Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “He’s not my husband,” Jessye told him.

  A welcoming grin crept onto the man’s face. “That so?”

  Incensed at the camaraderie developing between Jessye and this stranger, Harrison stepped forward. “She is, however, the investor and, therefore, I would take great offense if she was not treated with the utmost respect.”

  “Investor? In what?” he asked, his gaze never leaving Jessye.

  “Cattle, Mr. Magpie—”

  “No mister to it. Just a front name. Ain’t got no back name.”

  Jessye smiled warmly. “We’re gathering cattle to take them north.”

  “Now if that don’t beat all. I know cows like I know the back of my hand. Here I was wondering what I was gonna do with the rest of my life—”

  “Do you think we might attempt to get this beast out before the sun sets?” Harrison asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Magpie said.

  Jessye slipped her booted foot into Magpie’s cupped palms, and Harrison had to restrain himself from snatching it back. Magpie hoisted her into the saddle, a feat Jessye performed on her own every morning.

  The man tipped his hat at Jessye. “You do the pullin’, and we’ll do the pushin’.”

  Magpie trudged into the mud as though it weren’t the most disgusting substance in the area. “You comin’?” Magpie asked.

  Harrison glanced at Jessye, the challenging glint in her eyes irritating him more than the damned beast’s stubbornness. The slimy mud eased between his toes as he made his way to the back end of the creature.

  “Give him a tug!” Magpie ordered just before he leaned his shoulder against the animal’s rump. Harrison did the same. The animal released a bawl, followed by a snort.

  The bull lurched forward. Harrison lost his leverage and landed facedown in the muddy bog.

  “We got him!” Jessye cried.

  “We sure did,” Magpie yelled.

  Harrison twisted his head to see Magpie standing beside him, grinning like the village idiot.

  “Reckon I forgot to mention that when they get good and ready to move, they move fast.”

  Harrison gave the man a forced grin. “Reckon you did, at that.”

  While he watched Magpie slinging mud as he made his way toward solid ground, Harrison contemplated various methods of torture that his ancestors had developed, trying to determine which one would offer the best revenge.

  Jessye quietly wended her way through the trees and shrubbery to the edge of the river and crouched at its bank. Within the moonlight, she saw Harry scrubbing his body with that fancy-smelling soap of his. Sandalwood, he called it. She couldn’t understand why that scent mingled with the sweat of his labors always made her want to stand closer to him. Maybe because it was so different from the stench of drunks.

  His clothes, now free of mud, were draped nearby over some low-hanging branches. The man sure put a lot of stock in the way his clothes looked. Most cowboys put on their clothing at the start of a roundup and took them off when the trail drive ended and they had money with which to purchase a new outfit. But not Harry. His clothes would be worn thin from washing, not wearing.

  The water lapped at his hips as he rubbed briskly with the soap, his back to her. She enjoyed watching the light from the moon and stars chase the shadows over his broad shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to touch a man in a long time. Curling her fingers until they bit into her palms, she cursed them for wanting to play the shadow dance over Harry’s back. She imagined her lips joining the game. Did Englishmen taste like Texans?

  Her tongue circled her lips. She didn’t think kissing Harry would be a hardship, and she contemplated that thought more often than she should. Would his beard tickle or caress? Would his mouth distract her so she wouldn’t notice?

  Therein lay one of her fears. If she gave in to a kiss, she might give in to everything—and she was unwilling to pay the price that came with giving everything, especially to a man who thought a woman could separate her heart from her body.

  Still, if she was honest with herself, she liked a lot about Harry. Except the beard. He’d been clean-shaven the first time she’d set eyes on him, with his gleaming black hair falling past his collar and those long, thick lashes framing his emerald eyes. His features were strong, as though chiseled by a hand intent on perfection. She remembered everything about him from that first encounter—even the little indentation in his chin that was no longer visible.

