He shook his head. “No, not much. But then, neither did I.”
“You had cash to spend. Pete hasn’t.”
“You’ve changed his name.” J.T. sounded satisfied, and she nodded.
“He asked me to, remember? And I’ve a notion it was your doing.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know how you’d take to the idea.” “You told me something once,” she reminded him. “You said one day he’d turn into Pete and become a man. If he wants that to happen, I’ll do everything I can to bring it about. Calling him Pete is easy enough for me to remember.”
“I hope he’ll live up to your expectations,” J.T. said bluntly. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Clo.”
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze without flinching. “It’s happened before. It’ll probably happen again.”
“Not if I can help it.” His words were insistent, and she felt a sense of comfort envelop her. A comfort she could not afford to embrace. His mere presence was a seduction of sorts, she realized, and too late she took a step back, easing from the scent of his shaving soap, the aroma of leather and clean clothes that were a part of the man.
He rarely approached her with the smell of cattle announcing his nearness, although she was not averse to the odor that sprang from barn and pasture alike. She’d been born here, raised with the animals that provided a living. But J.T. made it his business to be cleaned up for supper every night, and, not for the first time, she was aware of his efforts to please her.
Now he followed her hesitant retreat, and his hands reached to circle her waist. She wore a wrapper, donned after supper when she’d spent the better part of an hour in the tub. Beneath it she wore her undergarments, drawers and a vest. Her legs were bare of stockings, her feet uncovered, as she stood in the shadow of the porch. Her toes dug into the dust of the path, each of them curling in anticipation as J.T.’s palms lent warmth to her skin through the layers of fabric.
“We weren’t going to do this anymore,” she reminded him, unable to reject his advances, even as her mind put up barriers against his appeal.
“I never said that,” he whispered. “You were the one who did all the hollering the other night. I told you I wouldn’t give up easily, didn’t I?” He tilted his head, allowing the moonlight to illumine her face. “Matter of fact, you told me I’d make somebody a wonderful husband, Clo. I keep thinkin’ that somebody oughta be you.”
Almost, she was persuaded by the whisper of her name, the single sound that was soft against her ear. But the rebellion welling within her prevailed and rallied against the temptation he offered. She shook her head, a slow, sad movement.
“No. Now that Pete’s here, there’s even more reason to hang on to my share of things. I can’t afford to turn loose. Can’t you see that? You’ve already got me in debt to you, what with the stallion and paying the wages out of your pocket. If I married you—”
“Stop it,” he said harshly, silencing her with a brush of his mouth against hers. “I’ve already told you—”
She twisted her head, escaping the seduction of his kiss. “I know what you told me,” she cried softly. “But I can’t risk it.”
“Not even if we put it in writing?” he asked, his words harsh, as if her doubts were a personal affront to him. “I told you I don’t want your share, Chloe.”
She heard his voice speak the syllables of her name, and for a moment rued his rejection of the diminutive he’d chosen to whisper earlier.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Me in the kitchen and the bedroom, while you take over everything else?” It went against the grain, the knowledge that he considered her unable to cope with the work she’d been obliged to handle for the past six years.
His smile was brief, overshadowed by the taut movement of his lips as he spoke words that took her breath. “I want you. Pure and simple, I want you, Clo. In my bed, at my side, across the table in the morning and in my arms whenever I can manage it.”
“You want me.” She heard her voice tremble as she repeated his statement, and she considered the words, acknowledging the absence of any emotion on his part except that of desire.
“That shouldn’t be a surprise to you,” he said quietly. “I’ve made it clear. You’re what I’ve looked for in a woman over the past years.”
“You didn’t think so at first,” she said, her words challenging his claim. “I saw the way you looked at me that first day. You wrote me off as a plain female with no chance of doing battle with a man like you.”
“You really thought that?” he asked, and his grin was immediate. “And here I was admiring your pretty hair, all done up and wrapped around your head, and tryin’ my best to count those freckles across your nose.”
