“Maurice,” she said, “I would like to ride a little farther out.”
Following her gaze, Maurice scratched the thinning brown hair under his cap. “Are you sure, madame?”
“Quite sure. If anything should happen, I will not hold you accountable. It is entirely my decision.”
He gave her a dubious frown, shrugged and pulled Jericho forward. Rachel let the gentle rocking lull her into a kind of contentment she had almost forgotten was possible. Before she knew it, nothing blocked the view of the creek, desert and distant mountain beyond. Soon it would be time to turn back, leave old Jericho to his rest, and return to Gordie.
She was just about to say as much to Maurice when Jericho pricked his ears, flared his nostrils and stamped one large, iron-shod hoof. Maurice tried to quiet him, but it was clear the horse had seen or heard something Rachel and the Frenchman could not. Rachel dug her feet into the stirrups, feeling a shiver race through Jericho’s muscles.
The wolf seemed to rise up out of the very earth, its black coat grayed with dust. In the instant it took for Rachel to recognize it for what it was, her only thought was that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Maurice cried out in his own language. Jericho snorted, ears back, and crow-hopped. Rachel lost her seat, her right foot slipping from the stirrup and her body tilting sideways. She grabbed frantically at the saddle horn, but her fingers could find no purchase. Her next try caught Jericho’s mane, and with a desperate burst of strength she pulled herself back into the saddle.
As swiftly as it had appeared, the wolf was gone. Maurice murmured soft, singsong words to Jericho, who settled almost as if nothing had happened.
“Madame?” Maurice said, gazing anxiously up at her. “Êtes-vous bien?”
“Yes. Only a little startled. May we go back?”
Quickly Maurice turned Jericho toward the house. Rachel leaned forward and wrapped her arms as far as she could around Jericho’s neck. As they passed the inner corral, a man came running from the direction of the foreman’s cabin.
Holden—hatless, bootless and naked except for his neckerchief and half-buttoned trousers—came to a sudden stop a few yards shy of Jericho and continued at a walk, his brows a solid dark line over his eyes. He went directly to Jericho’s left side and held up his arms.
Suddenly boneless, Rachel let herself slide into his embrace. He swept her up, spoke brusquely to Maurice and carried her into the house.
Lucia, sitting at the kitchen table with Gordie in her arms and her own Pepito in the cradle on the chair beside her, rose quickly as Holden entered. Gordie stirred and wriggled, trying to turn his little body toward the door. Holden continued into the hall, nudged Rachel’s bedroom door open with his foot, kicked it shut behind him and laid her on the mattress. He sat on the edge and leaned over her, his arms braced to either side of her shoulders.
“What in hell do you think you were doing?” he demanded.
Rachel was not quite dazed enough to ignore the accusation in his voice. She lifted one hand to push him away, preparing an equally scathing reply. The moment her palm touched his chest, she forgot what she had been about to say.
Holden sucked in his breath. She could feel his heart under his ribs, beating almost as fast as hers. His skin was slightly damp, muscle and flesh hard as stone under her fingers. The fierce anger in Holden’s eyes changed to another kind of passion, and she had perhaps a moment of warning before he caught her lips with his own.
Rational thought had no part in her response, or in anything she did then. She raised her arms and pulled him down, opened her mouth to his, let his probing tongue silence her gasp of pleasure. She ran her hands over the bunched muscles of his back and shoulders, glorying in every powerful line and plane. She closed her eyes and let his sheer masculinity sweep her along a path she had shunned for so many long, lonely years.
She moaned in protest as Holden drew back, mourning the loss of what he denied her. But he didn’t apologize. Nor did he rise and walk away. He continued to lean over her, his eyes searching hers.
“Rachel,” he said softly. “You could have been killed.”
His words had the effect her ever-weakening discipline could not. The jolt of realization took the strength out of her arms, and she lowered them close to her sides. Her skirts were in disarray, pushed up almost to her knees, but she was in no position to straighten them. Holden still had her trapped, pinned to the bed, but she could not have moved if she tried.
