It was time for bed. She had work to do tomorrow. She might have two thousand dollars worth of steers out there right now, but if they didn't get the new calves branded, there wouldn't be anything to sell in the future. She didn't have any money to buy more cows. She had to make the most of every one she had.
She made her way into the log room, then waited a moment for her eyes to become adjusted to the darkness. This had been her room, the part of the house nobody wanted. Ironically, it was the only part of the house that had survived untouched. Even her bed was still here.
She expected to find the mattress covered in dust and dirt, but somebody had used it often enough to keep it clear of debris. She spread her bedroll out on the bed. Tomorrow she would start a list of things to buy. She couldn't afford much, only real necessities. As she prepared to crawl inside her bedroll, she decided sheets were a necessity.
"You in bed?" Owen called from somewhere outside her doorway.
"Not yet."
There was no use comparing this to Ida's comfortable bed and cozy bedroom. This was her home from now on. She might as well make up her mind to make the best of it. She sat down on the bed and wiggled down inside the bedroll.
"Are you in bed yet?" Owen called again.
"Yes."
"Good. I'm coming in."
Chapter Eighteen
Hetta's body stiffened. "You can't come in!"
"Of course I can," Owen replied, his body a shadow in the doorway.
He sounded relaxed, almost jovial. She felt tense, almost threatened. There was something about his shadow in the doorway--big, masculine, powerful, impersonal--that robbed her of her comfort. She guessed it was knowing she was vulnerable. She told herself this was Owen, that he just wanted to protect her. She felt herself relax, but it was cold comfort to know she was safe because she was so unattractive.
He disappeared into the blackness of a corner of the room. She heard him but couldn't see him. "What are you doing?" she asked when she couldn't stand the suspense any longer.
"Laying out my bedroll."
"The floor is awfully hard. Wouldn't you be more comfortable finding a sandy spot outside?"
His chuckle was soft, unnerving.
"You'd be able to hear better outside," she said.
"I'd also be a better target. Go to sleep."
"I can't."
"Why?"
She didn't know how to tell him her feelings were so contradictory, she couldn't be sure what she felt. "I'm not used to sleeping in a room with a man I don't know well."
"Don't do it. It's extremely dangerous."
"Why isn't it dangerous with you?"
"Because I'm your friend. Besides, I don't get any pleasure from forcing myself on women. I might steal a kiss, but only if I get some encouragement."
"Do women turn you down?"
He was silent for a moment. She wondered if there was some prohibition against asking a man that question, whether she'd crossed some line only another man would see. Women would have discussed every instance in detail.
"I don't ask them for more than they're willing to give."
What were they willing to offer, and how much of it would he take? He gave the impression of being the kind of man who was ready for fun the minute it was offered. In town they saw him as a gambler, a dangerous man of action. But around her he was more likely to tease her or act like a big brother.
The sound of clothing hitting the floor snapped her train of thought. "What are you doing now?"
"Getting ready to crawl into my bedroll. Do you want a step-by-step account?"
"Are you undressing?"
"Of course I am. I don't go to bed with my clothes on."
All the tension came racing back. What did he mean by undressing? Her father used to sleep without anything on when it got hot. Tonight it was very hot. Did that mean Owen was naked? Her body got warm just thinking about it. She couldn't understand why she was having this kind of reaction to him. Would she have felt this way if it were William?
She knew right away she wouldn't.
Her belly was tight, churning. She felt keyed up, tense, anticipating something. But what? She was making herself crazy. She knew he wasn't going to force himself on her. She knew she didn't want that even though she wished she were attractive enough to cause him to think about it.
Then she realized it was very simple. She was alone with a man she found attractive, personally and physically. She liked him as a man. She found him attractive as a man. He had touched something inside her that William hadn't. This had nothing to do with dependability or all the other virtues. This was pure animal magnetism. She was no more immune than anyone else.
"How close are you?" she asked.
"You can reach out and touch me if you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid. I just wanted to know where you were. I don't want to stumble over you if I get up."
"I'm a light sleeper."
"Are you between me and the door?"
"Don't worry. Nobody can get to you without going through me."
"I wasn't worried. I just wanted to know."
If she could reach out and touch him, he could reach out and touch her. She could practically feel his hands on her arms, her shoulders, her ... She forced herself to think of the calves she would help brand tomorrow. She hadn't done that in three years. She didn't know if she had the strength or stamina to last a whole day. She needed her sleep. Myrl and Ben would be here soon after daybreak. She turned over, her back to Owen.
"Good night," he said.
"Good night."
She didn't feel the least bit sleepy. She lay there, expectant, waiting for something. "Thank you for coming." She hadn't meant to say anything. She certainly hadn't meant to say that.
"I know you don't want me here."
Now she felt bad. He didn't have to help her. He could easily have turned his back on her.
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Then go to sleep and don't worry about it. You'll figure it out soon enough."
What if she didn't figure it out? She hadn't been right about William. If Owen hadn't come along, she'd probably have married William and turned into a woman she didn't want to be.
