“I’m not leaving the ranch.”
“You don’t have to. We can dance right here to the music of the stars.”
“Oh, Robert. You’re such a romantic.”
She almost turned his offer down but changed her mind. Something about the night made her feel that life was slipping away. Or maybe she simply took pity on him for driving all the way out here for nothing.
“Oh, what can it hurt?” she said, rising to her feet. “Just don’t step on my toes.”
I fancy you.
The words were still running through Kate’s head while she crossed to the back of the barn to join Ruckus by the punch bowl.
Ladle in hand, he greeted her with a nod of his head. “Want some punch?”
She shook her head. “I just want to ask you something. People back east express themselves differently than they do here.”
Ruckus dumped a ladleful of punch into a glass. “I reckon so.”
“Here in Arizona, if someone uses the word fancy, what exactly does it mean?”
Ruckus arched an eyebrow. “What does it mean?”
She blushed. It did seem like a rather foolish question. “In Boston the word is used as an adjective to describe something ornamental such as a fancy dress. It’s also an unflattering term for a loose woman. Sometimes it means simply that you like someone. As a friend, perhaps. Or that you want something. You could say that you fancy that hat, for example.”
Ladle frozen in midair, Ruckus stared at her like she’d taken leave of her senses. “Far as I know fancy means the same here.”
“That’s . . . that’s what I thought. I just wanted to make certain.”
Smelling smoke, she glanced around and spotted a smoldering cigar butt next to a bale of hay. A flame shot up like an enormous tongue licking one side of the bundle. Without thinking Kate grabbed the punch bowl and dumped punch on the hay. The splash of liquid extinguished the fire and sent chunks of ice skidding across the floor.
“Oh dear, dear, dear.” Aunt Bessie rushed up to the refreshment table, the train of her dress sweeping back and forth with a whishing sound. She stared at the charred bale.
“I’m sorry I made a mess,” Kate said. Gratified that for once she’d acted quickly and without fear in the face of fire, she set the empty bowl on the table. Even Ruckus looked impressed by her quick action. Strangely enough, after all that she’d gone through these last few weeks, a simple little fire no longer terrified her.
“Nonsense. You saved the day.” Picking up her train before a trickle of liquid reached it, Aunt Bessie gave an anxious glance around the barn, but few guests seemed to have noticed the near disaster. The musicians kept playing and couples continued to dance and Aunt Bessie let out a sigh of relief.
Mrs. White came rushing over. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, and immediately set to work mopping up the floor with a rag.
Aunt Bessie thanked her and turned to Kate. “Would you mind walking to the house and helping me fetch more ice?”
“I’d be happy to,” Kate replied, grateful for a reason to escape the festivities. She followed the older woman outside and along a narrow path toward the small adobe house, a full moon lighting their way. She took in a breath of fresh air, hoping to clear her head.
Aunt Bessie stopped halfway between the barn and house to point to a couple a short distance away. “That’s the marshal and Miss Watson. I’ve been nagging him for months to get to know her better and it looks as if he’s finally taken my advice.” With a sigh of satisfaction she continued along the path to the back entryway. “I’m so glad you could come tonight,” she said, holding the door for Kate.
“It was very kind of you to go to all this trouble,” Kate said.
“It was no trouble. I just hope the reward helps put Cactus Joe behind bars where he belongs.”
They entered a small but tidy kitchen. A lit parlor lamp on the kitchen table cast a yellow glow over the cabinets and clay-tiled floor.
“Now where does Lula-Belle keep the ice pick? Ah, there it is.” Aunt Bessie reached across the counter for the long pointed spike and metal bowl and opened the top of the wood icebox. Stabbing the frozen block with the pick, she chipped away.
“Would you like me to do that for you?” Kate asked.
“No, that’s quite all right. I just wanted the company.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I hope you don’t take anything Miss Chase says to heart.”
“Of course not.”
“She’s got her sights set on Luke, but she’s all wrong for him. She’s far too flighty and Luke is more serious-minded. You know what I mean?”