“I’m no fool,” she told him harshly, yearning for his words to be true, yet unwilling to accept his blarney. “I look in the mirror every morning. I know what I look like, and that’s all right. I’ve learned to live with being a plain woman with an ordinary face full of freckles, and a body that’s about six inches too short.”
“There’s not a thing wrong with your body, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’ve got curves in all the right places, and I happen to like the freckles.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me next that you fell in love with me at first sight,” she scoffed.
He shook his head slowly. “No, ma’am. I won’t lie to you. I’m not sure I know what ‘fallin’ in love’ is. But I do know I’m willing to take you on as my wife and spend the rest of my life being a good husband to you.”
“Well, that’s all very charming,” said Pete from the shadows at the side of the house, “but I’d appreciate it if you took your hands off my sister, Flannery. And I’ve got a gun in my hand, in case you need some persuading.”
Chapter Six
“I don’t think you want to aim that thing at me, boy.” J.T. eased Chloe from his grasp and turned to face the rifle pointed in his direction. “And your sister’s in the direct line of fire, Pete. I didn’t think you’d be so careless with your weapon.”
“Then why don’t you just move away from her, big man?” Pete waved the barrel upward as he spoke, and Chloe found her voice.
“Put that gun down, you idiot. Pa would roll over in his grave if he knew you were acting this way.” She spun from J.T.’s side and rounded the end of the porch, reaching for the rifle. “I’m a big girl, Pete, and what I do is my own business.” The gun left his hands as she snatched it from him, the barrel pointing toward the sky. “Now you get on out in the bunkhouse and behave yourself. If you want a job here, you’d better be up at daybreak and ready for some long hours of hard work.”
Pete’s face fell, yet his jaw was taut with obvious anger as he turned on his sister. “You’re the one Pa would be having a fit over, throwing yourself at a two-bit gambler, and acting the fool right out in front of anybody wanting to watch.”
“Well, sonny,” J.T. said, crossing the few feet between them, “I’d say that’s none of your business. You’d do well to mind what your sister says and head for your bunk.” He took the long gun from Chloe’s hands and eased it into the crook of his elbow. “Where’d you get this anyway?” he asked.
“It was my pa’s,” Pete told him, his chin lifting defiantly. “And there’s more where that one came from. I’d say I can claim any one of them I please.”
“I’d say you’d do well to keep your hands off anything in the house,” J.T. said quietly. “The guns belong to your sister. I thought I’d made it clear that you don’t own one damn thing on this place, Pete. And if it wasn’t clear enough the first time, I’ll repeat it. You lost your share, fair and square. Take it or leave it.”
Chloe stifled the words that begged to spill from her lips, aching to chide J.T., even as she yearned to comfort the boy who’d been her companion from birth. Good sense kept her silent, and she shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her wrapper, shivering from the emotions that gripped her.
Pete cast her a long look, and she
lowered her head, unwilling to undermine the authority she’d just given J.T. by her silence. And yet there was alive in her breast the urge to offer comfort to her brother. She opened her mouth, forming her thoughts, only to hear the shuffle of feet as Pete made his way across the yard toward the lighted windows where the rest of the men were already settling down for the night.
The night promised to be chilly and a plume of smoke rose from the tin chimney, guaranteeing a warm fire in the woodstove. As Pete opened the door, a wave of laughter and the sound of Lowery’s voice rose above the rest.
“What the hell do you think I told her?” he asked. “My mama didn’t raise no fool. I just followed her right on up those stairs and—” The door closed and Chloe shot a quick look at J.T.
“I don’t think I was supposed to hear that, was I?”
“No, ma’am. I’d say that was man talk.” Not so quick as she to forget Pete’s angry words and hasty actions, he cradled the rifle in one arm and held out his other hand in her direction. “Let’s go on in the house.”
