“That sounds like the widow McMasters’s place.”
Booze had a fleeting image of a dark-eyed, dark-haired Spanish beauty—running away from him. “Lost her husband in the flash flood last spring?”
“Yes, that’s the one. The land is mostly deserted, though I think there is a boy out there who takes care of a couple of horses. She couldn’t run the place on her own, of course, so after her husband’s death she moved into town and took a job teaching at the school. She’s still making the payments on the loan, although on a teacher’s pay, it must be difficult.”
“Do you think she’d be interested in selling the place?”
“I don’t know. When I talked with Dick Blackman last spring—he helped her settle the estate after her husband’s death—she seemed determined to keep it. But it’s been a year, and a difficult one, I’d imagine. She might well be amenable to selling it now. After all, a little thing like that, all alone—she’d never make a go of the ranch. She’s pretty enough, she ought to marry again, or go back home to her family.”
Ronan thought of her bright eyes and the determined jut of her chin. Remaining where she was, holding on to what was hers, toiling for a pittance to keep it, showed resolve and determination. Or maybe she’d just been too shocked and grieving after her husband’s sudden death to know what to do, so had lingered in Whiskey River while she tried to figure it out.
She might be ready to move on, and turn her land over to someone who would appreciate it.
“Guess I’ll look into it.”
“You might act soon, if you’re interested. When I talked with Blackman the other day, he mentioned several people had asked him about the land. It’s prime acreage, and you’re not the only one who’s thinking of ranching.”
He could talk with the lawyer, Booze supposed. But, he thought, a smile springing to his lips, it would be a lot more enjoyable to speak directly with the lady herself.
“Guess it’s hunting down the widow I’ll be doing.”
Looking at him, Michael grinned. “Don’t expect to enjoy yourself too much, old friend. Mrs. McMasters is a real lady.”
She wouldn’t be the first real lady he’d beguiled, Booze thought. Recalling that heat-lightning flash of attraction between them, if she were willing to be beguiled, he was just the man to oblige.
Chapter Three
Never one to waste time when a new project beckoned, the next afternoon Booze left his hotel to pay a call on Mrs. McMasters. If he shaved extra close, wore his best suit and a touch of that Bay Rum several ladies had told him smelled so wonderful, there wasn’t any harm in putting on his best appearance to bargain with a lady.
Would she stay on in Whiskey River if he bought her land? Since he found her as lovely and intriguing as her property, he hoped so. The attraction between them was as wild as the river after a downpour, stronger than he’d felt for anyone in a very long time. He’d like to pursue her and see where it led.
A “real lady,” Michael had called her, the inference being that she wouldn’t be amendable to dalliance. Perhaps she wouldn’t. He wasn’t above coaxing, but he’d never coerce, and there were always other willing ladies waiting. Though he had to admit, he would be disappointed if she didn’t let herself respond to him.
A few minutes later, he arrived at Mrs. Lowery’s boarding house and knocked at the door. The plump, gray-haired proprietor herself answered it, raising her eyebrows when she saw him.
“Why, Mr. Kelly, good afternoon! What brings you here?”
“Afternoon, ma’am. It was a bit of business I’m after discussing with Mrs. McMasters. Mr. McCleary told me she boards with you. Could you ask her if she would meet me in the parlor?”
“She does, and I’d be happy to, but she’s out at the moment. Can I give her a message?”
A disappointment much sharper than it should have been washed through Booze. Apparently he’d been looking forward to seeing the widow more than he’d thought. He truly was interested in finding out the status of the land as soon as possible, but that alone didn’t explain the intensity of his letdown.
Trying to shake off the feeling, he said, “No, I won’t trouble you. I’ll try to catch her another time.” A matter as sensitive as the possible sale of the land her husband had bought for them shouldn’t be broached in a note or left as a message for someone else to deliver.
