A Cowboy Is Forever

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A Cowboy Is Forever Page 10

by Shirley Larson


  His body consumed with need, he brushed her mouth again, his hand claiming her breast. And then he looked down into her eyes, into all that shining brilliance that held her soul.

  Not fair. He wasn’t playing fair. When the stars disappeared and the sun brought sanity after they went to bed together, she’d have to lift her chin and say she was fine. But she’d be lying. He didn’t want her to have to lie to him. Ever.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, leaning down to brush a kiss on the sweet mound of her flesh. Then, carefully, very carefully, he closed the lowest button and then the one at the base of her throat.

  To Charlotte, the dark, sweet tenderness of his beautifully chiseled face was as alluring as the feel of his hands on the small of her back as he tucked her shirt into her jeans.

  “What are you doing?” She looked bedazzled.

  That look of confused but utterly trusting adoration gave him the strength to do what had to be done. “Giving you time to think about this,” he murmured.

  “Why?” She gazed up at him, trying to read the thoughts of his heart through those darkly enchanting brown eyes.

  “A gentleman doesn’t take advantage of a lady’s intoxication, no matter what the source.” Luke captured Charlotte’s hand and folded it over, reminding her of the kiss he’d put there. “Hang on to that. One of these days, when you’re sober, I’ll be back to give it a mate. I’ll pass on the gourmet sandwiches for now. Thank you for the coffee.” He walked to the door, turned. “And the stars.”

  “Luke—I—Are you leaving because you think I’m a thief?”

  The silence stretched. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  “I’d trust you with my life,” he said softly. “And I want you to do the same. That’s why I’m leaving.” He turned, his brown hair glossy in the light. The screen banged behind him, and the night took him.

  Chapter Six

  How quiet the house was. How lonely it was, climbing the stairs to her bedroom. How starkly white was her feminine sanctuary, ruffled curtains fluttering in the night breeze.

  Drawn to the window, Charlotte pushed aside the drift of cotton and gazed out into the Montana night. The breeze flowed in over her bare arms, heavy with the soft green smell of spring.

  Rebirth. The earth was stirring, and so was she.

  She closed her eyes, but she could still see the stars, feel them on her skin. Her heart beat heavily, slowly, in her chest. She’d lost her mother, her father. Her brother was far away. She’d been safe in her world of work and ranch.

  Now here love was again, beating at the door of her heart, clamoring for admission. She’d be such a fool to let it in.

  Above her land, the Big Dipper slowly circled. She stood at the window and remembered the feel of his fingers touching her, his dark smile when he’d kissed her palm and bade her goodbye.

  He’d walked away, giving her a freedom that ensnared her. Too late. Too late to be sensible. Too late for her heart to slip away unscathed. Her briar fence had been breached, her castle wall scaled.

  The next morning, the sun blazed above newly green earth. Gray Mist felt the spring and begged to be let loose for a run, so Charlotte gave the gray gelding his head, and lost hers a little as she tightened her legs in the saddle and the wind tossed her hair. They scattered the birds who chittered and scolded such nonsense and left hoof cuts in the soft new grass all the way across the back pasture.

  Below the mountains, under a sky as blue as topaz, cottonwoods lined the meandering creek that separated her rented pasture from Steadman’s, her destination. The pines whispered, and the cattle bawled—her cattle, Steadman’s cattle, mingling together to drink from the creek.

  Tex, his hat pulled down hard on his head, already at the work of the day, cutting out the calves for branding, shied a cow-calf pair into the makeshift corral on their side of the creek.

  Across that silver ribbon of water, the Steadman crew worked. The cattle swirled around the men and their horses, a cacophony of bawling cows punctuated by shouts from the humans. Nick worked the far side of the herd, Henry sat on his horse next to the corral.

  Mounted, Luke was taller than anybody else, his hat pulled low over his dark hair, his rear end lifting in the saddle as he worked. One of the cowboys opened the corral gate and Luke whipped his hat off and beat it on his thigh, standing up on those long legs and yelling, “Hiya!” Not one but two pairs scooted in. Henry wheeled his horse around and rode to Luke’s side, tilting his hat back to speak to his son. Then he smiled at Luke, and leaned forward to put a friendly hand on his shoulder. Part of the team.