The coffeepot sat on the back of the stove, and Chloe poured two cups of the strong brew before she sat down at the table. A lamp glowed overhead, illuminating her as she sat within the circle of light. “You going to join me?” she asked quietly. From his post near the kitchen window, J.T. turned his head, his face in shadow.
“Are you wanting to talk about this?”
Chloe shrugged and drew her finger in a circle around the lip of her cup. “I guess we should. But I don’t know what else there is to say.” Her gaze rose to seek him out. “Pete was wrong, and he knew it. He’s always had a problem with authority, from way back when we were coming up and Pa would get after him for not doing his chores. I don’t see what else you could have done tonight,” she admitted sadly, as though acknowledging her brother’s flaws was painful.
Relief swept through him and J.T. approached the table, pulling a chair from beneath the checkered oilcloth and easing onto the seat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d back me, Clo. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but Pete’s got to respect my authority here.”
“I know that,” she admitted softly, and her eyes were shiny with moisture as she allowed him access to the sorrow within her. She blinked, lifting her cup to sip from it, and tears made a path down each cheek, gleaming in the lamplight. The cup cradled in her palms, she peered into its depths as if the answer to all her problems lay beneath the dark surface.
“Pete’s wrong about a lot of things,” she said, “and if he can’t start growing up now, I don’t know what’s going to happen to him.”
“He was sure way off target when he accused you of throwing yourself at me,” J.T. drawled. “Seems like the truth lays in the opposite direction. I’m following you around like a lost pup and you keep tossin’ my proposals back in my face.” He reached across the table, gripping the cup she held and lowering it to the table. And then his hands were on hers and he cradled them in his palms.
“I’m thinking that maybe it’ll make Pete realize where things are heading if we get married, Clo. Once he knows that I’m here to stay, he might settle down.”
“Either that or he’ll blow up and head on out again,” she surmised. Her mouth trembled as she spoke her fears aloud. “I’m afraid I’m losing him. And he’s all I’ve got in this world.”
His silence drew her attention more surely than as if he had quickly denounced her claim, and she looked up, unable to miss the stern line of his mouth, the darkness within him that wrapped him in stillness. He watched her, eyes hooded, his fingers brushing softly against the surface of her hand. And then finally spoke, his words measured.
“Are you sure he’s everything to you, Clo? Don’t I hold just a bit of your esteem? Is there any chance at all that you’ll be able to come to me and let me share your life?” His pause was long as she considered his words, and then a smile hovered over his lips. “Guess I was whistling in a windstorm, wasn’t I?”
He placed her hands together on the table with a gentle touch, then pushed back, rising from his chair quietly. “Good night, Chloe.”
His boots touched the wooden boards of the hallway with care, as if he determined not to catch Tilly’s attention as he headed for the stairway. With barely a sound he climbed to the second floor, only the creak on the fourth step giving away his location as he went.
Chloe sat beneath the warm lamp, with the stove at her back, listening to him make his way across the bedroom directly overhead and heard the quiet sounds of the bed as he sat on the mattress. One boot, then the other, hit the floor with a thump, and then the bed squeaked as he moved on its surface.
Bending her head, she focused intently on her clasped hands, drawing them toward her, until the tears she shed fell gently against her skin.
Outwardly, over the next two weeks, Chloe supported him, nodding when he gave orders, allowing his word to reign even when she differed with him over minor items, walking away rather than confronting him. And that very fact was irritating him beyond belief. Gone were the days when she argued ferociously over minor details, scrambling to maintain her hold on the running of the Double B.
Her eyes were sad as she watched the brother she loved, and J.T. could find no way to mend the fences that threatened to disrupt the peace he’d come to cherish within the walls of the ranch house. Meals were a silent battleground, the men taking their breakfast and supper in the house. With Tilly back, they no longer ate in the bunkhouse.
The work was heavy in late spring, and the hands labored for long hours. Several of them spent mornings training horses to be sold, riding them in the corral to the sound of shouts and laughter, and then taking turns with Chloe, cooling them down, pacing the length of the lane and back.
