West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  Erin gave her a watery smile, then nodded. “I think so, too,” she murmured, and slipped her hand into Christine’s as they turned to go inside the house.

  THE RIDING LESSON that evening went so well that Morgan told Erin he’d saddle up Thunder next time and they’d go for a ride together in the holding pasture. Erin, of course, after letting out a shriek of pleasure, immediately had to share the news with Gwen and Wesley.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Morgan said, shaking his head as the girl ran off toward the compound.

  Christine murmured something and turned to follow her.

  “Hey!” Morgan said sharply. In a few steps he caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting this way? What have I done?”

  Christine tried to shake his hand away. “You? You haven’t done anything,” she said.

  He frowned. “You’ve been acting weird since I got here this evening. Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong.”

  “Have you been home?”

  “Not since this morning. Why?”

  “I have. I brought Jessica back. Your brother wanted to talk to her.”

  “So?”

  “So I learned something I didn’t know before. And isn’t it funny I didn’t know it.”

  His frown increased. “I won’t have any idea until you tell me.”

  “You’re in law enforcement. You arrest people. You put them in jail.”

  “So?”

  Christine let a little of her cool and contained facade slip. “So…why did no one tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I arrest cattle thieves. Are you a cattle thief?”

  “There are some here who might think I am!”

  He smiled. “If you are, you’re the best-lookin’ cattle thief I’ve ever had the pleasure of comin’ across!”

  Christine succeeded in jerking her arm free and started to walk away again. She didn’t know why this had been gnawing at her all afternoon, but it had. A part of her still believed she’d been kept in the dark on purpose.

  Once again, he caught up with her. He was still smiling, but when he took in her unhappy expression, his smile died.

  “You’re angry because you didn’t know?” he said. “But how was I to know you didn’t know? It’s common knowledge. I don’t make a secret of it. I catch rustlers for a living. What’s the big deal?”

  Put like that, her anger did sound unreasonable. Still…

  “I’m commissioned as a special Texas Ranger,” he

  went on. “I work with the county sheriffs of the districts where I’m assigned to catch rustlers. We talked about it this morning, didn’t we?”

  “We talked about rustlers, not about you catching rustlers and arresting them.”

  “You have something against that? Against me for doing it?”

  “No,” Christine had to admit.

  He tried that smile again. “Some people call us ‘cow cops.’ I kinda like it.”

  Christine resumed walking, but this time in concert with Morgan. “Why don’t you work this area since it’s so close to home?”

  “Someone else is already assigned to it. Fella named Ed Davis. He knows the whole area like the back of his hand. Which is how I’ve come to know my section of the panhandle.”

  “How did you ever decide to do something like that? Your mother says its dangerous.”

  “Do you care?” he teased.

  Christine was having a hard enough time adjusting to the fact that he was in law enforcement. Anything else was…unwelcome. “It’s—” she shrugged “—interesting. Tell me…is it dangerous?”

  “It can be. Depends on who you’re dealing with. Rustling cattle has many forms. You get the people inside—the cowboys or foremen who put a few calves aside for themselves, or the seasonal help who know the best way to case a place is to work it. They’ve been known to come along later with a truck and use the exact-soundin’ horn the cattle are used to as a signal for feeding. Sometimes they use the same cow cake—that’s the sweet cubes of grain the cows are used to eatin’ when they’re bein’ fed—and they just move the cattle out through the gates and up ramps into a truck. Easy as pie when you’re a professional cowhand. Other times it’s city boys who don’t want to have to work at it real hard. They steal cows that’re already on trucks or near loading ramps at feedlots. I’ve known a couple who used a cow-dog to do most of the work for ‘em. So it just depends.”

  “You mean cowboys are rustlers?”

  “It’s the other way around. Most times rustlers are cowboys. At least, they have been at one time. It takes a lot of skill to maneuver cattle into a truck. Particularly on ranches like this one, where the cattle are mostly wild—they fight.” He paused, smiling. “Sometimes it’s a family tradition. Several generations of a family make their living rustling. They’re so good at it a cowhand or a cowman never know they’re gettin’ stole from.”

  “Then how do they get caught? How do you…?”

  “Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they get careless or sometimes someone spots a brand on a hide or at a cattle auction. That’s how we catch up with a lot of ‘em. We have a computer at headquarters in Fort Worth that lists missing cattle. Happens twenty-two cattle show up across the state that match their description exactly. Fella hustlin’ ‘em swears he got ‘em off someone who didn’t tell him his name. That’s a pretty standard alibi.”

  “How did you learn to do this?”

  “I grew up workin’ cattle.”

  “So in your job it’s best if you’ve worked cattle, too.”

  Morgan nodded. “You have to know more about it than the other fella.”

  They completed the walk to the compound in silence. Christine didn’t know what else to say. She needed to be by herself. To absorb everything. She could see now why Rafe and Mae Parker relied so strongly on Morgan. Why he had stayed in the room during her initial reception. Why he had been so suspicious of her, questioning her. Why she’d felt he had quickly sensed she was something more than a casual visitor. It was his training, his job…his nature, as he’d once told her.

  Morgan saw her onto the porch. At the door she hesitated.

