Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses

by Jill Gregory

  Up close, she realized, he was even more mesmerizing than he’d been at a distance. And certainly . . . bigger. He towered over her, with his black hair and rugged features and that dark stubble shadowing his jaw. Beneath a blue chambray shirt almost the exact same color as his eyes, his chest was broad and muscular—and every bit as unyielding as the rest of him.

  Caitlin took a step back, feeling overwhelmed. That little bit of distance helped—suddenly she recalled her hat—and tore her gaze from his. Peering past him, she was just in time to see it sailing into the horse trough across the street.

  “No!”

  She dashed after it, but it was too late. As she watched, the fetching, oh-so-fashionable hat with its dainty satin bow, ivory lace, and tiny pink and white silk flowers landed in the murky water.

  Caitlin’s mouth quivered as she watched the sodden ribbons and the once-beautiful little flowers sinking into the horse trough. She felt bereft. That hat was one of the last remnants of her once-privileged life in Philadelphia. Now it was gone too, ruined—just like everything else that she had once had and had taken for granted.

  Gritting her teeth, she turned back toward the foreman.

  “Mr. Barclay.” Caitlin saw the cowboy watching her, a frown upon his face, but she ignored him as she addressed the potbellied man. “Kindly retrieve my bag from the driver at once and let’s start for the ranch. I assume you’ve brought a buggy—”

  “Buggy? Hell, girl, I don’t got no buggy. And why do you keep calling me Mr. Barclay?” the drunken man whined. He teetered and would have fallen, but the cowboy’s arm shot out this time to steady him.

  “She’s not thinkin’ straight, Wade,” the man complained. “And neither am I . . . right now. You explain, will ya? I think Reese’s little girl is thick-headed,” he added in a loud whisper that brought rosy color surging into Caitlin’s cheeks. “What do you think, Wade?”

  “Wade?” Caitlin stared from one man to the other and at last her stunned gaze fixed on the tall cowboy.

  “He . . . called you Wade.”

  The cowboy nodded.

  “Do you mean . . . you’re Wade Barclay?”

  “Reckon so.”

  “But . . .” Something dropped like a stone in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze flew to the other man. “Then who is he ?”

  “Wesley Beadle. Faro dealer at the saloon.”

  “Faro dealer . . .” Caitlin’s voice trailed off.

  “Mighty confused, ain’t she, Wade? And she ain’t even drunk.” The potbellied man grinned, then burped, and with a vague wave in Caitlin’s direction, he wandered off toward the saloon.

  Another gust of wind swept down from the mountains and snagged several strands of golden hair loose from the chignon at Caitlin’s nape. They whipped into her eyes and she brushed them back in frustration as she rounded on the real Wade Barclay.

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you speak up sooner? You saw me walking toward him—you let him make a fool out of me!”

  “Miss Summers, I reckon you did that all by yourself.” Those impossibly cool blue eyes raked her dispassionately for one long moment, a moment in which, despite her pretty lavender gown and proper chemise and stockings, she felt as exposed as if he’d stripped her naked. She couldn’t breathe as that hard stare traveled up and down the length of her body, skimmed every curve, burned through the silk of fair skin and delicate features and even through the icy exterior that was her only armor against the world. She knew by the faint contemptuous curve of his lip that this cool, tough-eyed cowboy found her profoundly lacking—stupid, graceless, an object of scorn.

  How dare he.

  She had just decided to try to wither him with a stare— the way Miss Culp did to all the students at the Davenport Academy for Young Ladies—when he jerked a thumb toward the brass trunk the stagecoach driver had unloaded. “That yours?”

  “Yes, it is, but—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he was stalking away from her, toward the trunk.

  Caitlin shook her head slowly. Buck up, she told herself, tightening her spine as she felt a raindrop from that wide cloudy sky plop down on her nose. Don’t let a rude, arrogant, uncivilized ranch foreman rattle you. Just get out to the ranch and take care of your business.

  She jumped though when a woman’s booming voice rang out from the boardwalk.

  “Wade—Wade Barclay! Is that Reese’s daughter?”

