by Martha Hix
That was not to be. Geoff said, “Miss Claudine sure made an impression on Major Albright.”
Surprisingly, Charlie Main hadn’t noticed all that billing and cooing. Any fool could tell he’d had been keeping himself clean for the redhead. Damn. No doubt that dumb old cowpoke would be getting the mitten instead of the hand.
Brax notched his hat up on his forehead. “With any luck that hussy will run off with Albright. Let’s hope she makes a clean cut, for Main’s sake.”
“If you and I are heading out any day, now that you’ve got loot, why do you want Miss Skylla’s stepmammy to leave her?”
“Uh, um.” Brax ran a palm over his mouth. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about California. I sent a letter to Bella by way of those cavalry soldiers who were headed west.” There had been five of them at Camp Llano, preparing for the next leg of their long land journey. “They were happy to oblige.”
“What did the letter say?” Geoff asked slowly.
“That I’ve changed my plans.” Brax sat up to rub his shoulder. “I won’t be seeing the inside of any San Francisco gambling hells.”
“I suppose you’ve thought through what all that means, haven’t you, Bubba? Could be you’ll ranch ’til you die.”
“We can get help for the hard work. If not, well, I’ve got a good feeling. Besides, I’d sure hate to miss the bluebonnets next spring.”
“You were always more for the settled life than you made out.”
Why argue? For once, Brax accepted the truth about himself.
“You seem pretty sure of your wife, Bubba. What’re you going to say to Miss Skylla when she finds out you were planning to sell the ranch out from under her?”
Brax got sick to his stomach, just thinking about what all could happen should she find out her husband was no pillar of society, propriety, or fair play. Be reasonable. Don’t panic. “How would she find out?”
“That Jane lady knows. You told her.”
“Jane knows I was looking for a buyer, that’s all. Anyhow, she won’t say anything to make trouble. Jane’s a good gal.”
“Me,” said Geoff, pointing at his chest, “I think you’re putting too much faith in a lady you loved and left.”
“Don’t worry about Jane.”
“Your wife is no dummy. I can’t help but wonder what your wife would say if she found out you made a deal with a whore—selling Miss Elizabeth’s cameo—no more than a couple of days before your wedding day.”
Damn, double damn! “Let me worry about my wife.”
“Best of luck to you, then.” Geoff pushed to stand, walked over to the creek, and scratched his head. Turning back toward Brax, he said, “What did you say about me to Bella?”
“That you might be coming out there to join her.”
The youth crouched on his heels to snap a blade of grass at the root. “Are you wanting me to leave?”
“I’m not wanting to hold you back. You’re a grown man now. Almost eighteen. It’s time you made your own decisions.”
Brax would never admit how much it hurt to give the boy his freedom to be a man. He glanced at Geoff, whose brow had furrowed. When Geoff got that look on his face, he so resembled Larkin Hale, Brax’s dead brother, that it hurt.
“I wouldn’t know what to do if we split up.”
Uncomfortable, Brax squinted at the sky. A storm was brewing. “Geoffie, if you choose to leave, you’ll have the money for a proper start.”
“I have a choice?”
“You do.”
“I suppose I can find some sort of job. I never was too keen on cheating folks.”
“It’s a sorry life, grifting around.”
“I’d like to be respectable. That would make Miss Elizabeth proud. She always worried about me.”
“Yeah, Mother would be proud, Geoffie. Real proud. She loved you like a son. I’d be proud, too.”
Geoff smiled. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I’d like to get me a nice little wife.”
“I saw a good-looking gal in Stalking Wolf’s village. Pearl of the Concho is her name. Maybe you ought to find an excuse to trail Stalking Wolf. He’ll let you bring her back, provided he knows Yellow Hair of Good Medicine said it must be.”
“Think so?”
“I’d like to see you settled with a wife of your own.”
“If I were white, I could have all kinds of choices.”
“Won’t do you any good, wishing for the impossible.” Not for the first time, Brax thought about how accepting Skylla had been about Geoff’s color.
“I’d like to court Miss Kathy Ann.”