Now she knew she wanted to live on her ranch, not in town, to be free to rope and ride astride. And if she ever did decide to marry, she had enough self-respect to demand that she be treated as an equal. After all, she had great skin, beautiful eyes, and a fabulous figure. Owen had said so, and he ought to know.
But if her skin, eyes, and figure were so great, why didn't it tempt him to take advantage of her?
Hetta decided she must be going a little crazy. In very short order she'd gone from wanting to be engaged to William to realizing she didn't want to marry any man out of gratitude, but Owen's presence was disturbing her more than any of that.
She needed time to get accustomed to her new attitudes. No, to discover what she really wanted and to admit and be content with her true feelings, whatever they turned out to be. And one of those true feelings was that she was strongly attracted to Owen. She wasn't considering marriage. She was just talking attraction. That was okay. She smiled in the dark. There'd be something wrong with her if she weren't attracted to him.
And she liked him. That was okay. It meant friendship, companionship. It didn't obligate her to anything. That made her feel so much better, the tension gradually left her body.
Owen's breathing had become slow and regular. He didn't waste his time agonizing over everything that happened. He accepted things as they came, dealt with them, then moved on. She'd spent so many years being afraid, she hadn't been able to enjoy what she did have. She made a promise to herself right then and there that she'd never be afraid again. She'd concentrate on what she had rather than what she didn't.
And for the time being, she had Owen.
Hetta awoke to the sound of men's voices. She sat up abruptly, fearful until she remem
bered she was at her ranch, sleeping in her old bed, and the voices belonged to Owen, Myrl, and Ben Logan. She crawled out of her bedroll and scrambled into her clothes, horrified she had slept so late. The sun must have been up for an hour. She nearly ran into Owen coming through the doorway.
"I was bringing your coffee," he said, holding out a cup.
"Why did you let me sleep so late?"
"You looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart to disturb you. Do you know how charming you look when you're asleep?"
Of course she didn't, nor did she believe him, but she felt herself blush. "I meant to cook breakfast." The aroma of bacon and fresh bread floated on the cool morning air.
"It turns out Myrl is a genius with coffee beans and young Ben is a pretty good cook. That lets you off the hook at least some of the time."
Why should she feel guilty because she hadn't assumed the woman's role? It was something else her father had drummed into her head. She was doing the work of a man. She was equal to anybody here.
"Thanks for the coffee," she said to Myrl. "It's good."
"Been making it for more than forty years. Ought to have figured out how by now."
She walked through the ruin of her house into the ranch yard. The sun, blazing in a cloudless sky, had already started to heat up the air, but it was invigorating to be out in the open. Birds sang in the trees and scratched among the dry leaves and grass for food. The air felt clean and dry, the pungent scent of sagebrush strong on the slight breeze. The aroma of cooking bacon was so delicious her mouth watered. She took a deep breath and drank it all in. She wondered how she'd managed to spend nearly three whole years living indoors. How could she have forgotten all of this?
Memories flooded back of the days she'd spent in the saddle, the delicious freedom to come and go as she wanted, to spend her day alone or in company, to be dirty and sweaty without offending anyone's sensibilities. Her heart swelled with anticipation. She had finally come back to where she belonged, to who she was.
She was home.
"I'm starved," she said, turning toward Ben. "I hope breakfast tastes as good as it smells."
"It will, ma'am. After I was hurt, cooking was all I could do."
That must have been a blow to his pride. "Owen is expecting you to be in the saddle all day."
"Looking forward to it," he said as he handed her a plate.
She smiled when she saw the bacon, beans, and biscuits heavy with bacon fat. Ida would have cringed. Hetta took her plate, walked over to the shade of a Mexican olive, one her mother had planted, and squatted down on dry leaves. She picked up a piece of bacon, tore off a bite with her teeth, and chewed, a contented sigh escaping her.
"It's good?"
She looked up to see Owen preparing to sit down next to her. She nodded, her mouth too full to speak.
"Cade says it's army food Texas style."
"I'll have to meet your cousin," she said when she'd swallowed.
"You'll love him. He's dependability personified."
"Then it's good he's married. Otherwise you'd be defending him from half the women in Texas."
Owen smiled so brilliantly, Hetta's stomach nearly rose to her throat. "Not quite. I'm much better-looking."
Hetta felt the laugh coming. She tried to hold it back because she knew that was exactly what Owen expected, but it rippled out of her. It wasn't just because Owen was being Owen in a way that was so much like Owen she couldn't help laughing. She was laughing because she was happy. For the first time since her mother had died, she felt her life was going in the right direction, that something good was just around the corner.
"You don't think I'm more handsome than Cade?" Owen said, his smile wide and teasing.
"You assured me you were the most handsome man in Texas," she said with another laugh, "but I bet if I went to San Antonio, I'd find dozens of men better looking than you."
"Have you been to San Antonio?"
"No."
"That accounts for it, then."
"Accounts for what?"
"It's a city of nothing but ugly men. I nearly caused a riot the last time I went."
She could see amusement dancing in his eyes. He was telling a whopper and enjoying it. "Who rioted?"
"The senoritas. I barely escaped with the clothes on my back."
