Scarlet Sunset, Silver Nights

by Leigh Greenwood

  Of course she had no real right to be mad at Slade. He had never pretended to be anything but himself. Except for hiding a terribly handsome face behind a scruffy beard, he was still the same aimless, shuffling, shiftless, ambitionless drifting cowboy who walked through the pass yesterday. He’d proved to be good with a gun, proficient with his fists, and as stuffed with courage as a scarecrow with straw, but she had expected that. Cowboys always seemed to combine some of the best qualities with some of the worst. And Slade Morgan was no exception.

  Realizing she had become infatuated with this good-for-nothing lump of lethargy demoralized her. She couldn’t explain why she would sit mooning on the front porch with Slade Morgan. Not only did he kiss her, she encouraged him! Good God, didn’t she have any pride at all?

  A loose picture tumbled from the album. Absentmindedly, Pamela picked it up intending to slip it back into the album when her eyes focused on a picture of herself at age ten, astride her favorite pony and dressed up as a cowgirl. At that time her sole ambition in life had been to marry a cowboy and live on an Arizona ranch for the rest of her life.

  Pamela smiled wistfully, but her mood was bittersweet. She couldn’t return to the simplicity of those years, to a time of innocence at the cost of knowledge. She had been so certain she could never love any place as much as she loved Arizona. But she found a new dream when she went to Baltimore. Could it be that some of that love for the land still lurked inside her?

  No, her plans hadn’t changed. She just felt strongly attracted to a man who seemed to be the exact opposite of her in nearly everything. What could she do about it? She put the photograph into the back of the album.

  For a moment she thought of sending Slade away. Then she reconsidered. Maybe it would be better if she never allowed herself to be alone with him again. No. That would be cowardly and she refused to act like a coward. Anyway, she didn’t want to be separated from Slade. He certainly was n’t the kind of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but she had never met anyone as exciting. It didn’t make sense to send him away just because he wasn’t husband material. After all, she had never considered marrying him in the first place.

  But how could she account for his hold over her?

  She had told Mongo she would consider staying in Arizona for the man she loved. Up until yesterday she had never considered staying in Arizona under any circumstances. She had found Slade interesting when he was wearing a beard, yet until yesterday she had had an absolute aversion to men with beards. She hated the thought of using a gun against another human being, but this very morning she had used a gun on Mongo. She didn’t like hiring strangers, but she offered Slade a job without knowing a thing about him. She generally kept her distance from the men, but three times she had personally taken care of Slade’s wounds. Worst of all, she had never sat necking with a virtual stranger, but she had allowed Slade Morgan to take her out to the porch and kiss her silly.

  What enabled this man to turn everything she believed upside down? And she couldn’t blame it on his looks. She had already started acting like a fool before she knew he was more handsome than Frederick. He even laughed at her; she suspected he talked the way he did intentionally, and she still let him get away with it. Was she crazy or was he?

  She couldn’t say what made her feel totally unlike herself around Slade. Something about the way he held himself made him different. He walked like a man who was content with himself. He asked nothing of anyone but willingly risked his life to save her barn and honor her wishes about guns. There she thought, embedded in those actions, you will find the key to what makes him different.

  She had known many men with more polished manners—she had to admit she didn’t know any who were more handsome or whose bodies were more wonderfully masculine—but he embodied a generosity of spirit they couldn’t match. Still he could be as hard as flint. Amusement danced easily in his eyes, but his gaze could turn to ice just as quickly. She would never forget the way he looked at Mongo or the cold, calculating way he fought. She didn’t always feel totally comfortable around him, yet she liked knowing that he liked her. There was an excitement about it that had been lacking in all the other men she had known.

  She flipped back through the album until she came to a picture of a handsome young woman. Amanda. Pamela smiled down at the black-and-white photo as her memory provided all the vibrant color the photograph lacked. Amanda was a vivacious redhead with brilliant green eyes. Best friend, confidant, and her entree into Baltimore’s upper social circles, Amanda had taught Pamela a whole new way to see life. She had also given her a new way to look at men.

