Once a Maverick

by Raine Cantrell

  The thing was, he never knew how Conner would take what he had to say. Touch a grass blade of the Rocking K without his permission and there would be Conner’s kind of hell to pay. But Dixie didn’t belong to the Rocking K. She wasn’t a Kincaid. And in view of Logan’s disappearance, Conner wasn’t going to like hearing that Ty had no intention of sticking around to take his place.

  “Guess it was too much to hope that you’d trust me.” Big as he was, Conner could move like the breeze so that only a whisper of sound was made when he stood up, snapped the brim of his hat forward and looked down at Ty.

  “Tell madre I had to finish up. I’ll see her after supper.”

  “Tell her yourself, after we talk.” The words were impulsive, the result of the weariness in Conner’s eyes, and perhaps, Ty thought, he had grown up enough to realize that Conner had shouldered too many burdens alone.

  Conner sat.

  Ty began talking.

  And in the hallway, Macaria smiled at Santo, before they went their separate ways.

  Macaria closed the door quietly behind her. “How is she, Sofia?” she asked in her native Spanish.

  “She has taken a little lemonade. That is a good sign, señora. The fever does not end. She is young and she is strong,” Sofia said, stroking Dixie’s brow. “And she is very pretty.”

  “She is, indeed, and this young woman matters a great deal to my son.” There was no hint of a question in Macaria’s voice, nor was there rancor that Sofia was privileged to know while she was not. There had been many such conversations in the past concerning all three of her sons, where Sofia or Santo was the one chosen to be a confidant.

  “It is as you say.” Sofia made soft, comforting murmurs as Dixie stirred restlessly beneath her stroking hand. “Many times she has called out for him.”

  “Then we must see to it that she recovers quickly, for I will reward her with whatever it is that she desires for bringing my son home to me.”

  “She comes with trouble, señora.”

  “Then I will put the Kincaid fortune at her disposal to help her out of her difficulties.”

  “And if the young woman wishes the corazón of your son, will you make this too available to her?”

  There was a hard glitter in Macaria’s eyes as she met Sofia’s sharp gaze. “If my son has love for her, and she for him, then nothing must stand in their way. I will not have him leave us again. Ty’s place is here, on the lands I brought into my marriage. Even now, as we speak, he conspires with Conner to keep me from knowing what this trouble is.”

  “Then it is as it should be.” Sofia nodded, once more turning to resume her bathing of Dixie’s fevered body. “Dios has answered all your prayers, señora. Now your sons will learn to stand together. It is time.”

  “Not all, Sofia,” she reminded her. “Logan must yet come home.”

  There was a softness to the night’s dark that settled like a comfortable blanket over the land as Ty entered Dixie’s room. He knew the slight easing of the tension within him came from the time shared with Conner. It was hard for him to take in the fact that they had talked, and he more than his brother.

  He had Conner’s assurances—never given lightly—that before morning, word would be out that the Kincaids wanted a man named Thorne.

  Ty had added his own enticement to make sure that the man would be found. He offered his accumulated share from their mine holdings as a reward—twenty-five thousand dollars. It was the only protest that Conner made. When he saw that Ty was not going to be budged from his stand, he gave in.

  Ty had never thought about the wealth that his brother had saved for him. And looking down at Dixie, he knew he would offer everything he had if her fever would break.

  Rosanna was keeping vigil. Her back was as straight as the chair she sat in beside the bed. She smiled at him, then raised one finger to her lips as she stood and allowed him her place. The lamp was turned down low, shedding a dim glow that didn’t reach the shadows in the corners.

  Ty lifted Dixie’s limp hand and brought it to his lips. He forgot that Rosanna was in the room, even as the creak of the rocker began. His whole being focused on Dixie.

  Her hair seemed almost black against her pale skin. He skimmed a finger over the lace edge of the nightgown, finding the pulse he searched for, and for moments held his fingertip there, willing his life force to give needed strength to hers.