  Yep, she liked that intriguing dent. She thought it was a shame he’d grown a beard that hid half his face. She needed to find a subtle way to get him to shave it off just so she could take a little additional pleasure in gazing at him. A pity that the few pleasures on a cattle drive made her resort to contemplating the merits of a man’s whiskers.

  He’d surprised her today. She hadn’t expected him to work so diligently to get a bull out of the mud when he earned the same money with no effort. Her mind longed to understand him; her heart dreaded the knowledge.

  “You still angry?” she called out.

  She saw him stiffen, and thought that if she were closer, she might have seen his muscles tighten.

  “I am not angry.” He raised an arm and scrubbed viciously at his skin.

  “You’ve hardly spoken a word since we got that bull out of the mud.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and nearly cut her with his glare. “It’s a bit difficult to speak when someone else is constantly chattering. I’m surprised the man’s jaws stay hinged.”

  “You’re upset ’cuz I invited him to join us.”

  “I thought we had agreed to keep our cadre small until we’d gathered more cattle.”

  Sighing deeply, she wrapped her arms around her knees. “I know, but he seemed lonely.”

  Harry spun around, the water swirling out. “Lonely? Are we now to become a haven for lonesome souls as well as lost cattle?”

  “No, but he knows a lot about cattle—”

  “Which would be fine if he told us exactly what he knew when we needed to know it!”

  Jessye bit back her laughter, knowing she’d only rile him further if she released it. But Lord, he had looked funny covered in mud—especially since he took pride in looking like he could sit in a widow’s drawing room with only a moment’s warning. “I know he was sorta unkind not to warn you about slipping in the mud, but some men enjoy pulling harmless pranks. He wants me to send you snipe hunting.”

  “What in God’s name is a snipe?”

  “That’s the point. There’s no such thing, but you send a greenhorn out into the night with a flour sack and tell him he’s gotta find one…and well, it’s funny ’cuz you know he never will—”

  “You believe this activity to be humorous?”

  “Some folks do.”

  “Do you?”

  Avoiding the question, she cracked her knuckles, wondering if she’d have knotty fingers when she was old like her father constantly warned her.

  “Do you?” he prodded. “Do you think it’s funny to embarrass someone?”

  “No. I just understand that some men never grow up, and I try not to hold it against them.”

  He waved his hand in the air. “Be off with you. I need to get out of the river.”

  “Afraid I’ll see your shortcomin’s?”

  With a distinct purpose to his stride and an unmistakable challenge in his eyes, he waded through the water toward her. She jumped to her feet and headed into the bushes. She ought not to tease him. Men were sensitive about certain aspects of their bodies…but she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Harry looked like in the altogether. She had a feeling he’d make accepting the challenge worth it.

  Harrison walked into the camp, his mood unimproved and threatening to worsen. Magpie was still talking, and Kit, by God, was taking notes. Everyone, it seemed, was intent on betraying him.

  Kit looked up. “Fifteen cattle today. Not a bad beginning.”

  “Not a good one either if you want two thousand head come spring.”
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br />   Kit glanced at Jessye and rolled his eyes.

  “What was that?” Harrison demanded.

  Kit looked back at him, his gaze a reflection of innocence. “What?”

  “That signal between you two.” Harrison pointed his finger first at Jessye, then at Kit.

  “Miss Jessye was just sayin’ that you was actin’ like you was raised on sour milk. Reckon Kit here was agreein’,” Magpie offered.

  “Sour milk?” Harrison inquired, taking a step toward Magpie.

  Jessye lunged between them, smiling guiltily before spinning around and placing her hands on Magpie’s shoulders. “I reckon you can tell these Englishmen are a little green when it comes to herding cattle.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely knew that for a fact this afternoon, what with him thinkin’ to wrap that rope ’round them horns—”

  “I know,” Jessye agreed quickly, cutting him off. “Which is the reason I was wondering if you’d be able to keep watch over the herd the entire night.”

  Magpie’s eyes blinked rapidly, and Harrison thought with any luck a fly might pop into the man’s open mouth. Jessye had apparently found a way to silence him.

