Cheyenne Bride

by Laurie Paige

  But that had been in the past. Somehow she knew he no longer found life amusing.

  “Hold still or we’ll be here till midnight,” he ordered, bending to the task once more. “There’re about a thousand threads caught on the hooks.”

  “Cut them,” she said, again aware of the warmth of his hands and the gentleness of his touch as he worked.

  “In a minute.”

  The weariness and the need to cry out the terrible tension of the day dissolved into a heightened sensitivity of her companion and the isolation of the cabin.

  Taking a deep breath, she stared out the window into the darkness. The rain alternated with sleet and hail that banged against the glass in threatening waves.

  When Cade gave an exasperated snort, she nearly jumped out of her skin as the heat of his breath seared right down to the point inside her where her nerves were coiled like a too tight spring.

  “Relax,” he said.

  “I can’t. I think I need to sit down. Please.” She hated that the words sounded like a plea. She was coming apart, and that wouldn’t do at all, not at all.

  He moved the pan of water to the floor and pulled the chair around for her to sit. She did so gratefully.

  “You’re shaking.”

  His tone was different—gruff but patient.

  The tears welled again. “It’s been a long day.”

  “And then some,” he added, almost sympathetically.

  Leanne looked over her shoulder again. His face was inches from hers. She could see tiny green flecks surrounding the pupils and the golden tones in the little valleys between the darker striations in the irises of his eyes. His eyelashes were short but very thick.

  “You have kind eyes,” she told him.

  “Don’t count on kindness from me,” he advised coolly, the contempt returning.

  She lowered her head against the finality of his rejection. “Cut the loops.”

  “All right.”

  When he clicked open a pocketknife, she sat very still and waited. She felt the cool edge of the metal against her skin, then the relaxing of the material as she was freed from the two tiny hooks set above the zipper of the dress.

  The beaded top fell away from her breasts as the sleeves, which barely clung to her shoulders, slipped down her arms. She grabbed the bodice and held it tightly to her chest as heat flowed up her neck.

  “Thank you,” she said in a stilted tone. She was having an awful time finding an emotional level with this man.

  “You’re welcome,” he said just as stiffly. He disappeared behind the blanket.

  She removed the ruined bridal dress, the sheer thigh-high stockings and white satin bikini briefs. She washed as quickly and quietly as possible, then donned the white lace gown and robe from her overnight case.

  What a farce, she mused as she tied the tasseled belt. No husband would see her tonight. Guiltily she wondered if Bill was sleeping in the new house he’d bought. They’d agreed not to spend money on a honeymoon.

  Resentment rose in her. When Bill had said he had a terrific surprise for her on their wedding day, she hadn’t suspected a house in the trendy part of town. Anger overrode both the guilt and resentment. When was she going to be treated like an adult rather than the baby of the family who couldn’t make a decision?

  Realizing her fiancé treated her the way her family did had been the straw that had overturned her control and sent her scurrying for sanctuary.

  Hearing Cade Redstone fill his coffee cup again, she had to smile at the irony of the situation. Her host didn’t want any part of providing a haven for her. That reminded her…

  “Uh, Mr. Redstone.” That sounded ridiculous. “Cade?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you please not tell my brother I’m here, if he calls?”

  There was a frigid silence before he spoke. “Since there’s no phone, I don’t see a problem.”

  “I meant, at the ranch. If he calls there. I’d rather no one know where I am until…”

  Until when?

  “Until I sort things through and decide what I’m going to do,” she finished stoically.

  “I don’t lie for anybody.”

  A flat statement delivered in a deadpan tone. She nodded in understanding as she stepped from behind the makeshift curtain.

  His eyes opened in a brief flash of surprise before his face settled into such stern, disapproving lines he would have done an old-time tent preacher proud while he shouted condemnation on the sins of his congregation.

  “It’s all I have,” she apologized, gesturing toward her outfit. “My suitcases were already in Bill’s car.”

  He muttered an expletive and surged to his feet, turning his back on her. She stood there uncertainly while he opened the stove and tossed in two pieces of wood, then grabbed the poker.

  How much was a man supposed to take? Cade asked himself savagely while he built up the fire for the night.

  First of all, he’d had to help her with her dress. When he’d finally gotten the damn hooks unfastened, the dress had slithered down, exposing one pink-tipped breast, small and succulent and perfectly shaped. Her nipple had beaded upon being exposed.

  He cursed silently and long.

  Then he’d had to listen while she washed up. Pictures of what she was doing flickered in his mind like a runaway movie projector. To top it all, she then appeared before him as a vision of every man’s fantasy in her white silky gown and lacy robe that disclosed little but hinted at everything.

  Her chestnut hair with its fiery highlights lay smoothly across her shoulders and down her back, ready to be tousled by an ardent lover. Her face had been scrubbed as clean as a cherub’s, ready to be kissed. She looked wickedly innocent. Or innocently wicked.

  His imagination ran wild.

  The blood pumped hot and turgid through his body, bringing with it an ache that couldn’t, wouldn’t, be appeased. It was going to be a long night.

  Hellfire, just how much did she think a man could take, stranded alone in an isolated cabin as they were?

