by Jodi Thomas
“Well? What did Lucinda say?”
“Hell if I know what a woman means.” Heavy silence followed after Payton relayed the message.
“Damn it!” Joe yelled at last. “No telling when her disposition will sweeten. I guess you did your best to make amends. You know, this forces me into your company. Can you try not to raise the roof with your snores?”
“You should talk. It’s me that has to put up with your sorry hide. What were you writing?” Payton glanced at the edge of the paper peeking from the worn, blue denim. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Joe trying to hide his handiwork. Maybe letters posed the best way back into Lucy’s good graces. And it stood to reason Joe would want to avoid the ribbing the ranch hands would give him.
“Me?” Joe tucked the pencil above his ear and grinned. “Nothing. Nope, wasn’t writing a goldarned thing.”
“Reckon I’ll get my gear ready for branding then.”
“I forgot to tell you…Mr. Sanborn wants you to meet James Wyness in Amarillo first thing tomorrow. Cattle Raisers Association business. He can’t go himself.”
Meeting with Wyness midweek seemed rather peculiar. Especially at the start of branding season.
Payton smelled something afoot, and it wasn’t manure either.
Chapter 3
Payton eased his sore bones onto a comfortable settee in the lobby of the recently completed Amarillo Hotel and stretched his long legs. His aching knee thanked him for taking off the weight.
All right, he was here. Where was James Wyness?
An ornate grandfather clock struck eight. He searched the room, hoping to spy the boss of the LX Ranch. No luck. Again, Payton wished Mr. Sanborn had elaborated on the all-fired urgency in getting to Amarillo by morning.
The door abruptly opened and he swung an anxious glance toward it.
A ragged breath filled his lungs. The slight beauty who strode through bore little resemblance to Wyness’s craggy features. High cheekbones sculptured her face into a rare work of art that belonged on some artist’s canvas.
Though he really couldn’t say she was the most beautiful woman in the world, given his limited knowledge of such things, she was easily the most memorable. The hotel guest could put any heifer in the pasture to shame in nothing flat. He inspected her through a narrowed gaze.
Despite her small build, the way she carried herself seemed to suggest legs clear up to Sunday.
And she had big…
He swallowed hard.
…eyes, he finished lamely. He dragged attention from the rounded curves. Yep, they were sure big.
Somewhere among the cobwebs in his brain he recalled that a gentleman shouldn’t notice a woman’s figure. Especially the top half—unless of course he already had before he could help himself.
A polite nod wouldn’t hurt though, which he managed weakly before she sat down and propped a valise at her feet.
She’d not only captured his attention, but every last man, woman, and child’s in the hotel. Whispers circled. Pointed stares flew her direction. Her presence appeared to engulf the lobby. He couldn’t say he blamed the onlookers. She was a rare sight for the newly platted town.
Payton snatched up the weekly edition of the Panhandle Herald and whipped it open. Maybe reading about cattle prices would get his mind off the traveler’s…embellishments.
The pretty lady must’ve arrived on the Fort Worth and Denver City Railway that had pulled into the station fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps she came in on one of the many excursion trains bringing prospective buyers for town lots. Beyond the hotel doors, Amarillo whirred with comings and goings. Way too noisy. One reason he stayed well removed unless necessary. Give him peace and quiet of the ranch any day. Except the Frying Pan had become littered with too many pots, pans, and prickles of late. Thinking of Lucy and Joe, he felt another rush of guilt.
Rosewater drifted around him in a lazy swirl.
Payton tried to ignore both the fragrance and the faint rustle of fabric, but his senses had stood up and taken too much notice. A hard blow couldn’t slap every nerve ending back down that had popped to the surface and saluted.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” The rich tones, wrapped in layers of female softness, slid over his skin like satin on silk.
So much for the expected bumper crop of odoriferous mushmelons. Payton lowered the newspaper and found himself face to face with the slight beauty who probably had to stuff rocks in her pockets to weigh a hundred pounds. She’d scooted beside him and was damn near in his lap.
