by Jodi Thomas
Blew away? Amanda lifted the water glass to hide the jolt.
If the hat she’d found belonged to Payton it no longer bore the shape of one. And Fraser seemed to like his new dish.
“Odd, isn’t it, how things do tend to disappear?” She clutched the napkin and drew it down the length of her throat in an excruciating crawl. The green gaze widened, following the sliding, downward waltz. “It’s rather warm in here.”
With abrupt impatience, Payton peeled off the gloves and wiped his palms on the tablecloth. “Indeed it is. Very hot.”
Suddenly Amanda’s stomach whirled.
A crescent birthmark marred the back of his right hand.
What had she done?
Chapter 4
Payton’s attention strayed from Amanda’s come-hither pose when Joe entered the dining room. Damn! The friend brought nearly every last hand of the Frying Pan with him.
Shenanigans of the rotten kind swirled. Payton shifted in the chair. Whatever they were up to reeked to high heaven.
Joe grabbed the empty seat at their table, making himself at home. Payton didn’t care much for his friend’s goofy grin or the way he stared at Amanda.
“Don’t you have anything better to do besides bother us, Joe? Cows to brand? Chickens to feed? A wife to cajole?”
“Boss gave us the day off. Thought we’d come watch.”
Twisting and turning in Payton’s gut made him dizzy. Watch what? He wasn’t some bug under a light. Romancing a charming, beautiful woman didn’t call for an audience. But, maybe that was it—they wanted to see in action someone who shied away from things of the heart. Lord knows he scoffed at it often enough. How in Sam hell did they know Amanda would be at the hotel though? He had some square pegs that wouldn’t fit in round holes. One of the mismatched pegs became crystal clear however. He smoothed his mustache, the cold knot in his belly tightening.
“Wyness wasn’t supposed to meet me, was he? You’re up to no good. What have you done now?”
“I swear to my time, Payton, you’re not a Pinkerton man at a train holdup. Relax.” Joe winked at Amanda. “Miss Amanda, I declare you’re prettier than a speckled pup. Always a treat.”
Employees of the ranch—Bert, Amos, and Felipe—watched from the next table, grinning like squirrels eating ripe acorns.
Payton didn’t enjoy the niggling suspicions. He turned his attention to the pretty lady who’d swept into his life. “You know each other? Don’t tell me this is the fellow you came to meet.” If so, he’d gladly whoop the tar out of Joe for free.
“Not hardly.” Amanda frowned. “Joe wouldn’t have any reason to write me letters.”
“Letters?” A sinking feeling made Payton weak.
“Notes someone keeps tacking to my door. The writer signed the last one with the initials P.M. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Payton McCord?”
He did a double take with the sudden switch. Where had the beguiling smile gone, the soft curve of her jaw? He could almost see a layer of frost form on her lashes. And why was she accusing him of things of which he had no knowledge?
“Don’t look at me.” He had a sick feeling.
Joe’s grin became more smug than goofy. “Miss Amanda, maybe you oughta fill Payton in on the nature of your ranch.”
The sooty brown of her gaze became pitch black. “Tell him yourself.” Her sudden shove freed a path from the table. She jumped to her feet. “It’s just as I suspected. You won’t make me the butt of your jokes.”
“Fair enough. But could I trouble you for the love letters Payton wrote? He’s my friend and I gotta protect him.”
“Love letters? I didn’t write any….” Payton’s voice trailed, remembering Joe and his secret doings. He felt the blood drain from his face. Amanda’s wounded gaze hurt worse than a gut full of buckshot.
“Don’t look so innocent, McCord. I can prove it.” She whipped out a crinkled paper from her handbag and pitched it at him. “This was the first. I burned the others.”
He read the script. The brightness of your smile puts the sun to shame. The pleasing curve of your fair lips makes my heart flutter. I will one day advance my cause and you will know I speak these words in good faith. Until that time I remain your humble servant.
What a bunch of hogwash. Then, the magnitude of Joe’s deceit began to sink in. Good God Almighty!
