Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  “Dammit, girl, will you listen to me for a minute?”

  Caitlyn stopped in her tracks, not wanting to listen to Abner, but fearing she must, because what he had said so far was the truth.

  Abner removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna need a man to help you run the place, and I’m offering to do the job.”

  “I have a foreman,” Caitlyn reminded him.

  “I’m not talking about being your foreman,” he said. “I’m talking about being your husband.”

  “Husband!” Caitlyn exclaimed.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make you a good husband, Caitlyn,” he promised, “and I’ll see that the ranch prospers.”

  Caitlyn stared at him, stunned by his offer. She was overcome with the urge to laugh and then, just as quickly, with the need to cry. She did neither.

  “Thank you, Abner. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say yes. You know I’ve always been sweet on you.”

  Caitlyn nodded, repulsed by the sudden flicker of desire that glowed in Abner’s pale blue eyes.

  “This is all very sudden,” Caitlyn said at last. “I really can’t think about it now. My father’s and Luther’s funerals are set for tomorrow morning, and I have a lot to do between now and then.”

  Abner nodded, certain she would accept his offer once she thought it over. Hell, what other choice did she have? “I understand.”

  Caitlyn held out her hand. “Good day, Abner.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “Think about what I said. You’ll see it’s the only answer.”

  Caitlyn nodded, then swept past him. Abner was right, she thought dismally. She would have to marry, and soon. But not him. Never him.

  Brenden’s funeral was well attended, for he had been well liked by his neighbors. He had been generous with his friends, willingly lending them whatever they needed, be it money or advice or feed to see them through a hard winter. He had been good to his hired hands, too, but as Caitlyn’s gaze wandered over the Circle C cowhands, she wondered how long they would stay on. She was sure of Scott, Nate, and Rusty who had been with the Circle C since the beginning. And she knew Paulie would stay and Web. But what about the others? Hal Tyler, Wishful Potter, and Josh Turner. Riata Jones and Marty Davis had just signed on at the beginning of the year. Would they feel any loyalty to the brand, or was Abner right? Would the men quit rather than work for a woman?

  She put such thoughts from her as the minister began to speak. He extolled Brenden Carmichael’s virtues in glowing terms, neglected his vices, and commended his soul to heaven.

  It was hard, standing there after the service was over, accepting the condolences of the mourners as they filed past. She fought back her tears as Belinda Crocker hugged her tight.

  “We’ll miss him,” Belinda murmured.

  Caitlyn nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat as the older woman patted her on the back. “I know it’s hard to believe now,” Belinda went on, “but there’s better days ahead.”

  Caitlyn nodded again, and Belinda moved on as another of the townspeople came to shake Caitlyn’s hand.

  Abner was the last to pay his respects. He had dressed with care in a dark brown suit and striped cravat. His hair was slicked back, his boots were shined. Caitlyn had the distinct impression that he had purposefully hung back so that he might catch her alone.

  “I’m sorry about your pa, Caitlyn,” Abner said sincerely. “He was a fine man. I know how much you’ll miss him.”

  “Yes, thank you, Abner.”

  “I know this isn’t the proper time to bring this up, but I was wondering if you’d given any thought to what we talked about the other day?”

  “Abner, please, I can’t think about that now.

  “Sure, sure, I understand.” He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Call on me if you need anything. I’m staying here in town, over at Mabel’s Boardinghouse.”

  “Thank you, Abner,” she replied, wishing he would go away.

  “Well, take care,” he said, and settling his hat on his head, he walked down the hill, leaving her blessedly alone at last.

  Caitlyn remained at the graveside long after everyone else had gone, bidding her father one last farewell. She also silently said goodbye to Luther. There had been no service for him. His wishes regarding a funeral had been found in his effects in the bunkhouse, and it had been his desire to be buried quietly, with no one in attendance other than the minister to bless the grave and say a final prayer for his soul.

