With an almost imperceptible movement, he strained toward her, his voice low and harsh. "Are you all right?"
Mesmerized, she met his steady stare; then painfully aware that their bodies were touching, she turned away. "I am a little tired. Toddie has a drippy nose, and I'm afraid he has a cold."
T.K. half carried her to the shade of a tree and placed Toddie beside her before turning his attention to the horses. "We'll rest a while. I think we can be home by late afternoon."
She settled herself and looked at the brown expanse of pasture land meeting the haze of the horizon. Trembling, feeling some unnameable force guiding her toward she knew not what, she waited until he turned back. "I'll be ready when you are."
Toddie whimpered and she stroked his forehead. Soon he was asleep. She closed her eyes wearily. The next thing she knew T.K. was speaking softly to Toddie.
After mounting, they traveled on, arriving at the Lazy B at the time he had predicted.
Elise couldn't take her eyes away. Lazy B headquarters spread out before them, the evening rays of the sun bathing the three-story house in a soft, honeyed glow. Broad stone steps led to a wide porch and double doors. A hitching post was carefully located beneath a gnarled cottonwood. Stamping hooves had laid the ground bare beneath it.
The Lazy B was not what she had expected, and the main house almost took her breath away. Contrary to the Western custom of setting a square box on the bald prairie and adding a lean-to, the architect had borrowed from the South's plantations. Slender columns extended to the second-story balcony with its wrought-iron railing. On three sides, trees bordered sloping green lawns. Irises, honeysuckle, and other flowers that could survive in a dry climate added color. A vegetable garden stretched between the house and apple orchard.
Unheralded, the thought rushed into her brain: That place and all it represented would be Toddie's inheritance.
T.K. stopped long enough to yell, "Vesper!" He waited for an answer, then threw a glance at Elise. "Vesper's the cook-housekeeper. The Lazy B has a cook for the boys. We call him Beefy." He pointed to the right. "That's the cookhouse. The bunkhouse is next to it. Farther on are the barn, the corral, and some storage buildings." He led them to the back of the house, calling once more for the housekeeper.
Within a few minutes, a door slammed and a big black woman Lumbered toward them. "Stop your caterwaulin', T.K. Cain't you see I'm comin'?" Vesper stared with open-eyed curiosity at the child in T.K.'s arms. Smiling, Elise held out her hands to take him. "Be damned. We got us a baby with a dirty nose. He feels a little feverish though."
Elise watched in tight-lipped silence as Vesper headed for the kitchen door. Toddie seemed already out of reach.
T.K. met the doctor at the corral and helped him extract his portly body from his buggy. "Welcome, Doc."
"I was on my way to Gorman's place when your man caught up with me. Willa Gorman's baby is due now, and I thought I'd amble on out there. When she's ready, she doesn't waste time. Number seven last count I had." He glanced at the house, then at the barn. "Somebody hurt?"
"We've a woman here who may have a sprained ankle. But I'm also interested in your taking a look at her baby. He's got a cold and fever, too."
T.K. guided the doctor into the house and upstairs. He knocked at the closed door of the bedroom. "Lee, the doctor is here to see the baby." At her invitation, they entered the room. "How's Toddie?"
"Fretful."
"The doc's going to take a look at him. Better show him your ankle."
After introducing them, T.K. closed the door and strode downstairs. Vesper set a cup of coffee before him and he drank it and two more before the doctor began a laborious descent.
"The young woman twisted her ankle. No sprain. I bound it. It'll be sore for a few days. The mother and the baby both have colds and are running fever. I left some medicine. Put a pan of hot water in the room for vapor." The doctor spilled two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, added a generous amount of cream, and nodded his thanks to Vesper. "Have they been out in the weather?"
"They escaped the tornado near Boggy Creek Crossing, but got caught in the rain."
"Who's the baby's father?"
T.K. kept his voice steady. "Patrick. He's Patrick's son."
"He's a Burke, for sure. Doesn't look like the mother much. Of course, it's a mite early to be looking for similarities." The doctor drained his cup and set it down. "Better get on out to Gorman's place, or Ed will be delivering the baby the way he did the last one. Scared hell out of him." He laughed. "But not enough to keep him from starting another one."