  “Are you coming in to see Mae?” she asked.

  “No.”

  The sun was starting to set. It was near the end of what must have been a hard day for him. And she had no idea, what with the threat from rustlers, whether he was on his way home or going to spend some of the night on watch.

  “Are you going back out?”

  He nodded. “For a while.”

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  He shrugged.

  Christine looked at him—really looked at him. And this time she could see past his physical attractions to the steady look in his eyes. To the strength of his character. He was a man on whom responsibility settled comfortably.

  He took a step closer and she didn’t move away. She even knew what he was going to do next before he did it. He reached for her, bringing her closer to him, then touched his lips to hers. Lightly at first. Softly, tentatively, and when she didn’t stiffen and draw away, the pressure increased.

  Moments later the kiss broke off, and Christine gazed up at him wide-eyed. It reminded her of her first kiss—filled with wonder and exhilaration. Yet at the same time this kiss had deeper shadings of maturity.

  He smiled at her slightly dazzled look, then without another word, left the porch.

  Christine watched him walk away. Two kisses from him in two days. Both so very different. One, all flame and demanding passion. The other? Spine-tingling, but executed with self-control.

  Then that smile. As if he enjoyed keeping her off balance.

  And even more troubling to her peace of mind, why had she so enjoyed both? To the point that, this time, she hadn’t even bothered to protest.

  DUB AND DELORES were still up and sitting in the living room when Morgan let himself into the house. It was late. He’d tried to be as quiet as he could, cutting
the truck’s engine and letting it roll to a stop, then closing the door with care. He’d even removed his boots at the doorstep and carried them inside.

  Dub looked up from the book he’d been readingRussell had sent him a box of books shortly after the accident, knowing his father would go crazy if he didn’t have something to do with his time. Delores was doing her usual knitting. She made sweaters for everyone on the ranch—from lowliest cowhand to Mae herself. Nice warm sweaters that kept the chill away in winter.

  “What are you two doing up?” Morgan asked, his voice remaining hushed.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Dub answered shortly. “Dang arm. I don’t think it’s ever gonna heal.”

  “Give it time, Dub,” Delores said quietly. “That’s what I keep telling you.”

  Dub shifted irritably in his chair.

  Morgan looked at the dusty boots still in his hand. He swung them nonchalantly. “I understand you had a visitor today.”

  “Yeah, that little filly makin’ the claim on the ranch,” Dub replied. “She’s sure somethin’, all right! Sharp as a tack and won’t back down. Maybe it’s Mae we should be feelin’ sorry for!”

  “What about you, Mom? What do you think?”

  Delores answered after a long moment. “I like her, from what I’ve seen. She’s not a big talker, but she’s good with kids. That little girl of hers means a lot to her. It’s not just show.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

  “You gettin’ sweet on her?” Dub teased.

  Morgan smiled. “Might be.”

  Dub jerked upright in his chair. “Aw, hey! I was just teasin’! I didn’t mean—” But when he saw that his son continued to smile, he relaxed. “Aw, you were just teasin’, too. For a minute there, you had me goin’. I thought you meant it.”

  “Good night, Dad. I’m off to bed.”

  Dub shook, his head. “Sure wish I could help with things:”

  Morgan patted his dad’s shoulder as he passed by, then stopped to kiss his mother’s cheek. “You, too, Mom. Good night.”

  Delores caught the hand that rested on her shoulder, detaining him. “I know what’s happening,” she said quietly, making his heart take a funny little dip. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about the rustlers? I couldn’t take two steps in town without someone saying something. You just be careful, Morgan.”

  The rustlers! For a second Morgan had thoughtThen he met his mother’s gaze again, and he knew he hadn’t fooled her in the other regard, either. She knew his teasing hadn’t been teasing. It had been an honest answer.

  “Take care with that, too,” she murmured, then added, “Make sure you’re sure,” before she let him go.

  Morgan left the room shaking his head. His mother’s intuition had always been impressive.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ERIN WAS SO EXCITED about the play wedding that she woke up at first light the next morning, ready to rush over to Harriet’s house to begin the day. All the invitations had been handed out, and only the final rehearsal had yet to be performed. Even Mae had gotten into the spirit and invited all the guests to an afternoon picnic that was to take place shortly after the “ceremony.”

  Christine called a halt to her daughter’s immediate plans. “Gwen and Wesley’s daddy has been helping Morgan and Rafe. He might have been up late last night and he’s probably going to work part of today, too. I heard Mae say something about the men taking guard duty in shifts. You wouldn’t want to wake him, would you? Or Harriet? You’d better wait until after ten o’clock.”

  Erin agreed and calmly accompanied Christine to breakfast, but when she went out to play on the front porch, Christine knew it was with the idea of keeping watch on the Dunn house hoping for signs of activity.

  As Christine lingered over a cup of coffee, she heard a commotion in the kitchen. Curious, she went to peek inside. A big burly man dressed in a white T-shirt and well-worn jeans was standing with his back to her, a bag of onions braced over his shoulder. In front of him, barring his way out the door, stood Marie.

  “You’re not leaving this house with those onions!” the housekeeper said firmly. “Use your own.”

