“That’s what I know about you. Now let me tell you some things about me, which is the part you’ll probably hold against me.” He leaned back against the wheel and straightened one leg. “First off, knowin’ all that I do about how you’re feelin’, and knowin’ you got no control over it, that gives me a damned good hold on your lead rope. You followin’ me?”
She wasn’t, quite, but she nodded, aware that he was studying her even though she didn’t look up.
“Secondly, I—” He broke off and groaned. “Christ.” Seconds ticked by. “I gotta real deep fondness for you,” he finally said, “and it ain’t a plain friendship sort of feelin’. It’s the kind of fondness that’s got powerful-strong yearnin’s ridin’ double behind. It started the first time I clapped eyes on you, it’s been growin’ ever since, and now it’s startin’ to get the best of me. I reckon maybe you guessed that. I don’t know. But, anyhow, that’s how it is. I was waitin’ for you to come out here tonight. I wasn’t asleep. And I set out from the start when I mentioned takin’ you to Denver to herd you into my brandin’ chute and lock the gate.”
Another heavy silence fell. In her peripheral vision she could see that he was gazing into the trees again, so she sneaked a glance at him. As if he sensed her perusal, he turned to look at her.
“The long and short of it is,” he went on huskily, “that you can stay with me. No goin’ to Denver, no goin’ to Santa Fe, no livin’ in Cutter Gulch. But you gotta pay a mighty steep price. You either marry me, or you gotta go. Where you go is up to you.”
She hugged her knees more tightly and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry it’s that way. I know you have a real big need for me to be your friend right now.” His voice went thick and gravelly. “I feel like I’m failin’ you, and I suppose I am. But try to understand it ain’t by choice. The sad truth is, I can’t have you live with me, Rebecca. Sleepin’ a few feet away, always close at hand. I want you too much to handle it for months on end, and my cabin’s the only place I can put you. Me, tryin’ to steer clear of you. It’d just never work. And I’ll be damned if I’ll have you in my bed without marryin’ you, even if it would leave you free to go later. My feelin’s for you run too deep to do you that way, for one, and to be honest, I’d probably love you so much by the time you got a hankerin’ to leave, I’d hobble you and snub you to the bedpost.”
She nodded, her throat closed off so tightly she wasn’t sure she could speak.
He swore under his breath and threw the blade of grass away. After a long moment, he said, “If you do some thinkin’ about marryin’ me, you need to know that your leery feelin’s about sharin’ my bed is groundless. I’d never hurt you, honey. I’d write it in blood for you, but I can’t write a lick, so you just gotta trust my word. If it’s any comfort, I gotta a load of failin’s, but breakin’ my word ain’t one of ’em.”
Rebecca propped an elbow on her knee and rested her forehead on her upturned palm. “Oh, Mr. Spencer, what am I going to do?” she asked in a taut voice.
“Whatever it is, I’ll help you all I can. I hope you know that.”
“I know you will.”
“Well, that’s somethin’.” He gave a low, bitter laugh. “At least you don’t think I’m rotten all the way through.”
“I don’t think you’re rotten at all.” She raised her head to fix a tear-filled gaze on him. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
A suspicious brightness came into his eyes as well, and he blinked. “Thank you for that. It means more’n you know.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I gotta ask, though. Does that mean you got no deeper feelin’s for me?”
Rebecca nearly said no. But that wasn’t being entirely honest, and she felt he deserved at least that from her. “I’m not sure,” she said shakily. “I have difficulty breathing when you’re not with me. What’s that mean?”
He chuckled softly. “I reckon it means you gotta lung problem.” He held up an arm. “Come here, darlin’.”
Remembering his admission about having “powerful-strong yearnings” for her, she stiffened. “I, um…probably shouldn’t.”
A twinkle of mischief warmed his eyes. “I ain’t hoverin’ that close to the edge. Come here.” He snaked his outstretched arm behind her, catching her at the waist, and then ran his other arm under her bent knees. The next instant, she was on his lap, the quilt hanging off one of her shoulders. He pressed her head to his chest and rested his cheek against her hair, his strong arms cradling her close. “I been wantin’ to do this for damned near a month.”