  He turned, squinted beneath his hat at the two women hurrying along the boardwalk. “Reckon so. Didn’t see any other females get off the stage today.” He swung back toward Caitlin, his handsome face half-hidden by his hat, carrying the trunk as easily as if it were a plate of pie.

  “Miss Summers,” the stout woman with the basket over one arm called out. “I’m Edna Weaver—my husband owns the bank here in Hope. How do you do?” Waiting only for a wagon to roll past, she stepped briskly off the boardwalk and hurried forward, the basket swinging. A reed of a woman followed, studying Caitlin with wide, searching eyes. “This here is Winnifred Dale—she works in the post office.” Edna Weaver made a sympathetic clucking sound. “We’re pleased to make your acquaintance, honey—only sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  “Oh . . . yes. Thank you.” Had the entire town been anticipating her arrival? First the faro dealer and now these two women. Caitlin was surprised that anyone in Hope even knew of her existence—considering that her late father had never even written to her in the past eighteen years.

  Warily, she studied the two. Edna Weaver’s steel-gray hair was twisted into a practical bun, her gown was muted plum and trimmed with jet buttons, simple, yet stylish as it hugged her plump figure. Her deep-set brown eyes met Caitlin’s green ones with steady appraisal and there appeared to be genuine friendliness in her smile. But Caitlin had learned that people weren’t always what they seemed and she wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not with Edna Weaver—not with anyone, however friendly they appeared. The other woman, shorter, and slightly younger than Edna, perhaps in her forties, had a nervous, mouselike quality. She kept touching the high neck of her green and white gingham gown and peering at Caitlin through narrow spectacles that rested on the bridge of her delicate nose. Wispy brown hair that looked soft as taffy curled around her small, pointed face.

  “Your father was a fine man, dear.” Regret tinged Edna’s words as Wade Barclay set down her trunk. “Reese didn’t get to town much—but I can guarantee you he’ll be sorely missed around these parts. Isn’t that so, Winnie?”

  The brown-haired woman was gazing at Caitlin as if transfixed. “Yes, yes, it’s so.” A shy smile emerged. “Your father was a dear friend . . . a very dear friend,” she murmured sadly. “He . . . he would have been so proud to see what a beautiful young lady you turned out to be.”

  Caitlin stiffened. However kind Winnifred Dale might be—or meant to be—she was misguided. Reese Summers wouldn’t have cared how his daughter turned out. He didn’t care about her at all.

  The woman rushed on. “If you need anything while you’re here in Hope, Miss Summers, anything at all, you must call on me—or on Edna here. We’d be happy to lend a hand in any way we can.”

  “Hope is a neighborly place,” Edna added. “So is all of Silver Valley. You’ll like it here, I’m sure.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I won’t be staying. I’ve only come to settle my father’s estate.”

  Both women’s eyebrows rose simultaneously in surprise. Wade Barclay went still as stone.

  Caitlin’s chin shot up a notch. “I didn’t come to pay my respects—or to settle in Wyoming. I came to sell Cloud Ranch.”

  “Sell . . .” Edna made a choking sound.

  Winnifred’s hands flew to her heart. “Oh, no! My dear, you can’t do anything like that! Gracious! That ranch is such a big, successful, wonderful place—the largest in the territory! It meant everything to your father,” she gasped. And looked at Wade Barclay.

  He said nothing. Only stared at the
blond girl in taut, deadly silence.

  “I am well aware of that.” Caitlin’s voice was tight. She knew exactly how much Cloud Ranch had meant to her father. More than her mother had meant to him, more than she had meant to him . . .

  “However, it doesn’t mean anything to me.” She managed an airy toss of her head, a pretty gesture she had perfected in dozens of Philadelphia ballrooms. “I intend to sell it lock, stock, and barrel and return back east just as soon as possible.”

  “The hell you will,” Wade Barclay said in a low tone.

  Edna Weaver jumped in. “What he means, honey, is that you can’t sell the ranch—I mean, you mustn’t—” Edna flashed the foreman a helpless glance.

  “Wade, dear,” Winnifred murmured in distress, her eyes darting back and forth between Caitlin and the cowboy, “do you mean she doesn’t know?”