  With an effort, he pulled his libido back under control, although there was nothing he could do about the telltale ridge lining the fly of his jeans.

  “I see you have cocoa,” she said, nodding toward the table. “Would you mind if I made some?”

  “Help yourself.” His tone didn’t invite further questions or requests.

  He was aware of her movements as she spooned cocoa into a cup and added hot water from the kettle. The silk of her robe brushed his arm as she placed the teakettle back on the stove. “I’ll get more water,” he said.

  He grabbed the kettle and headed out the door, only remembering he was in his socks when he felt the freezing rain soak through the material. He cursed some more as he pumped water into the kettle.

  When he entered the cabin, she was tending the lantern. She turned the wick down a bit until it stopped smoking, then replaced the chimney. He’d meant to do that, but had gotten distracted by her appearance in that innocent enchantress outfit.

  He set the teakettle on the stove none too gently, then stripped his socks off and hung them to dry on nails pounded into the wall behind the stove. She didn’t say a word while he got dry ones out of his saddlebags.

  Pausing, he peered at her pink-nailed toes winking out at him from the bottom of her robe. He tossed a pair of warm wool socks to her. “You’ll need these.”

  She took a seat at the table and lifted the silky material out of the way while she pulled the socks on.

  “That feels wonderful,” she said, smiling up at him, her eyes shining as clear and green as a soda bottle in the lamplight. “My shoes are wet. And ruined,” she added.

  He ignored the sorrow in her eyes and yanked on another pair of socks. “Why did you come to the ranch?”

  What he really wanted to know was whether this was a coincidence or if fate was being particularly unkind to him for reasons he didn’t know.

  She stirred the cocoa, her face thoughtfu
l. “I knew Rand and his family would be gone for two weeks of vacation after the wedding. I didn’t think anyone would dream of looking for me here. I left a note that I was going to a friend’s house until…until I got my bearings and figured out what to do.”

  “Until the furor dies down,” he corrected sardonically.

  At the flash of sadness in her eyes, he paused in his condemnation. He hardened his heart against feeling sorry for her. Her life and its problems, whatever they were, were no concern of his.

  She obviously wasn’t mature enough for the responsibilities that marriage demanded. At any rate, she was probably more than any sane man should take on, in marriage or out.

  Maybe it was better for the poor fool bridegroom that she had run out on him. Looking back at his own disastrous wedding attempt, he realized that was the case for him.

  His fiancée had accused him of not loving her enough. She’d said he loved the land more. Her accusations had struck to the core of his being. Maybe the trouble wasn’t with his loving, but with being lovable. Maybe no woman would ever love him enough to put up with him.

  Or maybe he wanted too much.

  His mother had set the example in his life. And still did. She worked with her man, pulling her own weight in the marriage and on the ranch. She was loyal and loving. And fun. She’d left her first husband—the man Cade had thought was his biological father—because he’d abused her. Then she went on to find her true mate in Judd Redstone. Back home in Gilas, Texas, their marriage was still going strong. That’s what he wanted.

  He studied his unwanted guest. Yeah, the guy was probably lucky she’d run out on him. But, he also had to admit, any man would be tempted to claim this little gal for his own. She was that seductive.

  Two

  Cade’s disposition was definitely on the sour side the next morning. He had slept on the top bunk of one set of bunk beds. Leanne had slept on the bottom of the other set. He’d wanted as much distance from his unexpected guest as he could get, which wasn’t much in a one-room cabin.

  The fleeing bride had cried during the night. Quietly. Discreetly. But her frequent sniffs and deeply drawn breaths had given her away. She’d cried a long time.

  Probably because she dreaded facing the music when her brother, not to mention the fiancé, both of whom would be furious and rightly so, caught up with her.

  He almost felt sorry for her.

  However, each time pity had reared its head he’d remembered how it had felt to be left standing at the altar, waiting and waiting until finally the maid of honor had brought a note that said his bride had decided she preferred the city to the country and was leaving for Houston, along with his ring and the new wardrobe he’d bought for her.

  Better to know before the marriage than afterward. Only the foundation of the house he’d planned on his stepfather’s land remained to remind him of his folly. He’d even begun negotiations to buy a small adjoining acreage to start his own place. He’d dropped those plans, the beginnings of his dream, after the aborted wedding.

  Looking out the window at the clouds still covering the small valley, he smiled. This was real and part of it was his. There was more than enough land for six or seven brothers to share. He had his grandfather, Garrett Kincaid, to thank for that.

  “Uh…”

  He turned at the sound. Leanne Harding stood in front of the makeshift curtain, looking like an angel in her gown and robe. His body hardened. That was nothing new. He’d spent most of the night in that condition.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” she said.

  Even with reddened eyes and pink nostrils, she still looked beautiful. In the morning light, he saw her hair was a deep chestnut, with shiny red highlights cast generously throughout the thick, wavy strands.

  “Sorry, I don’t carry a full line of women’s apparel with me.”

  She looked as if she might burst into tears. Her small white teeth bit into her bottom lip and stopped its trembling. Her chest lifted and fell in a silent breath. She looked totally miserable.

