Rafe shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“First sign of bein’ in love,” Dub couldn’t resist saying.
Rafe stood up. “I’m going to the office. When you want to talk sense, come see me.”
“Be there in five minutes,” Dub promised, and forked another slice of meat.
Rafe paused only long enough to tear a big chunk of bread off the freshly made loaf, then he stomped out of the building. When he and Shep got to the office, he broke the chunk into smaller pieces and fed them to the dog. “This’ll have to do till we get home,” he said, and Shep seemed content.
Rafe wished he could content himself so easily. Just being determined he wasn’t going to let his Aunt Mae dictate his life was a far cry from actually accomplishing it. Especially when the object of her strategy made it so damned difficult. The way Shannon had looked at him! All ripe and ready for the taking.
Rafe drew a steadying breath. It was all he could do not to go marching over to Mae’s house, storm inside, find Shannon wherever she was and drag her to his lair—there to do with her what he wanted. What she wanted, too!
Maybe that would be the best thing. Get it over and done with. Then there’d be no more mystery, no more wondering, no more near obsession with a woman who could easily be emotional poison to him. But every time they came close to that point, she pulled away as if she was a nun or something. As if she’d just remembered a hidden husband and ten children in a house somewhere who she’d promised to get back to.
Rafe frowned darkly and slumped into his chair. He had to stop thinking about her, he had to stop remembering, and most of all he had to stop thinking about all the what-could-be’s!
~*~
Shannon didn’t sleep well that night. Toward morning, she had another one of her bad dreams. But this time, instead of seeing herself desperately trying to warn others of some impending doom, she was in trouble on her own. There was no one around for her to warn or to offer her help. She’d been walking in a field of wildflowers. At first she hadn’t noticed them. Then the power of their beauty had drawn her attention and she’d stopped to sit awhile in their midst. She’d picked some and woven their stems together to make a garland, which she’d then placed around her neck. But as she tried to pick more flowers, they disappeared just as her fingers touched them, until no more were left. And suddenly the field turned into a muddy quagmire, catching at her feet as she tried to run away, until finally she couldn’t run anymore. Her legs were caught up to the knees, up to her thighs, then past her hips. The ground was pulling her in. No matter how hard she struggled, it wouldn’t let go. Help me! Help me! she screamed, until a long shadow blotted out the sun, and she began to scream all the louder
She awoke as she had all the other times, with her body covered in sweat and a terrified cry on her lips. Only this time she wouldn’t let herself slip into analysis. She didn’t want to understand this particular dream.
To help occupy her mind, she finished the novel Julia had given her, and now, if pressed, she could say that she’d enjoyed it, even though she’d had a hard time keeping up with all the twists and turns of the plot.
Without the distraction of the book, the questions that had been hovering on the fringes of her consciousness could no longer be avoided. Why, when she’d needed it so badly last night, had James’s image proved so elusive? Why was it brighter today, but still not as crisply defined? And, most critical to her emotional well-being, why did she continue to react to Rafe Parker as she did?
His proposal that they engage in an affair had both thrilled and appalled her. Neither of us is married or engaged, he’d said. But she was engaged! Or rather, she had been. And she still felt as if she was. It had only been five months since James had died. Didn’t she owe his memory more homage than to want to jump into bed with the first man who asked her?
To escape the incessant demand for answers, Shannon went downstairs. Jodie found her a short time later in the dining room, lingering over a late breakfast of eggs and toast.
“Have you talked to him yet?” she asked without preamble. Both of them knew who she meant.
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he said he’s not going to let Rio go.”
“He promised?” Jodie pressed.
“I didn’t ask him to promise.”
Jodie slipped into the chair next to Shannon. Beneath her pleasure at the positive outcome of the conversation, the girl seemed troubled. “Did you tell him what I said...about running away with Rio?”
“You told me to tell him,” Shannon reminded her. Jodie was so very young in many ways. She rebelled against being a Parker, yet at the same time she was in great need of her family’s approval.
“I really would, you know,” the girl said earnestly. “I’d go wherever Rio went.”
“Well, now you won’t have to,” Shannon reassured her.
The girl’s gamine features broke into a smile. “Thanks to you,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Shannon denied.
“Daddy says he thinks Rafe likes you. And that maybe this time—”
“I’m glad I could be of help,” Shannon interrupted her. She took a final sip of coffee and stood. “Now, if you don’t mind...”
Jodie rose, as well. She didn’t say another word about her cousin, but it was there in the merry little imp of amusement that danced in her hazel eyes.
~*~
Mae said nothing about the scene she’d interrupted on the porch when she met with Shannon in the office that afternoon. Instead, she delved immediately into a second box and started to withdraw papers and memorabilia.
“The family almost lost the ranch a couple of years after I was born,” Mae said almost an hour into their sorting. “We were in the grip of a really bad drought. Cattle died by the thousands, and creditors were at every door, including ours. I was too young to recall it myself, but I remember my mama and daddy talking about it later. Only thing that got them by in those few bad years was calling in some old debts—of honor, not money. No one had much of that around. Then one of the wells my daddy decided to try digging on a far corner of the ranch hit oil.”
