Rafe slipped the paper into his pocket. “I’ll give it to Mae.”
“You, ah, you think she was old Ira’s mistress?”
Rafe considered the question. “He didn’t seem the sort,” he said slowly, “but then, when there’s a pretty face involved…” Rafe let the sentence dangle. “You did notice she’s right easy on the eyes.”
Morgan kept his poker face. Much to his chagrin, even after the terrible night they’d all spent, upon awakening this morning Christine’s image had been the first thing that had popped into his mind. “I suppose,” he said casually.
Too casually? Or did Rafe know, him just a little too well? Rafe raised a dark eyebrow and continued to look at him, silently probing.
He finally gave up. He got to his feet and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Then again,” he murmured, “a man would have to be dead not to notice.”
Morgan teased, “You better not let Shannon hear you say that. Or else—”
“I said notice.”
“—or else you could find yourself standing at the altar alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” Rafe said as they walked outside. “You’d be standin’ right up there with me.”
Morgan grinned. “You know, Rafe, as your best friend, not to mention havin’ the honor of bein’ your best man, there’re a lot of things I’d do for you. But marryin’ you ain’t one of ‘em.”
Shep chose that moment to trot up beside them and bark, as if lending his support to Morgan.
Both men looked down and burst out laughing. Shep, for his part, shed about five years as he trotted jauntily beside them, seemingly proud that he’d elicited such a positive response.
“DO THE BEST YOU CAN, honey,” Christine urged shortly after she and Erin had found their way out to the barn and beyond it, to the garage. Their car was sitting unattended a couple of slots over from a huge black Cadillac gleaming with polish. It had taken them only a few moments to collect their loose things from the backseat and stow them in the boxes in the trunk. But in her haste to leave Ira’s house in Houston, Christine hadn’t realized how heavy some of the boxes actually were.
“If it starts to get too heavy, put it down,” she advised Erin, who was striving to maintain her hold on the lightest of the boxes. “That’s what I’m going to do.”
“I’m okay,” Erin said.
If it hadn’t been for her daughter’s presence, Christine might have sat down on the cement floor and cried. Four small moving boxes and one suitcase-the full extent of their possessions. The paltriness of the collection was almost pathetic. No wonder Ira had taken pity on them.
She lifted her chin. No. She wasn’t going to think that way. And she wasn’t about to cry. There was nothing and no one who could get the better of her, not when she was determined. Not heavy boxes, not the blazing hot sun, not the distance the boxes would have to be carried to the compound. And, in particular, not Mae Parker.
The woman was doing her best to intimidate them. They’d eaten lunch with her, Shannon’s buffering presence unavailable since she was having lunch with Rafe at his house. Mae’d sat in near silence, but Christine had carried on as if she and Erin were alone, speaking softly to her daughter, encouraging the little girl to follow her lead and eat. If the situation proved to be the same tomorrow, she was determined to ask Marie to pack them a picnic lunch, which they could eat outside under the trees.
Hugging their boxes, they made their way to the path connecting a group of long low work buildings to the compound, the head of which was Mae’s house.
“Are you doing all right?” Christine asked.
“I’m fine,” Erin replied, yet Christine could hear her daughter’s labored breathing. She decided to call a halt. “Let’s stop here for a minute,” she said.
They were just about to lower their boxes when Harriet Dunn came rushing up to them. “Oh, this is too much!” the woman protested. “I know you said you wanted to do it yourself, but honestly, I’m surprised LeRoy let you out of the garage. Oh, that’s right—he’s off trying to round up some parts for your car. There are plenty of other people around, though. I know I saw Morgan just a few—”
Christine interrupted her. “We doing fine. We’re just taking a rest.”
Harriet looked skeptical. “I saw you from my kitchen window.” She motioned to the house farthest away from where they stood, yet still on this side of the courtyard. “That’s not the way it looked to me. These boxes are too heavy for you.”
