Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) (16 page)

He'd been thinking about Sarah. Knowing she was in his kitchen right now, not a hundred yards away, and knowing she was a passionate woman who welcomed his touch, why, it was amazing he could work at all.

“Got troubles, Gatlin?” Juan planted his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly. “Never thought woman trouble would happen to you.”

“Trouble? Don't use that word.” Gage climbed to his feet and inspected his knees. No real damage. He was lucky this time. “Think that's enough for the colt. We'll work him first thing in the morning.”

“Right. Want me to bring out the dappled mare?”

“She's coming along fine. Why don't you put her through her paces? Work on her lead-change a little more.” Gage brushed bits of leaves and dirt off his denims. “Work your magic on her.”

“I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, be careful, Gatlin.”

Alone again, Gage dusted off his pride, rescued his
hat and realized what Juan meant. Sarah swept through the green-tipped grasses, coming directly toward him. She paused to snap off a handful of wildflowers, intent on her work.

There was something about her, something that clutched tight in his chest. He liked the graceful line of her neck and the elegant line of her arm as she moved. The way she walked. The way she held a flower to her nose and inhaled deep.

He couldn't explain it. He only knew that he'd never wanted a woman the way he needed Sarah. Like breath. Like water. Like the earth at his feet.

“I have supper ready and keeping warm in the oven.” She leaned her slim forearms on the top rail. “Land in the bramble bush again?”

“Heck no. I'm not that clumsy.”

“I saw you go sailing over the fence.” She looked as if she belonged here, on this land, in this place, with the house behind her and the prairie surrounding her.

It felt so right as she went up on tiptoe to study his bandage. Right to have her here with him.

“You're not bleeding.” She peered at him. “You hit pretty hard.”

“I'm as rugged as they come.”

“You're practiced in being thrown off a horse.”

“You wound me, darlin'.” He clutched his chest.

“What did you say you were? The best horseman this side of the Rockies. So what are you doing in the brambles?”

“I was trying to impress you that day.”

“Well, you didn't succeed. Because look.” She pointed to the horizon. “The Rockies.”

“They always used to be farther away than that.
Maybe I should have said something else. Like I'm the best horseman this side of the Colorado.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn't make you stay on your horse any better.”

“You know what I do really well?” He pulled her close, his arm slipping around her shoulder. He steered her away from the sticker bushes and toward the house. “Kiss.”

“Says who?” She leaned against him, savoring the luxury of being in his arms again. “You kissed me and I didn't notice anything great.”

“No? I guess I'll just have to try again. See if I can't do better.” His lips grazed her jaw in the faintest hint of a kiss.

A light, barely there kiss that made her want more. Much more. “You're awfully bold, Mr. Gatlin.”

“I'm bad that way.”

“I noticed.”

Dust rose as men worked a horse in the corral. Gage called to them, letting them know supper was ready. It felt so perfect with the lark song trilling in the air and the soft bunch grass at their feet.

She had to be dreaming. Sarah leaned her cheek against his chest. The world had never been so beautiful.

 

“Do you know what, Pa?” Lucy hopped into bed and dove beneath the covers. “Sarah makes the very best meat loaf ever.”

“It was pretty good.” Actually, he didn't notice the food, only Sarah. Dishing up seconds for the girls, teasing that there wasn't enough food for him, and sending him secret little looks when she didn't know he was watching.

“And she put flowers on the table. I like that.” Lucy folded the coverlet into place. “She's always humming. Did you know that?”

“I noticed.”

“And she didn't get mad when Ella and me got all muddy.” Lucy dropped back into her fluffy feather pillows and folded her hands over her stomach. “She's awful pretty.”

“I know where this is going, darlin'.” He rescued her book from the night table and handed it to her. “Remember when I told you I'm not getting married?”

“No.” All innocence. “I musta forgot.”

He wasn't fooled. “Well, if I ever change my mind, you'd best not get your hopes up. There's a whole lot to work out between a man and a woman long before they want to get married.”

“Like the wedding dress. A lady always wants a pretty dress. Do you know what, Pa?”