  Against his better judgment, he went to his saddlebags. “Here,” he said, pulling out a blue chambray work shirt and a clean T-shirt.

  He took out his spare pair of jeans, which he’d planned to change into after a bath in the hot springs on the way back to the ranch. He tossed the items to her.

  “I can’t help you with shoes,” he said dryly.

  She nodded, sniffed, and disappeared behind the curtain. He tried to ignore the slight rustling sounds she made as she changed, but images kept leaping into his mind. The robe came off, then the silky gown slithered to the floor. He knew she wore no bra. He imagined her arms lifting and her breasts jutting out as she pulled the shirt on. He heard the zip of the jeans as she finished.

  She stepped from behind the blanket.

  He saw she’d threaded the tasseled belt from her robe through the belt loops of the jeans. The T-shirt was tucked inside the pants, the outer shirt left open at the front, its sleeves rolled up on her slender forearms.

  “The oatmeal is ready,” he told her.

  “And bacon. Wow.”

  “It’s from a can.”

  “And you made biscuits.”

  He grinned sardonically at her exaggerated wide-eyed amazement. “A man who doesn’t learn to take care of his own needs is a fool.”

  She looked him over with those bottle-green eyes, rolled the sleeves up one more notch, then took her seat at the table. “Sounds as if you learned that lesson the hard way, cowboy. Who pulled your string?”

  “My ex-fiancée,” he heard himself admit, much to his surprise. His past wasn’t something he discussed with anyone at any time.

  She stirred a spoonful of lumpy brown sugar into the oatmeal with a thoughtful frown. “Did she leave you at the altar?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The simple apology touched him in ways he thought he could no longer be touched. It hit to the quick of that secret place where his boyhood dreams had once lived. But now he was thirty-five years old, long past boyish ambitions.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She didn’t respond but looked at him as if she knew about that secret place. They ate the simple meal quickly and quietly. He washed up the few dishes and put the blankets away.

  “You think you can find your way to the ranch?” he asked, holding the door open.

  She nodded. “I go back to the main road, turn left, then turn left onto the ranch road, which should be the next one down the pike.”

  “Yeah. The mining road is going to be slippery after all the rain last night. It’s dangerous along that granite bluff…” He rubbed a hand over his face, then put on his hat. “I’d better drive you in.”

  “What about your horse?”

  Cade grinned. “He knows his way to the ranch.”

  “Unlike certain others you won’t name.”

  He reluctantly admitted he liked her sense of humor, which came through in spite of the unhappiness in her eyes. While he moved his tack from the lean-to and stored it in her car, he wondered about the fiancé who had, Cade gathered, bought a house without asking her.

  Even he saw that was a mistake. A woman needed to be consulted on her house. It was her nest, so to speak. He’d gone over every detail of the house plans with his future wife and changed everything to suit her. Not that it had done any good in the end.

  He cursed as he led Stepper to the trail that wound over the ridge and down to the ranch east of them. He didn’t want to think of the old days. His life was off on a new start. He meant to enjoy it to the max.

  “Home,” he ordered, and slapped the Appaloosa on the rump.

  With a shake of its head, the horse took off, tail and mane flying in the morning breeze, the distinctive rump spots that marked him as an Appaloosa flashing in the dawn light.

  “He’s beautiful,” said a soft voice beside him.

  The bride looked differen
t. Standing barefoot in the grass, the wind tousling the dark fiery locks, her face shiny clean and without even lipstick to mar its freshness, she looked like a country girl, not the bedraggled city sophisticate she’d appeared to be last night.

  Yeah, well, looks were deceiving, as someone wiser than he once noted.

  “Let’s go.” He held out his hand for the keys.

  “I’ll drive.” She headed for the car, her overnight case swinging at her side almost jauntily.

  He frowned in irritation. Women always had to assert their independence at the wrong damn time.

  Once on the road, he had to admit she showed a competence that he hadn’t expected. She navigated the dangerously slippery ridge with a combination of confidence and caution that he liked.

  They arrived at the ranch without mishap—only to find the doors to Rand’s house locked. Cade looked under all the flower pots and the welcome mat and over the door facing. No key. Next to him, Leanne sighed, then straightened her shoulders.

  “This, as they say, doesn’t seem to be my day. Why would he lock the door?”

  “This house is close to the main road. There’s been a rash of break-ins in the county lately.” He considered for a minute, then added, “You can stay at the bunkhouse. There’s plenty of rooms there.”

  This last he mentioned rather sarcastically. The Kincaid ranch supposedly had a curse on it. They had trouble finding cowboys who would work the place.

  “Good. I need a job,” she told him as they drove on down the ranch road.

  “That was the next thing on the agenda. The ranch doesn’t cater to deadbeats. Everyone has to earn his or her keep. The cook can use a helper.”

  She wrinkled her nose and had the nerve to tell him that wasn’t the kind of job she liked.

  “I want to work outside, with the cattle. Or horses. I’m good with both.”

  He snorted. “Riding the herd isn’t like those old Clint Eastwood movies.”

  “Actually, I learned everything I know from all the Roy Rogers-Dale Evans movies on cable TV. That always seemed the ideal life to me—a man, a woman and a horse named Trigger.”