Kate didn’t want to talk about Luke but couldn’t think of another subject. “I believe so.”
“Marriage is hard enough without marrying the wrong person. He needs someone like you.”
Irked by the woman’s interfering ways, Kate bit back her annoyance. Aunt Bessie no doubt meant well. “I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression. I’m committed to the ranch and that leaves no room for . . . marriage.”
“What a pity.” Aunt Bessie gave the ice a hard jab. “Trust me, the ranch will do nothing for your toes.”
“My toes?” Goodness! Had everyone in Cactus Patch read her book? Her cheeks flared and she waved her hand in front of her face to cool herself down. “I know you’re just being kind but—”
“Nonsense. Kindness has nothing to do with it. I’m simply being practical. I’ve been married for forty years and know a good match when I see it. You and Luke are perfect for each other.”
A chip of ice flew onto Kate’s shirtwaist and she brushed it off. “Forty years is a long time. Were you ever concerned that your husband would . . . desert you?”
Aunt Bessie’s hand froze in midair and she spun around to face Kate. The ghastly white color of her face made her purple dress look even more garish. “What do you mean by that? Did . . . did you hear something?”
Startled by the woman’s reaction Kate quickly explained, “I didn’t mean to imply . . . It’s just that my father left when I was very young. It’s hard for me to trust . . . anyone. A man.”
Aunt Bessie’s face softened even as it registered relief. “You poor, poor child. No wonder . . . But if you’re thinking that Luke would take off, you couldn’t be more wrong. Why, he’s as faithful as an old hound. And trustworthy too. He’s the only one in town knows how to open every safe, even the one at the bank. That’s because those mail-order safes never work right and Luke has had to repair them all. But no one worries about their money because Luke is an honest, upstanding Christian.”
Aunt Bessie turned back to the icebox and continued stabbing at the frozen block. She talked nonstop about the couples she had matched over the years. “Twenty-three couples,” she said with a note of pride. “And in all that time I only made one error. Although I still think the marriage would have worked had she not shot her husband.”
Kate listened politely, or at least tried to, but her mind kept wandering to something Aunt Bessie had said earlier. “Faithful as an old hound. And trustworthy. Honest.” Hadn’t she once used words to that effect to describe Brandon, the hero in her novel? Was it possible for a real flesh-and-blood man to possess such qualities? If only that were true . . .
Luke led Miss Chase around the dance floor but he was hardly aware of her. He was as polite and friendly as he knew how, but she wasn’t the one he wanted in his arms. He counted the moments until the music stopped and he could take his leave.
He’d told Kate how he felt and she stared at him like . . . like he’d said nothing, like he hadn’t poured out his heart.
Miss Chase’s constant chatter and high-pitched laughter ground on his nerves, but that was the least of it.
What a fool to think he had a chance with someone like Kate. A college-educated woman. A writer. She’d done everything in her power to push him away, to tell him she wasn’t interested. And yet . . . at times she looked at him with those big blue eyes and he swore she felt what he f
elt, wanted what he wanted. Fancied him every bit as much as he fancied her.
“So what do you think, Lukey?” Miss Chase said with a flirtatious smile.
He bit back his irritation. “What do I think about what?”
She pushed her lips out in a pout. “What is wrong with you tonight? You seem so . . . distant.”
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” But even as he apologized to Miss Chase, his gaze swept from one end of the barn to the other. Where was Kate? Had she left? Skedaddled?
“You two-timing, double-crossing, bullheaded rat!”
Startled by his uncle’s angry voice, Luke pulled his arms away from his dance partner and spun around. “What the . . .”
Uncle Sam and the postmaster, Jeb Parker, stood glaring at each other in the middle of the dance floor, fists clenched.
Without so much as taking his leave, Luke left his dance partner’s side and hurried to his uncle.
