The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  The boy set off at a run, and Shay bent his head to whisper in Jenny’s ear. “Just stay where you are for a moment, and I’ll be decent company by the time he gets back.”

  She smiled, aware of the problem she was keeping from Marshall’s sight. “You’re good with him, Shay. He likes helping you.”

  “He just rescued you from being ravished in the potato patch, you know,” he said, his voice a teasing lilt.

  “I know.” She lifted her arm to wipe the beads of perspiration from her face, grasping for words that would take his mind from his problem. “Do you think it’ll rain soon?” The sky was brilliantly blue, with only high, puffy, white clouds overhead, yet a haze covered the sun.

  “I think so. Maybe by morning. The wind’s coming up a bit, and the leaves are turning up to the sky.”

  “My father used to say they were looking for a shower when they did that.”

  “He was right,” Shay said, releasing her as Marshall ran through the garden gate, waving the dipper in an upraised fist. “Let me set Marsh to work with his dipper now, sweetheart. I’ll deal with you later.”

  The rain came late the next afternoon, while the men were still in the fields. The wagon pulled into the barn, Noah easing it through the wide doorway, and the four men jumped down, Marshall following suit. Caleb caught him in his arms and lowered him to the floor, teasing him with a burst of laughter.

  From the kitchen door, Jenny watched, her apprehension eased, now that her son was in sight. The lightning and thunder had come on suddenly, with huge, dark clouds blowing in from the southwest, and she and Isabelle had kept watch, looking toward the fields for the past half hour.

  “They don’t want to get caught out there in a lightning storm,” Isabelle had muttered. “I’ve heard of men that got killed, standin’ ’neath a tree mindin’ their own business.”

  “They won’t take any chances, not with Marshall out there,” Jenny’d predicted cheerfully, even as her heart pounded a beat faster than was normal. And then, through the slanting rain, Zora had come running full tilt, jumping the pasture fence with an agile leap as she headed for the house.

  “I’m just a fraidy-cat,” she wept, huddling against Isabelle’s shoulder. “I never did like bad storms.”

  “Well, we needed this one,” Jenny said, willing to give comfort, even if it was halfhearted.

  Zora was slender, looking even younger than her seventeen years as she shivered, soaking wet. The water dripped from her dress onto the floor and Isabelle drew her to the doorway, where a rug was placed. “Here, get the rug wet, girl,” she said. “I’ll get you a towel for your hair.”

  Jenny fetched a rag from the pantry and wiped up the wet floor, smiling quietly as Isabelle rolled her eyes at the younger woman’s fears. And then they all watched as the wagon was emptied and the mules led from their harnesses into stalls where clean bedding awaited.

  “They’re gonna spoil those animals,” Isabelle said. “Standin’ out in the rain won’t hurt them, not one little bit. No sense in messin’ up that straw.”

  “Maybe Shay and Noah are afraid to expose them to lightning,” Jenny offered, not sure of her ground.

  “Huh!” Isabelle’s grunted reply was neither agreement nor denial of that theory and Jenny stood framed in the screen door, watching the activity in the barn.

  The rain began to lessen, settling into a heavy shower, the wind abating, so that the water no longer slanted across the porch, but poured from the eaves, curtaining the area. Jenny stepped out, her feet cooling when they touched the wet boards of the porch. She lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, rain-swept air. Behind her, Isabelle murmured to Zora, and Jenny heard a chair scrape against the floor, heard the movement of the coffeepot on the stove.

  Coffee was good medicine, Isabelle firmly believed. It would comfort, warm and nourish the frightened soul. Jenny had sat at that same table over the years with Isabelle pouring dark cups of her brew for Jenny’s benefit. Now she did the same for Caleb’s wife.

  From the barn door, Shay watched the rain, speaking over his shoulder to Noah behind him, then reached for Marshall. The boy wrapped his legs around Shay’s waist and clung tightly to his neck. Bending low over the child, Shay ran toward the house, his long legs eating up the ground beneath him. Jenny moved back from the steps, and laughed as he bounded onto the porch, skidding on the slick surface.

