by Linda Conrad
"Wait a second," Gray interrupted. "Twelve years ago? Two years before I first came to Gentry Wells. How old were you then?"
"I had just turned twelve. But to finish what I was saying about Cinco…"
"Your parents disappeared off the face of the earth when you were twelve?" He waved off the rest of her talk about her brother. "My father died of cancer when I was about that age and it shattered my life. But my mother and grandfather were there to help me through it. I can't imagine how I would have done it alone. It must have been very hard on you."
She shook her head and he could see the corners of her mouth crack up in the semblance of a smile. "No, not really. Nothing much changed in my life … except that Cinco was constantly looking over my shoulder. My wonderful grandmother had just died a few months before our parents disappeared, but she and my father had given me a good solid basis for my life."
Abby turned to look at the mustang, who stood quietly at the far side of the corral. "Both of them loved the outdoors and the animals … especially the horses. And they loved the Gentry Ranch and everything it had stood for over the last five generations.
"My father taught me to ride, rope, shoot … and to respect the land and its heritage." She put her foot on the bottom rail of the corral. "Nothing has changed that. If anything, over the past twelve years I've learned to love the Gentry Ranch even more."
Gray noted that she hadn't mentioned a word about her mother. It struck him as odd, but he didn't really know her well enough to make a point of it.
Instead, a picture of a skinny, lost-looking little girl of fourteen came into his mind. He found that he suddenly did remember her from his one year at Gentry Wells High. But he hadn't known who she was at the time.
"I think I remember you from high school," he told her. "You were the girl that those useless teenage cowboy-wannabees used to pick on. I remember you fought back and a couple of times you gave them more than they'd bargained for."
Gray smiled at the memory of the little tomboy as she took swings at boys almost twice her size. He'd respected that girl more than any other white person he'd ever laid eyes on. So this was the grown-up version of that tiny spitfire?
She turned back to look at him. "Do you remember that you stood up for me one time? I was about to be pounded into the ground by two bullies and you stepped by my side at the last moment. You told them they'd have to come through you first."
He shook his head. He didn't remember that, but it was entirely possible. It had been all he could do not to chase off every stupid bully who'd ever been mean to her. He'd always wondered what had become of her.
"I'm not surprised that you don't remember," she murmured. "I doubt I was all that interesting to you at the time."
"You've changed a lot since then. You're all grown-up."
"So are you," she said softly. The tone of her voice flustered Gray. He'd been lost in his memories of a little girl, but when she'd spoken in that low, sensual whisper, he suddenly realized that an energetic and frankly erotic young woman stood before him now—not the child he'd known.
He was sure Abby didn't think of herself as erotic. But to him, her strength and spunk did more to turn him on than any of the womanly wiles that others might have tried before.
And those eyes… He'd noticed that the shades of green became deeper as she became more animated. But when she went all soft, like she just had, the color turned to a pearly jade. He thought he might like that color even better than the evergreen.
Then, to his chagrin, Gray suddenly realized that what he wanted was to find out what other colors might be lurking within those fascinating depths. He wanted to see what he could do to her body to make the colors change. He wanted to touch. To stroke. To kiss and coax out every subtle shade. He wanted to mate with this woman, in every way that came to mind.
Gray swore to himself and pushed his black felt hat back from his forehead, shoving the disloyal sexual images into the back of his mind at the same time. He owed her for his life. He owed her honor … not lust.
Abby felt anxious and jittery, but she couldn't put her finger on the reason why. She knew that standing next to Gray in the deepening twilight and sharing the same few feet of splintery wood fence would be more intimate than her usual standoffish style with men. But the way his eyes darkened dangerously as he studied her was about to give her the hives. Her skin tingled, and the collar of her shirt suddenly pinched her neck.
In fact, everything felt too tight. Her breasts seemed to have swollen to twice their size so that the bra she wore rubbed unmercifully against her tender skin. And she had an ache at the juncture of her thighs that must be coming from jeans that had also mysteriously become a size too small.
She needed to get him talking about something else—in a hurry.
"You've changed so much that I almost didn't recognize you when I found you down in that dry wash," she blurted out. "Part of it is probably the hair. You used to wear it long. I'm surprised to see it so short. Why'd you cut it?"
Gray quit staring at her and folded his arms over the top rail of the fence, looking out at the mustang in the corral. "That's part of my Comanche heritage … the same as the visions."
Abby stayed quiet, listening to the flapping wings of the nighthawks, to horses snuffling nearby and to the distant sounds of the country band heating up after sunset. She wished for silence so she could listen to Gray with her heart. To hear all the things he might not say to someone so different from himself. But it probably didn't matter, anyway … because she wasn't sure she really knew how to do that.
"Cutting the hair is a sign of mourning for a Comanche brave," he told her. "I mourn my mother's death. There are many ways that nemene honor those that have gone forward to the land of the elders."
"What other ways?" As usual, the question came popping out of her mouth before she could really think about how nosy it might sound or whether she might really want to hear the answer.
He cocked his head and looked down at her like he wasn't sure he wanted to reveal this much to a near stranger. "You removed my shirt at the line shack to care for me," he said in a voice so soft it was nearly a whisper. "Didn't you observe the 'marks' of mourning?"
