“You are a distrustful man, Sheriff. I need a favor, as well as a question answered. Think of it as a good-faith gesture on my part.”
“You are a manipulating woman, Belinda Jarvis.”
She looked up at him. There was laughter in his eyes, and no censure in his voice. Laughter escaped as she very politely thanked him.
Conner stepped back to allow her to precede him into the café. Once inside, he took her arm again to guide her to the table in the far corner.
Belinda started for the chair on the opposite side, but Conner held her back.
“Sit here,” he said, pulling out another chair. “That’s my spot back there.”
It really didn’t matter to her where she sat. She shrugged off his unwillingness to sit with his back toward the door as one of those vagarious male notions.
Conner took his seat. The position of sitting with his back to the wall gave him a clear view of the door. A careful man made every effort to protect his back and see what trouble came his way.
“Conner.”
He looked to the side where Deana stood in the kitchen doorway. “Miss Belinda Jarvis, meet Miss Deana Long. She and her brother own the café and sometimes rent rooms to stranded travelers.”
Deana nodded. She wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “You’re staying out at the Circle R.”
“Yes. Charles Riverton is a friend of my uncle.” Belinda did not know why she offered the explanation. It was not her habit to do so, but there was something about the way the dark-eyed young woman studied her that made her feel uncomfortable.
Conner glanced from Belinda to Deana, fighting the damnedest urge to step in and offer Belinda his protection. The two women were almost bristling at each other. He didn’t understand why he felt the need to protect Belinda. She had proved she was capable of holding her own with him. He guessed she’d do that with anyone who got in her way.
Giving himself a moment more, he tried to dismiss the feeling. It wouldn’t go away.
“Coffee for me and a glass of lemonade for Belinda.”
Deana’s brows rose at the use of the woman’s first name. Conner was always so polite, so careful how he addressed a woman. It had taken months before he stopped calling her Miss Long. Conner certainly had changed his tune from yesterday when he had told her brother that he’d better wear gloves to protect him from the Eastern lady’s thorns.
“Deana? The coffee?”
“Sure, Conner. But I wish you’d eat something. You hardly touched your breakfast. I’ve got your favorite apple and raisin muffins.”
“Fine. Add some of your molasses cookies, too.” He removed his hat and set it on the empty chair beside him.
Belinda toyed with the button on her glove. Without looking at him, she said, “Miss Long does not like me.”
“That matters to you?”
“Usually, no. But she based her judgment on my being a guest—”
“Riverton’s not well liked. By association, that dislike extends to you.” He took her hand within his own, flipped open the button and began taking the glove off. “I apologize for Deana’s making you uncomfortable.”
“Does it have something to do with what happened to you last night?”
Conner tensed, then rubbed his index finger over the back of her hand. “Is that your question?”
Deana returned carrying a tray. She served Conner his coffee, black as he liked it, and left the pot and a plated filled with still-steaming muffins and large, soft molasses cookies. On a separate small plate butter was formed into a perfect mold of a pineapple.
“There’s no jam,” Conner noted.
“You never have any.”
“But my guest might enjoy some, Deana.”
“Conner,” Belinda said warningly. “It is not necessary.” She took a sip of the too-sweet drink, waiting, as Conner waited for Deana to leave them.
The moment they were alone again, Belinda asked, “Why do you refuse to tell me what happened last night?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me what else my mother had to say to Riverton.” She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but Conner shook his head. “Leave it. I like touching you.”
“Has anyone ever remarked about your effortless ability to infuriate someone?”
“Is that what I do?” Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I thought I was picking up where we left off. You were volunteering to tell me about her visit. Remember, a simple exchange of information?”
Belinda attempted to ignore the small circles he drew with his thumb on the back of her hand. Conner seemed to find the repetitive motion fascinating, for his gaze never wavered from their joined hands. She tried not to read too much into his focused attention. After all, he wanted something from her. But a small part of her wondered what it would be like if Conner simply wanted her.
She mentally stepped back from where such thoughts would lead her. “All right, Conner, you win. Your mother was angry with Charles. She said it was the last time she could defend him to her sons. From what I observed, your mother did not believe his denial that he did not know what his men had been doing on your land.”
“The Lord shows mercy at last. I’d given up trying to convince her that he’s behind the rustling.”
“Why?”
“Riverton courted my mother at the same time as my father. I guess he didn’t like being the loser. She didn’t have any contact with him, but then the rustling started. We had trouble with robberies at our mines. Logan rode with the outlaw gang in an effort to find out who gave the orders. They had too much information about what we were doing. Then Riverton bought up land as smaller ranchers sold out. The rustling got worse and he gets richer.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Charles is a wealthy man. I know about his business dealings with my uncle. Why would he need to steal your cattle or rob your mines?”
Conner looked up at her, studying her features. He found no guile in her dark brown eyes, only a steady and sincere regard. He weighed the chance he was going to take and decided how much to tell her. Half his mind conjured other pleasurable pursuits he could be indulging in with Belinda, the other half warned him not to trust her.
It was a little like being between a rock and a hard place.
