by Kaki Warner
The realization that he wouldn’t even consider her as a partner hurt so bad she could hardly breathe.
“So tell me, Ty,” she said, once the tightness in her throat eased. “What do you object to most? The idea of owing a bank? Or owing me?”
“Either way, it’s charity. Can’t you see that?”
“It’s business! And if we can both profit from it, what’s the harm?”
In his blue crystal eyes, she saw a reflection of her own disappointment and hurt. “If I can’t earn it on my own, Lottie, I don’t deserve it. Or want it.”
My way, or no way. First Grandpa and now Ty. Was that every man’s motto? “Then we’re at an impasse, it seems.”
“We don’t have to be. Just give me time. If you believe in me, give me a chance to make it happen.”
Another “someday” dream. Grandpa had fed them to her like candy. “I do believe in you, Ty. More than anyone I know. But even you can’t change reality. And the reality is that unless a starting rancher has money backing him, odds are he won’t last more than a few years, no matter how much he believes or how hard he works. I know that failure. I lived it. And I won’t go back. Not when I hold the way to an easier future in my hand.”
Anger had deserted her. She was crying now, but didn’t care. Her heart was in tatters, her hopes and dreams a tangled mess at her feet. But resolve gave her enough strength to rise on trembling legs. “So, if you won’t accept my help and take me on as an equal partner, then I see no way past this.”
Ty stood, too, his big body tense. “Lottie . . . honey . . .”
She shook her head, not wanting to hear sweet words or for him to try to talk her out of what she needed to do. “It breaks my heart to face a future without you in it, Ty. But I’ve worked too hard to go back now. Even for you.”
“Don’t do this, Lottie. Give me time. I’ll think of something.”
“If you do, you know where to find me.” Lifting his Stetson off the peg by the door, she held it toward him. “Good-bye, Ranger Benton. See yourself out.” And while she still could, Lottie turned and walked from the room.
Chapter 14
For two hours, Ty sat slouched on a bench outside the deserted depot, waiting for the early train and watching the crescent moon crawl slowly across the night sky. He’d cursed and argued and tried to convince himself it was for the best. But he still couldn’t accept that he’d lost Lottie.
What was she thinking? Didn’t she know they belonged together?
She was his woman—and had been from the moment he’d opened his eyes and found her kneeling beside him in the street, trying to tend his wound. She confounded him at every turn, argued with him every chance she got, and wouldn’t accept his word on anything without questioning it first. But he admired her anyway.
In fact, he loved her.
Loved her? The ground seemed to shift beneath him. Admiring Lottie was easy. Loving her was terrifying. But inescapable. And the longer he thought about it, the more comfortable the idea of it became.
He loved the courage that had sent her charging into the middle of a gunfight to help a downed man. Loved her fine mind and strong character and her refusal to back down—even to him. So why was it so hard for him to accept her help?
It unmanned him, that’s why. When she’d offered to buy him a ranch, she might as well have patted his head like he was a little kid, or hung his balls on a string around her neck.
Disturbed by that last image, Ty rose and began to pace along the edge of the platform.
He could accept that she was smarter than him. Probably. And better-looking. And had a warm and caring nature that drew people to her like bees to honey. A man could move mountains with a woman like her at his side.
But what did he have to offer her?
A strong back. Determination. Loyalty. A willingness to do everything he could to please her. He slowed to a stop. Damn. He sounded like a plow horse. With a deep sigh, he thrust his hands into his front pockets and watched a dying star streak across the sky.
That’s how he felt. Burned to a cinder and racing nowhere as fast as he could go. Damn that woman.
He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let it end like this. He’d have to find a way to win her back. By God, she owed him at least a chance to do that.
With grim determination, he kicked the saddlebags out of sight under the bench then started walking down Main Street toward Becky’s house.
No light showed when he arrived. Not surprising, since the whole town was dark except for a faint glow to the east that signaled the coming of a new day. He tried the front door and found it unlocked. Reminding himself to scold her about that and to lock it on his way out, he slipped silently inside. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust and get his bearings, then he threaded his way through tables loaded with knickknacks toward the bedroom he’d seen her enter earlier when she went to get that tin box of mementos.
The door stood ajar. Hoping the hinges wouldn’t creak, he slowly pushed it open. He could make out a bed and a bureau, but not much else. The room smelled like her. Something flowery. Feminine. And he could hear a faint snuffling sound coming from the bed. A stuffy nose? Had she been crying?
Good. Maybe she wasn’t as set on cutting him loose as she’d made out.
He moved toward the sound, saw a dark head on a pale pillow, and reached down to where he thought her mouth was. As soon as his hand closed over it, she reared up, fists swinging.
Luckily her arms were shorter than his, or he might have gotten a split lip. As it was, she caught him a glancing blow on the bridge of his nose that made his eyes water and his nose run. “Stop, Lottie,” he hissed. “It’s me.”
She froze. Then shoved his hand aside. “Ty?”
“Shh. You’ll wake Becky.”
“What are you doing? Why are you in here?”