They walked to the corral and the doctor wheezed himself into the seat of his buggy. "Bring the boy in to Hy-Meadow if he's not better in a few days. Woman, too." He picked up the reins. "Been meaning to get out here. Wish I could stay for some of Vesper's cooking."
"Anytime, Doc."
Turning his back on the departing buggy, T.K. whistled tunelessly as he walked back to the kitchen. He sat down and faced his housekeeper. "Patrick never got around to marrying Lee. Guess you suspected as much."
Vesper's face wrinkled into a grin. "Prob'ly not the only one he never got around to marryin'."
"As young and innocent as she looks, you'd never think Lee would . . . has ever. . . "
"Be damned, T.K. You talk like a young, hairy-legged boy. Innocent or not, girls is all the same when the right man comes along."
"I suppose so," he said, not liking the picture conjured by her words and wondering why he'd opened the subject with his housekeeper. "I suppose so."
He roamed the kitchen, glanced toward the hallway, then beat a retreat to the yard. Outside, he rolled a cigarette and slid his tongue along the paper to moisten it. After striking a match, he lit it and headed toward the corral, his thoughts centered on his brother and the golden-haired woman upstairs. As difficult as it was to imagine Lee lurching down the hall looking for Patrick's bed, it was infinitely more disturbing to envision her in his brother's arms.
Why had Patrick waited until the noose was around his neck to claim his son? Remorse? Vanity? The desire to leave his brand on something?
Would Patrick ever have married Lee if he had known she had shared his brother's bed? Had Jake told him about the night in Boggy Creek? Too damned many unanswered questions.
T.K. snapped the cigarette to the ground. God, he wished he could have talked with Patrick before he had died. A man needed to make things right between himself and his brother.
With grief settling in again, T.K.'s thoughts became more morose, and he wondered for the hundredth time how he could get Patrick's body home. He had contacted Mexican authorities in three of the border towns and received the same dismissive shrugs. Jake had been no help at all, as evasive and tight-lipped as a whore in love.
Patrick's body needed to be buried on the Lazy B so that someday young Toddie would know his father had been given a decent burial. As soon as Lee adjusted to living at the ranch, he'd break the news that Patrick was dead. In the meantime, he might as well go upstairs right now and try to answer any questions she might have.
He knocked softly and at her invitation opened the door. "Thought I'd drop in and check on you and Toddie."
The baby slept beside her, and she lay propped against the pillows, wearing a nightdress many times too large for her small frame. Doubtlessly one of Vesper's, the gown had slipped down to reveal the creamy flesh of her shoulder and the curve of a full breast.
Beneath delicate brows and long sable lashes, her eyes were a rich russet he had never seen before. Her skin was satin smooth and flushed with fever.
He drew a chair close to the bed. "If you're up to it, we can talk."
She nodded guardedly. "What about?"
"Boswell, one of my men, is on his way to Boggy Creek to inquire about your folks. I asked Rufus Bailey to look around, but there's no way to know if he did. I'm sure you're worried." The hurt in her eyes reminded him of a wounded doe. "We'll try to make you comfortable here at the Lazy B.
"
Her mouth twisted bitterly. "Thank you."
"Patrick's in Mexico." That part at least was true. T.K. put a smile in his voice and hoped his words didn't sound as phony to her as they did to him. He hated to lie, but Toddie had changed all their lives. "We aren't sure when he'll be back. He'll come loping in one of these days looking for you."
"Is it your job to keep us here until he comes?"
"I . . . we want you here. And Toddie belongs here."
Her eyes blazed threateningly. "Toddie stays in my care. I'll make plans for the two of us."
"Suppose we talk about it when you're feeling better."
He paused a moment, his gaze straying to the top of her gown and the tempting mound so close to his hand. She gave an exasperated gasp, and he glanced up to meet her stormy gaze. He smiled wryly. To dispel the crackling tension, he leaned back and crossed booted feet in front of him. "I'll be making a trip to the trading post in the next day or two. I can pick up whatever you and Toddie need."