  “Who’s had a chance to tell her anything?” he growled.

  “What do you mean? Tell me anything about what?” Caitlin fought the alarm sweeping through her. She stepped forward. “There is no reason why I shouldn’t sell Cloud Ranch,” she said breathlessly. “I have a letter from a lawyer telling me that it was bequeathed to me in my father’s will. It’s right here in my reticule—”

  But as she began to dig frantically through her handbag, Wade clamped a hand over her arm.

  “This isn’t the time or place to go into this. Let’s go,” he said curtly.

  “G-go?”

  “To the ranch. I’ll explain everything there.”

  He looked toward Edna Weaver and Winnifred Dale, still watching in consternation. “Ladies,” he said, nodding.

  “Oh, yes, do go, Wade . . . show her the ranch.” Winnifred bobbed her head. Edna grimaced and started to move away.

  “I’m sure . . . Wade can explain it all, Miss Summers. And we’ll see you again,” she said quickly. “Didn’t mean to interfere, Wade,” she added worriedly, her head drooping as the foreman shot her an exasperated glance.

  Caitlin watched them move off, their skirts rustling as they hastened along the boardwalk. She was rigid with shock. She couldn’t imagine what impediment there could be to her selling the ranch, but the very idea of something keeping her from executing her last desperate plan filled her with fear. For a moment she stood rooted to the spot, trying to summon what remained of her composure.

  A bay horse tethered to a hitching post beside the mercantile neighed suddenly, then fell silent. Hope’s main street appeared suddenly deserted, perhaps, Caitlin realized, because of the darkening horizon and the rain that threatened. The high, gray sky had begun to fill with tumbling clouds and the wind starting to gust down from the mountains smelled of damp earth and pine.

  A dusky tension gripped the air as Caitlin’s lavender skirt whipped about her legs.

  “Miss Summers? You all right?”

  Wade Barclay was still holding her arm. He was gazing at her warily. “You’re not going to faint or anything, are you?”

  “I never faint, Mr. Barclay.” She took a deep breath and met his glance with big green eyes ablaze with purpose. “Nor do I cry. Neither one accomplishes anything constructive. That much I’ve learned in my experience of the world.”

  “That so? Well, fine then. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you until you answer my questions.”

  “Want to bet?”

  His grip on her arm tightened. With his other hand he lifted her trunk easily and without another word began to propel Caitlin along the street.

  “How dare you! Let me go.” She tried to wrench free and gasped when she couldn’t. “Listen, Mr. Barclay—I want answers and I want them right now!”

  “Maybe it’s time you learned, princess—you can’t always get what you want.”

  Caitlin’s mouth dropped. “Let me go!” she demanded furiously and dug in her heels. “I refuse to accompany you another step until you tell me what those women were talking about.” It was either downright drag her or stop, and Wade Barclay, his eyes narrowing, stopped.

  “Do you always behave like a spoiled brat?”

  “Do you always behave like an obnoxious bully?”

  “Reckon you just bring out the best in me.” Wade scowled. He hadn’t meant to let his temper get the best of him, hadn’t meant to let Reese’s daughter know how much he disliked her. Reese wouldn’t have wanted that. But somehow, from the moment she stepped down from the stage, all golden angel hair and creamy skin and bewitching eyes, he’d felt his chest go tight inside.

  The tiny little girl he’d looked at so often in the framed photograph on the mantel was all grown-up. No longer merely the pretty dab of a child who had gazed sweetly back from her mama’s lap, she was every inch a woman now. A woman whose beauty shone from every exquisite feature, who smelled faintly, deliciously, of violets.

  A woman who had broken Reese Summers’s heart. She and her mother both, Reese reminded himself, his gut tightening.

  Remembering how Reese had yearned for this girl, this daughter of his, how he had worried over her, dreamed of her, even whispered of her with his last breath, made Wade’s gut clench.

  He wanted to hit someone—but he couldn’t hit her. He’d never hit a woman in his life and he wasn’t about to start with Reese’s daughter. Even if she did deserve a good spanking.