  There was a salve on the lips he touched with his own, mixing his breaths with her ragged, shallow ones. The cold, hard, knotted fist that had been with him for days once again squeezed his insides as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

  “Words have never really come hard for me, Dixie, but none that I know are right. I want you to fight, Angel. I want to make everything in your world right for you. I miss you…” His throat seemed to close up on him, and Ty leaned back.

  Once more he took hold of her hand and gazed up at the wooden cross. Looking back at Dixie, seeing how still she was, he feared for her life. Ty slid from the chair to his knees by the bed. Lowering his head, he pressed her hot hand to his forehead.

  He prayed.

  He promised.

  He rambled as the night wore on. He dreamed of her smile, and against the rhythmic creak of the rocking chair, he dozed.

  It was hours later, in the deepest heart of the night that Ty stirred. He felt something wet on his cheek. Without opening his eyes, he reached up to brush it away and realized that they were his own tears. He moved to trace the small circle of wet on the sheet and found that it was not alone.

  Understanding came slowly.

  The sheet was soaked.

  “Dixie. Dixie,” he whispered. His hand trembled as he raised it toward her face.

  Her cheek was wet, too. But not from tears. Her fever had broken and sweat soaked the sheets.

  “Rosanna!” He roughly shook his head, clearing the sleep from his mind. “Where the hell—”

  “Gently, my son. Gently, and quietly,” Macaria admonished. “The crisis is over. Leave so I can change her and the bed.” She accepted his brief hug and gave him a little push toward the door. “Sofia is waiting in the kitchen. Tell her our prayers have been answered.”

  Ty passed the rest of the night in his own fevered impatience to see Dixie. Sofia and his mother had set Santo to guard the room while they tended her. He clung to their promise that the moment she was able to speak, they would fetch him.

  Conner found him in the small back parlor. He brought coffee and orders that Ty take a bath and shave.

  “¿Madre?” Ty asked, accepting the steaming cup from his brother.

  “Madre and Sofia,” Conner returned, sipping his coffee.

  “Conner, I don’t want anyone to tell Dixie about the reward. There are a few things I left out about her. She can be stubborn—mule and mountain have nothing on her.” He stared down at the dark liquid in his cup, mulling over what more he had to say.

  “Still uneasy trusting me?”

  Ty looked up. “No. I need your word that when Thorne is found you’ll make sure Dixie stays here. I won’t have his blood on her hands.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying, Ty?”

  “I know. A few days ago I thought about what I would do if she asked me to kill Thorne. I’ve never hired out my gun in the time I’ve been gone.”

  “But you’ve done your share of killing.”

  Their gazes met, and Ty found that he didn’t need to offer explanations or words. Somehow Conner understood. He didn’t question that Conner knew more about what he’d been doing than he had told him. It simply stood to reason that given Conner’s nature, he would keep tabs on his brothers.

  “I’ve survived. But you’ve got to understand that I want that bastard not just to give Dixie the peace she needs, to know that he paid for her father’s death. I want him for what he did to her. Not just now, but before.”

  “Will you let me go with you?”

  “No. Don’t ask that of me, Conner. This is my fight
. Not yours. ’Sides, how would the Rocking K get along with you gone?”

  That brought a laugh from Conner. “You forget that our mother has most capable hands. And she has Santo.”

  “What is this? You are talking of me?”

  They both turned to see Santo at the door. Ty stepped forward, both hands gripping the cup.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have come to see if you have made yourself presentable to see your woman.”

  Ty rubbed one hand over his thickly stubbled face. A rueful grin creased his lips, and he turned to set the cup aside, missing the look exchanged between Conner and Santo.

  “Guess I’d better get presentable.”

  “Yeah. Go on, Ty. We’ll talk again later.”

  Santo stood aside to let Ty pass, then stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “It is better with you two?”

  “It is much better,” Conner answered, sitting on the arm of the hide-covered sofa. “Has there been any word of Logan?”