  She caught him, her embrace encircling Marshall and gripping Shay’s belt. “You’re soaked,” she scolded. “You should have stayed out there a while, till the storm let up.”

  “It already let up, Jen,” he answered. “Besides, we were soaked before we got to the barn. What a gully-washer this turned out to be.” He lowered Marshall to the porch and held him against his legs, turning him to face the downpour. “Are you cold, Marsh?” he asked, and the boy shook his head vigorously.

  “Naw, that was fun.” He looked up at his mother. “We had to really hurry, Mama. The lightning was real bright, and a tree way out behind the field made a loud noise and then it fell right down on the ground.”

  “Lightning struck? That close?” Jenny asked, shivering as she realize how close the menfolk had been to danger.

  “We were already on our way back,” Shay told her. His arm was around her shoulders and her dress was wet from the two male bodies she’d hugged. “I think you need to change your clothes,” he whispered, a grin curving his mouth.

  Damp enough to cling, the worn fabric molded itself to each curve, and Jenny looked down at herself with dismay. “I didn’t even think.”

  The porch was sheltered, almost cozy, she thought, and she nestled closer to Shay’s side, her arm creeping around his waist. Marshall looked up over his shoulder and grinned. “This feels good, Mama. My new papa is big enough to keep us both warm, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Shay’s arm tightened its hold and she watched as his other hand stretched across Marshall’s chest to clasp the boy even closer. It was almost too good to be true, too perfect, this small world they inhabited, and she shivered, remembering a phrase her mother had been wont to speak.

  Nothing lasts forever.

  “We can’t cut hay for a couple of days,” Shay said the next morning as he forked straw into the stalls. “It would be a good time to find the extra stock we need. I’ve been thinking we should be on the lookout for a couple of heifers and a young bull.” Shay leaned against his pitchfork and watched as Noah considered the idea for a moment and then nodded his head in a slow gesture.

  “What kind of cattle you lookin’ to buy?”

  “Hereford maybe, or even Angus. They both do well without heavy feed.”

  “You think we’re doin’ well enough to afford buyin’ more stock?” Noah’s voice held a dubious note. “We’ll have plenty of hay to feed,” he granted, “once we get it cut and into the loft. More than enough,” he amended. “But I thought you’d be sellin’ some of it off, like Miss Jenny usually does, to put away for seed money.”

  “We’re going to keep back the best of the cotton and run it through the gin separately, so we have our own seed this year,” Shay said. “My father always said he wanted to know what seed he was planting, not just take whatever the fella at the gin kept aside to sell.”

  “Will they let you do that?” Noah asked. He took Shay’s pitchfork and hung it between two nails, high on the wall. And then he looked back at Shay’s arrogant grin. “Yeah, I guess they will. Anybody who can ride off with a woman in the morning and come home at night married to her oughta be able to find his way around most any problem.”

  “We’d already decided to get married,” Shay said. “It was just a matter of when and where.”

  “It’s been weeks, and Isabelle still hasn’t forgiven you for leavin’ her out of it.”

  “She’ll get over it,” Shay told him. “It was more important that Jen’s daddy be there. Isabelle will feel better about things when we get Jonah Harrison to mov
e here, bag and baggage.”

  “Think you’ll talk him into it? Miss Jenny says he’s bound to that place. She’s afraid she’ll never see him again.”

  “She told you that?” Shay’s voice was sharp.

  “Told Isabelle. That’s about the same as tellin’ me, I guess.”

  It wouldn’t do for Jenny to be fretting over her father, Shay decided. Once the corn was in the crib and the stalks brought in for silage, they’d be ready to pick the cotton and get it off to market. Then he’d take Jenny for another trip to visit the old man.

  In the meantime, there was the matter of buying cattle to be considered.

  “I’m going to be leaving for a few days,” Shay said abruptly. “I want to look for some stock while we’re in a lull.” For long moments they’d sat together on the porch, watching the sun as it hovered on the horizon, as if it would linger just a while longer. With Shay’s announcement, Jenny was wrested from her reverie.

