Rogues in Texas 02 - Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “The pain would have gone away eventually.”

  “Why do you have to be so damn proud? Why won’t you let me help you?”

  Despair showed deep in his eyes. “It … shames me for you to see me like this.”

  “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his temple. “What do you think I see? I see a man who nearly drowned trying to save another; a man who refused to yield even though he knew it meant death; a man who held me when I was filled with sorrow and made me feel courageous when I wasn’t. You haven’t changed in my eyes. You’ve only changed in your own.”

  “I can’t walk.”

  “But you will again someday.”

  “You honestly believe that?”

  She nodded and smiled tenderly. “Even if you have to cheat to do it.”

  Her gaze drifted to the figurine on the bedside table. The mother was once again holding the child, a jagged crack, now mended, joining them. “You fixed it,” she whispered, reaching out.

  He folded his fingers over hers. “Don’t touch it. I’m not certain it’s dry yet, and even if it were, I’m not certain it’s strong enough to withstand handling.” He brought her fingers to his mouth and skimmed his lips over her knuckles, sending streams of warmth flowing through her. “Thank you for trying to fix me.”

  Tears scalded her eyes.

  “I would not have blamed you for leaving me to suffer alone. I have not been … pleasant these past few months.”

  Her fingers curled and tightened around his. “I just wish I knew what to do to help—”

  “Take me swimming again tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened, and she pulled her hand free of his. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Look what you just went through.”

  He rolled to his side, carefully keeping the sheet in place. “I have lain here for weeks and watched my legs dwindle away, feeling little, not knowing how to stop the deterioration.” He rose up on an elbow, his eyes glittering with hope. “Tonight, at long last, I felt something—”

  “Pain!” she snapped, rising to her feet.

  “Rebellion. A boy grows into a man by rebelling. It’s a painful process. God knows I barely survived it.”

  “You can’t compare your legs to a child—”

  He met her gaze. “I think you were right about swimming. The movements were slight, but they were there. I didn’t want to give them up. That’s why I wouldn’t leave the water until dusk. I shan’t make that mistake again, but I do want to go back to the river … with you.”

  With you. Those words wrapped around her heart even though deep down she knew she was the logical choice. She was free during the day, while everyone else had farms to manage or cattle to gather and graze.

  She gave a brisk nod. “All right. We’ll go in the afternoon.”

  A slow, sensual smile eased over his face. “I will walk again, Jessye.”

  “I know.”

  Then he would no doubt walk out of the saloon and never glance back.

  *

  CHAPTER 17

  « ^ »

  H arrison glared at the rain pounding un mercifully against the window. Forked lightning threatened to strike the ground, and thunder boomed.

  In the past fortnight, he’d grown accustomed to swimming in the afternoon, actually anticipated the time he spent with Jessye. Through her eyes, he experienced moments when he no longer felt like a cripple, when he honestly believed he might walk again.

  He shifted in the soft velvet chair. How like a woman to adorn a room with pretty, but uncomfortable, furniture.

  He heard the knock, considered not answering, but knew his silence wouldn’t keep her out. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Jessye walked in. Her gaze darted from the bed to the window, her eyes widening. “You walked.”

  He returned his attention to the raging storm. “I crawled.”

  “How did you pull yourself into the chair?”

  “As ungainly as a longhorn getting up from the ground.”

  He listened to her gentle footsteps, which were cautious, as though she sensed his foul mood rivaled that of the weather.

  “You might consider leaving this room. Go into the saloon, play some poker—”

  “I have no wish to be seen as I am.”

  “You are so infuriatingly stubborn.”

  The frustration in her voice nearly made him smile. “A trait I learned from you.”

  “I was never this stubborn.”

  “Have you heard from Kit?” he asked, wanting, needing to veer the subject away from himself.

  “No.”

  “Shouldn’t he have reached Chicago by now?”

  She sat on the edge of the windowsill and peered at the storm. “He took a route no one had ever driven cattle over before. No telling how long it might take or what he might run into.”

  “I shall find a way to see that you are at least reimbursed the money you invested.”

  Her lips curled upward as she met his gaze. “I knew the risks. If we met with success, I’d be independent. You don’t owe me if we don’t meet with success.”

  Still, he didn’t like the idea that she might end up with the short end of the stick. She’d had enough short sticks in her life. Today, her mood reflected the rain: melancholy, wistful. God, he missed the fire that had once emanated from her. Their last encounter with Gerald Milton had broken his bones, but he feared it had broken her spirit.

  “What do you see beyond the rain?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head and glanced at her hands.

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  She raised a shoulder until it touched her chin. “I was at the mercantile earlier. I saw a porcelain doll. It had red hair.” She darted him a glance. “I’ve never seen a doll with red hair. Almost purchased it.”

  “Why didn’t you? Surely, the saloon makes some profit.”

  She relaxed her shoulder, placed her finger on the pane, and followed a solitary drop of rain as it made its journey like a tear searching for its comrades. “We’ve got a bit of money set aside, and Pa wouldn’t have minded if I used a little on something for me. Just don’t know what I would have done with a doll.”