“Yes?” He tried to sound unruffled, as if conversing with eye-boggling women was an every day occurrence.
“You’re reading the paper upside down.”
“Oh.” Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he hurriedly switched it around. “Anything else?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Well, much obliged.”
From under the edges of the morning news he fastened his gaze on the woman’s shoes…rather, moccasins…peeking from the hem of a dress the color of ripe peaches. How unusual. Payton couldn’t recall anyone quite so unorthodox. Or one with feminine enticement oozing from every nook and cranny.
He felt her lean closer and squirmed.
Her breath dallied on the newspaper like a gentle caress. A ragged gulp of air couldn’t save him. He knew if he lowered the shield again he’d fall into the bottomless depths of her sooty gaze. He’d wrestled many a steer and ridden ornery broncs without a speck of the panic he knew now.
“Excuse me,” mystery lady’s silken request further muddled his musing.
Payton reluctantly folded the paper. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Could I beg you for the time?”
“I believe it’s half-past eight. Meeting someone?”
“Perhaps.” She captured the tips of each gloved finger between pearly teeth and with painstaking deliberation drew off the soft kid before extending her hand. “I’m Amanda.”
“Pleasure’s mine. Payton McCord of the Frying Pan Ranch.”
Miss Amanda had a firm grip. No limp-wrist woman.
Yep, the pleasure was most definitely his. Heat rose from his midsection and spread in sultry, scorching waves.
A curtain of dark hair the shade of thick, warm molasses cascaded from a jeweled contraption fastened at the crown instead of worn in the God-awful stiff custom of the day. Amanda evidently thumbed her nose at convention both in her choice of footwear and appearance. He was a lucky man.
“Forgive me, Mr. McCord. I shouldn’t pry. But can you tell me if you wear leather gloves all the time?”
He sat up a little straighter. “What the…?”
“I see I’ve shocked you. Too much time alone I fear. I forget the niceties.”
A woman of her caliber shouldn’t ever be alone. What a waste of prime womanhood. Payton glanced again at the clock wondering if it had gotten stuck on half-past eight. “If I learned niceties they didn’t stick. And yes, gloves have become a permanent fixture. Helps in my line of work.”
“Which would be?”
“Cattle.”
“No surprise there,” she murmured so low he had trouble hearing. Or it could’ve been the swarm of angry bees in his head that searched for stolen honey.
Amanda withdrew a lacy kerchief from her handbag and dabbed at the slim column of her throat. Blood pounded in his ears as he followed the lazy, agonizing path to hidden soft skin lurking beyond the vee of her neckline. She toyed with the top button.
Payton wanted to look higher, somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead. Dammit, he tried. But there weren’t enough horses in the state of Texas to drag his attention anywhere else. Perspiration soaked through the underarms of his shirt. He prayed she’d not notice. Sweat probably offended a nice lady of her obvious breeding, the moccasins aside. She could’ve fallen on hard times and resorted to what she could get. He wouldn’t hold that against her. He’d like to hold himself against her though. The startling idea launched another wave of heat.
Crossing his legs, he nodded at her valise. “Traveling?”
“No.” Tendrils of Amanda’s hair curled about her ear with the shake of her head.
Then why in Sam hell did she carry a case?
“Traveling folks usually tote one of those.” He pointed to the worn leather bag.
“Oh, that.” Her quick laugh washed over him in thick, indolent pulses. “I thought this may require spending the night instead of riding back to my ranch. Depending.”
“On what? If you’re at liberty to say, that is.” Why had his throat gotten so dry all of a sudden?
“My plans depend on the person I’m meeting. If he shows up and things…Well, if things turn out. I’m sure you understand.”
Payton’s stomach twisted, resisting the fact that Amanda had a man friend and they might be doing…uh, never mind what they might be doing. The painful lump in his throat grew.
“No need to explain.”