“You ain’t got no right to make such accusations,” the postmaster said. A pasty-faced man with a long, lean face anchored by a goatee, he towered over Uncle Sam’s five-foot-five height by a good six inches. If height didn’t intimidate his uncle, the look on Parker’s face should have.
“I got every right in the world,” his uncle said, showing no sign of backing down.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
The music stopped and all eyes turned to the two men.
Parker pulled back his fist and Luke quickly stepped in front of his uncle. Things were out of hand and he meant to put a stop to it.
“Now see here, both of—”
Parker’s fist shot out in a high arc, catching Luke on the jaw and snapping his head back. Ears buzzing from the blow, Luke saw stars. He didn’t want to fight, but the older man kept coming, his hand shooting toward Luke’s throat.
Luke grabbed Parker’s arm before it reached its target and twisted it around his back.
“Calm down,” Luke cajoled.
He released Parker—big mistake. The man came at Luke with both arms flailing. Luke ducked the first blow, but the second one bounced off his nose.
Somehow Luke managed to wrap his arms around Parker, pinning his fists to his sides. Parker kicked Luke in the shins and the two fell to the floor, Parker’s contorted face inches away from his.
Michael surprised Luke by rushing to his defense. Unfortunately, this signaled others to join in the fray. Fists flew in every direction and grunts and groans filled the air. Some men were gallant enough to escort their dance partners to safety before throwing a punch. Most, however, chose to let the women fend for themselves.
Uncle Sam grabbed hold of Parker’s leg and tried to drag him away from Luke. He might have succeeded had Aunt Bessie not intervened. She grabbed Uncle Sam by the ear and pulled him out of harm’s way with a thorough tongue-lashing.
“Shame on you, Samuel!” she scolded. “You’re nothing but an old fool.”
By the time Marshal Morris was able to instill order, chairs and tables had been overturned, and some combatants had even taken the fight outside.
The marshal grabbed Luke by the collar. “You’re going to jail. All of you!”
Luke staggered to his feet, hand on his sore jaw. That’s when he saw Kate watching, disapproval written all over her face. He wanted to go to her, explain, but the marshal had already handcuffed him to Parker and was leading the two of them away.
Chapter 30
Bessie’s feet were killing her. She wanted to go home in the worst possible way and kick off her toe-pinching shoes. The dance had ended abruptly and all because of that unfortunate fight. If only she hadn’t left the barn to fetch more ice from the house. All she wanted was to talk to Kate alone and now look what happened.
It was as much the marshal’s fault as it was her own. Had he not been outside with Miss Watson he could have stepped in before things got out of hand.
What was Luke thinking? Getting his uncle involved in a fight, of all things. Sam could have been seriously hurt. And where was the fool man? How long could it possibly take to bail their nephew out of jail?
She should have accepted Murphy’s offer to drive her home. But no, thoughtful woman that she was, she stayed to apologize to the last departing guests and make certain her sister’s barn was left as she found it.
What a dreadful mess, food and decorations scattered everywhere. It took forever to clean it up.
She groaned. Not only did her feet hurt but also her head. What she wouldn’t give for a cheroot. If only she hadn’t promised Luke to give up her smoking habit. Sometimes a woman needed to blow off steam or, in this case, smoke. God forgive her.
She swiped a strand of hair away from her face. The night had not been a complete disaster, but close enough. She’d collected a healthy amount of reward money. No complaints there. Surely it would only be a matter of time before Cactus Joe was captured and put under lock and key. But she failed miserably in her plan to bring Kate and Luke together, thanks to that flirtatious hussy Miss Chase.
Luke getting into a fight didn’t help. Not only did Kate look positively devastated, she took off like her hair was on fire. Bessie shook with irritation. Just wait till she got her hands on her errant nephew.
Just as upsetting, she had failed to identify the other woman and she had no one to blame but herself. She never should have gone to all the bother of looking so absolutely marvelous, for it only defeated her purposes. Instead of looking at the other woman, Sam hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her all night. Had she not been so intent on finding out the name of his love interest, Bessie would have enjoyed his undivided attention.
