How to Lasso a Cowboy (21 page)

Marilee snuggled into his embrace for a moment, then looked up.

Elizabeth prayed the child wouldn't say anything about yesterday, about her brother. Best that her father left before he knew about Sinclair.

And then . . .

She had plans.

They did not include Major Delaney. Compared to the rebel who had saved her life, he was certainly wanting in many aspects. Certainly appearance. She suspected in character as well.

She'd never thought she would—could—be attracted to a rebel, to someone who fought against his own country. And yet his devotion to his family and his courage in stopping the horse had more than impressed her. She was moved by his gentleness with his sister despite his obvious desire to grab her and take her away.

She had never been affected by a man as she was by him. His touch had been like a brand that seared through her blood. Her heart raced when she thought of him.

Elizabeth had never believed in love at first sight and of course, it hadn't been at first sight. But she suspected second sight was just as risky.

Particularly when he wanted what her father had.

She told herself such feelings were fleeting. Love, if there was such a thing, was built on trust, and knowledge of each other and common interests. She had no common interests with an angry gun-toting rebel.

And he most certainly would have no interest in the daughter of the man he believed stole his homestead. She had no attributes to attract a man like him.

Still, she barely suppressed a heady anticipation as she thought about seeing him again.

 
SETH ARRIVED AT
his old home about noon to find only Elizabeth McGuire and his sister at home. He had expected her father to be home after the mishap yesterday. He wore his gun, though he'd hoped after the war that he would never have to use it again.

Elizabeth opened the door, her face puckered in an uncertain frown. It caught him by surprise, confusing him. His heart kicked and his stomach clenched. She had always been so certain in previous encounters, even after being attacked yesterday.

“What's wrong?” he asked as his gaze shot beyond her shoulder to the interior of the house. “Marilee?”

“She's fine. I thought. . .” She shook her head and opened the door for him.

He entered, looking around for his sister. “Thought what?” he probed, even as his gaze continued to search for Marilee. “Where is she?”

“She's . . . reluctant to see you. I thought perhaps a picnic
would help. Marilee loves picnics. I . . . well . . . I prepared a few things. Not much. If you don't want . . .”

A picnic, by God. The last one was the day before he'd left for war. The church had hosted a picnic to say good-bye to those going off to fight.

They'd all thought they would be back before year's end.

It wasn't nearly five years ago. It was a lifetime.

Elizabeth McGuire continued to watch him with an uncertain expression. She obviously expected him to turn her down.

A picnic with his sister—and Miss McGuire—suddenly sounded very good. “Thank you,” he said simply, humbled suddenly by her attempt.

He glanced at a basket that was sitting on a table just inside.

“Where's your father?”

“He and Howie are looking for strays. We've been losing cattle.”

“Does he know I'm back?”

“Why should he care?” The lie was in her eyes. She had not told him. She had probably even encouraged him to leave today. She had guessed far more than he'd realized. He had been in the mood to confront McGuire if he had tried to keep him from his sister.

Her gaze met his. Damn but her eyes were pretty. Appealing in their uncertainty. He had learned she was not an uncertain woman. Something intense flared through him. A combination of desire and attraction.

Hell, she was the last woman in the world that should arouse such a reaction.

“I'll hitch the buggy,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her.

Moments later, Elizabeth McGuire emerged from the house, one hand holding Marilee's, the other holding the basket and a blanket.

He took the basket and blanket from her, placed them in the buggy, and went to swing Marilee into the buggy.
Instead, she shied away. At least, he comforted himself, she didn't run from him in terror.

He steeled himself against the hurt and moved away. He'd already decided to ride Chance. Now he knew it was a good decision.

Elizabeth helped Marilee into the buggy. Then Elizabeth accepted his hand in stepping up. A pair of very shapely legs showed as her dress hitched up. Her hand felt warm in his.

Warm, hell! It was burning.

He stepped away as if burned. She looked just as startled.

He mounted Chance and followed her as she drove to a spot along the river. The water was down now, barely more than a stream, but it was shaded by cottonwoods and spotted by wildflowers.

He knew every foot of this bank. He and his brothers used to swim here when it was swollen, and fished when it carried only a trickle of water. For a moment, those scenes flashed back. He saw Dillon teasing the twins, daring them to swim across. They tried, and he had to jump in and keep them from being carried downstream. He had given them only a few more years.

He dismounted and hobbled Chance. This time he didn't try to help either Marilee or Elizabeth McGuire down. He'd realized he couldn't force himself on Marilee. He might lose her forever if he tried.

Instead, he stood aside until they were both down, then he reached in the buggy and picked up the picnic basket and blanket. He found a spot under a cottonwood and spread the blanket on the ground.

Still, Marilee looked at him suspiciously.

He knelt in front of her, so his eyes could meet hers. He did not want to be a giant. “I'm Dillon's brother, you know,” he said.

Marilee looked at him with wide eyes. “Dillon went away.”

