“Well, how is it that he was bitten then? I’m not stupid enough to believe you were not somehow involved.”
Tess stiffened, her cheeks flaming.
“I . . . we were about to head back and the horses . . . they got spooked.” She stopped long enough to swallow and furrow her brow deeper. “The snake was between Hera and me. Bart crept around the tree there to get at the snake from behind.”
“Why the hell didn’t he shoot it? God knows he never makes a move without that damn .45.”
“It was in his saddlebag.”
“And the saddlebag was . . .”
“The horses ran as soon as the reins were untied from the tree.”
“Of course.” Gabe shook his head in disgust. “So what you’re telling me is Bart was trying to get the snake away from you, is that right?”
“Y-yes. But . . .”
Gabe turned his back to her, mostly so she wouldn’t see his face. It could have easily been Tess lying in the grass. He leaned over his brother, felt his brow again, and frowned himself. The fever had all but vanished, leaving Bart cool and clammy.
“He’s getting chilled,” Gabe muttered. “Where the hell is Joby with the wagon?”
Tess marched over to Meg and fought to uncinch the saddle. She threw it to the ground and pulled the blanket off the horse’s back, unfolding it as she moved. It wasn’t nearly large enough to cover him, but it would do for now. Gabe snatched it from her hands and wrapped it around Bart, tucking it underneath to keep him up off the ground. Before he’d finished, the sound of pounding hooves could be heard in the distance.
Tess exhaled loudly. “Hurry, Joby.”
Joby reined in the team a few feet away and jumped down.
“How’s he doin’?” he asked.
Gabe shrugged. “We’ll see how he takes the ride home. Let’s get him loaded.”
Tess scrambled into the back that had been filled with straw and blankets. She arranged it as best she could, lying one of the old, worn horse blankets down on top of the straw.
Gabe and Joby lifted him gingerly into the back of the wagon and then straightened him out. Tess immediately wrapped him in the remaining blankets, praying they would be enough to keep him warm on the long ride home. It would be slow going because they had to take care not to jostle him too much lest any remaining poison get moved around.
“Pass me that canteen and cloth,” she ordered, expecting Joby to respond. Gabe tossed it up and tied Zeus to the back of the wagon before climbing up himself. He re-claimed his Stetson, and it now sat beside him. Tess wondered briefly why he didn’t put it on, but that was the least of her concerns right now.
“Joby,” Gabe barked, “saddle up Meg there and get home. Tell Rosa what’s going on, that we’ll need a bed ready when we get there. Then go fetch Doc Bender and have him waiting for us. Feed him if you have to—but don’t let him at the whiskey.”
Joby nodded and hurried to do as he was told. Gabe clicked to the horses and sent the wagon off across the vast expanse of land that still separated them from the house. It wasn’t five minutes later when Joby flew past, racing to beat hell—or, as it were, Gabe.
Tess took Bart’s hand again. It lay cold and limp in her lap, giving her chills of her own.
“It’s going to be okay now, Bart,” she said gently. “We’re going home. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? Of course Rosa’s going to tan your hide for scaring us this way, but I won’t let her beat you up too badly. I’ll tell her it was my fault, how you were only trying to protect me from my sorry little self.”
She stopped, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Gabe was right; if Bart died, it would be her fault. If he hadn’t been showing her the herd, he never would have been near that damned snake.
“You saved my life,” she whispered hoarsely. “Oh, Bart . . . I . . .”
Bart’s lids fluttered briefly, then stilled. His tongue ventured out slowly, trying in vain to moisten his parched lips. Tess nearly dropped the canteen in her hurry to help. She wet the cloth and held it against his mouth.
“Drink,” she said softly. “Oh, thank God, Bart. Drink.”
Gabe spun in his seat, managing to keep the team moving forward.
“Is he awake?”
“Yes.” She was crying again. “Yes, he is. Bart, can you hear me?”
This time he managed to lick his lips. “’Course,” he mumbled. “Now will ya shut up? I’m tryin’ to sleep.”
