by Jodi Thomas
Mariah moved closer. His hair half covered his sleeping eyes, but she could tell he was young, though several years past a boy. His chest was scarred in two places that she could see, but the marks only seemed to add character to his perfection. His shoulders were broad, but his waist and hips promised to be narrow beneath the Indian blanket across him.
The morning sun touched his body as if spotlighting him. She had been around men all her life, but this sleeping, darkly tanned man drew her close appraisal. Her gaze traveled slowly down his chest to where the blanket pulled across just past his navel. Mischievously, she wondered if the rest of him were as tan as his top half. Smiling, she thought of how shocked her mother would be at her outrageous question.
A low male voice shook her to the core. “If you’re planning on robbing me, all I have on is the blanket. If this is a social call, it’s a bit early.”
Mariah’s gaze quickly traveled back to the man’s face, and she looked into the deepest golden eyes she’d ever seen. She stumbled backward over the wheelchair and almost fell. Her hand caught the watch an inch before it hit the floor. He made no attempt to stand and help her, for which she was grateful. Her curiosity to see the rest of his tan was not as strong as she might have thought. She pulled herself up to her full five feet. “Do you live here?” she asked, trying to sound formal.
“No.” The stranger’s words came low and slow, almost like a gentle touch. “I only fell asleep while working late on the books last night.” His eyes were watching her with an intensity that made her uneasy.
“How about you?” He winked. “You live around here…or just fall out of heaven a moment ago?” he asked as he sat up and ran long fingers through his brown hair.
Mariah’s bottom lip protruded slightly as it always did when she realized a man was making fun of her. Who did this bookkeeper think he was, sleeping nude in the main room and then questioning her, the owner?
“I’m Mariah Weston, and this ranch is half mine.” She handed him the watch as she talked, and wondered what the initials “S.J.B.” stood for. “I came to see a man named Dustin Barfield, who lives here.”
The man seemed to be in no hurry to call his boss. “You know Mr. Barfield, do you? Plan on helping him run this ranch?”
Mariah straightened the wrinkled pleats of her skirt. “Yes, I know him, not that it’s any of your business, but I plan on seeing him about selling the ranch.”
The stranger leaned his head back and closed his eyes as if needing time to digest her words. She studied him, realizing her decision could mean his job. Then Mariah suddenly realized the chair must belong to him. Of course, that would explain why he slept here and why he’d made no move to stand.
When he said nothing, Mariah sat on the hearth opposite him and tried to think of something to say. “I’m…sorry I fell over your chair,” she mumbled, hating herself for being so dim-witted. “Can I do something for you?” She hoped he didn’t suggest she help him into the chair, for he looked almost double her weight.
He opened one eye and stared at her. She felt sorry all over again that he was crippled. He looked so strong as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on his palms. His words seemed spoken more to himself than her. “You can tell me why after being here five minutes you want to sell this place?” he asked.
Mariah’s anger touched her words. “I don’t see that it is any of your concern.” When he didn’t fire back or argue, Mariah felt strangely guilty that she had snapped at him. He probably hadn’t been around many women out here and wasn’t trying to be unkind.
The man stretched, pulling his shoulders back into a mass of tight muscles. Mariah lowered her eyes but continued to watch him through her eyelashes. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She liked his voice, even now with the hint of anger in it. “Look, Mariah Weston, I’m not worth much after two hours’ sleep and no coffee. Why don’t I make us a pot and we’ll talk?”
“No!” Mariah almost yelled. She was thankful to hear Cain coming up the steps. “I’ll make the coffee.” She turned to see Cain blocking the door as he squinted, trying to see in the dim light. “Cain, will you help this man get dressed while I make the coffee?”
Both men said “What?” at the same instant, but Mariah was already halfway across the room. She guessed the kitchen would be on the other side of the dining room. She certainly wasn’t going to stay around explaining to Cain that this nude man was crippled. She could just guess what questions the older man might ask.
