Texas Legacy

by Lorraine Heath

  “No peeking!” she called out as she hurried over to the bushes lining the bank.

  “I’m a gentleman,” he yelled back at her.

  Strange, she thought as she began stripping down to her chemise and drawers, that she was doing something she’d never expected to do again—be comfortable with very few clothes on in the presence of a man. They said time healed all wounds. Perhaps after six years, hers were finally starting to cease their festering.

  Chapter Eleven

  What the hell had he been thinking to suggest this? He heard the bushes rustling and fought hard not to think about exactly what was causing that swishing of cloth hitting foliage. Instead he contemplated how much work needed to be done and how he was going to stay out on the range tomorrow, repairing fencing and moving cattle to areas with more grass and water, until he was dog-tired, too bone-weary to even offer to escort Faith home.

  He didn’t know how it was possible that his feelings for her had deepened but they had. Watching her giving orders to the men and standing up to them had increased his respect and admiration for her. He’d fallen in love with a girl who had captured his heart because of her sweetness, but she had grown into a woman made of steel and spunk—but still the sweetness was there. He saw it when she interacted with her daughter, noticed it when she exhibited tenderness toward her parents. She was curious about the world but rooted to the land—the same land that spoke to something deep within his soul.

  While traveling he’d worked a series of odd jobs, had always felt untethered until he took the foreman’s position in Wyoming—but still something had been missing. And that something was here: Faith.

  The splash of water yanked him out of his reveries. Setting the lantern on a nearby rock, he laid out the quilts so they’d be waiting for them when they emerged from the water. After loosening a couple of buttons, he pulled his shirt over his head. He removed his gun belt—he’d put it on before leaving the house, never comfortable being without it—and set it carefully at the corner of one of the quilts. His boots soon joined it.

  He walked to the edge of the river, the water lapping at his toes. In one quick but smooth movement, he shucked his Levi’s, tossed them onto a nearby bush, and dove into the flowing stream. When he burst through to the surface, Faith was only a few feet away, treading water. Most cowboys couldn’t swim, but Dallas had made sure Rawley learned how. When taking cattle across a river, a man never knew if an errant steer or a sudden gush of rushing water might knock him from his horse. Heading north, Rawley had encountered riverbanks lined with crosses.

  And of course anything Rawley could do, Faith was determined to match.

  “I remember you were always wanting to come here for a swim,” she said now.

  “I never felt like I could get clean enough.”

  “You took baths nearly every day.”

  Every night before he went to bed he’d sink into a tub and scrub at his skin, trying to scrape away the feeling of others touching him, men he hadn’t wanted anywhere near him. “Lot of dirt gets lifted off the ground when you’re working with cattle, and it’s gotta go somewhere.”

  “I feel like that sometimes, like I’ll never get clean,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  “You still use that fancy soap. I can smell it when you walk by me.”

  “Lavender. Milled soap from Paris. You used to hate it.”

  He loved the fragrance on her but had complained about it because it had been safer not to let her know all the things about her that he liked. “I’d end up smelling like petunias anytime you hugged me.”

  She laughed lightly. “Lavender and petunias are two different flowers, two different scents.”

  “Flowery. That’s all that matters. Men aren’t supposed to smell like flowers.”

  “They’re not supposed to wear flowers on their hat, either, but Uncle Houston does.”

  A faded and frayed scrap of linen with flowers embroidered on it circled the crown of his Stetson, had for as long as Rawley could remember. “I think Amelia made it for him,” he said.

  “She did, except originally she sewed it so Pa could identify her at the train depot in Fort Worth. Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if he hadn’t broken his leg and sent Uncle Houston to fetch her.”

  “Some way or other, I think it would have all ended the same.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Do you believe in destiny?”

  He shrugged. The river in this section wasn’t that deep. If he touched his feet to the bottom, the water would swirl around him about mid-chest. “I don’t know. But if I’d wandered into the general store five minutes earlier or later, my path might have never crossed with Ma’s and I wouldn’t be here now.” It had been the first time he’d encountered Cordelia Leigh. Most people, including Faith, believed it had resulted in the Leighs eventually taking him. Few knew the true story of what had happened the night Cordelia Leigh lost her baby.

  “Then I’d have never met you,” Faith said.

  She would have—if something like destiny really existed. Maybe he would have been a cowboy who wandered onto the ranch and got hired. Although if Dallas and Cordelia Leigh hadn’t taken him in, he’d probably have died years earlier or been such a bitter, angry man no one would have been able to stomach having him around. “Someone else would have come along to aggravate you.”

  As though tired of the conversation, she went beneath the water, came back up, flicked away a few strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, and began swimming away from him. He’d wanted her to admit he didn’t irritate her, that she enjoyed having him about. He wanted to hear her laugh. He hadn’t heard an honest belly laugh from her since he’d returned. She was a mother, which brought responsibilities, had taken on the burden of running the ranch, which brought with it even more duties and obligations as well as accountability. The success of the ranch now rested on her shoulders. But she was in need of a little fun.

