"What kind of ways?" she prompted, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward in rapt attention.
"Well," Fancy said, "there's always the method of listening politely when he speaks, thanking him warmly for his counsel, and then going out and doing exactly what you wanted to do in the first place."
Bailey blinked at this advice. "But isn't that kind of, uh, underhanded?"
"Oh, no—" Fancy hesitated, catching Rorie's eye. "Well, I suppose it can be," she amended. "But only if you're asking for advice you never intend to use. Most men go around giving women advice whether we ask for it or not. That's the problem with them. They mean well, of course. They want to protect us, but they just can't seem to get it through their heads that we each have highly functioning brains that are perfectly capable of making decisions."
Bailey nodded vigorously. Giving unwanted advice was one of Zack's problems, all right.
"What do you do when a man refuses to accept that you've made up your mind?" she asked after a moment of thought. "Or that you can fend for yourself?"
A nostalgic smile curved Rorie's lips. "I remember once when Wes thought he was in the right, when he was in the wrong."
"Just once?" Fancy quipped.
Rorie laughed above her teacup. "You have a point, of course, but we're trying to repair Wes's reputation as the family hothead." She winked.
"You see," she continued, addressing Bailey, "about two years ago, Wes decided to shut himself away from his kin because he thought Cord would never forgive him after a particularly unpleasant argument. Realizing the real problem was nothing more than silly male pride, I wrote to Fancy to get the two brothers back together again. Wes was furious with me." She grinned at Bailey. "But in the end, he realized the action I took was a course he should have taken months earlier.
"Nobody ever wants to admit they're wrong," Rorie continued. "Especially Wes. But even my husband is willing to support my decisions when I make it easy on his pride. I've always held the opinion that blame-casting and grudge-holding take a whole lot more effort than forgiveness. After all, love is the essence of forgiveness. And you love Zack, don't you?"
Bailey nodded, her expression woeful. "Yes, but I've never been very good at forgiveness. I mean, my whole life, I've been angry at my mother. And my father too, in a way." She bit her lip as the old, hurtful memories lanced her chest. "Besides, forgiveness takes time, and I'm not very good at waiting either."
"I used to feel the same way," Fancy confessed, demurely lacing her fingers. "When Cord and I were, er, still on opposite sides of the law, I made a grave mistake, a mistake that nearly cost him Zack and Aunt Lally, along with his ranch. And so, believing Cord would never forgive me, I ran away while he was clearing my name in Nevada." She smiled. "Imagine my surprise when he tracked down my stagecoach and married me on the spot.
"You see, Bailey," she continued quietly, "Cord was the one who taught me about forgiveness. I could have saved myself a lot of heartache if I'd been patient and waited for him to come home so we could straighten out that misunderstanding. Instead, I let fear and pride rule my head.
"Now whenever I get angry with him, I remember how he went the extra mile for me. And I try to find a way to make a compromise we both can live with."
Bailey fidgeted. She had tried to compromise with Zack... hadn't she? "But what happens if Cord doesn't want to reach an agreement with you?"
Fancy's lips curved in a smug little smile. "Then I make it worth his while," she drawled, wrapping a black curl around her forefinger.
"How?"
Rorie exchanged an amused look with her sister-in-law. "Let's just say we women have a whole, mmm, arsenal of weapons at our disposal. I've never considered tears to be fair in love and war. But wits are."
"Kisses too," Fancy purred.
Bailey frowned, considering their advice. She could see a degree of logic in substituting kisses for arguments. When Zack kissed her, he distracted her embarrassingly well.
But she didn't want to use sex the way she'd accused him of using it on her. And she didn't want to spend her days thinking up ways to outsmart him. Surely there was some other way to live in peace with the man she loved.
She stared wistfully at the mantel and the daguerreotype of Zack that sat on it, his arms folded and his legs straddled to show off his champion rodeo buckle and spurs.
Maybe being less opinionated and more understanding was the solution, she thought, inspired by the ardent desire to be a better wife to Zack than her mother had been to her father. For love's sake, Bailey supposed she could take the middle ground more often when Zack crossed her. Compromise would be a challenge, of course, but she'd never passed up a chance to meet a challenge.