“Read your book.” He tapped the binding. “Stop worrying about what may or may not happen. There's no telling how things will work out. Or if they'll go the way you want them to.”

“Sarah likes it here.” Lucy was like a speeding train on a downhill track. “She'd be awful good to marry. If you wanted to.”

“I hear you loud and clear.” He kissed her brow. “Don't get your hopes up too high, darlin'. Okay?”

“I guess.”

He turned down the lamp, leaving just enough light for her to read by. “I'm coming up in a half hour and this light better be out.”

“Pa?”

He halted at the door. “What is it now, Luce?”

“I love you.”

How could he argue with that? “I love you, too.”

“Pa?”

She could go on like this all night if he let her. “Read your book, darlin'. I'll be right downstairs if you need anything.”

“A ma.” She hugged the book to her, looking so small and alone, with genuine want in her eyes. “Maybe you could think about it, cuz I like Sarah real well.
Real
well.”

This was dangerous ground he was walking on. Walking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Lucy was his entire life. Everything he did, he did for her.

Except this.

He had to be honest. He had to face the truth. There were reasons why he'd asked Sarah to work for him, to take care of Lucy and the house and the light cooking for them and two ranch hands. Reasons that had nothing to do with Lucy needing a mother and him needing a cook.

He'd been attracted to Sarah from the first moment they met. If he closed his eyes, he could see her in the soft light of a new dawn, chicken feathers in her hair and stuck to her skirt. He knew she was different, even then, from all the other women who had baked welcome cakes and pies.

He pushed through the screen door and sat on the front step. Darkness fell like a curtain over the prairie, inching across the sky. A storm was brewing, angry clouds streaking from the west. Good thing he had the roof on the bunkhouse. Glad the feed was stored and covered. Glad Sarah had made it home by now, in the horse and buggy he'd talked her into taking.

He didn't need to close his eyes to bring back the
way she'd climbed into the buggy, so proper, so elegant. He'd shared the longing on her face, in the brush of her hand on his as he'd handed her the reins.

The girls were chattering, reminding him they weren't alone. That was good, because it kept him from acting on impulse. On the thoughts that circled around in his mind. Of what he wanted to do to her when he had her all to himself.

Dangerous ground. He couldn't deny it. It was natural to think ahead, to wonder where this was going. And panic, because no doubt Sarah would want marriage if he took her to his bed.

But jumping ahead wasn't going to tell him anything. So he'd take it one step at a time. Because there was no telling where the journey would lead. Or how it would end.

 

Ella hid a cough behind her hand as Sarah turned down the covers on the trundle bed. “I'm not getting sick. Honest, Ma.”

“Is your throat sore? Does your chest hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay. In bed. You had a big day, missy.”

“I got to ride Scout all by myself. And on the trail, too. Lucy and me were like real cowgirls and I know what kind of horse I want. A girl horse that's all snowy-white with a long white mane and tail.”

“Sounds really pretty.” She kissed Ella's cheek—because it's always good to dream—and reached for the hairbrush. “What would you name this horse?”

“Sugar. Just like the one on Lucy's ranch.”

“I see.” Sarah untied the end of one braid and then the other.

“Her name is Sugar and she's so sweet. She likes me, too.”

Sarah loosened the tightly plaited hair with her fingers, liking the sound of happiness in Ella's voice. “You've petted her, have you?”

“Have I! She only wants me to pet her. Not Lucy. Maybe it's because I save all the sugar for her.”

“Sugar?”

“From the stable. Lucy's pa keeps it to sweet talk the horses. And peppermints, too, but Lucy and me eat those instead.”

“Does Lucy's pa know about this?”

“Yep. He's the one who showed us the peppermints.”

Sarah wasn't surprised. Gage had a soft side when it came to his daughter. The man who didn't believe in love. Remembering the welcome weight of his arm on her shoulder and the way he'd complimented her cooking with a low ring of tenderness in his voice made her blood heat from head to toe and everywhere in between.

Oh, she loved that man. She had to believe he was falling in love with her, too.

