Summer Rose

by Bonnie K. Winn

  Lost in the magic Shane created, Cassie could scarcely control herself, much less attempt to stop him. Instead she found herself burying her hands in his chestnut locks. Then her hands roved over his muscled shoulders and glided down to rest in the silky thatch of hair on his chest. She felt his lips take hers and she drank deeply of his taste, the freshness of the woodsy scent that clung to his skin and seemed to pour into her own.

  Accepting his searching tongue, she reciprocated, amazed at her boldness, and unnerved by the sensations it created. Surges of heat flowing through her veins made her aware of every nuance, every change in her body. Feeling her nipples pucker and harden, she willed him to touch her breasts again, igniting the fire between her thighs. Her limbs felt both weightless and leaden at the same time, as though a thousand pinpricks of sensation had enveloped her.

  What was it about this man that made her throw caution skittering to the skies, along with her own innate sense of propriety? Instead of denying his touch, she wanted to continue on. Even if it meant he would think less of her. The loneliness and despair of the past few weeks disappeared under his caresses. The frustration faded with his touch. He had loosened feelings she’d not known existed. She felt the dam burst, and the cascade of feeling rushed heedlessly forward.

  “Cass, are you out here?” Milly’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, pulling her unwillingly back to the present.

  Cassie felt Shane pull away and caught her breath shakily as she gazed at the desire etched in his eyes. But her heart plummeted when his expression became guarded once again.

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Milly,” Cassie called out, her breath ragged, her body still flushed with the heat of his touch.

  They stared across the scant space that separated them, each remembering the other’s touch, the destination they both craved. Shane was the first to turn away. He took another shaky breath, remembering who he was with, trying to compose himself. “Wilbur has some ridiculous notion that you’ve hired Brady.”

  “Does he?” Cassie’s still husky voice held a note Shane could only describe as regret.

  “Told him even a Dalton wouldn’t steal away a hand.” Shane deliberately made his voice flat.

  Cassie didn’t meet his eyes as she hid the hurt his words caused, pretending instead to see the early-evening sun trailing its fan of colors over the mesa. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve hired Brady to work for me.”

  Shane raked an impatient hand through his hair. “You’re stealing away a hand I lent you?”

  “I wouldn’t call it stealing…” Cassie’s pain escalated when she saw the raw anger etched in Shane’s rugged face.

  “What would you call it? Just playing fair? Out here, lady, you get back the kind of treatment you give. And from what I see, you’d better expect your fair ration.”

  “I’m just playing by your rules.”

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I hope you don’t outfox yourself.” Refusing to admit to himself that his game was much worse, Shane angrily mounted his horse and galloped away.

  A whimper at Cassie’s feet reminded her she wasn’t completely alone, but the dog’s cuddly warmth remained a poor substitute for the man who now disappeared over the mesa.

  A few hours later, Cassie still dwelled on Shane’s words. But she’d scarcely had time to let the hurt sink in. Millicent had been searching for her so they could start the shearing. There was one advantage to the exhausting physical work: it left little time for self-pity.

  “You’ve got her, Andrew!” Cassie yelled in encouragement as Andrew drove the ewe into the shearing shed.

  Gazing through the shadows of the shed, Cassie saw Millicent, hooked up to the shearing belt and bent over a ewe, holding the beast firmly in place.

  So far they’d completely destroyed three fleeces, but they were getting better at the task each time. The last few fleeces looked encouraging. If they could keep up the quality, they might see a profit after all.

  The sheep Andrew drove toward her was bawling its head off; some of the beasts acted as if they would never see the rest of the flock again. They were certainly strange animals, Cassie thought, with a shake of her head. Timid, skittish. If you merely ran them too hard, they’d die. They certainly appeared a lot sturdier than they really were.

  Cassie angled her head and laughed wryly as she peered through the air filled with dust, wool, and noise. Who would have thought the green trio from Boston could have conquered shearing?