“This isn’t my handwriting. I promise.” But he could damn sure pitch a silver dollar on the one it belonged to. And what about poor Lucy? He ought to horsewhip Joe.
“No use denying true feelings, Payton. Loving someone ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” Bert kidded with a wink.
Amos and Felipe’s snickering added to Payton’s misery.
“Yeah, unless she happens to raise sheep,” Joe tossed in.
“Sheep?” Payton’s heart lurched.
“Yes, sheep.” Her face, with its high, sculptured cheekbones tilted in defiance. “I own a sizeable flock of the wooly creatures as if you didn’t already know.” Amanda’s glare aimed a flurry of cartridges and the box too at the narrow space between his eyes.
“You’re that Amanda?”
How was he supposed to know what she looked like when he was fairly new to the area?
Tears sparkled in her gaze before glinty steel hardened them into bullets.
The hint of rosewater tickled his nose when she propped her hands on each side of him and leaned over, her feathery breath rumpling the hairs of his mustache. “Darling, I made sure everyone saw you in the company of a lowly sheepherder and obviously very delighted. You know how fast that shoots a respected cattleman’s reputation. I had nothing to lose because the good citizens of Amarillo already revile me. Gentlemen, you best remember that the next time you try to make a fool of me. And trespass on my property again, I’ll fill you so full of holes you’ll have to give up bathing to keep from drowning.”
A flash of her skirts left Payton reeling. His chair turned over when he stood. “Amanda, wait. I can explain.”
“Appears she’s not of a notion to listen,” Joe drawled.
Payton swung with fists clenched. “I oughta beat you like a rented mule. That was the meanest, low-down prank you’ve done. What happened to let bygones be bygones? We shook hands.”
“You should know better than trust a fellow you’ve wronged. My marriage was the best part of me.”
“Don’t think I’m going to forget this.”
“Expect not. But the shock on your face is something to tell around the campfire.” Joe’s chortle drew curious stares from nearby tables. “You were lovin’ right up to her when we came in. Had prunes in your voice and everything. Looked like you were damn near fixin’ to kiss her.”
“I was admiring her…eyes.”
Those full curves had pulled the fabric tight across her chest until he thought her embellishments might pop out accidentally. Imagining the weight of them in his hands didn’t take much effort. Fragrance that spoke of warm nights and full moons promised things he would sell his horse and saddle for.
His lungs swelled with a sudden rush of longing. Damn, Amanda was a bundle of gunpowder and satiny curves. But, she took him for nothing more than a desperate, lonely cowboy who had nothing better to do than write mushy words of love.
Truth to tell, she hit the nail on most of those heads except he wouldn’t depend on paper and pencil to do his talking if he had anything to say.
And then there was the matter of her sheep.
Not exactly a big thing in itself. Not if they were in the heart of Scotland. It was, however, an unforgivable sin when it happened in cow country on cow land. He couldn’t have anyone think for a minute he was a lamb-licker. They’d laugh him plumb out of Texas. In fact, they’d probably already started a petition to bar him from participating in any Cattlemen Association affairs. Amanda was right about the whole town seeing him in her company.
Spit fire!
Joe leaned back and hooked his fingers in the waist of his britches. �
�Yep, I could see you were certainly admiring that part of her anatomy. Someone oughta teach you to lie better.”
Payton slumped weakly into the chair. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him to lower his voice. The damage was done.
They’d fixed him good. He couldn’t live this down.
“Your lady is muy bonita,” Felipe said. “I think maybe she like you. And you have this look of love on your face.”
“Looks more like the dry wilts to me,” Bert said dryly.
They appeared as satisfied with themselves as pigs in clover.
“Keep your horseback opinions to yourself.” Payton wished he could turn back the clock. He would definitely undo the prank that started all this. Talk about rack and ruin.
“Learn to baaaaah before you go courting.” Amos picked up the valise Amanda had left behind in her hurry and fiddled with the catch.
