How to Lasso a Cowboy (43 page)

Cait never could recall the moment when she'd stopped thinking of Win as a bothersome big brother to deciding he was the handsomest boy she'd ever seen. She remembered how she'd sought his attention, showing off her roping and riding abilities, but he'd only teased her. He'd finally noticed her when she donned one of her ma's dresses she'd found in an old steamer trunk.

“Where are you going, Cait?”

She blinked the memories aside and focused on Win, who'd turned to face her. Where
was
she going? “I thought I'd get lunch started.”

Win squinted up at the sun. “It's only midmorning.”

Was it that early?

“I'm hungry.”

He chuckled and his eyes twinkled, as if knowing exactly what had been on her mind. Although he'd been able to read her like a well-worn book years ago, she hoped she wasn't as transparent anymore.

Deil's whinny startled her, and Cait turned to see a rattletrap buckboard rolling into the yard. A familiar frumpy figure hauled back on the reins, and Cait smiled warmly at the old woman.

“Whoa, you worthless sack of spit,” the woman cussed at her swaybacked mule.

“Good morning to you, too, Beulah.” Cait grinned as she strolled toward the wagon.

Beulah Grisman shook a gnarled finger down at her. “Don't you be sassin' your elders, young lady.”

Beulah slapped at her patched and faded skirt, and sent a small column of dust rising from her lap, inciting a raspy cough. She waved a blue-veined hand in front of her face, and her fit subsided. She adjusted her floppy hat, held by a scarf tied beneath her chin, then glanced around and spotted Win approaching from the corral.

Beulah grabbed the double-barreled shotgun in the
wagon's box and aimed it at Win before Cait could explain his presence. “Who's this varmint?” the old woman demanded.

Although the shotgun barrel didn't waver, Win didn't seem to notice. He swept off his hat and met Beulah's suspicious gaze. “Win Taylor, ma'am.”

Beulah's lips pursed and her eyebrows beetled. “This Injun a friend of yours, Cait?”

Cait's mouth gaped. Although she knew Win was part Indian, she'd known him for so long that she didn't even notice the characteristics he'd inherited from his mother's half-Cheyenne side. It was just part of who he was. But the way Beulah said
Injun
told Cait the older woman didn't see Win the same way. “He's the one Pa said could gentle Deil,” she replied, then added firmly, “He's only a quarter Indian.”

From her lofty perch on the buckboard, Beulah spat a stream of tobacco toward Win, narrowly missing his boot. “Ain't nobody, not even someone like him, can break that stallion.”

“I'm betting I can,” Win said. “My pa was the best and he taught me all he knew.”

“He's right,” Cait said. Although she didn't owe Win anything, past loyalties were hard to break.

The white-haired woman studied Win from head to toe, then lowered her shotgun. “He's got nice teeth, I'll give him that, and he ain't too hard on the eyes neither.”

Cait had to admit Beulah was right on both counts.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Win said drolly.

“But that don't mean I trust you. My ma always said you can trust a purty man as far as you can trust a sidewindin' rattlesnake.” Beulah continued to eye Win suspiciously.

His eyes twinkled with amusement.

“What're you doing here, Beulah?” Cait asked, hoping to sidetrack her.

Beulah raised her eyebrows. “We was goin' into town to pick up supplies, remember?”

Since Cait lived along the route Beulah took into town, they often went in together. “I'm sorry. I forgot today was
town day. Why don't you come in for some coffee while I clean up?”

“Don't mind if I do.” The older woman stood and gripped the edge of the seat to climb down from the wagon.

“Let me help, ma'am.” Win took hold of Beulah's elbow.

“I'm old, not crippled,” Beulah muttered, but accepted Win's help.

Accustomed to Beulah's cussed independence, Cait was surprised she didn't shake off Win's hand. Although Beulah had to be seventy years old or more, her spryness belied her age. Cait had always taken for granted that Beulah would never change, but the years weren't slowing down for either of them.

“Thanks,” Beulah said grudgingly.

He merely touched the brim of his hat, then turned to Cait. “I'm going back to work with Deil.”

“Be careful.” The words were out before Cait could stop her tongue.

Win smiled warmly and creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”

He sauntered toward the corral, and Cait couldn't help but admire his animal-like grace.

“Pull them calf eyes back into your head, girl,” Beulah scolded.

Cait's cheeks heated with embarrassment, although her body's uncomfortable warmth was triggered by something she thought she'd never feel again. Especially for him. “He's an old friend of Pa's,” she murmured.

Beulah cackled with laughter. “Iffen you think he's old, you'd best get some spectacles, girl.” She sobered and wistfulness eased the weathered lines in her face. “My husband was as handsome as the day was long, too, but he didn't have no backbone like that Taylor feller.”

They entered the cabin and Cait poured Beulah a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. Beulah had never talked about a husband, so Cait was fascinated by the glimpse into her friend's past.

“What happened to him?”

Beulah shrugged. “Got up one morning and he was gone. Skedaddled like some skunk in a chicken coop. Left me alone, without even a young'un.”

No wonder Beulah had understood all those years ago—she'd been left high and dry by a man, too.

“You gonna flap your mouth all morning or you gonna change so we can get goin' before the sun gets too hot?” Beulah's characteristic grumpiness returned.