  Pamela used to worry about herself because she didn’t feel the same way Amanda and all the other girls said they did, not even about Frederick. Well there was obviously nothing wrong with her now, but why did she have to go and feel this way about a cowboy?

  Too disgusted with herself to think about it any more, Pamela put away the photo album and made her way to the kitchen. Maybe helping Belva would get her mind off Slade. Later she would find a good book. Somehow reading Jane Austen always helped her forget the outside world. Maybe it would work on Slade Morgan too.

  Chapter 9

  “You got his job all settled?” Belva asked over her shoulder as Pamela entered the kitchen. Her pregnancy made it difficult for her to keep on with her work. Even though Pamela offered to relieve her of some of her duties, Belva insisted upon doing as much as possible until the baby came. No one had really thought about what would happen after that.

  Pamela didn’t tell her they hadn’t gotten around to talking about his job.

  “He’s not up to riding yet, but I’m sure I can find enough around here to keep him busy.”

  “He can start by clearing away the burned part of the barn and replacing some of those boards,” Belva said. “You might ask Gaddy to do it, but not if you want it done before the first snow.”

  “The bunkhouse needs a good cleaning, too, but I thought I’d get him to help me in Dad’s study first. I need to dust the books and clean the shelves. It wouldn’t hurt to shake out the rugs either. I’d better get everything done before Dad gets back. He won’t let me touch anything in that room while he’s here.”

  “Do you think he’ll do it?” Belva asked, pausing in her work. “Most men consider that woman’s work.”

  Pamela started to speak and then stopped. What would Slade say about it? He didn’t impress her as being particularly sensitive to what others thought of him, but he probably saw himself as a tough man. He might refuse to help her dust and clean.

  “Of course, since you’ll be helping him, he might not object so much.” Belva eyed Pamela expectantly.

  Pamela looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t know much about Slade Morgan, but if I’m any judge, my presence won’t cause him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. I haven’t the slightest idea what he considers right and proper for a man of his stripe, but I have no doubt he’ll tell me. That man doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he manages to say a lot.”

  Belva returned Pamela’s stare. “I think he’s right nice. I don’t know many strangers who’d get themselves shot at by barn burners and beat up by a loud-mouthed bully for some gal they don’t hardly know. He’s just like one of them long-ago knights you read about.”

  “Those long-ago knights were, in reality, terribly bloodthirsty and forever starting wars. I’d rather Mr. Morgan not start fights on my account.”

  “You’d better hope he’s plenty bloodthirsty. From the looks of things, you’re going to need someone around here who is,” Belva declared somewhat cryptically. She padded off to bed leaving Pamela to wonder at her meaning.

  Slade could smell the coffee long before he reached the kitchen. There was no aroma of bacon and he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. His grandmother had been born in North Carolina, and she always loved bacon better than beef. It was a smell worth getting out of bed for on a cold Texas morning.

  It surpri
sed Slade to find Pamela at the stove. She always seemed to be in the kitchen, but he had never actually seen her cook. This morning she appeared to be fixing breakfast by herself. The huge, iron stove loomed over her like a condor over its chick, but Pamela seemed to have no trouble handling the pot and two frying pans on the black burners. As usual her appearance was perfect. Not even the heat from a cooking stove could cause this woman to wilt.

  “Don’t stare at me like you’re afraid I’ll burn the eggs,” Pamela said. “I can cook.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Slade said recovering quickly.

  “The coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”

  Slade poured himself a cup and settled into his now accustomed place. The wooden table was spread with a white cloth this morning, and that made him uneasy. He wondered what it meant. He smothered a grimace of distaste before he even tasted his coffee. Like all western men, he liked it strong enough to float a horseshoe. Women tended to like it thin. Gingerly, he raised a half-filled cup, inhaled the aroma, and sipped. Much to his surprise, it tasted even better than Belva’s.

