A gentle hand landed between his shoulder blades, rubbed the tightness there, skimmed over his shoulders before drifting away. Turning his head slightly, he looked over at the second woman he had ever loved, the first being his mother—or at least his memory of her, faded and frayed as it was. “Why didn’t you tell me Faith had a daughter?”
“She asked us not to. Whatever your reasons for leaving, she didn’t want to be the reason you came back.”
He’d have married her without hesitation to spare her the shame and embarrassment of being an unwed mother. “Do you know who the father is?”
Turning, she pressed her back against the beam and met his gaze head-on. “If you want answers, you’ll have to talk to Faith. She’s the one who decides what people know when it comes to Callie.”
“She’s being tight-lipped.”
“That’s her prerogative. I suspect there are things you never shared with her.” Slipping in against his side, she wrapped her arms around him. “I’m glad you’re home.”
In one smooth movement, he set his glass on the railing and enfolded her in his embrace, holding her securely. “You know Dallas is too ornery to die.”
She laughed lightly, but he heard the whisper of encroaching tears, the edge of worry. “I know. Still, everything needs to be set right between you and Faith.”
After his mother gave him another hug and went back inside, he lowered himself to the top step, stretched out his legs, and breathed in the warm Texas air, traveling back in his memories to the night everything changed.
Chapter Five
May 1903
With a great deal of amusement, Rawley sat astride his horse, watching as Faith bossed the oilmen around. While Leigh money and land was making the search for the inky black pools possible, Faith had her opinions on the matter and a way about her of making folks listen. She took after her father in that regard.
Rawley didn’t know if in the middle of the jaw wagging someone said something to her regarding his presence or if she just sensed it, but suddenly she swung around, smiled broadly, and waved. “Rawley!”
Her strides ate up the ground separating them. Like her mother, she was tall, only an inch or two shorter than him. A man didn’t have to wonder about the length of her legs because when she was out on the range, she wore denim pants that outlined that sweet little backside—
He shoved that inappropriate thought into a dark corner. More and more lately, he was beginning to view her as a woman in her own right, and those thoughts were entirely wrong coming from him. He shouldn’t be thinking about the way her white shirt tucked into her pants at her narrow waist, leaving very little regarding her shape to a man’s imagination. The long braid of her ebony hair was draped over her shoulder, flapped against her chest with the quickness of her steps. He remembered her lamenting the absence of a bosom when she was about fourteen. She certainly had no reason to complain about that now since her chest was far removed from resembling a plank of wood. She was all curves.
To avoid her throwing her arms around him like she usually did when they crossed paths—a habit from her growing-up days when he’d cart her around because she was too small to keep up—he stayed in the saddle and waited.
When she reached him, she laid the flat of her bare hand on his thigh. Even knowing it was an innocent gesture didn’t stop the shock of pleasure from traveling through him, not that he gave any indication he held anything other than companionable feelings for her.
“Are you pondering the notion of coming over to our side?” she asked, grinning up at him, her brown eyes teasing with mischievousness.
“Hell no. I can’t believe Dallas is letting you poke holes in his land.”
“You’ll feel differently when they discover oil.” She dug her fingers into his thigh. “They’ll be drilling by the end of the month.”
“It’s a fool’s errand, Faith.”
“They found that gusher in Spindletop.”
Pockets of oil had long pooled on the surface in some areas of Texas, but two years earlier when that gusher hit, oilmen started taking a real interest in what the state might have to offer below the ground.
“That’s miles away, on the other side of the state. Out here it’s only land, cattle, and windmills.”
“You never did have much imagination.” With a sigh, she crossed her arms below her breasts, twisted about, and leaned against his leg. “There’s oil out there. I feel it deep in my bones.”
“Then I hope you find it.”
Tilting up her face, she looked at him. “The cattle industry is changing. You’re the last of a breed, Rawley. Cowboys aren’t going to be riding the range for much longer. You don’t even have long cattle drives any more. You just herd those little dogies to the train depot.”
Where they were simply led onto the cattle cars and carted to the slaughterhouse. It was a little too sterile for him, but it was also a lot less work and required fewer nights trekking across dangerous terrain. “Still plenty of work to be done. Like fencing off these few acres of land so the cattle aren’t bothering your drillers.”
The bright smile she bestowed upon him always caused the dark storms threatening his soul to retreat for a while. “And I appreciate that.”
Fighting back the urge to lean down and capture her mouth, he merely brought the brim of his hat lower, hoping the shadows would camouflage the yearnings that sometimes overtook him when it came to her. He’d spent a good bit of his life knowing she was destined to break his heart. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a sarsaparilla stick.
“Gimme,” she said, holding up her hand.
“It’s my last one.”
“It’s always your last one.”
Breaking it in half, he handed her a piece, just as he had for most of her life.