Rebecca looped an arm around his strong neck. “Oh, Race.”
“Race? Did I hear you right? I’ll be damned. The lady finally calls me by my first name! We’re flat makin’ progress.”
She smiled against his shirt. “You must think I’m such a silly goose,” she said wearily.
“Nope. Not a bit of it.” He rubbed his jaw back and forth over her braid. “You’re gonna get over this, honey. Trust me on that.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. If anything, it seems as if it’s worse.”
He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Hey, now, you listen up.” His hand stilled on her arm. “You ever done diggin’ that loosened the dirt around the roots of a big tree?”
Rebecca closed her eyes. This man—this impossible man. What did trees have to do with anything? “No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, I have. There on the knoll where my cabin sits, there’s this here fir tree. One big son’buck. Must be hundreds of years old. That tree’s seen storms and drought and every other damned thing, but it’s grown big and strong anyhow.” He pressed his lips to her temple, a feathery, comforting kiss, as a father might give a beloved child. “Would you say that tree’s a silly goose?”
Oh, God. She wanted a chain and padlock to bind his arms around her. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”
“Well, I ran water to my cabin and put me in a pump at the dry sink. Took some diggin’ and pipe layin’ to do it, and that big old tree was square in my way. I dug around its roots. Had to take an ax to a couple. But damned if that tree didn’t bounce right back. Got a little sickly-lookin’ for a month or so that summer is all.”
Rebecca found herself smiling in spite of herself. It didn’t matter if he made sense. He meant well. And knowing he cared about her feelings—it made her heart ache. The very best kind of ache, of course.
“Anyhow, I was flat impressed by that tree’s grit. I really thought it’d probably die, or maybe never be quite the same. But it fooled me. Before that, I never paid much mind to that tree. There’s hundreds on my ranch a lot like it. It was a real pretty tree, to be sure. Prettier than most. But it was still just another tree.” He squeezed her shoulder again. “After all that happened to it, though? Seein’ it go through that and gettin’ strong again? Well, I gotta tell you, I developed a real special regard for that damned old tree.”
“Is there a point to this story?”
He chuckled. “You ain’t real patient, are you? Hell, yes, there’s a point.” He moved his hand to her back, lightly massaging the tense muscles his fingertips unerringly found. “Like I said, I got a real high regard for that tree. And one night, not long after it started lookin’ healthier, along came a windstorm. A real bad’un. Took part of my barn roof, blew down fences. I was all het up over the damage. That evenin’ when I come in from workin’, I noticed that old tree was leanin’ funny. I went over to look and seen that the side where the roots was damaged had lost hold in the wind. That tree was about to fall over.
“It flat made me feel sad, I’ll tell you. So I rounded up all the men from the bunkhouse, and we set to work with ropes and horses, pullin’ and heavin’ on that damned old tree until we got it standin’ straight again. Then we tied off to other trees with the ropes to give the poor thing some ballast where its roots was all in a stir. Then we filled in around the injured ones with fresh dirt and packed it down.”
“Did it recover?”
>
“I been there two years, and that was the first summer. I kept the ropes on that old tree pulled tight, replacin’ the ones that got weak from rot, until this last summer. So it took nigh onto two years. But that old tree has put itself down some new roots now, and it’s as strong as it ever was. Had us a windstorm a few months back. Never bothered it a whit.”
Rebecca traced her fingertip over one of his shirt buttons. “And I’ll recover, like your tree. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m the one tellin’ this here story.”
She smiled in spite of herself.
“Real recent like, I happened upon a little gal in an arroyo,” he said huskily. “Kneelin’ like a little golden-haired angel, smack in the middle of a bloodbath. Starin’ off, pale as cream. I took me a look around, and I figured all the terrible things she must’ve seen. And I gotta tell you, I worried that she might never come right again.”
“She hasn’t.”
