Curt refused his offer of a refill, but Rafe once again sipped appreciatively from his glass.
“I guess finding yourself half owner—”
“Not yet, Curt. There’s the terms of the will to be met before that happens.”
“Yes, well, yes, of course, but I don’t see why they should present a problem to you. There are plenty of young women who would … well, with the prestige of owning the Reina, I’m sure—”
“Having trouble spitting it out? Then I’ll say it for you. If I’ve got the Reina, I’ll be considered worthy by the good folk ’round here to court their darlings.”
Curt reacted to the bitterness in Rafe’s voice. “You can’t blame them, Parrish. You don’t exactly look like a man who set down roots anywhere at any time.”
“I haven’t ever. I’ve traveled light, heading where I wanted and when.”
“The judge said very little about your background, although he did mention that you had spent time in Mexico.”
“It’s been a second home for me. Got tired of running horses and cows up to Kansas and having some rancher rake in the profits of my sweat.”
Curt jerked his head up, the solution he had been searching for handed to him by the very man he wanted to get rid of. His interest wasn’t hard to feign. “Won’t you find it impossible to settle in one place? Especially since you’ll be one of those ranchers raking in profit from another man’s sweat. In your position,” he continued thoughtfully, glancing up at the massive portrait of Sy Garrett over the fireplace, “I would give serious thought to what running the Reina will entail. It’s not a small ranch. The land area encompasses more than you can ride in a day from any one point. And while we have avoided any mention of Lacey, I think she is something we need to discuss. Sy Garrett, as the man who raised her, taught Lacey the value of ruling. She’s young, I admit, but don’t let her youth fool you into thinking she’s one to back down. Threaten her in any way, and you’ll have a fight on your hands.”
“So you’ve said. I’ll keep that advice in mind. We got off to a bad start, and I don’t know how to fix that. She’s had no time to get over her shock of finding out that I’m Garrett’s natural son, much less that she’s not his natural daughter.”
“Lacey won’t rest now until she knows who her real father is. But if I can help you in any way, just ask. Lacey has a temper, she’s headstrong, too, but she will listen to reason.” Curt watched Rafe’s restless prowl around the room, touching objects that caught his eye but remaining silent. “You might think about making yourself scarce for a few days to give her time to adjust.”
“Think that might help?”
“I am sure of it.” Eagerly then, Curt went to Rafe’s side. “I know it was foolish of me, Rafe, but I should have asked Judge Walker to leave those papers with me. If you had them and showed them to Lacey, it might ease what I’m afraid will turn into a confrontation with her.”
“That makes sense. Where was he headed?”
“San Angela, then on to Sweetwater, before returning to Austin.”
Rafe gazed at Curt, thinking, and what would it be? Bushwhacked on the trail, or once in Austin, if he reached that far, having some gunman pick a fight with him? Curt was so desperately transparent, Rafe almost laughed at him.
Maggie’s entrance stopped Rafe from answering him.
“How is she?” Curt asked first.
“She’s restin’. I had to give her some of that laudanum Doc left for Sy. After what she told me, that judge is lucky he left. As for you two, barkin’ squirrels got more sense than to lay that girl low today of all days. She had powerful feelin’s for Sy.” Her gaze pinned itself on Rafe, and she marched across the room to stand toe to toe with him.
“So you’re his son.” Maggie thought of what Lacey had told her. There was a look about him reminding her of a wolf, watchful, waiting, but it was the eyes that made her own soften. His gaze was level, direct, never wavering from her own until she passed judgment.
“Don’t ’spect anyone made you feel welcome here on the Reina. Guess it’ll be left to me and Fletcher to remedy that.”
Rafe remained quiet, letting Maggie study her fill, asking for nothing, expecting less.
