Wild Rain

by Beverly Jenkins

  Miller’s eyes were wide, as well. “And that’s where your story about us will be? In a Colored paper?”

  “Yes.” He opened his journal. “So tell me how long you’ve both been on the council.”

  Cale began to stammer. “I—I just remembered Glenda needed me to do something for her this evening. So sorry. She always teases me about how forgetful I am.” He stood up so hastily he knocked his chair to the floor.

  Miller rose, too. “I have a shipment coming in I need to see to. I don’t think I’ll have free time to talk to you again before you leave town.”

  “I understand,” Garrett replied. “Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”

  They practically ran to the exit.

  Garrett sighed with irritation. Although their reactions were common, he still found them disappointing.

  Dovie walked over. “Are you ready to eat? What happened to Arnold and Chauncey?”

  “When they found out I write for a Colored newspaper they suddenly remembered they had someplace else to be.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry they were so rude. We have spittoons with better manners.”

  “No apologies needed. And yes, I’m ready to eat. I’ll have the pork chops and rice, please.”

  “Coming right up. If you decide to write about a tall blonde woman making her way alone while raising her son, I’m available.”

  “Good to know.”

  Chapter Seven

  Although Spring got along well with Glenda Cale, the idea of having to attend a dinner party at her home was not something she would’ve agreed to on her own, so while Regan did up her hair, she simmered silently.

  “There,” Regan said, placing the curling iron in the brazier for the last time. “I’m done.”

  Spring looked at herself in the mirror and scowled. Regan ignored the displeasure on her face and said, “Get dressed. You don’t want to be late.”

  A short while later, stomping through the house in the fancy, off-shoulder burgundy gown and thin-soled slippers she didn’t want to wear, Spring snatched up her shawl and went to seek out her sister-in-law.

  “You look lovely,” Regan said. “But please don’t glare at Glenda’s guests that way.”

  Spring glared at Regan instead. “Tell me again why I’m going to this party?”

  “Because I have to stay with the children, and Colt is away handling an emergency, so you, my dear angry sister, have to represent the family. Mr. McCray is our guest after all.”

  “Not mine.”

  “Yours, too. Didn’t you rescue him from the blizzard?”

  “Yes, I did. I also fed him, helped him out of his boots, and gave him bark tea. My obligations are done.” So maybe she was curious about how he might be faring, but it wasn’t necessary for her to get all gussied up to find out.

  “You’ll have fun.”

  “Lightning is going to strike you dead.”

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to know more about him?”

  “I lied.”

  Regan laughed softly. “Colt hitched up my buggy for you before he left.”

  Spring blew out a breath. “I’ll bring it back in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Spring.”

  Waving dismissively, she left the house.

  Stepping up onto the Cales’ porch, Spring wondered sarcastically if she should wait for a man to open the door. Inside, the Chinese maid greeted her with a smile and took her shawl. Spring thanked her, drew in a calming breath, and followed the voices to the parlor. Once there she paused for a moment to survey the people in the well-furnished room with its dark emerald drapes and large portrait of Glenda in an off-shoulder, emerald gown hanging above the fireplace. The Millers were in attendance as were most of the area’s prominent ranchers, along with their wives. Upon seeing Spring, some of the women deliberately turned their backs.

  “Spring,” Glenda said fondly. “Welcome. You look lovely.”

  “Thanks. Regan and Colt couldn’t come, so I’m here to represent the family.”

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  “No, but I did manage to open the door without male assistance.”

  Glenda smiled. “You’re going to pay me back for that sometime soon, aren’t you?”

  “Probably.” Spring scanned the small crowd again. McCray, clad in a brown suit, was in a conversation with rancher Randolph Nelson and Heath Leary. As he glanced up, their eyes met, and she did her best to ignore the rush in her blood. He sent her a smile and a slight nod of greeting. She returned the gesture and thought about the invitation she wanted to extend. His suit wasn’t as fancy as the ones worn by Arnold and some of the others in the room, but it fit his lean frame and broad shoulders well and gave his appearance a level of sophistication she found appealing.