  “Good coffee,” he said, reversing one more of his opinions about Pamela. “You ought to start making it every morning.”

  “I may. Belva’s not feeling very well these days.”

  “Is all this food for me?” Slade asked seeing only one plate.

  “Belva’s not hungry, Gaddy ate earlier, and I never eat breakfast.”

  “A holdover from your school days?” he asked. She only smiled, but he had already decided she needed a little fattening up. He’d have to see what he could do about teaching her to eat breakfast.

  “Sleep well?” she asked.

  “Sure. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Your shoulder didn’t bother you?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice. After sleeping on the ground, that bed feels softer than a cloud.”

  “Do you sleep on the ground very often?”

  “They don’t have beds out in the desert, or in the mountains and on the plains for that matter. I bet I’ve slept on half the rocks in Texas.”

  “Don’t you have a home?”

  There you go asking questions again.”

  “What do you expect when you make comments like that?”

  “You could tell me something about yourself. I told you about me yesterday.”

  “Precious little.” She faced him with disarming frankness. “I wasn’t really pumping for information, though I would like to know more about you.” She had a sudden thought, one that seemed to amuse her. “You should be glad you’re not facing my mother. She wouldn’t stop until she knew everything about your family for at least five generations back.”

  “Wouldn’t do her any good. I don’t know anybody older than my grandparents, and not much about them.”

  “Mother didn’t trust people without a past.”

  “Tell me about her,” Slade asked. He didn’t have a bit of interest in Mrs. White. He was much more absorbed in contemplating a wisp of hair that had escaped Pamela’s bun and wafted seductively about the nape of her neck. Pamela was such a neat woman, always perfectly turned out in clothes much too elegant for her setting. To find a flaw, even one as minor as an escaped tendril of hair, pleased Slade tremendously. Now if he could just get her talking about her mother, maybe he could carry out his study unhindered.

  Pamela hesitated. What could she say about a woman she understood so little but who had done so much to shape her life? What could a man like Slade know about a woman who felt dispossessed, cut off from her past, and forced to live in a world she couldn’t understand.

  “She was born into an old Virginia family. They weren’t rich by the time mother was born, but they had a beautiful home, several thousand acres of land, and were related to just about everybody of importance. They lost it all in the War. They even fought a battle in the middle of Granddaddy DeLand’s best pasture.”

  Slade found his attention shifting from the stray lock of hair to the graceful arch of Pamela’s neck. He’d never actually studied a woman’s neck before, somehow it just never came up, but he realized now that had been a terrible oversight. Her slightly tanned and perfectly smooth skin held out an almost irresistible attraction. He longed to touch it with his fingertips, caress it with his lips, nibble it with his teeth until she squirmed wildly and lost some of her interminable control.

  “Mama had to live with relatives in Baltimore during the war. They were kind to her, but she couldn’t be happy there. She desperately wanted a home of her own,” Pamela continued. “That’s when she met Daddy. He had his own plantation, so when he asked her to marry him, she accepted. She never forgave him for not telling her he had sold everything he owned and planned to go to Arizona and start a ranch. She refused to leave Baltimore until he had built a house for her to come to.”

  Slade would rather have kept scrutinizing the nape of her neck, but Pamela had finished at the stove and began setting food on the table. “I don’t know much about houses in Virginia, but this is just about the biggest house I’ve ever seen. Your mother must have been real proud of it.”

  “She didn’t come to this house, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. She hated Arizona and everything about the West. She wouldn’t leave Daddy alone until he agreed to send me back East to school.”

  “And you wanted to go?”

  “Not at first, but I soon grew to love Baltimore. Of course I missed my parents, but I’ve never been as happy anywhere else.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “Mother was killed in an accident. I came home to take care of Daddy. He’s finally agreed to let me go back. He might even come with me.”

  “When?”