Absolutely no need. She didn’t have to plow a whole dad-blamed field before he knew she was sowing something. He might be a bachelor but he had more than a little experience with the ladies. In fact, too much, or his mind wouldn’t linger on featherbeds and social calls. Amanda rested her hand on his arm, the touch plundering the remainder of his good sense.
“Are you waiting for someone, Mr. McCord?”
“James Wyness, head of the Cattle Raisers Association.”
“My goodness, your meeting must be awfully important.”
“I couldn’t say. I’m in the dark why the boss sent me.”
Amanda twisted the handkerchief around her finger. Feathery lashes lowered to hide her burnished mahogany gaze.
It surprised him that she’d be nervous. Must be her first time. A married woman cheating on her husband? No ring weighted her hand, but she could’ve discarded it. He hoped she at least knew this fellow she was fixin’ to let ruin her life. The bastard would make her a fallen woman.
The thought soured on his stomach.
Payton made a rule not to judge others but at the moment he could gladly whip the fellow up one street and down the other for taking advantage of such a genteel lady.
With angelic grace, she fingered a strand of warm molasses while treating him to a wide-eyed regard. Payton’s heart skittered sideways.
“Your ranch, ma’am…would it have a name?”
The smile that teased the corners of her lush lips wobbled. “It’s a small spread and I tend to keep to myself.”
“How many head you running?”
“More than enough to keep me busy.” Shadows lurked in the dusky gaze that swept the room’s occupants. “And yes, I’m the sole owner. I do the work of several.”
So the lady had no husband. Interesting.
Payton shifted. “Awful big burden for small shoulders.”
“Whatever doesn’t whip us into the ground makes us stronger, I’m told.”
Amanda touched the outside of each eye with the tip of the handkerchief, examining Payton. He had the right initials. But he couldn’t be the letter writer for the obvious reason that he’d come to meet the Scotsman, Wyness. Not her.
Flitteration!
Part of her wished he was. He had an honest firmness that made him shine above other men. Payton McCord would stand up when it came time to be counted. He would never fold or trifle with her. How she came to that conclusion she wasn’t sure, or why she took to a saddle-warmer of all things.
Well, she never wanted a perfect man. Just one that would hold her when she was cold, frightened, or empty, and ask for nothing except the sharing of a life in return. This one she could learn to accept if the price were right. With him the midnight hours would hold no loneliness or despair.
McCord had a rugged strength. Perhaps he would afford her respect few others had.
Eyes the color of freshly picked mint seemed to look at the world in shades of green—perhaps not minding that she raised sheep of all things. Sandy waves, streaked by the sun, brushed his jacket collar in rebellion. And the groomed mustache added flair to features that had probably seen good times and bad in equal measure and served to forge some strong steel.
From lowered lids she imagined the gentleness of the sensual mouth. The rapid thud of her pulse seemed loud as the ache expanded.
The mustache would tickle just a tiny bit.
But she wouldn’t mind. Not when he could banish the ills of the past. And she had little doubt that he could. This man held promise. She needed, desired, him to be real. Was that too much to ask?
Look for the crescent birthmark on my right hand.
Amanda shook herself and returned to the devious plan she’d hatched to turn the tables on the Lothario. She loathed plunging on but she must. She just prayed for an outcome that wouldn’t break her heart.
“Would you mind terribly removing your gloves?” She flashed a bright smile, confident in her feminine wiles. And so far, Payton McCord swallowed the entire lasso, knot and all. “I know it sounds ridiculous, and I don’t normally go around asking it of strangers, but I do have a reason.”
“Can’t imagine what or how it possibly pertains to me.”
His black scowl indicated the first sign of balking. This called for a lot more sneakiness. Perhaps she should throw in a bit of candor—to a point.
“You see, I have no way of recognizing the person I’m meeting other than by a certain mark.”
And the look of adoration in the swain’s eyes. But she didn’t add that. She’d already seen it swimming in the green stare. The intensity there made tingles tiptoe up her spine.
