“Rip would whip you?”
Cricket’s lips screwed into a disarming grin. “It usually hurts him more than it does me. You should see his face when . . . Anyway, his leather lessons are so memorable they don’t usually need to be repeated.”
“He beats you?” Creed repeated, aghast. “You’re a girl!”
“I guess after last night, there can’t be much mistake about that,” she admitted ruefully. “Are you coming?”
She was fully dressed, ready to leave, and Creed was still sitting naked in the bed with the sheet pulled up to his waist.
“Wait,” he said. “I want to explain what happened last night.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not interested.”
“Look, Brava—”
“I said it doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. “I’ve got more important things to do today than listen to you recite the lurid details of an evening—”
“But there aren’t any—”
“No. Don’t explain anything. Just keep your mouth shut about last night, do you hear? And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to forget it ever happened.” Of course that was going to be no problem, Cricket thought. She’d have to remember it first in order to forget it.
Creed bubbled inside with anger. He didn’t know when he’d ever been so furious with another human being. If she would only let him finish a sentence she wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting something that had never happened. But she kept interrupting. So be it. If she was determined not to let him tell the truth, then she could learn to live with the lie.
“Creed?” The sound of Bay’s voice startled them both.
“Hell’s bells! I knew this would happen. We’re in here, Bay,” Cricket called out.
Bay approached the bedroom door apprehensively, afraid of what she’d find. When she entered the room she discovered Creed sitting in the large bed with the sheets pulled up to his waist. He was obviously unclothed beneath the covers. Cricket stood next to the bed. She wore her buckskins, but Bay saw her underthings in a heap on the floor beside her. She blushed and stammered, “I was worried when you didn’t show up last night. I thought Creed . . .”
“Your instincts were right, as usual,” Cricket said. “Creed took very good care of me. In fact, he even shared his bed with me last night.”
“I’m sure Creed did nothing—”
Cricket’s harsh laugh stopped Bay. “What you see is—” She paused dramatically. “What you see, Bay, is exactly what it looks like.”
“Oh, my.”
“And now, if nobody minds, I’m going to get some breakfast.”
Cricket turned on her heel and, Creed noted with a shaking head, stalked from the bedroom. If her walk was any indication, the events of the evening hadn’t been at all devastating to her self-confidence.
“I . . . I . . .” Bay couldn’t get out anything that sounded vaguely like the apology she felt she owed for butting in where she wasn’t wanted or needed, but she’d been so worried about Cricket and . . . She should have known Cricket would land on her feet. She always did, no matter what the situation. However, this was certainly a unique set of circumstances—especially for Cricket. “I’m sorry,” she finally blurted out.
“No need to be. I’ll admit the evidence is pretty damning, but nothing happened here last night.”
“It didn’t?”
“Not that Cricket would let me get a word in edgewise to explain that to her.”
Bay grinned.
It was the first time Creed had seen her face light up like that, and he found himself grinning back at her.
“So Cricket thinks—”
“The worst,” Creed finished ruefully.
“Sometimes Cricket can be a real pain in the—” Bay put her hand over her mouth, aghast at what she’d been about to say in front of the Ranger. Five years in Boston had gone a long way toward improving her speech, but there were times when the first twelve years of her life came back to her with a vengeance. “Very stubborn,” she finished primly.
“Yes, she can,” Creed agreed.
They laughed together, and Creed realized how much he genuinely liked Cricket’s sister.
Cricket had forgotten about Bay and Creed as she strode toward the house, planning the best way to explain to Rip what had happened last night. It would be easy to place the blame for everything on Jarrett Creed. After all, if he hadn’t taunted her she would never have entered the cantina in the first place.
Weak, Cricket. Very weak excuse. She had no one to blame but herself. She should have gone home when Rip asked her to join him. She’d assured him she’d be along shortly, and then she’d played monte for another three hours—waiting for Creed to come back to the cantina, she admitted.
Cricket was surprised to discover Rip sitting in one of the two huge rockers that graced the lower gallery porch. She almost hadn’t noticed him, he sat so still. He rose as she approached, and she checked surreptitiously to see if it was apparent she’d come from the bachelors’ quarters. No, she could just as easily have been coming from the barn.
“Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you last night.”
Cricket hadn’t expected her father to know she hadn’t come home last night, or to meet her at the front door and question her about where she’d slept. “I was out,” she mumbled, moving past him into the large open hallway just inside the door.
Rip followed, towering over her shoulder and lumbering after her like a grizzly reared up on its hind legs.
“Where were you?”
How was she going to answer that?
“None of your business,” she tried.
Rip slammed the door behind him, then pulled his leather belt from around his waist and folded it in half.
“Where did you spend the night?” he roared.
Rip’s tirade brought Sloan down the stairs. She quickly appraised the situation and said from the bottom step, “Does it really matter? She’s home safe now.”
“Stay out of this, Sloan,” Rip warned. “I asked you a question,” he repeated to Cricket. “I want an answer. Now.”
At that moment Bay opened the front door. She saw the belt in Rip’s hand and almost ran back out again. She looked quickly over her shoulder and saw, to her relief, that Jarrett Creed was right behind her.