Cait entered the only other room of the cabin and quickly slipped off her everyday shirt, replacing it with a clean blue gingham one. As she buttoned it, she wondered what Beulah would do if she discovered Win was the one who'd driven Cait to accept Beulah's help all those years ago. Beulah would more than likely give him a piece of her mind, and maybe some buckshot in that fine-looking ass. While tucking in her shirttails, Cait laughed silently at the image that thought conjured. Win deserved that and more for what he'd done to her. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if . . . She curved her arms around her waist as the humor faded.

Cait glanced up and caught sight of herself in the rectangular mirror hung on a nail on the wall. Dark smudges beneath her eyes made her appear haggard. She'd long ago given up on trying to gain the attention of a man, yet the thought of Win seeing her look so worn out made her wonder if he was now glad he'd ridden away that spring morning so long ago.

Loneliness—a constant companion since her father died and, if she was honest with herself, for years previous—ached like a sore tooth. She'd lost her best friend as well as her first lover when Win had left her. Surprisingly, it wasn't the physical loving, but the companionship she'd missed the most. Not that she didn't have a woman's needs, but she could deal better with those than the loss of Win's friendship. How could she not hate the person who'd made her suffer through hell alone?

“The past is gone. You've made your bed and now you have to lie in it,” she said to her reflection. She reached out to
touch the mirror's surface. “Even if it's a cold, lonely one.”

“What're you doin'—dressin' for a ball?” Beulah asked from the other room.

“I'll be ready in a minute.”

After a careless sweep of her hairbrush, Cait joined Beulah.

“In all the years I knowed you, I never seen you gussy up for a feller,” Beulah commented with a knowing smirk.

Heat filled Cait's cheeks. Beulah was right. If Win hadn't been there, she wouldn't have changed just to ride into town to buy supplies. People were accustomed to her unfeminine clothing and wouldn't have looked twice.

“My shirt was dirty,” Cait said, not meeting Beulah's gaze.

Beulah's snort echoed in the cabin as Cait grabbed her shopping list.

Outside, Cait found Win standing inside a corner of the corral. It was the first time there was no barrier between Win and Deil since the stallion had tried to kill him. Her heart collided with her throat. “Get out of there,” she whispered hoarsely.

Beulah wrapped her bony fingers around Cait's elbow. “He ain't your pa,” the older woman said in a low voice.

“No, but Deil's already tried to kill him once.”

“I've heard tell of Injuns who can talk to horses. That Taylor looks like he may be one of 'em.”

“Maybe, but I'm not leaving while he's in the corral with that devil.” Cait crossed to the pen and stood there, the block of fear growing in her throat. She forced herself to watch Win, and thought Beulah might be right. Deil's ears were pricked forward, as if listening intently to Win's voice, and there didn't seem to be any murderous intent in the stallion's stance. Could those previous days when Win had talked until he lost his voice finally be making an impression on the stallion?

Win, keeping close to the rails, neared Cait. “I thought you were going into town.”

“Not while you're in there with him.”

Win shot her an annoyed glance. “I'll be fine.”

His words chilled her to the bone—those were the exact ones her father had used. She folded her arms over her chest to hide her trembling hands. She didn't plan on moving until Win came to his senses.

He muttered an oath and ducked between two rails to join her. “I'm out.”

Relief made Cait light-headed. “And you won't go in there again until I get back?”

Win's eyes were shaded by his hat brim, but she could feel his exasperation. “If it'll make you feel better.”

She swallowed her abating terror. “It will.”

Cait turned and clambered aboard Beulah's wagon. The older woman took up the reins, and as they drove past the corral, Win gave them a barely perceptible nod.

“He won't do anything foolhardy,” Beulah reassured her once they were clattering down the road, away from the corral, the stallion, and Win.

“I hope not.” Cait sighed, releasing some of the tension that bunched her shoulders. “Seeing him in there, where I found Pa . . .”

“Your pa was too old to be breakin' mustangs,” Beulah said in her no-nonsense tone. “He tol' me so himself 'bout four months back.”

“He never told me.”

“He didn't want you worryin'. You know how he was, always wantin' to protect you.”

Cait threaded her fingers together and squeezed tightly. “I know and I hated that he treated me like a child. If he'd worried more about himself, maybe he'd still be alive.”

Beulah slapped the leather lightly against the mule's rear end, urging it into more than a plodding walk. “He knew somethin' was wrong with you, too, but he never pushed. But I think it hurt him to know you was hidin' something from him.”

Cait stared off to the side, barely noticing the summer green or the colorful spill of wildflowers around them. “I couldn't tell him. It would've killed him.”

“
You
was the one who damned near died back then.”

Cait smiled bitterly. “I made the mistake. It was my price to pay.”

“Lots of girls make mistakes.”

Cait turned to the only person in the world who knew what had been stolen from her, although Beulah didn't know the identity of the thief. “Pa wouldn't have understood.”

Beulah sent her a sidelong glance, but didn't comment. The remainder of the trip into town was thankfully silent.

 
WHEN CAIT AND
Beulah returned from town with their wagonload of supplies, Deil was alone in the corral, and there was no sign of Win. His horse, however, was in the other pen along with Cait's own saddle mount, so Win hadn't gone far.