  Caitlyn brushed a tear from her cheek as she laid a primrose on her father’s casket. “Rest well, Pa,” she murmured. “I guess you’re with Mother now. And Morgan and Arlo. I won’t forget you.”

  Blinded by her tears, she turned away from the grave, then came to an abrupt halt as she saw a man striding toward her. It was Rafe Gallegher. She recognized his walk and the spread of his shoulders even before she saw his face.

  Despite her vow to hate him forever, her heart felt a little lighter for the first time in three days.

  Rafe nodded at Caitlyn as he closed the distance between them, his eyes taking in her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Caitlyn,” he said quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She had sent him away with sharp words and a vow of everlasting hatred, and now he stood before her, hat in hand, offering his help. She stared up at him, at the dark bronze of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, and she wished suddenly that she could rest her head on his chest and sob out all her sorrows, all her troubles and worries for the future. She knew intuitively that he would understand, that he could somehow turn wrong to right, but she remained rooted to the spot, the word “Indian” pounding in her brain.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I’ll manage, thank you.”

  His jaw muscle twitched, and she regretted her brusque reply. He was being kind, and she had rewarded him with rudeness.

  “I guess I’ll be going then,” Rafe remarked. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine,” Caitlyn assured him but she wasn’t fine. She was scared and alone.

  Rafe nodded. She looked so small standing there, so vulnerable. The black dress outlined her tiny waist and full breasts, emphasized the pallor in her cheeks and the purple shadows under her eyes. He had vowed never to get emotionally involved with a woman again, yet he was sorely tempted to draw Caitlyn Carmichael into his arms and comfort her, to put himself between her and the rest of the world so that she would never be hurt again.

  But he had offered his help and she had turned him down flat. He couldn’t really blame her. Old hatreds and old hurts died hard. When she looked at him, she didn’t see a man, all she saw was an Indian. And he knew she’d never be able to forget that Indians had killed her father and her brothers. He couldn’t blame her, he thought again, not really, but it hurt just the same.

  He nodded in a gesture of farewell, and then headed back toward town. He had offered his help and she had refused it, and that was that. When he reached the livery barn, he’d saddle the black mare and ride out of Cedar Creek.

  Perhaps he’d go to California after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Caitlyn sat at the head of the kitchen table staring morosely into her empty coffee cup. The last two weeks had been the worst two weeks of her life. She had never really realized how much work was involved in running the ranch. Her father and Luther had handled everything so efficiently, she had never seen the hard work that went into their seemingly effortless decisions. Paulie tried hard, but after the first few days, she knew he wasn’t cut out to ramrod the ranch. He lacked Luther’s drive and authority. Already, the men were slacking off in their duties, letting little things slide, starting work later, leaving jobs undone, quitting early. She had discussed it with Paulie and he had spoken to the men, but nothing had changed.

  No, Paulie wasn’t qualified to run the ranch and neither was
she. She knew she should turn the job over to Nate Jackson, but she lacked the courage to tell Paulie he had failed her.

  The previous night, she had gone out to the bunkhouse and upbraided the men, reprimanding them for their sloppy work habits, insisting they do better, asking them to take pride in their work.

  The cowhands had stared at her, shocked not only by her presence in the bunkhouse, which was strictly off limits to women, but by her words as well. Marty Davis and Riata Jones had quit on the spot, declaring they would not take orders or verbal abuse from a woman. Hal Tyler and Wishful Potter had started to leave, too, but then changed their minds, apparently willing to give her one more chance.

  Two fat tears rolled down Caitlyn’s cheeks. What was she going to do? There had been ten men on the payroll when she walked into the bunkhouse. Now two had quit. If Hal and Wishful decided to go, that would leave her with only six men. And she couldn’t run the ranch with only six men. There were hundreds of cattle scattered over hundreds of miles, cattle that would have to be rounded up and herded closer to the house before winter came. The barn would have to be rebuilt, hay had to be put away to see them through the winter. There was a large leak in the kitchen roof that needed to be repaired before the rains came. There were fences to mend and crops to harvest. In the spring, there would be calves to brand and castrate, and she would have to find a buyer for the herd so she could pay off the bank loan.

