatch the biscuits right off the table and toss them out to the chickens.

“Something wrong with you?” Drew asked.

“No,” she snapped, despising him for even asking such a stupid question.

After a tension-filled minute, he shifted in his chair, opened the jar of pear honey, and sniffed it. “Smells good.” He glanced at her. Was that a smirk in his eyes? “If there’s anything that can sweeten the sour mood you’ve been in all day, I wish you’d do it.”

Cassie faced him and gripped the edge of the cabinet behind her. “You mean that?”

“I surely do,” he drawled, dribbling the pale golden syrup onto one of her delicious biscuits.

Before he could move a muscle to stop her, Cassie grabbed the plate of biscuits, including the one he’d poured Viola’s slop on, walked briskly to the door, and threw them into the yard. The herding dogs that had been sleeping on the porch scrambled for the offerings, gobbling the rounds of bread like they were sirloin steaks.

Cassie kicked the door shut, went to the dishpan, and slid the empty plate into the water.

“Are you out of your everlovin’ mind?” Drew demanded, rising slowly from the chair to glower at her. “Just what good did that do?”

“Made me feel better,” she answered. “Sweetened my mood. If my biscuits aren’t good enough for you without pouring that goo Viola made all over them, then
I’d just as soon let the hounds have them.”

Red color stained his neck and cheeks. “You’re jealous, that’s all that’s wrong with you.”

That, she couldn’t admit to him, although she had already done so to herself. Giving in to her anger, she snapped the dish towel at him, making him flinch. She thrust her face up to his.

“I don’t like to see any woman make a fool of herself over a man,” she declared, and inside she cringed, because she could well have been talking about herself. “Viola Danforth should be ashamed, flaunting herself, batting her lashes, and twittering like a bird at every word you utter! Makes me want to spit up my supper!”

He curled his upper lip. “Jealous,” he said.

“Dunderhead!” She gave him her back again and stuck her hands into the soapy water. “Watching you with her made me embarrassed for the both of you.”

“Nobody asked you to spy on us.”

“I didn’t need to spy. You two were acting like fools out in the open for anybody to see you.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Then leave me alone.” She aimed a black look at him over her shoulder.

He headed for the door, lifting his hat off the peg on the way out. “What you need is to be honest with yourself and admit what’s really got you so stirred up.”

“Look who’s talking,” she jeered. “Just look who’s talking. You don’t let anybody know what you’re feeling or thinking. You lie to everybody, including yourself. Strutting around and preaching about how you don’t need no woman in your life when it’s plain you need the loving of a good woman so bad you can’t hardly stay in the same room with me for more than a few
minutes without picking a fight or running up to the loft or to the bunkhouse.”

“I’m not the one acting crazy around here.” He rammed his hat onto his head and escaped her.

Cassie wanted to go after him and apologize for her irrational behavior, but pride rooted her to the spot. She finished the dishes and heated water for a bath. To make room for the tub, she moved Andy’s crib from the bedroom, placing it just outside her door, and dragged the copper tub to where the crib had been. She filled it, carrying bucket after bucket of water from the barrel they kept full beside the stove. She added two pans of hot water. A long soak would do her good, she thought, sensing the tightness in her muscles.

She undressed and slid into the warm water. Lathering herself with rose-scented soap, she took her time and enjoyed the ritual of bathing. When she was done, she lay back and closed her eyes.

Someone tapped at her bedroom door and she sighed wearily. “Yes, Oleta?” she called.

She heard the door open behind her. “I am back with Andy. He is fast asleep.”

Cassie glanced around at the crowded room. “There isn’t room in here for his bed and this tub.”

“Stay where you are,” Oleta said when Cassie grabbed the sides of the tub, preparing to climb out. “I’ll take him and the crib into my room.”

Cassie looked over her shoulder at Oleta and Andy. “Would you? Thanks. I was hoping to soak some of the soreness from my muscles.”

“Okay. Good night,” Oleta said, backing out of the doorway.

“Good night, Oleta. Give Andy a kiss for me.”

Cassie closed her eyes again, and a curious sadness stole across her when she mulled over the past few days and her arguments and frustrations with Drew. What a couple of twisted hearts. They were lonely and lost, but they put up brave fronts. Her common sense told her to keep apart from him, but with each passing day that was becoming less and less tolerable. She was attracted to him in a way she had never been to any other man.

In fact, she hadn’t believed it was possible for her to experience such an intense infatuation. Men had been part of her life since she was old enough to flirt—even before that—but men had never been much more than protectors or providers to her. They weren’t objects of deep affection or tenderness. While she’d envied some marriages she’d seen, she hadn’t envisioned such a relationship for herself. She couldn’t imagine being starry-eyed in love or so devoted that she wanted nothing more than to please one man.

When A.J. had died, she’d been relieved and happy to face a future alone with her son. All she needed was Andy to love, she’d believed. But then Blue Eyes had ridden into her life and reminded her that a child could not satisfy every need or fill every nook and cranny of a woman’s heart.