“Give me that.” Payton jerked the case away before they opened it up in the hotel dining room. That’s all he needed. Lord only knew what would jump out. If she had come hoping to spend the night with the writer of the love letters, which technically meant him even though he hadn’t written ’em, the valise would hold yards of frothy lace and things of dreams. Things that would show every inch of her big…eyes. He flushed, glancing around the dining room.
But the latch had come loose and an assortment of ropes, handcuffs, and…leg irons? flew into the air. The devices came down amid a spilled cushion of lacy apparel fashioned of little more than illusion.
Hell and damnation!
Chapter 5
Amanda stomped up the street to Diggs Grocery and Hardware, mindful of the stir her presence in town created. However, judging by the far more than usual whispers and stares, the traveling gazette that carried a whole budget of local gossip from lip to lip must’ve already began circulating the sordid details of what had just taken place at the hotel. Her plan to ruin Payton McCord’s good name appeared to have met with resounding success. It should’ve pleased her.
Darn it, why didn’t it? No one ever claimed war was fair. In fact, it was dirty business. But at what price had winning come? She hadn’t expected this murky gloom. In a way it compared to having someone up and die on you.
Maybe they had. Maybe she had. Maybe a dream had.
Deep in thought, Amanda nearly plowed into Hank Harris, a mountain of a man, who stepped from the barber shop onto the wooden sidewalk. His size intimidated. Not that she was afraid of him. She simply felt like a sapling next to a mature oak.
“Ma’am.” Hank tipped the brim of his hat to her and kept walking before she could utter a word. She’d heard womenfolk made him ill at ease and it certainly appeared the case, which explained why he’d remained a steadfast bachelor so long.
His ranch wasn’t too far from hers, with a huge house as impressive as his height sitting smack in the middle. She guessed he built the enormous structure to keep from knocking himself silly when he stood upright. But, Hank had a good heart and was known for helping people in need. She just tried not to ever need. It was best that way.
Pushing through the mercantile door, she almost collided with Opal Duncan who cradled her newborn son as if he were a fragile egg. It didn’t take much to make someone grasp something with such fierce determination when they’d lost their farm and livelihood. Amanda saw her own weary confusion reflecting in the woman’s gray eyes.
“I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right, Mrs. Duncan?”
“You just startled me. You’re Amanda Lemmons, aren’t you?”
Prickles crawled up her back. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I just want to tell you to hang on to what’s yours. Don’t ever let anyone take it away. Fight.” Then she whispered, “Talk to my husband if you ever want to sell any of your sheep.” Tears swam in Opal’s gaze before the woman hurried out the door.
Amanda watched the proud carriage with sorrow. Offer to buy her mutton came unexpectedly. It took brave souls to cross the Association. And Milford Duncan was as strong as they came.
The clock inside the store chimed, reminding her to hurry. She jerked up a sack of sugar and gallon of vinegar and stacked them on a section of the counter. Payton would be making tracks to buy a new hat and she wished to avoid another run-in with the rugged cowboy. Especially one itching to get even. No doubt thick frost would now coat his deep, pleasing baritone.
But, he’d earned what he got for belittling her. In the end he was like all the others. How could she have thought P.M. would stand up when it came time to be counted? The moment came and went and he sat on his California Levi’s. There had been no defending her. No apology. No shame. He was nothing but a cow-lover who trifled with a lady’s feelings. He scoffed her and her sheep.
Her face burned with remembrance. She fretted in vain over damaging him with her plan. She prayed he never forgot how it felt to be an outcast.
“May I assist you, Miss Lemmons?” Jeb Diggs stood beside his wife, Mary Carol. Both wore shocked expressions that said she was awfully bold to help herself like she owned the store.
The sack of flour Amanda was about to sling onto her pile sank to the floor. She’d just committed another unspeakable sin—that of waiting on herself. Truth was she’d been in such a hurry she forgot the social rules and how they applied to her.
She apologized and told the couple her needs, adding a box of cartridges to her list for good measure. Never could have too many bullets, her father always said. He should know. He’d outlasted blue northerns, encroaching cattle barons, and a sour puss of a second wife who tried her best to kill him before she ran off with a snake charmer from a traveling sideshow.
