Once a Maverick

by Raine Cantrell

  “Right next door,” Conner answered, stripping off his work gloves and tucking them into his belt. “We put her in Logan’s old room.”

  “Logan’s room?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And where the hell is he?”

  Sorely tested, Conner strove for calm. “Logan made his own choice to bunk down with the hands about a year ago.” He snapped his hat brim lower. The move helped him to conceal his concern as Ty rose from the bed and wavered on his bare feet. Any offer of help from him would be met with instant refusal, so he didn’t even try. All he could do was stand aside and watch Ty make his way toward the door.

  With his hand on the latch, Ty turned and looked at his brother. He gently shook his head. “So, you managed to push Logan out, too. I never understood that, Conner. Pa left you in charge of everything, the ranch, the mines, us. Guess he never knew what a greedy bastard you are.”

  “Damn you, Ty. I’ve had enough of your sass.”

  “Sass, Conner? That’s for kids. Look again, big man. I’m not a boy anymore.”

  “Then stop acting like one. Pa left me in charge. I never asked for the job. I never wanted it. Not that he or anyone else around here ever cared what the hell I wanted.”

  Ty twisted around to face his brother, keeping both hands behind him on the door latch as he leaned back.

  He eyed Conner’s tall, rangy body. The man was corded and tough, straight as a branchless pine and as hard as ironwood. His boots and chaps were dusty, testament that Conner had been working for hours. Ty had never denied that his brother did more than his share to keep the ranch going and oversee the workings of the mines. And no one could tell that Conner was boss by his clothes.

  But put him in a group of men, and the way he carried himself told everyone he was the man to reckon with. It wasn’t jealousy that provided the conflict between them. Conner never bent, it was his way or no way.

  When Conner claimed something, he valued it, and he rivaled the tenacity of the mesquite trees going after water, for the roots would go down to fifty feet or more in search of that life-giving essence. Conner would ride more than a hundred miles to reclaim anything that bore the Rocking K brand.

  Damn trouble was, Conner had always thought that included his brothers.

  As he looked up and met Conner’s gaze, Ty noted the new lines that creased the skin around his eyes and his mouth. He’d put a few of the early ones there, fighting against Conner’s belief that he was responsible for all of them.

  And as he stared at Conner’s blue-gray eyes the color of a winter’s sky and about as friendly, Ty realized that Conner still believed it.

  “Later, Conner.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, little brother.” But there was no heat in Conner’s voice. He had stifled his impatience to demand that Ty tell him what kind of trouble he had brought home with him. He stifled the need to tell Ty that whatever the Kincaids owned was his if he wanted it.

  He stared at the open doorway and thought of the young woman who fought for her life. Dixie. Now he had a name for part of whatever it was that forced his youngest brother to break his sworn oath that he’d never come asking for help from him again.

  Conner closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t push. He’d have to wait. And he hoped that Ty wouldn’t explode when he found out about Logan.

  Ty held on to the cool, thick adobe wall, surprised that Conner had not followed him out of the room. It wasn’t like his brother to linger while there was still a drop of daylight and work to be done. Maybe Conner had changed. Other than the one, brief outburst, he had roped his temper and Ty knew he had provoked it.

  The moment he opened the door to what had been Logan’s room, Ty dismissed Conner from his thoughts.

  The familiar form of Sofia, their housekeeper, was bent over Dixie’s naked body. She was mumbling to herself in Spanish, bathing Dixie. As in his room, the light was dim, due to the shutters being closed, but Ty saw that Dixie’s color almost matched the sheet. Her long hair had been braided. If he knew his mother and Sofia, they had washed it, as well. But Dixie wasn’t moving. He must have made a sound, for Sofia whirled around.

  “Out! Shoo! Shoo!” She whipped up the sheet to cover Dixie and tossed the washcloth into the basin.

  “Sofia, is this how you greet me?”

  “Young stallions have no place near the fillies.” She advanced on him, waving her apron in a shooing motion. “When I have made her respectable again you may come back.”