It was a bitter joke that A.J.’s eldest son should inspire her to dream of love. He was so unlike his father.

There was a tenderness in Drew that had been totally lacking in A.J. One had only to watch Drew with his horses to see that this man was in touch with his softer side. In her mind she could see his hand moving slowly along a horse’s flank, hear his voice registering low and husky, feel the intensity of his gaze. She shivered and released the vision.

Rising, she stepped from the tub and grabbed a towel from the dresser top. She wouldn’t throw herself at him anymore like Viola had done, but she wouldn’t fool herself either by denying her attraction to him. She liked the feelings he sparked within her. The rush of blood, the breathlessness, the awareness of her female powers and of his male prowess—all were intoxicating! At first she had feared these symptoms, viewing them as weaknesses that could destroy her, but now she was relieved to experience them. She’d convinced herself that her past life had destroyed any chance for her to know mutual respect between a man and a woman. Any decent man wouldn’t want her once he discovered she’d sold her body to the highest bidder. In a way she’d done that again when she’d answered the ad for a wife and arrived in Kansas to marry A.J. Dalton, sight unseen.

She hadn’t expected love, just marriage and maybe a child or two. A.J. had been pleased, but he’d never trusted her and had certainly never loved her. He had loved to look at her and to have her around to show off, as he would a prize steer, but her happiness was not something he cared about.

The best, of course, had been Andy.

She remembered the first time she’d felt Andy move in her womb and how that was the moment she had vowed to give her baby everything in life she’d never had—a home, stability, and the knowledge that he came first with someone, that no sacrifice was too great, no danger too threatening, no challenge too daunting where he was concerned. He was her treasure, and she wanted to be sure he knew it, felt it.

Cassie ran a hand over her flat stomach, recalling a time when it had been huge and tight as a drum, full of
squirming baby. Standing before the dresser, she looked into the mirror and remembered how wonderful it had been to be with child. Would she ever experience it again?

Lately a feeble flame of hope had ignited in her heart, and she had envisioned brothers and sisters for Andy. Siblings would be good for him. If it hadn’t been for her own brothers and sisters, she would have been a terribly lonely child.

A little girl with blue eyes and russet hair, she mused. Or maybe a boy with dimples and the Dalton chin. Sighing, she allowed the images to swirl in her head like clouds across a sky as blue as Drew’s eyes….

The sound of the front door opening and closing veered her thoughts abruptly back to the present. When she felt the change in the air around her, the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Oleta had not closed her bedroom door firmly enough, and it had crept open.

Tensing, she waited, not wanting to turn around until she heard Drew climbing the ladder to the loft. However, in the next moment she heard his footfalls coming toward her instead of away, and she spun around, one arm across her breasts to hold the small drying towel in place while she reached frantically with her other hand for something larger with which to hide her nakedness.

His hands covered her shoulders and she gasped as he spun her around so that she faced the mirror again. His reflected expression further shocked her. He was furious! But why?

“Who did this? Was it him?” he growled. “That sorry son of a bitch who sired me?”

She had no idea what he was talking about until she felt his fingers trace the scars crisscrossing her back.

“He beat you? Whipped you like you were his dog? If he were here now I’d strangle the bastard.”

“No, no,” Cassie said, finally recovering from her shock enough to speak. “It wasn’t A.J. who whipped me.” She saw the suspicion lurking in his eyes and turned sideways to place a hand on his arm. He was trembling, shaking with fury. “He didn’t,” she insisted. “It was someone else, before I came here.”

Easing away from him, she reached for her robe and slipped into it.

“Who was it?” he asked, standing his ground.

“A man I worked for. He thought he owned me and he could do whatever he wanted to me. I left him and came here to marry A.J.”

“What about that puckered scar on your shoulder?”

She had to think for a moment before she understood what he meant. Her hand went to the place and she felt it beneath her robe. “Oh, this. I’ve had it for years. I was shot by an arrow there when I was a child.”

“My God!” His eyes widened. “Was it an Indian raid?”

“Sort of, but it was white men dressed up like Indians. They attacked my family’s wagon.” Suddenly she felt exposed, her scars revealed to him along with the ugly parts of her life. She inched back and pulled the robe tighter, folding it at the throat. “I know they’re not pretty. But with my clothes on I’m passable.”

He crooked a finger under her chin and brought her gaze up to his again. “You’re more than that and you damn well know it.”

She smiled, grateful for the compliment. Lifting her chin from the support of his finger, she looked away from him. “My body used to be fetching. You know,
unmarked. But there’s nothing I can do to hide the scars. I’ve thought and thought. I even tried to paint over them once. That was a horrible mess.” She laughed lightly and pressed her fingers to the healing wound on his arm. “Now you’re marked, too.” Had she known even when she was dressing this wound that she would eventually end up in this room, wanting him?