  A knock at the front door interrupted her dismal thoughts. She waited for Consuelo to answer the door, and then remembered that Consuelo had retired for the night.

  Feeling utterly weary, Caitlyn pushed away from the table and went to the door.

  “Rafe.” His name slipped past her lips.

  “Evenin’, Caitlyn. Mind if I come in?”

  She should have sent him away. It went against all the rules of propriety for her to entertain a man in the house at night, alone. But she was too pleased to see him, too eager for company, to turn him away.

  “Please do.” Caitlyn ushered him into the parlor. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Thanks.” He tossed his hat on the hall tree, then sat down in the chair that had been her father’s, filling it, and the room, with his presence.

  Caitlyn sat on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. “How have you been?”

  “Fine. Yourself”

  “Fine.” She dropped her gaze to the colorful rag rug at her feet, but even then his image filled her mind. He was wearing a dark brown shirt and black denim pants that cleanly outlined every beautiful masculine inch of him. She had thought of him often in the past two weeks, his face flitting across her mind at odd hours of the day and night. As the initial shock of her father’s death passed, her hate and outrage lessened, and so did her anger at Rafe Gallegher.

  And now he was here. She took a deep, nervous breath, her nostrils filling with the faint scent of brandy and tobacco. She could feel his eyes moving over her and when she looked up, she was trapped by his searching, dark-eyed gaze.

  “I heard two of your men quit last night,” he remarked. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You needn’t worry. I’ll manage.”

  “Yeah?” Rafe asked skeptically. “How?”

  “One day at a time,” Caitlyn retorted. She stood up, agitated by his blunt questions and her own inadequate replies.

  “I saw Wylie in town earlier,” Rafe said casually. Indeed, it was that little run in with Wylie that had sent Rafe riding hell for leather to the Circle C. “He was bragging in the saloon about how he was gonna marry you and take charge of the Circle C before the year was out.”

  Caitlyn’s green eyes flashed like heat lightning. “Why, that miserable swine! I’ve never said or done anything to encourage him. How could he dare say such a thing? Why, I’d as soon marry a heathen savage as pair up with the likes of Abner Wylie!”

  “That so?”

  Rate’s words were as soft as dandelion fluff, and as penetrating as the cold wind that blew down out of the mountains on a dark winter night.

  Caitlyn flushed from head to foot as she realized what she had said.

  Rafe chuckled, amused by her crimson cheeks and stricken expression, relieved that Caitlyn had no intention of marrying Abner Wylie.

  He shoved his hands into his pants pockets so Caitlyn could not see the tension building in him. He had fully intended to ride out of Cedar Creek the day after Carmichael’s funeral, but each day he had found some new excuse to linger. He admitted now that it was Caitlyn Carmichael who held him here. They had shared little together, and he knew very little about her, but he wanted to know more. Much more.

  His gaze moved over her and a slow heat spread through his loins. She was so lovely. Her hair was drawn into a tight knot at her nape, her eyes were shadowed, her cheeks pale, but for all that, she was lovely. Even the severe black mourning dress could not detract from her beauty. Instead, it accentuated her narrow waist and made her eyes seem darker than ever, like deep emerald pools.

  He wanted her. He had wanted her from the first moment he saw her, when he was within a hair’s breadth of dangling at the end of a rope. He had wanted her then, and he wanted her now. Wanted her enough to make her an offer she would very likely refuse, one he would undoubtedly regret, but one he felt compelled to make just the same.

  “Maybe you should take Wylie up on his offer,” he suggested, knowing he’d kill Abner Wylie with his bare hands before he let Caitlyn marry him.

  “Never!”