As if to underscore her words, the box Erin had been holding tumbled to the ground. A T-shirt and several pairs of socks spilled out, and the girl quickly bent to reclaim them.
“At the very least, let me help,” Harriet pleaded. “I know it hasn’t been exactly, well, easy for you since you came here. But—”
“Why?” Christine challenged. She was still smarting from Mae’s treatment. “Why should you want to help?”
Harriet’s gray eyes never wavered. “Shannon believes you’re telling the truth. And if she does, I do, too. I trust her judgment.”
“You mean you admit that we have a valid claim?”
Harriet shook her head. “That’s not what I said. You can’t, because it’s not a legal possibility. But Shannon and I…we believe you believe it.”
Christine released an impatient breath. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not waste time playing word games. I have more important things to do.”
Harriet reached for Erin’s box the same instant the girl did. “Let me, sweetheart,” she said.
Erin looked across at her with big dark eyes, and Harriet gave her a smile that could reassure a stone.
Erin let go and Harriet straightened. “I’m ready,” she announced.
Christine resented the intrusion, but what could she do? Demand that Harriet put the box down or she’d stand there and hold her breath until she did?
Christine proceeded silently down the path, but her silence did nothing to dull the other woman’s determined friendliness. Harriet chattered on, seemingly unconcerned that she received no reply.
“Your little girl is eight, right? So she’s probably in…what? Second or third grade? Wesley’s turning seven this summer, but he hasn’t started school yet. I held him back a year because it’s nearly a two-hour bus ride each way, and I thought that was a bit much for such a young child. I’ll probably do the same thing with Gwen, but then, with Wesley gone for most of the day she might get lonely. Even with the new baby…”
Harriet’s words fell away, and Christine glanced at her. “You’re pregnant?” she asked.
Harriet’s smile dimmed, but quickly brightened again. “Yes,” she said briefly, then returned to the previous subject. “The reason I’m asking is, since you’re going to be here awhile, do you want to see about…Erin’s your name, right?” she asked, turning to the little girl. “Do you want to see about enrolling Erin in school to finish the term?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Christine said, when in fact, removing Erin from school had been one of her more pressing worries. She didn’t want her held back next year because of an incompletion.
They paused where the curving gravel drive met the narrow walkway to Mae’s house. “She was enrolled in school where you lived before, wasn’t she?” Harriet probed.
“Yes.”
“Then all I’m saying is, if you want to get her into school here so she doesn’t miss out, all you have to do is talk to Rafe. Or I’ll talk to him for you if you want. One word from him to the school administrator and it’s a done deal.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because…it just is.” Harriet continued on to the house.
“Because he’s a Parker,” Christine said, following her. Obviously being a Parker of the Parker Ranch carried a lot of weight in West Texas. What they wanted, they got. “I’ll think about it,” Christine said tightly.
Harriet took her answer at face value. “Yes, do that. You have
more boxes you need to move, don’t you?” she asked as she opened the front door and held it wide so that Christine and Erin could pass.
Christine nodded. “Yes, but as I said before, we can—”
Harriet laughed. “You’re on a ranch with a bunch of big strong men. Let ‘em do what comes naturally!”
Harriet’s two young children came running up, laughing and screeching as they jostled each other to get inside the house first. Harriet quickly put down her box and shooed them back to the porch.
“Hush!” she ordered. “What’s gotten into you two? You know you’re not supposed to—”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, Harriet,” Morgan Hughes confessed as he bounded up the two steps onto the porch. “We had a race to see who could get here first.” His encompassing glance caught sight of Christine and Erin inside in the entryway.
Christine wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t. Her muscles wouldn’t do what her brain directed. Instead, she stood, box in hand, staring at him like a mesmerized rabbit. He’d shifted back to being the dangerous male—untamed, overpowering, ruggedly sensual. A man it would be impossible to escape if he took it in mind to pursue you. Christine’s heart beat a crazy tattoo until finally his blue eyes released her.