Between the watering in his eyes and the darkness of the room, he couldn’t see well enough to tell what she was wearing, but it felt like a lot more than she usually wore in his dreams. Just as well. He didn’t need any distractions until he said what he’d come to say. Watching for another roundhouse, he eased down on the edge of the bed. “We’re starting over.”
“Again?” He couldn’t see the smirk, but he heard it.
“I care about you, Lottie. And I think you care for me, too. So we’ve got to find a way to work this out.”
“You care about me?”
“I might even love you. And since I’m not as smart as you . . . maybe . . . I’ll need time to think about all you said. But I’m sure we—”
He almost toppled off the side of the bed when she threw herself against him. He thought she was attacking again, then felt her kissing his ear, his cheek, his nose, his chin—apparently she couldn’t see him that well, either, because she never found his mouth.
“Oh, Ty. Your face is wet. Have you been crying?”
“What? Me? No. But I think you might have given me a bloody nose.” He dragged a sleeve over his top lip, but couldn’t tell if it came away wet.
“That’s your blood I’m tasting?”
“Shh. You’ll wake Becky.” It pleased him she sounded so horrified about hitting him, until he heard spitting noises off the other side of the bed.
A second later, she was climbing on him again, saying how sorry she was that she’d hurt him, and how glad she was that he’d come back, and that she’d do anything to make it work between them.
Not a declaration of undying love, but he took what he could. And as soon as he felt her arms slide around his neck, and her soft, round breasts pressing against his chest, it was like coming home. He would have laid her down then and there but was determined to do this right. Plus, he didn’t have time—he could already hear the distant whistle of the early train. “Lottie,” he whispered when she finally loosened her grip and he could talk again. “This
isn’t the end of it. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.”
“You love me? Truly?”
Surprised, he drew back. But in the dimness, he could only see the pale blob of her face. “Of course I do. Don’t you love me?”
“Well, I—”
“Never mind.” He wasn’t ready to hear another rejection. “You will. Just give me a shot. That’s all I ask.”
He felt her body—her really soft, lush, sweet-smelling body—go tense. “I don’t want to fight with you again, Ty.”
“Then don’t. Just tell me you’ll wait. If I can’t find another solution, we’ll do it your way.” He’d apologize to his balls later. They’d believe damn near anything.
Instead of speaking, she grabbed ahold of him again. Which was all the answer he needed. He would find a way. He couldn’t lose this woman. “Now kiss me good-bye, honey, and go back to sleep. I’ll return soon.”
It wasn’t a short kiss. But it wasn’t long enough, either. And when it was over and he stood up, he was glad it wasn’t light enough yet for her to see what condition she’d left him in. “Wait for me,” he said, and quietly left the room.
Of course, after all that hugging and kissing, there was no chance that she could go back to sleep. She felt like she’d been caught in a cyclone. Her head was still spinning.
He loved her. The last time she’d heard anyone say that to her she’d been ten, a week before Mama died of a tiny little bee sting. Grandpa had never said it, and over the years she had wondered if anybody ever would again. And now, Ty. She couldn’t wait for Becky to wake so she could tell her.
But by the time dawn gave way to bright morning sunlight, she realized nothing had really changed. Ty was still reluctant to take her on as a partner, and she was still determined not to spend the rest of her life scraping out a living on a failing ranch. And both of them were too hardheaded and prideful to give in.
An impasse.
She stayed in bed until she heard Becky moving around, then forced herself to get up. By the time she’d splashed most of the puffiness from her eyes, dressed, and pinned her braid in a thick coil on the back of her head, Becky had coffee going and biscuits warming.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said when Lottie came into the kitchen.
“Morning.” Lottie set the table, poured coffee into two mugs, then took her usual chair.
Becky eyed her as she pulled the biscuits from the oven. “Rough night?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“Worse.”
“I feel it.” Hoping to deflect questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer, Lottie asked how things had gone at the Spotted Dog the previous night.
“Nothing unusual.” Becky kicked the stove door closed with a clang, set the pan of biscuits on the table beside the butter crock and jar of honey, then took the chair opposite Lottie. “Not like around here.”
“How do you mean?”
“Somebody snuck into the house last night, ate all our leftovers, then snuck back out and locked the door behind him. I had to go around to the back window to get in. Know anything about that? Or where he might have left the key?”
“It was Ty. I don’t know where he put the key. Probably somewhere so high only he can reach it.”
“We never lock up anyway. Why was he in Greenbroke?”
Lottie hadn’t intended to tell Becky about Ty’s visit. But as soon as she opened her mouth, it all came rushing out—his refusal to take her help, their fight, his later return. “He even said he loved me, Becky. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“Grab him while you can.” She drizzled honey on a biscuit and took a bite. “He’s a good man.”
“Haven’t you been listening? I don’t want to live poor again. But that’s how it’ll be if he won’t accept my help.”