Shifting his gaze, he watched as the leader of this drilling outfit began sauntering toward them. Cole Berringer. Rawley knew his dislike for the oilman stemmed from the fact he was spending his days in Faith’s company, and she’d taken a fancy to him. Berringer had approached Dallas a few months ago with his belief that oil was to be found on Leigh land. While Dallas hadn’t been that interested, Faith had embraced the prospect of possibilities. Normally, Rawley supported Faith’s enthusiasm for trying out new things and would have encouraged her in this endeavor if Berringer wasn’t such a handsome devil, with his wheat-colored hair and blue eyes. He had half the ladies in town swooning over him.
“Cooper,” the man said, stopping a few feet away. His brown pants and jacket showed little wear, the sign of a man who preferred giving orders to doing the hard work.
“Berringer.”
“Don’t see a lot of men who still go around with a six-gun strapped to their thigh.”
Rawley shrugged, not feeling the need to defend himself but determined to follow the code of politeness under which he’d been raised. “I do a lot of solitary riding. It brings me a measure of peace.”
“It’s not as though there are any outlaws or renegades lurking about.”
“We’ve had a few head go missing the past month or so. I’d say we still have thieves.”
“But the state is civilized now. You let the law—”
Rawley caught a movement—
Had his gun drawn, palmed, and fired before his next blink. And took great satisfaction in Berringer squealing like a pig whose tail had been yanked. He was crouched down, his hands over his head in a protective gesture.
“What the hell, Cooper?”
Having been trained by Houston, who sold horses to the military, not to bolt at a gun’s report, Rawley’s stallion had done little more than give a slight sidestep. All the men had stilled. Faith merely stared at him questioningly, waiting to determine if he was in need of a scolding for terrifying a man she obviously thought well of. Rawley pointed the barrel off to the side a bit, before sliding the six-shooter back into the leather. “Rattler.”
In horror, Berringer stared at the mutilated reptile, then glared
at Rawley. “I didn’t hear it rattling. You could have given some warning.”
“They don’t always buzz before they strike. I’ve run across enough of them that struck without making a sound not to take a chance on its mood. Besides, it was coiled and lunging your way by the time I saw it.”
“That’s true, boss,” a fellow with a shovel said as he approached. “I was trying to get over here to kill it without making any noise. Didn’t want to alarm it, cause it to attack—but then it shot toward you . . . I’d say it meant business.”
“Fine, Jones,” Berringer said impatiently. “Get back to work.” He removed his hat, slapped it against his leg, stirring up a cloud of dust.
Rawley took no pleasure from seeing the man’s hand trembling. Or at least he fought not to. He did experience a bit of satisfaction in unsettling Berringer. He was going to burn in hell for his unkind thoughts, but then he was headed there even with kind thoughts, so what did it matter?
“Reckon I owe you,” Berringer said grudgingly.
“Just making sure cowboys stay relevant.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “Will you be at the party tonight?”
They were celebrating Faith’s birthday. All the ranch hands and a good number of the townsfolk had been invited. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“See you then.” With that, Berringer gave a nod toward Faith. “I have some things to show you over here.”
“I’ll join you in a minute.” After he walked off, she tipped back her Stetson, met Rawley’s gaze, and planted her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you’d brought that rattler here in a burlap sack and then released it so you could show off.”
“I don’t mess with rattlers. Ever.” Not that her idea hadn’t crossed his mind a time or two, but he wasn’t going to risk a bite just to make a point.
“I don’t know why you two always seem at odds.”
Because of you. “I’ve got nothing against him personally.”
She patted his leg, gave him another one of her disarming smiles. “That’s good. Because I like him a lot.”
Watching as she strutted toward the group sharing her plans, hopes, and dreams, he wondered if it was time to move on and find his own dreams.
Faith watched as Rawley urged his horse into a gallop and made quick work of putting distance between them. She didn’t know anyone who sat a horse as well as he did—or was handier with a gun. She knew a lot of men used them as a decoration the same way a woman draped a necklace around her neck, but Rawley Cooper did not. He’d been working the range for too long to take any of it for granted, to think a danger might not suddenly appear.
She wore a gun as well, was almost as good a shot as Rawley, but Cole had never derided her for the addition to her wardrobe. It was just another example of the two men finding something about the other not to like.
“I think your brother was showing off with that little gunplay,” Cole said.
Turning, she faced him. “He saved your hide and he’s not my brother.”
“I thought your family took him in.”
“They did. But I just don’t view him that way.”
His eyes, a blue that reminded her of the sky first thing in the morning, narrowed. “How do you view him?”
“As a friend.” Someone she trusted with all her heart. Someone who, of late, she was noticing in ways she hadn’t before. When she’d turned to see him sitting astride his horse, it was as though her entire body had awoken from a long slumber. Her nerve endings felt more alive, her arms wanted to reach for him, and her legs wanted to wrap themselves around his narrow hips. But it was more than the physical awareness that wanted to shove itself to the foreground—all aspects of their relationship were deepening. Stretching out beneath the stars and talking late into the night with him brought more awe, riding over the range with him more pride. His smiles warmed more than they had before. His laughter lifted her heart higher.
