Sweet Autumn Surrender

by Vivian Vaughan

  The moon had risen over the treetops now, and darkness had fallen all around. Nighttime had come. Bedtime. With a sigh that turned into a yawn, Kale rose and stretched.

  “Why don’t you run along to bed?” he suggested without looking back at Ellie. “I think I’ll ride up to the rock shelter, see what kind of varmint I can bag tonight.”

  “I’ll come—”

  “No.” He spoke too quickly, he knew, to cover his charade. “I won’t be long. You go ahead, turn in. See you in the morning.”

  So that was the way it was done, she thought. Fortunately, one of them had enough experience in the way of things to keep them both out of trouble.

  But even that didn’t help as much as it should have, she reflected later when she lay in bed wide awake, wanting him to return, wanting him to come to her, knowing he would not.

  She couldn’t go to him, not again. She had thrown herself at him twice. It was his turn. And he had already proved himself stronger than she was.

  Stronger—or less affected.

  By high noon the next day they’d had a really big fight and Kale had stomped off. From the back door she watched him saddle up and ride into the pasture without so much as a howdy-do.

  It started quite innocently when she asked him to tell her about the fight at Fort Griffin. They had just sat down to a bowl of stew and a platter of corn fritters. Kale had praised her cooking, saying again how she was going to spoil him for camp fare, and she had suddenly recalled his contention that she shouldn’t fall in love with him because he was an outlaw.

  Kale Jarrett was not an outlaw—no matter what he had done in his past, no matter how hard he might try to convince her.

  “Tell me about the fight at Fort Griffin,” she had requested.

  And he had, not remembering until too late to correct himself. This time he forgot to make himself out the villain.

  “You weren’t at fault,” she said. “You avoided killing the soldier. You had no choice but to fight him.”

  He stared at her face, alive with this discovery; her lovely face so full of love.

  “Don’t you understand, Ellie? I wanted to fight him; I enjoyed fighting him.”

  “But you didn’t want to kill him,” she answered. “You said yourself you avoided a gun battle. You said yourself he was determined to cause trouble, that you tried to talk him out of it, but—”

  “I didn’t try hard enough,” he argued.

  “You aren’t to blame, Kale, whether you admit it or not. You did everything you could to avoid that fight.”

  “Not everything. I could have walked away.”

  She stared at him while their previous argument came back to her full force. “Oh, I forgot,” her voice dripped with derision, “that’s your speciality, walking away. Like you intend to walk away from me.”

  They stared at each other, dumbstruck at the words she’d blurted out.

  She clamped her lips between her teeth, wishing to God she could take back what she never intended to say, knowing without even having to think about it that she’d done more to drive him away with that one sentence than she could have done with a million other words. She might as well have told him she loved him, for heaven’s sake!

  “I warned you not to fall in love with me,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Rising from the table, he started to take his plate to the kitchen.

  She grabbed it from his hand, furious with herself and with him. “Love you?” she spat. “How could I fall in love with you in three days’ time? I couldn’t fall in love with you in three years!” Quite suddenly one of Lavender’s favorite sayings came to her rescue: Men confuse love with lust—that’s why my business is so good. “As much as you’ve been around, Kale Jarrett, you certainly should know the difference between love and lust!”

  She shocked him, all right. His head jerked up; he stared at her with a look akin to horror. Then his emotions gave way to anger, and as she watched, his anger grew to a rage that brought a tremble to his arms.

  Later, she thought how that must surely prove she had nothing to fear from this man; if he was ever going to strike her, it would have happened now. She half expected it. But after an indeterminable length of time during which he glared at her without moving a muscle, she saw his jaw twitch. When he stomped away, all she heard was the squawking of the back door.

  The encounter took the life out of her. For the rest of the afternoon she was good for almost nothing. While she swept and mopped the floors, tended her garden, and carried water to Benjamin’s rosebush, she reflected on how she’d run him off for good.

  Vaguely she wondered what she would do about the Raineys, how she would hold onto her land.