“You mean accept your money. Oh, sweetie . . .” With a sigh, Becky set down her biscuit. “He’s a man. They don’t think like us. Sometimes they don’t think at all.” She winked and tapped her temple with her pointer finger. “At least not with this head.” Seeing Lottie’s look of confusion, she waved the thought away. “What I mean is a man doesn’t care if his clothes are patched, or the curtains are ratty, or if there are even any curtains at all. As long as he’s got food, a dry place to sleep, and a woman to cuddle up to at night, he’s as happy as a pig in poop. All the rest is just window dressing.”
“My life was hardly window dressing.”
“I know. I don’t want to be poor again, either. But if you want your ranger, I say give him the time he’s asking for. He might surprise you and come up with something that will work.”
Lottie hoped so. She felt trapped between two terrible choices: a life of poverty with Ty, or a life of ease without him. Neither was acceptable.
Her troubled mood didn’t improve when she went to the club later that morning to find Briggs at his desk. Scowling, as usual. “Good morning, Mr. Briggs.”
“Good morning, Miss Weyland.”
Thankfully the conversation ended there. Lottie had a grinding headache—probably from crying so much the previous night—and was in no mood for idle chitchat.
After a long silence, she heard the squeak of Briggs’s swivel chair. “Are you well, Miss Weyland?”
She looked up to find him studying her with an expression of concern. “Why do you ask?”
“And why must you always answer my questions with another question?” Before she could answer that, he continued. “You’ve been sighing a great deal. It makes me wonder if I’ve done something wrong.”
He did have the most remarkable gray eyes—the color of polished mother-of-pearl, except for the dark ring around the irises. In her fragile state, the kindness she saw reflected in them weakened her. Feeling a sudden sting of tears, she looked down at the blurry numbers in the ledger. “I’m fine.”
A pause, as if he expected her to say more.
She didn’t.
“Deception doesn’t become you, Miss Weyland.”
She stared mutely at the ledger, willing the tears—and him—away.
“It’s been my experience,” he went on in a kindly voice, “that when a woman uses the word ‘fine’ to describe her feelings, it means just the opposite. What’s wrong, Miss Lottie?”
His use of her nickname almost undid her. Raising a warning hand, she said in a wobbly voice, “Don’t be nice to me.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll make me cry.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you for the warning.” He turned back to his desk.
It was some time before she trusted her voice enough to speak again. “Have you ever been poor, Mr. Briggs?”
“Do you mean impoverished?”
“I mean constantly worrying if you’ll have enough to eat, or clothes to keep you warm.”
The chair creaked as he sat back, his broad hands with their long, tapered fingers clasped at his waist. “Conditions on a battlefield can be quite harsh. As soldiers, we were often cold and wet, with scarcely enough food to keep us going. But if you are asking if I was ever destitute, then my answer would be no.”
He waited.
She didn’t say anything.
“Have you been poor, Miss Weyland?”
She’d started this conversation. She might as well continue. “Yes, I have. Although, at the time, I didn’t know I was poor. Not until I saw the way people in town looked at my patched clothes and hand-me-down boots. I thought everybody lived day-to-day.”
He said nothing, but she imagined she saw understanding—maybe even sympathy—in his eyes. But this time, instead of weakening her, it strengthened her.
“I don’t ever want to be that poor again, Mr. Briggs. I’ll do anything to escape it. Does that sound greedy, or make me a selfish, shallow person?”
“Not at all, assuming you do nothing illegal or harmful to avoid it
. In truth, I admire your determination to rise above a disadvantaged beginning.”
More stinging. She blinked it away. “But the scars of that poor beginning remain. As do the fears of ever living that way again.”
“Fears? You, Miss Weyland?” He almost smiled. “I cannot imagine it.”
Some of her melancholy eased. Despite his stiff aloofness, Mr. Briggs was very likeable. She hoped someday to count him as a friend.
“Does any of this have to do with your ranger?” he asked.
The question sent that telltale flush into her cheeks. But Briggs was being so nice, and he did sound concerned, and she needed so desperately to find some answers. “He wants to try his hand at ranching, but he has no money to get started. And he won’t accept any help from me.”
“I see. And by ‘help,’ do you mean funds?”
What was so terrible about offering money to someone who needed it? “It’s illogical. Why does he think I’ve been working so hard? Just to put money in a sock? No, to build a better life. Maybe even a future with him. But that can’t happen unless he lets me help him. It’s so unreasonable!” She threw up her hands in aggravation. “Why won’t he listen? Why are men so bullheaded?” With every word her voice rose until Briggs’s expression of sympathy became one of alarm.
“Please sit down, Miss Weyland.”
Lottie wasn’t even aware she had risen from her chair. “It’s stupid is all.”
Briggs waited until she was seated again. Then, in what she thought of as his military voice, he said, “Men are simple creatures, Miss Weyland. We are driven by two needs. Well, three, but we won’t discuss that. To protect and to provide. By offering your ranger money, you effectively told him you would be a better provider than he would be. That’s a mortal blow to a man’s pride.”
“Hogwash. At the Spotted Dog, men offer money to women all the time. Why can’t women offer the same to men?”
“That’s an entirely different thing, as you are well aware.”