  “Where do you have to go?” she asked, a feeling of panic seizing her as he spoke. She frowned, choosing her words carefully. “Isn’t there anywhere close by for you to buy what you’re looking for?” She straightened her shoulders, not wanting him to think she was a demanding wife. Yet, what did it matter? When he left, he was bright enough to know she’d be watching for his return every minute he was gone. As would Marshall, she thought, grateful that he was in bed sleeping soundly, not privy to this discussion.

  Shay shook his head. “Noah doesn’t think so, and he’s been here a lot longer than I have. There was an outfit raising cattle ten years ago, about seventy miles from here. The thing is, I’m not sure they’ve got anything left, what with the war.”

  “Can you find out about it?” Jenny asked, already sensing what his answer would be.

  “There’s only one way to do that. There’s no one hereabouts to ask. Folks around here have milk cows, like we do, but no one does any breeding that Noah knows of. Most people are lucky to have one cow, Jen. I need to go looking, find a place where they have a decent-size herd of cattle, and breed them for a living. I can maybe find a couple of heifers in this area, but a good bull’s something else.”

  “But you know where to go, don’t you?” she asked, aware suddenly of her limited knowledge of the surrounding area. Her whole life had been spent within the boundaries circumscribed by the distance between this place and her childhood home. Shay, on the other hand, was familiar, not only with places in close proximity, but with towns and cities and territories far beyond this place.

  “Yeah, there’s one family I can check with, but traveling seventy miles doesn’t appeal to me,” he said quietly, touching her cheek with his palm. “Not with you here waiting for me.”

  “Have you thought about finding your brother?” she asked. “Maybe he’d be willing to help.”

  His gaze darkened and his mouth thinned as he looked deeply into her eyes. “No. I won’t do that. I know where to find him, Jen. But that’s not where I’m heading.” He looked out toward the barn and the fields beyond it. “If I wanted to go back to my family, I’d have done it before now. This is where I’m staying. Call it hiding, if you like. I call it peaceful. And that’s something I don’t want to take any chance of losing.”

  “I’ll still be here when you come back,” she told him. “Although I’d rather go with you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll ride fast and hard. I’ll get there quicker on my own, and if I find what I’m looking for, I’ll bring it back with me.”

  “When you talk about breeding cattle you don’t sound like a man who grew up raising cotton,” she told him. “More like you spent some time on a ranch before you came here.”

  “Yeah, I did. Several places, in fact. Across the northeast for a few months, then longer in Missouri, Texas and Kansas. Beau Jackson raised fine beef, but he was more into training horses and selling them.” He drew up one leg to lean an elbow on his knee; and when he spoke, the words were chill and forbidding. “Going back there isn’t an option.”

  Beau Jackson. Jenny stored the name in her head, then looked up to find Shay’s gaze focused on her with interest. He’d slipped, mentioning that name, and now she’d warrant he was trying to decide whether or not she’d caught its importance to him. His whole being was concentrated on her, as if he calculated her interest in the words he’d spoken without due forethought.

  In the shadows of twilight, she forced her face to register only a casual interest.

  “Was that the last place you lived?” she asked innocently.

  “I left there a year ago. I worked my way south and then east.”

  “Worked? On farms?”

  “Mostly in saloons. Wore a deputy sheriff’s badge for a few months.”

  “You worked in saloons?” she asked, unsure whether she’d understood his words.

  He turned from her, facing the faint glow that marked the last rays of the sun. Around them the crickets chirped, the tree frogs peeped cheerfully, and the stray cat stalked toward the house from the barn, arrogance alive in her uplifted tail and haughty manner.

  “She’s thinking she’ll jump through Marshall’s bedroom window,” Shay predicted, eyeing the feline creature as she detoured by the porch to head around the side of the house.

  Let her. Jenny’s edict concerning Marshall’s pet held little import right now. Shay was deflecting her interest, but she pursued him, quietly, but with persistence.

  “Did you barkeep?”

  His features were hard, his jaw set. “You mean pour liquor for the customers?” he asked. And then before she could reply, he shrugged. “No. Not that I wouldn’t, if I needed a job.”