“I’d like to be more than that,” Cole said quietly, his hand discreetly reaching out and squeezing her fingers.
He was handsome in a polished sort of way, not at all rugged-looking like Rawley. But there was strength in him, too. And ambition. He saw where the future was going and wasn’t going to be left behind. He filled her with excitement over the possibilities.
“It would take a brave man, Cole Berringer, to admit that to my father and face his scrutiny.”
“Courage is not something I lack, Faith.”
She’d told Rawley true. She did like Cole. She didn’t know if what she felt for him would lead her down the path toward love, but she’d never been afraid to see where trails might lead.
She’d worn the damn red gown.
Leaning against the papered wall of the spacious parlor that was serving as a ballroom, sipping his whiskey, Rawley fought not to notice how creamy and smooth her bared shoulders appeared or how the low cut of the bodice revealed the upper swells of her breasts. With her midnight hair pinned up, curling tendrils left to whisper across her neck, red was the perfect shade for her—and she damn well knew it. She’d first worn the flowing gown at Christmas, and it had been difficult enough then not to acknowledge how she had evolved from a girl into a woman. Little wonder the men were circling her, vying for her attention, one after another leading her onto the dance floor.
The band made up of mostly fiddle players—led by Austin Leigh, whom no one could match when it came to pulling a bow over a violin—alternated a lively tune with a slower one. It was obvious most of the gents were timing their arrival at Faith’s side so they were available for a waltz. In a way it was amusing to watch, but at the same time it irritated the devil out of him. None was good enough for her, but she flirted with them and gave them hope anyway.
Faith had taken after her mother in that regard. She found time for everyone: ranch hand, businessman, poor, wealthy—which was one of the reasons most of her dances were claimed. She had a way about her of making a man feel humbled by her attention.
He didn’t know why he was still here, tormenting himself, watching Faith dance with one fellow after another, Cole Berringer greedily making his way into the line every third or fourth dance. It was an unwritten rule among cowboys that a man limited himself to one twirl about the floor with a gal until everyone had a turn with her. In spite of all Dallas’s efforts to get women out to this western part of Texas, men still vastly outnumbered females. But Berringer didn’t pay attention to the rules, which in the end probably would take him far and ensure he kept the lady at his side happy. Rawley was pretty sure he intended for that lady to be Faith.
“Rawley Cooper. Just the man I was looking for,” Maggie said as she waved a red bandana in front of him.
“Hello, Brat,” he muttered with affection. “You’re not heifer branding me.” The term referred to the long-standing tradition of cowboys taking on the role of a female dance partner when women were scarce.
“But we have a lot more gents here than ladies. I need a few fellas to show their willingness to pretend to be the gal so more men have a chance to dance.”
Having a handkerchief tied around an upper arm provided the signal that a fellow was willing to partner up with another man for a dance or two. Cowboys enjoyed dancing. “Nope. Look elsewhere.”
She released a breath in irritation, then smiled at him. “You’re no fun. I didn’t even see you sneak in here.”
“I didn’t sneak.” But he had to admit he hadn’t drawn any attention, either. He’d never much liked being the center of anyone’s focus, preferred hovering off to the side. Being noticed when he was a boy had earned him nothing but pain and humiliation. Walking the edge, staying to the shadows brought him a measure of peace.
“Are you going to dance with her?”
They both knew to whom she was referring. Maggie was his best friend, but sometimes she was downright irritating, especially when she managed to work things out about him that he wanted to keep secret. “I think she has enough partners.”
>
“But you’re her brother.”
He grimaced as a tightness that would put any noose to shame seized his chest. “No, I’m not. I was raised by her parents, in their house, but that doesn’t make me her brother.”
“Exactly. So where’s the harm in dancing with her?”
The harm was that he wasn’t good enough for her, had done things that made him sick to his stomach if he recalled them with any measure of accuracy. Dallas Leigh knew the ugly details of his youth. Rawley would never forget the revulsion that had taken root on Dallas’s face the moment he’d learned the truth about what Rawley had done. The man’s expression had indicated he was on the verge of bringing up every meal he’d ever eaten. If Dallas ever learned Rawley had any tender regard for his daughter, the man who had given him a safe haven would send him packing—after he shot him dead. He took a slow sip of his whiskey. “You are the most aggravating female I know.”
“But you love me anyway.”
“I tolerate you, even if you’re as pesky as a gnat but not quite as big.”
She chuckled lightly. “I love you, Rawley.”
“Maggie—”
“Your problem is you don’t believe you’re deserving of love, not even the kind one friend showers on another. I don’t know what happened to you before you became part of this family, but I do recognize that you’re one of the finest men I know.”
Sadly, he looked at her. “You don’t know many men then.”
Her small fist made hard contact with his shoulder.
“Ouch!” He stepped back, cradling his whiskey. “You nearly made me spill the good stuff.”
Texas Legacy Page 4