  Ty smiled at the small, plump woman who had ruled his home before his birth and caught her up against him in a hug.

  “How is she?”

  “Dios holds la mujer in his hands. I do what I can.”

  “Which is plenty.” Ty’s grip tightened around her. “She must live, Sofia.”

  “Ah, corderito, she means much to you?”

  “Sí.” He knew he need say no more to her. He managed a smile at hearing Sofia repeat her childhood nickname for him. He released her and slowly shook his head. “No more lamb, Sofia.”

  “Always to me you are corderito.” She gazed at the bed. Muy malo, this fever. You do not worry. Your mama and Sofia take care.”

  Ty followed her gaze to the bed and the wooden crucifix adorning the wall above it. A bittersweet smile widened his mouth. Sofia’s husband, Santo, had taken each of the boys to find the wood to make their crosses.

  “Santo, he is well?”

  “Santo is Santo,” she answered with a shrug. “Like the mountains he is there.”

  “Rosanna must be a grown beauty now. And Rafael near a man.”

  “Sí. The little ones are no more. Rosanna will marry next year. Rafael does a man’s work. Conner is proud of him.”

  She reached up with her plump hand and gently touched his brow. “It is good. No fever.”

  Ty caught hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. “A kiss for these hands that work magic to broken bodies.” He held her gaze with his. “I need her well. Heal her for me, Sofia. She is a woman much deserving of life.”

  “And of love?”

  “And of love,” he softly repeated. He glanced at Dixie. “Most certainly of love.”

  “You will tell me of her when I have made her well.”

  Uncomfortable with Sofia’s sharpened tone, for he wasn’t ready to examine his feelings for Dixie, much less discuss them with anyone, Ty sought a distraction.

  He pressed another kiss to the back of her hand. “What’s this I smell? Lord, Sofia, your hand holds the scent of capirotada.” His loud sniffing as he turned her hand over and nuzzled her palm made her giggle like a young girl.

  “Cinnamon, cloves, anise, brown sugar…” Ty stopped. He released her hand and frowned.

  “Already you have forgotten? For shame, corderito.”

  Knowing it would please her, he obediently hung his head as he had as a boy when he would beg her to make his favorite bread pudding.

  “Tell me, Sofia, have you made capirotada?”

  “Sí! Sí! When your mama saw you slept in peace she came to me. Go, she says, I will watch over the young woman. All morning I am in the kitchen—”

  “All morning?”

  “Sí. It nears time for supper. You were meant to have a healing sleep. Then your mama, she comes to say we make this for my boy, we make that for him. He will be hungry when he wakes. I shoo her from my kitchen to come sit here. Sofia has no need to be told what to make for her corderito.”

  Once more she raised her hand to his face, caressing his bearded cheek. “You go now. Make yourself handsome. I wash your lady. I will come for you to see her.”

  “Sofia, who do you think took care of her—”

  “I do not wish to hear of this.” She drew herself up to her full height, which brought her head level with Ty’s chin. “You are home now. She is your woman. She is not your wife. You are hombre now, no more muchacho.”

  “I’m glad someone around here realizes that I am a ma
n and not a boy anymore.”

  “Ah, always it is you and that one. Conner was never un niño. That one was born a man. It is for shame that you fight.”

  “No. No fighting, Sofia. I’m not up to Conner’s weight right now. I’m not up to much of anything but seeing that Dixie lives.”

  “I will do all I can.” She started to block his way toward the bed, but one look at the agony in his eyes and she stepped aside. “A moment, no more.”

  Ty steadied himself with one hand on the headboard as he leaned over and kissed Dixie’s forehead. Her skin burned his lips. He closed his eyes for a brief second, feeling despair. If Sofia, with her years of knowledge to heal, could not break Dixie’s fever, no one could.

  “Come. You go now.”

  Ty heaved a weary sigh and backed away from the bed. “All right. I’ll go. But you call me the minute you’re finished with her.”

  “We will pray and make her well again. You would do good to offer prayers as we all do.”

  “You use your prayers, Sofia. I used up my store just keeping her alive to get here.”

