Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  “I took the liberty of asking Mr. Holliman if he had a need for a maid since his mother will be away for some weeks yet.”

  “Well, of course he does.” Why hadn’t she thought of asking Colt if he could use help? She’d been so absorbed in her own problems, she’d not given enough thought to others.

  “But he says he’s the only one residing in the house, and it wouldn’t be proper for me to be a live-in maid.”

  Leave it to Colt to think of the proprieties. He needed a wife in the worse way, but all the women in the area were too old or too young. Or not good enough for him.

  Harriet reached for another tome. “Do you think Mrs. Sanchez would mind if I came back here every night? That way I could take care of Mr. Holliman’s house during the day and keep my room here—if I pay for my keep, that is.”

  It took Carianne a moment to realize Harriet was referring to Maria, the housekeeper. She’d never thought of her as Mrs. Sanchez. “You don’t have to pay, for goodness sakes, we wouldn’t think of such a thing, and I’m sure it’d be fine with Mrs. Sanchez.” The cost of Harriet’s board wouldn’t make a dent in the ranch’s operation.

  No one knew better than Carianne the state of Sollano’s books, since she’d been keeping the office in Rhyan’s absence. The ranch payroll was huge, and without money coming in on a regular basis, it couldn’t be met for long. Carlos Sanchez, the manager, had already let some of the cowboys go. Good, experienced men. It broke her heart to think of their leaving.

  Maria breezed in hugging an armload of towels. “Carianne, could I borrow Harriet to help out with the laundry?”

  Had the Chinese couple who did the laundry left too? “I can finish in here, Harriet.” She flicked the dust cloth to wave at Harriet and sneezed.

  “Bless you, dear.” Maria moved aside to let Harriet pass. “I don’t know how so much dust gets in here.”

  Carianne sniffed back another sneeze. “It gets in the top louvers we opened so air could circulate.” Smitty had opened them. The last job he’d done for her.

  She stared at the door several seconds after the women departed, reliving the many times she called on Smitty for help. He’d grouch the whole time he was doing the job, then offer to do something else.

  With a deep sigh, she returned to the mantle to wipe the underside.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  The air rushed from her lungs as Rhyan’s familiar voice fell on her ear. She whirled so fast she almost hit her head on the mantle. With a girlish squeal, she ran, meeting him in the middle of the room—colliding against his hard chest. In the space of a heartbeat, he caught her in a tight embrace that squeezed the remaining breath from her. He swung her around in a dizzying whirl.

  Suddenly, the world turned right-side up again. She breathed in his spicy scent and all the worry and loneliness of the past month vanished in the instant, leaving nothing but sheer happiness. Her hands found themselves around his neck where his raven hair brushed against his white collar. She plucked a sprig of hay from behind his ear.

  “I caught a ride on a farmer’s wagon.” he explained, the words muffled as he buried his lips in her hair.

  She shifted, tipping her head back. Her gaze flitted over those handsome features, the firm jaw, straight nose, the dimple that deepened in his right cheek. The intensity of his dark, soldering eyes turned her to mush in his arms. Unable to bear the fervor of his gaze, she closed her eyes. “You can do better than that.” Holding her breath, she waited for his kiss.

  His lips touched hers, soft and tender. This is what set Rhyan Cason apart from the few other men who’d kissed her. They were sloppy and aggressive. Rhyan tantalized and tasted, ever so gently, and when he moved to the corner of her mouth, she moved with him, wanting more. Then he took control, deepening the kiss until every nerve in her body came alive.

  Pressed to him, with their lips practically fused, she somehow couldn’t get close enough, never wanting this heady sensation to end.

  One bit of good sense made its way to the surface. What if Maria or Harriet came in? She pulled back, panting as heat flooded her face. Unable to raise her gaze above his chest, she caught sight of the dust she’d left on the lapel of his dark blue coat.