Her refusal was out of her mouth before he could finish. "We'll be all right until I can decide what's best"
"But you don't have to decide now," he said, interrupting smoothly. "I'll go and let you sleep. When you feel like it, I'll introduce you to the Lazy B hands." He rose and walked to the door. "This is your home, Lee. If Patrick was here, he'd want to make it a legal arrangement."
She looked down at her fingers feverishly worrying the fabric of the bedspread. Unexpectedly, she laughed. "I doubt it."
For a moment, he was spellbound. What the hell was going on in that beautiful head? She refused to share her thoughts unless they related to Toddie, and when Patrick's name was mentioned, she stubbornly evaded any personal questions.
Patrick's complicated role in the life-and-death drama became more of a puzzle all the time. What possible motive could he have had for refusing to marry Lee for the sake of the child, then claiming his son with his final words?
Chapter Three
T.K. had prepared Elise for the encounter. ''You need to know the Lazy B hands, Lee, and they need to know you. In the morning early, I'll pull them in. You and Toddie are a welcome part of the Lazy B now. They should know that."
Welcome? Only until someone rode up who could identify her.
It seemed to Elise she had spent most of the night pacing the floor, anticipating the meeting. Restless, fearful, unable to sleep or even to stay in bed, she pulled aside the window curtain and stared out into the darkness. What would the morning bring? Exposure? Ridicule? Loss of Toddie?
Trembling, she thought of T.K., his thick unruly hair, strong, mobile mouth, and probing eyes. She remembered how he towered over her, always seeming to draw her toward him. She could imagine his contempt when he learned the truth.
When daylight came, she rose and dressed in her one and only dress, grateful that at last the wait was over.
She could hear male voices outside. It was time to meet the crew or the enemy. After a careful look in the mirror she went downstairs.
"They's waitin' for you, Lee. T.K. done called 'em together." Vesper held Toddie in the crook of her arm, his small body astride her hip. "Them boys been up a long time."
Elise brushed an unruly tendril into the blond coil at the top of her head and adjusted one of the several hairpins Vesper had given her. After squaring her chin, she took a deep breath and in quiet desperation walked through the kitchen door. The men loafed and talked near the back steps, several sipping coffee from tin cups. When they saw her, they straightened up attentively and snatched off battered hats.
Not one registered surprise or recognition, only an admiring curiosity. Her relief was so great she felt faint.
T.K.'s voice rang out in the clear, early air. "Lee, meet the Lazy B crew." He pointed to each one as he called the names: Slim Alderson, twins Joe and Jim Johnson, Pete Patterson. Tobe (Beefy) Garrison, the cook, and Juan Ruis, his helper. "The gentleman on my right is ramrod of the Lazy B, Boniface Boswell."
"Yeah, Boniface." The twins snickered.
Boswell growled threateningly before stepping up to address her. "Wanted you to know, ma'am, the good folks around Boggy Creek done buried your kin. They found 'em" He stammered into a new direction. "Folks there said they was sure sorry about what happened. I'd like to add my own condolences."
They were all gone: Mama in New Orleans, Papa in Boggy Creek, her stepmother and stepsister along the muddy creek bank.
Elise blinked back hot tears at Boswell's unexpected sympathy. Resolutely, she gathered up her courage, but the words stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she could only nod. Boggy Creek accepted without question that she was dead, not her stepsister. A tremulous sound quavered from her throat and then the words came weakly. "Thank you."
Smoothly, efficiently, T.K. took charge, covering for her and directing the men back to work. Soon the creak of saddle leather and the smell of dust penetrated her dazed mind. She remembered to wave.
T.K. spoke at her elbow. She turned and met his understanding gaze. Heaven help her, what had he said? What had she said?
He waited in the silence that followed, then placed a strong hand over hers. "You don't have to worry anymore, Lee."
A lie, but he couldn't know that. What had he seen? Enough to doubt she was Toddie's mother? She snatched her fingers away as if they'd been burned. "I'll try to remember."