  “What is this store? No matter. We have many prayers. They have made your mama happy to have you home again.”

  Once more she was all bustling business, urging him out of the room. “Go. Go. Your mama waits for you.”

  Her sudden smile made Ty spin around. The move forced him to cling to the doorway a moment as he saw who waited.

  “Ty.” Macaria Kincaid whispered her son’s name. She had taken her fill of watching over him during the night, her tears a blend of joy and regret. Only something desperate had finally returned her restless son to her. She believed she had shed all her tears, but her throat closed, and her eyes burned with the need to cry. All she could do was to open her arms in welcome to him.

  He held his mother’s graceful body, still as tough as hickory, as supple as a willow, and inhaled the special, familiar scent of sweet mountain lilacs.

  Macaria pulled back and cradled his cheeks within her slender hands. “It is good to have you home again, Ty.” She studied his eyes, smiling when his lips curved. “What is it? Have I changed so much?”

  “Still the most beautiful woman in the territory. But there’s more gray in your hair,” he noted, reaching up to touch the neat crown of braids she had always worn. His thumb rubbed her forehead. “A few more worry lines. I hope they weren’t over me. I know that things looked pretty bad last night, but I’m fine.” Her quick, searching gaze made him add, “Well, I’m hungry and my back’s a little sore, but there’s nothing else wrong.”

  She linked her arm with his. “Then come. I will feed you food and tell you all that has happened since you’ve been gone. And you will tell me about the young woman you’ve brought home to us. But first, let me get you a shirt. I’m afraid that your old ones wouldn’t fit.”

  “Madre, before you do, tell me where Logan is.”

  She averted her gaze, stopping by the hall table where a folded pile of shirts waited. “You’ve seen Conner, yes?” she asked, handing him one. “Of course you have. He was anxious to see how you and the young woman fared.”

  Ty eased his arms into a shirt so buttery soft it almost felt like silk against his skin. “Conner came to see me. No, we didn’t fight. Yes, he told me that Logan had moved out of the house.” He quickly buttoned up the shirt but didn’t bother to tuck the tails into his pants.

  “What Conner didn’t say, and I didn’t ask, was why Logan left.”

  “I was afraid of that. After you eat, I shall tell you. Rosanna helps me in the kitchen now. Did Sofia tell you she is to marry?”

  Ty allowed that she had and knew when his mother wore that set, stubborn look, he would be foolish to push. She would tell him in her own way, in her own time. He followed her into the kitchen.

  It wasn’t the doe-eyed dark beauty who claimed Ty’s attention but the tall, spare man who entered the room. The dark hair that Ty remembered was completely white, startling against the tanned webbing creasing his face.

  “Santo.”

  “Have your eyes grown dim while you are away from us? Of course it is Santo.” His gaze rested lovingly on Ty.

  “He ran off a yearling colt and returns to us a fine young stallion. El patrón would be proud to see you, my son. Now, come greet an old man in the proper way.”

  “You old? Never.” And as Ty hugged him for a long minute, he realized that Santo still had the strength of a young man in his body, despite the white hair.

  Pulling back, Santo nodded. “It is good that you have come home to us. We will hear no more talk of leaving. You are needed here.”

  When Ty freed himself and didn’t answer, his mother came to his side. “Ty? You have come home to stay?”

  “You shall dance at my wedding fiesta,” Rosanna said, adding platters of food to those already on the table.

  “Answer la patrona,” Santo ordered.

  “There’s a promise I have to keep. And I can’t keep it if I stay.”

  “A promise?” Macaria asked.

  “It is the young woman you brought home with you, yes?”

  “Yes, Rosanna. I promised Dixie I would go after the man responsible for her father’s death as well as for her wounds. And I made that promise,” he added, turning to his mother, “to God if he would spare her life.”

  “Por Dios! You hunt an animal, my son. For one who would shoot a woman cannot be called a man,” Santo exclaimed.

  But Ty didn’t look or answer him. He watched the color blanch from his mother’s face. “First you, then Logan. Now you tell me you will go again.”

