by Carol Arens
“The men will be relieved to see you.” How could he not admire Rebecca Lane? Eloise would have lain abed for a week soaking up the attention. “I’ll be back to help you down the stairs.”
“I’m sure I can manage it on my own. After all I—”
“Have fresh sutures in your foot. I’ll be back.”
He shot her a frown then closed the door to further argument.
For some reason, his step felt lighter on the stair, and he was smiling.
* * *
Rebecca relaxed in her chair before the hearth. The night was cool but only required a small fire.
To her right sat Grandfather and Barstow. On her left were Lantree, Jeeter and Tom. The line of chairs formed a semicircle about the fireplace to make conversation easier.
She loved this time of evening, with the work of the day finished and everyone safe at home. It was especially nice now that Lantree had taken his usual place once again.
As usual, Kiwi Clyde joined them for the evening gathering.
The bird sat on the back of her chair, gently nibbling her hair and making kissing noises.
One might believe he had the disposition of a lamb.
“I reckon he’s not so bad,” Lantree said, reaching a finger toward the bird, possibly meaning to stroke his feathers.
“He’s a bird in a million.” Barstow nodded his head vigorously.
“I love you,” Kiwi Clyde said quite clearly then scooted toward Lantree.
The bird continued to make friendly kissing sounds. Lantree stroked his chest with the back of one finger.
Without warning, without an apparent change of mood, Kiwi Clyde bit down hard on Lantree’s finger. A pearl of blood welled from his skin.
“Good boy!” the bird declared.
“I saw that one coming.” Grandfather chuckled.
“You might have said something!” Lantree wrapped his finger in a kerchief that he drew from his pocket.
When the laughter settled, Grandfather cleared his throat.
“As a matter of fact, I do have something to say.” Grandfather stood up as though he were about to make a speech, or at least a proclamation.
He stood tall, drew his shoulders back. He was the owner of this spread, the man in charge, and his authority showed.
“It’s become clear to me, and I’m certain to you all, that our Becca is no longer safe.”
Certainly that was an exaggeration. Had she not just proved that in a desperate situation she could defend herself? It was true that she needed help getting home, but she had been the one to evade her pursuers. They were men who were at home in the mountains, and she had bested them.
Back in Kansas City she had managed to keep herself safe and she could very well do it here.
Grandfather would be made aware of that as soon as he finished pointing out her vulnerability.
“Therefore, I have decided that my granddaughter and Lantree will marry.”
She leaped to her feet and winced at the pain slicing through her foot.
Lantree frowned, cursed, then scooped her into his arms as though she weighed no more than a mite.
Grandfather grinned, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Keep off that foot,” Lantree hissed, then set her back down in the chair. He handled her gently even though his expression was thunderous. “Have you lost your mind, Hershal?”
“He has, by George! He’s become addled.” Normally, she would not say such a thing, but very clearly Grandfather’s mind had become suddenly muddled.
Tom leaped from his chair to pound Lantree on the back. “Congratulations, Doc!”
Lantree glared at him.
“We need some whiskey for a toast!” Jeeter exclaimed, his face beaming in anticipation.
“I’ll fetch a bottle of wine.” Barstow grinned and clapped his hands. “You, young man, will be given one sip.”
“But this is a big event,” the boy complained.
“It’s not an event at all!” Rebecca glanced up at Lantree, who stared back at her, clearly stunned.
Barstow returned with the bottle of wine. He, Jeeter, Tom and Grandfather tipped their glasses...three times.
She set hers on the hearth beside Lantree’s.
“You can’t just decree something like that, Hershal,” Lantree argued. “You know I have nothing to offer a wife.”
“You have safety to offer her.”
“That ought to keep a roof over her head.”
“This will be the roof over her head.” Grandfather certainly did appear pleased with himself and his half-brained plan. “As soon as the pair of you are married, I’m handing this ranch over to the both of you...joint owners.”
“Well, damn it, Hershal, that’s half-cocked thinking!”
“You owe me, boy. I saved your hide once, now you will save my Becca’s life.”
“My life is not in danger, Grandfather, and even if it were, I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”
A long silence, frowns and shaking heads answered her.
What was wrong with the male race, thinking they were the salvation of anyone having breasts?
“I will not be forced into marrying anyone.” She crossed her arms over the evidence of her feminine inferiority. She was angry, so much so that she felt her heart beating against her arm.
“And I stand by her right to make that decision,” Lantree said.
By the saints! From out of nowhere his statement touched her, made her feel... Oh, how she didn’t want to admit this, but it made her feel safe...protected.
“Lantree and I agree. We will not marry.”
“The sooner the better, is all I have to say on the matter.” Barstow lifted Kiwi Clyde off the back of the chair.
“We’ll make the announcement in Coulson. Be ready to travel day after tomorrow, early.” With that, Grandfather hugged her then shook Lantree’s hand. “I know you’ll take good care of my girl.”