  It hurt. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Charlotte lifted her head high, got a tighter grip on the reins and told herself it was good that Luke was getting along so well with his father, but the cottonwoods rustled and the pines whispered, mocking her, telling her it was time to brush the starshine out of her eyes. It was the morning after, after all.

  “You gonna stand around gawking at your neighbors all day, or are you gonna work?” she asked herself.

  There wasn’t any answer to that. A lump in her throat, Charlotte ducked her head and whirled Gray Mist around in one of the close hauled turns he did so well, aiming him at a scrub brush a good distance away from the main action, where a cow-calf pair stood, the mother gazing at Charlotte with a big-eyed stare, trying to look casual and blend in with the landscape, as if the roundup had nothing to do with her and her daughter.

  As luck would have it, the pair didn’t belong to her, they wore the Steadman brand. Charlotte reined in Gray Mist, wishing life would give her a few of the easy choices this morning, instead of all the hard ones. In the years since her father’s death, she’d taken a step of reconciliation on the first spring roundup she’d led and acted like a good neighbor, the way other folks did who rented open Western range where cattle got all mixed up together. When she came across Steadman cows, she’d head them out and run them into the Steadman corral. By the time she’d brought three of his calves home, Steadman gave his men orders to do the same for her.

  Did she have the courage to cross the creek this year, when Henry Steadman had labeled her a thief?

  Lord knew what his reaction would be if she rode onto his land. He’d probably call the sheriff and have her arrested on the spot. She had a perfect right to play it safe and leave Henry’s big-eyed Hereford calves right where they stood.

  But if she took the easy way out, Henry Steadman would not only have made her into a bogus thief, he’d have transformed her into a bona fide coward. Gritting her teeth, Charlotte circled the pair and drove them out of the brush, setting them on a dead run for the Steadman corral.

  Nick guided his mare up next to Luke and leaned back in the saddle. “We’re getting company.” Nick nodded toward where Charlotte was riding hard toward them. His face bland, Nick stripped his blue bandanna free from his throat and passed it over his forehead, making a face when it came away streaked with dust and perspiration.

  She looked like a gypsy with that wild mane of black hair flying free, her horse like a part of her as she worked the cattle toward the creek and into it. Luke’s heart did something funny in his breast when she splashed up on the other side and, with total concentration and excellent horsemanship and not a single glance his way, drove those cattle straight into Henry’s corral. He moved toward her to say good-morning, but those intensely beautiful dark blue eyes flashed his way just once, touching him with quicksilver, slicing over him. In the next instant, she reined her horse around, and all he got was a good view of her horse’s backside and the flash of metal from the gelding’s shoes. She moved through the trees like the wind, to safety on her side of the creek. He’d been snubbed before, but never quite so elegantly. Why wasn’t she talking to him this morning?

  “You look disappointed, brother. Expect her to stay and chat awhile?”

  Instantly Luke composed his face. “I was just admiring her horsemanship,” Luke drawled. Nodding toward the cow and calf that milled a
round looking confused by Charlotte’s speedy delivery to confinement, he said, “Do we return the favor?”

  Nick stared past Luke toward the trees where Charlotte had disappeared, his scowl disturbing his usual carefully controlled expression. “We have in the past. I don’t know whether we are this year. God knows we shouldn’t.”

  “Does He?” Luke murmured. “Isn’t Charlotte innocent until proven guilty?”

  “Didn’t you see those cattle Dad’s got stashed in the barn? What more proof do you want?” Nick was all righteous exasperation.

  “Anybody with a rope and a horse could have double-branded those cattle,” Luke said, his eyes giving Nick a slow, lazy scrutiny.

  “Who else would have any reason to do a dumb thing like that?” Nick made a show of shaking out his neckerchief.

  “Why didn’t she get them loaded up on the truck and get them sold? Why did she let them just stand around and get very conveniently found?”