  “Logan’s gone?”

  The silence became tense as Ty looked from one to the other. Rosanna kept her back toward him.

  “If someone doesn’t answer me, I’ll have to go and find Conner.”

  “You don’t have to go far, little brother. I’m right here.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ty spun around and swayed on his feet. He motioned Santo back as he moved to help him and kicked out the long bench beside the table. Much as he hated to reveal weakness in front of Conner and his mother, Ty had no choice but to sit down.

  “Enough. All these questions will wait,” Macaria stated. “Rosanna, fix a plate for my son. Santo, bring Ty wine.” She turned to Conner, her voice instantly soft. “Will you break bread with your brother?”

  “I’m not the one you should be asking.”

  “Oh, hell, Conner—”

  “Ty!”

  “Your pardon, madre.” Ty glanced at Conner. “Come sit with me. There’s no way they’re gonna shove all this in me.”

  Conner kicked out the bench on the other side of the table, murmuring his thanks to Rosanna when she set a plate in front of him. Santo poured the wine into their glasses and, at a nod from Macaria, left the kitchen with his daughter in tow.

  “Now, you will drink together, eat together and then we will talk together. Agreed?”

  It was an oft-repeated scene from their childhood, and Ty grinned at Conner, laughing when he saw his brother’s face relax into a genuine smile of welcome.

  “Sí, madre,” they said in unison, filling their plates under her watchful eye.

  “Good. I will go relieve Sofia. When you are finished come to me.”

  Macaria looked back as she reached the doorway and caught Conner’s eye. Their communication was silent, but then they had never needed many words between them. She left them knowing that Conner would hold his temper and tell Ty only what he must about Logan.

  As her footsteps receded, Ty carefully set his fork down. “So tell me what happened to Logan.”

  “About six months ago we discovered that someone was rustling our cattle. Logan had a few ideas of where they were keeping them until they moved them out. He rode off and that’s the last any of us have seen of him.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We haven’t stopped searching for him, Ty. I’ve—”

  “Hell, Conner, I know that.”
<
br />   The complete conviction behind those few simple words held Conner silent.

  Ty leveled a hard look at his brother. “You didn’t expect that, did you? Whatever our differences over the years, I know that you’d turn hell upside down, then go back and do it all over again if one of us was in trouble.”

  Feeling as if he were caught with his pants down, Conner shook his head. “Guess I can’t call you little brother anymore.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t take bets on that. You’ve still got a good two inches on me.” Ty sensed that Conner’s emotions ran as deep as his own, emotions that neither had voiced to the other and weren’t ready to say now. His thought was confirmed when Conner spoke.

  “Yeah, I’ve got those inches and more than a few pounds on you. And when you see Logan—”

  “Yes, when I see Logan,” Ty repeated, exchanging a silent promise with Conner as their gazes met and held.

  “Why, then you’ll no longer be the runt of the litter. You’ve grown in more than height, Ty. But before we talk about ideas you might have about finding Logan, I want to hear about this promise you made to Dixie.”

  “You heard me.” Ty toyed with the wineglass, his gaze roving around the kitchen. He saw without note the black iron pots hanging from their hooks, their sizes varied enough to make a meal for two or accommodate forty. Colorful pottery plates were arranged on the corner cupboard’s shelves, herbs tied with string hung from the overhead rafters for drying. From where he sat, Ty could see partway into the pantry where crocks lined the floor and shelves along with sacks. He knew the pie press would be full, it always had been and was Sofia’s pride. She alone held the key, given to her by his mother when she had married.

  “Ty? Want to tell me about it?”

  The fact that Conner was asking, not demanding, brought Ty to look at him. If Logan had been there, he would never have hesitated at all. Logan would not only listen but insist that he take part. But Logan wasn’t here, and Conner was. He thought of what Sofia had said about his brother—he had never been a boy, but born a man. In a way, he knew that was true. By the time he had been old enough to understand, Conner, six years older, was already putting in a man’s hours of work.