Amanda blinked back sudden tears at the reminder of what it cost to survive and stared at the small mountain on the counter. She must’ve been out of everything.
Thank goodness she’d thought to leave the wagon in front of the mercantile when she arrived that morning. Wouldn’t have far to carry the supplies. Pray tell that a tad of the mutton smell would rub off or someone would see the Diggs’s aiding the enemy.
A fashionable, very pretty woman approached, clutching a pad and pencil of all things. “Miss Lemmons?”
The large feather protruding from the hat perching on the woman’s head indicated wealth, no sympathy for the naked bird she’d stolen the tail feathers from, or both. No one in the Panhandle wore such trappings so perhaps she came from far away and therefore wasn’t part of the mud-slinging. Still, the question made Amanda bristle.
“Who wants to know?”
“Oh dear, I’ve done it again.” The woman stretched out her gloved hand. “Kaira Renaulde from Boston. Well, actually I’m a new reporter for the Panhandle Herald. I only need a moment.”
“I’m sorry.” The striking newsmonger could peddle her papers elsewhere. “Maybe another time.”
Payton McCord should be opening the worn, leather bag Amanda deliberately left behind right about now. All hell would break loose when he discovered the contents.
“I promise to be brief. Please allow me to explain. Somehow, I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle and promised my boss, the editor, I’d get an article for the paper.”
“I really can’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Kaira brushed aside Amanda’s brusque dismissal. Her hand poised to write. “Although I’m from back East I hear it’s quite unusual for a born and bred cowboy and a sheepherder to consort. But I must say it’s quite romantic. Is there any truth to the rumor Payton McCord of the Frying Pan Ranch met you this morning at the hotel, and that he’s written you love letters?”
The perfect opportunity to destroy what was left of Payton’s reputable name fell into Amanda’s lap. What better artillery than a newspaper to finish him off good and proper?
Except, she’d seen integrity in his gentle soul.
“I do apologize, Miss Renaulde. It’s a private matter that I have no wish to air either with you or the entire town. Perhaps you’d have better luck asking the gentleman.”
&nbs
p; Without a doubt he could fill the woman’s column for her. But would he? The assortment she’d packed into the valise crossed her mind. Amanda swallowed a lump. Oh yes, he’d definitely want revenge.
“I understand.” The brash reporter broke into her train of thought. “But, in case you change your mind…I’ll be very discreet. I promise.”
“Like I said, it’s between me and McCord.”
Jeb Diggs spoke up. “That’ll be $4.75, Miss Lemmons.”
Amanda winced and counted out the change from what remained of last year’s wool profit. Money dwindled fast. She’d have to begin shearing tomorrow. To her amazement, the Diggs’s son toted the purchase to the wagon while she followed.
Kaira Renaulde of the Herald stood waiting outside. “If you ever want to talk about anything I’m available.”
“Now I know you’re new.” Amanda gave a short laugh. “Evidently you haven’t gotten the latest issue of the Amarillo Scuttlebutt.”
“A cardinal rule in reporting—I don’t listen to gossip. Remember what I said. Everyone needs somebody.”
Indeed they might, but they rarely got what they needed.
Sudden commotion erupted outside the hotel. It appeared some sort of noisy parade. Amanda gulped.
In the center of the maelstrom strode the tall, purposeful figure of Payton McCord. He stalked toward the mercantile, his face the color of ripe beets.
Oh Lord, he’d opened the valise.
“Excuse me, Miss Renaulde.” Amanda clambored onto the wagon seat. “I really mustn’t dawdle. Have a nice day.”
A fleeting glance over her shoulder reminded her of a story she once read about the folly of awakening a sleeping lion.
This lion didn’t have a bit of sleep in his eye.
Chapter 6
Blood thundered in Amanda’s ears as Amarillo faded like remnants of a dusty dream under the speeding wagon wheels. The sun bore a tad more heat than ordinary. But to be honest, she couldn’t lay the blame for moisture pooling between her breasts solely on the warm rays.