"I can't imagine you in tatters. Even now you look like you're dressed for town."
He wore a pale yellow shirt with a brown vest. His dun-colored pants were indecently tight and unquestionably provocative. He wore a pair of those new boots she'd heard about, the ones with the thin soles and high heels. They looked smart, but they made him walk a little funny. His attire was finished off with a broad-brimmed hat with a flat crown and a blue bandana. Compared to Myrl, he looked like an advertisement in one of those catalogs William got in his store.
"I have a reputation to keep up," Owen said.
Hetta turned back to her breakfast. "Eat up. I'm anxious to see what you look like at the end of the day. I won't look as pretty as you," she said as she forked beans into her mouth. "Mama used to say I looked like I'd been wrestling cows and lost."
"You'll probably need a hot bath to soak your aching muscles."
She nearly choked on her food. "I'll worry about getting clean after I get dirty. Now eat your breakfast and stop trying to make me blush."
"Can I make you blush?"
"You know you can."
"Not in front of Myrl."
"In front of God."
Owen laughed. "Not God. For Him I have a great deal of respect."
That surprised Hetta, but she didn't say so.
"You've got a lot of these trees around," Owen said of the Mexican olive. "I didn't think anything could bloom in this heat."
"Ma liked anything that bloomed. She used to have me bring back any flowering plants I found."
"You can start collecting them again."
She didn't know if she wanted to. Flowers reminded her too much of her mother. She got to her feet. "Time to get started!" she called out. "You men going to sit in the shade all day?"
"Watch out for that calf!" Owen shouted. "He's coming your way."
Hetta struggled to ignore her screaming muscles as she scrambled to cut off a bull calf. She was thankful that her mount--they'd captured some of the horses Manly had used--knew almost as much about handling cows as she did. Her body was so close to the edge of total exhaustion, she didn't think she could have managed on her own. The pony outraced the calf, cut from side to side as the calf made vain attempts to escape, then trotted behind the calf as he decided to return to the herd.
"What do you say we make this the last one for the day?" Owen called out.
"Good idea," Hetta replied. "Ben and Myrl still have to ride back to town."
She should have been the one to decide when to stop, but she wasn't about to call a halt when Owen and Ben still looked strong in the saddle.
But they still had to brand and castrate this calf before anybody could quit.
Every muscle in Hetta's arms and shoulders screamed in protest, but she gritted her teeth, built her loop, and tossed it toward the calf. She sighed with relief when it settled over its head. How could she have forgotten how hard this work could be? Ben got a rope on the calf's hind legs, and he went down in the dust. Owen neutered the calf with swift precision. Myrl trotted up with the hot branding iron that sizzled as it burned through coarse hair into tough skin. The stench of burning hair and scorched skin had been the signature of the day.
Owen handed Myrl the branding iron and got to his feet. "There. You can let him go." Hetta and Ben jiggled their ropes off the stunned calf, who climbed uncertainly to his feet, looked around, and decided to take his anger out on Owen. He lowered his head and charged.
"Look out!" Hetta shouted.
Instead of running away, Owen moved toward the calf. At the last moment, he dodged to the side and threw himself on the calf, his hands gripping the small horns, the heels of his boots digging in the
dust as he threw his weight against the calf. Seconds later the calf was on the ground, Owen's knee pinning his head to the ground. Owen flashed a big smile at Hetta.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Myrl asked.
"Having a little fun," Owen said.
He released the calf and nonchalantly brushed the dust off his clothes, never once looking to see if the calf would charge him again. The dazed animal got to its feet and wandered off toward the brush.
Hetta didn't tell Owen her heart was beating twice as fast as normal, that it had been in her throat when she saw him tackle the calf.
"I'm hungry," Owen said as he turned to his horse and mounted up. "Ben says he'll help you with dinner before he goes back to town. His stomach is growling so loud, I'm surprised you can't hear it."
Hetta was too tired to feel hungry.
"Myrl and I will get the water and the firewood," Owen said. "You got a tub anywhere?"
"What do you need a tub for?"
"To heat water so you can have a bath."
Hetta forgot all about food. "It got burned up in the fire."
"Burned up?"
"Melted out of shape. Ma kept it on the back porch. That's where the lightning struck. Besides, it was a washtub, not a bathtub."
Owen grinned. "Growing up, I took every bath I ever got in the washtub. Not that I took too many. Nobody cares what you smell like when you live back in a mountain hollow."
She couldn't picture Owen living on a poor dirt farm in the mountains. He seemed like a man who'd been around sophisticated people all his life.
"Nobody cares too much when you live on a poor ranch miles from town," Hetta said, "but I do like a bath."
"That's women's stuff," Myrl said. "No man takes a bath unless somebody makes him."
"You can't get a female to come near you when you smell worse than a week-old carcass," Owen said.
"I don't want no females nosing around me," Myrl said.
"What about you?" Owen asked Ben.
"Nobody cares what a cripple smells like."
"You didn't act like a cripple today," Hetta said. "I never saw a man put in a better day's work."
Texas Bride Page 18