“Riverton has lofty ambitions. Expensive ones. He’s backing a man running for governor. I figure he’s got an eye on the seat for himself. There are other pies he’s helping himself to a large slice of. Railroads, for one. And running us out eliminates any opposition. Like you, my mother couldn’t see that. But her thinking was clouded by memories. Maybe knowing that Jessie and the boys were almost killed by his men made her see Riverton for what he is.”
His gaze lowered to their hands and Belinda’s followed. She found herself in complete sympathy with him. She had had a difficult time trying to convince her uncle that his charming nephew Albert schemed to take over the family businesses. Phillip still had his doubts.
“You think Charles is ruthless?”
“Without question.” Conner couldn’t tell her he was sure Riverton was responsible for the death of Dixie’s father, too.
“Your mother mentioned that you fought with your brother over me. I am sorry to have caused a rift.”
“Logan’ll come around. He’s having a hard time now shouldering most of the work. Once Ty’s got his house finished and his baby’s born, Logan will go back to being the same easygoing, levelheaded man he really is.”
Again he glanced up at her. “I can’t believe she told you that. You made a hell of an impression on my mother. She doesn’t discuss her family with anyone.”
“But a small part of your family is the reason I came here, Conner.”
“The boy.”
“The boy has a name. Marston—”
“Why didn’t you defend Riverton?” he interrupted to ask. “You were quick enough the other day.”
Belinda was at a loss what to answer him. She couldn’t forget that Conner still opposed her,
and yet she found herself wanting to trust him. With what? Your strange feelings? No, she answered the little nagging voice, I know Charles paid someone to mark a map.
He hunched forward over the table, drawing her other gloved hand to him. “You didn’t come all this way to tell me about my mother’s visit, Belinda. What do you want from me?”
Belinda could not look away from his deep, compelling gaze. “I want…” She stopped, hesitating to ask her favor. He would want to know why.
“Go on, ask me. The most I can say is no. Pretty good odds I could say yes, too.”
No laughter. No cynical expression. This was the Conner that Macaria told her about. The man of integrity, of compassion. From the gentle way he held her hands to the warm, steady regard of his eyes, Conner called to her with an intensity she could not deny.
The feeling frightened her. She snatched her hands from his, dragging one hand across the butter dish in her hurry to escape his touch.
“Look what you made me do.”
He looked from her butter-smeared fingertips to her face and grinned. “Guilty as charged. But if I’m the cause of your discomfort,” he murmured in a lazy, drawling voice, “I insist you allow me to be the source of easing it.”
Conner caught hold of her hand. She made no effort to pull away. He raised her hand to his lips, holding her bemused gaze with his.
“Conner,” she whispered, “what are you…” Words failed her. She could barely swallow as sensations of warmth turned quickly to heat from the fingertips that he slowly licked clean of butter.
No man had ever dared what he was doing, and Belinda could not imagine any gentleman of her acquaintance calmly sitting in a café, seducing her. What was more startling was that she did indeed allow it.
“Conner. I…tell me…Conner, are you flirting with me?”
“Honey,” he answered, eyes alight with amusement, “if you’re asking, I can’t be. Remember, I told you yesterday, if I was flirting with you, you’d know it.”
“I wonder if I would. I have never met anyone like you. You make me so angry one minute, then in the next you…”
“Yes, I?” he prompted, giving extra attention to the fleshy pad below her thumb.
“You confuse me. What you make me feel confuses me.”
“That makes us even. You’re beginning to scare the hell out of me, lady.”
Her heart began to pound in alarm. His look was sensual, caressive and openly speculative. “Conner, I—”
“I hate interrupting you, honey, but your guard dog is coming in. Better ask me quick whatever it was you wanted.”
“Send this telegram.” She fumbled to open one button on the tightly fitted basque and removed a tiny folded square of paper, shoving it across the table. The clink of spurs on the floor stopped somewhere behind her. Conner had palmed the note. “Please do this for me,” she whispered, then raised her voice to add, “Since your mother kindly invited me to visit and meet the boy Marty, I accepted.”
Belinda pushed back her chair and rose. “I realize you had other ideas, Sheriff, but I feel sure the boy is my nephew. I will ride out on Saturday to see him.”
Belinda stepped away from the chair and turned to face her escort. “I am ready to return now. I hope you fetched my horse.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s about time, too. Gone near to dusk. Ain’t safe riding around at night in these parts.”
Belinda did not dignify his warning with an answer, but she could not help but notice the warning glare Dillion shot at Conner. She brushed by the young man, then stopped when Conner spoke.
“Dillion, you make sure that Miss Jarvis gets back to the Circle R safe and sound. If I hear that one hair on her head raised in alarm, I’ll come looking for you first thing.”
Belinda shot a quick look over her shoulder at Conner. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that targeted Dillion. When she glanced at her escort, his face was a thunderous mask. Conner had incited his temper.
“Come along. We cannot keep Mr. Riverton waiting for dinner,” she said.
Conner watched them leave but made no immediate move to rise. He unfolded the paper Belinda had given him and read it.