  “You need a husband, Caitlyn, whether you like the idea or not. And you’d better find one soon. What about Scott?”

  “He’s engaged to Naomi Wells.”

  “Rusty?”

  “He’s too old.”

  Rafe shrugged. “What about Paulie? Or Josh? Or Nate?”

  “They’re all too young.”

  “Wishful?”

  “He’s already been married three times,” Caitlyn snapped, exasperated by his seeming urgency to see her married to someone else.

  “Isn’t there someone in town you’ve been seeing?”

  “No.”

  Rafe nodded, his expression thoughtful, his eyes watching her intently. She lowered her gaze, aware of his nearness, of the attraction that was always between them.

  He was silent for what seemed an eternity and when he spoke, his words caught her completely off guard.

  “How about me? For a husband, I mean.”

  Caitlyn stared at Rafe, certain her ears were playing tricks on her. “You? You can’t be serious!”

  “Why not? I’m the right age. I’m healthy. And I’m willing.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “You said you’d rather marry a heathen savage than Abner Wylie,” he drawled. “Here’s your chance.”

  “No,” Caitlyn said, but her pulse was racing like a runaway train and her heart was beating wildly in her breast, so wildly she thought she might faint. Marry Rafe Gallegher indeed! The very thought made her lightheaded. And yet, her choices were limited. There were few single men in this part of the territory. Most of the men in their twenties were already married, those still single were unsuitable for any number of reasons or undesirable. And those under twenty-five were too young, too immature. But Rafe… She remembered the press of his lips on hers, the strength of his arms when he rescued her from the path of the mustangs, the sight of him rising from the pool the day her father died. Marry Rafe…

  A knock at the front door put an end to her turbulent thoughts, but her relief at the interruption was short-lived when she opened the door and saw Abner standing on the porch, hat in hand.

  “Evening, Miss Caitlyn,” Abner drawled, flashing her a smile as wide as Texas. “Mind if I come in?”

  Caitlyn could only stare at him in dismay, wondering what he was doing there at such a late hour, wondering what she would do if the two men came to blows again, right there in the house.

  Abner took Cai
tlyn’s silence for an invitation and stepped into the parlor, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Gallegher lounging in the big overstuffed chair near the hearth.

  Abner shot a questioning glance at Caitlyn. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “He…he came to see how I was getting along,” Caitlyn replied. “Won’t you sit down, Abner?”

  He shook his head.

  Caitlyn drew a deep breath, and let it out in a soft sigh. “Why have you come, Abner?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that matter we discussed in town after your father died.”

  “I hear you’ve been discussing it quite a bit at the saloon,” Caitlyn remarked, her green eyes bright, her gaze piercing.

  Abner sent a murderous glance in Gallegher’s direction. “I guess I know who you heard that from,” he muttered.

  “Is it true, what Mr. Gallegher said? Have you been telling everyone that we’re to be married?”

  “Not everyone,” Abner hedged.

  Caitlyn’s gaze remained on Abner, and he fidgeted nervously. Of average height, with brown hair and pale blue eyes, his features were pleasant enough, Caitlyn mused, though his manner was a little gruff. She had never been sure what there was about him that she found distasteful, but the fact remained that he made her uncomfortable.

  Her gaze moved to Rafe, still sitting in her father’s chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest. He made her uncomfortable, too, but in a much different way. His hair was very black in the light of the lamp, his skin a deep bronze, his eyes like fathomless ebony mirrors holding secrets she longed to discover.

  She made a decision then, one that made her mouth go dry and her palms begin to sweat as she faced Abner once again.

  “I’m glad you haven’t told too many people that we’re to be married, Abner,” she said, her voice barely audible. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “Because, you see, I’ve decided to marry Mr. Gallegher.”

  It was a toss-up as to which man was more surprised by her announcement. Rafe managed to keep his face impassive, but Abner stared at Caitlyn as though she had suddenly grown horns and a tail, and then he began to laugh.