“And you’ll tell that to Mae if she comes out of her office breathing fire?” Harriet challenged, but the fondness she had for Morgan was evident.
He slanted her a smile. “I sure will.”
Harriet laughed and shook her head. “Morgan, there should be a law against men like you.”
“I didn’t do anythin’,” he drawled.
“No,” Harriet agreed, “but then, you don’t have to. Women must drop like flies when you’re around.”
Christine had heard enough. She nudged Erin and they started for the stairs. If she didn’t put the box down soon she was going to drop it, and she had no intention of putting it down here. She’d come back for Harriet’s box later on—in the middle of the night if that was the only time she would be undisturbed. That was also when she’d get the remaining two boxes out of the car.
“Morgan, I have a favor to ask,” Christine heard Harriet say, and she had a bad feeling about what was coming next. “Would you help Christine get the rest of her things from her car? She refused help earlier, but she needs it. What do you say? Do you have the time?”
Christine’s steps faltered. “No!” she protested from halfway up the stairs, but the two people on the porch didn’t hear her.
“Mae’s asked to see me now,” Morgan said. “But as soon as we’re done, I’m at her service.”
“Good,” Harriet replied.
There was a slight pause. “You feelin’ all right?” Morgan asked. “LeRoy’s told us the good news. He’s over the moon.”
“Sure, I’m fine. Making babies is almost my hobby.”
Another pause. “Well, take care of yourself. And congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Harriet said. “Now, as for you kids.” Her words grew muffled as she turned to discipline her children.
Morgan stepped into the house and immediately doffed his hat. From her position on the stairs, Christine could see golden strands gleaming among the darker shades of yellow and light brown on Morgan’s head, and how the thick hair had at one time been cut to accentuate its natural curl. Light played over his handsome chiseled face, caressing the high cheekbones, the straight nose and the provocatively shaped mouth.
He looked up at her, his expression unsurprised. It was as if he’d known all along that she was watching him. His glance then moved to the cardboard box Harriet had left by the door. “This yours?” he asked.
His melodic voice shimmered through Christine’s bloodstream. Denying what was happening to her, she shook her head.
“It’s not?” he said dubiously.
“I—I don’t want any help,” she finally managed.
He ignored that and swept the box from the floor. Then he moved with effortless grace to the stairs, taking them two at a time before Christine could form another protest. “Well, let’s get goin’,” he teased as he moved the box under one arm and just as easily scooped Erin under the other, like a sack of potatoes. “You’re holdin’ up the train!” he chided when all Christine could do was stare at him.
The man was as mercurial as the wind, she realized. One moment menacing, the next drop-dead sexy, the next as playful as the boy next door. She forced herself to move, walking ahead of him to the far guest room.
Initially Erin had been just as surprised by his behavior as Christine. Now, as Morgan set on her on her feet in the bedroom, she smiled. “That was fun,” she said shyly.
“Sure it was,” he said. He turned to Christine, patting the side of the box. “Where do you want this?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Over there. Over here. It really doesn’t matter.”
He arched an eyebrow-a nicely curved eyebrow. “You sure don’t take much to bein’ helped, do you? Why not?”
“And you certainly do enjoy asking a lot of questions.”
“It’s my nature,” Morgan said. He set the box down and straightened to face her.
Christine’s arms were going numb, but she was determined not to show any sign of weakness. From what she’d learned so far, there were three people on the ranch who would have the most influence on her life: Rafe and Mae Parker, and this man standing so stubbornly before her. He seemed to weld an inordinate amount of power for a hired hand, foreman or not. They treated him like a member of the family.
“Are you a Parker?” she demanded.
If her question surprised him he didn’t show it. “No. Aren’t you needing to put that down?”
But Christine persisted. “Not even from the wrong side of the sheets?” She used the old-fashioned term for the same reason that the old-timers had used it—to keep impressionable young ears from understanding.
“No…and if you don’t put that box down, your arms are going to fall off,” he said.
