by Linda Howard
“I couldn’t tolerate it when I was a girl,” she said gently. “The rules, the restrictions, being treated like a brainless doll. I’ve been on my own a long time now, making my own decisions, good or bad. How could I go back, even if my father would allow me in the house, knowing that at best it would be just the same? At worst, he would keep me locked up so I couldn’t damage the family reputation any more than I already have.”
“Does your family know where you are?”
“No. They think I’m dead. I arranged it that way.”
“Then your father could be dead by now, and you wouldn’t know about it.”
“I occasionally get news from New Orleans. He was still alive six months ago. I don’t wish him dead,” she said, smiling at Kyle. “He’s my father. He isn’t a wicked man, just very strict, and I couldn’t live like that. It’s best this way. But why are we talking about me when we should be discussing your plans?”
“I don’t have any. I tried, and I lost.”
“It isn’t like you to give up,” she chided.
“I’ve never wanted anything this much before. I can’t imagine working up any interest in anything else.”
She touched his cheek in sympathy, her slim fingers cool on his skin. “It could rain tomorrow. Or the day after. And I have money. I can always stake you to get you going again.”
He shook his head. “You’ll probably need it. If the ranches go under, so will this town. You’ll have to set yourself up somewhere else.”
“Things haven’t gotten that bad yet. I always hope for the best.”
“But prepare for the worst.” Over the years he had run into her in different places, and at varying degrees of prosperity. He had seen her ragged and hungry, but even then she had always been planning, never wasting what little money she had. They had even thrown in together for a while, living off his winnings at cards, always ready to dodge out of town if anyone spotted his light touch with the pasteboards. They had huddled together under one thin blanket on frigid nights during the worst of their luck and spent three whole days and nights making love in a soft hotel bed once when they had hit a lucky streak.
Then they had gone their separate ways, for some reason he no longer remembered. Likely she had just had her own plans, and he had had his. He hadn’t seen her again until they had both wound up, by sheer coincidence, in Prosper. But maybe it wasn’t such a big coincidence, for they had both been looking for the same thing: a quiet, steady little town. They had both worked boomtowns and knew it was no way to live. Boomtowns were too violent. Security was better.
“If you change your mind about the money,” she said, “all you have to do is ask.”
“I know.”
He felt a surge of desire for her. He never tired of making love to Tillie. They had known each other for so long, made love so often, that they were entirely comfortable together. He knew just how to touch her and did so, reaching out to fondle her breast with the exact degree of pressure that she liked. She inhaled sharply, her eyes darkening. “Well,” she said. “I see your spirits have revived.”
He took her hand and placed it on the front of his pants. “That isn’t a spirit, but it sure has revived.”
“Darling,” she purred, “it’s never been dead.”
They undressed leisurely, pausing often for kisses and unhurried caresses. She started to go down on her knees and take him into her mouth, but he stopped her because, despite his slow pace, he felt that would be more than he could stand, and he wanted it to last longer than that. He put her on the bed and made love to her, using the advantage of his intimate knowledge of her to take her to the peak twice before he allowed himself release.
Afterward, as they lay quietly together, he felt a small measure of contentment. He might lose the ranch, but after all, he still had Tillie. She had always been there when he needed her. He only hoped he had been as good a friend to her as she had been to him.
14
KYLE WAS DRUNK EVEN THOUGH IT WAS ONLY EARLY afternoon. He seldom allowed himself the excess because men who drank too much often said too much, and he wanted to keep his past life just that, in the past. But there were some occasions that seemed to call for drink, and watching his ranch die qualified as one of them.
Besides, he didn’t have anything else to do, unless he wanted to ride out and look at the land drying up. If he wanted to see water, he’d have to ride all the way over to Angel Creek.
Now that was an idea, he mused. Maybe if he offered the Swann woman even more than he had before, she’d accept this time. Not that he had the money, but she didn’t know that. All he needed was her signature on a bill of sale. He’d start moving his cattle in and worry about the money later. Like the old saying went, possession was nine tenths of the law.
That was what he’d do. He’d offer her so much money she’d have to be stupid to turn it down.
He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t ride, and soon he was on his horse. At least he was doing something, and that was a relief. It was the helpless waiting that drove him crazy, but patience never had been his long suit.
Entering the Angel Creek valley was like traveling to a different part of the country. Where the ground was cracking with dryness on the Bar B and the pastures were turning brown, here the earth was softened by the underground moisture, and the meadow grasses grew tall. It even felt cooler. He reined in, thinking in confusion that it couldn’t actually be cooler, but then he decided that it really was. He frowned until the slight breeze on his face told the story. The valley acted like a funnel to the breezes coming down from the mountains, sweeping the cooler air downward. It was still hot, but not as hot as it was everywhere else.
The Swann woman came out on the porch when she heard his horse, and she had that damn shotgun in her hands, just the way she had the other times he’d talked to her. She’d never threatened him with it, but he’d never been able to forget it was there, either.
She stood as proud as any of the high-nosed New Orleans ladies of his youth, even though she worked the soil like a man and her clothes were plain and old. Hell, Tillie dressed better than she did. But her head was held high on her slender neck, and those witchgreen eyes were rock steady. “Mr. Bellamy,” was all she said in greeting.