  Jensen and Brady were out on the ranges, keeping track of the rest of the flock. They had volunteered readily to do anything except the shearing.

  Watching Andrew and Millicent, Cassie couldn’t help but smile as she remembered how little the three of them had known when they came West. Millicent’s face was a study in determination as she gripped the sheep and managed to cut the fleece in one piece. Her red hair had escaped its neat chignon to straggle about her face. She had completely abandoned her normally meticulous appearance. Tufts of wool stuck to her perspiring skin, while her starched dress wrinkled in a thousand places. Back in Boston, Cassie would never have believed that the prim Miss Groden would be bending over a dirt floor grappling with a sheep.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” Millicent’s tired voice cut through Cassie’s reverie.

  “No. Is this fleece ready?” Cassie asked, indicating the wool Millicent had neatly shorn.

  “Sure is. I’m ready for my next victim,” Millicent answered, lowering the shears to the bench.

  “Andrew, this sheep’s ready to go back to the pen,” Cassie yelled while bundling the wool with paper twine. Careful not to allow any hay to mix in with the fleece, rendering it worthless, Cassie dropped the wool into the huge gunny sack hanging from the ceiling.

  “I’ll pound the sack down as soon as we get your next customer ready,” Cassie commented.

  “Oh, goody. Another one.” Millicent’s face was flushed, but she picked up the shears with energy.

  “I’ll shear for a while if you’d like, Milly. We can trade.”

  “No, thanks. I just learned how to do this part without killing the sheep or myself. Just send me another beastie.”

  Cassie cornered the bawling sheep and drove it over to Millicent who secured the sheep in position with little trouble. Millicent really was getting good at this, Cassie thought with surprise.

  “I still think we should have built chutes,” Andrew grumbled as he entered the shed.

  “We didn’t have time,” Cassie patiently explained, pleased that Andrew had taken so efficiently to the tasks she’d given him.

  “I guess, but it would’ve made the job a lot easier.” He shrugged his thin shoulders, and Cassie noted that he was a head taller than she was. When had he grown so tall?

  “You’re doing a good job of driving them in, Andrew. At the rate we’re going we should be able to shear a sheep in twenty minutes or less,” Cassie encouraged him.

  “How about ten?” Millicent asked, indicating the half-shorn sheep at her feet.

  Andrew let out a whoop of enthusiasm. “You keep that up and we’ll be through in no time.”

  Millicent and Cassie rolled their eyes at one another. With the rest of the flock waiting to be sheared, it was going to be a long, tiring job. But they were all proud that they had tackled it.

  Cassie thought of Shane’s words. Perhaps she hadn’t played by his rules, but she had a family to provide for. And watching Millicent’s and Andrew’s beaming faces, Cassie knew they would succeed. No matter what the cost.

  19

  Cassie riffled through the dusty stack of papers she’d unearthed in her uncle’s desk. She’d read his carefully lettered journal entries that showed the hardships he had faced in keeping the ranch going. But instead of discouraging her, his struggles told of a kindred spirit. It was as though she weren’t alone in her battle.

  Absently she patted Star’s wriggling
head as he battled fiercely with the end of her belt. Gently she pushed aside the puppy’s moist nose when he nuzzled the book in her lap, she stroked his ears, searching the desk with her other hand.

  Refusing to be distracted, Cassie continued searching the desk. She was hunting for the shearing receipts from last season. She’d spent hours the night before trying to determine whether they would survive the winter. Cassie knew if she could estimate their potential earnings, she’d have a better idea of their chances.

  Cassie attacked the last pigeonhole in the desk. A quick glance at the first few papers was disappointing. She glanced at a third paper, started to put it aside, and then reached for it again. She read and reread its contents. Finally she pushed herself back into the creaky desk chair.

  Could it be? Had Uncle Luke controlled the water rights to nearly two dozen ranches? The enormity of what she held in her hand stunned her.