Payton scowled. “A mark. On his hand I take it?”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Amanda rose, gathering her valise and her pride. “My problems shouldn’t concern you.”
“No, please. It appears both Wyness and your…appointment…stood us up.” He untangled his legs and sprang to his feet. “Let’s hash this out over coffee? Or tea. I feel obliged to help a pretty damsel in distress.”
“Very kind. How can I refuse a…true gentleman?”
“You can’t.”
She handed him the valise and accepted his elbow. Heads turned when they entered the dining room and for once Amanda couldn’t tell if they stared at her, the mutton woman, or the devilishly handsome wrangler. He pulled out her chair and waited until she sat down before taking a seat.
Tiny details caught her notice—the quiver that rippled through muscles in his arm when she brushed it, the solid feel of his tall frame, and the genuine warmth enfolding her that chased away the ever-present chill in her veins for a moment.
Hmmmmm…Despite apprehension, she could do far worse than having refreshment with a cowboy. Not just any though. Payton seemed special.
Besides, should he turn out to be the author of the love letters, and if he had written them for the purpose of making her a bigger laughingstock, her plot would succeed. Everyone would see him keeping company with a lowly sheepherder. Nothing else would ruin a staunch cattleman’s reputation faster.
But if he had and the declaration of love was genuine?
Somehow her vision didn’t seem as clear now.
Strange that he hadn’t mentioned the love letters once or shown an inclination he knew her. She could’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion from the outset. Damaging someone like Payton seemed wrong, particularly if he penned the words from deep inside. It might do more than leave his reputation in shambles. Picking up pieces of a heart…that was something in which she was well versed. She steeled herself against the pain and clenched her jaw. Reality was a harsh taskmaster. Better she let the chips fall.
Payton McCord had to be the one. He was the best candidate out of the gathering in the lobby—four who entered with wives and two others who appeared on their last leg, slipping fast and probably with reservations for the undertaker.
Then there was the matter with the initials. Yes, McCord was Lothario all right. And she had to protect herself. Time to get at the truth.
Wit
h the valise at her feet and napkin in her lap, she met Payton’s reserved perusal and tilted forward. His gaze meandered to the rounded tops of her bosom where he lingered for a long second. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
She let her fingertips rest on his gloved hand. “Mr. McCord, thank you so much for taking pity on me.”
“Payton…I insist. I’m not one to stand on formality.” Lines around the corners of his mouth and an interesting cleft in his chin deepened with his grin.
No, he was more for trying to run her off her land and back to New Mexico more likely. Memories of Santa Fe, distasteful and hideous, lodged in the hole in her chest.
“In that case, Payton it is.”
“I believe you were going to explain some quandary you’re in with a fellow you don’t know. I get the impression you don’t truly wish to be here. So why do something you might regret, something that may bring you to rack and ruin?”
Ruination wouldn’t be hers if she could help it. Wait until he got a look at what she’d packed inside her valise.
The waiter arrived at that moment to take their order then retreated with a huff after they’d only wanted coffee.
“We’ll get to that.” She stared deep into his eyes, her fingertips massaging the back of his gloved hand. “First, let’s enjoy the moment and these beautiful surroundings.”
“I agree. The Amarillo Hotel is magnificent. My boss, Mr. Sanborn, sure has an eye for high living. He built one of the finest establishments north of Austin.” Payton released a sharp breath when Amanda removed her fingers to idly trace the swirls on the tablecloth.
Good. She’d lured him further onto the patch of quicksand.
Payton’s hand shook slightly as he raked back a thick lock of hair. She flashed the biggest smile in her arsenal.
“You know, I think you’re the first man I’ve seen who doesn’t wear a Stetson. Most everyone sports one of some sort. I have this old floppy straw hat I wear on the ranch.”
“Lost mine. The darn thing blew away in a wind storm and I never found it. Probably in Louisiana by now. Before I head back to the Frying Pan today I have to go by the mercantile.”