  “How the hell do I know? You think I know everything that goes on around here?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” The trees rustled in the silence while Luke kept his laser gaze trained on Nick.

  A flush of color rose in Nick’s cheeks, and those translucent eyes skittered away from Luke’s. “What makes me such an expert on what goes on?”

  “You’re here, on the scene of the crime, if you will. Why wouldn’t you be our resident expert?”

  Nick whirled on Luke. “Don’t start with your inscrutable-lawyer routine with me. Your girlfriend’s guilty as hell. It’s as plain as day, but for some reason, you don’t want to admit it. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Did the city pollution rot your brain?”

  Luke said nothing, just sat on his horse and studied Nick, waiting.

  Nick broke eye contact, wiped his face with his kerchief again. “Have you really got it bad for her? I feel sorry for you if you do.”

  “Sweet of you to care,” Luke murmured.

  “It will almost be worth it to see your face when you finally have to admit the truth, that your long-lost love is a scheming little thief—and she’s using you for all she’s worth. What time did you get in last night, brother? You must have come home with the birds. Did she give you what you wanted?”

  Luke’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes did. “You push fraternal loyalty way too far, brother.”

  “You’ve never been loyal to me.”

  “Oh, I was once, in my misbegotten youth. The first black eye I ever got was to protect your good name. Pretty much wasted effort, I think.”

  Nick’s hand dropped to his hip, to the gun belt he wore. Luke recognized the old Colt .45 that had belonged to Henry. “Going to shoot me?” Luke said mildly.

  “Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Nick plucked the gun from the holster and gave it a quick and most efficient twirl. As suddenly as the sun coming out, his smile flashed, white and brilliant. He was back in control, and he liked it.

  “There’s a better chance you’ll shoot yourself in the head, if you keep swinging it around like that,” Luke said blandly.

  “Oh, I’ll watch out for myself,” Nick said, holstering the gun.

  “I’m sure you will,” Luke murmured.

  * * *

  Charlotte was safely on her own side of the creek, breathing a little faster from the excitement and exertion, when Tex reined in next to her. “I suppose they told you thanks, real nicely,” Tex growled, his mouth twisted in a sarcastic grimace.

  “I didn’t give them the chance.”

  “Umph. You’re too dang nice to those people.”

  “If I treat them like they treat me, then they make me over to be like them and they really win. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Tex squinted at her from under his hat, his blue eyes sparkling. “What kind of fool talk is that?”

  Charlotte smiled at him. He might be crusty, but he was unfailingly loyal. Loyalty was very precious to her this morning, when certain other people seemed so changeable. “Crazy kind of fool talk, I guess.”

  “Speaking of fools, did you see that gun?” Tex jerked his head in Nick’s direction. “Next thing you know, that dang idiot will be shooting at us.”

  A tiny chill feathered up Charlotte’s spine. Nick was an unknown, always had been. She had never quite trusted him. But he surely wouldn’t shoot anybody in plain daylight in front of half a dozen cowboys, one of whom was firmly on her side. “You know we always roust out a rattlesnake or two around the creek.”

  “‘Pears to me we already have,” Tex growled.

  Charlotte didn’t want to encourage Tex, but she couldn’t keep a smile from lifting her lips as she clicked to Gray Mist and sent him away from the milling cattle, away from the creek, away from the sight of Luke Steadman sitting easily on his horse, carrying on a conversation with Nick that seemed to amuse him.

  * * *

  “You boys enjoying the scenery?” Henry’s drawl came from behind Luke’s shoulder, making him realize he’d been sitting there too long, gazing across the creek.

  “Bird-watching,” drawled Luke.

  “We’ve got two hundred head of cattle to round up and brand.”

  “I’ll get right at it, Dad,” Nick said, and wheeled his horse around.

  Henry stared after him. “He’s a good man, Luke. I’dI’d like it if you two could get along, now that you’re older.”

  Heaven help him, he wanted to please his father. But what good would it do to raise false hopes? A new wisdom, hard learned in the past few years, made it impossible for him to put on a smooth face and pretend all was well. He opted for the kindest words he could say. “Nick’s his own man. And I’ve learned to dance to a different drummer, somewhere along the way.”