  “You could have sent it to Mary Ellen.”

  She worked her teeth back and forth over her lower lip. “I thought about that … ” She shook her head. “It’s best just to let her go.”

  “But you haven’t. You told me that you wake up every morning thinking of her—”

  “It’s worse now.” She turned slightly, grabbed a chain, and pulled a locket out from behind her collar. “Madeline gave me this.” She opened the locket. “Now, every morning I look at my baby and wonder…” He saw the tears well in her eyes before she returned her attention to the rain. “God, I wish this rain would stop. Makes me sad when I got no reason to be.”

  The woman was an artist at changing subjects when she no longer wished to discuss them. He rubbed his thighs. His legs had a strange, impatient feel about them, as though they knew they were going to be denied a trip to the river. “How long do you think this storm will last?”

  She sighed deeply. “Too long for us to swim. Besides, September is here, and the weather will get cool soon. We’re gonna have to figure something else out.” She snapped her locket closed and slipped it into hiding. She dropped to the floor, folded her legs beneath her, and placed his foot in her lap.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She pressed her palms to the sole of his foot. “I think it’s important that your legs do some moving every day. Push against my hands.”

  He stretched out his leg, her palms offering support and only the barest of resistance. When he’d reached his limit, she moved his leg back into place until his knee was bent.

  “Again,” she ordered, her gaze focused on his leg, while his was riveted to her face.

  What had ever made him think—even for the barest of moments—that her features were not spectacular? Their time i
n the sun had added freckles to her nose and the curve of her cheeks. But her defiant chin had refused to be conquered. He knew from their swims that her shoulders had attracted freckles as well, and he was actually grateful that she’d never removed her chemise, for beneath the fabric her skin would be flawless and know only the kiss of his lips and not that of the sun.

  She moved his leg forward and back, forward and back, and he imagined his tongue imitating the same motions within her mouth, circling, swirling, tasting, thrusting … his body inside hers—

  He dropped his foot to the floor, trying to control his breathing. His thoughts could wander, while his body could not. Why would any woman want a man who was not whole? How often he regretted that he hadn’t pursued her more aggressively on the trail, that he hadn’t made love to her more than once while he was whole, while he’d possessed … everything.

  He studied the storm without and felt the tempest building within. He could control neither.

  “Let me work your other leg,” she said.

  “I truly don’t believe this little exercise will help.”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “I need to be alone.”

  “Do you need me to get you—”

  “I don’t need anything but solitude.”

  The guilt gnawed at him as she rose gracefully to her feet. She did not deserve to witness the dark cloud hovering over him.

  “I’ll send Magpie in after a while to help you get back into bed—”

  “I can get myself into bed, thank you.”

  “You’ve done this before?” she asked, bewilderment in her voice.

  “Often, since we’ve begun swimming.” He dared to glance at her and give her a self-deprecating smile. “Usually late at night when I can’t sleep. This is the first time I’ve been caught. I shall avoid afternoon excursions in the future.”

  “I always knock before I come in.”

  He heard the pain in her voice and cursed his callousness, but damn it, he had no desire for her to see his slow, awkward journey from bed to chair. “For which I’m eternally grateful.”

  She turned quietly to leave.

  “Jessye?”

  She turned back to him, the sadness still in her eyes.

  “Purchase the doll and send it to Mary Ellen as a friend.”

  “I don’t know if I have the strength to be her friend when I want to be her mother.”

  “You never stopped being her mother.”

  “That’s why it’s so hard. I don’t want to hurt her, and I’m afraid I will.” She walked from the room, leaving behind an audible click as she closed the door.

  “Bloody hell!” He scooted the chair back in short, spasmodic jerks. He pressed his foot against the wall, wishing he had the power to kick a hole in the blasted thing, wishing his legs had the strength to carry him to Jessye so he could end this incessant longing that he feared might forever be left unfulfilled.

  He bent and straightened his leg, bent and straightened, over and over. The exercise wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as when his foot was cradled within her lap, but neither did it conjure up carnal images that he feared might make him go as mad as his mother.

  *

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” Harrison asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. He found it increasingly easier to sit as long as he remembered to roll to his left side first instead of his right, so the ache in his hip was lessened.

  “Making you a walkway,” Grayson told him as he nailed a short post into the floor.

  “Jessye will snatch that golden hair right off your head—”

  “It was her idea. It came to her a couple of nights ago when she used the banister to pull herself up the stairs after a particularly tiring evening of working in the saloon. She thought if you had a couple of banisters to support your weight that perhaps you could walk from the bed to the chair by the window.”

  “She’s entirely too optimistic. I can’t even stand.”

  Grayson shrugged as he reached for another post. “Which is the reason I’m doing this. Nothing wrong with your arms. You can use the railing so they lift some of the weight off your legs.” He stopped hammering and glanced at Harrison . “It’s going to take a while. It’s not going to be easy. I wouldn’t have taken time from my crops to do it if I didn’t think the idea had some merit.”