He wanted to see her face, watch her reaction when he introduced the subject. How she responded to the offer would be a far better indication of her true feelings than any words she might say.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to make that assessment today. Still struggling to overcome his frustration, Booze gave the boarding house proprietor a bow and walked back toward the hotel.
He kicked at a pebble as he walked, more impatient and restless at the delay than he’d been yesterday when Lydia McCleary tried to corner him into walking with her. Since it was a shame to waste the fresh shave and Bay Rum, he briefly considered stopping by Miss Evangeline’s, but it was a bit early for that. Too early to stop by the saloon, too, and though he could go back to his office in the hotel and look at invoices or plan prospective business trips, even that venture, which normally excited him, didn’t appeal.
He’d ride again, he decided. Nothing eased his restlessness as well as time in the saddle.
And he knew just where he wanted to go. He’d stop by the cabin on the McMasters land and tell the boy living there that he was going to ride around the property. Then he’d be able to rove over all of it, see if it looked as ideal close-up as it had seemed yesterday, without feeling like a trespasser.
Energized by the prospect, he picked up his pace. Half an hour later, he’d changed into riding clothes, gathered his horse from the livery, and set the gelding trotting west along the river trail.
After an hour’s ride, Booze reached the ranch. The setting was just as lovely as he remembered—the land rising sharply to the west, where the narrow river leapt and tumbled down boulders before it widened out into a pond beside a several-acre expanse of grassland. It looked like good pasturage for cattle, with plenty of fresh water. A small barn sat at the western edge of the pasture, with a trail beside it that led to the cabin on the heights overlooking the wilder section of river.
Booze urged his mount up the slope toward the cabin, which stood in the shelter of a grove of cottonwood trees. After dismounting and tying the horse to a branch, he was about to walk to the front door when a slim figure emerged from the cover of the trees.
A slim but well-rounded figure that was certainly not a boy. Excitement kicked up his pulse and all his senses came to the alert as Mrs. McMasters suddenly halted, her eyes widening as she spied him.
“Mr. Kelly?” she said, astonishment in her voice.
He bowed. “Mrs. McMasters! Just the lady I’ve been looking for! I called at the boarding house, but Mrs. Lowery said you were out.”
She took a step toward him before halting abruptly. Shaking her head, as if she still couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her, she said, “Y-yes. There’s no school on Saturdays, so I come to the cabin to let Antonio go into town for some company and to attend church on Sunday. But where are my manners? Would you like to come in? I don’t have any spirits, but there is some fresh coffee. And you can tell me why you wanted to see me.”
“Coffee would be good, thank you.”
Taking off his hat, Booze stepped into the cabin, trying to ignore the little voice whispering to him that he and the delectable Mrs. McMasters were here alone, miles from town, with no chance of anyone disturbing them.
Trying to curb his overheated imagination, he made himself focus on the cabin. Like most settlers’ first homes, it was small, made of logs, but finely crafted with glass windows inset in the parlor he’d just entered, some of the fine pale, local stone forming a handsome fireplace. A pretty settee and two chairs sat upon a hand-made rug.
Gesturing toward one of the chairs, Mrs. McMasters said, “Won’t you ha
ve a seat? I’ll get the coffee.”
He sat down, admiring the graceful sway of her body as she walked to the adjacent kitchen and took another cup from a shelf that held plates, utensils and cooking equipment. Her braided hair was looped up and pinned in a sort of coronet on top of her head, baring to his view the curve of her neck, where little wisps of dark hair curled.
How he’d love to wrap those wisps around his finger, pull her close and kiss the softness under her ears...
His heartbeat accelerated, his breathing quickened, and John Downstairs came even more fully alert. Shifting uncomfortably, he told himself to calm down.
Damnation, he wasn’t some green kid lusting after his first woman. It was unsettling, how much this lady affected him. But he’d better get himself under control. After all, she was alone with him, miles from anyone who might offer assistance. He didn’t want to alarm or frighten her.
If her thoughts were running, like his, to pleasuring, she’d make that plain soon enough.