“Can’t doubt it none. You look like Sy—’specially ’round the eyes. I’m Maggie Olin, case you’re wonderin’. Been here nigh onto twenty years. I’ve been known to have my say when I wants. And I’m sayin’ my piece now. Your pa was a man. Ain’t no one give him nothin’. Ain’t gonna be easy for you to live up to him.” She glanced down at his boots and slowly raised her head. “There’s a new pair of boots of Sy’s that’ll fit you well enough.” Abrupt as her entrance, she left, without a look or word for Curt.
“So, you’ve just met Maggie,” Curt remarked with a tensing of his jaw.
“So I have,” Rafe returned, grinning.
Curt found himself forced to take another look at Rafe Parrish. Maggie’s words caused something deeper than curiosity. Something he didn’t care to name. Obviously, he had missed quite a bit. Certainly, Rafe was at a height and build similar to Sy Garrett and bore a striking resemblance. It was the beginnings of his beard that had made him miss it. Rafe was staring back at him, his eyes hooded, much the way Sy’s would look when he was weighing facts or scheming. But Rafe, he reminded himself, seemed to be open to his offer of friendship. That definitely was not a trait belonging to Sy Garrett. He had been a sly old fox. Changing the will without letting him know proved that Sy kept his own counsel. Could his son have the same trait?
The thought prompted him to ask, “Rafe, why don’t you get your gear and settle in? I’ll take you down to the bunkhouse and introduce you around. It might make it easier if I do, especially with Ward Farel.”
“Who’s he?”
“Foreman. Sy hired him on when old Fletcher Ross broke his leg on a broomtail four years ago. He’s a big man, about your height. Lacey depends upon him. Heavily,” he added. “Didn’t you see him here this morning?”
“Can’t say I recall him.” How could he when he only had eyes for Lacey? It was one reason he had agreed with the judge and stayed in the office. But it wasn’t something he could admit to this man, much less himself. Suddenly he was itching to get rid of Curt.
“It’s a right kind offer, but I’ll just sit here for a while. The whiskey,” he said, holding up his glass, “is the best I’ve tasted. Guess it isn’t hard for you to figure out I’m not used to such fine things. Never did have the money for them. Never figured I’d be wanting them. Take some getting used to, me having to change the way I’ve lived.”
It was dismissal and Curt knew it. But he had to give it one more try. “If you have made up your mind not to give Lacey a few days to adjust, I will be forced to accept that. But you should reconsider that decision. You could share my place in Sonora with me. You don’t know the extent of Lacey’s temper when she’s goaded. That can be one hell-bent lady.”
Rafe smiled and sipped his drink. “I figure it’s best for me to begin as I mean to go.” His voice grew hard, his eyes more so. “The sooner everyone understands that I mean to take my place as Sy Garrett’s son the better. It would bode well for folks to accustom themselves to the idea that I’m staying. Especially Lacey.”
“I’ll return to town, but if you or Lacey need me to talk, or whatever, send a rider in.”
“Sure thing, Curt.” But Rafe wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at golden whiskey. As soon as the door closed behind him, Rafe began rubbing the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the tension that tightened his muscles. It had been harder than he would have believed. Damn the judge for leaving when he did! He needed that letter to face down anything Lacey could use against him. He frowned, thinking again of her face, the way her body seemed small and light in his arms, that cry that ruffled his nerve ends. But there was strength in her. She had stood
like a princess, cool and regal, this morning at the service. Willow slender in that high-necked black gown, the sun glinting fire off her chestnut hair, and he couldn’t take his eyes from her. He smiled, seeing her again, with that defiant lift of her chin, and that mouth … How would that mouth look swollen from a man’s kisses, and those eyes fired with passion?
Fanciful thoughts that had no place being in his mind.
He eyed the big leather chair behind the desk and made his way toward it. His hesitation lasted longer than Lacey’s had before he sat down, leaning back against the padded leather. Closing his eyes, he thought of what he had to learn about Lacey and about Sy Garrett, the bastard who had planted his seed and run. He supposed there was some justice in Sy’s leaving him half the Reina.
