“I went to the university. I know plenty of men. I can also say with certainty that none are as stubborn as you.”
“All your praise is going to my head, Maggie.” Finishing off the whiskey, he set the glass aside on a nearby table. “Come on, I’ll dance with you.”
Before she could protest, he took her arm and led her onto the polished dance floor where people were whooping it up. With her, it was the quickest and easiest way to change the subject because once she got a notion in her head, she chased it with dogged determination. Besides, she was wrong. He didn’t believe he was undeserving of love. He knew it as fact.
Chapter Six
She’d known the moment he entered the ballroom. Like her father, he had a resounding presence about him. Even with his quiet ways, when he strode into a room, people knew. It was as though the very air they breathed came alive, the atmosphere charged. He rolled in like a welcome rainstorm.
“How did you get Rawley to dance with you?” Faith asked Maggie when she was able to catch a minute with her cousin later, after dancing with too many cowboys to count. The one she hadn’t danced with, however, was the one she wanted to more than anything, but he had allowed his boot heels to brush over the dance floor for only a solitary tune. She’d waited her entire life to grow up enough that Rawley would stop treating her like a child. She figured nineteen meant she was on the threshold of womanhood. Maybe she’d even crossed over it after taking on the responsibility of expanding the Leigh enterprises into oil.
“I made him mad,” Maggie said, handing Faith a glass of champagne.
Faith laughed with a measure of fondness edged with a bit of jealousy. “I’ve never understood y’all’s relationship. You squabble more than any two people I know and yet you always remain friends.”
Maggie sipped her champagne, curiosity keeping her gaze wandering over the people dancing and milling about. As a recently hired reporter for the Leighton Leader, the town’s only newspaper, she was always looking for an interesting angle that might make a worthy story. “We’ve been getting on each other’s last nerve for close to twenty years now, I reckon. There’s never been any rancor between us. Just a tendency to try to out-irritate the other.”
“Do you love him?”
That question had Maggie jerking her head around so quickly Faith was surprised she didn’t make herself dizzy. “As a friend, nothing more. Besides, he’s been madly in love with someone else for the longest and I can’t compete with that.”
Faith couldn’t have been more surprised if her cousin had suddenly announced a cattle stampede inside the house. Any woman would be fortunate to hold Rawley’s affections, but he’d never hinted that he had an ounce of interest in courting. “Who?”
Maggie simply shook her head and turned her attention back to the guests.
“Maggie, you can’t just drop something like that on me and not give me the details.” She glanced around. “Miss Tate, the schoolmarm?” She’d moved to town three years ago, was fairly young and pretty in a porcelain doll sort of way.
Maggie didn’t react at all.
“How about Lydia Helmsley?” The butcher’s daughter. She was short and stocky, gave a man plenty to hold on to, unlike Faith, who had always been too skinny as far as she was concerned. In school, boys had teased her that a good wind would blow her away. More than once, her mother had been forced to scold her about her unladylike behavior of throwing punches when someone said something she didn’t like.
Maggie sighed. “If you’d pay any attention at all, you could probably figure it out.”
She always paid attention to Rawley, especially lately. Everyone in town thought of him as her brother, even sometimes referred to him that way, but she’d never viewed him in those terms. He’d just always been Rawley, her friend, her protector, her aggravator. “Does she love him?”
“Not like he loves her.”
“She’s a fool then.” Although even as she said it, she was struck in the area of her heart with a twinge that resembled jealousy. The notion of seeing him courting some spinster, of watching him holding her hand, sharing conversations with her, giving her half of his sarsaparilla stick, brought with it a physical ache. If he married, she’d see less of him. He might even move off the ranch, move into town. She couldn’t imagine not sitting across from him during meals. It had been hard enough when he’d decided to live in a small cabin in the middle of a copse of mesquite trees a fair distance from the house. But he continued to join them for most meals.
“I have to agree with you there,” Maggie said. “A fool and blind not to see she rules his heart.”
“I’ve never even noticed him flirting with a gal.”
“That’s not Rawley’s way. He’s subtler than that.”
Which couldn’t be said for Cole. He’d been showering attention and compliments on her since he arrived, and she was struggling not to let it all go to her head. She’d never had a gentleman express interest in stepping out with her, mostly because men feared the wrath of her father.
Faith took a sip of the champagne. People had been bringing her glasses of it all night, and with each one she became more and more relaxed. Most of the town had been invited. Food was being served in the dining room while people wandered through the various parlors, visiting, and coming to the largest one to dance. Cards were being played in one room, billiards in another. If Rawley wouldn’t dance with her, maybe he’d at least challenge her to a round of billiards. They were pretty evenly matched when it came to the game.
Then he was walking toward her with a loose-jointed swagger that had her mouth going dry. Or maybe it was the champagne. It didn’t exactly quench her thirst. He’d donned his Sunday-go-to-meeting jacket over his crisp white shirt with a thinly knotted tie. His face was clean shaven, his thick hair—the shade of midnight—combed back. Once he was near enough to touch, he smiled. “Hey, birthday girl.”