“I’ll put it down when you leave,” she told him.
“What if I decide to stay awhile and visit with Erin and ol’ Golden Belle over there?” He indicated the toy horse Erin had left carefully positioned on her pillow. “Did your palomino enjoy her first night on the ranch?” he asked the little girl.
“Doesn’t Mae want to see you?” Christine interjected before Erin could do more than nod.
Morgan’s sky blue eyes swung back to her. “Are you trying to make me believe you really care what Mae wants?”
Christine did everything she could to hold his gaze, but failed. And to make matters worse, she fumbled the box, her fingers finally losing their grip.
Only his quick action kept it from hitting the floor. Leaping forward, he intercepted it, then settled it at their feet. Upon straightening, though, he didn’t move away.
Christine’s heart once again started to pound as something sparked between them, something instantly recognizable even though it had been years since she’d felt such a definite stirring. Everything in her became supersensitive to everything in him. And everything about him was exciting. The way he looked, the way he moved…When he reached out to touch her, his long capable fingers threading through the hair at the back of her neck, her breathing stopped. And even though his touch was whisper light, her skin burned from the contact. She forgot about her aching arms, about Erin standing a short distance away, about why she was at the ranch. There was only the moment, only the two of them.
Then she heard him saying something and she fought to comprehend. His voice was low, husky, intimate.
“…far better,” he finished.
Christine had to swallow before she could speak. “Wh-what?” she breathed.
He smiled and another torrent of feeling cascaded through her. “I said,” he murmured softly, so softly that only she could hear, “a young man makes a far better lover than an old one.”
The meaning behind his words—what he was intimating, what he was offering—hit Christine with th
e force of a lightning bolt. She jerked away from him, shocked that she could allow herself to be so vulnerable.
“Get out!” she fumed, taking refuge in anger. “Go to Mae! Go to Mae and tell her—”
“Mommy?”
Her daughter’s frightened voice gave them both a start. What Christine had been about to say and what Morgan might have replied was lost.
Christine looked at Erin, who’d moved nearer to her bed, a hand reaching out to Golden Belle for security. Christine tried to smile, but the effort was less than successful. “It…it’s all right, Erin,” she said. “We…Mr. Hughes and I—”
Morgan Hughes broke into her stumbled explanation. “I’m going. But as for Mae, that wasn’t what this was about—any of it.”
His gaze bored into her. Then to Erin he said easily, “I’ll see you later, Erin. Maybe then we can go for another ride.”
The room, empty of his presence, might have returned to being an ordinary room. The twin beds with their white cotton comforters, the heavy dark furniture with the Spanish flair, the bright woven rugs placed between the beds and in front of the door to the balcony. Except…it was difficult for Christine to rid herself of his image, and of the way she’d felt before and during the moment he’d touched her.
She’d cut herself off from men and from all the craziness associated with them. She’d seen too much. She wasn’t going to be like her mother! He has such pretty eyes, sweetie, her mother would excuse. Or, Did you hear the way he talked to me? Like a poet.he called me his nightingale! And ultimately a slurred, He bought me a drink, wasn’t that nice? Christine had heard enough excuses to last a lifetime. None of which could justify the procession of strangers who had passed through her mother’s bed, and later on, as Christine grew older, occasionally resulted in her awakening to find one of them trying to crawl into bed with her.
Only once in her life had she let down her guard. She’d thought what was happening between them was different. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t going to let her guard be breached again.
CHAPTER SIX
“I’VE BEEN THINKING…” Mae was sitting behind her highly polished rosewood desk like a reigning queen, which she was and had been for much of her adult life. At one time she’d shouldered complete responsibility for the Parker Ranch and had done the job well-during the years between Rafe’s father’s death and her eventual abdication because of increasing age and failing health. Morgan himself had witnessed her ability to work cattle—as good as any man, his dad liked to say—as well as her business and political acumen.
West Texas Weddings Page 7