“Oh, yes.” Tess laughed. “Whatever you want. Do you want more water? Here.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but pressed the wet cloth against his mouth again.
“Why . . .” he struggled, “why you cryin’?”
“Because I’m so happy.” She laughed, swiping at the river of tears that flowed down her face.
“Why, did he kiss ya again?” Bart’s mouth fought to smile but only managed a twitch before he fell back under the blanket of sleep.
Gabe turned front again. Neither he nor Tess spoke for a long time afterward. She sat in the straw, her back to Gabe, and continued to cry, though unlike her happy tears, these stung her eyes and throat and scorched her cheeks where they flowed.
“Tess.” Gabe’s brittle voice broke through the deafening quiet. “Now do you see why it’s not safe for you to stay here? You don’t belong here.”
Tess did not answer, did not even blink. Maybe Gabe was right; this was dangerous country for a girl to be living in, but at least she could make her own decisions. She didn’t belong here. How many times had she heard that in the last few days?
By the time they neared the house, the sun had long since set behind the mountain. Tess was shivering almost as badly as Bart. He had not opened his eyes again, and her concern deepened with every passing minute. Rosa, Miguel, and Dr. Bender met them at the bottom of the porch steps.
“How is he?” Bender asked. “Did he wake up yet?”
“Once,” Gabe answered before Tess could open her mouth. “But it wasn’t for very long and there’s been nothing since.”
He threw the reins over the post and stepped into the back of the wagon. Miguel joined him and the two men lifted Bart out as gently as they could. Tess remained in the wagon, watching as Rosa took over, clucking her way into the house ahead of them, holding the door, and ushering them up to the far bedroom.
An overpowering emptiness filled Tess, a void that left her drained physically and emotionally. She climbed out of the wagon and made her way quietly up to her room. She changed her clothes and folded the dirty riding outfit on the foot of the bed. Certain it was safe, she tiptoed back downstairs and sat at Gabe’s desk. She removed five dollars from the pay envelope and left a hastily written note on the kitchen table where it wouldn’t be missed.
She closed the door quietly behind her and started down the road, glancing back over her shoulder only once. Or twice.
“Damn it!” Gabe crumpled the note into a tight ball and threw it across the room.
“She’s gone, ain’t she?” Bart’s voice was still weak but he’d gained considerable strength in the short time he’d been home.
Pacing, Gabe nodded, his fingers trying in vain to ease the throbbing in his temples.
“She’s gone, all right, but only to stay at the hotel. What the hell is she thinking going off in the middle of the night like that?”
“She’s prob’ly thinkin’ it’s what you want her to do.”
“I don’t want her out there in the pitch dark . . .”
“So go get her.”
“No bloody way!” he bellowed. “She doesn’t belong here! Hell, Bart, she nearly got you killed.”
“That ain’t fair,” Bart said. “It weren’t her fault.”
“Of course it is! You were trying to save her life.”
“Gabe, you know that ain’t true. She saved my life.”
Gabe didn’t answer; he paced faster, rubbed harder. Maybe it wasn’t true, but hell’s bells, she didn’t belong here. It was better this way—wel
l, safer anyway. So why was the ache in his belly ten times worse than the ache in his head? And why did he feel like a huge part of him just died? She was gone, out of the house, off the ranch, out of his sight. Out of his sight.
“You should go talk to ’er, Gabe. She’s prob’ly right upset.”
“I’m not her mother, Bart,” he snapped, not quite as sharply as he would have liked. Bart must have sensed it, because the look he gave his brother was all it took to make Gabe bend—a little. “I have to go to town tomorrow anyway to see Brolin. I’ll check on her then.”
Tomorrow seemed like an eternity away when, in fact, according to his internal clock, the rooster’d be crowing in a matter of a few hours.
“What are you talkin’ to him for?” Bart asked.
“I sold him the timber rights to the five acres in the south corner,” he answered distractedly. “Just have to sign the papers.”