  A nervous laugh rose in her throat as she brushed the marred fabric with one hand and the other went to her hair. “I’m getting dust all over you. I must look a mess.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Honey, even when you’re looking your worst, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”

  She sent him a shy look from under her lashes. “Thank you. What a sweet, wonderful…perfectly ridiculous thing to say.”

  He gave her that low, throaty chuckle she loved to hear. “But true.”

  “Let’s sit.” She nodded to the burgundy-tufted sofa. “You must be tired after your journey.”

  He took her hand. “Yeah, I ran all the way.”

  Oh, how she’d missed those cocky quips of his. She laughed. Whether he was tired or not, her legs were about to give way.

  They sat side by side, their thighs touching, sending darts of awareness racing up her spine. He kept holding her hand. “Did you give some thought to me while I was away?”

  “There might have been five or ten minutes…I didn’t think of you.” Her husky voice hit its mark. His delightful chuckle rumbled again, and he kissed the back of her hand. “I don’t think there was even that much time I wasn’t thinking of you, but as much as I’d like to sit here all day and keep fishing for compliments, I have to see Carlos.”

  She slid her hand out of his. He was right. She’d been so bemused by his arrival, she’d forgotten there was much to discuss—all unpleasant. “Wait, I have to tell you something, bad news, I’m afraid.”

  His grin faded as he quirked a brow.

  After a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his look. “Smitty died.”

  If she’d dashed ice water in his face, it wouldn’t have startled him as much. “What happened?”

  “He contracted anthrax. Mr. Walstein told you about the epidemic?”

  Rhyan stared at her a long moment, as if trying to make sense of what she said. “He told me the cattle were affected. I had no idea people had caught it.” He sent a quick glance across the room. “Smitty doesn’t even work the cattle. How could he have caught it?”

  “He went to help nurse Tony who got sick before we knew what we were dealing with.”

  “Tony? The fourteen-year-old cowboy? How’s he?”

  She looked at her hands, clasped together so hard in her lap her knuckles showed white. “He died too…two weeks ago…his family came to get the body. Smitty’s buried in your family cemetery.” She lifted her gaze and found a pained look in those dark eyes. The full impact of the blow hadn’t hit him yet. “You’re not to blame.”

  “Maybe in a way, I am.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You remember how this started, don’t you? One day, I stood up and challenged Senator Timmons at some gathering and got him so twisted in his own words, people laughed at him.”

  He reared back and stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling like a man laboring hard. “For something as inconsequential as that, two innocent men are dead.” His glance jerked back to her. “Are there others?”

  “Clay caught anthrax too, but Dr. Ulrich says he’s going to make it. Clay’s getting better. There’s talk that a man from another ranch died, but I’m not sure.”

  He leaned forward, fisting his hands. “At least Timmons is gone. If I wind up in hell someday, I’m going to find him and kill him all over again.”

  The vitriol in his tone alarmed her. “You are not going to—there.”

  He turned his glance to her with a smile deep enough to show his dimple. “I was just joking.”

  Hardly anything to joke about.

  He cradled her face with his hands. “No matter what happens, you know I’ll always love you, don’t you?”

  Words meant to reassure, but the tone revea
led something that struck an uneasy cord within her. “I’ll always love you too.” She probed his eyes. The longing was still there, and the heat of his hands on her cheeks warmed her all over, but a curtain had come down on their intimacy.

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then got to his feet. “We’ll talk this afternoon.”

  Her knees felt too weak to stand, so she sat, staring at his back as he crossed the floor, leaving her.

  Again.

  Before he got to the door, he halted and swung around. “I’ll have to go out to the observation tower this afternoon. Change into your riding costume and go with me. I promised to show you the tower once, remember?”

  How could she forget? He’d promised to show her the tower at the same time he’d asked to marry her. And she’d said, “Yes.” Neither one of them had mentioned that.

