A smile curved Bailey's own lips. So much for her theory that the Rawlins children were to blame for Pokey's winsome lack of discipline.
Pris, far more refined, took a seat out of Zack's reach and watched the puppy's antics with a ladylike disdain that still didn't conceal the longing in her eyes. When Zack offered a second strip of bacon to coax her closer, she glanced warily over her shoulder as if to say, "I don't know. The mistress is around here somewhere, and I don't want to get caught eating out of some cowpoke's hand."
Bailey stifled a chuckle when Pris, thumping her tail once in regret, dutifully lay down. Dogs on the McShane ranch worked for their meals. Pokey had a lot to learn about earning his keep on a sheepherder's spread.
She stepped out of the shadows and passed through the slash of sunlight that fell across Zack's platter, with its biscuit crumbs and smears of egg yolk.
"'Afternoon," she greeted him.
He straightened, and his eyes seemed to glow when he saw her. "'Afternoon."
A disconcerting glitter of sensation coiled in her insides to see his gaze so welcoming. It made her stride falter, so she bent over as if she'd meant to stop and scratch Pris's ears.
"I see you charmed Jerky out of a meal," she said lightly.
"'Fraid not. I had to rustle up this bacon myself. Hope you don't mind."
"Er... no. Of course not."
Actually, she wasn't entirely sure she didn't mind. The thought of him sleeping in her bed and puttering around her kitchen brought her a cozy feeling, one she could too easily learn to like. "You're my guest. I apologize that no one was around when you woke to make you feel at home."
"No bother." He smiled and jerked his head in the direction of his coffee cup. For the first time, she noticed the brown-papered bundle sitting beside it. "That's for you."
"For me?" She eyed the short, thick square curiously and ventured a step closer.
"Yeah. I brought it with me from the ranch. It didn't seem right for you to open it in front of all those sheepherders, so I waited a spell till we could be alone."
His thoughtfulness was touching, but it made her nervous as well. As she recalled, he'd been in one of his black moods when he'd ridden across their boundary line the day before.
"What is it?" she asked, gingerly fingering the string on the package.
"Open it and see."
She hesitated a moment longer, chewing the inside of her bottom lip. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and she swung a chair around to sit. Pokey bounded forward to investigate the rustling paper sounds, and she had to prop the package on the seat back to keep his snout out of the way.
Finally, the wrapping parted beneath her hands to reveal the treasure, an ornately embossed gold and ivory Bible. She caught her breath. It was beautiful despite its brittle yellow pages, and judging by the care with which it had been wrapped, it was well loved.
She glanced questioningly at Zack. His eyes were hooded as he sipped his coffee, but she could feel their heat as he watched her.
"It was my ma's," he said. "And my grandma's before that. Fact is, it's the only thing I have left of them both."
"Zack, I couldn't possibly—"
"I want you to have it. You and the baby."
He took another sip, and she swallowed. She knew his mother had been murdered. His father too.
"Zack, it's beautiful. And precious. Much too precious for a woman who breeds sheep and raises Cain like me. It should stay in your family. I mean, Cord and Wes both have sweet, deserving little girls and—"
"And I might have one too."
Her cheeks warmed. Carefully, she folded the paper and balled up the string, more to hide the tremor in her hands than to keep the wrapping out of Pokey's clutches.
"It wouldn't upset you if you had a girl?"
"Fact is, I want a girl. Sons are great and all, but daughters..." His dimples flashed. "Well, they're just more fun with their little petticoats, their satin ribbons, and their shiny buckled shoes. Megan's always begging me to play the harmonica so she can dance and sing. Her brother Seth thinks harmonicas are little swords to play pirates with. And Merrilee likes to crawl up into the saddle with me to draw pictures of the steers. Topher would rather catch flies for his bullfrog."
Bailey's throat ached. She couldn't remember the last time her daddy had encouraged her to wear ribbons, much less to dance and sing.