She just hoped Zack would give her the opportunity to prove she was every inch the woman he needed her to be.
* * *
A loud rap rattled the hotel door. Startled, Zack broke out of his doom-and-gloom reverie long enough to bark, "Go the hell away."
The door swung open.
"Howdy to you too, grumpy-puss. Punch any mutton lately?"
Zack scowled at his younger brother. "What are you doing here? And how did you unlock that—"
Wes grinned, holding up the widdy he'd confiscated from a thief during his Texas Ranger days. Zack muttered an oath, and Cord chuckled, following his kid brother into the room.
"Thought you'd like some of Aunt Lally's pumpkin pie, seeing as how you've been holed up in here for five days, eating nothing but sawdust and cobwebs," Cord drawled, mocking his middle brother's mood. "'Course, it was a long ride from the ranch. There isn't much left."
Wes sighed with gusto and patted his stomach. Cord tossed the crumb-filled pie tin onto the chest of drawers.
"So..." Disregarding the inhospitable look Zack sent him from the bed, Wes lowered himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the footboard. "Miss anyone yet?"
"If I did," Zack retorted, "it wouldn't be you."
Removing his hat, Cord sat on the neatly folded quilt beside Zack. "It stopped raining for a spell. You just might be able to ride home in time for dinner. I hear that old sheepherder, Jerky, makes a mean cabrito chili."
Zack's jaw hardened, and he kept his arms and ankles crossed. "No sheepherder cooks in any home of mine."
"Bailey will be right glad to hear that," Wes quipped. "I reckon she's not looking forward to that particular aspect of marriage."
"I told you. There's not going to be any marriage."
"Aw, c'mon, Zack. Get off your high horse. It takes two to make an argument, you know."
Cord cleared his throat. "The womenfolk have been talking to Bailey, Zack. We thought it only fair to warn you."
"Yeah," Wes said. "You'd best come get her before they ruin her for good."
Zack arched an eyebrow. "Talking to her? About what?"
"We're not sure," Wes admitted. "But I did hear something about a woman's arsenal before they caught me red-handed and chased me away from the keyhole. After that, they barred the door and sat up giggling 'til the witching hour." He shook his head. "I sure wouldn't want to be in your boots, pard."
Zack narrowed his eyes. So Fancy and Rorie were helping Bailey plot something, were they?
"Doesn't make a difference to me," he said loftily. "If that girl can't show a little gratitude after I risked my life to save her hide—and twice in one afternoon, mind you—then I figure it's best to cut my losses. Clear out of that relationship before I get dragged in any deeper."
Cord's green gaze pinned him to the headboard. "So what you're trying to tell us is you'd rather be right than happy?"
Zack squirmed. He never did understand why a man couldn't be right and be happy. But he had to admit, feuding with Bailey never gave him a good night's sleep. Pride was a cold bedfellow.
"I've tried to make peace with her," he protested sullenly. "I asked her to marry me, to let me into her life, and she slammed the door in my face."
"That's not exactly how we heard it
told," Cord said more gently. "Didn't you undermine her orders to those sheep shearers?"
"I was trying to save her from being hurt. She loved those stupid goats. She loved them more than she loved me. To hear her tell it, she loves everything more than she loves me."
"I'm sure she was crazy out of her mind when she talked that way," Cord said.
"Wasn't her ranch burning down at the time?" Wes added wryly.
Zack's neck heated. He hated when his brothers were right. They never let him hear the end of it. "So she sent you boys here to browbeat me, is that it?"
"Nope," Cord said. "We figured you've been doing enough of that on your own. I have to admit, though, her story has some merit to it. I helped raise you, and I know there are times when you, uh, can take on the personality of one of your bulls."
Zack scowled at him.
"A cantankerous bull," Wes supplied helpfully.
Zack scowled at him in turn.
"It's easy for y'all to make fun," he grumbled. "Rorie never crossed Wes a day in her life. As for Fancy, she mellowed out considerably after the nuptials."
Cord and Wes blinked at him, their mouths agape. Suddenly they burst out laughing, rocking back on their seats, slapping their knees.
"What's so funny?" Zack demanded.