He didn’t dismount. He just leaned forward, resting his arms on his saddle horn. “I’ll double my last offer for this place.”
She arched her brows, and he saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Your last offer was marriage. Are you saying you’ll marry me twice?”
He wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. “I need this land. I need the water. My cattle are going to die if they don’t have water, and you have just about the only good creek for a hundred miles or more.”
Dee sighed and looked at the cloudless blue sky. Why couldn’t it rain? “I’m sorry, Mr. Bellamy, but I won’t sell to you.” She did feel sorry for him; she felt sorry for every rancher, big and small, and every farmer. But she couldn’t take care of them all, couldn’t parcel out the water that ran through her land.
Kyle reined his horse around and rode away without another word. He was so angry he couldn’t speak anyway. Damn her! She just wouldn’t listen to reason. She was using only a little more than an acre of the land and letting the rest of it go to waste, but still she hung on to every inch as if it would kill her to let it go. For the sake of her piss-ant vegetable garden his cattle were going to die.
No, by God, they weren’t.
He was almost sober by the time he got back home, but his anger hadn’t abated, and neither had his savage determination.
One of the cowhands was coming out of the barn. “Get Pierce!” Kyle yelled. “And Fronteras!”
The two men were out on the range, so it was late when they finally trudged up to the house where he waited. “We start rounding up the cattle tomorrow,” Kyle said. His voice was abrupt and still angry.
Pierce slowly nodded, as if he had to consider the idea before giving it his approval.
Luis was curious. “Where are we taking them?”
“Into the Angel Creek valley.”
Pierce said, “That Swann woman’s place?”
“I talked to her today,” Kyle replied, knowing that they would assume she had given him permission to graze his cattle on her land.
Pierce nodded again. “Valley’s small. You want all of the cattle?”
“Yes.” The cattle would quickly overgraze, but at least they would have water. His mind was made up. No matter what Dee Swann said or did, his cattle were going into that valley.
Rounding up the cattle wasn’t easy. They didn’t want to leave what little water they had and tended to stray every chance they got. Everyone on the Bar B worked all the daylight hours the next day and got up before dawn on the second day to start again. The men felt as if they’d grown to their saddles.
It was late morning of the third day before they began moving the herd, and they reached the mouth of the little valley in the middle of the afternoon.
Dee had gotten up early that morning to weed the garden before the heat got bad. She couldn’t remember it ever being so hot before, and the plants were beginning to show it. They were growing, but she was afraid the crops were going to be stunted, burned by the sun.
The ranchers had to be in bad shape. She hadn’t been into town for the past few weeks, but the last time she had gone everyone had been talking about how dry it was, and how it was hurting the grazing. Kyle Bellamy had been desperate when he’d ridden out to try to buy her land, and sympathy stirred in her as she remembered his face.
She wondered how Lucas was doing. She had seen him only once since the time he had tried to talk her into selling out; it had been just after the vote to ratify the constitution, and he had been jubilant over that, but tired from work and worried about the lack of water. She had wanted to assure him that everything would be all right, but the words would have been useless. How could she assure rain?
If the drought continued and his cattle died, would he ever forgive her?
She straightened and looked at the sun, already feeling its heat though it was still early in the morning. Her chest felt tight. She had no control over the weather, but she did have Angel Creek.
Lucas wanted her land. Like Kyle Bellamy, he had even offered marriage in an effort to obtain it. Every day since then she had lived with the knowledge that he hadn’t wanted her for herself, but for the land. It lay cold and heavy in her breast, and time only seemed to make it grow heavier. It didn’t help that she had realized the basis of his attraction to her right from the beginning, because like a fool she had fallen in love with him anyway. She couldn’t even let herself attach any importance to their lovemaking, for Lucas was undeniably lusty by nature, and she thought any willing woman would have sufficed for his needs.
Sometimes she thought about riding up to the Double C and telling him that she had changed her mind, that she was willing to marry him if he was still interested. She would play the scene through in her mind right up to the part where he accepted; then her pride would reject the idea, and she knew she would hate herself if she did it. She had always planned to live alone, enjoyed living alone. She still did enjoy her life, but for the first time she wanted more.
She wanted Lucas. It wasn’t just physical, though she yearned for the smell and touch of him, for the release given by his driving possession. She wanted more. She had never had an entire night with him, only a few stolen hours. She had never faced a dawn after sheltering the dark hours in his arms, or watched him shave. She wanted years of thunderous arguments; living with a man like Lucas would keep her on her toes. He would ride roughshod over a woman who didn’t stand up to him. It was a kind of strength she had never before seen in a man; she was used to doing the intimidating. Lucas not only matched her, he gave her an unspoken compliment by not holding himself back as if she were a frail flower who would collapse under the storm of his temper.
If he married her in order to get Angel Creek, she would have those years she coveted, but she wouldn’t have his love, and she wouldn’t have self-respect.
Yet she loved him, and he needed her. Rather, he needed her land.