“Creed’s here for breakfast,” she said, throwing the front door wide.
Even though Cricket had warned him, Creed was still appalled to see the belt in Rip’s hand. The mammoth man seemed not to mind at all that Creed would witness him disciplining his daughter.
“Some problem?” Creed asked, a note of warning in his voice. The space was large, but with the five of them crowded in, Rip was going to hit more than Cricket if he raised the belt. Not one of them moved, however, to get out of his way.
“Don’t interfere, Creed. This doesn’t concern you.”
“You’re going to whip your daughter because she was robbed?”
“What? Say that again?”
“Cricket was kidnapped by two Mexicans who were after a little more than the prize money she won yesterday. I saw what was happening and managed to rescue her, but the bandidos got away with her días de toros purse and her horse. Surely you can’t blame her for that.”
Rip listened to Creed’s explanation with narrowed eyes. “So you brought Cricket home.”
“Yes, I did,” Creed confirmed, his eyes steady on Rip’s.
Rip turned back to Cricket, suspicion simmering under his demand, “Where did you sleep?”
“I found her in the loft of the barn,” Bay supplied.
Rip wheeled on Bay, and she seemed to shrink before Creed’s eyes. “I looked in the loft,” Rip said. “She wasn’t there.”
“She was,” Bay argued back, her words coming in breathy spurts. “Under the hay. In the corner. Really.”
Rip grabbed Cricket’s chin in his hand and pulled her face up to look at him. “Next time you say you’re coming right home, I’ll expect to see you
r backside in bed the next morning. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir,” Cricket replied belligerantly.
Rip strapped his belt back around his waist as he headed for the dining room. “Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m hungry as a she-bear in spring.”
Creed could feel the tension ease in each of the three girls as they followed their father, exchanging glances that spoke volumes of questions and answers, rebukes and explanations.
“I looked for you last night,” Sloan whispered to Cricket. “Where were you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she whispered back.
“We have to talk,” Sloan said. “I have something important I need to discuss with you.”
At that moment they arrived at the dining room and Cricket hissed, “Same here. After breakfast?”
“Sure.”
It amazed Creed that Rip had accepted Bay’s flimsy, made-up story, and that he hadn’t asked Cricket to confirm or deny it. Surely, from what Creed had said, Rip could deduce where Cricket must have spent the night. But Cricket’s father hadn’t pressed the issue, and before Creed even asked “Why not?” he knew the answer to his question.
Rip didn’t want to confront the most logical answer—that Cricket had spent the night with Creed. Creed didn’t wonder any longer where Cricket had acquired her ability to simply ignore unpleasant realities.
Still, it was plain Rip had been worried about his daughter. He wasn’t the uncaring father Creed had accused him of being. He’d threatened Cricket with punishment, but out of concern, and by accepting Bay’s excuse he’d given himself a valid reason to forgo whipping Cricket.
Creed followed the unusual family into the dining room and filled a plate with the sumptuous fare provided. He sat at the table and ate in silence, but he was doing some fast thinking. Someone had to forestall Cricket’s attempt to go after the Mexicans. He didn’t trust Rip to do it, so he broached the issue himself.
“I think I’ll take some time off from my work here and go after the two Mexicans who robbed Cricket,” he announced.
“That sounds reasonable,” Rip agreed.
“I’ll go with you,” Cricket said.
“I work alone.”
Cricket wasn’t about to be deterred by Creed’s rejection. “Then I’ll go by myself.”
She watched Creed’s fist clench around his fork.
“You’ll only get in my way. I’d rather you stayed home.”
She stopped chewing when he looked to Rip for support. Surely her father wasn’t going to side with Creed.
The big man’s chin slipped to his chest, and his lips pursed in thought. He turned his fork around and around in his hand. The last thing he wanted was Cricket in Jarrett Creed’s company. It was a safe bet she’d spent the night with him last night, but he’d looked into Cricket’s eyes and found no feminine awareness there. He’d swear she was still untouched as a woman.
He’d never worried before that Cricket might give herself to a man before she was safely married to Guerrero’s son. But something special happened between Cricket and the Ranger every time they got together, and now was not the time to be taking unnecessary chances. Rip lifted his chin. He stabbed a forkful of fried eggs and stuffed it in his mouth as he announced through the food, “You stay home, Cricket. I’ve got things for you to do.”
Creed’s relieved sigh was interrupted by Cricket’s sharp retort.
“It was my stallion and my money that got stolen. I was the one who got knocked on the head and thrown off a galloping horse. I’m not going to sit home while this blade-nosed Ranger takes care of my business.”
“You’ll do as you’re told,” Rip ordered.
“Like hell I will!”
“Like hell you will!”
It was the same argument they’d had a hundred times. By the time they got to this point Cricket knew she was but a hairsbreadth from having her way. Only this time, the Ranger interfered.
“You’re staying with your father.”
The quietly spoken words struck like a thunderbolt, interrupting the oft-rehearsed scene. Neither of the two characters was prepared for Creed’s cold certainty.