"You, thinking life with Rorie is all 'Yes, Wes, thank you, Wes, and as you please, Mr. Wes, sir.' "
Cord chuckled, wiping his eyes. "You're lucky Fancy didn't overhear you. You'd be praying for mercy between swallows of crow."
Zack pressed his lips together. "So what's your point?"
"The point is, Romeo," Wes answered, "you still don't know a consarned thing about women. Some fellas just have to learn the hard way. I reckon you must be one of them."
Zack snorted at his brother's half-baked notion. "You seem to forget. Bailey's not like Rorie. Or Fancy either. She's spent so much time being ranch boss, she wants to be boss of me too."
"Uh-huh." Wes grinned. "Who does that sound like?"
Zack reddened.
"Bailey's a whole lot like Rorie and Fancy," Cord was quick to intercede. "The only reason you don't see me and Wes waging pitched battles on the front porch with our wives is that we've learned how to handle them."
"Yeah?" Zack asked dubiously.
"Sure. When Fancy is hell-bent on something, like lecturing the calico queens, I let her do it. I figure it's not worth arguing about, unless she puts herself in danger. In the long run, she just might convince some girl to aspire to a better way of life, and that makes her feel good." Cord grinned. "And believe me, good things come to a man who makes his wife feel good."
Wes chuckled. "Amen, brother. You can't go getting your nose in a snit every time a woman gets an idea, Zack. They're skittish enough as it is, with a whole convoluted thinking process that isn't ever likely to cotton to yours.
"For instance, Rorie thinks women ought to have the right to preach at church. I figure there must be a good reason why silence is the Golden Rule, so I keep quiet rather than pointing out that women can preach six days of the week, while Sunday at church is the only time we menfolk can get a word in edgewise."
Wes smirked. "'Course, I'm such an ideal husband, I'm sure Rorie would never object to a single thing about me."
Cord chuckled. Even Zack cracked a smile at that.
"You've just got to love your woman, Zack," Wes continued, ardently sincere now. "You have to love her, and listen to her, and give her some space now and then. Isn't that what you want from Bailey?"
"Yes, but..." Zack swallowed. He'd given her his heart. He'd offered her his name. He'd tried so hard to understand her, but none of his efforts seemed to work. "What if I do all the things you suggest, and they still aren't enough for us to keep getting along?"
Cord squeezed his shoulder. "Then you give her more love, son."
Wes nodded. "You can't ever go wrong with that recipe."
Zack sighed.
Maybe they were right. Maybe more love, a little diplomacy, and lots of compromise could salvage his relationship with Bailey.
He'd had to spend five miserable days in this hotel before he'd been able to admit he didn't want a cloying, clinging spouse any more than she did. He'd grown to like the independence her unconventionally gave him. She didn't pressure him to do she-stuff; she didn't nag or whine or throw a fit to earn his attention. She simply gave him the room to be with her or to be with himself, as he chose. She was the kind of woman who understood the needs of a private man like him.
And he was beginning to understand that his needs were her needs.
Although he sensed his brothers' advice was sound, he couldn't very well test it until he proved to Bailey how wrong he'd been to declare they had no future together. Her hurtful words had cut him deeply, but in the final analysis, he and he alone had made his worst fears become reality when he'd lost all patience and ridden off her ranch. Now he faced the prospect of losing her forever if he couldn't find some way to make amends.
He chewed his bottom lip for a moment, wondering what to do, what to say. A bolt of inspiration struck him.
Grinning, he leaned forward, gesturing his brothers closer in a conspiratorial fashion.
"I have an idea," he said, his eagerness mounting. "I have to take a trip, so I'll need y'all to cover for me...."
Chapter 23
October fifteenth dawned blustery but warm. With no word from Zack in nearly three weeks, Bailey's heart was heavy as she watched the Rawlins' family wagons arrive at her ranch shortly after sunrise. Beneath the pale streaks of the horizon, she could see Zack wasn't among his laughing, chattering kinfolk and the ranch hands who jumped down, unloading fence posts, carpentry tools, and picnic baskets to help with her barn raising.
When she'd returned to her big house several days earlier, she'd learned that Zack had been true to his promise. He'd ordered his men to remove the carcasses from the fire-scorched pens, but he'd had no personal involvement in the activities that Rorie and Fancy had organized for this day to help Bailey get back on her feet.