Uncle Phillip, imperative you join me. Complications arise. Point to trouble. Your loving niece.
“Trouble?” Conner muttered to himself. “Who did she mean? Me or Riverton?”
He picked up the supple suede glove she had left behind in her haste and tucked it into his gun belt as he rose.
Walking to the door, Conner couldn’t help but wonder what his mother had said to Belinda to suddenly make her trust him to send her message.
He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or mad as hell.
Chapter Ten
Riding alongside a silent Dillion, Belinda looked back once as they headed out of town. Conner stood in the doorway of the café, but offered no sign that he saw her.
She had to believe that he would send the telegram to her uncle. Charles had become a complication with his not-so-subtle innuendos that he found her attractive enough to offer marriage. Macaria Kincaid’s arrival this morning had stopped him from painting a cozy picture of the empire they could have together.
Belinda shuddered at the thought.
“No need to be scared, ma’am. We’ll take it nice and slow. Don’t want anything to happen to you or the horses.”
She did not correct Dillion’s assumption that riding past dusk frightened her.
Very little air stirred. Belinda heard the high, whirring sound of the cicadas. The noise mixed with the shrieks of woodpeckers and the whistle of a rock squirrel. Being able to separate and identify the sounds no longer surprised her. She had listened and learned wherever her travels had taken her.
But with the coming of night noises, a subtle change could be felt. A feeling of tension and expectancy that was hard for her to define. The heat had barely diminished and the light behind the mountains deepened as the sky gradually shaded to pink. The land itself was draped in golden colors.
She wished that Conner was the man riding beside her. Deep inside, she knew he would share her wonder as the land came to life beneath the deepening shadows.
This was Conner’s land. Harsh and beautiful, a constant circle of life and death. A land that had helped to shape a man into being strong and gentle, tender and hard.
Conner. His ravaged look lingered in her mind, while the things that Macaria had told her about him replayed themselves. His loyalty and love of family, his long-denied desire to be a lawman, his shouldering of a man’s burdens before he had time to be a boy. These things, too, shaped a man. One that was beginning to consume her thoughts.
With a shake of her head, Belinda tried to stop the images of Conner that flashed in her mind. His most infuriating grin, the cool, hard stare, the lazy drawl of his voice. The angry Conner, whom she had pushed that first day by demanding that he arrest his brother.
Now she could understand how torn he had been—to follow his love of the law or hold to his love and loyalty of family.
“Ma’am, we’ll be taking a shortcut back to the ranch over that next rise.”
Dillion’s intrusion put an end to Belinda’s musings. She glanced over at his shadowed profile. “Do you think that is wise? I mean, it is growing darker. We should stay—”
“Ma’am, I know this land like I know the fit of my boots. Don’t you worry none, ma’am. Just come along.”
Belinda did not know where her reluctance stemmed from. She kept quiet, but the strong feeling persisted to hang back.
She remembered her earlier thought that tension appeared to come from the land itself as dusk layered a golden blanket, and shrugged off her reaction. Dillion had been sent to watch her, but the young man had been polite. Her reluctance to follow him was sheer foolishness.
Confident in her riding ability, Belinda loosened her hold on the reins to give the chestnut mare her head as she made her way up the small barren slope. Dillion waited on the rise for her, a dark silhouett
e against the sky.
Belinda drew rein alongside him. She held the reins with one hand, using the other to tuck stray tendrils of hair beneath her hat. To her dismay, she realized she had left her glove behind. It was not the loss of the glove that she minded, she had two other pairs for riding, but the fact that Conner had so bemused her she had not even noticed until now.
What Conner did to her was shameful. He made her forget…
A popping sound broke her thought. The chestnut mare whinnied in pain. The horse reared. Belinda grabbed for the animal’s mane with her free hand to keep her seat.
Another popping sound broke closer to them.
Belinda shot Dillion a frightened look. “What—” The mare’s whinny cut off her question. Belinda tried to calm the horse, but the maddened mare took a plunging leap down the steeply slanted slope.
There was no time to think of Dillion. Belinda concentrated on staying in the saddle as the mare made her rapid descent. Tossing her head from side to side as the land leveled out, the mare took off in a ground-eating gallop that sent Belinda’s hat flying.
She had ridden hunters and jumpers, even raced when she was younger and no one was around to tattle to her grandmother, but Belinda had never ridden a crazed horse across shrub-and-rock-strewn country.
Gasping for air, Belinda tried to soothe the animal. Wind dried the moisture from her mouth before the words formed. Her throat worked to bury the scream that rose.
The muscles of her thigh, hooked over the sidesaddle’s horn, burned, as did her arms, from the fierce strength she exerted to hang on. If she could get the mare to slow her pace, she knew she could regain control.
Her heart raced in tandem with the sound of thundering hooves. The mare showed no sign of tiring in her headlong flight. Belinda repeatedly yanked on the reins, knowing that the harsh metal bit would tear the horse’s mouth. It was the only move she could make. Fear prowled inside her, waiting for a breach in her formidable strength of will. She refused to give in to it.
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