  A tightening in his chest, Harrison looked at the sanded and polished wood, a true measure of friendship—so incredibly difficult to accept. “I’m supposed to trust that this walkway, as you call it, is going to support my weight? When did you become a carpenter?”

  Grayson flashed a grin. “When I became a farmer. You’d be surprised by all the things I’ve learned to do.”

  “And you enjoy it.”

  “Having the ability to provide for my family is satisfying, Harry.”

  ” Westland ‘s children seem to have accepted you easily enough.”

  Grayson went back to hammering. “The war took him away when they were still babies. They hardly knew him.”

  “But when he returned—”

  “The land always came first with him. That’s where we differ.” Grayson met and held his gaze. “Abbie and the children come first with me. Nothing will change that.”

  “Good God, who would have thought that you’d change your roguish ways and become such an adamant family man?”

  “Certainly not me.”

  Harrison ran his hand over the post closest to him. “I’m happy for you, Gray. I know you went through hell for a while.”

  “Abbie says the hottest fires forge the strongest metals.” He smiled. “She thought I was in need of some reshaping.”

  “I thought you were perfectly fine as you were.”

  “That’s because you’re a scoundrel.”

  Harrison chuckled. It had been a while since he’d felt like a scoundrel. At moments, he missed it terribly.

  He watched the care Grayson took with his task and hated that he could do nothing more than sit idly by while the project neared completion. He’d always felt closer to Kit than to Grayson. Still, Grayson was a friend, and a trusted one at that, who might hold answers to unfathomable questions. “When did you know that you loved Abbie?”

  Grayson ran his hand along the smooth finish of the polished wood, one of two railings that ran from the window to the bed, supported by beams at short intervals. “When I realized that I would gladly walk into hell to see that she was happy.” He came to a stop in front of Harrison . “And that I would stay there for eternity if need be.”

  *

  Gripping the banisters, Harry took one painstakingly slow step after another. The more weight he shifted from his arms to his legs, the more lethargically he moved.

  When he reached the window, he bowed his head and released a deep, shuddering breath. He was making progress. At least now he could stand at the window, as long as he maintained a hold on the banisters.

  Clumsily, he turned and made the monotonous journey to the bed. God, how he wished he’d appreciated the miles he’d ridden on a horse. Taken pleasure in the sunset. Danced. At least he had the memories of one dance with Jessye within his arms.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the crutches leaning against the mattress. They would give him the freedom to leave the room whenever he wanted.

  He still needed practice, and he knew it would be a long while before he allowed anyone to witness his awkward attempts, but there was no better time than the present to begin. The saloon was quiet, and if he were very careful and moved very slowly, he might be able to pour himself a glass of whiskey—and no one would know.

  *

  No matter how many ways Jessye looked at the ledgers, she couldn’t change the numbers. Her father had a bad habit of purchasing more stock than was needed so their cash reserves were always low. She couldn’t bring herself to chastise him. He’d only say, “We’ll need it all some day, girl.”

  Perhaps before the war, before over half the men in the town
had died on a bloody battlefield miles from home.

  It also didn’t help matters that her father had a bad habit of extending credit. “Can’t turn away a man down on his luck,” he’d say. “Just a nip to help him through the night.”

  The nip often turned into a bottle or two.

  She’d grown accustomed to her father’s generosity over the years. She loved him, faults and all. Still, she’d be relieved when they heard something from Kit. She desperately wanted her investment to pay off.

  Yawning, she closed the ledger, leaned back in the chair, and rubbed the nape of her neck. Two o’clock in the morning was much too late to go to bed, but the night just didn’t contain enough hours.

  The office door opened, and she smiled sleepily at her father. “Thought you’d gone to bed.”

  “I got distracted. Do you know where the papers are that say I own this building?”

  “They’re here in the desk.”

  “Can I see them?”

  She reached into the top drawer, shuffled some papers, and brought forth the deed to the saloon. He took the document from her, looked it over, and nodded. He picked up her pen and the bottle of ink. “I need you to come with me and bear witness.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “Bear witness to what?”

  He turned on his heel and walked from the room. She jumped up from the chair and rushed after him. “Pa, what have you done?”

  She hurried down the hallway, past Harry’s room, the faint notion registering in her mind that his door was ajar. She staggered to a stop at the doorway that led into the saloon. Harry sat at a table near the bar. Unshaven, his clothes wrinkled, he didn’t look happy to see her.

  Cards were strewn over the table, and coins were stacked in front of him. Not a lot of money, but enough to make her heart pound unmercifully against her ribs.

  “Come here, daughter.”

  As though in a dream, she walked toward the table, fearing the answer to a question she couldn’t bring herself to ask. With intense green eyes, Harry watched her as her father dipped the pen into the inkwell and scrawled his name across the bottom of the paper. Her father glanced over his shoulder. “I need you to sign as a witness.”