  With long, sure strokes, he went in pursuit, easily catching up to her. He grabbed her waist, tugged her under—

  The scream that rent the evening air sent chills racing up his spine. Her frantic kicking and punching had him immediately releasing his hold on her and darting back, away from her. But she continued to thrash about, yelling, “No! No! No!”

  “Faith, it’s just me. It’s Rawley. I’m sorry, darling.” He held out a hand imploringly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She went still, quiet, but he could see her trembling, a wildness in her eyes as though she were fighting to get her bearings.

  “I’m going to come hold you.”

  Her hand shot up. “No. I’m sorry. I have to get out now. Please just stay there.”

  He heard the quaking in her voice, the quick rush of her breaths. “I’m going to swim back to where I left my pants. I’ll fetch your clothes, too. Wrap yourself in both quilts.”

  She gave a jerky nod and began wading toward shore, while he headed upriver, climbed onto the bank, and drew his pants back on. Then he located her clothes and hurried back to where he’d spread the quilts. She was sitting on one of them, the other draped around her, the lantern brought in close to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, watching as he neared.

  “Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.” He dropped down beside her, grabbed the whiskey, opened the bottle, and held it toward her. “Take a swig of this. It’ll help warm you.” Even though the night was sultry, she seemed chilled. “I’m going to build a fire—”

  “I don’t need a fire.”

  “I do.” A few minutes later he drew comfort from the crackling of the flames as they licked at the branches he’d gathered, took gratification from watching as she leaned toward the fire she’d claimed not to need. “Faith—”

  “I just wasn’t expecting you to grab me is all. It took me by surprise.”

  “It was more than that, Faith. We’ve tugged each other under the water a thousand time
s.”

  “We were children then. It’s been years. I’d just forgotten is all. It’s nothing. Let me have my clothes.”

  He handed the bundle to her, watched as she simply clutched it as though it was a shield of armor designed to protect her from all dangers. Only then did he notice she’d moved his gun so it was resting beside her hip, within easy reach. She might as well have lifted it and fired a bullet into his chest. It would have hurt less than the knowledge she felt a need to defend herself against him. “You know I’d never hurt you,” he said quietly.

  “I know.”

  So much was beginning to make sense. Her loss of interest in the possibility of oil that had once excited her. The burned beginnings of her dream. Her refusal to marry the man who had gotten her with child. “The same can’t be said for Berringer, can it?”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she held his gaze and shook her head.

  “Tell me,” he said gently.

  “I can’t.”

  He understood too well the difficulty of talking about something so incredibly horrendous and personal. “Okay, but I gotta get you warm. Take another sip of the whiskey.”

  Slowly, gingerly he moved around behind her, knelt, and began rubbing her arms through the quilt, creating friction and heat. She sighed, her muscles loosening as she began to relax.

  “There’s a falling star,” he said to distract her. “Make a wish.”

  “I wish I could forget.”

  His heart nearly shattered with the sadness of her tone. “I know. But you can’t.”

  She shook her head, then nodded as though confused by what her response should be. Settling down onto his backside, he brought her back against his chest and closed his arms around her.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve let anyone hold me,” she said.

  “If you don’t want me to, I’ll back away.”

  “No, it’s nice. I can feel your warmth even through the quilt. It’s better than the fire.”

  “You were always more skilled at building fires than I was.”

  She gave a little snort of laughter, settled into silence. He waited, just waited, loathing himself for not being here when she’d needed him.

  “I liked him,” she whispered in a raspy voice. “A lot. He charmed Ma and Pa. Charmed me. He was spending a lot of time at the house. Everyone figured eventually we’d tie the knot, that soon he’d ask Pa for my hand and his blessing. He’d gotten permission to take me to dinner in town. In the hotel dining room. You know how fancy it is, how eating there makes people feel special. Two bottles of wine later we were heading home, and I was so relaxed, so happy. He drove us out to the drilling site. We walked around for a while, talking about dreams. Then we started kissing. We’d kissed a few times before, but that night it was different. He wanted more, but I wasn’t ready for that. But he wouldn’t listen. He just took.”

  He tightened his arms around her, wanting to take away the painful memory, then loosened them, so she wouldn’t feel threatened. He was searching for words, but all the ones in his vocabulary seemed far too insignificant to express how much he ached for her and what she’d suffered.

  “He drove me home like nothing had happened, like he’d done nothing wrong.”

  “Did he go to prison?”

  Her laugh was harsh, filled with pain and hurt. “I had no way to prove he forced himself on me. He was careful not to tear my clothes. Just shoved up my skirts. I had a few bruises where he held me down. Besides, they don’t send men to prison for rape.”

  The harsh word—so small for an action so monstrous—was a kick to his gut.

  “They would have argued I had loose morals or found some other excuse,” she continued. “I often wear pants. How unladylike is that? To be honest, I’d rather face a charging steer than a courtroom full of people judging me with censure written all over their faces as I was forced to tell them the details of what happened. Only Ma and Pa know. The family believes I was susceptible to his charms and he took advantage. Everyone else thinks I was just naughty.”

  “But Berringer left.”