“I figured as much. I’ve seen you ogling Piglet. Has she given any indication she might be of a mind to accept you?”
“No. She treats me like dirt. Not black dirt, particularly. But dirt.”
“She treats everyone like dirt,” Brax answered with a chuckle. “Pretty much.”
“Do you think I might have a chance?”
“Honestly, no.” He had to give it to Geoff straight, though Brax hated to discourage the lad. “Her interest lies in Stalking Wolf, I’m afraid. On the way home the other night, while Skylla made a nature call, Kathy Ann let me know she wasn’t too pleased about being rescued.”
“Damn. Damn, Bubba, damn.”
“I’m sure you voice her mother’s and sister’s sentiments—if Kathy Ann decides to go back to Stalking Wolf.” Brax looked with concern at Geoff. “Are you in love with her?”
Geoff shook his head. “No. But I’ve had lots of fantasies about getting experience with a woman.”
Nothing more was said for a good five minutes, then Geoff asked, “What in particular did she say that makes you think she’ll run off to Stalking Wolf?”
“She asked me if I liked the taste of eyeball stew.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said the juice wasn’t too bad. That if a body got hungry enough, anything would taste good. She, uh, she said they’d eaten anything that crawled. In Vicksburg.”
Kathy Ann had started to explain the siege that ended on Independence Day, 1863. Brax had shut her up. He’d refused to hear it. Still hurting for his two sisters, for Larkin’s widow, and for his young niece, he hadn’t wanted a mental picture of their suffering.
“Kathy Ann said something interesting about Virgil Petry,” he now commented to Geoff. “She told me why he put up the traveling money for the husband-wanted deal.”
“Is that so?”
“There was a personal tie between Virgil and Claudine’s bachelor uncle, which I knew all along. To put it mildly, those fellows had eyes for each other. It was all hush-hush.”
“I always figured Massa Petry was sort of odd.”
“I never told you what Virgil did to spring me, did I? Virgil said yes to the captain of guards. The Yankee had been after Virg’s lard-ass for a while, but Virg didn’t like his looks. He gave in to get his former lover’s niece a husband. Me.”
“But how did you get him interested in you?”
“Blackmail.”
“I should’ve guessed.”
“I told him if he didn’t get me out of the stockade and give me a recommendation, I’d slander his name all over the Delta. I took a wild guess and said I’d let it be known that he’d been buggering little boys. I must have guessed right. He jumped right on that repulsive Yankee he’d been avoiding.”
“Dat may be right, but dat ole lawyer had da last laugh. He sent you to Miss Claudine.”
“Who’s laughing now?”
The wind kicked up all of a sudden, bringing the scent of rain with it. It was time for the autumn rains. The Nickel Dime could use some of it. But why did he get the impression the storm wouldn’t be limited to the heavens opening up?
“Bubba, tell me more about Pearl of the Concho.”
After Brax launched into a description that didn’t need inflating, Geoff said, “If we found a mutual interest, where would I take her to live? Truth is, Bubba, I never hankered for California. Th
at place was your dream.”
Brax went still. He allowed himself the liberty of butting into Geoff’s decision-making. “The Nickel Dime has enough land for a bunch of Hales. . . .”
“Now that you mention it, Mason County has kinda grown on me. I could see spending a lifetime here.”
A grin lightened Brax’s face. He reached out to rub his knuckles across the naps on Geoff’s head, then did something he hadn’t done in years. He gave the boy a bear hug and a big slap on the back. “Glad to hear it, Geoffie.”
He’d been hoping—hell, praying!—Geoff wouldn’t say his goodbyes. Never had he been able to announce, or even to acknowledge, that Geoffrey Hale was blood kin. They had never even discussed it between them. Still, he loved Geoff like a brother. Geoff was his brother. The last brother Brax had to lose.
Elizabeth Hale, wraithlike on her deathbed, had whispered to her firstborn, “Take care of little Geoffie. Don’t ever whisper a word of it, but . . . he’s your blood brother.”