The purple taffeta dress brought out all her best features. Although, to be perfectly honest, she doubted the dress color was responsible for Sam’s admiring glances as much as the plunging neckline.
The youthful pink glow of her skin was no doubt caused by her tight, pinching corset, but it had been worth every excruciating moment just to see the look on Sam’s face when he first caught sight of her.
Sam certainly wasn’t himself. He acted as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Of course, wearing a new shirt and bow tie probably explained some of his discomfort, but not all. He’d even donned those brown leather boots she had given him last Christmas and that he claimed hurt his feet.
If his odd behavior in recent weeks hadn’t already roused her suspicions, the way he doted on her at the dance surely would have. Waiting on her hand and foot. Plying her with glasses of lemonade and plates piled high with all her favorite desserts.
He hadn’t even waited on her all those years ago when she broke her leg. Such solicitous behavior could only be a sign of guilt. Had to be. No other explanation made sense.
Mercy, did her heart ever pound when he took her in his arms on the dance floor. It gave her goose bumps just to think about it. Normally, nothing would please her more, but not now. Not with his motives in question.
So who was she? Certainly not widow White. Sam would never act as gauche as to eye a woman whose husband had been in the grave for a mere six months.
But who else was there? Certainly not that awful Mrs. Spinnaker who couldn’t say a kind word about anyone. One by one she considered every woman she could think of and came up empty.
She couldn’t imagine it was any of the numerous women she knew at church or her quilting bee. None could match her in housekeeping skills, and certainly not in cooking.
That meant it had to be someone younger, and this scared the life out of her. There simply was no way she could compete with youth. Not even in her purple gown.
It was after two in the morning and still Kate couldn’t sleep. The bedding tied in hopeless knots from all the twisting and turning, she finally gave up. She climbed out of bed and paced the floor. She was consumed with thoughts of Luke—the two sides of him—the gentle, caring side that almost had her fooled, the dark, angry side confirming her opinion that no man could be trusted.
He may be faithful as an old dog, but obviously he had another side. Picking on an old man like that. What was he thinking? The postmaster could have been seriously injured.
Sickened by the memory of Luke fighting, his nose bloodied and face dark, she flung herself across the bed. Her stomach churned in protest as she traveled back in time to another night, another fight—the night she started a fire to save her mama from the pounding of brutal fists.
As much as she hated comparing Luke to the men in her past, experience taught her that it was man’s nature to be violent. Luke’s dark side didn’t surprise her, but it was still a crushing blow. She wanted so much to believe he was unlike other men, to know that the gentleness and concern he’d shown her were real and not merely a guise covering a sinister nature.
She hated to admit it even to herself, but she’d been so close—so very close—to believing in him, trusting him. What a fool! What an utter, utter fool. Had she not learned anything in all her years? A handsome man tells her he fancies her and she practically loses her head. What was wrong with her?
Her heart belonged to the ranch. It was what she’d wanted and worked for these last couple of months. It was in her blood and she was convinced it was what she was born to do.
So why the confusion? Why did Luke affect her so?
She grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it across the room. Going to that dance had been a mistake. Any and all future social invitations would be politely but firmly declined. Certainly she would never allow herself to be in Luke’s arms again.
The moment she finished Cactus Joe’s book, she would hang up her pen, this time for good. Writing his story was like lifting a rock and seeing her childhood with new clarity. His mother’s illness made her realize that her own mother had been ill, too, not of the flesh, but of the spirit. It was easier to stay angry at a weak person, but when illness was involved—even one exacerbated by alcohol—feelings became more complicated. She no longer knew how she felt about her mother.
That’s why completing Cactus Joe’s story was so important to her—she didn’t know what she would discover next about her own past. Would it help her understand why her father left? Why her mother drank? Help her come to terms with her parents’ flaws, maybe even to the point of forgiveness? Maybe not, but at least it gave her a place to dump her bottled-up feelings.
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