“You mean he actually got his mill runnin’?” Bart smirked. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“You almost didn’t,” Gabe reminded him.
“What does Wyatt have to say ’bout him buyin’ timber from you?”
Gabe shrugged. “I don’t see how Langman’s got any say in the matter at all. He had his chance to make a deal with Brolin, but he was too greedy and wouldn’t budge on his price. Brolin’s in business to make money, not lose it.”
“I know that, but I don’t reckon Wyatt’s gonna take this lyin’ down.”
“What’s he gonna do?” Gabe smirked. “Send one of his other idiot sons over here to get gored? Let him send the whole damn lot of them and we’ll take care of them all at once.”
Bart’s lips tightened. “Gabe . . .”
He tried to sit up but Gabe put a hand out to stop him.
“You’re supposed to be resting, so shut up and go back to sleep or Rosa’ll skin us both alive.”
For a moment, he thought Bart was going to put up a fight, but then his brother slumped back against the pillows and fell asleep, a small frown creasing his forehead. Gabe flopped in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his left palm over his mouth.
What the hell was he going to do? His conscience would not allow him to let her go like this, let her walk away without any real understanding of why she couldn’t stay. She deserved at least that much. Hell, she deserved even more—a lot more than what he had to offer.
Chapter 16
Tess covered her face with trembling hands and gave vent to the agony of her loss. Gabriel did not love her. He probably hated her. She almost killed his only brother, and it was all because of a silly dream she insisted on following—a dream she had dragged the Calloway brothers into without even asking for their opinions on the subject. She was no better than her father.
Gabriel did not love her. Her mind repeated the statement over and over, forcing her to swallow it and acknowledge it for the truth it was. He was angry with her and was going to be a great deal angrier when he discovered he was missing five dollars.
She managed to walk as far as the bridge that crossed over the creek to the bed of wildflowers where Gabriel had kissed her not so very long ago. She knew now it had not been love he felt for her then, it had been lust. Plain and simple lust. He’d told her as much himself that he believed in lust at first sight, but certainly not love. Tess sighed. Gabriel was so terribly busy on the ranch he probably didn’t have time to find a nice woman, to court her properly, or to fall in love with her. He probably didn’t even have enough time to take company with one of the working girls at the saloon for that matter.
So when Tess arrived at the ranch, he was probably so happy to see a female of any sorts, he would have kissed her if she’d had green teeth and a third eye. Lust did strange things to a man, or so she’d been told.
Tess had never experienced true heartache before—at least not this kind. She’d been devastated by the sudden loss of her mother some years ago, but that was a completely different kind of pain. This was an all-encompassing misery—so acute, in fact, it was an actual physical pain. She was a woman alone, facing the harsh realities of being alone—of being lonely.
“You can have everything,” her mother had told her more than once. “Everything is there for the taking, you just have to want it badly enough to take it.”
“Well, Mother,” she sighed aloud, “apparently you were wrong on this one. I can’t have everything.”
Tess fell to her knees in the middle of the field, surrounding herself with the intoxicating aroma of eucalyptus and sweet green grass. A million stars and a moon close enough to touch illuminated the immense blackness of the sky. This was most definitely not the same starless sky that loomed dauntingly over Boston.
Boston, an entire world away, a completely different life ago, and yet Tess knew one day she would have to make peace with that old life. One day she would write to her father and let him know where she was and that she was well. Not today, not tomorrow, and probably not anytime in the near future, but one day.
In all her twenty-one years, Tess had been absolutely certain of two things. The first was had she stayed in Boston and agreed to marry Harmon Stiles, the devil incarnate, she would have been dead before her next birthday; the second was this town, this western haven, was exactly where she belonged—here with her angel Gabriel.
If only she’d been able to convince him.
Tess closed her weary eyes and lay back among the dew-laden flowers. She would rest for a while and when the sun came up she would go to town and start building her new life without her angel. Her mind swirled into dream, filled with the sweet fragrance of the earth, mingling with the sunshine and leather scent of Gabriel, his strong arms cradling her against him, protecting her, loving her.