She smiled. “I do remember that. Everybody was whooping and dancing. Then a few more wells came in, and that solved the money problem. And right then and there my daddy swore that no other Parker should ever again have to face losing the ranch. He talked the rest of the family into investing some of the oil money in the name of the ranch and then keep reinvesting it, until today the ranch is safe, even though it keeps itself going on its own just fine.” Mae tilted her head. “Did I ever tell you there’s never been an outside partner in the Parker Ranch? We’re all family, each and every one. There’s twenty-eight of us currently. Five partners on the ranch, twenty-three off.”
“All related by blood?” Shannon asked.
Mae nodded. “Except for the widows and widowers who get their mate’s share. It all starts at the age of twenty-one when each and every Parker gets a share in the ranch—what’s called a ‘life estate.’ From that time on they receive a yearly dividend after ranch expenses are met. The Parkers who actually work the ranch earn a separate salary of course—that’s considered part of the expenses.”
“So you get more than the name when you’re a member of the Parker family.”
“Dividends go up and down, depending on if it’s been a good year.”
“Was this a good year?” Shannon asked.
“Decent,” Mae hedged.
Parker business was Parker business, and she wasn’t a Parker, Shannon thought with some amusement.
Mae caught Shannon’s slight smile and smiled in return, unbending from her previous equivocation. “I didn’t mean to be difficult,” Mae said.
The improbability of Mae actually meaning what she’d just said caused Shannon to tease, “I thought being difficult was your goal in life.”
Mae blinked, looking something like an aristocratic owl. Then she grinned, thum
ped her hands on the chair arms and said, “Very good. I like that! I can think of far worse goals.” She glanced at her watch. “Isn’t it time for our afternoon coffee? Marie must be—”
A tap sounded on the door just before it swung open to reveal the housekeeper with a loaded tray.
“Ah. Very good, Marie. Thank you,” Mae said.
“I brought some of your favorite cookies. The ones with the chocolate swirls on top? This time I made sure to get a box for Wesley and Gwen, too. I thought it would keep them out of trouble.”
“You probably saved their lives,” Mae said gruffly. She tasted one of the cookies. “Wonderful!” she declared. “Shannon? Try one of these. They’re absolutely amazing!”
Shannon crossed to the desk and reached for a cookie. “Mmm. Yes, they are good.”
“They’re probably a million calories each,” Marie said, her hands propped on her ample hips. “But since neither one of you needs to worry about that, it’s not a problem.”
“You have one, too, Marie,” Mae said, offering the cookie plate.
Marie shook her head. “Five pounds off, fifty to go. I will not be tempted.”
Mae glanced at Shannon, her eyes twinkling. “Does this have anything to do with that magazine you caught Axel reading last week?” she asked.
“If he was reading it, I wouldn’t have minded!” Marie retorted. “And yes, maybe it does. Maybe I should try to find my girlish figure again. Just to show him it’s still in there—somewhere!”
“Then I won’t tempt you. Thank you, Marie. I’ll let you know if we want anything else.”
Marie paused at the door. “Just don’t forget Axel is cooking dinner tonight. Spareribs and his special sauce.”
Mae groaned, and Marie took it as a compliment to her husband’s abilities, which it was.
After their break Mae and Shannon went back to work, and a short time later, beneath some papers, Shannon discovered a cross-stitch sampler that had been framed to hang on a wall. “Oh, look!” she cried, holding it up for Mae to see.
The sampler read, “Other states were carved or born. Texas was made of hoof and horn.”
Mae nodded. “I remember that. It’s an old saying my mama sewed for my daddy. He liked it so much he hung it over his desk.”
She took it from Shannon and stroked it lovingly.
“You loved your father a great deal, didn’t you?” Shannon asked softly, aware she was glimpsing a side to Mae she’d never seen before.
“I loved my mama, too. But Daddy—Rafe reminds me a lot of him. Like lightning in a bottle, both of ’em. Anytime you’re around them, you know something’s going to happen. Sometimes I think that’s why I never got married. I never could find a man who could hold a candle to my father.” She glanced at Shannon. “Not that I didn’t try. I came close once.”
Shannon, who’d been having a hard time holding back a tear for her own beloved father, found her attention caught. “You did?”
“I also came close to leaving the ranch for him, because he just couldn’t see himself living out here so far away from everything. He was from Houston, came out to negotiate some sort of natural-gas deal with my brother Jeff. Ended up almost negotiating me back to the city with him.”
“What happened?” Shannon asked. “Why didn’t you...?”
“I came to my senses. Found out how dangerous love can be when you think you know what you want, but you’re too blinded to see what that really is. I had my bag packed and my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes on. All I needed to do was walk downstairs.”
“What made you...come to your senses?”
Mae frowned. “I don’t know. I just started to think about things, and I decided not to.”