As she opened the kitchen door, she saw an aging woman by the stove. A pot of coffee was boiling on the fire. The warm smell filled the room with welcome as the old woman turned and smiled. “You don’t remember me, child, but I brought you into this world.”
Mariah moved closer. “Are you Ruth?”
The old woman nodded. “That I am.”
Mariah laughed as if a storybook character she’d heard about all her childhood had suddenly come to life. She crossed the room and put her arm around Ruth in an affectionate hug. “I’ve heard Mother talk about you all my life.”
Ruth placed her aging hands on Mariah’s shoulders and pushed her to arm’s length. “Let me look at you, child.” A smile rippled from her lips across gray-white cheeks. “My, my, you’ve made a fine woman. You have your mother’s nose, I think, and the Weston hair and eyes. I knew you were a keeper the minute I cleaned you up.”
Mariah laughed, feeling suddenly very much at home with this woman. “You should see my brothers. Mother had one son a year the first four years she was married to Uncle Josh. She named them after the first four books of the New Testament: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They all look just like Josh, except the youngest. He has Mom’s red hair. The others tease John that Mom stopped for fear she might have another carrottop and have to name him Acts.”
Ruth pulled cups down from the cupboard. “I’d like to see your mom. She was quite a lady, even when she was no more than your age. The day she walked into this place I knew both the Weston boys loved her.”
Mariah looked surprised. “You mean Uncle Josh loved her even before she married Dad?”
Ruth nodded. “They both loved her. But for reasons long buried, she married Ben. They were very happy when you came along. I thought this house would explode with joy. Is Bethanie happy now?”
“Yes,” Mariah answered without hesitation. Josh and her mother were loving parents. She’d grown up seeing the special way they looked at each other, even when they disagreed. She’d often thought she would give anything to have that kind of love with one man, and apparently her mother had found it with two.
“We’ll visit more later,” Ruth said as she handed Mariah the serving tray. “If you’ll take the men coffee, I’ll air your mother’s old room and draw a bath for you. I know you must be bone-tired. The bedrooms in the new wing have all been empty since Mike and Allison moved to their ranch, but I think you’ll feel more at home in Bethanie’s room.”
“Thank you.” Mariah nodded, remembering something her mother had once said about Ruth. The woman knew everything going on in the house and usually outguessed everyone’s needs. As she took the tray of coffee, she had no doubt Ruth retained her talent.
Mariah moved through the door hearing the unfamiliar sound of Cain’s laughter. She looked up to see him standing beside a tall man dressed in tight denims and a white shirt open down the front. Golden eyes turned to watch her as she moved into the room.
“I thought…” Mariah tried to stop stumbling over her tongue as the now wide-awake cowboy moved on sure feet toward her. “I thought…”
“Cain and I just figured out what you thought.” He took the tray from her and set it on the dining table. “When I said the chair was mine, I was incorrect. It is half mine…as is everything in this house.”
Mariah decided to work on one new fact at a time. “Then, why a wheelchair?”
Dusty poured a cup and handed it to Cain. “The chair was your father’s. Don’t you remember?”
/> “No.” Mariah looked at Cain. “My father wasn’t in a wheelchair. If he had been, someone would have mentioned it, or I would have remembered.”
“Your father was a strong man. I guess the fact he was in a chair never seemed important to anyone,” Dusty replied.
Cain nodded. “I was hired just after he was killed. I remember a slanted side on the porch for a chair to go down.”
“All right.” Mariah pushed the offered cup of coffee away. The realization of how little she knew of her mother and their life on the Weston Ranch hit her like a blow. “Then if the chair is half yours, you must be Dustin Barfield.”
“Guilty as charged.” Dusty lifted his cup and drained half the hot liquid. “It’s really amazing what powers of reasoning a finishing school can teach even a bit of a girl.”
Mariah’s temper flared. “I’m not a bit of a girl. I’m a woman, and I’ll thank you to stop treating me as if I were a child. I’ve been on my own, doing what I please for some time now.”
Dusty’s words were cold and low. “I’ll tell you one thing you’re not going to do, Mariah Weston. You’re not going to sell this ranch.”