"I reckon some girls can be fun," she said slowly. "Caitlin liked to do those things. She liked to sew and cook too, but Daddy always wanted a boy. He said girls like Caitlin were too much trouble, 'cause a father always had to worry about beaux sniffing around, trying to sow their seeds."
Zack snorted softly. "Sounds like your pa turned a blind eye to the good things about girl-raising."
"Maybe." Wistfully, she ran a forefinger along the spine of the Bible until she noticed her cracked nail and the sliver of dirt packed beneath it. Hastily, she withdrew her hands to her lap. "Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, since Caitlin's safe and married. And I learned how to fire a gun, so I wouldn't need Daddy's protection. Caitlin and I turned out all right, so I reckon he did the right thing by both of us."
"I reckon," Zack agreed, but he didn't sound convinced.
She made a concerted effort to square her shoulders and brighten her tone.
"All this talk of babies is just speculation anyway, so I'll keep the Bible, seeing as how it means so much to you. And then when I prove you wrong and I'm not pregnant, just like I said I wouldn't be, I'll make sure your mama's book gets back to you at your ranch all safe and sound. Okay?"
He lowered his cup with a decisive clunk to the table. Pokey's ears pricked. Pris raised her head from her paws.
"I'm glad you brought the ranch up, Bailey, 'cause I didn't know how to bring it up myself."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I did a lot of thinking while I was upstairs."
Her pulse quickened beneath his unflinching stare. "You were supposed to be sleeping," she retorted in a weak attempt at humor.
"I did a little of that too." His smile didn't soften the gleam in his eye. "I've decided to put down stakes here for a while."
She gaped, momentarily too stunned to protest.
"What do you mean, put down stakes?" she finally asked when she got her voice back.
"Just that. 'Course, I'll sleep in the barn. You shouldn't have to be alone, shouldering your worries about having a baby and trying to run this ranch by yourself too. I don't want you working like a hired hand, heaving grain, toting water, and hauling wood if my baby's in your belly. And if you are pregnant—and let's face it, Bailey, you could be—then we'll find that preacher I was talking about and make a proper home for our baby."
She bit back an explosive retort. Earlier that morning, she'd taken to heart what he'd said about her starting arguments with him all the time, so she was doing her best not to take the offensive, or, in this case, the defensive.
She counted to five. She couldn't quite push herself to six before she blurted out, "Zack, I don't think that's a good idea."
He raised both eyebrows. "I can appreciate your concern. McTavish will probably go on the warpath. He's an old, er, friend of yours, and he deserves an explanation. I'll talk to him next."
"Mac is my foreman," she corrected him crisply. "The best in the county. And baby or no baby, I won't let you come in here and ride roughshod over him."
"You misunderstand me. I don't mean to replace McTavish. I mean to work with him. Seems like he could use a hand around here."
She clenched her teeth to keep from telling him, and none too kindly too, that Mac's was the only "hand" she needed.
"What about your own ranch?" she demanded as reasonably as she was able. "You have responsibilities there."
"I've got two brothers and ten ranch hands. I think they can manage without me."
"You don't know anything about goats and sheep, Zack."
"I mean to learn."
She pressed her lips together, feeling
trapped by her silent vow to make peace with the man who might prove to be her baby's father. She was determined no child of hers would grow up in the domestic war zone in which she'd been reared.
But when Zack used that imperious I'm-the-boss tone, or hiked those arrogant eyebrows of his, damn, he sure made being nice hard.
"So what you're telling me," she said, "is you've made up your mind, and I have no say in the matter."
"Of course you have a say. I'm just hoping you'll see to reason."
"And do things your way."
He had the decency to look abashed.
"As I said before, I've been giving a lot of thought to these things. And while I'm not going to lie and tell you I love you, Bailey, I can honestly say I'm not in love with anyone else. I know that sounds callous, and I don't mean it to. I'm just trying to find a way through this whole mess that we've made. I figure if we call a truce and spend some time together, trying to learn more about each other, then maybe things can evolve... you know, your way."
