Deborah Camp (37 page)

“Ice!”

Cassie sighed and sat down heavily in the rocker. She felt as hollow as a dry well.

Drew opened the door. Ice stood on the porch, hopping from one foot to the other.

“She’s going to foal,” he announced, his voice pitched high with excitement. “I checked on the mare, and she’s ready to pop out her baby any minute now.”

“Holy smoke!” Drew grabbed his hat and coat off the peg. “How’s she doing?”

“Pretty good, I think. Hey, that’s what we ought to call her. Holy Smoke.”

“Sounds right to me.” Drew looked back at Cassie and struggled to punch his arms through the right holes in his coat. “You coming?”

She shook her head. “You go on.”

“You sure?”

“Go on,” she repeated.

He frowned before closing the door behind him. Cassie listened to the men’s voices diminish as they hurried
to the barn. She stared at the flames in the hearth and touched her fingertips to her throbbing lips, still tender from his drugging kisses.

Use her. Is that what making love to her was in his mind? She cringed at the thought.

“I can’t stay here,” she said, her voice sounding to her as if it had come from a great distance. “Not even for Andy.”

Use her.

She shivered in revulsion. Obviously when he looked at her now, all he saw was a whore. No, she couldn’t live here with him thinking of her like that. She loved him and always would, but she couldn’t bear his low opinion of her. He had made her hope that she could be the woman in his life and that he could be father to her child, but it was not to be.

Lord, this was hard. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to overtake her. Nothing she’d suffered was any worse than thinking about leaving Drew Dalton.

At the door of the barn, Drew hung back. Ice stopped and whirled around, motioning him forward.

Drew shook his head and leaned against the outside wall. He bent over, propping his hands on his knees. The heartache was as severe as any injury he’d ever suffered. “Go ahead. I’ll be right there. I need a minute.”

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“Just go on,” he almost shouted. “Leave me be!”

“Okay, okay!” Ice held up his hands and retreated into the barn.

Drew sucked in cool air and blinked moisture from
his eyes. How the hell was he going to stay on here, feeling like he did about Cassie? He couldn’t imagine being around her and not putting his hands on her, stroking her, loving her, pressing his mouth to hers. She was so sweet, so giving that she’d let him paw her, satisfy his hunger for her, but then she’d shown her true feelings when she’d let loose that small sound—a wounded animal sound.

He was like all the men in her life—taking and never giving unless he was sure to be well compensated. That’s all she’d ever known of men. But he would change that.

His head came up and he straightened slowly. He pressed the heel of his hand to his thumping, aching heart. Yes, he’d change that. He would be the first man to give her something with no strings attached. He’d expect nothing of her, take nothing from her. In this way he would prove to her—
show
her—how much he loved her.

She meant the world to him, so he’d give her his world. He’d give her his ranch.

The ache eased around his heart, and he looked up at the starry heavens. A weight seemed to lift off him and rise up to the sky. He blinked away tears and sent a smile upward, then he went inside the barn to help Ice with the foaling mare.

The next day Drew stifled a huge yawn as he pulled himself up onto Dynamite’s back and shifted his backside until he found it a good fit in the saddle. Dynamite turned his head and nipped at Drew’s knee.

“Hey, stop that” Drew slapped the horse’s rump, getting a trot out of him. “I know it’s late in the day,
but I slept in. Hell, I was up until past breakfast with that mare and her new baby. Prettiest filly you ever saw, Dynamite. She’s going to have a deep gold-colored coat and white markings. Aw, she’s special. She’s got a lot of spirit. A real heartbreaker.”

He realized he was chattering away like a jaybird, so he ground his teeth together and focused his bleary eyes on the land before him. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Cassie bent over in the vegetable garden. What would she think about naming the filly Little Nugget?

He’d been disappointed when she hadn’t come out to the barn to watch the filly being born last night. She probably thought it best if she kept her distance. She was probably right.

Looking up at the sun, he determined it was somewhere around two o’clock. Ice must be in the fields, loading up the wagon with hay to be taken to the barn. With only the three of them to do the chores, the work was piling up. But thank God he had something to occupy him other than his lusting for Cassie and his frustration over the cattle rustling.