  The land didn’t really matter anymore. The fight was gone from her, or the reason to fight. Benjamin was dead; no amount of avenging would bring him back.

  And Kale was gone. He hadn’t taken his belongings, of course. But then, he didn’t have all that much to take. Certainly nothing that could be of much value, she wouldn’t think.

  Suppertime neared, but she didn’t even stoke the fire.

  Then Armando Costello appeared, bearing a side of antelope, a broad smile, and a bright countenance which set her nerves on edge even more.

  Kale stormed out of the house, cursing the squawking door. Lust! So that’s the way she had him pegged.

  He saddled the bay and rode to the north pasture where Benjamin’s land bordered the Circle R. On the way his anger grew. If she thought all he did was lust after her body, he should have thrown her down and shown her the meaning of the word right then and there.

  If that’s all she thought of him, he should have taken her the morning before on the porch when she was dressed in that flimsy silk piece of nothing.

  Lust? Not on your life, honey! he fumed. That wasn’t lust shining from her eyes. That wasn’t lust in the lilt in her step.

  It wasn’t lust she felt for him, it was something more like quicksand. And by damn, he wasn’t getting himself caught in it.

  For the next few hours he crisscrossed the country looking for red clay. But he found nothing except the usual limestone, covered in places by a thin layer of black topsoil. Riding around shin oak thickets and cedar brakes, he forced his mind to the task at hand. The sooner he found Benjamin’s killers—or connected the Raineys to the deed—the sooner he could head for California.

  And it wouldn’t be near soon enough to suit him.

  The sun traveled across the sky, warming him against the early fall chill. Deep red sumac berries and soft blue cedar berries brightened the otherwise dull countryside. He’d never seen so many rocks in all his born days.

  Toward sundown he made his way back to the rock shelter but found no one around. Had the Raineys taken his warning to heart?

  If they had, they were the only ones who had paid any attention to his advice, he worried. The ride had done him good, cooled him down. His anger had settled into a general disgruntlement at the prospect of having to hurt Ellie. After all, she was his brother’s widow, the very person he’d come to help.

  But by damn if females weren’t the most predictable species the Man Upstairs had ever created. Give her a man and she wanted to put him in a house; give her a house and she was determined to put a man in it.

  Well, this man wouldn’t be so easily caught. This man had no intention of being locked inside any woman’s house.

  Nudging the bay down the hillside, he studied the yellow glow of candlelight coming through the windows of the house. The sweet scents of baking bread and wood smoke mingled in his imagination, suffusing him with an easy feeling. By the time he approached the barn, his disgruntlement had been properly replaced with a good measure of concern for Ellie.

  A man in her house—that’s what she needed. Before he left for California, he would find her one.

  Smoke curled from the chimney, and when he finished in the barn and started toward the back door, he saw his other set of clothes hanging over the fence rail.

  He
ran a hand through his hair, then unconsciously across his stubbled chin. He couldn’t sit at Ellie’s table with trail dust clinging to him like moss on a river rock.

  The creek water felt good, and after he dressed in clean clothing and shaved at the well, he felt like a new man.

  It was the decision about Ellie, he knew. What a relief to have that little problem settled. A man, that’s what she needed.

  The first thing he noticed when he reached the yard was an unfamiliar horse hitched at the rail.

  He was met at the door by the delicious aroma of Ellie’s supper and her cheerful voice.

  So she had regained her good humor as well. He smiled, inhaling the sweet smells of the meal she had fixed for him. Then her words registered.

  “Kale, look who’s come to dinner. Armando Costello.”

  Costello stood across the room in front of the fireplace. He wore a black broadcloth suit and a fancy white shirt, and here in the lamplight he didn’t look the least bit sleazy. At Ellie’s call, he replaced the plat he had been studying, turned, and bowed from the waist.

  “Jarrett and I had the pleasure of meeting at the Lady Bug.” His fingers skimmed over his brocade vest, calling attention to his city attire.