  “This winter, after he sells his herd. That’s why he wanted to hire extra hands. He needs them for the fall roundup.”

  “And to make sure outside herds stay off his range so his cows will be in good condition to sell?”

  “That too,” Pamela admitted.

  “Why do you want to go back to Baltimore?” Slade asked abruptly. Pamela gave him such a resentful look he thought she intended to ignore his question, but after she finished filling his plate with eggs, steak, and some fried potatoes, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the other end of the table.

  “I’m not happy here,” she confessed.

  “Why not?”

  “That’s really not your business.” It wasn’t stated resentfully, just as a matter of fact. She was silent a few moments and Slade settled down to the serious business of eating his breakfast. “This is my home. I guess I’ll always feel that way about it, but everything I like to do is somewhere else. The people I like to be with are somewhere else. Just about everything I like about being alive is not in Arizona.”

  “What’s that?” Slade asked with a mouthful of food.

  “Oh, lots of things,” she temporized, not wanting to have to explain herself.

  “Name one.”

  “Okay,” she replied, goaded, “I’ve never come across anyone who’s read Jane Austen.”

  “She wrote books about English girls falling in love,” Slade said without pausing in his eating. “They’re a little too full of starch for me, but they’re not bad.”

  “She’s my favorite author,” Pamela exclaimed, but her astonishment was not at Slade’s opinion but that he should know of her at all.

  “I’m not surprised,” Slade said, still eating steadily. “Now that I think about it, she’s just the sort of woman you would like.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Good Lord, she was already taking it for granted he knew what he was talking about. And he couldn’t, could he?

  “She goes on and on about the right thing to do, and feel, and think. Hell, it took Elizabeth nearly three years to catch her Mr. Darcy. I guess that’s okay in England, but it wouldn’t do for Arizona. A woman could blossom and fade in that length of time.”

  “Which is precisely the reason why I won’t do for Arizona,” Pamela snapped
. But her curiosity got the better of her thoughtfulness. “How do you know so much about Jane Austen?” she asked, not meaning the question to sound condescending.

  “My mother was a lot starchier than yours. She made me read all kinds of books that didn’t do me a bit of good. But you didn’t hire me to sit around discussing books, at least not while there’s work to be done,” Slade said as he finished the last of his breakfast. “Not much use to you like this.” He indicated to his arm in the sling.

  “You can help me with Dad’s office. I always wait until he’s away to clean it.”

  Slade watched her for a moment, no particular expression on his face but the faint suggestion of a smile. The longer he watched in silence, the more uncomfortable Pamela became.

  “You don’t have to help if it offends your masculine pride or something. All that debris at the barn needs clearing away. And there’s also the bunkhouse.”

  “You afraid I’ll consider this woman’s work?”

  “Belva said you might.”

  “And you?”

  “I don’t know. You’re odd enough to do it just to prove me wrong.”

  “I promise to try to behave properly. It’s the least I can do for your patching me up so often.”

  “I’d rather you promised to stay out of trouble.”

  “I try, but it seems to follow me wherever I go.” He stood up. “At the risk of confirming your worst suspicions, I think I ought to start on the barn. Your dad can use his study no matter how dusty it might be, but no horse is going to set foot inside that barn with it reeking of burned hay.”

  “Okay, but lunch is promptly at noon.” Pamela said as she got to her feet. Then, not knowing quite how to tell him she had forgiven him for last night, she added, “Be careful with that shoulder. I don’t want the wound to break open again.”

  Slade wondered how long it would take his feet and shoulder to get well. For once he wished he could be one of those slow healers who languishes for weeks at a time. Would Pamela banish him to the bunkhouse when he got well? He’d sure as hell be sent there double quick when her father got back. Staying in the house didn’t give him a whole lot of an advantage, but he intended to make as much use of it as possible. All kinds of wonderful things had come from just such humble beginnings. How else would he have spent the morning in intimate study of the nape of her neck and not gotten shot for it?