She looked at her garden. The plants were strong and green, just beginning to bear fruit with the long summer weeks of ripening ahead. Despite the lack of rain they were flourishing, fed by the creek that kept the rich soil moist.
Perhaps Lucas could move some of his cattle into the valley. A fence could be built around the cabin and garden to protect them. He couldn’t bring the cattle over the pass, but it would only take a couple of days to bring a herd around the base of the mountain. She saw no reason why he wouldn’t agree to the plan; the cattle could even winter there.
If necessary, if he refused to accept the favor, she would sell Angel Creek to him. It would be like selling part of her heart, but she couldn’t stand by and let his cattle die when she had the means of preventing it.
Accepting that was a blow that made her eyes sting as she looked around at her home. Saying that she loved it only scratched the surface. Over the years as she had worked the soil, coaxed life out of it, she had found a contentment that went deeper than love. It wasn’t just the satisfaction of making things grow, it was everything about Angel Creek, the utter perfection of it. Her soul had taken root there, sinking deep into the earth. She could live in other places, but none would ever be like this, where she so completely, overwhelmingly fit.
Yet for Lucas she would give it up.
He had such big dreams, such towering ambitions. He’d achieve them, too, if the Double C survived this drought. Colorado was on the verge of statehood, and he was on the verge of putting his plans into action. He deserved the chance to do it. Men like Lucas were different from other men; he was a leader, a man who got things done.
She had never been to the Double C, never been up to the narrow pass Lucas used to enter the valley. Except for her trips into town she hadn’t strayed from Angel Creek since the day her family had first settled on it. Even if she had been familiar with the way to the Double C she wouldn’t have gone, for the mere fact that she had visited Lucas Cochran would be so out of character for her that immediately her relationship with him would have been suspected. Regardless of that, she would go to the ranch and tell him her decision.
After all, it was the way she lived that had necessitated secrecy, for anything less than a spotless reputation would have endangered her. A woman alone couldn’t take too many precautions. But if she lived in town, she wouldn’t have to be so careful. She and Lucas could be discreet about the extent of their intimacy, but they wouldn’t have to conceal their relationship entirely. That was assuming, of course, that they would even have a relationship after Lucas had gotten what he wanted from her, namely Angel Creek.
It was afternoon, and the sun was searing when she finished her chores and went inside to wash off in cool water. Now that she had faced what she had to do in order to live with herself she was restless, filled with impatience to get it over with. Maybe Lucas would accept her offer to graze his cattle in the valley, and she wouldn’t have to uproot herself. If he insisted on buying the land, she wanted to get it over and done with, like a dose of bitter medicine.
After washing she changed into clean clothes and stood for a minute looking around. The next couple of hours would decide if she lived here or not, and for a moment the idea of leaving was so hard to bear that she let her head drop forward as she fought tears.
Then a sound made her lift her head, listening. That sounded like cattle bawling. And thunder; she thought she heard thunder. Hope rising, she went to the window and bent to look out. Not a cloud in sight. The bull and both cows were placidly grazing, but she still heard cattle bawling, or something that sounded like it.
She stepped out on the porch, her head tilted to the side as she listened curiously. Her gaze settled on a cloud of dust that was rising above the trees, and she stared at it blankly for a moment before an expression of horror cross
ed her face. She darted back inside, got the shotgun, and crammed her pockets full of extra shells.
The first of the cattle came into view. Knowing she didn’t have a moment to waste, she put the shotgun to her shoulder and fired just over their heads, hoping to spook them the other way.
The cattle milled around in confusion, excited by the smell of water but nervous at the boom of the shotgun. She shot the other barrel and quickly reloaded, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she felt sick. If the cattle got into the garden, they would destroy it.
“Put the shotgun down,” Kyle Bellamy yelled. He rode toward her, a rifle in his hands. “The cattle are going through here.”
“Not on my land,” she replied fiercely. The valley was narrow, and the cabin was close to the mouth of it; he’d have to herd the cattle right between the cabin and the barn, and the unprotected garden was right behind the cabin. What the cattle didn’t trample, they’d eat.
The herd hadn’t turned. She fired again, and this time she aimed low enough to hit the cattle. At that distance the buckshot stung without doing a lot of damage, and the cattle bawled in panic, turning sharply away from both the noise and the pain. The leading edge of the herd turned back into the others. She shot a fourth time, and they began bolting.
A rifle cracked, and the wood behind her splintered.
She dodged back into the cabin and slammed the door, hurriedly ramming shells into the shotgun as she did so. With a quick swing of the barrel she knocked the glass out of the window and shot again.
Cursing with every breath, Kyle shot back. “Get the cattle!” he yelled at his men. “Goddammit, turn them around.”
Some of the men were already trying. Others had drawn their pistols at the sound of gunfire. They all knew about the Swann woman, knew she tended to greet people with a shotgun. She’d even peppered a few men who’d tried to keep company with her, the bad-tempered bitch. She shouldn’t treat people like that. If the boss was intending to give her a taste of her own medicine, that was fine with them. Sporadically at first, then with increasing regularity, they began shooting at the cabin.