Her arms ached from using the currycomb and brushes on the sleek coats, and yet she thrived on the task. Handling the horses was an essential part of their training. Getting them accustomed to human touch was an ongoing process, one that involved more than just riding them. And she’d always loved the hours she spent grooming and whispering her hopes and dreams into ears that kept her secrets.
Today was no different, she supposed, except that her hopes for happiness in her future seemed farther away than ever before. She’d never set her sights on any man in particular, always wary that half her charm might be the Double B. As if she had any charm to begin with, she thought dourly, leading a sassy bay mare back to the pasture gate.
She slid the halter from its place and swatted the frisky creature as white stockings flashed past her, the slender legs carrying the mare swiftly toward the stream that dissected the grassy expanse. Trees sheltered a herd of horses halfway across the field, and Chloe closed the gate slowly, intent on the solid-colored assortment of animals.
J.T. had said a paint brought more money, and their new stud had been in use almost on a daily basis over the past weeks. She’d steered clear of the breeding area, leaving the job of tying mares in place and padding the hooves of the stallion to the men. Her father had simply turned his stallion loose in the field and let nature take its course. But J.T. had a different manner of doing things. Time would tell how well his method worked.
She fastened the gate and headed back to the barn, where Lowery was stripping the saddle from one of the young geldings. “You ready for me to walk him?” she asked, smiling as the frisky creature turned his head to nip at Lowery’s sleeve.
“He’s an ornery one, Miss Chloe. Keep a weather eye on him.”
“Where’s my brother working today, Lowery?” she asked idly. Pete was managing to disappear most days for hours at a time, and Chloe had a notion that J.T. was about ready to lay down the law.
“Can’t say where he is, ma’am,” Lowery said, evading her gaze. “J.T.’s got most of the men keepin’ a good eye on the steers, and we’ve all been workin’ on the young bulls, you know—” He flushed as he cut off his words, and his shrug was eloquent.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I knew they were branding and taking c
are of the bulls. Maybe that’s where Pete is today.”
“Doubt it,” Lowery said. “He was riding fences yesterday. Said he wasn’t much on the dirty work.” He grinned ruefully. “Your brother ain’t much for ranch work, in any way, shape or form, is he?”
“No, he never was. You know that, Lowery.”
“Well, here you go, ma’am.” Sliding a halter on the gelding, Lowery fastened the buckle and attached a lead rope. “This one’s all yours.”
Chloe took the lead from his hand, and Lowery turned away, lifting the saddle and bridle as he headed for the tack room. She walked quickly from the barn, the horse butting at her shoulder playfully, jarring her from her doldrums. Caught off guard by his playful antics, she laughed aloud, and scolded him cheerfully.
“Don’t hear that very often.” The words were hushed, almost as if spoken beneath his breath, and Chloe’s heart beat rapidly as J.T. stepped from beside the barn door to walk with her. “You don’t laugh much lately,” he said, reaching to brush back a lock of hair from her forehead.
She swallowed, aware of a lump in her throat, and recognized that its presence was familiar. For two weeks, she’d been on the verge of giving way to a bout of crying, only her intense work with the horses keeping her from wallowing in her slumping spirits. And now a plenteous supply of hot, salty tears appeared, as though called forth by his presence. She coughed and turned her head away, unwilling to reveal her weakness, but he would not be deterred.
“Clo?” His hand touched hers, there where her fingers clutched the lead line, and enveloped her fingers in his. “Look at me, Chloe. Please.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, blinking furiously at the salty drops trembling on her lower eyelids.
“Sure you can.” His simple assurance coaxed her, even as his other hand brushed against her cheek.
The horse tugged at the lead, jarring the tenuous touch of his fingers, and J.T. growled a word beneath his breath. “Damn, Chloe. I want to talk to you.”
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