Love. She'd wanted to be loved again. The hope for it had gotten her through the hard year at the Owenses's. Yet to think dreams could come true, just in a blink of an eye. It was a gift, rare and wondrous, one she intended to hold on to with both hands. She intended to love Gage with all of her heart. The way love should be.

“Lucy says Sugar is gonna go away soon. When Mr. Gatlin takes the horses to sell.”

“I wish we could afford to buy her from him. I bet she's expensive.”

“I know.” Ella's shoulders slouched a little. “Ma? Lucy says I get to stay over then.”

“That's right.” Sarah forgot about the brush in her hand.

When Gage took his horses to sell, she would be sleeping in his house. In his bed.

“Lucy said her pa bought special treats at the mercantile. For when he's gone.”

“Is that right?” Sarah returned to brushing Ella's hair in long, smooth strokes. The fine locks crackled.

“Lucy says he got popcorn. Popcorn!”

“That is a treat.” Sarah set the brush aside. “Time for sleep.”

Ella curled up on her pillow. She sighed, a content sound, and closed her eyes. She coughed again, harder this time. “I'm fine, Ma.”

“All right. Good night, baby.” Sarah kissed her brow, smoothing the sheets into place. “Sleep tight.”

“I'm gonna dream about my very own horse. With a long snowy mane that ripples in the wind.”

Sarah turned the lamp low and curled up in the corner. She threaded her favorite needle by feel, lost in thought.

Lost in dreams.

 

The sound of a gunshot echoed in Gage's dreams. Bolting awake, he thought it was another nightmare. Another muffled boom told him it wasn't.

In a split second he was in his trousers and digging out the Colt Peacemaker from the back of his closet shelf. Dumping a handful of bullets into his shirt pocket, not bothering to take the time to button the garment, he flew down the stairs.

“Pa. I'm scared. What's the matter?”

“You stay in this house, Lucy. In your bed. Do you hear me?” He meant business, and she knew it. Her eyes grew wide and she nodded solemnly.

He didn't bother with his boots. Buckled on his holster and whistled for his mare. She came at a trot, nickering at the wooden fence. He climbed up the rails and onto her back, sending her into a full gallop.

He headed straight for the creek, thumbing bullets into the Colt's chamber as the mare flew through the field and skidded to a stop at the crumbling fence. Milt's rifle was cocked and slung against his shoulder. The man's stance threatening. His two sons at his side, both with weapons drawn.

“Boss, we've got a disagreement.” One of the hired men ambled close, his gun at his hip. “Milt says this land is his. We say it ain't.”

“I happen to agree with you, Wally.” Gage tucked his Colt into its holster. “According to the deed, this creek is mine.”

“This fence has been here for years.” Milt patted the butt of his rifle. “I intend to see that it stays that way.”

“I'm not looking for trouble, Owens. According to the deed's legal description of this land, the fence ought to be on the other side. If you think the deed is wrong, I'll be happy to take the matter before the county judge. He would tell us for certain who is right.”

“Ain't no judge gonna tell me what's mine and what ain't.”

Gage caught a strong scent of whiskey. “The sheriff, then.”

“You'd like that. Always hidin' behind the law.”
Milt slid the battered Henry carbine off his shoulder. “Well, Mr. Lawman, we settle this here and now.”

“I'll say it again. We'll handle this according to the law. Put down your guns and walk away.” In a split second Gage had his Colt in hand, cocked and pointed, before the other men could blink.

Milt paled. He fumbled with his gun, easing it to the ground. His sons did the same.

“Turn around, boys, and go on home. The sheriff will be out to talk to you in the morning.”

Milt swore, muttering what sounded like threats as he retreated through his unkempt fields, his sons following.

“That didn't solve anything,” Wally complained. “I followed orders and didn't draw on them, but I don't like it.”

“We have the law on our side. Those men will have to abide by it.” Gage patted the cowboy's shoulder. “Good job.”

He watched Milt in the shadows. Waited until he saw a flash of light as the shanty door opened and then closed. Headed in to check on Lucy, who flew into his arms. She'd been so worried.