He looked so proud, as though she and Lantree had just professed undying love and could not wait to recite their vows. Aunt Eunice was a novice at manipulation compared to Grandfather. Who would have guessed that a sweet-looking old man could wield such power, or at least believe that he did?
“I can’t leave my work here,” Lantree pointed out to Grandfather’s retreating back.
“That’s an insult to Jeeter and Tom. This won’t be the first time they’ve stepped in for you.”
Without further comment, Grandfather disappeared up the stairwell.
“Looks like I’ve got some food to pack up for the trail.” Barstow walked toward the kitchen on his small feet, making the floorboards creak.
“Sweet dreams, lovebirds,” Jeeter called, going out the front door with Tom.
She was left alone gawking, probably very unattractively, at Lantree.
“We most certainly are not lovebirds.” She looked to Lantree for confirmation.
“And we are not in any way engaged.”
But what they were, and what they had never quite been before, was allies.
* * *
As she did each afternoon, Rebecca visited Francie and the calves. They had been released from the barn and allowed to roam the paddock.
The south corner of the paddock was shaded by a stand of huge leafy trees. On this hot day, the cows sought shelter under them.
“Hello, my pretty girls, and my handsome boy,” she said, stroking each bovine ear.
She sat down on a stump, enjoying the shade and the rustle of the leaves high above her.
Lantree strode out of the barn. He tugged his hat low over his forehead to ward off the sun. As soon as he spotted her, he waved. His boots crunched the dirt and his leather chaps chaffed against each other as he crossed
the paddock.
Watching him, she did have to admit that if a woman were to marry, this man would be— No, never mind that. He was not right for her in any way, except for his height and his big gentle hands and his sultry blue eyes that observed the world from under lowered brows much of the time.
If only Melinda were here. He would be just the man for her pretty cousin.
Watching the play of sunlight and shadow cascading over him as he crossed the yard, she remembered when she and her cousin were young, their hearts just beginning to flutter at the idea of falling in love with a man.
In bed late at night, they would talk about what the man who would sweep them away would be like. Blamed if they hadn’t concocted a hero just like Lantree Walker, from his long windblown hair to his confident stride.
Over the years, while Melinda had grown to be a beauty, Rebecca had grown tall, lanky and plain. Not at all the type of woman to turn a man’s head, especially a man like Lantree.
Watching him wipe the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve, she decided that the same could not be said of Melinda. She could turn any man’s head. And Lantree would be her dream come true.
“The calves are growing fast,” he commented, but she knew that was only polite conversation and not what was really on his mind.
They had not spoken since last night when Grandfather had proclaimed them engaged. She had some things to say to him and she supposed he felt the same way.
“Do you have a moment?”
He nodded then sat down on the stump beside hers.
“I was awake all night, thinking.” She clenched her hands in her lap, nervous about telling him what conclusion she had come to.
“So was I.”
“I know, I saw your lamp go off half an hour before sunrise.”
He loosened the kerchief around his neck then undid the first two buttons of his shirt.
“It’s a blister today. If you want to loosen your collar I’ll consider you sensible and not brazen.”
“Not long ago you’d have offered me a dollar.” She couldn’t help but laugh, remembering the misunderstanding between them in the beginning.
“And you’d have stitched my mouth closed for making the suggestion.”
He laughed along with her. How very nice. She hadn’t had this easy rapport with anyone since she’d said goodbye to Melinda. Not even with Grandfather, as much as she loved him.
While she would prefer to sit all afternoon enjoying the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, now was the time for a serious discussion.
“It’s true what your grandfather said.” Lantree spoke up before she had a chance to. “I do owe him.”
“I think we ought to consider what he had to say... Not that we should marry, of course, only that we ought to understand his reasoning.”
“You may not like this any more than I do, but as far as reasoning goes, his is sound.” Lantree shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just say that we did what he wants. It would protect you from anyone trying to get at the ranch through you.”
He was right, marriage would make her unapproachable.
“My protection is what Grandfather has in mind, I know, but it’s his safety that worries me.” A chill prickled the skin on the back of her neck, remembering what Mike and Dimwit had suggested about the length of her grandfather’s life.
“We are in a hard place, and no way about it. Becca, it’s hard to ignore the fact marrying would resolve the problem.”
Drat, why did her heart have to flutter when he used that endearment? And why had he used it, since their relationship was nothing more than companionable...and that only recently?
“What if we go along with Grandfather’s scheme?” She took a deep, steadying breath, hesitant to divulge the conclusion she had come to in the wee hours of the night. “To a point, that is. Let him announce our engagement and then make it a very long one. We could pretend to be engaged. It might give us the same results as actually tying the knot.”
He nodded. “It might, but it would take some playacting on our part to make it believable, at least when we are in Coulson. Is this something you are agreeable to?”