But Rafe might not. Rafe might choose to leave. Shannon realized she’d just found support for Harriet’s supposition—her conjecture that, deep down, Mae lived with the fear that one day Rafe might meet someone who didn’t want to live in such an isolated place. That he might be willing to exchange everything he knew to be with her. Which must be the reason Mae was so determined to find him a mate—one who would be happy to live on the ranch.
Shannon thought back to all the questions Mae had asked her. Did she miss the nightlife? Did she miss the museums and art galleries? Her answers must have seemed perfect!
Mae would deny it, of course. Just as she’d denied everything all along. Yet there was one question Shannon longed to ask her: had she had this end somewhere in the back of her mind through all the years since Shannon was ten?
Chapter Twelve
The two women continued to work through the afternoon, emptying the third box and starting on the fourth.
“You know,” Mae mused, sitting back, “I just remembered where we have more of these papers. Not a lot, but they’re there.”
“Do we need them?” Shannon asked.
“They have to do with the early days of the ranch. Some of it’s correspondence between Virgil and Gibson and an army captain at one of the forts built out here during the time of the Indian raids. I remember reading some of it when I was in charge of the ranch. Kiowas, Comanches, Cheyenne, Apaches... My granddaddy said his daddy—Gibson—told him that moonlit nights in summer were the worst to get through. A lot of early settlers didn’t live to see the sun come up.”
“We should have those papers then.”
“I think so. Would you mind going to get them? Last time I saw them, they were in a folder marked Early Days or Civil War Era, or some such, in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet in the work office. My brother tried to get most of the old material set aside, but he must’ve missed that bit. And no one ever bothered with it afterward. If Rafe’s not there, just go on in. We don’t keep the door locked.”
Rafe! Shannon faltered as she adjusted a stack of papers on the floor, one of the many stacks that surrounded her.
As if reading her mind, Mae continued, “I doubt he’ll be there, actually. I think he said something about going out to one of the outlying divisions, so he probably won’t be back yet.”
Shannon stood with some relief. “I won’t be long,” she promised, as much to reassure herself as Mae.
She made her way to the ranch office, and as Mae had said it was unlocked and empty of occupants. Still, even with permission, she felt like a prowler when she entered the room. This was Rafe’s territory. It bore his mark, his stamp of authority.
Her gaze skimmed the area, noting the unopened mail waiting on the desk, the painting of the Hereford bull in place of honor on the wall, the current calendar with an upcoming day circled in red, the dog bed and water bowl, the metal file cabinet.
She hurried to the file cabinet and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was stuffed with folders, packed so tightly she couldn’t separate them to read the titles no matter how hard she pushed or pulled.
There was only one thing to do. She would have to take a number of them out. She’d removed a good portion from the front and was searching through the rest when someone came into the office. Shannon’s hands froze. Rafe?
She was down on her good knee and found it awkward to look back over her shoulder and keep her place in her search. Yet she managed. Only, the new arrival wasn’t Rafe. It was Rio. He stood just inside the door, having closed it behind him, and the expression on his face wasn’t reassuring. He was smiling, but it wasn’t an open friendly smile. It was more...smug.
His slim body was encased in jeans and a faded blue shirt almost the same pale color as his eyes. He pulled the dingy black hat from his blond hair and tossed it onto the desk. “Hello,” he said.
Shannon answered, “Hello.”
“I saw you come in here and I wondered what you were doin’.” He sauntered toward her. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”
“A file,” Shannon replied, resuming her work.
He stopped on the opposite side of the open file drawer. “Can I help?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. This should only take a minute or two.”
“You doin’ s
omethin’ for the ol’ biddy in the house?”
“You mean Mae Parker?”
“That’s the ol’ biddy.”
“As a matter of fact, I am.” She sped up her search. If she didn’t locate the correct folder in a few seconds, she was going to quit—at least for the moment. There was something about Rio she instinctively didn’t trust, and she didn’t want to continue to be alone with him.
He stopped her search by stilling her hand. He pulled it free of the folders and lifted it for closer examination. “You have real pretty nails. I like that pale pink color.”
Shannon snatched her hand away.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, grinning. The cockiness seemed to be a permanent part of his features. “Don’t you like to get compliments?”
“I’m choosy about who gives them,” Shannon retorted. She closed the drawer and stood up. She would come back later this evening or tomorrow morning and resume the search.
She quickly found out that closing the drawer had been a mistake. It erased the barrier between them. He stepped closer, edging her back toward the wall.
“What’s the matter?” he needled her, still smiling. “A plain ol’ cowboy ain’t good enough for you? You got your sights aimed higher, is that it?”
Shannon tried to sidestep him, but she tripped over the corner of Shep’s bed and tottered.
Rio caught her. “Now that’s more like it!” he said, trapping her arms at her sides.
“Rio...”
His grin widened.
“Rio, stop it! Let me go!”
“All I want is a kiss. Is that so much to ask? I’m a poor lonely cowboy. Been workin’ hard, doin’ things other people wouldn’t want to do.”
West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1) Page 16