“Sugar?” she asked, her voice startling him.
Only the kind that passes from your lips to mine, he thought. “No, thank you. Black is fine.”
She carried the two cups over to the seating area and handed him one, being, he thought, extraordinarily careful to make sure their fingers didn’t touch. The slight blush on her cheeks, the tenseness in her body, as if she was holding herself under rigid control, confirmed what his senses were telling him. She felt the attraction between them, recognized the opportunity that had just presented itself, and was trying hard to ignore it.
Regardless of how this meeting ended, he was encouraged.
Seating herself, she said, “I wish I could drink mine black—it would save me the cost of the sugar. Alas, I love the sweetness.” Smiling, she licked a stray crystal from the rim of her cup.
Booze forgot to breathe as he watched her tongue trace the edge, fighting the urge to pull her into an embrace and meet her lips with his own.
He took a gulp, the jolt of the scalding hot brew a welcome distraction. Mrs. McMasters sipped hers before setting down the cup. “You said you’d come to see me. Why?”
Stick to business. “I’ve been looking for some land, and I was told you might be thinking of selling the ranch.”
Her smile vanished. “Then you’ve made a long ride for nothing! I have no intention of selling. Once I can accumulate enough capital to purchase a suitable stallion, I shall move forward with the breeding program my husband and I planned when we purchased this land.”
Everything about her—sober face, determined angle of chin, and defiant tone, said she was completely committed to keeping her property—angry, even, that someone would suggest she sell it. Disappointed, but willing to settle for the pleasure of being near her, Booze said, “A long ride is never wasted when there’s a lovely lady and fresh coffee at the end of it. Your decision is firm? I should think it would be difficult for a woman on her own to run an operation like that.”
“Difficult, yes, but not impossible. I didn’t come all the way from San Antonio, with two of the finest mares ever foaled, to give up just because the project will be difficult. With the right sire, Desiree and Yolanda will produce the best cutting horses in Texas. Aidan was sure of it, and I mean to prove he was right.”
How her voice warmed when she talked about her horses! Now that he’d accomplished his purpose, she would be ready to send him on his way, he knew. Wanting to delay the parting, Booze said, “You brought the mares with you, I was hearing.”
He’d chosen the right topic, for her defiant expression immediately softened. “Yes. My father keeps a large herd, breeding horses for riding, draft work and managing livestock. These mares are of Spanish stock, cross-bred with the Thoroughbred mix some of the Texians brought with them from Arkansas and Tennessee. Fast, smart, they almost seem to know what the cattle are going to do before they do it! With so many settlers expanding their herds or starting ranches, there will be a growing demand for good cutting horses, and we—I—mean to meet it.”
“So you bought that meadow to pasture horses.”
“Yes. With the meadow, and the plentiful water, it’s an ideal location.”
“It seems I’m like some of those you mentioned—looking at starting a cattle ranch. This land would be ideal for that, too.”
“It would, probably. Unfortunately for you, though,” she said with a smile, “the land isn’t on the market.”
She’d been avoiding looking directly at him, but now that she had, their gazes caught and held. She froze, her smile fading, her mouth opening in surprise, before she began to slowly, slowly lean toward him.
His heart trying to beat itself out of his chest, Booze leaned forward to meet her, using every scrap of self-control to prevent himself from seizing her and crushing her against him. That might scare her off, and he desperately wanted her to keep drawing closer.
But just as he could feel the warmth of her breath, smell the scent of fresh coffee and a sweet whiff of lavender, she gasped and sat back in her chair.
Then she sprang up, her hands shaking as she picked up her coffee cup and hurried back to the kitchen with it. “Do take your time finishing your coffee, Mr. Kelly. I’ll just be here, cleaning up a bit. Antonio does tend to leave things in a mess.”
Booze hated to draw the conclusion, but it was so obvious, there was no avoiding it. Though the widow was as strongly attracted to him as he was to her, she wasn’t willing to do anything about it.