What in heaven’s name have I done?
Holden seemed not to notice the tears of shame stinging her eyes. “You should have waited for me to come back,” he said. “I would have showed you what you needed to know.” His finger drifted close to her face and stroked across her forehead, pushing a damp tendril of hair back among the others.
“I…I didn’t need your help,” she whispered.
“Sure you didn’t.”
He wasn’t taunting now. His voice had a sound that in any other man she might have called tenderness.
“Maurice…” She firmed her voice. “Maurice said Jericho was Jedediah’s gentlest horse.”
In one fluid motion Holden rose from the bed and went to stand at its foot, every hint of uncharacteristic tenderness erased from his expression. The name of his employer hung between them as if it were written on the air in scarlet letters.
“I don’t know what got into Jericho,” Holden said, his jaw so tight that Rachel was amazed he could speak at all. “He ain’t usually spooked so easy, not even by—”
He broke off, and Rachel knew she had found a subject she could grasp as a shield against her humiliation and the raging assault on her senses.
“Did you see the wolf?” she asked.
“I saw it.”
His answer was curt, and Rachel could almost feel him withdrawing into himself, so far that no words of regret or apology, even if she could speak them, could possibly reach him. But she knew he wasn’t only regretting that he had broken faith with his employer, just as she had done with the man she was to marry. If he felt contempt, it was not only for her.
He had also been afraid for her, as if she was something precious. Someone to cherish, and not only for Gordie’s sake. He was furious at his own weakness. He didn’t want to want her any more than she wanted to desire him.
Oh, yes. She was quite safe now. As long as she didn’t so much as glance at his superbly displayed physique, the symmetry of his broad shoulders, his eyes, his lips. She rose onto her elbows and tried to decide how she might get up without doing anything that might be deemed provocative.
“Was it the same wolf that attacked the outlaws?” she asked stubbornly.
Holden went to the window and simply stood there, his hands at his sides, his trousers riding low around his hips. “Looked like it.”
“Why did it come here?”
He turned his head so that his profile was limned in golden light. “He shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have been so close to the ranch after dawn.”
“You won’t…you won’t shoot him if he comes back?”
His laughter cracked like brittle glass. “You don’t want me to?”
Rachel scooted across the bed and swung her legs over the side, smoothing her skirt as she stood. “He was beautiful,” she said.
Every muscle in his back seemed to clench at once. “Most people wouldn’t agree with you.”
“I know I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. He didn’t try to hurt anyone.” She walked backward until her shoulders rested against the door. “I think he meant to help Joey.”
“Don’t make the mistake of believin’ a lobo thinks like a man.”
“Perhaps more men should think like lobos.”
He looked straight at her, his remarkable eyes suffused with so much pain that she could hardly keep from gasping. “Don’t get too fond of that lobo, Rachel. Sometimes wolves take calves and sheep. That’s their nature, ’specially when folks drive off their nat
ural prey. He’s likely to get himself kilt sooner or later.”
“Please. Don’t speak that way.” She heard the rising emotion in her voice and calmed herself with great effort. “Will you give your word that you won’t hurt him?”
“Not if it matters to you so much.”
“It does.” She swallowed. “I want to…thank you for your assistance.”
“It won’t happen again.”
He wasn’t talking about the wolf now. He was giving her the same warning he was giving himself: don’t get into any more trouble. Because it wasn’t just words now, innuendo and blunt questions about her carnal needs and desires. One more misstep…
There wouldn’t be one. She could still draw back from the brink, and so could he. Holden Renshaw, for all his roughness, had a conscience. She had her past. And what was left of her honor.
“If you’re goin’ to ride,” he said, his voice as easy and cynical as always, “you’ll have to learn to do it right and proper. I’ll take you out tomorrow.”
“You needn’t,” she said. “Maurice is willing—”
“I need to see you in the saddle and able to handle Jericho before I’ll be satisfied,” he said, looking at the door instead of at her. “I’ll put you on Banner this time. You afraid to try again?”
