“That’s all he’s ever been to me, too,” Carol Ann said wistfully. “And I would so like to be more than just a friend.”
Rachel glanced at her friend in surprise. “Why, you’re in love with Clint, aren’t you? I never dreamed. Why haven’t you ever told me?”
Carol Ann shrugged. “Clint has always been in love with you. Everybody knows that. And I always thought you cared for him, too, so…golly, Rachel, you’re my best friend. How could I even think about Clint when he was supposed to be your beau?”
“Well, he’s not my beau any longer,” Rachel said, giving Carol Ann a hug. “Have you ever told Clint how you feel?”
“Of course not!” Carol Ann exclaimed, mortified at the very idea. “And don’t you dare say a word, promise?”
“I promise, but I think you’re making a big mistake. You’ve got to let him know you’re interested.”
“I couldn’t,” Carol Ann said, shaking her head. “I just couldn’t. He has to make the first move. And I know he never will.”
With a sigh, Rachel turned her attention back to her dress. Carol Ann was a pretty girl, but she was so shy, most men never paid any notice to her. She would be perfect for Clint, Rachel mused. They were very much alike, both warm, friendly souls who loved to read and listen to music.
Pulling her thoughts from Carol Ann and Clint, Rachel thought about Tyree. They had very little in common, she mused. There was nothing similar in their backgrounds, or in their interests. In truth, she did not know what Tyree’s interests were, other than the fact that he liked poker and whiskey and long black cigars. He had never mentioned wanting a place of his own, or wanting children. She didn’t know if he liked to read, or if he liked to travel, or if he’d ever had any ambition to be anything but what he was.
Pausing to set in a sleeve, Rachel vowed to learn more about the man she planned to marry. She would learn what he liked, and then strive diligently to give him those things.
Surely, if she delved deep enough, she would find they shared more in common than the fierce passion that burned between them.
News of Rachel’s engagement did not sit well with everyone. Annabelle Walsh was furious with Tyree, and swore publicly and privately that she hated him. But she did not want Rachel Halloran to have him.
Sitting alone in the Slash W ranch house, she stared into the cold stone fireplace, her lovely brow creased and thoughtful. Her bargain with Tyree was off now, and that meant Halloran was fair game as far as she was concerned. But before she could move against the Lazy H, she had to dispose of Tyree. His threat to come after her had been a warning she could not ignore. She did not doubt for a moment that he would make her pay if anything happened to Rachel or Halloran or the Lazy H.
Eyes narrowed, Annabelle rubbed her cheek, remembering the pain and humiliation Tyree had inflicted upon her the day he walked out. He would pay for that slap, she vowed, and pay dearly…
Clint Wesley viewed Rachel’s engagement with anger and jealousy. He had been calling on Rachel regularly for more than two years, courting her in his own shy style, hoping that one day she would agree to be his wife. He had been taking her to church, and to socials, to parties and dances. They had gone walking together in the moonlight. He had dinner at the Lazy H at least once a week, but somehow their relationship had never gotten past the hand-holding stage. And then Tyree had appeared on the scene. Damn the man!
Wesley scowled darkly as he glanced out the jailhouse window. Unconsciously, his hand stroked the butt of his bolstered Colt. He had been practicing his draw for several months, and it was smooth and fast.
But was it fast enough?
Chapter Eighteen
The spring social was one of the most looked forward to events of the year. Everyone in the valley was invited, and everyone attended. For this one night, old grudges were forgotten or forgiven, petty quarrels were put aside, debts were not mentioned, and having a good time was top priority.
Rachel hummed softly as she dressed for the big dance. It was good to be alive, good to be in love. She laughed with exuberance as she slipped her dress over her head and smoothed it over her hips. Twirling before the mirror, she was pleased to see that the color was very becoming. The dark lavender made her skin glow like rich cream, and turned her eyes to violet.
Wrapping a light wool shawl around her bare shoulders, she floated down the stairway. Tyree was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Dark brown trousers hugged his long muscular legs, a rich maroon broadcloth coat complemented his dark complexion. He smiled at her and Rachel felt a little thrill of excitement dance in the pit of her stomach as she lifted her face for his kiss.
Moments later, John Halloran stepped into the room. “Ready?” he asked cheerfully, and the three of them left the house, chatting amiably.
When they arrived at the schoolhouse, the dance had already started. The desks had been removed, and the ceiling was hung with colored streamers and lamps. Long tables were set up along the edge of the dance floor, laden with coffee and punch and cakes and cookies. Couples whirled around the floor, talking and laughing, as the musicians played a waltz, a polka, a fast-paced reel. On this one night, the men did not leave their ladies to argue about cattle and crops and the rising price of land. Instead, they gallantly courted their women, plying them with compliments and attention, and the women responded by laughing and flirting outrageously with their husbands or beaux.
The next hour passed pleasantly. There was an abundance of food and drink. The fiddler played tirelessly, now something fast, now something slow, now fast again. Rachel was constantly amazed at the wide variety of numbers that he played throughout the night.