She struggled to look serene under the wave of emotion that crashed over her. It broke so hard across the pieces of her heart, she couldn't sort out all her feelings. Should she be insulted, hopeful, or just plain sad that the man of her dreams would propose this highly logical business plan for falling in love with her?
"Zack," she said in a small voice, "you don't even like me. How could you possibly think you might come to love me?"
"That's not true." He reached between her lap and the chair, dragging her resisting hand onto the table and holding it in a firm, warm grip. "Sweetheart, that's just not true," he repeated more gently. "Just because we argue all the time doesn't mean there aren't things about you I admire. I do like you—your courage, your perseverance, your business sense. You're like a bulldog when you go after the truth, and I don't know of a single person, man or woman, who's more honest about how they feel. I just wish you would weigh the effect of those feelings on other people before you speak your mind, that's all."
She ventured a glance at him. He looked sincere. He didn't love her, but he was willing to try, just like Papa had been willing to try with her mother.
She cringed at the thought and at the cyclone of painful memories that whipped through her as a result.
"I don't know, Zack. Some things just can't be... forced."
"Then meet me halfway, Bailey. That's all I ask."
Meet him halfway? She was already head over heels in love with him.
She wanted to cry. She had never cried in front of a man, though, not even Mac, and she wasn't about to start now.
"All right." She put on a brave face, hoping he wouldn't notice the tremor in her chin. "If you're willing to try, I am too. For the sake of the baby," she added hurriedly. "And if there isn't a baby—"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
She held her breath. What did he mean by that? Could he possibly be thinking he might fall in love with her even if she wasn't carrying his baby?
She bit her lip. She decided she didn't want to know the answer to her question. If he said no, it would kill her. If he said yes, she would always wonder if her land had been the deciding factor.
"Where's McTavish?"
"Mac's out repairing the fences," she answered as nonchalantly as her constricted throat would allow. "I don't expect him back until sundown."
"All right." He gave her hand one last squeeze and rose, reaching for the hat he'd set on the chair to his left. "I'll ride out and find him."
"Zack, wait!"
"You've stalled our confrontation long enough, Bailey," he said with a maddening calm. "The man deserves to know about us. Now."
She climbed uneasily to her feet. "Mac already knows."
He paused, his hat halfway to his head. "How's that?"
"He... saw you ride out of here yesterday morning."
Zack's mouth tightened into a thin line.
"So you see," she added hastily, "there's no need for you to tell him anything—"
"There's more need than ever, Bailey. And if your father raised you the way I think he did, you know the need well."
He spoke in clipped but civil tones, and she hung her head. He was right, of course. Daddy would have been appalled to know she'd been keeping Zack from doing what was right and honorable. Her only excuse was that she loved him and Mac so much, she couldn't bear the thought of them fighting over her, whether they used words, fists, or guns.
"Zack, please." She wrung her hands, her vision blurring as she tried to focus through her tears. "Don't hurt him. I... already did enough of that."
He nodded. When he turned to go, his expression was grimmer than she'd ever seen it.
"I reckon we both have."
* * *
Tracking Iain McTavish up the canyon wall to the line shack, and then following his wagon over the cracked, dusty earth, wasn't difficult for Zack. It did prove time-consuming though, since he had to trail the Scot to every one of his eight stops before he finally found McTavish and a pastore two hours later, restringing wire along the northeastern corner of Bailey's fencing.
The fencing closest to the Rotterdam spread, Zack noted darkly.
Although the cut wire wasn't proof positive Hank had been involved, it sure didn't help to clear the Rotterdam name. It didn't support Bailey's claims she could fight her own battles either.
Zack knew better than to tell Bailey he had one other reason for camping on her spread: her protection. Sheepherders had every right to be outraged by the vandalism to their property and the attacks on their flocks, but if tempers flared any hotter before the next rain, Bandera County might erupt into the kind of range wars being waged up north in Tom Green County.