“Reina,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes tight. It was small consolation that Sy named his ranch for the young woman who had defied her family for his love. Hell, she had denied her traditions, her very life to be with him. But Garrett couldn’t have wanted her, he warned himself, bitterness filling him. If he had, he would never have left her alone in Mexico.
Forcing his thoughts back away from the painful past, he opened his eyes, rubbing the thick stubble on his face. A bath, a shave, and clean clothes were first priorities.
Then he’d see about Lacey. She knew he was a threat and rightly so, but the passion she lavished on the land should belong to a man. She was not his type of woman. Slim-hipped, small breasted, spoiled … no, not his kind. But there was a coltish grace about her moves that drew him. And that temper … He smiled. She might tempt him to strip that pride quickly. Upon a bit of reflection, he thought better of it. She would expect that from him. He wanted her unaware, seeing him only as a threat to her hold on the Reina.
Patience, he warned himself, would bring all he wanted. And he wanted Lacey for the challenge she had issued without knowing today.
How hungry could he make her without taking her?
It was a question he pondered as he left the office to find Maggie.
Chapter 5
From the time she had spit out the laudanum Maggie had given her, Lacey had one question.
Who was her father?
There was no denial of that man’s word. She accepted what he said as fact. Judge Walker would not have brought him here, stating his claim, unless it was true.
Now she knew why he had asked her to wait until her return to hold a service for Sy. He had wanted Sy’s son here, on the Reina, to see his father laid to rest.
Where did she start? Who did she ask questions of?
She lay flat on her back, dry-eyed, staring up at the ceiling. Oh, God, it hurt! Why had Sy Garrett raised her as his daughter? Never once had there been a hint, a whisper that she wasn’t his own flesh.
Restless, she twisted to her side, staring at the yellowed abode wall. Her chest felt tight, and there was a slight burning sensation behind her eyes. By force of will she dismissed the threatened tears. Crying would not help. It never had.
She closed her eyes, fighting not to drag the past out of memory, but a shifting swirl of scenes came forth.
Maggie and her husband, Eric, Fletcher, Bo James, and Sy, tall as a god, scooping her up and holding her high on his shoulders. “Look,” he said, “see what belongs to you.”
Was she three, four? She didn’t remember. Before that there were no images.
And Maggie, always Maggie, soft words soothing her, rocking her to sleep. Maggie, wrinkled face scowling, scolding her, and then offering a cookie and a smile.
Fletcher, Eric, and Bo, always having time for her, patience, never turning aside her questions, teaching and caring. All the things that Sy never had time to give.
Had he hated her? Was the woman buried in the grove her mother?
Questions and more questions. Sitting up, Lacey rubbed her temples against the headache forming. She would find out who her father was—no matter the cost—but now she had Rafe Parrish to contend with.
A squeaking noise brought her head up, and she glanced around, alert, not realizing she was holding her breath until she released it.
“God,” she whispered, “I’m jumping like a prairie dog down his hole.”
But she had a right to feel this way. That man had already proved he would take whatever he could.
Staring down at the wide, uneven planks of oak flooring, Lacey didn’t really see the aged golden-brown shadings of the wood. She saw Sy Garrett’s face fading, becoming Rafe’s. It frightened her until she shivered. Yes, he resembled Sy physically, and the eyes, black and thick-fringed, and that taunting voice … Stop it!
He revealed his enjoyment in baiting her, and like Sy, his son would use any weakness against her. A weakness … that was what she needed. Well, she had a year before he took title to half the Reina. Something would—
“If he marries…” Damn Sy! Why had he put those terms in his will? He knew she didn’t want to marry. He…
Lacey tensed. Had Sy believed that his son could take the Reina from her? Did he state that condition in the belief that she would marry his son to keep her share?
Fury propelled her from the bed. She stalked to the windows facing the back of the ranch. Clutching the crisp white curtain, she shoved it aside. Her eyes followed the slight curving slope to the stand of willows and cottonwood trees. Not a leaf stirred in the heat of the late afternoon.