“I’d do anything to protect my grandfather.”
He nodded. “Good, so would I.”
“Well, then.” She extended her hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
He grinned. The heat of his smile did things to her insides...fluttery, coiling things that a woman like her was better off not knowing anything about.
His big hot hand closed about hers, swallowed it up, in fact.
“Here’s to keeping loved ones safe,” he declared.
Chapter Ten
Lantree called a halt to travel late in the afternoon, deciding that they would spend the night in a shady glen where he and Hershal had camped many times in the past.
The area was protected on the north by a rock wall. A waterfall spilled over it and created a sparkling pond. For the most part, it was a convenient and secure refuge. The flower-studded meadow made it one of the prettiest places he knew of.
If all went well, they would arrive in Coulson tomorrow, midday, make the fake announcement then head home.
By the looks of Rebecca, a night in the hotel couldn’t come soon enough. Not that she had complained. He had learned that she was not one to do so.
Here was a woman who met life’s obstacles with her chin held high, and usually with a smile on her face. She did not shy from adversity but met it eye to eye.
It would be fair to say she was not like any woman he had ever met. Certainly not the conniving female he had, at first, thought her to be.
Although she would not admit to being tired, it was evident in the slight droop of her shoulders, and the hitch in her breath when she wiped the sheen of perspiration from her brow.
Given a choice, he would not have picked the hot weather to travel in, but the sooner they announced this sham engagement, the safer Hershal and Rebecca would be.
While Lantree watered the team and set them to pasture, Hershal found a shady tree, spread his bedroll and fell deeply into a nap. The rumble of his even snoring drifted over the campsite.
Rebecca returned from a trip to the pond carrying a bucket of water. Her foot must hurt like the dickens but she didn’t let it show.
“I’m going to gather firewood,” he told her. “If there’s any trouble, wake your grandfather and have him fire his gun. I’ll be back on the run.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Rebecca lifted her hair with one hand and fanned her bare, sweat-dampened neck with the other.
Even though he, too, was nearly sure there would be no trouble, he would make quick work of gathering the wood.
Within fifteen minutes he had picked up what he could carry or drag. He returned to the campsite, dropped the load then nearly tripped over it.
Not fifty feet away, a sea nymph was rising from the pond.
Stunned to silence, he could only stare while water sluiced off her naked body. Glistening rivulets slid down her shoulders then around high, firm breasts. Droplets fell from the pink tips. Watery fingers caressed the dip of her trim waist, pooled in her navel then rushed to tickle the dark hair at the apex of her long, lovely thighs.
While it seemed that time had suspended, that he’d stood there gawking at her for a long time, the truth was he’d spotted her then instantly turned away.
For all his staring at the treetops, the pile of wood and a beetle crawling across the dirt, the sight of his false fiancée remained sizzling on his eyeballs.
He’d seen portions of her body in a professional way when he’d cleaned up her scrapes, but hell and damn, watching Venus rise from the water gave him another reaction entirely.
Since she seemed oblivious to him while
she enjoyed the cool relief of the pond, he returned to the forest to gather another load of wood.
By the time he returned, she was dressed and sitting on a log, squeezing the water from her tangled hair with long, shapely fingers.
From now until whenever they parted company, it would be impossible to look at her in the same way again.
What the hell had happened in her past to make her believe that she was homely, fit only for spinsterhood?
If things were different, he’d consider making Hershal a happy man. If he would make a fit husband for anyone, he would court Rebecca Lane, properly and with marriage in mind.
“You look—” damp and seductive, provocative, tempting “—refreshed.”
“For a while, at least.” She flashed him a smile and flicked water from the ends of her hair. “I’ll be glad when this heat spell ends.”
“It ought to pass in a day or two.”
It ought to, if one was speaking strictly of the weather. He reckoned the red flush inside him would linger for a good long time.
* * *
Rebecca might have felt threatened coming into Coulson but, somehow, she didn’t. While there was every chance that Mike and Dimwit were in town, with Lantree sitting on the wagon bench to her right and Grandfather to her left, the both of them well armed, she felt secure.
It also helped that the town did not seem as wicked to her as it had the first time she had seen it.
Today there were ranchers walking the streets. They appeared to be conducting legitimate business.
She didn’t spot any wives, but perhaps they were secured away in the one hotel that did not double as a brothel.
A man, well dressed and pot-bellied, was standing on the porch of the trading post, clutching the lapels of his coat while giving some sort of impassioned speech. Farmers and saloon patrons cheered, then booed, and then cheered again. The speaker seemed to lead their reactions much like a conductor leads his orchestra. Up and down the voice of the crowd went according to his direction.
As they rolled closer she could hear the man’s preaching clearly. Unless something was done to prevent it, he admonished, his fist now clenched and pumping the air, Coulson would die and Billings would thrive.