"Oh. You mean the cuts on your stomach? Who did that to you?"
Gray shook his head. "Experiencing pain … physical pain … is part of the ancient mourning ritual."
Abby sucked in a breath. He'd cut himself? "But you live in the modern world. Why did you have to do it?"
He turned to her then and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I believe in honoring the old way. In part, it's to make my grandfather proud of me. But mostly it's because I respect my heritage … who I am and where I come from."
"I see," she said. But she didn't understand.
Gray seemed to sense her confusion. And what's more, he apparently wanted to make his position clearer to her. That, in itself, made her want to understand … and to appreciate their differences.
"Look," he began. "Didn't you just tell me about how your grandmother and your father had given you a love of your heritage … a love for the Gentry land of your ancestors?"
Abby nodded. "Yes, but… We don't deliberately hurt ourselves to mourn loved ones."
One side of his mouth crept up into a half smile. "I don't pretend to really understand a white man's need to possess property, either. After all, nature has given us the right to exist in this world but can destroy it all in an instant if we mistreat the land." He sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "But … I have spent enough time living within your communities that I think I know what modern white man believes."
Torn between wanting to hear his full explanation and her growing anger at his nearly obnoxious egotism, Abby bit her tongue and stayed quiet.
"To respect your ancestors and keep their land in your possession, your kind will sometimes starve, steal and kill." His gaze grew serious, his eyes narrowed. "Have you never heard of the old range wars, or the more recent water w
ars? People have died in order to hold their ancestors' land, Abby Gentry."
"But that's not the same as—"
"As taking a knife to your own body in order to help dull the pain of grief?" he interrupted. "Perhaps not. But I happen to believe that deliberately inflicting pain upon yourself is far preferable to inflicting it on others."
This jerk was too much, she fumed. Had she really wanted to listen to him with her heart? Abby wished she hadn't bothered to listen at all. Just who did he think he was?
"Oh?" She sneered. "And I suppose your oh-so-noble ancestors never murdered innocent white people, burned them out of their houses or stole their children? Doesn't that count as inflicting pain on others in order to hold on to the land?"
Abby saw the flash of anger in his eyes, right before he deliberately blanked his expression and turned away from her.
"You know nothing of my people's history," he muttered over his shoulder. "Don't believe all those horror stories you've been told. You might just find that white historians have slanted the stories to their own advantage … and away from the truth."
She fisted her hands in anger but tried hard to remember that he was a guest on Gentry land … and that he'd just saved her hind end with Lewis Lee.
"Well, thanks for the lesson on Indian lore," she said through gritted teeth. "And thanks for getting me out of that situation with the drunk. But it's late and I've got to be going now."
Abby spun around and took off toward the main house. A nasty red haze had blurred her vision, and she accidentally smacked right into the broad wall of a man's chest before she'd managed four good steps through the darkness toward the bright lights of the saddle barn.
She'd taken off in such a huff that Gray hadn't been able to keep her from nearly knocking over an old man in a flannel shirt as he came out of the growing shadows. Gray wondered if this would be yet another "suitor" that he'd have to run off.
"Whoa, Abby girl," the man said as he rocked back on his heels.
"Jake!" Abby gasped as she finally looked up. She stepped backward and steadied herself.
Gray moved cautiously toward them. He wasn't yet sure whether or not she would need his help with this man. But he wanted to be within reaching distance if things got out of hand again. It didn't matter that this hot-headed white woman didn't care to understand his heritage. His debt was not yet paid … in fact, would never be paid in full as long as he still drew a breath.
The old man placed his hands on her shoulders. "I figured I'd find you out here," he told her as she found solid footing.
"I was just going in. I've had enough party for one night," Abby replied, but temporarily stayed her ground.
The old man glanced up at Gray when he sensed his presence. "Well, hey," he said as he stuck out his hand to Gray. "I don't believe we've met before. The name's Jake Gomez. I'm foreman on the Gentry Ranch."
Gray sized him up, checking out his scuffed but polished boots, his clean jeans, new hat and wide grin. By the old man's casual and nonthreatening demeanor, Gray decided he posed no problems for Abby at the moment.
He shook Jake's hand. "Gray Wolf Parker. My stepfather is Joe Skaggs. The mustang herd on his land belongs to me."
Gray always hated saying things like that. The creatures of the earth could not belong to any man. They should be free and safe anywhere they roamed. But he'd grown accustomed to calling them "his" around white men who couldn't seem to understand the concept, and who had to put a label and a brand on everything in sight.
Jake nodded. "Your mother was Lily. Lovely woman. I was sorry to hear she'd passed away."
Gray straightened his shoulders and acknowledged the sympathetic words with a curt nod of his chin. He knew the man meant well, even though words of sympathy were not to be spoken to a Comanche brave.
Jake turned his attention back to Abby. "I think you'd better stay awhile so we can have us a little chat." He looked up at Gray and seemed to be including him.
Abby turned to Gray. "Will you excuse us, Gray?"
Jake put out a hand in a staying motion. "No. I believe Gray ought to join in our little confab. He's got a part in it."
