Mary

by Raine Cantrell

  Trust. This was about gaining her trust.

  But to what end?

  Rafe couldn’t put it into words. Not even to himself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There was a dreamlike quality to the autumn afternoon. Mary was late getting her bread ready for baking. When she had the dough kneaded for the second rising, she looked out the window. Clouds, thick as bursting cotton bolls, floated across the sky and cast thick shadows on the ground. The day had grown warmer. The last mild days would soon be gone, replaced with an intense heat to fill even the cool valleys before winter came.

  Time. Two days had flown by for Mary. Rafe hadn’t pressed her for an answer, but he soon would.

  Last night, Beth had another nightmare. Rafe had come into the room and joined her in soothing the child back to sleep.

  This morning, Mary had become aware that Beth knew nothing of her father’s offer. Mary should have known that Rafe wouldn’t tell his daughter about it until he had her answer. He wouldn’t want Beth hurt or disappointed in any way. But Beth, with that sweet, hesitating voice, had asked on her own if Mary could come and live with them.

  She glanced in surprise to see that she had shaped all her loaves. She set them in their baking pans to rise one more time.

  That word again. Rafe had bought three army mules to carry the heavier supplies. He was going forth with his plans to leave, and spent part of each day in town. The mules, he claimed, were a lucky buy. The army was closing a few of the smaller forts, now that more Indians had been brought into the reservations.

  There had been little opportunity for her to be alone with him since the morning he asked her to join him in the parlor. Such a simple request. He had an offer to make, and would she listen?

  She really didn’t want to think about it, and yet could do little else. She didn’t want to remember the hour she had listened, or the offer itself. She felt as if she were teetering on a seesaw. Sometimes she wished she had simply and adamantly refused him.

  But she had not. She had stayed to hear him, and she had agreed to consider his request.

  A business arrangement, he called his terms. But it wasn’t true. Could never be true. Her heart was very much involved.

  And the temptation he held out to her…Oh, she couldn’t stand firm against its lure. She would have Beth. A child to give all the love she had stored these many empty years.

  And Rafe…This desire she felt for him was new. And painful. She wanted to lie with him, a man not her husband, all pretense stripped away. She wanted him in her bed, and in her body, man and woman together. And she would not feel ashamed.

  How could she admit that and not trust him?

  If she accepted his offer, she would be Rafe McCade’s paid employee—companion to his daughter, housekeeper of his home.

  “What are you mumbling about, Mary?” Sarah asked, tossing her gloves and hat on the table. “Lord, but it’s getting hot enough to fry eggs out there.”

  “I’m late getting my bread to rise.”

  Sarah noticed the pensive look of her cousin. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing is troubling you. You’re as bad as Rafe. He just rode in. He’s had no word of where Balen and Shell Lundy disappeared to, but he swears he’s not worried. No one in town has seen either man since the fight.”

  Sarah drank thirstily from the dipper in the bucket. She refilled it, and offered it to Mary.

  “Sarah, would you let Beth stay with us? If Rafe agreed?”

  “Mary—”

  “She’ll be no trouble.” She rushed on, the idea forming as she spoke. “She could winter with us. Rafe would be free to hunt down those who would kill him. Beth would be safe. She could attend church services, have Nita’s granddaughter to play with, and go to school.”

  “And your heart and arms would be filled to overflowing. Oh, Mary, did you need to ask? Could I say no?” She went to her cousin and hugged her. “But Rafe won’t agree. You know he won’t. Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak.”

  “He offered me a position, Sarah. With more money than I’ve had—”

  “But I have enough—”

  “No.” She pulled back to see Sarah’s face. “It’s yours. I need my own security. But first I must ask him to consider leaving Beth.”

  “Then go. Catherine’s still over at the boardinghouse. She’s dickering with Mrs. Harkins about supplying eggs, since she’ll have more than enough with the new flock of chickens.”

  “Listen for Beth. She’s sleeping in the parlor.” She stepped away to strip off her apron.

  “Mary, caution. Rafe’s a generous man, and I admit my opinion of him has changed considerably since he’s been with us. But don’t mistake his generosity for softness. That man’s a hard case. And I’ve seen enough of them to know.”

  Mary rushed to the door, then turned. “Sarah, would you trust him?”

  “As far as I’d trust any man. But we’re not talking about what I’d do, are we?”

  “No. This is my decision.”

  Mary found him in the corral. He was working, as he had each day, with one of the mustangs carrying a loaded pack. Rafe had mentioned he wanted to be sure of the well-distributed weight each horse could carry.

  She stood for a few moments watching him. He stood in the center of the corral, working the mustang on a lunge line. Two circles by the horse and he signaled for a faster pace. Small puffs of dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves settled on his boots and pants. He wasn’t wearing a vest today, and sweat stained his dark blue shirt, molding it to his body.

  Sunlight spilled on his black hair. Mary drank in the sight of him. She didn’t fight the quickening breath, the soft, warm rise of desire. It had become a foolish exercise to try.

  She wasn’t aware that she had done anything to attract his attention, but she lifted her gaze to see that he was looking at her.