  The man’s voice was surprisingly thin and high, but he was so big and bulky no one in their right mind would dare comment on it. “I’ve told ya. I can’t! You know everythin’s planned down to the last bean ‘cause of the roundup. This here picnic is a house doin’, not mine. Even if I am the one s’pose to cook it! Anyway, I’m not goin’ to use ‘em all. Just a few.”

  “Then take a few, only a few. You’re not goin’ to run me out. I won’t stand for it.”

  “Outta my way, woman!”

  Christine stepped into the room. “Marie?” she said. She had no idea who the man was, but Marie had been nice to her. If she needed help.

  Marie saw her concerned expression and started to grin, which, in turn, caused the man to swing around. His face was just as round as his body, and his hair was cut so short it was almost nonexistent. When he saw Christine, he, too, started to grin.

  Marie playfully lashed him with a dish towel. “See? You’ve worried Miss Grant. You’re a bully, Axel Douglas. And all because of a few silly onions.”

  “You won’t think it’s so silly when Miss Parker asks why the barbecue sauce doesn’t taste like it should. Mornin’, Miss Grant,” he ended with a friendly dip of his head.

  “Then for heaven’s sake take them—but bring back what you don’t use. And I mean it. You probably have tons squirreled away in that chuck-wagon grub you have packed, and you’re just too lazy to look for ‘em.”

  “Why should I do that when I have such a sweet and generous wife?”

  Marie went over to him, pulled his balding head down and gave it a huge smacking kiss on top. “You remember that,” she instructed. “Particularly when I come lookin’ for a few onions myself someday.”

  Axel bolted for the door. “Nice to meet you, Miss Grant,” he called, then he was gone before Marie could change her mind.

  She chuckled. “I don’t care if he takes the onions. I have more. But if I make it too easy, he’ll think he can do it anytime, and we have to keep it straight about what is whose between the house and the cook house.”

  Christine placed her cup on the counter. “It must be a monumental job to prepare a meal for all those people.”

  “Axel loves it, especially roundups. He’s considered the best camp cook in West Texas. And he is!”

  This new view of Marie completed her transformation in Christine’s eyes. Rather than being austere and remote, as she’d shown herself to be when Christine and Erin had first come to the ranch, the house keeper was warm and caring, humorous and spirited.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Christine asked, wanting to be helpful. She wasn’t accustomed to being among those waited on.

  Marie had gone back to scrubbing a baking pan, but at the offer, her labor stopped. She flashed Christine a look, then shook her head. “Not a thing. It’s all being taken care of. Anyway, I don’t think Miss Parker would be very happy if I.” She paused. “This is what Axel and I get paid to do. Get paid well to do. You’re a guest here, Miss Grant. You’re not supposed to be put to work helping the cooks.” Then, to take any offense from her words, she smiled and said, “We appreciate the thought, though.”

  Christine smiled. Add “diplomatic” to Marie’s list of attributes.

  Afterward, she wandered around a bit, watching, as time went by, the preparations for the picnic. A long wooden table materialized and was placed in the shaded courtyard. Bench seats were added. Chairs of all sorts joined the lawn chairs already there. A touch of smoke wafted on the air, and when Christine tracked it down, she found Axel standing over a huge barbecue pit at the cook house, across from the barn.

  “Had to get this started early, so’s it’ll be smoked just right,” Axel said, motioning her over to show her the joints of beef cooking slowly. “My secret sauce,” he murmured, stirri
ng the contents of a pot. It smelled delicious, all peppery and spicy. Even though she’d just eaten, Christine’s mouth watered.

  As she walked back to Mae’s house, she heard the children outside at Harriet’s. At promptly ten o’clock Erin had gone to knock at the door, and a sleepy-eyed Harriet had waved from the doorway when she’d seen Christine. Now, preparations for the play wedding were going full steam. The toy audience was being assembled, a few flowers, with Harriet’s permission, were being picked—although, from Harriet’s cry of dismay once the children had gone back inside, they must have chosen the wrong ones.

  Shep got up to amble toward her as she neared Mae’s house again. When she’d left earlier, he’d been sleeping on the porch.

  “Hi, boy,” she said, sitting down on the top step.

  The old dog’s warm brown eyes were accepting, his tail wagging. She stroked his head and neck and rubbed his ears in a way he seemed to like. He then curled up beside her, apparently content to stay there forever.

  Christine had been heading for her room. On a day like today when everyone else seemed to have someone to be with or something to do, she felt the ache of loneliness. But suddenly she had something to do, too, and a companion to do it with. She leaned back, still stroking the dog, and began to talk to him.

  “How did you manage not to have a role in the wedding?” she asked him. “I’m surprised they didn’t try to dress you up and make you walk down the aisle. As father of the bride or something. Or did they try and you ran off? And now you won’t go near in case they catch you and try to make you do it again, right?”

  Shep thumped his tail, then rested his chin on Christine’s thigh. Suddenly the door behind her opened, and

  Shep’s head—and hers—jerked up.

  It was Rafe. By himself. No Shannon, no Mae, no Morgan. Christine struggled to her feet She had never talked to him on his own, and she wasn’t quite sure what he…how he…