He had learned patience while in prison, but those lessons were being tested. He’d told the sheriff he’d wait to hear from him, but he was finding it difficult to keep his word. He itched to confront Roe man to man, just the two of them. Wouldn’t take him long to wring a confession out of Monroe Hendrix.

Once his name was cleared, he intended to talk to Cassie about the ranch and how she preferred that things should be handled. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her.

Shaking his head like a fly-crazed cow, he vowed to place Cassie’s happiness before his own.

The way she’d looked at him last night when Ice had knocked at the door and interrupted them… Drew closed his eyes in self-loathing, recalling how her eyes had shone with unshed tears and her skin had been so pale. Must have been the same look she gave men who plunked down a few dollars to have their way with her.

He hoped never to see that expression on her face again.

Dynamite had slowed to a leisurely pace. The morning had been cool, but the sun was high and hot, warming the air quickly. Heat rose in waves from the grassland, and Dynamite’s coat was damp in places. Flies buzzed and bees darted from blossom to blossom. He squinted at the sun, then down at the green grass. They could use another rain.

Were those tracks? He recognized some as Square D horses. He’d shoed them himself and knew his own work. The other, though, he didn’t recognize.

Something—maybe fate, maybe luck—made him look up in time to see the sun reflect off something shiny some distance away among an outcropping of brush and wild blackberry bushes. Drew slipped off Dynamite and led him over to the shade of a sycamore. He removed his rifle from the saddle sling, then left Dynamite with a command to stay put. Moving toward the bank of brush, Drew walked on silent feet. He saw a man’s boots sticking out from under one of the bushes. The man was lying flat on his belly. A short sprint away his horse grazed, chomping on grass, the reins dangling.

Responding to a sixth sense that warned him to go slow and quiet, Drew approached the man from his right side. He stopped, hidden by brush, to examine the intruder. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the black
patch covering the left eye. Buck Wilhite. What the hell was he doing?

Wilhite’s rifle lay beside him. He held something up to his face, but Drew couldn’t make it out until Wilhite shifted slightly, readjusting his arms, and Drew saw that he was peering at something through a spyglass.

Crouching low, Drew moved off to one side of Wilhite and was able to view what the man was spying on. Ice!

Ice was working in the hay field, shirt off and brown skin gleaming with sweat. With pitchfork in hand, he slung mounds of hay into the wagon, unaware he was the center of attention.

Drew recalled how Wilhite had spit at Ice when he found out Ice was part Blackfoot. There had been venom there, enough to poison a man to the bone. Suddenly Drew knew that Wilhite wasn’t just watching Ice. He meant to kill him.

Drew retraced his steps back toward Wilhite. The man was no longer looking at Ice through the spyglass. That instrument lay on the grass, its lens catching and casting the sunrays.

Propped on his elbows, Wilhite wedged the rifle more comfortably against his shoulder and took aim with his remaining eye. Drew covered the ground in six strides. He stepped down on the barrel of the long-distance rifle and rested the tip of his own .44 Winchester against the small of Wilhite’s back.

“Take your finger off the trigger or I’ll flex mine,” he told him, watching a bead of sweat roll down Wilhite’s nose.

Wilhite’s lips curled back, but he released the rifle. Drew gave his shoulder a kick.

“Get up. Slow.”

Wilhite rose first to his knees, then to his feet. “I should have finished you and that stinking Blackfoot when I had the chance.”

“You’re the one who shot Ice, aren’t you? Did you think he was me?”

“He was wearing your clothes.” Wilhite grinned. “Didn’t matter to me who I shot, but it mattered to somebody else. I figured I’d get you another day.”

“Who does it matter to? Your boss man? Roe Hendrix?”

Wilhite spat at the ground. “I ain’t saying nothing to you. I don’t talk to dead men, and you’re as good as dead.”

“Turn around and walk into the clearing,” Drew said, following behind the man and watching for any false moves. When they were in the open, Drew fired his rifle at the sky. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ice whirl around. He motioned for Ice to join him. “Don’t try anything,” he warned Wilhite. “I have no qualms about filling you full of lead. None whatsoever.”

Ice hopped into the wagon and strapped the two stocky horses into a creditable gallop. He’d been some distance away, but no hard target for Wilhite’s powerful weapon. Ice used all his weight to pull back on the reins and stop the excited steeds.