  Reese had made him promise to take care of her. Damn it, what he really wanted to do was haul her pretty butt back onto that stage and slam the door in her face. But instead he curbed his temper, tensed his jaw, and spoke to her with all the cool detachment he could muster.

  “Look, Miss Summers, it’s going to rain. Could even storm. Do you want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere when that happens or do you want to be snug and dry at the ranch? It’s up to you. But if we don’t head out right now, we’re not going to make it back before the storm hits.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Barclay, it’s up to you. I’m not going anywhere until you answer my questions. As soon as you do that, we can leave. What aren’t you telling me about Cloud Ranch?”

  “Whatever you need to know you can find out soon as we get there.” He reached for her arm again, his expression purposeful, but Caitlin jumped back out of reach.

  “I won’t go anywhere with you—not until you answer me.”

  That did it. His mouth tightened. Blue eyes glittered. “Suit yourself.”

  He dropped her trunk in the street. Dust sprayed as it struck the earth. And then he strode off. Scarcely able to believe her eyes, Caitlin could only gaze in consternation at his back.

  He was leaving her, actually leaving her, walking toward the opposite end of town. Every long stride left her farther and farther behind.

  A wagon rattled by. A door slammed somewhere. The clouds tumbled lower.

  Caitlin felt dazed. And a little ill. Wade Barclay wasn’t looking back, wasn’t slowing his steps at all. He was actually abandoning her. He would no doubt get in the buggy and drive right back to Cloud Ranch—without her.

  Then what would she do?

  She gritted her teeth, straightened her shoulders, and with a slight groan, hefted her trunk. She started after him, with as much dignity as she could muster.

  The wind whipped at her dusty gown and blew the wayward strands of her pale curls. Anger flamed through her—anger at the man who was supposed to have greeted her and taken her to her father’s ranch, treating her with respect and consideration. Instead he had insulted, bullied, and abandoned her.

  Fuming, she marched down the main street, the trunk dragging at her arms, random raindrops spattering her path. By the time she reached Pete’s Feed Store and saw Wade Barclay standing at the heads of two gray horses hitched to a wagon, she was out of breath. Droplets of perspiration glistened at her brow, and her face was flushed like the pink wildflowers that had dotted the plains just outside the town.

  “A wagon?” she huffed as she came up beside him, and dropped the blasted trunk in the dust. “Why didn’t you bring a . . . buggy?”r />
  “Had supplies to buy. Needed a wagon.” He spoke the fewest words possible as he moved from the team’s heads and shoved a few sacks around in the back of the wagon. “Does this mean you want to go to the ranch after all?”

  “Brilliant, Mr. Barclay.” Caitlin’s arm burned from carrying the trunk. “I see your powers of reasoning are only exceeded by your manners and charm.”

  “Don’t have much use for manners or charm in my line of work,” he drawled. “And this is what I’m doing right now. Work. Hauling you back to the ranch isn’t a social nicety, princess, it’s just part of my job.”

  “Something my father would have expected you to do, you mean.”

  He eyed her, coming around the side of the wagon toward her, his movements easy.

  “That’s right.”

  “And do you think he would have expected you to make me carry my own trunk, to chase you down the street, to have to endure your insufferable rudeness?”

  Wade stared at her, opened his mouth, then shut it.

  Damn it all to hell, she had him there. Reese would have expected a lot more from him and he knew it. But this selfish, spoiled, damnable little beauty didn’t deserve his respect, or sympathy, or kindness. She deserved a kick in the butt.

  “Let me help you into the wagon, Miss Summers,” he said, forcing himself to be civil. “If you’re not too proud to ride in it.”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” She allowed him to help her onto the seat. There was such strength in the hands that lifted her that she trembled a little.

  She stared straight ahead as he tossed her trunk into the back of the wagon, atop a sack of potatoes.

  “One more thing, Mr. Barclay,” she said icily as he sprang up beside her and picked up the reins. The team of gray horses started smoothly forward.

  “What’s that, Miss Summers?” Even that lazy drawl of his gnawed on her nerves.

  “I’m giving you notice.” She spoke each word with clear precision. “The moment we reach Cloud Ranch, you’re fired.”

  Chapter 2

  “Fired?”

  “Correct.”