  “Would I stand here like a chair if there was? Rafael is worried.”

  Conner looked down at his boots. “And Enrique, is he worried, too?”

  “Rosanna’s intended, like my son, had become friends with your brother. He asks each day if we have news of him.”

  “Forgive me, Santo. Ty coming home now only presents new problems, when I thought I had all the trouble I could handle.”

  “Always this is the way for the strongest man. Come, we have work to do.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go tree us a polecat for Ty.”

  Dixie whispered his name moments after Ty walked into the room. His gaze was on her, not his mother or Sofia as they backed away from the freshly made bed.

  “Welcome to my home, Angel.” He leaned close to murmur the words, unable to stop himself from caressing her cheek. Her skin was cool and he smiled as she turned slightly to bring her lips against his palm. He could feel her mouth move but couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  “Don’t talk now. We’ll have time. All the time we need.” Her lashes fluttered, lifting and falling as if the effort to open her eyes exhausted her. He brushed his fingertip over her brows, gently skimming along the lines of her lashes.

  “Rest. I’ll be right here beside you when you wake.” He thought his words had reassured her, for the line of her mouth became a gentle curve and she no longer struggled to look at him.

  “Let me tell you again about the promises I made you. There’s places on the ranch I want to share with you when you’re well. Sofia will fatten you with her good cooking and Santo will find you the most spirited mare. They’ll make Rosanna accompany us everywhere under orders from my mother. And you’ll meet Conner, Dixie. He’s a bit rough on the edges but he’s a Kincaid, too. Just rest, love, and sleep.”

  Ty wouldn’t let her out of his sight, but as Dixie grew stronger and saw that her wounds began to heal after three weeks, she knew that Ty was beginning to chafe in the roles he had chosen.

  He was her guide to the beauty of the Kincaid land. He would take her up before him on his horse, riding at an easy pace to some hidden valley where they would feast on Sofia’s cooking and laze away a few hours.

  He was her friend who listened to childhood memories, sharing many of his own, making her laugh at his droll antics.

  He was her protector, gentle, tender, stopping her whenever she attempted to push herself to do more.

  What Ty Kincaid refused to be was her lover again.

  Beyond a chaste kiss good-night at her doorway each night, he kept his distance. True, they were rarely left alone. If Rosanna did not accompany them, one of the ranch hands did. When they walked in the garden that was Macaria’s pride and joy in the evening after supper, Santo or Sofia was sure to be sitting close enough to keep them within sight.

  Dixie tried to tell and show him that she was growing stronger every day. She had little resistance to the tempting array that Sofia coaxed her to eat, along with everyone else.

  Ty ignored her.

  Dixie knew it was wise advice that Macaria gave her to set aside her thought of revenge until she was completely healed. She accepted with secret joy the gowns that Rosanna and Macaria shared with her.

  Ty didn’t seem to notice.

  She knew he cared about her. Hazy memories of his voice would come to her in odd moments, low, intense and husky, whispering promises. She couldn’t remember the words.

  When she asked him, Ty claimed she had been having fever dreams.

  Dixie tried talking to him about her plans to leave. He said there was time yet before they had to talk about it.

  Her temper came back. Frustration grew. And with it came need.

  She desired him. She had come to trust him, but she could not find a way to break down the wall of reserve he had built between them.

  Ty often caught Dixie looking at him with such intense longing that he felt as if he were being ripped apart to deny her, and himself. He was doing everything he could to protect Dixie’s fragile health. She needed to be left alone to recoup her strength and that incredible spirit he had come to admire. She couldn’t do it if he let her know how much he needed her.

  He paid dearly. She flirted with him; he had to ignore her.

  Seeing her every day was a personal torture he could easily have ended but not to see her was ten times worse. She and Rosanna were of a similar size, but he had never reacted to Rosanna’s dark beauty dressed in her colorful gowns the way he did to Dixie. It was like watching a brilliant flower bloom in passionate color day by day.