“I won’t,” Cricket cried.
“Will you excuse us, please?” Creed said. “Cricket and I need to talk.”
Cricket was so disconcerted by Creed’s suggestion, she didn’t think to object. At Rip’s hesitant nod, Creed came around the table. Cricket eyed him like a coiled rattler, as he waited for her to stand.
“Is there a place we can speak privately?” he asked.
“You can use my office,” Rip volunteered.
“Follow me,” Cricket said. Her anger at this point greatly overrode any other emotion. She wondered why Creed wanted to speak privately with her, but she was sure it boded no good.
They stepped into a room as raw and rugged as the frontier. It was clear Bay’s gentle influence had not trespassed here. The distinctive smell of leather emanated from the heavy tomes in the bookcase on one wall. Cricket immediately dropped into the smooth rawhide seat of the largest of three cedar chairs near the fireplace. She hoped to give herself a measure of authority by taking Rip’s traditional place, since it was positioned for power. However, Creed never sat down in one of the two opposing chairs.
He walked over and stood looking down at her from his over-six-foot height, his feet spread wide and his fists perched on his narrow hips, his shoulders back and his chin jutted forward. It was an altogether intimidating posture, and Cricket swallowed hard and reminded herself that she’d never allowed a mere man to intimidate her.
“I don’t want you with me when I go after those Mexican bandits. I don’t want you to follow me. In fact, I don’t want you to leave Three Oaks at all while I’m gone.”
Cricket laughed, but it came out as a harsh bark. “What makes you think I’d do anything you asked me to do?”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling. Don’t leave Three Oaks while I’m gone.”
Cricket had to look up so far to see Creed she had trouble swallowing. There was an easy solution to that problem. She stood up, mimicking his aggressive stance. It helped because she didn’t have to look up so far, but now she stood less than a foot away and could feel the tension of coiled muscles, the threatening strength of a man who would not be denied. Except Cricket didn’t know the meaning of the word no.
“You’re way out of line, Ranger,” she said. “No man tells me what to do.”
“I’m not just any man,” Creed said, reaching out to caress Cricket’s cheek with the knuckles of his hand. “I’m your lover.”
Cricket flinched but held her ground. “I fail to see how that changes anything I’ve said so far.”
“I have an interest in seeing that nothing happens to you, Brava.”
“Why is that?”
“My babe may be growing in your belly.”
Cricket gasped as her hands flew to her abdomen. Of course. She’d forgotten all about that. She struggled to remember everything Sloan had told her four years ago. Was that all it took? One time? Was she going to have a baby now?
Creed had taken desperate measures to solve what he considered a desperate problem. He was making choices for Cricket again, but he didn’t think that could be helped. There wasn’t any way he was going to have her tagging along with him or even behind him. She belonged home, safe with her family. He’d get back her money and her horse a lot quicker if he didn’t have to worry about her well-being the whole time he was doing his job.
“You need to take care of yourself until you find out for sure one way or the other,” he said.
Cricket thought about it for a second and flushed when she realized how she would know “one way or the other.”
“I don’t want to have a baby,” she said, her lower lip thrust forward mulishly.
Creed’s large hands came up to cover Cricket’s, which were still on her belly.
&nbs
p; “Don’t be upset, Brava,” he soothed, “that’s why God made women.”
Cricket stepped back from Creed and looked him straight in the eye before she spat, “Well, God can just think again. I’ve got plans of my own!”
She was gone from the room before he could think of a suitable response to that.
Chapter 10
CRICKET LEFT THREE OAKS WITHIN MINUTES AFTER stomping out of the study. She stopped only long enough to tell Sloan their talk would have to wait, to grab necessary supplies and weapons, and to saddle a horse, before she was on her way with Rogue at her side. Cricket figured the two bandits had gone south along the Atascosito Road, which ran through Victoria to Goliad, both of them towns populated by tejanos. She followed the blaze-marked trail, so confident she would come across some sign of the two Mexicans that she spent the time planning exactly how she would retrieve her stolen possessions.
Several hours later, Cricket’s hunch was rewarded when she found the campfire where the two men had spent the past night. They’d camped in a stand of cypress near a stream. There were butts from several cigarettes smoked down to just one inch, exactly as Clemencio had smoked his in the cantina, and remnants of some personal items from her saddlebags, which had been used and discarded.
“See anything you recognize?”
Cricket whirled, drawing her Colt Paterson at the same time, but didn’t fire because the mellow Tennessee voice registered in the few seconds it took her to complete her turn.
“You always walk up behind strangers like that?” Cricket demanded, surprised and irritated to find Creed barely a foot away from her. His Comanche upbringing had made him stealthy, she conceded, but she wasn’t going to admire him for a trait which made it possible for him to sneak up and frighten her like that.
“You’re hardly a stranger.” Creed closed the distance between them until the bore of her gun rested against his iron-hard abdomen. He seized her chin with one hand, while the other snaked around her nape so his thumb rested on the pulse at her throat.
“This is no place for a woman, Brava,” he said, his face inches from her own, his breath fanning her mouth. “Not even a woman like you.”
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