  “Help yourself to the buffet,” Glenda said.

  Before she could do so, her attention settled on someone else. Forcing down her anger, she asked in as casual a voice as could be managed, “What’s Matt Ketchum doing here?” By the glassy sheen in his glare he was already drunk.

  Glenda sighed. “Arnold invited him. I’m sorry. I heard about the incident at the Irish Rose. Arnold hopes Ketchum and the people visiting him from New York will invest in the bank.”

  Standing with Ketchum was the man who’d needed directions to Paradise. “Is he one of the friends?”

  Glenda turned to see who she was referencing. “Yes. His daughter Hazel arrived with him, but she chose to stay in her room at Dovie’s. The younger man with him is a business associate. His name escapes me.”

  Spring planned to avoid the lot of them. By then, McCray had excused himself from Nelson and was making his way to where she stood.

  Glenda said, “I’m going to see to my guests. Thanks for coming, Spring.”

  “You’re welcome.” But the entire time she was focused on the advancing McCray.

  When he reached her side, he said, “Evening, Spring.”

  “McCray.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Fine, too. You look very nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  The man who’d asked her for directions to Paradise turned her way. He appeared surprised by her presence and nodded a greeting. She responded tightly in kind before returning her attention to McCray, who’d glanced over to see who she’d greeted.

  “Do you know him?” he asked.

  “No. I was at Regan’s home when he stopped to ask for directions to town.” Refocusing on McCray, she asked, “Did you get enough information from my brother for your story?”

  “I did. He was very forthcoming. I thought he’d be here tonight.”

  “He’d planned to but was called away earlier this afternoon. A rancher was kicked in the head by one of his horses.”

  “How on earth did that happen?”

  “Had something to do with a horseshoe and a dog nipping the horse . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know the exact details, but the man was kicked. His son rode over to get Colt.”

  “Your brother stays busy.”

  “He does.”

  A male voice interrupted them. “Thank you for those directions.”

  Spring sighed and looked up into the cold blue eyes of the speaker. “Glad you arrived safely.”

  “Name’s Avery Jarvis.”

  “Spring Lee.”

  Jarvis eyed McCray. “And you?”

  “Garrett McCray.”

  “This your little lady, McCray?”

  “I’m no one’s little lady,” she responded icily, adding, “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d like to sample the buffet.”

  At the buffet table, she picked up a plate. Randolph Nelson was there adding food to the plate in his hand. “You’re looking right lovely, Spring.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, viewing the variety of dishes on display.

  “I want to get with you about acquiring a few new mustangs.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged. Stop by when you
can, and we’ll talk.”

  “Will do.”

  Leary stepped up next to let her know her whiskey had yet to arrive, then moved on. While wondering who else needed a word with her, Lacy Miller approached. “Spring, my cat just had another litter. Can you take a couple of the kittens off my hands?”

  Spring placed some slices of beef, potatoes and carrots on her plate. “Sure, always in need of mousers.”

  “Thanks. I’ll drop them by in a day or two.”

  Across the room, Matt Ketchum’s drunk voice rose above the quiet conversations. “Hey, Spring. Tell my friend Jarvis here how you used to spread those legs you’re hiding beneath that fine dress.”

  Spring froze.

  “Better yet,” he continued loudly, “how about the time you—”

  There was a loud crash and she turned to see a furious-looking McCray holding the much shorter Ketchum against a wall at eye level with a hand around his neck. Her jaw dropped.

  McCray barked, “Apologize!”

  Apparently too drunk to perceive the danger he was in, Ketchum laughed, “Boy, if you don’t get your hands off me, they’ll find you hanging—”

  McCray slammed him bodily against the wall and growled, “Don’t ever mention her that way within my hearing again. Do you understand?”

  “She’s a fucking whore. Get your hands off me, nigger!” And spat in McCray’s face.