The saintly Elizabeth expired then, still concerned for her demon husband’s by-blow. There had been no end to the dirt John Hale had piled on the family. Forget him and his dirt.
A good washing was what he needed.
Arriving at the Nickel Dime headquarters in the midnight hour, Brax waved good-night to Geoff and the grizzled ranch hand; they headed for the bunkhouse. Damn, Brax felt good. Geoff wouldn’t be leaving. He would stay.
While it was tempting to make a beeline for his wife, he wouldn’t go to her smelling like cows and three nights on the road. He headed for the well to draw a big bucket of water.
That he lugged into the cookhouse; he didn’t bother with a lantern. He built a fire in the stove, setting the bucket atop it. The heavy table shoved aside, he dragged the hip bath into the middle of the dirt floor. A good washing and some dental sprucing up, and sure as shootin’, he’d be ready to hike into the house and pull his beautiful wife into his hungry embrace.
Using baking soda on his teeth, then a mouthwash of whiskey, he took care of half the problem. Settled as a tall man could get with his legs drawn up to his chin, he savored the warm water and the joys of a cake of soap. All the while he went through his ablutions, he kept an ear peeled. Surely Skylla knew he’d gotten home. Would she visit? This cookhouse seemed the best spot for a reunion, since the main house would be cluttered with big-eared women with no men to call their own.
“Braxton?”
His wife.
He smiled toward the door she opened, his smile widening when he got a gander at her. He let himself drink in her womanly curves and the luxurious fall of her hair. He liked it down. But his smile faded when he got a good long look at her outfit. She wore britches and a shirt. Shoot, he’d hoped for her naked, and would have settled for a nightgown and wrapper. Fully dressed said something’s up and it ain’t good.
Twenty-one
“Hello, Braxton.”
Upset but doing her best to control it, Skylla refused to gaze at her husband’s naked shoulders and knees, evident in the hip bath. She centered on his face. Was that a wise choice? His eyes, so alluring in the dim light, so intense with obvious desire, aroused her passion.
His lips beckoned. “I’ve missed you,” he said in a voice hoarse with longing. He lifted his arms in invitation.
“We’ve got trouble,” she announced.
His elbows settled on the rim of the tub. “I was hoping for good news.”
“There’s been some of that.” She told him about Titus’s cowboys returning, then sat down on a chair and spoke of her problem. “Kathy Ann is in love.”
“Let me guess the lucky fellow. Stalking Wolf.”
“Yes.”
Braxton ran a hand down his face. “Has he shown up?”
“No. He sent messengers. With a gift.”
“It sounds serious.”
Skylla could have bopped him on the head. “I’d like to know why you aren’t upset.”
“Stalking Wolf is a good man. And you and I both know he has more than a passing interest in Piglet.”
“I don’t want her taking up with a dirty, thieving savage. Besides, she’s just a child, fifteen or no fifteen!”
“It’s not your decision to make. She’ll do what she wants, and no one will be able to stop her.”
“You can be blase. She’s not your sister.”
“That’s a low blow. I’ve done my best for that girl.”
Skylla lowered her gaze. He had. He’d done his best for everyone and everything connected to the ranch. Claudine, forever crying wolf, had been nothing but mean-minded. But what about the “fake” topaz? What about his helping himself to the treasure trove? It would be petty to mention those things.
“By your silence, I take it you don’t think I’ve done right by Kathy Ann.”
“You have been good to her. Moreover, you’re right. She’ll do her own choosing. After the unhappiness of my sister’s younger years, I ought to be pleased at their love match. But life with the chief of a nomadic and savage people? No!”
“What does Claudine have to say about the girl?”
“This brings up another problem. Claudine got married this afternoon. To Webb Albright.”
“There is a God.”
“I wouldn’t get too tickled if I were you.” Skylla launched into the whole story, including the awful truth about Winslow Packard. “I think there’s going to be trouble.”
“Let it rip. I’m not scared.” Before she could open her mouth, he murmured, “I’ve missed you. Missed you like crazy.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“This water’s getting cold. Mind if I get out? Would you mind drying my back?”