  She appeared calm. She’d made her decision. Rafe suddenly didn’t want to hear it. He drew in the lunge line, and grabbed hold of the mustang’s headstall. Without saying a word to her, he stripped off the pack, freed the horse and hefted the heavy weight to his shoulder. He came toward her, searching her face for a clue, but Mary, as he well knew, kept her secrets—unless she was responding with a passion he had never dreamed he would find in a woman.

  “Your cheeks are flushed bright as Indian paintbrush,” he teased, and set aside his burden.

  “Beth’s napping.”

  “Good. She needs the rest.”

  So easily, he reminded her that Beth would have little rest on the trail.

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, Rafe.”

  He stripped his neckerchief off and wiped his face. He ran his hand through his hair, looking back at the horse standing at the far side of the corral. Delaying tactics.

  She was glad he didn’t look at her. It made the words easier, but when she finished telling him that Beth would be safer and better-off left with them, Mary felt as if she had been plunged into an icy pool. His eyes were that cold, coming to bear on her.

  “No.”

  It was flat and hard and hateful to hear. “Please, we can talk—”

  “You have my answer, Mary. I’m not willing to wait another day for yours.”

  Her uncertainties, all the danger he presented, rushed to fill her mind.

  Watching her, he knew what flashed through her mind. He had his own doubts, and the added worry of wondering where Balen and Lundy were hiding in wait for him to make a move. He didn’t think for one minute that the beating and the warning he had issued had chased either man off his trail.

  But he couldn’t share that with Mary. Not until he had her answer.

  “What’s it to be, Mary? Yes or no?”

  “Sarah warned me not to make the mistake of confusing your generosity with softness. I never did.”

  His breath caught painfully in his chest as every muscle in his body tensed. It was akin to the moment he’d found the color he was searching for in broken roc
k. Anticipation building to the excitement of discovering a deep vein of gold. Every second fraught with the fear that he couldn’t trust his own sight and instincts. That he was wrong…

  “You win, Rafe. I accept your offer.”

  She turned before he released his breath. He let her walk away. There’s no winning for me alone, Mary. Only time will teach you that.

  Mary had lied to him. She had lied to Sarah and to Catherine. Rafe was not the one who had won. She had. She could tell herself, and the others, that she was going with him for Beth, for the independence the money would give her.

  It was part of the truth, but not all.

  She glanced at the bed where Beth cuddled her doll and slept with a smile on her face. She thought about how much love a heart could hold. Into her vision came the image of Rafe’s face.

  Love was the true reason she had said yes.

  The following days were a flurry of activity for Mary. Now that her mind was made up, she refused to allow doubts to come creeping in.

  Rafe checked over her sorrel mare. She was not young stock, having been a last gift from her father the year he died.

  “Her name is Owl,” Mary said, watching his hands move slowly over fetlock and flank. Rafe’s quirked brow had her adding, “Even as a three-year-old, she had a wise way about her. She’s steady and dependable, but doesn’t lack spirit, and she will ride her heart out if asked.”

  Mary and Beth joined Rafe while he performed a minute inspection of Mary’s saddle gear.

  “This cinch is just worn enough to be replaced.”

  Beth spied the cat with her kittens and took off for the far stall. She had made her choice of a tabby kitten that resembled its mother. She had agreed to let the kitten spend a good part of the day to learn necessary survival skills, but naps and bedtime found the kitten sleeping with Beth or in the lined basket Mary provided for her.

  “Not too long, Beth,” Mary called out. And she said to Rafe, who was watching his daughter skip down the center aisle, “She’s growing stronger every day.”

  “Thanks to your care, Mary. I’ll bring a new cinch back with me. Is there anything else you need?”

  She smiled. His warm praise made it easier to ask for the few items she needed. “Boots. I don’t have any. Two pairs of pants. It will be more comfortable to ride in them. But I want you to take the cost out of my salary.”

  “I wouldn’t think of doing anything else, Mary.” His grin and the gleam in his eyes gave the lie to that. “You could ride in with me. Check on Mrs. Mullins and see how far along she is with the sewing. And the fit of a boot is not something I can do for you.”

  Rafe set the saddle down, and stood up. “Mary, in less than two days you are going to ride off with me and my child. You can’t avoid being with me—”

  “I’m not avoiding you. There’s been so much to do. I—” She stopped at the touch of his hand cupping her chin, and she looked up to see him shaking his head.

  “Have it your way, for now. Let’s go trace the sole of your shoe, and I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

  The relief in her eyes warned him not to push her. What he felt for Mary was more than desire, although that was there, too. This was something tender. And that tenderness spurred his need to dispel her wariness. He wanted to tease her, and hear her laugh.

  He startled her by putting his hands on her waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  He lifted her easily, then set her back from him. Sheer devilry lit his gaze. “Measuring your waist. Can’t expect me to buy pants so big they’ll be a danger to you. I don’t want you to fall. I want every step you take to be on firm ground.”

  She would have responded to the underlying message, but his hands slid down to measure the span of her hips. Her breath caught.

  “Mmm. Just what I thought. Boy slim, woman soft, and pleasing as heaven to touch.” He stepped back, laughing at her vexed expression. But he got what he wanted. She smiled.