  He retaliated with a fist that drew a sharp-pitched cry from Ketchum, who grabbed his bleeding, busted nose, and a smug smile of satisfaction from Spring.

  Face filled with thunder, McCray tossed him away. Ketchum tried to rise, but his drunken legs refused to cooperate. Dragging a handkerchief from his pocket, Garrett cleaned his cheek.

  Nelson gave his plate to the stunned Heath Leary, and called out tightly, “Chauncey, how about we take Matt home?”

  As Nelson moved past Spring he said to her in a low voice, “You got a fine man there.”

  Spring agreed and wondered if any of the other men in the room would’ve come to her defense had he not been there. She knew the answer. While Nelson and Miller dragged Ketchum to his feet and out of the parlor, Jarvis studied her for a long moment before he and his business partner, accompanied by Arnold Cale, hastened to follow. She didn’t know nor care what he might’ve been thinking.

  Still radiating outrage, McCray said to Glenda, “My apologies for the ruckus. I’ll understand if I’m never invited to your home again, especially after breaking whatever fell. Let me know the replacement costs, and I’ll wire the money when I reach home.”

  Spring saw broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor.

  Glenda waved him off. “That cretin Ketchum will be the one never invited back, and as for the broken figurines, they belonged to Arnold’s mother. I never cared for them anyway, so no payment is required.”

  “That’s very gracious of you,” McCray replied humbly. “And thank you for your hospitality, but I’ll be leaving. I’ve had enough excitement for the evening, and I’m sure your guests have, as well. My apologies to everyone.” On his way out, he gave Spring a brief glance but didn’t stop.

  Ignoring the whispers and the condemning glares sent her way by some of the wives, Spring asked the maid for her shawl and went after him.

  Outside, the moon was high and the April night was both warm and chilly. Seeing McCray walking towards Dovie’s, she pulled the shawl closer and quickened her pace. “McCray. Wait.”

  He stopped and turned. When she reached him, she said, “You throw a pretty good punch for a newspaper man.”

  Remnants of anger remained in his voice. “Thank the Union Navy. When you’re on the bottom rung, learning to defend yourself against the older sailors is one of the first things you learn. That and if sailing makes you sick.”

  “Did it?”

  “No.”

  Spring viewed his strong features in the moonlight. “I just wanted to say thank you. Never had anyone stand up for me that way.”

  “I figured if I didn’t shut his mouth, you would, and I didn’t want you messing up your pretty dress.”

  Touched, she smiled and replied, “Always the gentleman.”

  “Always.” He flexed his hand.

  “Sore?”

  “Yes. Been a while since I’ve done something like that. It’ll be worse in the morning if I don’t get some ice. Hope Dovie has some.” He paused for a moment as if weighing what he wanted to say, all the while viewing her with a soft intensity. “Listen, I know you don’t need protecting, but I couldn’t help myself. If I stepped in where I didn’t belong, my apologies.”

  “You did fine,” she softly replied. “And you’re right, I can take care of myself, but sometimes a girl gets tired of fighting alone.”

  Silence rose between them. She didn’t know why he set off the feelings he did, but the longer she held his gaze, the higher the draw rose.

  He reached out and a whisper-light fingertip trailed down her cheek. “Anytime you need a partner, let me know.”

  Her reactions to him were slipping past the reins of her legendary control. She covered his hand with hers and gently pressed her lips against the knuckles. “A kiss to make it feel better.”

  He smiled. “If I kiss you in return, will you feed me to a bear?”

  “If it’s a bad kiss, I might.”

  “I’ll have to make it a good one, then, I guess.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “Are you going to kiss me or talk me to death?”

  He leaned in, brushed his lips against hers, and murmured, “I love a woman who says what she wants.” The potency of the kiss that followed awakened her senses and kindled the embers of her lust. He was no novice at this, and before his seductive magic reduced her mind to jam, she took a step back. “Come home with me. I’ve ice and whatever else you may want.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve a long list of what I want to do with you.”