What gossip had Boswell heard? That Lee DuBois was called the Boggy Creek Queen? That Pierre DuBois had gambled away his own daughter's inheritance? Elise filled her lungs. Whoever said living was easy?
She was brought back to the present when T.K. removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll be with the hands most of the day. Late this afternoon, we'll ride out to look at the prairie. The wild-flowers are in bloom. They're pretty now." He was too close, staring down at her, waiting for her to agree.
She could feel the dominating force of his presence. For a few electrifying moments, she couldn't think; then with a rush, the thought came. How dared he think she'd jump when he spoke. "Papa used to say everybody should learn to ride, swim, and cuss a little."
"I know you can cuss. Can you ride and swim?"
"Better than average." She lifted her skirts gracefully and prepared to go back to the house. "I'd like to ride sometime when it's convenient."
"It will be convenient."
Clamping her teeth together and pretending she hadn't heard, she held her head stiffly, never looking back to see if he had observed her departure.
The day passed slowly though she worked at the jobs Vesper gave her and at tasks she found for herself. With Toddie playing nearby, she took time to pull weeds from the garden and carry them to a compost pile. She trimmed rosebushes and carried water to them. Later, she played with Toddie, bathed him, and put him down for a nap.
Back in her own room, she made the bed. The room was large, pleasant, and comfortable. Sunshine sifted through snowy-white curtains. Muted colors of rose, blue, and yellow blended in the wallpaper and bedspread. Blue brocade accented the overstuffed chair near the north window. Nothing of her own gave the place a personal touch, not even a pair of bed slippers.
Walking past the stone fireplace, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and brushed her hair, plaiting it into one fat braid. Her dress, drab and threadbare to begin with, looked even worse with the piece torn out of the skirt, since patched with a different color. Thanks to Vesper, the dress was clean.
Elise viewed herself critically, then tied on an apron to hide her shabbiness. Nothing could be done about her worn-out shoes. God, she not only looked like a poor relation, she felt like one. She didn't have a change of clothing or anything to ride in, not that she intended to ride with T.K. Burke anywhere, but it would help her self-esteem to dress more attractively. The farther she stayed away from him, the better and safer. Scowling, she eased the bedroom door closed and drifted downstairs.
Clean shaven, T.K. advanced to meet her. His hair curled damply about his neck, a
nd as he walked toward her, the faint scent of soap invaded her senses. Dressed in denims and a Western shirt, he was deceptively younger and less the dangerous rancher.
"I thought we were going to ride. Don't you want to?"
"Another day, maybe."
"No day like today. Let's go pick a horse. I have one in mind already. You might as well become acquainted with the ranch."
"Not today."
"No point in waiting." He untied the apron and tossed it over a chair. "We'll walk down to the corral."
He held the door open, inviting her with a swoop of his hand to precede him. She flung him a quick sideways glance as she walked out. Devil take him, he was silently laughing.
Stumbling once, she thrust out her chin, but it didn't deter him from placing her arm through his and guiding her toward the corral. In the barn, he didn't let go. Instead, he inadvertently drew her close and matched his steps with hers. He talked as if their being in the dark building together were an everyday occurrence.
"Ma'am, you're going to see the best in horseflesh. Nothing like them in the Texas Panhandle, the State of Texas, maybe in the whole damned world."
They walked out the back of the barn into the bright sunlight. T.K. was right. The horses, a matched pair of Arabian racers, their coats shiny black satin, stamped impatiently at their confinement. They were magnificent, surely more beautiful than any Papa had described so eloquently and gambled on so recklessly.
"They take my breath away," she whispered.
T.K. was slow to speak, and she glanced at him, wondering uncertainly if he had heard her. "Fine animals," he said at last. His dark gaze slid off her face. "This one is Firebird. The mare is Blaze."
There had been little enough in her life to rouse passion until Toddie entered it, but she recognized T.K. Burke's love and appreciation for his horses. His invitation had not been prompted solely to manipulate her, but to show off his prized possessions. She ventured nearer to smooth Blaze's sleek neck. "I'll bet they're fast," she said, almost to herself.
A Leaf in the Wind Page 4