  He managed to ignore most of the remarks cast his way about his uncertain temper. Only when he was with Dixie did he retain his control. With her he could, because he must, stifle the desire that left him sleepless each night. And he never whispered of his growing frustration that no word of Thorne’s whereabouts had reached him yet.

  Ty cursed Conner, then accused him of withholding information from him. But when his brother asked him why he dared think that, Ty had no answer.

  But Conner knew. They all knew. No one watching Ty and Dixie together could deny the passion that sparked to life the moment they were together.

  Ty was frightened of how much she had come to mean to him. A black rage clouded his thoughts each time he remembered those moments on the ridge. Thorne would pay.

  He didn’t want to be tied down. Not that Dixie had hinted of marriage, but he caught the speculation in his mother’s eyes. He evaded her query about his intentions toward Dixie.

  The raw emotional edge he walked made him unsure and uneasy. Thinking about loving Dixie was such a deep complication when he needed to concentrate on finding Thorne and removing him as a threat to her.

  Permanently.

  And soon.

  He was a man caught in a vise. He couldn’t leave and he couldn’t stay away from her.

  Like a slow-building storm, something had to break.

  Knowing it left Ty walking the razor’s edge.

  Watching it left those who loved him feeling helpless. Including Dixie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ty crashed off the razor’s edge.

  Thorne had been sighted. Conner brought the news to him in the cool predawn hours that Thorne had surfaced in Ajo, southwest of their ranch. The discussion that had followed with Conner was brief and ruthless. Ty was going after Thorne alone. He planned to leave tonight, once he was sure that Dixie was asleep. Nothing was going to stop him.

  He never expected to have Dixie come upon him in the kitchen while the cool rage simmered so brightly within him. Ty could tell the moment she sensed it. He had no way to avoid her. Not without hurting her.

  She had shadows beneath her eyes attesting to her lack of sleep. He had heard her open the shutters of her window, heard the soft sobs, since he, too, had stared out at the dark, unable to sleep for wanting her. He did not know where he had found the strength not to go to her.

  But there was no doubt in his mind now, watching her as she entere
d the kitchen and saw him, that he had to do everything in his power to keep her from finding out about Thorne.

  He didn’t expect the longing in her eyes to mirror his own.

  He hadn’t counted on the passion flaring between them so quickly.

  He never thought Dixie would act on it.

  She came to him in a whisper of soft cotton, with desire for him shimmering within her eyes, his name a plea on her lips.

  And there, in the cool morning before the sun painted the sky with pale shades of pink and lavender, Dixie cupped his cheeks to keep him from turning away.

  “No more, Ty. I want to know why you deny these feelings between us. Are you afraid that I’ll make claims on you? Don’t be. I would never want to hold you that way. But I’ve needed you these last weeks. Needed you to hold me,” she whispered, casting pride aside and praying that she could keep the love she felt hidden from him.

  Her quest for the truth crumbled the wall he had built. There was no way to protect her or himself from the hunger that stirred from her light touch. He could not stand the thought of hearing another word from her lips without first tasting them.

  One taste…one small kiss…

  He remembered thinking that once before. It hadn’t quite worked out that way. But he was stronger now. He intended to reassure her with a kiss that words just couldn’t convey.

  Memory had cheated him.

  He had blocked out how very soft her mouth was against his. Blocked the way heat flared. Blocked the sweet taste of her, the giving, the absolute rightness of holding her in his arms.

  He thought of leaving her with the belief that he didn’t want her. He allowed the leash to slip a little to banish the idea.

  Ty broke the kiss. Dixie’s hands still rested on his cheeks. Her gaze was locked on his mouth. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.

  She didn’t blink, didn’t move.

  “I’m not made of stone, Angel.”

  “You could move, Ty. You could turn your back on me, on this.” She raised up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. Dixie knew the cost to herself to plead. His hesitation seemed to stretch out for an eternity before he made a hungry mating sound and lowered his lips once again to hers.