  “Usually a watch is only four hours—”

  “Yes, I know, but I thought you could stay with the herd all night, and we’d make a place in the wagon for you to sleep during the day.”

  Magpie shook his head. “You’re thinkin’ these fellas ain’t gonna know how to stop the cattle from wanderin’ off or keep ’em from stampeding.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yep, I’ll do it.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll bring some coffee out to you later.”

  Magpie gave her that idiotic grin. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to it.”

  He sauntered into the darkness. Jessye spun around, her triumphant smile withering as she met Harrison’s hardened glare.

  “Were you implying that I have a sour disposition?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s what the phrasing means.”

  “You sent him to watch the cattle all night so we wouldn’t have to endure his constant jabbering.”

  She nodded. “Just for tonight. Until you learn to appreciate him.”

  Harrison scoffed. “Appreciate him—”

  “He’s a fountain of information, Harry,” Kit interrupted quietly. “This herding cattle is much more involved than I was led to believe. Besides, he swears he can guide thirty cows single-handedly, which means while we continue to gather more, he can take them to Gray’s land.”

  “You don’t think he’ll take the cattle for himself?” Harrison asked.

  Kit shook his head thoughtfully. “No.”

  “I despise your blasted instincts.”

  “They have nothing to do with my faith in the man.”

  “Upon what, then, do you base your confidence in his trustworthiness?”

  “I listened while he told me about a battle he fought in 1863 at a place called Gettysburg.”

  Harrison shrugged. “Most of the Texans we’ve met fought battles during the war. What makes this one so special?”

  “It was a bloodbath. Three days ago that lad who irritates you with his constant talking just turned twenty. Think about what we were doing when we were seventeen.”

  “Harry?” Grabbing her pallet, Jessye eased a little closer to the man lying on his side, his back to her. “Harry, I know you’re not asleep. You’re not snoring.”

  “I do not snore.”

  “Yes, you do. Just a slight purring—”

  “Jessye, I am not in the mood for conversation,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  She disliked the wall he was building between them since Magpie’s appearance. It was one thing for her to keep a wall between them. Hers wasn’t as thick or as strong. She had a feeling Harry could build a fortress that she’d never be able to breach. “Harry, what were you doin’ when you were seventeen?”

  He rolled over and met her gaze. “What difference does it make?”

  She raised up on an elbow. “I can’t figure you out. From the minute I met you, I knew you despised being here—but here you are, being someplace you don’t want to be, doing something you don’t want to do. Why don’t you just go back home?”

  He set a deck of cards between them. “Cut the deck. If you cut to a higher card than I do, I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ll cheat.”

  He waved his hand over the cards. “How can I cheat if I’m not holding them in my hand? I can’t see through the stack.”

  She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, reached out, and grabbed half the cards. She turned them to reveal the eight of spades. Harry simply turned over the top card. A nine of hearts.

  “Sorry, Jessye. Guess I’ll hold onto my reasons a while longer,” he murmured as he took the cards from her, put his deck together, slipped it into his pocket, and shifted into position, presenting her with his back.

  Damn, obstinate, stubborn man. Leaning toward him, she whispered harshly, “I hate your beard.”

  He jerked around so fast, came so close, that his hot breath fanned her cheek. She saw the rage burning within the depths of his eyes as he dug his fingers into her upper arm. His breathing grew ragged, uneven.

  “Hate!” he spat through clenched teeth. “I should teach you a lesson in hate.”

  Dear God. She realized clear down to the depth of her soul that he could indeed teach her more about hate than she’d ever known existed. Cold fear rippled along her spine. What had she been thinking to travel with men she barely knew? She’d never seen anger this raw, this intense. She wanted to lash out at him, but some inner instinct warned her that she was safe as long as she held her tongue.

  “Harry, you’re hurting her,” Kit said quietly, laying his hand over Harry’s. “She meant no harm.”