  Her knees went weak. “Do I impress you as being unsure?”

  “A gentleman always asks.”

  “I want you in my bed, McCray. That plain enough for you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It is.”

  A male voice interrupted them. “Quite a display you put on back there, McCray.”

  They turned to see Avery Jarvis standing there. Where he’d come from or how much he’d seen or heard, she didn’t know.

  He continued, “Man like you could draw a lot of unwanted attention putting your hands on a man like Ketchum. You might want to be careful.”

  “A man like me draws unwanted attention from men like Ketchum just for waking up every morning, but thanks for your concern. Good night.” He offered Spring his arm. She responded, and together they set out towards the livery to retrieve the buggy for the drive to her cabin. Neither looked back.

  Led by the light of the full moon, Spring guided the buggy slowly. McCray hadn’t said anything since they’d left the livery. There wasn’t enough light to see his features clearly, but she sensed distance. “If you’ve changed your mind, McCray, that’s fine.”

  “I haven’t. Jarvis has me angry at Ketchum all over again.”

  She understood. She’d been angry at Ketchum for years. “Should I distract you?”

  He chuckled against the night. “Your invitation is distracting enough, honestly. I’ll be better shortly.”

  “Good, because when we get home, I’ll need your full attention.”

  “And you shall have it.”

  Garrett knew he’d placed himself in jeopardy defending her. He’d embarrassed and humiliated Ketchum. Scores of Colored men had been beaten and killed for less. Should he have chosen caution and waited for one of the other men in the room to shut Ketchum’s vile mouth? And if none had, then what? Was he supposed to ignore it and pretend the verbal taunting was deserved? Spring admitted to being gossiped about; even the sheriff said she’d been no angel back then. However, that didn’t give Ketchum the right to speak to her so disres
pectfully. Garrett expected Ketchum to seek revenge but when the time came, he’d not go down without a fight.

  Now, though, Spring had invited him home. Since their time together during the blizzard he’d sensed a mutual attraction. He hadn’t expected such a bold offer though. He glanced over at her in the moonlight and wondered if she’d be as fiery in bed as she was in life. The brief kiss they’d shared gave him a taste of the passionate woman hidden beneath her tough exterior, and he was anxious to explore her fully and without interruption.

  Once they arrived at her property, he watched while she swapped her fancy slippers for a pair of serviceable boots she retrieved from the buggy’s backseat. “I have to unhitch the mare from the buggy and with the ground being so soft, I don’t want these shoes ruined. You can go inside and start a fire. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”

  He countered, “How about I be the partner we spoke of and help with the buggy?”

  “What about your hand?”

  “It’s sore but not so much that I can’t assist you.”

  He sensed she wanted to argue but seemed to think better of it and surrendered. “Okay.”

  Once the mare was bedded down and the other horses seen to, they let the moonlight guide them to the house.

  The interior was as cold as it was outside. While he started a fire, she pulled her shawl closer and lit a few lamps. “I’ll get the ice.”

  She returned with a small metal bucket. Seated on her sofa, he stuck his hand into it and hissed as the cold settled into his skin. After a few moments he lifted the hand free. He repeated the process a few more times before flexing the hand and wincing a bit.

  “How’s it feel?” she asked.

  “It’s so cold it’s hard to tell, but I’m sure this is helping. I’ll know better in the morning.”

  “I can make you some bark tea if you’d like.”

  “Maybe later.”

  An awkward silence rose. It was as if neither of them knew how or where to begin their night together, so he opted for small talk, hoping that might help. “Do you get your ice from an icehouse?”

  “No. I have some stored underground inside one of my outbuildings.”

  She must’ve seen his confusion. “Once the rivers freeze, we harvest it, so to speak, by chopping out big pieces and hauling them home. They’re put underground in a large hole and covered with straw. In a good winter we can store enough to last until mid-June, depending on how fast the temperatures rise in the spring.”