  According to this paper, her uncle had purchased the water rights along with his land from the cattle rancher who’d owned both. The river that snaked through her property and watered the cattle of her neighbors was only one of two in the area. The second one belonged to Shane.

  She suddenly remembered Albert Fredericks’s offer to buy her land. Was he after this? No, she decided quickly, that didn’t make any sense. He didn’t have any adjoining property. Besides, he probably assumed she knew about her ownership of the water rights—and therefore wouldn’t sell that parcel.

  Curious at what else the desk might contain, Cassie continued digging. She discarded piles of receipts and notes. Then she found it—another paper that puzzled her even more than the first. It was a document deeding a large portion of the Lazy H to Luke Dalton. The name on the deed glared up at her: John Lancer. This was no coincidence. The man who had deeded the biggest parcel of her ranch to Uncle Luke was a Lancer, which made even less sense. If the Lancers were that territorial about their property, why would they carve a section from the middle and deed it to her uncle?

  Studying the first document again, she wondered what her mighty neighbors would do if she dammed up the whole works. Probably shoot me in my sleep, Cassie answered herself with a shudder. She remembered Jensen’s words: “Your uncle cut off enough water to kill half the valley.” She had assumed the man was only exaggerating. According to the lay of the land, it hadn’t seemed possible that her uncle could have done enough damage to warrant the hate she’d experienced. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Cassie perched back in her chair, silently studying the portent of the documents. Who else knew about these? she wondered as her mind flew over the consequences. She felt a cold flicker of suspicion prick her with doubts. Had Shane known all along about the controlling water rights? Was that the major reason he wanted to purchase her land? To control all the water in the area? Or did he just want back the portion that used to belong to the Lancers?

  When buying her out hadn’t worked, he’d no doubt figured he’d pursue her—make an old maid happy and keep her content so she wouldn’t jerk the water rights away from his friends. But that still didn’t explain the deed from his father to her uncle.

  And, she reminded herself, if the ranchers meant to pacify her, their methods weren’t showing it. Unless they meant to frighten her away before she could discover the truth. A chilling finger of fear chased up her spine as her mind turned to her uncle. Had his death been the only way to finally rid them of his control over the water?

  While she’d never fully accepted his “accidental” death, she had nothing but intuition to warrant her suspicions. What she needed was proof.

  The paper rustled in her hand as she gazed out the window of the keeping room. Uncle Luke’s death should have meant an end to his control over the water. But what had it really meant?

  Cassie dangled both revealing scraps of paper in her hand. Her first instinct was to confront Shane and find out if he’d known all along. An unwelcome premonition still bothered her, however. Who would profit the most from her uncle’s death?

  If Shane could have bought her land for next to nothing, it would have been him. The letter from Shane’s solicitor to her in Boston was proof that he would have profited enormously. She spread both documents in front of her, an arsenal of destruction in the right hands. Resting her aching head momentarily against her steepled fingers, Cassie wished she could unlock the secrets that had plagued her since the day she’d arrived. But with a stab of dismay, she realized she might not want to know the answer.

  Cassie strode into Peabody’s General Store, not pausing this time to admire the dry goods or to take in her quaint surroundings. Trying to ignore the sudden silence that greeted her when she entered the store, Cassie marched up to the counter. The unsmiling proprietor stared at her sternly, without compromise. Having made up her mind before she entered the store to try one more time, Cassie looked him squarely in the eye and asked for a fifty-pound sack of flour. She wasn’t, surprised, only saddened, to hear the familiar reply.

  “Don’t have none.”

  Cassie took a deep breath to fortify herself. “That’s unfortunate, Mr. Peabody. I understand your family has some land directly south of mine.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s right.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that until you can locate the supplies on my list, I’ll be forced to cut off your water supply.”

  A collective gasp rose among the crowd. Cassie ignored them as she slapped the list on the counter.

  “Tomorrow, Mr. Peabody. I’ll expect my supplies by then, or I’ll be forced to act.” She didn’t acknowledge the people who now stared with open hatred, but instead turned to leave. “Good day, Mr. Peabody.”