“What’s going on? Was he stealing cows?”

Drew shook his head. “He was aiming to shoot you dead.”

Ice’s face went still and his light-colored eyes seemed to glaze over as he glared at a smirking Wilhite. “I will cut out your heart!”

“Yeah, but first you will go for the sheriff,” Drew
said. “After you help me truss him up. You can ride his horse. I’ll drive back to the house in the wagon. Dynamite will follow us. I’ll chain this dung heap in the barn, and he can wait there for the law.”

“I say we hang him. To hell with the sheriff.”

“Being in your barn again will bring back fond memories,” Wilhite said.

“What’s he talking about?” Ice asked Drew.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to get a rise out of us. He’s hoping we’ll make a wrong move and give him a chance to run like a rabbit.”

“Yeah, the last time I was in your barn I was getting some smooch off your pa’s widow.”

For a moment Drew thought the world had slipped out from under him. He measured Wilhite with his eyes, seeing past the smirking mouth to the blackness of his soul. Once this man had been human, but no more.

“You’re lying!” Ice shouted.

“That’s right.” Wilhite chuckled. “I’m lying. Ask her,” he challenged Drew. “I’m surprised she didn’t already tell you about us rolling around in the hay that night. Ain’t her skin soft as silk?”

“Let’s hang him right here!” Ice demanded, shaking with fury.

Drew motioned for Ice to climb down from the wagon. “You got any rope?”

“Sí
, I got some rope. Plenty enough to do the job.” Ice jumped down, then rummaged in the back for a coil of thick rope.

Together Drew and Ice bound Wilhite’s hands behind his back and hobbled him. Wilhite offered little resistance other than to curse at them roundly.

“Help me get him onto the wagon seat,” Drew said.

Ice stared at him. “We’re not going to hang him?”

“No. He’s going to clear my name before he dies.” Drew placed a hand on Ice’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “I want him dead, too, but let’s not be so quick to give the man what he’s begging for. Believe me, my friend, there are things much worse than death in this world.”

Ice thawed a bit and gave a terse nod. They hoisted their captive up onto the wagon seat. Drew whistled for Dynamite, and the horse came at a gallop.

“His rifle is over there in those bushes. Be sure and take it with you to the sheriff.” Drew pointed to the thicket. “You ever line up dominoes, then topple one and watch the others fall?” He grinned at Ice and bobbed his head toward Wilhite. “Once we tell the sheriff what this man was doing, it’ll be the same as giving that first domino a push. The others will soon be falling, my friend. Just you wait and see.”

“I would like to tear this man limb from limb.”

“I know, I know.” Drew placed a hand on the hothead’s shoulder. “So would I, but then we’d only be making more trouble for ourselves. Now, get. I don’t want this mangy coyote stinking up my barn any longer than he has to.”

Ice retrieved the long rifle, but he couldn’t pass Wilhite without baring his teeth and muttering darkly in Spanish. Hopping onto the back of Wilhite’s horse, Ice kicked the animal into a ground-gobbling run.

Drew climbed up and sat beside Wilhite on the hard wagon seat. He unwound the reins from the brake lever and slapped them across the broad backs of the horses. The wagon rolled forward with a chorus of squeaks and groans.

Frowning, he thought of Cassie’s failure to tell him that Wilhite had attacked her in the barn. He didn’t doubt the man’s story. It would be simple enough to check out, so there would be no reason for him to lie. Wilhite had jumped Cassie in the barn, and Cassie had kept her mouth shut about it. Probably because she didn’t want to give Drew a reason to put his life on the line for her by calling Wilhite out for a gunfight.

Stubborn, willful, gutsy Cassie. Unwittingly Wilhite had given Drew yet another reason to love the woman.

“The sheriff won’t do a damn thing to me,” Wilhite said. “When I tell him that I was following the trail of a cattle rustler and you jumped me out of nowhere, he’ll believe me. He sure won’t believe someone who until lately was rubbing up against hairy butts in prison.”

Drew backhanded him so hard that he sent him flipping over the seat and into the hay Ice had mounded in the wagon bed. He glanced over his shoulder and was glad to see Wilhite spit blood.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll stuff it full of buffalo grass and horse manure, you sorry bag of wind.” Drew hammered him with a blunt glare.