“Would you let me tell my story?” He pressed a kiss to her temple again. “Anyhow…she was a real pretty little thing. But females is kinda like trees—you find ’em every which way you look. She was prettier than most, but she was still just another female. No offense intended, you understand.”
“None taken,” she whispered, her mouth trembling in a smile.
“Like my tree, that little gal surprised me. She not only come right. She damned near shot me!”
“I did not!”
“Well, part of you was wantin’ to draw my blood.” He made a sound that was half-laugh and half-sigh. “Hissin’ and spittin’ and raisin’ all kinds of sand. I was flat impressed, and in that moment, that little gal stopped bein’ just another female to me. I developed me a real high regard for her grit.” He moved his jaw to make room as he settled a hand over her hair. His voice when he spoke again rang with regret. “Then I took off and left her, worryin’ about my goddamned cattle. And while I was gone, a windstorm come along, and by the time I got back to her again, she was leanin’ sort of funny. Ever since then, I been tryin’ to give her some ballast on her weak side to keep her standin’ straight, but there’s been some high winds that came ’long to shake her off balance again. I reckon that’d be enough to make anybody lose faith and not trust her roots to hold.”
Rebecca made a fist on his shirt. “Oh, Race…”
“You’re just leanin’ hard on me right now, darlin’. That’s all. You need time to heal and get some strength back in your legs. I got every confidence you’re gonna be fine. You just gotta believe in yourself as much as I do.” She felt his arms tighten around her. “Even harder, sweetheart, you gotta try to believe in me. I ain’t gonna walk off and leave you without tyin’ off with ropes to give you ballast. Be it in Denver or Cutter Gulch. I’ll see to it you’ll have someone to lean on.”
She wanted to lean on him. No one else.
Silence settled. After a long while, he said, “So, what d’ya think?”
“About what?”
“About trustin’ me to tie off with rope,” he said with a chuckle.
Rebecca had never trusted anyone quite as much. “I do. I trust you.”
“Well, then? Should I be plannin’ on that trip to Denver? Or do you wanna give Cutter Gulch a go for a while.” He leaned around to try and see her face. Then he rested his jaw atop her head again. “Uh-huh. That’s a real interestin’ answer.” He sighed. “I’ll tell you what let’s do. Let’s give Cutter Gulch a try. All right? I’ll get you all lined up out there, make sure you’re with real fine folks who’ll watch after you and get word to me straightaway if you need me. And on top of that, I’ll come see you once a week, without fail. There’s a nice place to eat there. You can dress up pretty as a picture, and I’ll slick up, and I’ll take you out to a fancy supper. Won’t that be fun?”
She kept her face hidden against his chest. “I can’t.”
“You can’t? Go to supper, you mean? It ain’t against your religion, I hope.”
“Anywhere. I can’t go.” She started to shake and pressed closer to him. “I can’t leave you. I’m afraid to be someplace where I can’t see you. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s stupid. I’m afraid of things that aren’t even there! But knowing that doesn’t help.”
He moved a hand to her hair. “Ah, sweetheart.”
“I’ll marry you. I have no choice. I can’t go away from you. Please, Race, I just can’t!”
The frantic note in her voice was Race’s undoing. God, how he loved her. On the other hand, as much as he wanted her, as desperately as he needed her, he wasn’t willing to take her any way he could get her. There had to be a line drawn at some point that a man didn’t allow himself to step over.
“All right,” he said gruffly. “You win, darlin’. You can stay with me until spring. We’ll make out some way. Maybe by then you’ll be feelin’ better about things. You reckon?”
“But you said—”
“Oh, hell. I know what I said. I was just goin’ on.”
“No, you weren’t! You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
He chuckled. “If that ain’t just like a woman. Not happy with the fish when she’s got him hooked. But in a snit if he ain’t interested in her bait.”
She made an exasperated sound.
“I’ll get you learned up on handlin’ a Colt,” he told her, laughter lacing his voice. “If I take after you, you can shoot me and put me outta my misery.” He drew the quilt around her shoulders, then set her off his lap. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go to bed. You gotta get some rest. Could be lack of sleep is half your problem.”