During a brief lull, Annabelle Walsh made her entrance on the arm of a tall, dark-haired man. Annabelle looked exquisite. Her gown, a brilliant green silk, had been imported from France. The bodice clung to her ample bosom like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. The full skirt swished softly as she walked. Her hair was piled high atop her head, save for one long red curl that fell over her left shoulder. Green satin slippers hugged her feet.
Tyree frowned as he noticed Annabelle’s only adornment was the ruby teardrop he had given her for Christmas.
Moments later, Clint Wesley strode into the room, his badge shining brightly on the pocket of his dark blue coat. It was, Tyree mused sourly, shaping up to be one hell of a night.
The single men, both young and old, flocked around Annabelle, vying for her attention, arguing back and forth over who had the next dance, and the next. Wesley stood with his back against the east wall, his blue eyes moody as he watched Rachel dance by with Tyree.
Damn, the marshal mused to himself. Why hadn’t he proposed sooner? Why had he thought he had to wait until he had more money? Why hadn’t he grabbed her and hauled her off to the preacher’s before it was too late? But then, like everyone else, he had taken it for granted that Rachel would marry him. And now he had lost her. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe, if he told her how he felt, she would change her mind. It was a slim chance, but one he had to take.
Squaring his shoulders, Clint marched boldly onto the dance floor and tapped Tyree on the shoulder.
Tyree’s eyebrows went up in surprise as he surrendered Rachel. It would have been pleasant to tell Wesley to go to hell, but Tyree knew such a thing would have made Rachel angry. And he had no desire to make her mad.
“Evening, Clint,” Rachel said, smiling warmly. “Isn’t it a lovely night?”
“Lovely,” Clint agreed. “Rachel, I love you more than anything in the world. I want you to marry me. I know I’ve been a fool not to speak up sooner, but I wanted to have enough money put away to buy you a house of your own. I wanted to be able to give you everything you wanted, to spoil you. I love you. I…you must know how I feel, how I’ve always felt. I thought, I hoped, you felt the same.”
Rachel stared at him, her mouth slightly open, completely surprised at his outburst. Why had he chosen this particular moment to bare his soul? An
d what could she possibly say?
“Rachel?” Clint whispered her name, his heart in his eyes.
“Clint, I…I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I…it wouldn’t have made any difference if you had a lot of money, or if you had asked me to marry you months ago. I love Tyree. I don’t know how it happened, I can’t explain it, but I love him with all my heart.”
Clint nodded. There was nothing more to say.
Standing at the makeshift bar located at the back of the room, Tyree ordered a beer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Annabelle swishing toward him, and he muttered a mild oath under his breath.
“Good evening, Tyree,” Annabelle purred.
“Miss Walsh,” he replied formally.
“That’s a lovely tune they’re playing,” Annabelle remarked. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”
“If you want to dance, just say so,” Tyree growled, annoyed by her coy attitude.
“I want to dance.”
With a scowl, Tyree led her onto the dance floor, gingerly took her in his arms. He would as soon hold a snake, he mused. Certainly a rattler could not be more dangerous than the green-eyed vixen gazing up at him through the dark veil of her lashes.
“How have you been, Tyree?” Annabelle asked, her fingers kneading his left shoulder.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine. My new man, Ricardo, is very pleasant. So much more agreeable than you ever were.”
“Then why aren’t you dancing with him?”
“He dances like an elephant,” Annabelle replied, laughing coquettishly. “Few big men are as light on their feet as you are.”
“Save the flattery.”
“Rachel looks well with the marshal, don’t you think? Such an attractive young couple.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the dance.”
Tyree left Annabelle as soon as the music ended, swiftly crossed the floor to where Rachel and Wesley were standing. Without a word, Tyree took Rachel by the arm and guided her, none too gently, toward the punch bowl.
“Tyree, you’re hurting me,” Rachel protested, pulling away. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? You look ready to explode.”
“Just jealous, I guess,” Tyree admitted somewhat sheepishly.
“You’re jealous!” Rachel exclaimed. “How do you think it makes me feel to see you with Annabelle, knowing the two of you used to be…friends.”
“Rachel, I never made love to Annabelle.”
“Never?” Could it be true? Oh, please let it be true.
“Never.” Tyree grinned at Rachel, his good humor restored. “Let’s go home,” he suggested, throwing her a wicked glance, “and be friends.”
“Tyree, you know we agreed to wait until after the wedding before we…you know.”
“Change your mind,” he whispered.
“Tyree, behave yourself,” Rachel scolded, but inwardly she was pleased. It was a heady feeling, knowing he found her desirable. Almost, she was sorry they had decided not to be intimate again until after the wedding.
Unmindful of the eyes watching them, Tyree pulled Rachel into his arms and gave her a kiss that took her breath away.
“Sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” Rachel said with regret. “Anyway, we can’t just go off and leave my father here with no way home.”
“I don’t think he’d even miss us,” Tyree said, jerking a thumb in Halloran’s direction. “He hasn’t left his lady love’s side all night. She’d probably be glad for an excuse to put him up for the night so they could be ‘friends’.”
“Tyree!” Rachel gasped, shocked at the very idea of her father and Claire Whiting doing anything so scandalous.
“Okay, okay. Come on, let’s dance.”