“I damn well will if I please. I happen to know that a Mr. Mayson is already interested in making an offer.”
“Over my dead body,” Dusty hissed.
“I doubt that will be one of the terms.” She moved toward the far hallway where she had seen Ruth disappear.
Dusty slammed his cup hard against the table. “You’re not Mariah Weston. You haven’t got an ounce of Bethanie’s softness or a hair of Ben’s brains. I should have you arrested as an imposter.”
Mariah whirled to face him, her hands clenched in rage. “No, I’m not my parents. I’m me, my own person. I’m going to sell this ranch, take the money, and do what is important to me. This ranch may have been their love and home, but it’s not mine. I have my own dreams, and I’m going to see them through. No cowpunching clod who’s never been off the ranch is going to tell me what I can and can’t do.” She took a quick gulp of air and smiled at Dusty’s shocked face. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take a bath and go to bed. You may not sleep here, but I do.”
As she moved down the hallway, she heard Cain say, “She’s a firecat, son. You best stay out of her path.”
Mariah stepped into the room Ruth was cleaning and heard the sound of Dusty laughing. Anger poured through her veins like hot wax. She was tempted to go back and give both Cain and Dustin Barfield a piece of her mind. She was not some schoolgirl to be manipulated at will. She had her dreams too, and she would not give in without a fight. The memory of Dusty’s golden brown eyes, alive with rage, flashed in her mind. She could see he wouldn’t be handled lightly either. Well, if it was to be a fight, then fight she would.
Chapter Twenty-two
Shadows crept in long strides across her room when Mariah awoke. She sat up and stretched, loving the feel of having finally slept in a bed after days of travel. She pulled her long ebony curls on top of her head and breathed deep of the wonderful smell of bacon frying somewhere in the house.
A light tap sounded at her door. Mariah turned lazily expecting to welcome Ruth. To her surprise, she watched the door swing open to reveal Dusty’s frame leaning against the doorfacing. He was dressed in black pants and a spotlessly white shirt. His dark vest seemed to emphasize his slim waist and broad shoulders. He slowly rolled up one of his shirtsleeves in an absentminded gesture. The white, starched shirt contrasted dramatically with his tanned, muscular arm.
“Evening, Miss Weston,” he smiled as if he had forgotten their bitter words. “It’s almost dark, but I thought you’d probably like a little breakfast.” She watched as his golden eyes dropped to her bare shoulders. His gaze warmed her flesh as his vision moved lower to the tight-fitting silk of her camisole.
Mariah jerked her arms down releasing her curls to tumble around her shoulders. She pulled a colorful quilt over her half-exposed breasts, wishing she had taken the time to unpack a modest cotton nightgown. Anger warmed her cheeks even more. “Sir, I’m not dressed,” she said, knowing he was fully aware of the fact. “I’d thank you to close my door.”
Dusty shrugged. “Fair’s fair. I wasn’t dressed this morning and that didn’t seem to stop you from confronting me. Anyway, I happen to be standing on my half of the hall.” His smile was smug and his eyes full of challenge.
Mariah jerked the quilt around her and rolled off the far side of the bed onto her bare feet. She stormed toward him in an angry huff.
Dusty stepped back in mock fear. “Don’t go on the warpath. I just thought you’d like some breakfast before dark.”
“I will,” Mariah answered as she slammed the door. “When I get dressed.”
As the sound of the door echoed through the house, Mariah heard Dusty’s laughter from the hall. “Ten minutes, Miss Spoiled Brat, ten minutes.”
Mariah dropped her quilt and moved over to her trunk. She rapidly dug to the bottom and found her riding skirt and blouse. She was not going to bother dressing for dinner with this cowboy. If she’d brought a pair of pants, she would have worn them. She pulled her hair back and quickly braided it into a long thick plait.