“In the wagon, you mean?” She sounded none too certain about that being a good idea.
Race pushed to his feet and drew her up beside him. “Why not? We’re gonna be keepin’ close company for the next six months, anyhow. We may as well start tonight.”
An hour later, Race was nearly asleep when Rebecca called softly to him from the pallet at the opposite side of the wagon. Using the crook of his arm for a pillow, Race blinked awake and focused on the young woman across from him. In the rosy glow of the fire that filtered through the canvas, she was so beautiful lying there on the multi-patterned background of quilt blocks—even covered from chin to toe in her modest cotton nightgown. Just looking at her damned near broke his heart.
“Yo?” he said softly. “I’m awake.”
She sat up, her eyes luminous in the dim light, her mussed coronet shining like a pink-gold halo at her crown. “I was just—Mr. Spencer, could I ask you an extremely personal and most embarrassing question?”
So they were back to “Mr. Spencer” again, were they? Race raised up on an elbow. “I ain’t the real bashful type, darlin’. Fire away.”
“That’s what worries me.”
He could tell by her expression that it actually did worry her, which made him want to smile. “Don’t let it worry you. It takes all different types to make the world interestin’. You and me—hell, we’re so different, we’re flat fascinatin’.”
Looking faintly exasperated, she said, “Mr. Spencer, this is very difficult for me. Please don’t tease.”
He wasn’t teasing. She was the most fascinating creature he’d ever met. “I’m sorry. What is it you wanna ask me?”
She flapped a hand. “Well, you know, if I were to marry you?”
His heart stuttered. “Yeah, what about it?”
“I, um…have some concerns in regard to your, um…” She leaned toward him and whispered, “In regard to your manly inclinations.”
Since she’d whispered it, Race didn’t think she was asking if he drank, smoked, or chewed tobacco. “My inclinations when I’m makin’ love, you mean?”
She brushed at her cheek, her gaze skittering from his. “Is that what you call it?”
He bit back a grin, amused that she was still whispering. “That’s one of the polite names for it. What d’you call it?” he whispered back.
She leaned toward him again. “When my mother spoke
with me about what to expect on my marriage night, she referred to it as ‘a man doing his business.’”
“Ah.” Race nodded and shrugged. Then he whispered, “So what’s your concerns?”
She wrapped a tuft of quilting yarn around her finger and drew it so tight that even in the dimness, he saw her fingertip go dark. By that alone, he knew how difficult it was for her to speak with him like this. “When my mother talked to me, she explained what I might expect from a man of my own religious persuasions. In our faith, physical unions take place solely for the purpose of procreation. How would you feel about that?”
Race was flat amazed. Somehow he hadn’t pictured Bible thumpers as being that type. He and his men—well, now, that was another story. Every few months they headed north to a larger town for a little procreation to break up the boredom—betting on horse races, playing poker, drinking, and dancing. And enjoying some procreation was definitely all they had in mind when they headed to an upstairs room with a sporting woman.
“Why, honey, I’d be real pleased,” Race replied. “To be honest, I figured we might come at that particular activity from two different directions and that it’d take us a spell to find us a happy meetin’ ground.”
She looked slightly bemused. “You mean—” She flapped her hand again. “You mean you’re of the same mind?”
“Absolutely.”
Her bemusement turned to unmistakable incredulity. “Truly? Somehow, you struck me as a man who—” She went to flapping her hand again, this time so hard he had cause to worry she might bust her wrist. “Are you certain, Mr. Spencer? It’s terribly important to me, you understand. That my life partner share the same views, I mean.”
Race had a bad feeling that maybe he couldn’t see shit for all the manure. “Rebecca, what is it, exactly, that’s worryin’ you?”
She wound the yarn around her fingertip again. “Well…due to certain recent events in my life, it has come to my attention that not all men are governed by religious strictures when it comes to that sort of thing. That they have base, animalistic urges that I would find abhorrent.”
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