Not yet, anyway.
If she weren’t willing to either sell her land—or offer herself—there wasn’t much else he could accomplish today. Illogically compelled to linger despite that knowledge, after knocking back the rest of his coffee, Booze brought the empty cup to her in the kitchen. “I know you’re busy,” he said, careful not to brush her still-trembling fingers as he handed it to her, “but could you spare a few minutes to show me your horses?”
To his satisfaction, that topic once again seemed to set her more at ease. Relaxing a bit, she nodded. “I suppose I can spare that much time.” Turning away, she rummaged in a sack at the bottom of the cupboard, coming up with two small apples. “One never visits a fair lady without bringing a present.”
“Is that a rebuke?” he teased.
“A present is only required if the lady belongs to you,” she tossed back tartly and walked out.
Chuckling, Booze followed in her wake, gathering up the reins of his tethered horse and leading it behind him as he followed her down to the pasture. As they reached the flat bottomland, she whistled. A few moments later, two mares came trotting up from beside the river.
They ambled over, nickering at her and nuzzling her until, laughing, she produced the apples. “Yolanda is the faster,” she said, stroking the velvet nose. “But Desiree has better ‘cow sense’. She seems almost to be able to think like one. Papa said she was the best cutting horse he’d ever bred.”
“What are you looking for in a sire?”
“I’d like a stallion with the same heritage, maybe more quarter horse, to add speed. A good temperament, spirited but controllable, and one who likes to work.” She looked up at him, her gaze speculative. “You travel a lot, I’m told. Might you look out for stock—let me know which towns to go to if...when I’m ready to purchase one?”
Would she ever be able to? On a teacher’s salary, there couldn’t be too much left over after she’d paid on her loan and bought necessities. Was she deluding herself that she’d be able to realize her dream?
Booze felt a pang of concern and sympathy. He knew what it was to have a goal, one other people said was foolish or impossible. As he looked at Marguerite’s lovely face, alight with pleasure as she stroked and talked to her horses, he knew she belonged here. A terrible fate had stolen her best chance to fulfill that destiny. Would she be able to accept it if she were forced to abandon her dream? Would it break a spirit as strong and beautiful as that slender neck if she were stripped of that hope?
Ho
w he admired her for stubbornly holding fast to it in the face of the discouragement she must hear at every turn.
As she’d just heard it from him. He felt somehow ashamed for adding to the chorus.
“Those ladies are beauties,” he said. “No wonder it’s so proud of them you are.”
“Yes. They just need a gentleman caller,” she said with a sigh.
They weren’t the only beauties he wished might entertain a gentleman caller. Though he hadn’t uttered a word, perhaps she sensed his thoughts, for she looked back at him, and once again, their gazes caught and held.
He could feel her uncertainty, see the unmistakable depth of attraction warring with caution and—surely it wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes!
If it were, he’d soon make sure she wasn’t afraid of him.
She gasped when he stepped to her and took her chin, tilting it up so she had to continue looking into his eyes. “Forgive me for taking the liberty of touching you uninvited,” he said quickly, before she could wrench free, “but there’s something important I’m needing to tell you. I suppose we could be all polite and proper, and pretend that there isn’t something between us, as powerful and hard to control as a ten-ton locomotive on a steep downhill track. You feel it too, don’t you?”
To his relief, she didn’t try to pull away. Instead, her eyes never leaving his, she nodded.
“Understand this. If I tried to deny there isn’t anything I want more in the world right now than to make love to you, it’s a lie I’d be telling, bigger than the state of Texas. But much as I want you, I would never, ever touch you without your consent. Nor would I ever make love to you, unless it’s you who is wanting it just as much as I do. Don’t ever be afraid of me.” He smiled. “Of yourself, maybe. But never of me. You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, letting her go even as he mourned the loss of the feel of her skin beneath his fingers.
Scandal with the Rancher Page 3