Abby's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't argue the point. Gray could tell that she respected Jake a great deal. She appeared deferential and listened carefully to whatever he had to say. Gray wished she had as much respect for him.
Jake took off his hat and held it lightly by the rim. "I figured that all the rumors and gossip surrounding you and this here party would've died down by now, Abby Jo."
"Gossip? What are you talking about? I haven't heard anything like that," she insisted.
Jake shook his head. "The hands have been coming to me with their questions. I told them all to mind their own business. It wasn't likely anyone would've had the nerve to mention anything to you. And I thought that after tonight we could all go back to doing what we've been hired to do."
"What rumors, Jake?" Abby asked in a shaky voice.
"Well … best I can make out, Cinco told a couple of the ranchers nearby that he would like to see you settle down and find yourself a husband. That you seemed pretty lonely since you'd come home."
Abby's mouth dropped open, but she didn't make a sound.
"That was right before he sent the invites out for your birthday barbecue." Jake fiddled with the rim of his hat and looked down at the dirt. "The word spread that he was throwing this party to find you a husband. I guess the more the gossip was told, the more it seemed like he was desperate to marry you off."
"Oh, God," Abby sighed.
"Well now, missy. It weren't like anyone who knows you or Cinco believed such a thing. And I figured that you'd just suffer through this here party and it would all blow over."
Abby caught the same but in his tone that Gray heard. "Yeah? So how come you're out here telling me this, now that the party is nearly done?"
Jake tilted his head toward Gray. "I don't rightly know how your relationship to this young man stands but…"
"There is no relationship,'" Abby broke in. "I tended his injuries on the range … like any of the hands would've done. And I guess we're neighbors. That's it."
Gray kept his mouth shut. The old man was leading to something, and Gray wanted to hear the rest of it.
"Seems there's a whole lot of misconceptions going round this party, then," Jake chuckled. "Did you or did you not tell Lewis Lee Edwards that you were engaged to Gray Parker?"
"Engaged?" Abby snorted. "I never said anything like that. I just said we were dating … which we're not." She hesitated for a second, then hurriedly added, "Uh, I guess I might've led him to believe we were going to make it exclusive, but…"
Gray decided it was time for him to step in. "That man put his hands on Abby," he spat out. "Said he planned to 'get' his from her. She told him we were a couple to make him go away. Nothing more."
Jake narrowed his eyes at him. "And you backed her up?"
"Of course. Abby apparently thought it would be simpler to tell him a story than for me to force him to leave."
"Hmm," Jake murmured as he rubbed the stubble on his chin and studied them both. "That would be a real funny story if it wasn't for the fact that everyone back at the barbecue now believes you two are going to get married. It's caused quite a commotion, I can tell ya."
"What?" Abby stamped her foot and threw her hands on her hips. "What's been going on?"
Her face flushed a bright pink and her eyes were so green they looked almost black. Her fur was up, just like a riled polecat. Gray was fascinated but thought he'd better not mention any of that right now.
"Best I can piece together," Jake began. "Lewis Lee came back to the party, madder 'n a hornet. He told everybody that would listen to an old drunk that you'd said you were going to marry some Injun. He even went to Cinco with his story and a demand for Cinco to set things right."
"Set things right? What did he expect?" Abby groaned.
Jake shrugged a shoulder. "He was drunk and mad, missy. He
wasn't expecting anything."
"Well, what did Cinco do?"
"Cinco tried to smooth it over. Said Gray Wolf Parker was a neighbor and by all accounts a decent man." Jake smiled at her. "I arrived at the party around that time and was real proud of your brother, Abby Jo. He said he thought this engagement might be a little sudden, but if you loved any man enough to marry him, then he must be very special and Cinco would welcome him into the family."
"Oh, no." Abby's color faded, and even in the dim glow of the barn lights, Gray could see her miserable expression.
Jake turned to Gray and chuckled again. "The story gets better, son. I understand that when some drunken wrangler mentioned this new rumor to your stepbrothers and began deriding them for bringing you to the party, a few swings were thrown."
Gray fisted his hands but stayed still. "I didn't come to the party with my family, Jake, but I will apologize for them. If there's any damages, I'll see to it that the bill is paid."
"Naw. Don't concern yourself about it. Wouldn't be a real Texas barbecue without a few punches and some black eyes the next day." Jake shifted to address both of them. "Your biggest problem is what to do about the rumors and Cinco."
Gray wasn't entirely sure what the problem was. Once everyone learned the truth, they'd have a chuckle and go on about their lives. He turned to Abby and could clearly see that she'd found some problem that he couldn't envision.
Abby swiveled to face him. "What Jake is trying to say is that if we admit it was all a story just to get rid of Lewis Lee, not only will I suddenly be swamped with proposals from every greedy cowboy in two counties … but my brother will also look very foolish for having stood up for us. It might make him the laughingstock of this whole county."
Gray hadn't thought about it like that. He didn't much care one way or the other about Cinco Gentry, even though the man had apparently stood up for him in public. But he didn't want Abby to be hurt by anything. And the thought of her having to fend off maybe dozens of local hired hands all figuring they'd line up for a big payoff, chilled his heart.