“No, I…am not.”
“Good.” He started toward the door, and she moved hastily out of his way. He went past her without a single glance.
“Holden.”
A tremor went through him, making him seem for a moment as skittish as Jericho had been in the presence of the wolf.
“There is something you should know about the baby.”
He swung around to face her, his expression suddenly open and raw with emotion. “What about him? Somethin’ wrong?”
“Nothing at all. It is simply that I have taken the liberty of giving him a name.”
His expression closed again. “You named him?”
She bristled. “You seemed uninterested, and no child should be without a name.”
Two steps took him to the door and out of the room. Rachel followed him into the parlor, where Lucia was still holding Gordie. She rose as Holden stopped before her.
“Señor Renshaw?”
Holden peered into Gordie’s face. The baby looked back at him with serene interest. Rachel came up behind Holden, careful not to get too close, and smiled at Gordie. He smiled back.
“What’s his name?” Holden asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Gordon, after my father.”
Holden’s lips moved, silently repeating the name. He lifted his hand toward Gordie and let it fall again. “Ain’t too bad,” he said gruffly.
With those three words he did more than grant his approval. He gave her a gift that she sensed he gave rarely, if ever: his trust. And oh, how terrible a gift it was.
“I call him Gordie,” she said.
“Gordie.” Holden raised his hand again, brushed the blanket near Gordie’s face with his fingers, moved them just enough to touch the soft, pink skin. Gordie cooed, batted at Holden’s hand with his own and took firm hold of Holden’s finger.
Standing frozen, as if he feared a single movement might injure the boy, Holden cleared his throat. “He’s strong,” he said.
“Very strong,” Rachel said. “And very precocious, which you would know if you spent more time—” She broke off, cursing herself for being so ready to quarrel again. Heightened emotions of any kind were perilous.
She searched Holden’s face for some telltale sign of anger. Not so much as the twitch of an eyelid gave him away. He slipped his finger from Gordie’s grasp.
“Looks like he’s well now,” he said. “Reckon you can take him out of the house if you want.”
Her pride in Gordie made her risk a smile. “Indeed. I do take him into the yard when I work near the house, but he should do well with longer outings very soon, provided it is not too warm.”
“He’s a Texas boy,” Holden said. “He’ll get used to the sun.” He glanced at the floor, seemed to remember his shoeless state and edged toward the door. “I got to look for Joey.”
“You knew he was gone?”
“Didn’t see him in the spare room. I’ll find him.” He looked straight at her for the first time since they’d left the bedroom. “You stay away from the horses until I come for you tomorrow.”
His bare feet made no sound as he left the house. Lucia offered Gordie to Rachel, and she reached out to accept him into her arms.
Tomorrow she would be very close to Holden. What could he be thinking? How was she to be near him and pretend that nothing had happened?
What in God’s name was she to do now?
“Señora, you are shaking,” Lucia said.
Rachel was afraid to look up. How much had Lucia heard, or guessed? What would such a good woman, a selfless wife and mother of four, think of her employer now?
“It is nothing,” Rachel assured her. She hesitated. “You must miss your family very much.”
Lucia smiled with the warmth of deep affection. “They are spoiled, mis muchachos,” she said, “but they understand what I do is necessary.”
“And so very deeply appreciated,” Rachel said, pressing the other woman’s arm. “I hope they realize what a treasure they have in you.”
“When do men ever realize such things?” Lucia met Rachel’s gaze, the warmth mingled with compassion and sympathy. “Sometimes it is separation that brings such understanding.” Still smiling, she lifted Pepito from the cradle and carried him into the hall. Rachel felt the weight of silence and isolation fall over her like a shroud.
Love could be a miracle. Lucia was living proof of the great good it could do when it was given and received in equal measure. But it could also be a curse.
“Why does love cause so much pain, Gordie?” she murmured. “Why were we given hearts at all?”