  “Rafe McCade, your road to heaven is going to be a long haul.”

  His laughter ceased. “That’s me, Mary, a man for the long haul. And I never claimed to be a saint.”

  “Nor I.” She wanted to recall the words, but it was too late. He had heard them and what they implied.

  “And I’m a happy man hearing you admit that you’re not a saint,” he whispered. “Sinnin’ it’s said, can be a pleasure all its own. Wanna sin with me?”

  I do. In my dreams, awake and sleeping. You’re always in my thoughts. She wouldn’t say the words to him. She was enjoying his teasing flirtation too much.

  “At the risk of losing out on a pair of boots?”

  “I’ll buy you a dozen pairs to make up for it.”

  “I think not.”

  “You wound me. Leather’s only good for the soles of your feet. But sinning with me, Mary, ah, that would be good for your soul.”

  “You offer temptation like the best of the snake-oil drummers, but I—”

  “But you decided that today’s not the day you’re buying anything I have to sell.”

  He was serious and teasing at once. Mary had to answer him honestly.

  “No, not today. But women are known to change their minds.” That said, she left him. But she was still smiling.

  Supper that evening was merry, noisy and a feast. Mary and Catherine had cooked a good part of the day. Rafe had contributed freshly caught catfish that he’d bought in town. Crumbs of the cornmeal batter that had coated the fried fillets were all that remained on the platter.

  Laughter’s afterglow lasted through a round of singing to the accompaniment of guitars. Rafe joined in with his rich, deep voice, until he took Beth upstairs to put her to bed.

  The three women were alone. Sarah suggested they go into the kitchen so that their voices wouldn’t carry up the stairs.

  Catherine put the kettle on to boil for tea. Mary placed the cups and a plate of cookies on the table. Sarah relit the coal-oil fixture.

  “This will be our last night together, cousin, since you’ll be in bed by this time tomorrow night to get that early start.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I hadn’t thought—” Mary skirted the table and hugged her cousin. “This is the hard part. But I won’t be gone that long.”

  Over Mary’s shoulder, Sarah met Catherine’s gaze. She had a feeling Mary wouldn’t be back at all, but wisely didn’t say that.

  “Of course you will. And we’ll manage through the winter. I’ll even look after your garden, so when you come back in the spring it will be ready for planting.”

  She hugged Mary tight, and whispered to her. “You’re so happy these days. I wouldn’t care if he was taking you to the far ends of the world to hear you laugh like you did tonight.”

  “I can’t explain, Sarah. I feel like once I decided to go, a burden was lifted.” Sniffling, she pulled away. “That doesn’t make any sense, but it’s what I feel.”

  The kettle whistled. Catherine poured the boiling water into the cups and filled the three tea balls with the loose dried tea leaves.

  “I, for one, refuse to have this turn into a handkerchief session. This is a tea party, ladies, a time for…well, tea.”

  And laughter once more filled the cozy kitchen, softer this time, tinged with the sadness of parting, but the talk stayed on practical matters.

  When it came time to say good-night, the hugs they shared were a little tighter than usual, the wishes were for good dreams, and no one blamed the others for the moisture in her eyes.

  Mary wasn’t aware that she remained awake the longest. But she had Catherine’s last whispered message to turn over and over in her mind. And Sarah’s.

  “Give Rafe McCade a chance. Give yourself one, too. That’s a powerful lot of man that smiles only at you. Don’t throw it away, dearest friend.”

  “This will always be your home. Always. But if you find happiness with Rafe, take it. No one deserves it more, cousin.”

  She whispered it then. The secret she kept even fro
m herself until now. “I love him.”

  But Rafe wasn’t offering her love in return.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dawn spread a golden mantel as Mary turned back to see Sarah and Catherine at the edge of the road. She waved a last farewell, holding a handkerchief as sodden as theirs, then settled in the saddle for the first day of the journey. Excitement tumbled with trepidation.

  Rafe led off, Beth half-asleep on his lap. She would ride with her father for the morning, then switch to sitting in front of Mary. Rafe had the lead rope for the three mustangs, carrying half their supplies. Mary rode behind them, the lead rope stringing out the three mules tied to her saddle. Rafe had been adamant that if trouble came, she was to slice the rope with the knife he had given her and let the mules free.

  As if she could. Her precious quilt, sewing and herb baskets were tied to those mules. She wasn’t about to lose them, or the soft wool gown of a deep wine color that Nita had delivered last night.

  This morning, he’d teased her every time she said she had forgotten something important. But there was no teasing when he came into the kitchen and saw her dressed in her pants.

  Washing shrunk the pants, she had explained, blushing when she realized that mentioning it brought his gaze back to the close fit of cloth.

  Rafe’s voice had been all sincerity, dripping sympathy that it was a poor bargain for her. When she reminded him it had been his money wasted, he said it was a pity he hadn’t bought more.

  It still felt strange to wear them, but she loved the freedom of movement they offered.

  Catherine had traded her barely worn best boots for the new ones, to prevent blisters. Mary had made sure Sarah had a large supply of the herb mixture that helped her headaches, and also a plentiful mix to relieve Catherine’s monthly cramps.