  Total silence accompanied her out the door. Cassie looked neither left nor right, but climbed into her wagon, picked up the reins, and headed home. Only after she was out of town did she pull over to the side of the road, trying to control the shaking of her hands.

  Her reserve of courage was depleted now that she’d faced her neighbors’ hostility. She rested her flushed face against the palms of her hands, wishing she hadn’t had to force Mr. Peabody into selling her supplies, wishing she knew why he was so determined not to do so. The past was just that, and she refused to acknowledge the ridiculous grudge her neighbors still carried.

  Hearing a wagon rumbling toward her, she wiped her clammy hands against her skirt and willed her strength to return. She smiled feebly when she recognized Wilbur’s grizzled face coming toward her. Shane rode close to the wagon, his massive dapple-gray horse walking slowly to accommodate the wagon’s pace.

  Cassie tried to straighten up and appear composed, but the trembling in her hands hadn’t ceased, and the moisture in her eyes made them unnaturally bright. Shane was off his horse in an instant, closing the distance between them.

  “What’s wrong, Cassie?” he asked, reaching up and helping her down from the wagon seat. “Are you hurt?”

  She protested for a moment, then sank gratefully against him. He allowed her to rest against him for a tantalizingly painful moment. Slowly he pulled back, examining her face as he did so.

  “What is it?”

  She told him what had happened, and the dam of reserve behind which he normally hid exploded with a vengeance as her story unfolded.

  “You did what?” he growled.

  “What else could I do?” she cried, unable to believe he, too, agreed with the townspeople. “No one seemed to care that we were going to be cut off from our supplies!”

  “Did you ever stop to think they had reason to feel like they do?” He replayed his own painful memories—his father, Luke Dalton, his mother. All the years of hate and frustration boiled over.

  “Whatever happened with my uncle is over, done. What reason do they have to keep refusing me supplies?”

  “Because they remember what Luke Dalton did. It cost them friends and family. There’s not a person in the valley that wasn’t affected by what he did. And now you’re starting it all over again.”


  “Simply by cutting off someone’s water? I don’t—”

  “What do you think cutting off water does to people, Cassie?” His face was close, his eyes narrowed and hard. “First the cattle get sick. You ride your land, watching them go down by the dozen. Then they die, and the stench fills the air.” Cassie tried to shrink away, but Shane’s grip was like an iron vise as he held her close. “You can’t get it out of your nostrils. The stink of it stays with you even in your sleep. And if you’re one of the small ranchers, you watch until all your stock’s dead, your kids have empty bellies, and then you give up. Or die. Like half the people in this valley did when your uncle cut off their water during the drought.” Shane paused, his jaws clenching tightly together, thinking of all the other damage her uncle had caused. “When you’re tossing out threats, you’d better know you’re baiting the trap. And you’re the one who’s going to get snapped in two.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, unable to believe his hateful words. But seeds of suspicion assailed her as she remembered the townspeople’s reactions.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sell now. Because I wouldn’t give you two cents for what your life’ll be worth if you dam up the water.”

  Swallowing the sudden tears clogging her throat, she watched Shane mount his horse and ride toward town. Wilbur studied her quietly for a few moments, as though he wanted to speak. Finally he sighed, picking up the reins and slapping the horse as he, too, moved toward town.

  Knowing she couldn’t go back to her old life, and wondering what she’d do now, Cassie stared at their retreating figures. Trapped like a rat, she thought desperately. And she’d set the bait herself.

  20

  Millicent slapped a wet linen shirt over the taut rope that served as her laundry line. A pair of trousers followed, slapped even more fiercely against the line. She ignored the sweat trickling past her temples and the rivulets that formed and collected between her breasts. It wasn’t as though anyone would see her, she thought resentfully, putting even more force into the next piece of laundry she slung over the line. It had been two weeks since she’d seen Ringer.