Girl. Why couldn’t he have used the word woman?
He placed his hand on the small of her back, leaned in, and bussed a quick kiss over her cheek. She caught a whiff of the sandalwood cologne she’d given him last Christmas, but underneath it was the beloved fragrance of leather and horses and the wide-open plains. He’d always smelled of hard work and the freedom to do as he pleased. Her parents had put far fewer restrictions on his activities than they had on hers. Partly because he was older, but also because he was male, so they didn’t worry about him as much. That difference had always annoyed her. A time would come when he’d be running the ranch—and it was something she could manage with equal success if given the chance. But she had her oil and knew she could make a name for herself with it. She had too much of her mother in her to fail.
“It took you long enough to get over here,” she scolded.
“I didn’t figure you’d notice with all the fellas buzzing around you.”
Oh, she’d noticed.
“Think I’m going to call it a night,” he added.
He might as well have smacked her upside the head. “The party’s not over until midnight. We have a couple of hours to go.”
“You’re not wanting for attention, and killing that rattler today plumb tuckered me out.”
By attention, she had a feeling he was referring to Cole’s devotion. He’d waltzed with her three times, had her mother on the dance floor at the moment. “You have to dance with me before you go.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You danced with Maggie.”
He glared at Maggie, who merely raised her hands in surrender. “We didn’t do it in secret.” She playfully patted his shoulder. “You watch out for rattlers heading home. Although I suspect they will be far less dangerous than Faith if you don’t dance with her. I’m going to get some more champagne.” She sashayed off.
“Why won’t you dance with me?” Faith asked.
“You’ve got plenty of fellas anxious to take you on a turn about the floor.”
“But none of them are you.” She hadn’t meant
for her tone to be filled with such longing or wistfulness.
“Faith—”
“Why don’t you like me?”
The shock on his face was rewarding. “You can’t possibly believe I don’t like you just because I don’t want to step on your feet.”
She slipped her arm through his. “You won’t step on my feet. Dance with me.”
She felt his resistance give way as the stiffness left the muscles in his arm, as though he’d been bracing for this moment, but now that it had arrived, found it not nearly as unpleasant as he’d expected it to be. But when he started to escort her onto the floor, she held him back. “Let’s wait for the next one to start. I want a complete dance.” And a slow one.
For some reason, he’d been avoiding her of late, had been finding one excuse after another not to be in her company, so she wanted to make the most of the moments to come. She knew her father had begun to give him more responsibilities around the ranch, preparing him for taking over as foreman as soon as their current foreman decided to hang his hat on the peg for the last time and set aside his spurs, but Rawley’s noted absence seemed to encompass more than that. And she found herself missing him.
He didn’t argue with her. Probably because he didn’t want to make a fuss and draw attention. He was like that, but it was difficult not to notice him. She’d never seen him be unkind to anyone, and yet he gave off a dangerous aura that signaled he was not a man to take lightly. Perhaps it was because his smiles were rare. Or the way his eyes scanned the world as though he was always searching for trouble, didn’t quite trust what he was seeing as being the way things truly were. She figured Maggie knew more about him because she’d been around when Rawley joined the family. He’d been part of it by the time Faith made her appearance. Whenever she’d ask anyone why Rawley lived with them when her mother hadn’t given birth to him, the answer was always the same, no matter who gave it: He needed a home.
A home. Not a house. As she’d gotten older, the distinction wasn’t lost on her. But whatever had happened to him before he came to her family was long buried, and she suspected it was submerged deeply enough as to never make another appearance. She knew he had no other relations to speak of, no one to visit him or ask after him. She couldn’t imagine not having all her aunts, uncles, and cousins about.
The music finally went quiet and a frisson of anticipation coursed through her, something she’d not experienced all night, not even with the first dance of the evening. Handsome cowboys, bankers, lawyers, store owners, and Cole—she’d taken the floor with a variety of men. Most of them young, unmarried, and yet with none of them had she counted the seconds until he took her in his arms.
But with Rawley she did, and when that moment came, she knew what had been missing all these years—the absolute and untarnished knowledge that this man might be part of her family, but he wasn’t family. She was drawn to him, and it most certainly was not as a sister to a brother.
As he led her into the waltz, he held a hand aloft so she could perch one of hers on it while his other hand barely landed between her shoulder blades, over the silk, and she wondered if he’d made a conscious effort not to touch her skin. Not all the men had. Her other hand came to rest on his shoulder, where firmness greeted her. Having seen him without a shirt numerous times, she knew without a doubt he was comprised of ropey sinew and toned muscle.
The intensity with which he watched her fairly had her breath catching. He certainly hadn’t focused his gaze on Maggie in the same manner when he’d brought her out onto the dance floor. If anything, the entire time he’d given the impression he wanted to be somewhere else. She’d expected the same but instead was left with the sense he might be memorizing the moment.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said with such seriousness that anyone hearing him might have thought he was speaking to her for the final time, as one would to someone hovering on the precipice of death.
“Don’t I always?” she teased, hoping to lighten his mood.
He flashed her a grin, released a huff of laughter. “You know you do.”