  Henry gazed off toward the mountains. “I’m sorry. I thought—Well, never mind. I don’t suppose you’ll be here long enough for it to matter.”

  Luke watched his father riding away, his back straight. It was an old familiar song. But it seemed to have a different melody this time, one that cut deeper into the heart.

  Slowly the sun shifted from east to west, bringing a cooler wind and lengthening shadows under the pines. They’d be done by nightfall, if Charlotte could stop the fantasies circling in her head about hot baths, cold drinks and a supine position on a bed. Wearily she reined Gray Mist around and headed out to the farthermost corner of the winter pasture, looking for those last few strays determined to hide in the scrub brush. She was beginning to dislike the sight of a white face bobbing up from behind a bush, even though every calf found was money in her pocket.

  Under that big old Montana sky mellowing toward sunset, Charlotte found a last little fellow all by himself, sheltering under a scrubby pine, trembling with nerves. The calf was young, big-eyed and alone, and gone from his mother so long that he’d stopped bawling for her. Something wrong about this. A cow didn’t leave her calf unattended, nor did the calf stray far from a mother’s side.

  She’d just herded her loner in the corral with the rest of his cohorts when Tex reined his horse up beside her. He went to say something, but then his sharp eyes fastened on the calf galloping around the pen. Quick as a wink, Tex flipped out his rope and lassoed the youngster. “Better have another look at this one.”

  The tone of his voice made Charlotte’s heart rocket into her throat. She dismounted, the saddle creaking familiarly under her, and followed Tex’s taut rope to the wriggling calf.

  The calf wore her brand, the lazy M, all right. What she hadn’t been able to see was the Flying S underneath. Her brand had been added on top of Steadman’s, just like the others, but with a little less skill. She should have spotted it instantly.

  The cottonwoods rattled in the late-afternoon breeze, and the wind went cold, chilling her skin. “Ear tag?”

  “Theirs.”

  “I’m not a very smart thief, am I?”

  Her voice sounded cool enough to her ears, and that cheered her a little. She ran her hand over the bot
ched brand. The hair was still singed crisply around it, making it a new job, probably only a day or two old. Whoever was doing this to her had access not only to the running brand, but to Henry Steadman’s iron, too. But he’d got a little too eager this time. He’d put his double brands on a calf that shouldn’t be wearing one at all. This was just plain stupid and ridiculous. Who was going to believe she’d be that much of an idiot?

  Henry Steadman would.

  “I’m taking the calf over to them.”

  “What?” Tex lost his cool a little then, looking straight into her eyes and frowning like mad, his forehead crinkling and his mouth twisting. “Have you gone loco, girl? You want to give that mother’s son of the devil another nail to hammer into your coffin?” Tex took his hat off and banged it against his leg. “And I used to think your daddy was crazy. You got him beat six ways to Sunday, gal.” He jammed his hat back on his head and scowled at her so fiercely that she wanted to gather him in her arms and hug him. He cared for her, and this was his way of showing it, lashing out at her in his frustration. And to tell the truth, she’d like to hit something, too. Or someone.

  “Nice calf,” she said, patting the smooth little rump. “About six weeks old, I’d say. If I take him over there, he’ll probably find his mother.”

  “Sure as shooting he’ll find his mother, and you know that as dang well as I do.”

  “Tex, this is crazy. We haven’t branded new calves yet this season, and neither has Henry. Somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble to make me look guilty.” Charlotte’s eyes met Tex’s across the calf’s back. “He has to go back to his mother.”

  “Consarn it, I know that. But you’re not going over there,” he growled, looking like a thundercloud. “I’ll take the dadblasted young’n over—”

  “No. This isn’t your responsibility. It’s mine. Besides, you don’t want Luke to accuse you of stealing again, do you?” At the flash of concern in Tex’s eyes, Charlotte shook her head. “Lettie didn’t want to tell me, but I pried it out of her. I’ll bet Luke has apologized, hasn’t he?”

 

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