  Harry shifted his gaze from her face to her arm. Slowly, mercifully, he unfurled his fingers. She saw the taut lines of his jaw, watched his throat muscles work, and was both surprised and relieved when he ground out, “There’s no reason that lad should have to stay awake all night. I’ll take a turn watching the herd.”

  He shot to his feet and stalked from the camp. She’d never been more grateful to see someone disappear into the darkness. She rubbed her arm, wincing as her palm passed over the tender flesh.

  “Are you hurt?” Kit asked.

  “No,” she lied, the ache surrounding her heart far outweighing the pain in her arm. In the few months she’d known Harry, she’d never seen his temper flare. She had no desire to ever witness that sight again. “Didn’t realize he was so fond of the beard.”

  “It’ll be gone when next you see him.” Kit stood, walked to the fire, crouched before the low embers, and stirred them to life.

  Jessye eased from her pallet, pulled her blanket around her, and huddled closer to the fire. The chill of the night had little to do with the cold swirling through her. “I never knew Harry had such a temper.”

  Kit stared into the low flames, his pale blue eyes giving away none of his thoughts.

  “His anger had nothing to do with the beard, did it?” she asked hesitantly.

  “A man’s soul is his alone to bare to others.” Kit turned his head slightly and met her gaze. “Harry and I are friends because he holds my secrets well…and I hold his.”

  “And I’m just your business partner.”

  “You’re only my business partner.”

  “And Harry is just one of the hired hands,” she said more sharply than she’d intended.

  “That was your decision, not mine. If you had any wisdom, you would keep your distance. But I fear the heart has a way of sending wisdom to hell.”

  She glared at the flames as Kit unfolded his body and walked away. She heard him settle onto his pallet.

  “You should at least pretend to be asleep before Magpie returns,” he said with a touch of teasing laced in his voice.

  She nodded but remained hunched in front of the fire, fearing that if she moved away from the flam
es, she wouldn’t return to her pallet. Instead, she’d search for the man whom she now feared had the potential to hurt her far worse than Gerald Milton had.

  She was drawn to Harry for reasons she couldn’t comprehend, reasons that were beginning to go beyond the handsome face and the beautiful physique. She wanted to know what had shaped him into a kaleidoscope of inconsistencies. She wanted to be his friend. But she wanted a friendship deeper than the one he shared with Kit. He and Kit were friends because they had shared secrets.

  But to reveal her secrets might very well shatter her heart all over again.

  Chapter 4

  As dawn eased over the horizon, Jessye stared at her reflection in the water, which lay still against the bank of the river. She looked like a hoyden. If she had any sense, she’d chop off her unruly hair. It wasn’t as if she’d ever use it to entice a man into her arms. She didn’t understand men, didn’t want to—

  “How badly did I bruise you?” a quiet voice asked behind her, startling her, nearly sending her leaping into the water.

  She took a shaky breath. “Didn’t notice.”

  She sensed more than saw Harry kneel beside her. Lord, she didn’t want to look at him.

  “Let me see,” he ordered.

  She jerked her head around. “Look, Harry—” His beard was gone, just as Kit had predicted. She dug her fingers into her palm to stop herself from touching the strong line of his jaw. She shrugged. “Bruises heal.”

  “Only those you can see. I bruised more than your arm—”

  “You’re making too much of this.”

  “Your eyes are unable to shield your lies. I regret that I harmed you.”

  “No need for regrets. Last night you said you didn’t want to talk. I should have left you alone. Next time I will. After all, we’re just business associates, not friends. We don’t have to bare our souls to each other.”

  He gave her a long, thoughtful nod. She turned her attention back to her task, dipping her canteen into the water. “You’d best get ready to ride.”

  “You asked what I was doing when I was seventeen. I was gambling, drinking to excess, and I took my first mistress.”

  She tried to concentrate on the gurgling water making its way into her canteen, anything but the words he’d just spoken. She didn’t want to know anything about the women who had shared his bed.