He wanted to say he had seen Dillon, but he couldn't. Not in front of the woman.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I'm here. I used to hold you when you were a baby. I used to sing you songs.”

Marilee backed into Elizabeth McGuire but her gaze didn't leave his.

Progress.

“What songs?” she finally asked.

He hummed a lullaby he used to sing to her, then voiced the words, feeling them strangling in his throat. He had loved music. His entire family had. How many nights had they sat together, he and his father playing their guitars, his brother a harmonica. He hadn't seen that guitar in almost five years. It was something else still at the home which had been his family's.

He finished the song, a French lullaby his mother had taught him.

“Dillon used to sing that to me,” Marilee said slowly. Though her body still leaned into Elizabeth's, some of the reserve had left her expression.

He looked up at Elizabeth and saw tears hovering in her eyes.

Those eyes were so clear, so damnably honest.

The tears weren't there for herself. Certainly not for him. They were there for his sister.

He sat down on the blanket. “Your mother used to sing it to Dillon and me,” he said. “She died not long after you were born.”

“Where are my other brothers? Papa said there were four.”

“Two died. They are in . . . heaven.” He didn't really believe in heaven. Not after visiting hell on earth. “But they loved you. And they are looking after you.”

“Why didn't they look after Papa?”

“I don't know, sweetpea. Maybe it happened before they could do anything.”

She looked at him with skepticism, even as she kept as close to Elizabeth as a shadow. “Dillon called me sweetpea,” she said.

“We all did,” he said gently. “We all loved you.”

A rustling sound came from the trees beyond. He spun around, rising to his feet in one fast movement, his hand going automatically to the gun in its holster.

He heard a child's scream behind him.

But he couldn't holster the gun. Dillon had warned him. Delaney's men were not above an ambush. They had not been above frightening—perhaps killing—a woman by making her horse bolt.

No one was going to harm one of his again. No one!

“Mr. Sinclair?”

Elizabeth's soft voice was full of questions. He hadn't realized how soft it was.

“I heard a noise,” he said as his gaze moved around the brush and trees. He heard another sound, this time more of a whimper.

He moved forward slowly, keeping the gun in his hand. Another sound. Something moving through the underbrush. He didn't think it was a man now. An animal of some kind. Perhaps a wounded one.

He moved silently ahead.

The whimpering became louder.

And then he saw it.

A small bundle of wet fur huddled and shivering near a tree.

A puppy.

He holstered his gun and leaned down and picked it up.

He wondered what had happened to its mother. Or maybe someone wanted to get rid of extra pups by throwing them in the river. He couldn't leave it here to die. It was too young to care for itself.

When he returned to the picnic site, Elizabeth McGuire was standing, her arms protectively on Marilee's shoulders. His sister's eyes went immediately to the puppy.

“Something must have happened to her mother,” he said. “I think she's hungry.” Seeing the sudden light in his sister's eyes, he hoped like hell the pup lived.

“Can I hold her?” Marilee asked.

He hesitated. The puppy could be sick. But the longing
in his sister's eyes made it impossible to refuse. He handed the ball of wet fluff to her.

The puppy immediately settled in her lap.

Yet he noticed that though she took the puppy, she still regarded him warily.

Because of the way he'd drawn the gun? Her cry echoed in his mind.

Violence was second nature to him, his gun an extended part of him. Could his sister accept that?

He watched as Marilee cuddled the pup. His eyes met Elizabeth's, and he saw understanding there, and . . . something else.

His chest ached almost unbearably as he saw her gaze return to his sister and the puppy. Tenderness radiated in that one glance. He felt his heart explode. He had seen too much pain and death and defeat. He had stopped believing in hope and justice. But in that moment he knew those things were still alive. Had to be alive.

She looked back up at him, and his breath caught. Her eyes glowed with an admiration that made him feel ten feet tall, like a hero.

It was just a puppy.

She seemed to feel that it was much more. But, for God's sake, what had she expected him to do? Drown the animal?

“She's going to need milk,” he said.

But the puppy seemed to have wanted safety more than anything else. She huddled in Marilee's lap, the dog's small face burrowing into her arms.

“Can I keep her?” Marilee said, nuzzling the wet fur.

Elizabeth threw a questioning look his way.

“Do you think you can take care of her?” he asked. “Feed her? Brush her? Keep her safe?”

“Oh yes,” Marilee said. It was the first time she hadn't regarded him with fear.

“Then if it's all right with Miss Elizabeth, I think the puppy should stay with you.” He rose. “I'll look around and see if I can find the mother.”

Elizabeth rose as well. He noticed how gracefully she managed the maneuver as well as the trimness of the ankle revealed as she stood.

“I'll walk with you a little way,” she said.

He looked at his sister, who was happily mothering the pup.

“I won't be out of eyesight,” she said.

He didn't say anything, just started walking, only too aware of her presence. A subtle scent of roses drifted over to him, and he longed to reach over and touch the copper hair caught in the long braid.