In fact, as long as she'd been a guest in Cord's home, Zack hadn't shown his face at his family's spread. Bailey had every reason to believe her presence had driven him away. He was determined to cut off all communication with her.
The strangest part was, he hadn't even bothered to make an appearance at the Bullwhip Saloon on October first, when Hank had stunned the entire county by declining his election win and appointing Zack as the Cattlemen's president. Apparently Hank had bigger political offices in mind now that he fancied himself a rainmaker. The cattlemen were still in an uproar, and every-one was out beating the bushes for Zack. Cord and Wes had solemnly sworn they hadn't seen hide nor hair of their brother since the day the rain had stopped falling more than two weeks earlier.
Sighing heavily, Bailey pasted on a smile and strolled off the porch to welcome her neighbors.
"Morning." She nodded to the men and reached to take a stack of quilts and table coverings from Rorie.
The newest Rawlins bride took one look at Bailey's face, and her smile of greeting faded. "He's not here, is he?" Rorie murmured.
Bailey shrugged. The gesture kept her shoulders from slumping abysmally low. "I reckon the day's still young."
Fancy was on her way to the picnic table with a basket and her daughter, Megan. She must have overheard their exchange, because Fancy halted in midstride and cast a speculative look after her husband, who was disappearing around the corner of the privy with five-year-old Billy in tow.
"Those Rawlins men are thicker than thieves," she muttered in Bailey's ear. Then she quickly cornered her brother-in-law before he could sneak out of earshot with another child.
"Wes," Fancy asked pleasantly, "where's your brother?"
The picture of innocence, Wes stood holding Merrilee's hand. "You mean Cord, ma'am? Why, I reckon he's, er, helping Billy stave off an accident."
Meghan snickered to learn of her brother's indisposal, but Rorie sternly faced her
husband. "You know very well who Fancy means, Wes. Bailey has been more patient with you three scapegraces than either Fancy or I would have been. It's time you came clean. What tomfoolery has Zack been up to?"
Outnumbered three to one, Wes didn't look in the least bit daunted. "Aw, you know Zack, ladies. He has so much common sense wrapped up in that head of his, it's gotten harder than a rock. He isn't capable of tomfoolery.
"But don't you worry none, Miss Bailey," he added, adopting a slightly more serious tone. "Zack's heart isn't as stone hard as his noggin."
Merrilee's eyes grew impossibly round. "Did Uncle Zack turn to stone, Papa?"
Megan caught her breath. "Like the Indian prince in the bedtime story?" Skirting her uncle, she ran anxiously to Bailey and threw her arms around her hips. "Miss, you have to find Uncle Zack. You have to kiss him! Only a kiss from his true love can save him!"
Wes flashed Bailey a lopsided grin, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Had he been the one to put that idea in the child's head? That she and Zack were true loves?
She wished it were true. She wished Zack would come back and let it be true....
"Megan," Fancy gently chided her daughter, "bedtime stories can't happen to real people."
"At least the part about turning to stone can't," Wes said, winking at his wife. "Reckon I'm no Indian prince, but I know a lot about true love."
Rorie blushed prettily.
Fancy wasn't as easily disarmed as her sister-in-law, however. "Hmm. I suppose Zack must be involved in something awfully important to have forgotten his election day," she prompted Wes.
Hope flurried through Bailey's chest. "Do you think he'll come for the barn raising, then?"
Three sets of expectant female eyes bored into their mischievous quarry. Wes shrugged, flashing Bailey an enigmatic smile.
"He will if he knows what's good for him."
By midmorning, the canyon echoed with the rasping of saws, the pounding of hammers, and the shouts and grunts of men. Townsfolk and farmers, sheepmen and cowboys—the river of volunteers had overwhelmed Bailey, nearly bringing her to tears. Rorie and Fancy must have rallied the whole county for the barn raising. The Good Samaritans kept flowing in, bringing their women, their picnic lunches, and their tools. Some of them brought other things as well. Rob Cole donated four hundred yards of barbed wire for her new pens; the Rawlins men supplied cedar fence posts, and Judge Larabee staked the capital to roof her outbuildings in fresh tin.
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