“And you’re handsome.”
His smile was self-deprecating. “Now that the flattery is out of the way—”
“I mean it, Rawley. You’re good-looking.” His skin had a swarthiness to it from years in the saddle, mixed with his Shawnee heritage. His ebony hair fell over his brow, and her fingers itched to brush it back, to make it a little less wild, but nothing about Rawley had ever given the impression he was the least bit tame. “I could tell a lot of the girls were hoping you’d ask them to dance.”
He just shook his head, never having been comfortable with praise. Her father didn’t give it often, but when he did he meant it—and Rawley’s cheeks would turn a deep hue of red. Faith had always thought he was adorable when he blushed, but she’d never teased him about it.
“Maggie told me that you love someone.”
His eyes narrowed, a muscle ticked in his cheek, his jaw tightened. “That girl has got the biggest mouth—”
“If you’d tell me who she is, maybe I could help with your courting.”
He gave her a pointed look. “What do you know about courting, Faith?”
That she had finally reached an age where her father would let gentlemen begin calling on her if they were willing to face the gauntlet of hard stares he was likely to bestow on them. “I know what ladies like. I could give you some tips.”
“I don’t need any tips. I can handle my own love life just fine.”
“Is she here tonight?”
He flattened his lips, a sure sign he wasn’t going to answer. How many times had he irritated her over the years by holding his silence on matters she wanted answered? Did boys like girls who climbed trees, rode horses better than they did, could lasso a calf, or could shoot a rifle with deadly accuracy? Although he hadn’t kept silent on all the questions, he might as well have because his answer, “Just be yourself, Faith. You’ll have them falling at your feet,” wasn’t a great deal of help when it came to figuring out what a fellow wanted.
Then they were no longer talking, simply moving in rhythm to the music. His gaze held hers, and she found herself falling into the dark brown depths of his eyes. No hint of humor resided within them. Instead he was all seriousness and something she couldn’t quite decipher. But it drew her in, made her fingers clutch him where they had a hold of him. All the other couples faded away until it was only she and Rawley gliding over the floor in tandem.
For as long as she could remember, it had been like this between them. No reason to use words to communicate, always knowing what the other needed, wanted, was thinking. Only now what was stirring within her frightened her with its intensity, and yet she had the sense he was struggling against the same unsettling awareness.
As soon as the music went silent, he released his hold on her so fast that anyone watching would have thought she’d caught on fire.
“I need to get. Happy birthday, Faith.”
She wondered why, when he walked out of the room, it was like he’d taken the light with him.
Chapter Seven
As the full moon slipped beneath the billowing black clouds, Rawley sat on his front porch in a straight-backed chair, the front legs raised so he was tipped back, and sipped his whiskey. Dancing with Faith had been a mistake. She was no longer a child. He could still feel the slenderness of her back against his palm. His nostrils had flared when he’d inhaled her scent—a muskiness intertwined with a sensuality—that was somehow different from what it had once been. As they’d moved in rhythm to the tune, he’d wanted to wrap those few curling tendrils bouncing along her neck around his finger and draw them gently toward him until her mouth was nearer to his—
Her lips had seemed redder, fuller, as though they, too, had matured in anticipation of a time when she’d be kissing men. And her eyes—sultry and knowing—had held his with such intensity that he’d wanted nothing more than to claim her as his. But she was still young, inn
ocent, and naïve about men. Certainly she’d seen enough animals breeding to know the particulars regarding how it was done, but she didn’t know all the subtleties of it, of how a man was different from a beast, how his hands would caress—
He shut that thought down like a corral gate slamming closed to pen up the horses.
After dancing with her, he couldn’t stay and watch her waltzing about the room with other men, knowing what it was like to hold her in his arms. Seeing her with Berringer had been torment before he’d danced with her, but afterward it would have been pure misery. So he’d come back to his place and poured himself a whiskey, determined to forget—but all he’d been able to do was relive the moments over and over.
He’d danced with Maggie, who was as cute as a button, and hadn’t given a single thought to putting his hands anywhere other than where they respectfully rested. When it came to Faith, though, his mind wandered to places it shouldn’t.
And it seemed Faith was wandering as well.
Setting his whiskey aside, he let the front legs of the chair drop before pushing himself to his feet and walking to the edge of the porch to get a better look at her sitting astride her horse as it trotted toward him.
“Rawley!” she called out, extending his name so it had around five parts to it. She brought the gelding to a stop. “The party’s over.”
“What are you doing here, Faith?” he asked as he stepped off the porch.
“I wanted to see you. Help me down.”
She was still in the gown, had been riding the horse astride, and the skirt had risen up to her knees, the moonlight glistening over her calves making his mouth water. She held her arms out toward him, started to list—
He rushed over and caught her as she was tumbling, stopped her from falling on her head. With her feet on the ground, she sagged against him.
“You’re drunk,” he said, wrapping an arm around her, holding her against his chest.
“A little. Lot of champagne.” She shook her head, straightened, easing back until she stood on her own. A silly grin spread over her face as she whispered, “Cole kissed me.”
Texas Legacy Page 5