  “You’re determined not to tell me anything about yourself, aren’t you?” she asked, and recognized the hurt she’d tried to conceal, in the tremor of her voice. She rose abruptly, unwilling to hear his roundabout tales that gave her nothing of his past, only wove a tangled web.

  He reached up and grasped her wrist, his palm and fingers holding her fast. “Don’t walk away from me, Jen. I told you I worked on ranches. I wore a badge and I earned my cash in a whole string of saloons.”

  “You’re a gambler?” she prodded, visualizing him in a seamy saloon, where loose women and a steady flow of whiskey provided an atmosphere she could only imagine. Her gaze touched the long, lean fingers that gripped her, visualizing a deck of cards held between those strong hands. He was more than handy with those agile digits. She knew that from personal experience, and his harsh features were capable of concealing anything he was not willing to expose.

  “Don’t sound so shocked, honey. It’s not dirty money. You didn’t mind it when it bought food for your kitchen and clothes for your back.” His words were an arrogant snarl. “Hell, gambling’s a way of life for a lot of men.”

  His jibe stung, but she lifted her chin and tossed back a sharp retort, choosing to face him down rather than let him see the hurt he’d inflicted. “You gambled that I’d let you stay when you came here, didn’t you?”

  He was silent. And then he nodded, a barely perceptible movement of his head. “I guess you could say that,” he allowed quietly.

  “And you were right. I’ve been gullible more than once in my life.”

  His grip on her arm eased as he stood to face her. “You’re not gullible, Jenny. Trusting, maybe.” He drew her closer, one arm circling her waist, and his voice lowered, coaxing with its vibrant tones. “I’ve told you more about myself than anyone else knows. I’ve answered your questions, for the most part.”

  She would not be taken in by his assurances, and she stiffened in his embrace. “You talk in circles, Shay. I think I deserve more than that from you.”

  His shoulders lifted idly, and he loosened his hold. “Maybe so. But remember, I let you know right off the bat that I wasn’t much for talking about the past. I told you you’d be sorry you—”

  Her hand rose swiftly to cover his mouth. “I’m not sorry,” she murmured, looking up into eyes that hid beneath hooded lid
s. In the lengthening shadows she could find no softness there, only a bleak, forbidding darkness that offered nothing. And she was chilled with the knowledge that there were no guarantees where Shay was concerned.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the first time in their marriage she slept before he came to bed. Crawling between the sheets in the dark, she’d rued her words, and yet knew that she’d only spoken truthfully. Perhaps she hadn’t been fair, expecting more than Shay was willing to give her. But life was seldom fair, she’d found to her dismay over the past years.

  Jenny Pennington had married a man more than familiar with saloons—a gambler. Yet, there was more to Shay than that fact. Instinctively, she knew that he was a good man, that somewhere not far from here, his family mourned the empty place he’d left behind. Perhaps in Texas, or maybe Kansas, he’d received scars that marred his soul.

  She loved him; probably more than was good for her, she decided. For certainly Shay was not willing to return her love. He’d said he had none to give, and she might have to be content with what she had, for he would share nothing else with her. With a troubled frown and a heavy heart, she tired of waiting for him, and lost herself in slumber.

  The sun was high in the sky and the kitchen was empty when Jenny walked through the doorway in the morning. Isabelle was in the yard, filling a washtub with a bucket, trekking from the pump, and then back. Looking toward the house as she turned back to the pump on yet another circuit, she caught sight of Jenny, and waved. “Coffee’s on the back of the stove,” she called and, turning, resumed her task.

  The copper wash pan was atop the front of the big, iron stove, covering a large expanse, and the heat brought perspiration to Jenny’s brow as she walked to the side, reaching for the coffeepot. Pouring a cup, she glanced again through the window, but no men were in sight, not even Marshall’s small figure. The cream pitcher was on the buffet and she smelled it, judging it to be fresh, before she poured some in her cup. The remainder she poured into a small bowl by the door for Marshall’s cat.