  “Howdy.” Kale extended his hand without a great deal of enthusiasm. He had no desire to welcome the man to this house, not after the things he had said about Ellie in the Lady Bug.

  Costello’s honey-coated greeting rankled Kale even further. He’d be the first to acknowledge his own plainness. In fact, he was sure he was about as ugly as homemade soap, but he didn’t need some fancy gambler to show him up. He’d never trusted folks who had to put on the dog. If a hand couldn’t be played straight out, something was wrong.

  Involuntarily his plans to find Ellie a man surfaced with a jolt. Not this man. Certainly not this man.

  Costello tugged at his cuffs before returning the offered hand, and Kale felt his own wrist bones protrude from well below his faded shirt sleeves. He’d always had trouble with his sleeves being too short. Not that it bothered him. He rarely worried over his dress, except when in the presence of a handsome man and a woman he greatly admired.

  As he turned to look at Ellie, his startled expression echoed the confusion on her face. Greatly admired? All right, greatly admired…what did it prove? He had greatly admired his mother, too, but that hadn’t kept him in Tennessee. No, that was wrong, he countered, his mind suddenly reeling…he hadn’t greatly admired his mother, he had pitied her. He greatly admired…

  “You two sit down and get better acquainted while I put supper on the table.” Ellie scurried around, bringing a plate of biscuits, a large bowl of cream gravy, and a heaping platter of fried meat.

  “Armando brought a side of antelope,” she explained.

  A pang of guilt stirred Kale’s conscience.

  Costello acknowledged the fact with a nod. “My men like to hunt, so we keep Ellie in fresh meat.” While he spoke in matter-of-fact tones, Costello held Ellie’s chair, then seated himself at her left hand.

  Glaring at the gambler, Kale took the seat to Ellie’s right. He started to say that he could damn well provide meat for this table himself, but held his tongue. One insufferable man was enough.

  Another pang of guilt reared its ugly head. Whatever else Costello was, he had taken care of Ellie the past couple of months. But listening to the smooth-talking man from New Orleans, Kale began to get riled all over again. It suddenly struck him what game Costello was playing—the bastard was courting Ellie.

  “Are you interested in horses, Jarrett?” Costello was asking.

  “Horses?” What kind of fool question was that? In these parts, if a man wasn’t interested in horses, he had no way of getting from here to there. “You mean the fancy kind like’s tied up outside?”

  “The Morgan, yes,” Costello agreed. “I won that animal last week in a game of chance.”

  Kale took a bite of antelope and nearly choked before he got it swallowed. “Mostly, I stick to mustangs. Texas prairie, born and bred.” Drowning a biscuit in gravy, he took a bite, washed it down with a swallow of coffee, and complimented Ellie.

  “I could make a meal on your gravy and biscuits, no need for anything else.”

  Ellie studied him. His gruff replies to Armando had embarrassed her. Now, while Armando launched a sermon on the virtues of the Morgan, she watched Kale eat the gravy and biscuits with relish new even to him, ignoring the fresh meat their guest had brought to her table.

  It was all she could do to keep from laughing. Kale Jarrett was jealous. And he wasn’t doing a very good job concealing it.

  “If I’d known how much company would raise your spirits,” she told him, “I’d have invited Armando to supper earlier.”

  He glanced up, prepared to object, then saw the smile on her lips.

  Costello paused in his discourse. “Did I miss something?”

  Kale glared at the gambler, but when Ellie apologized, saying, “Please continue, Armando” in a syrupy voice she’d never used with him, Kale broke in.

  “Actually, Costello, we have more important things to discuss than Morgan horses. Have you come up with any new leads to our problem?”

  Costello’s black eyes flashed at Kale. Clearly he did not intend to relinquish command of the conversation. “My thoughts have not changed since we last spoke, Jarrett. In fact, they are greatly reinforced by this latest fire. Ellie cannot remain here another day. I shall be out first thing in the morning to take her to town.”

  “Hold your horses—” Kale began.