Tender and light as a summer breeze, his lips brushed across her brow, the tip of her nose, then both eyes. Her breath held in her throat, her legs no longer able to hold her. She melted against him, into him, her face turned up to meet his. His lips were warm and sweet against hers, gently coaxing a response from her.
Tess floated away on that dream, knowing on more than one level it was simply that—a dream—but refusing to give it up yet. Her mouth curved into an unconscious smile. If dreaming were the only way she could have Gabriel, then she would dream forever.
And that was how Gabe found her a short while later—a beautiful angel lying in a bed of flowers, her only cover the huge blanket of stars above. His heart ached to look at her. It would be so easy to scoop her up and take her home, to give her anything and everything she wanted, to love her, to make love to her.
To love her. He could not let himself do that knowing eventually, whether she knew it or not right then, she would leave him. Whether it be on the stagecoach out of town or on the wings of an angel, she would leave him. Either way, whatever the circumstances, it would mean the certain death of Gabe Calloway.
He climbed down from his saddle, leaving Zeus to graze freely, and slowly lowered himself to the grass beside her. Even asleep she radiated such a glowing vitality, an intense magnetism, Gabe had to fight the urge to wake her up and abandon himself to the pleasures of her flesh. God help him, he wanted to, but . . .
But he couldn’t very well leave her there either, so he pulled off his thin canvas jacket and draped it over her, then lay down in the grass and pulled her gently into his arms. He was only trying to keep her warm, was all. It didn’t matter it was the warmest night of the year so far, or his jacket alone would have sufficed in keeping her warm, he couldn’t risk her catching a chill, because then she wouldn’t be able to leave on Friday.
She snuggled closer against him, the top of her head resting under his chin, her small left hand pressing flat against his chest. Gabe’s pulse leapt, his heart hammered, and every last drop of blood raced south of his belt. He should let her go, lay her back in the grass and get as far away from her as he could. But damn it all if she didn’t smell like heaven itself. And she fit against him like nothing he could ever imagine.
; She mumbled in her sleep, but Gabe was unable to make out what she said. Whatever it was, it made her press closer to him, pulled a soft quivering moan from her throat, and left her sighing contentedly. Gabe’s whole body stiffened—including parts he couldn’t relax if he wanted to.
He inhaled deeply, breathing in her honey-scented sweetness. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to do the same with his heart, and tried to convince himself that holding her that way did not really feel as good—or as right—as it actually did. He would just hold her for another minute, a few more heartbeats, until the stars disappeared, until . . .
“Gabriel?”
She couldn’t possibly realize how sensual her voice sounded speaking those three syllables.
“Hmm?” It was the best he could do without opening his mouth and making a complete fool of himself.
“Am I still dreaming?”
“Not unless we’re having the same dream,” he muttered, silently berating himself for being caught in this predicament.
Tess sighed softly. “I wish.”
For the life of him, Gabe could not bring himself to release her or even to sit up. Neither one of them moved or spoke for long, heart-hammering minutes.
“I’m sorry about Bart,” she murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.
“I know,” he shushed her. “I’m sorry I yelled.”
Against his mind’s screaming objections, Gabe’s fingers trailed down her temple to trace the outline of her cheekbone and jaw.
“Tess,” he breathed. “Now do you see why you can’t stay here? That snake could have easily bitten you instead of Bart, and you’re not strong enough to survive something like that.”
“How do you know?” she asked quietly. “You might be surprised how strong I am.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “I’m not strong enough to survive you getting bitten.”
Tess laughed. “That’s okay, I’m strong enough for the both of us.”
Gabe’s breath caught in his throat.
“Tess . . .”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice as tight as his heart. Her fingers played idly with the button of his shirt, unknowingly driving him closer to the brink of insanity. “I know what you’re going to say and you’re right.”
Laura Drewry Page 13