  She nodded. “Pa made him. I don’t know exactly how. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted him gone, and Pa said he’d take care of it.”

  Rawley figured Dallas had beaten the man to within an inch of his life—if he hadn’t outright killed him.

  “I’m sorry, Faith, sorry for what happened, sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

  “You didn’t know what Cole would do any more than I did. Still, I feel such a fool because I did fall for him.”

  “You’re not a fool, Faith. Men like him are good at disguising what they are.”

  She twisted around slightly. “If he wanted me so badly—”

  “It’s not about want or desire. It’s about control or dominance . . . or just downright meanness. Some people take pleasure in hurting others. I don’t know why, but I do know what he did wasn’t your fault.” As he spoke the words, he was struck with how accurately they applied to him as well. He hadn’t been to blame for what had happened to him all those years ago, any more than she was to blame for what had happened to her. Never before had he seen the truth of his circumstance so clearly.

  Cradling her cheek, he held her shadowed gaze, saw the trail of tears glistening on her cheeks, gathered them up with soft strokes of his thumb. “Every time I think you’re the strongest woman I know, you prove to be stronger than I realized.”

  “Knowing he touched me, I don’t know how you can.”

  “Because he’s nothing and you’re everything.” Taking his time, not wanting to spook her, he eased in until he could tenderly brush his lips over hers. She humbled him with her courage.

  With a sigh, she snuck her arms around his neck and parted her lips, and he took what she offered as gently as he knew how, showing her with each restrained, slow stroke of his tongue, every caress along the length of her back, how precious she was to him. When she shuddered against him, he trailed his mouth along the creamy column of her throat, offering solace as she dropped her head back, giving him easier access. He followed a lazy path to the shell of her ear, outlined it with the tip of his tongue, felt the shiver course through her.

  “Better than my birthday,” she whispered.

  Easing away, he held her gaze. “I want to offer you more, Faith, but I don’t know if you’re ready for it.”

  She shook her head. “But I’m getting there.”

  Straightening, she snuggled her back against his chest and he closed his arms around her. They sat in silence for long minutes, listening to the gurgling of the river, the chirping of the crickets, the croaking of the frogs.

  “Are you going to leave again, Rawley?” she finally asked.

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  She merely nodded, and he knew in his heart he was there to stay.

  She’d never planned to tell him, yet having told him, it was as though a great weight had been lifted. She didn’t know how long they simply sat there, but it was comforting to have his arms around her, to feel his warmth surround her. Although it was August and hot, a coldness had seeped into her bones when the memories bombarded her, a coldness his kiss had obliterated. Unlike the one before, this one had been tame. Like the one before, it had him on a tight leash. She’d felt the tremors coursing through him as he held his needs at bay. He’d handed the reins over to her, allowing her to determine the depth, the direction, the pace their joined mouths would follow.

  Eventually she slipped her pants, shirt, and boots on, wrapped a quilt around her shoulders, and they began walking toward the cabin. Without a word, he took her hand. She squeezed it as she brushed her shoulder against his. The familiarity of him was reassuring in its intensity.

  When they reached the cabin, he said, “I don’t want to leave, Faith. Memories were stirred up tonight, and I know how vivid they can be in sleep. I want to be here for you in case you have a nightmare, need comforting. I can bunk down in Callie’s bed.”

  She
’d never been all by herself through the night. Until she and Callie moved into the cabin, she’d lived in her parents’ home. Always there was another presence. Although earlier she’d welcomed the peace, suddenly she didn’t want to be alone. “I’d like that.”

  While he tended to his horse, she went inside, put away the quilts and what was left of the whiskey. She wasn’t drunk, far from it, but she was a little more relaxed.

  When he walked inside, the entire place seemed to shrink with his presence. He filled the room, but not in an intimidating way. He was simply bold and confident, a man who could be tough one minute, gentle the next. She tilted her head toward Callie’s room. With a nod, he strode into it. She followed and leaned against the doorjamb.

  With a sigh, he bowed his head. If she had it within her at that moment, she would have laughed. Instead she simply smiled. Her daughter’s bed wasn’t much bigger than Callie was.

  Without turning around, he glanced at Faith over his shoulder, a wry grin marking his features. “I reckon it’ll be the sofa.”

  She bit her bottom lip, shook her head. “My bed.”

  He did turn then. “Faith—”

  “Just hold me. I need that.”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  Her smile grew. Always a man of too few words.

  Not bothering to change into her nightgown, she climbed into bed, curled on her side, and watched Rawley glancing around the room.

  “You added curtains,” he said unnecessarily.

  “I didn’t like the notion of someone peeking in.” After Cole, she’d looked at the world differently, seen all the various ways she could feel violated.

  He wandered over. The bed dipped with his weight as he sat and began tugging off his boots.

  “It’s hot. You can take off your shirt.”

  “You’ll be comfortable with that?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wouldn’t be.”

  He pulled it over his head and tossed it to the foot of the bed. After lowering the flame in the lamp, leaving just enough light so they weren’t in total darkness, he stretched out on the bed, raised an arm, and tucked a hand beneath his head. It was such a masculine pose.