  Too many other things demanded his attention, she reminded herself, and he had promised they’d talk, that they’d begin a courtship when he returned. Maybe this was the beginning. “I’ll need to re-do my hair.” She brushed a tendril from her cheek.

  “Leave it down.”

  “All right. I like the wind blowing through my hair when I’m riding, but that’s unconventional.”

  He laughed. “So is riding out alone with me, but we’ll ignore convention this last time.”

  Last time? Why was she trying to read something into his casual remarks? Of course he meant they’d have to be circumspect after this. Anticipation of the afternoon alone with him chased away any doubts. “Could we take a picnic basket? I love eating out in the open.”

  A grimace crossed his face. “A picnic?”

  She bounded from her seat and crossed the floor. Patted his chest affectionately. “Yes, it’ll be late afternoon before we return.”

  He pressed his hand over hers. “A picnic it’ll be. Soulee’s fried chicken will taste mighty good after all that train slop. Tell her to make that potato salad with the spicy pickles I like.” He took a step backwards, out of her grasp.

  “I will.”

  A chill touched her when he disappeared, as if he took all the heat with him. His affection was real. She didn’t question his love, but a nagging fear tugged at her subconscious. Perception warned her something was amiss, and it had nothing to do with the anthrax trouble. Though she couldn’t put a name to it, a threat hovered like a mote dancing just outside the periphery of the eye.

  She knew every shade of his personality, every nuance of his thinking. Something had happened on his trip.

  Something menacing.

  ***

  Rhyan scanned the cloudless sky, a gentle breeze fluffing his hair as their horses plowed through thick grass at a steady gallop. Too fast for talking. He sat on a faithful horse with the woman he loved beside him. Perfect.

  Then why did he feel it was all an illusion? Like he’d lost control of reality.

  At last he slowed to a canter and gave Carianne a sidelong glance. She’d learned to sit a horse well, moving with the animal’s gait. He missed the way she used to giggle. The tan Stetson hung from her shapely neck, allowing her brown hair, streaked with gold, to blow all about her head in a wild, captivating way.

  She caught his look and her lips curved. “I know Carlos was optimistic you’d save most of the herds. Did he convince you?”

  “Every blasted steer on the place has to be independently inspected before they can be sold. You know we’re already bleeding money.” He wouldn’t mention that he could lose all the cattle and the land in court.

  “I do know, but everything will turn out fine.”

  “Have you turned into a prophetess?”

  Peals of feminine merriment burst forth. No woman had a more pleasant laugh, something like a breathless, musical snicker. He’d stayed up nights, thinking of ways to make her laugh. “I’d know if I were a prophetess. The prophets and prophetesses of the Bible knew who they were, though some didn’t want the job.”

  “With good reason.” What a curse knowing the future must be.

  Her tawny brows knitted. “Sometimes I do just know things without good reason, and I know you’ll keep Sollano.”

  “If I can’t, I’ll go to San Francisco and join my brother’s law firm.”

  She gave him a scowl to let him know what she thought of that. “How can you consider such a thing?” With a huff she clenched the reins. “Sometimes you’re like an onion. I think I know you, but then there’s another layer to peel away.”

  “That’s not very flattering.” He squinted into the sun. “Onions stink and make you cry.”

  Her tone turned somber. “I’m well aware of that. I thought you loved…Sollano.”

  “I do, but there’s a world beyond the borders of Sollano.”

  He wanted to steer her away from those thoughts, put that laughter back in her voice. Without giving her a chance to answer, he urged his horse into a gallop. Carianne followed, and they were moving too fast for conversation. Waving grass stretched to the horizon, and grazing red cows behind barbed wire fences lifted their heads as the horses sped past.

  Would he be able to walk away from all this? He hung back to let Carianne pass. She’d know the direction since the tower was already in view. It stood five stories high and on a rise—the highest point on his property.

  They arrived at the building and tied their horses to the rail that surrounded the octagon shaped structure. Pillars rose eight feet high holding the building aloft with a circular stairwell in the center.