  “Wait a minute,” Ellie broke in. “Don’t I have anything to say about this?”

  Kale gripped his fork, forcibly keeping both fist and eating utensil on the table…otherwise, he knew, he’d be in danger of striking the man on the spot. And Ellie already thought him nothing but a ruffian.

  Costello was smiling at Ellie. “I thought we settled everything.”

  “Armando has repeated his offer to buy the ranch,” she told Kale.

  Expelling a deep breath before he allowed himself to speak, Kale strove to remain calm. “My brothers will arrive in a few days. We’ll consider your offer then.”

  “I meant no offense,” Costello replied tersely. “I don’t know your reasons for keeping Ellie out here, but I did know my friend. Benjamin Jarrett wouldn’t have wanted his wife to remain in a place where her life was in peril—from whatever source.”

  Kale scraped his chair back, cautioning himself to act with restraint. He gripped his hands into fists, rested them on the table, and felt Ellie cover one with her hand.

  He looked down into her worried eyes. He spoke in measured tones, diverting his attention to the gambler. “You forget yourself, Costello. As Benjamin’s brother and Ellie’s brother-in-law, no one could feel more responsibility for her welfare than I do. Like I told you before, she has her heart set on remaining at home, and I aim to do my damnedest to see that she gets to.”

  If he had thought to intimidate Armando Costello, he had judged the man wrong, Kale now saw. The gambler jumped to his feet, paced toward the fireplace, then turned—at a safe distance, Kale noted—his black eyes ablaze with hatred. “Brother-in-law or not, you, a known criminal, have no right to come in here and endanger the life of this dear lady.”

  Ellie rushed between them, intercepting Kale as he crossed the floor. She stopped him with her palms flattened against his chest, and her eyes implored him to back off. As soon as he had stopped, she turned away, flattening her back against his chest, whether to shield him or to hold him back, Kale wasn’t sure.

  “Hush up, both of you,” she commanded. “I intend to stay right here, and I’ll not hear another word about it.”

  At that instant a commotion erupted in the front yard; they heard hooves beating a path away from the house.

  “Someone’s stealing my horse!” Costello rushed through the door.

  The idea crossed Kale’s mind that he wouldn’t have to worry about the gambler
after all. In this country, a man that reckless wouldn’t live long.

  By the time he and Ellie reached the front window, the riders were already out of sight. Taking the shotgun from above the door, he checked the load, then stepped cautiously onto the porch.

  “No one stole your Morgan, Costello. He’s still tied to the rail. But we’d better search the area and see what they were really up to.”

  “I’ll take this side.” Costello rushed around the corner of the house toward the barn.

  “Careful,” Kale whispered after him, but it was too late. Cautiously he checked the other side of the house and the thicket out front.

  Ellie came onto the porch, carrying a lantern.

  “Looks like they’ve gone,” Kale called to her. Then he noticed the second horse tied to the hitching rail behind Costello’s Morgan. When the gambler came around the side of the house, Kale called him over.

  “Looks like they brought you another horse, Costello. All saddled and ready to ride.”

  “Good God!” the gambler muttered.

  Without listening to Kale’s admonitions to stay back, Ellie rushed toward the hitching rail. Suddenly she dropped the lantern and screamed.

  “That’s Benjamin’s horse!”

  Kale righted the lantern just as she came into his arms. The hairs along the back of his neck prickled, but he couldn’t let her go; holding her close, his eyes searched warily in all directions. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded against him, then struggled free, approaching the horse with tentative steps. “This is the sorrel Benjamin was riding when he rode away that last morning.”

  Kale brought the lantern closer. He inspected the horse, the saddle. This animal had not been running free for two months. It was curried and well fed, and the saddle had been kept inside, out of the weather. But where? What was the point of it all?

  Again Kale had the feeling the Raineys would not trifle with such tactics; they were men of action. Not that they were incapable of intimidation. Kale didn’t doubt that either brother was capable of anything the situation called for. But why bother? They planned to take legal possession of the ranch in four more days.