Wrapping a red sash around her small waist, Mariah stood before an oval mirror. She studied her reflection for a minute. Her waist was tiny and her breasts a bit too full, she thought. She had been told all her life that she was beautiful. Most of the men she knew treated her like some dainty ornament. Maybe that’s why it was so important for her to make something of her life. She wanted to be more than a doll. She wanted men to see her as a person. More than anything, she wanted what every man already had; she wanted to be in control of her own destiny. The medical school at Boston University would be her start.
Mariah smiled to herself and nodded at her reflection. Here on the Weston Ranch, she was taking the first step to her goal. She would sell the ranch and pay for more schooling. By the time she ran out of money, she would be one of a handful of women physicians in this country.
Satisfied with her hurried grooming, she moved gracefully down the hall, surprised that Dusty wasn’t standing outside her door waiting. She followed the delicious smell of bread baking to the dining room. The table was set with beautiful china and linens, but no one was about.
As she reached to brush the centerpiece of bluebonnets, the sun seemed to add a golden glow to the entire room. This country was so isolated and uncivilized, yet nature seemed to try so hard to shine.
Dusty stepped through the kitchen door with his arms loaded down with plates. “I cooked you bacon and eggs with gravy and biscuits.”
“You cooked?” Mariah questioned.
“Nothin’ fancy like you must have had in Europe or back East. But I work here late at night, and I had to learn to cook or starve. Ruth likes to go to bed and get up with the sun.” Dusty set the plates of food on the table.
“How did you know about my travels?” Mariah asked as she studied him.
“Letters from your mom mostly, and I had a long talk with Cain before he turned in.” Dusty winked at her in a disarming gesture that warmed her to the core. “You seem to be his favorite topic of conversation.”
“Cain is suddenly becoming as gabby as an old woman,” Mariah muttered.
To her surprise, Dusty moved behind a chair and pulled it out for her. She was glad to know he wasn’t totally void of manners here at his ranch in the middle of this half-wild state.
Taking her place, she felt Dusty’s shoulder touch hers as he leaned close behind her. His words were so low in her ear she wasn’t sure he was aware he spoke them. “It’s nice to have you home, Mariah.”
Mariah turned her head toward him, and her cheek brushed the side of his beard. She wanted to say this was not her home, but didn’t have the heart to start an argument again so soon. “You might have more women to dinner, Mr. Barfield, if you’d consider shaving.”
Dusty straightened and rubbed his furry jawline with his thumb. “You th
ink so?” His words sounded serious, but his eyes twinkled golden with mischief. A maverick eyebrow shot up, giving him the look of a pirate. “I’ve had this for so many years I might not recognize myself clean-shaven. But who knows?” He tugged at her braid lightly. “There are bound to be a few changes around this place.”
He slid into the chair across from her and began handing her dishes. Within a few minutes, Mariah found her plate filled with a huge breakfast. She ate like a hungry field hand instead of a small woman who had spent the day asleep.
After several bites, Mariah looked up to see Dusty sipping his coffee and watching her with an easy smile brushing his full lips. She wished suddenly that she’d met him somewhere else and he’d not been the one her father had made half owner of this ranch. She would’ve liked getting to know him and playing the flirting game she always played with men. She smiled back, and then continued eating.
When Dusty finally spoke, his words sounded rehearsed. “It’s dark, but I thought you might like to ride up to the ridge and watch the stars come out. That is, if you still love to ride?”
Mariah poured herself another cup of coffee. “That would be wonderful. I could use the exercise.” While she sipped her coffee, Dusty played with a biscuit on his plate but made no effort to take even one bite. He was watching her every move. Mariah tried to figure out if he was quiet or shy. He was so unlike all the men she’d met before. No one must have schooled him in the art of keeping lively conversation going. She found his silent attention both flattering and relaxing.
Finally he stood, “I’ll go saddle a few horses while you finish…unless you would prefer to ride with me like you used to do?”
Mariah smiled. “I think I’m old enough for a horse of my own. You might be surprised. I might just ride better than you.”
Dusty walked toward the door. “That’ll be the day, when a schoolgirl outrides me.” There was a hint of challenge in his voice.