  Carianne shaded her eyes as she looked up. “It looks like a—”

  “Lighthouse. It was built by a man who’d spent a lifetime building lighthouses. Grandpa used it for much the same purpose before the land was fenced. It’s even recognized as a landmark on some maps.”

  “Remarkable. I’m glad I wore my split skirt. I don’t think I could climb these stairs otherwise.”

  He brought the leather bag holding the food. “You want to eat up there?”

  “I would.”

  “You go first,” he said. If she stumbled on her skirt, he’d catch her.

  They reached the top, and Carianne whirled around, her hair tousled and tangled by the wind, making him yearn to run his fingers through the silky mass. He remembered the feel of her hair as he’d brushed it that day they’d been stranded on the prairie. That was the moment he’d decided to make her his wife.

  But she’d wanted more than a proposal, more than his heart.

  She wanted his soul. Or rather, she wanted him to give his soul to God.

  A married couple should not be unequally yoked. That came from the Bible. Even then, he’d believed the Bible to be true. Now he knew it to be inspired by God, but he doubted he had it in him to live up to its edicts. He was fast coming to the conclusion he’d never measure up.

  “The view is magnificent.” Her voice was breathless, whether from the exertion of the climb or awe, he couldn’t tell.

  “If you think that’s something, come here.” He stood beside two long instruments attached to pedestals at the back of the stairwell’s opening.

  After adjusting the smaller instrument, he pulled her in position to look through its eye piece. “The other one’s a telescope for viewing the stars, but it has to be dark for that. This is a high powered spyglass. It swivels 360 degrees. Look at this direction.”

  She gripped the instrument, positioning it to fit her eye. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped. “I can see the river as clear as if I’m standing on the bank. There’s a man…fishing, I think. Yes, I see his pole.” Her grin widened. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew I was watching him.”

  Rhyan moved the glass a bit. “Look over the bridge.”

  “Why, I can see into town. Is that the post office?” Excitement tinged her voice. “It is. I can see the flag.” She tilted her head to peep at him from under those incredibly long lashes.

  Her enthusiasm was refreshingly childlike. He laughed and moved the glass again.

  She pressed her eye
back into the cushioned slot. “I see the farms, the silos, windmills, and just endless grassland.”

  “You can see all the way to the boundaries of Sollano. That can be helpful in watching for the direction of prairie fires.”

  As his gaze swept over her, a fire erupted within him. She’d pulled her hair to the side, and he stared, fascinated by the way it grew in whorls around her neckline with the tendrils curving around her ear. Desire to kiss her neck overtook him. From somewhere in the distance, he heard her ask a question, but had no idea what it was.

  She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “I asked if your people know you can spy on them.”

  He cleared his throat. “They know this is here, but I don’t spy on them.”

  “I was just joking.” She elbowed him in the chest. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Wrong? Nothing.” That was a lie. If he weren’t careful, passion would consume him. He should never have brought her out here to this desolate place. Her innocent gaze told him she didn’t understand her danger.

  “Let’s eat,” he said.

  A bench ran along one of the octagon sides, and they sat at each end. Carianne spread the food on the bench between them. They’d use a napkin for a plate and drink from the same jar containing lemon flavored tea.

  She bowed her head in silence, obviously waiting for him to say the grace. He couldn’t tell her he didn’t even know a simple blessing. After an uncomfortable interval, she began the Lord’s Prayer. He did know that, and they spoke in unison.

  “You like the dark meat, right?” A smile warmed her gaze, but tension still hung in the air.

  They ate without comment as if they were ravenously hungry, maintaining eye contact. He was hungry, though not for food. So much needed to be said, but neither of them seemed willing to break the silence.

  After they’d finished off the chicken and potato salad and wiped their hands, Carianne reached into the bag. “Soulee packed a honeycomb.” She pulled out the jar containing the comb oozing with golden goodness.