He raised his chubby arm and waved his fist until it connected with her chin. She kissed his dimpled knuckles. He had answered her question in his own wise little way. She would accept all the pain in the world as long as she had the heart to love this child. Even if that was the only kind of love she would ever know.
THE EARLY-MORNING light hurt Sean’s aching eyes. Ulysses was sluggish after the work of retrieving the cattle Joey had stolen, but Sean was in no mood to indulge him. He was eager to get back to the house and a hot bath, where he could think in peace. If it hadn’t been for the very satisfactory conclusion to his encounter with Joey, he would have been in a thoroughly bad temper.
But he wasn’t. Seeing Joey so terrified of him had been gratifying in itself. That—and the knowledge that he now had complete control over the boy—would almost have been enough to make up for his failure to find the wolf. When one included the money…
The money. Found, Joey had said, buried in a hole. Its very existence might, of course, be a lie, but Sean didn’t think so. The boy knew he would die if he’d lied, just as he knew he would be punished if he spoke of this second encounter to Renshaw or anyone at Dog Creek.
That left the question of who had buried the money, and why.
Kicking Ulysses into a canter, Sean worked to put his thoughts in order. He had known very well that Joey could not have forgotten where he’d found such a treasure, and in hindsight, he knew he ought to have pressed the point. But he had developed his own theory, and it was far more intriguing than any lie Joey might have told him.
Joey had found Jed’s saddlebags.
If he had, he must have found them between the day Jed had died and Sean’s return to the scene of the old man’s death. Which meant Joey must have seen Jed’s body. But he hadn’t told anyone about it, or all of Texas would know by now.
Unless he had told only one man: Holden Renshaw. And if Renshaw did know that Jed was dead, he had carried on a very effective masquerade for the past two and a half weeks. In which case he hadn’t wanted anyone else to know that his boss was gone for good—including Jede
diah’s “wife.”
Sean smiled acidly. That, of course, would alter a great many things, answer some questions and raise others. Perhaps Joey hadn’t found the money and the body at all. Perhaps Renshaw had. If, even in the absence of any knowledge of the multiple wills, Renshaw knew or guessed that Jed had planned to disinherit Sean, he was unlikely to think that the inheritance would come to him instead. Renshaw would naturally assume that Jed’s final heir would be his wife.
And that would explain the attraction Charlie had observed between Renshaw and Rachel Lyndon. Renshaw would have every reason to curry her favor, even seduce her, to ensure that he would remain in control of Dog Creek when the “bereaved widow” found herself stranded in Texas with no knowledge of how to run such an outfit.
But Renshaw’s understanding was still fatally flawed. His contempt for Sean would temper his ability to recognize Sean’s intelligence and strength of purpose in fighting for what should be his. And the wills…
In a matter of days, the lawyer’s office in Heywood would be lost to an “accidental” conflagration, leaving no evidence of the break-in that had occurred immediately before. As far as the world was concerned, Jedediah McCarrick’s will would have been lost along with the office.
One will, however, would be on its way to Sean. The one he could use to destroy Holden and raise himself above any future suspicion with regard to Jed’s death. The tissue of possibilities Sean had constructed was still fragile; until he questioned Joey again, much more thoroughly, he could not be sure that his theory would hold.
Oh, but if it did…
The vision of perfect revenge distracted Sean so much that he hardly noticed when Ulysses snorted and came to a stop a quarter mile north of the creek. With a sudden sense of danger, Sean jerked the horse in a tight circle. A mounted figure was riding toward him out of the west at an easy lope, and after a few moments’ observation Sean was certain it wasn’t one of the hands or a member of the Blackwell family.
Instinctively he reached for his gun with his right hand, remembering that he had moved the holster only when the searing pain dropped a red veil behind his eyes. He’d been a fool to ride back alone, but at least he wasn’t far from the house. And the rider wasn’t coming from Dog Creek, at least not directly.
Bride of the Wolf Page 17