Lacey stared at the graceful silver sweep of boughs leaning over the shimmer of water in the pond they surrounded. Pain eased slowly as she thought of learning to swim there, her mind eager to supply her with happier thoughts. She could see Sy, tanned as burnished copper, holding her small body in his strong arms, making her feel secure as they eased their way into the water. Within days he was encouraging her to strike out on her own. Since it was one of the few times he wore a look of pride, Lacey cherished the memory of the first time she called him to come and watch her swim across the pond.
But she had long since outgrown the pond, just as she believed she had outgrown the deep, driving need for Sy’s grudgingly given approval.
Turning her back on more than the sight of the pond, Lacey began to prowl her room, touching the ancient wood mantel, bare of decorations, the high-backed cherry-wood rocker that had belonged to her mother. A push set it moving, and she remembered the nights Maggie had rocked her, and then the nights she sat alone.
“I have no right here.” The trembling began and she could do nothing to stop it. The thought expanded like her pain. “I have no right to call any of this mine if Sy is not my father.”
But why, then, did he leave her half the Reina? She could not lose the land she loved. “And leave it all for him,” she whispered with a violent shove at the rocking chair. “Never!”
Sounds intruded into her thoughts. Lacey spun around, facing the door in the opposite wall. The door led to a bathing room, a room Sy claimed her mother insisted upon, and beyond it was Sy’s bedroom. Lacey was not thinking at all, but moving toward it, yet her walk was both soft and cautious.
She opened the door. The room appeared undisturbed. The woodstove fire was banked, its heat barely noticed as she glanced at the high-sided tub. Open shelves held linen towels and the harsh lye-ash soap that Sy favored. Lacey crossed the small room and stood before the other closed door that led to Sy’s bedroom. The sounds were unmistakable. Someone was inside, moving around. Lacey wanted to deny what she would find if she opened the door, but even as she gripped the doorknob and turned it, easing the door open, she knew she would see him.
Rafe Parrish gave no indication that he had heard her. He stood with his back toward her as Lacey fought down the rise of fury. Her gaze slipped past him to a few meager possessions that she assumed were his lying on the blue and brown patchwork quilt of Sy’s massive oak bed. On the straight-backed chair beside the bed hung saddlebags, worn and deeply
scarred. Lacey gazed at the closed door leading to the courtyard, saw his gunbelt hanging next to Sy’s fancy silver-trimmed one on the door pegs. He stood before the open wardrobe, fingering the cloth of Sy’s suits hanging there, untouched since his death. Untouched by her order, and suddenly it did not matter who this man claimed to be, but only the need she had to assert her rights.
“Who dared to let you in here?” Glaring at him, she saw his back muscles tense before he slowly turned around to face her. Tapping her foot impatiently when she received no reaction from him, Lacey crossed both arms beneath her breasts and demanded, “What are you doing in here?”
“Seems obvious.” Rafe took two shirts from the bed and placed them on a shelf in the wardrobe. He took two steps toward her and stopped. “I’m stowing my gear. I didn’t think I’d disturb you. Didn’t know about that,” he said, gesturing to the open doors behind her. “Maggie never said you were this close. You didn’t bother to knock, either, but you’re right welcome.” Her stony countenance made him add, “You feeling better?”
“No thanks to you,” she snapped.
“Reckon not. Curt left. And when I’m finished, I figured to—”
“Finished? You can’t stow your gear in here. This is Sy’s room.”
Her tone was as incredulous as her look, but Rafe was pleased to see the hectic color flushing her cheeks. He met her glare with an inward sigh, knowing there was no way to get around their first battle place.
“The room is empty. I chose to fill it.”
Rafe wondered if she heard him. Strangely silent, she stood still while he studied her, the thin shirt and tight pants revealing each curve and hollow of her body. She had none of the soft prettiness of a woman to attract him. But attract him she did. Her coldness or … Rafe found himself smiling. Lacey offered him a challenge with her slimhipped stance. He turned and picked up two folded neckerchiefs, but her voice stopped him.
Western Winds Page 5