She knew what that would lead to, and though she wanted it as much as Braxton did, she admitted, “I have a headache.”
He exhaled in exasperation. “Skylla, we’ve been married less than a week. We made pretty good love, more than once. And we made pretty good partners, dealing with Stalking Wolf. Those things ought to count for something.” Impatience filtered into his expression. “Is this the way it’s going to be with us? You let your family give you a headache, then you don’t want to make love with your new husband.”
“They didn’t give me a headache. You did. All along I’ve tried to have faith in you, but all along I get clues that you’re not to be trusted.” She inhaled. “I want to know something. How old are you?”
His answer was slow, hesitant. “Thirty-one.”
“You claimed to be twenty-nine.”
“I did.”
“Did Joanie Johnson’s father buy your mother a piano?”
“He did not. I worked eighteen hours a day at Woody’s to buy that piano. Who put such a notion in your head, anyway? Don’t bother answering. Claudine did it.”
While Skylla felt relief over the piano, she would have all her questions answered. Her eyes closed. “Braxton, the topaz you traded to Stalking Wolf. It was all glass. Fakes.”
“Not true. Not true at all.”
A giant whoosh of water accompanied Braxton’s departure from the bath. She heard him making the motions of drying off with a towel he must have gotten from the cupboard. Even before he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, she felt his imminent touch.
She meant to look into his face and demand a better explanation about the topaz. It was then that she noticed the deep-purple bruise on his shoulder. How it must hurt! It hurt her just to recall that Indian brave battering Braxton with a club.
“It’s not painful, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, reading her mind.
“Skylla, about those gemstones . . .” He bent at the knees to sit on his heels. The towel broke loose as he shifted, the material pooling at his privates. “I can’t imagine Titus burying glass. There’d be no reason for it.”
Heartened by the rank honesty in her husband’s face, Skylla exhaled in relief. The guileless look in his eyes gave her further comfort. She placed her hand over his. “Thank
goodness for you. I—I . . . well, I’ll admit I’ve had awful thoughts. Please forgive me for doubting you.”
“Let’s don’t start that forgiving business.”
She stood, invitation in her tone as she said, “It’s late. We should turn in.”
“Best offer I’ve heard lately.” He, too, got to his feet. One hand holding the towel in front of his manly equipment, he appended in a voice heavy with ardor, “The best offer . . . ever.”
The moment he took her fingers with his free hand, a clap of thunder rent the air. Lightning pulsed, casting the cookhouse in a gray light, and rain beat a tattoo on the tin roof. Immediately, the clean crisp scent of nature washing the earth mingled with the nice scent of a freshly washed husband.
“Autumn rain,” he said quietly. “Overdue. But welcome, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Should we make a dash for it?”
“We’ll catch our deaths if we do.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” He lifted his hand to trace his fingers along Skylla’s cheek. “We wouldn’t want to catch our deaths, would we?”
She shook her head, smiling up at him and luxuriating in the tingles that his touch elicited. “It would be wise if we waited out the storm here.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Do you like rain?” she asked, realizing how little she knew of his likes and dislikes.
“Yeah, I like it. Especially when it’s just you and me and the rain beating on the roof. What do you say about us making a pallet on the table. . . ? We could sit on it. And watch the rain through the windows.”
“I’ll grab a tablecloth out of the drawer.” As soon as she finished spreading it across the oaken table, she felt the tickle of his breath on her neck. She shivered. Deliciously.
“Skylla . . . I want to do more than watch the rain.”
“I know.”
The towel slipped when he wound both arms around her. Her fingers climbed to curl into his hair. Feeling his growing erection, she pressed against it.
“I want a kiss,” he murmured.
Her lips parted as he angled his mouth to hers. For a splendid moment he explored her lips, drawing forth shivers along with a moan of desire. Then his tongue dipped between her teeth to explore the core of her mouth. He tasted of whiskey, not a bad taste. Her hands moved to the sides of his face, and she held him as he now held her. The need for more than a kiss roared through her, like the thunder outdoors.