From across the room, Clint Wesley felt a sharp stab of jealousy tear at his heart. Somehow, some way, he would get rid of Logan Tyree and win Rachel’s love.
Annabelle’s eyes burned with a dark and fierce rage of their own as Tyree and a blushing Rachel whirled around the dance floor, oblivious to everyone else. Rachel’s face was radiant, her eyes warm with devotion as she gazed up at Tyree. And Tyree! When had he ever smiled at her like that! His amber eyes were ablaze with desire and, yes, Annabelle thought angrily, with love. Love for that snit in his arms. Abruptly, a slow smile spread across Annabelle’s face as she spied the marshal standing across the room.
Wesley looked puzzled as Annabelle Walsh glided toward him. He had never met the woman, but he was aware of her flawless beauty, and of the great wealth she controlled.
“Marshal Wesley,” Annabelle said, extending her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced.”
“No,” Clint replied, taking her hand. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time.”
“Now?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“Could we go outside, perhaps?”
“Sure,” Clint said. Feeling like a serf escorting a queen, he took Annabelle’s arm and guided her around the edge of the dance floor and out the side door.
Tyree let out a deep breath as he saw the two of them disappear into the shadows. There was trouble brewing, sure as death and hell, and Annabelle was the master brewer.
Outside, Annabelle smiled up at the marshal as she took his hand in hers. “I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice low and confiding. “Something important, but…” She looked over her shoulder, as if fearful of being watched.
“You can tell me,” Clint assured her. “Don’t be afraid.”
Fluttering her lashes prettily, Annabelle stepped closer to the marshal, as if his nearness gave her courage. “I have proof that Logan Tyree killed my brother.”
“Proof!” Clint exclaimed. “Where? What kind of proof?”
“A signed confession.”
“No shit! Excuse me, Miss Walsh. But where did you get such a thing?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Annabelle murmured. “But it is quite genuine, I assure you.”
Wesley grinned exuberantly. At last! He had Logan Tyree by the short hairs. A signed confession! It was too good to be true.
“This confession,” he said eagerly. “Do you have it with you?”
“No. It’s in my safe at the ranch.” Annabelle smiled up at the marshal. “But if you will come by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be glad to let you see it.”
“I’ll be there,” Clint assured her. “You can count on that.”
“About noon?” Annabelle asked.
“Noon,” Clint said.
Hardly able to contain his excitement, Wesley escorted Annabelle back to the schoolhouse, then hurried toward his office. The circuit judge would be coming to town in less than two weeks. With Tyree’s signed confession as evidence, the trial would be a mere formality, followed by a quick hanging. And then, at long last, Logan Tyree would be out of his life, and Rachel’s, once and for all.
Chapter Nineteen
Tyree and Rachel lingered over a second cup of coffee the following morning. Tyree was wondering just what kind of mischief Annabelle had been stirring up with the marshal when Rachel’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“What do you want to do after the wedding, Tyree?” she asked, smiling prettily.
“After?” He lifted one black brow. “The same as most couples do, I reckon.”
Rachel blushed under his lustful gaze. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, are you going to be happy staying on here? Would you rather go somewhere else and start a place of our own? Do you want children? Do you like beets?”
Tyree laughed softly. “Don’t most women find out this kind of stuff before they say yes?”
“I guess so. But our courtship hasn’t been exactly normal, you know.”
Tyree nodded, his expression indulgent.
“I’d really like to know,” Rachel said. “We’ve never talked about our future, never made
any plans. Sometimes I feel as though I hardly know you.”
“Getting cold feet?”
“Of course not.”
Tyree’s gaze drifted past Rachel to the window. He stared outside for a moment before returning his gaze to her face. “I’ve never spent much time making plans for the future. Guess I figured I probably didn’t have one.”
Rachel nodded. “I understand. But that’s all changed now.”
“Yeah.”
Rachel cocked her head to one side. “You haven’t answered my questions yet.”
“I know, but let me ask you one. Do you want to leave here and start over somewhere else?”
“Not really. I love it here.”
“I know you do. So if it’s all right with your old man, let’s just sit tight.”
“I’d like that,” Rachel said. She leaned across the table and squeezed Tyree’s hand. “I don’t think I could bear to leave the Lazy H. My whole life has been spent here.”
“That’s settled then. As for children,” Tyree said with a grin, “I guess I’d like nine or ten.”
“Nine or ten!” Rachel exclaimed, blinking at him. “Are you kidding?”
“No, but I guess I’d settle for three or four. However many you want, as long as they’re all girls as beautiful as their mother.”
“I want boys,” Rachel remarked. “Lots of boys with black hair and blue eyes.”
“Boys are nothing but trouble,” Tyree replied quietly. “I’m proof of that.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Am I?” Tyree’s eyes probed hers and it occurred to Rachel that beneath all his arrogance there lurked a little boy after all, one who was looking for love and acceptance, a little boy who had been bad so long he couldn’t believe anyone could love him.
“The very best thing,” Rachel answered sincerely.
Tyree grinned at her. Then, rising to his feet, he lifted her from her chair and gave her a resounding kiss on the mouth.
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