Zack wasn't fool enough to think he could stop a war, but he did hope he could mediate a truce. Learning the ins and outs of sheep ranching seemed like the quickest way for him to come up with a solution and a cease-fire.
He just hoped Iain McTavish would see the merit of his plan. He suspected the Scot would consider him more of a threat than would all the rest of the Woolgrowers combined.
Slowing Boss to a walk, Zack approached the fence menders.
"Howdy," he called, tipping his hat. "Need a neighborly hand?"
The pastore looked nervous enough to be scared when his gaze darted from Zack's rifle to his six-shooter. McTavish, infinitely calmer, straightened to give Zack a measuring stare. A minute dragged by as Zack watched McTavish's gloved fingers flex and unflex, as if he were working the stiffness out—or longing for a Peacemaker.
"It takes only two to string a fence," McTavish finally answered. "I don't need ye to take my place, but Ramirez here could use a siesta."
Zack winced, suspecting a double entendre in the Scot's words. Still, no matter how hurt and angry he must be, McTavish was taking care not to air Bailey's dirty laundry in front of her men. That said a lot for her foreman.
Ramirez glanced uncertainly at McTavish, but when his boss nodded, the Mexican whistled to his dog and headed for a patch of shade beneath a pecan tree about a hundred yards away. Zack dismounted, tethering Boss to the nearest fence pole.
"I just came from the big house," he said, pulling a heavy pair of riding gauntlets from his saddlebags. "I had another talk with Bailey, and I want you to know my intentions."
"Bailey McShane answers to no one, least of all to me. The sooner ye get that through yer skull, the happier ye'll be."
McTavish went back to rolling out wire. Zack watched the Scot's wooden profile and jerky movements for a moment before he pulled on his gloves.
"Still, you're like kinfolk to her," he said carefully. "Maybe the only kin who cares what becomes of her."
"Ye're forgetting Caitlin."
This last comment held a note of irony, and Zack, caught off guard, cursed the heat that crept up his neck.
"Caitlin's in Kansas City now. She might as well be on the moon if Bailey needs help in a hurry. With all the vandalism you've been seeing on this ranch, I figure he
lp is exactly what you need. I told her I want to put down stakes here. I told her I want to learn the business, and I want to learn it from you."
McTavish glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows arched. "Ye told her I'm the one ye want to learn from? I'm surprised she dinna bust yer chops." He cracked the faintest of smiles. "Or did she?"
Zack felt a thread of tension loosen through his shoulders. "Er... no. Not this time. I think she saw the sense in my idea."
"Hmm."
McTavish clipped the wire, and Zack squatted beside him, stretching the length around the pole until the Scot had a free hand to tack it in place.
"I asked her to marry me, you know," Zack said quietly.
"She said as much."
"Did she tell you why she turned me down?"
McTavish nodded, and Zack felt a little less like a cur dog. Odd that the Scot hadn't come after him with his shotgun though.
"I'm worried about her, McTavish," he said earnestly. "We took equal part in the decision to, er, buck the conventions, and I don't want her facing the scandal alone. I don't want her raising any baby alone either. But she's so damned stubborn, I can't get her to listen to reason."
To his surprise, McTavish chuckled, the sound strangely hollow.
"Bailey would battle the fires of hell with a single bucket of water if she had to. I dinna think she's too worried about what the town biddies might say."
"Yes, but..." Zack frowned, torn between wanting McTavish to see his point and trying to be considerate of the man's feelings. "If there is a baby, she has to think how her decision would affect the child. It isn't easy growing up without a father. I know."
"Aye." McTavish's chill thawed a bit. "But Bailey grew up worse off than ye did, even though she had two parents. Pat and Lucy were too busy fighting each other to give Bailey any attention. They lived a regular three-ring circus, loving each other in the morning, hating each other by noon. There were times the screams, threats, and crockery throwing got so bad, I had to run inside and drag Pat out, 'cause I thought one of them might get killed.
Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] Page 23