"It's easy to take the steers," diViere said. "Some of the fools haven't branded their stock. All I have to do is run them off and place my brand on them. The rest are too afraid of the Indians or the bandits to come after me."
Hetta couldn't believe he was sitting there calmly telling her he was a rustler and describing how he did it.
"When Owen finds out you're here, he'll arrest you."
There was that smile again. She didn't trust it.
"I think you'll find he'll be the one who's in danger of being arrested."
"Why?"
"Let me worry about that. You should concentrate on continuing our relationship. I'm expanding my operation, and I need to buy your ranch."
"I'm not selling my ranch to anyone. What's more, I plan to tell the sheriff you're behind the rustling."
He was laughing again. She was beginning to hate that.
"Foolish girl. Do you think I would have told you what I did if I thought you or Owen could harm me?"
"He says he can prove you're the rustler."
"The army would have me out of jail and this town under its heel in less than a week."
"They'll believe me."
"Not after I show them receipts for stolen cattle with your signature on them."
Chapter Twenty-seven
He couldn't possibly have any such receipts. She'd never rustled any cattle. She wouldn't know where to sell them if she had.
"How ... ?"
"You signed the agreement between us," he reminded her. "It was easy enough to find someone who could copy your signature."
"People here have known me all their lives."
"Don't they find it odd that none of your cows have been stolen in the last few months?"
"But no rustler would sign anything." It had never occurred to her that she would need to protect herself from this man. Everyone except Owen trusted him.
"I've learned to protect my back," he said.
"If you stopped rustling, you wouldn't have to."
His expression turned ugly again. "If Cade Wheeler hadn't stolen my ranch, I wouldn't have to rustle."
From what Owen had said of his cousin, she didn't think Cade Wheeler had ever stolen so much as a dime in his entire life. "What do you want from me?"
"To continue our arrangement. It might work out even better if people think you're rebuilding your herd. You've got so much land, no one will notice my cows."
Hetta got to her feet. "It's pointless to continue this discussion. You can't use my land anymore. What's more, if rustling around here starts again, I'll go to the sheriff and tell him you're responsible."
Without getting up, diViere regarded her with something akin to amusement. "I like a woman with spirit. Is that what Owen sees in you?"
"That's none of your business."
"I'm curious how a woman whose face is unremarkable--but I feel compelled to add that the rest of your attractions are very remarkable--has captivated a man famous for his addiction to beautiful women."
"I haven't captivated Owen."
"He's spent months building your house ... and paying for it. I find that most interesting of all."
Hetta felt her skin burn, and it made her furious. "I borrowed the money."
"I'd be most interested to know how you intend to repay such a loan."
Hetta marched across the room and threw open the parlor door. "We have nothing further to say to each other."
DiViere got to his feel with a languid slowness that was an insult in itself. "I hope that's not the case." He reached inside his coat and withdrew his wallet. He took out several papers, one of which he handed to Hetta. "Let me leave this with you. I think you'll find it very interesting."
Hetta took the paper without looking at it. "I'll give it my closest attention. Now leave."
"I'll be back to see you tomorrow."
"I won't see you."
His hateful smile appeared again. "I believe you will."
Hetta followed him to the front door. She didn't take a deep breath until she had locked the door behind him.
The paper seemed to burn in her hand. It contained nothing of any significance except the signature. Her signature. It wouldn't do any good to destroy it. She was certain diViere had more. She believed she could convince the sheriff she was innocent, but the longer she stared at the signature, the more uneasy she became. No one would condemn her publicly, but she was afraid many would have doubts. And if diViere could get people to forge signatures for him, he might be able to manipulate the rustling as well. Maybe he was laying another trap for her, one she couldn't see yet.
She had to talk to Owen. He would know what to do. She was going to see him because he was the only one who understood how truly evil diViere was. No one else would believe her.
She was certain everyone in town would welcome diViere. And once that happened, he would be back demanding to use her ranch. He might even attempt to force her to sell it to him. She couldn't allow that. The ranch was the only thing in the world she truly loved, the only thing she couldn't do without.
Somewhere in her heart a tiny voice whispered Owen, but she wouldn't listen. She had to learn to live without him. After what he'd said tonight, she had no choice.
Owen gazed at the house that rose up before him, a dark shape against the star-filled sky. Like hundreds of other houses, it was nothing more than a collection of wood and stone. Better than most, not as good as some. There was nothing special about its exterior. There was nothing elaborate about its interior. Yet it was part of him.
"You took care of that tonight," he said aloud to himself.
He'd begun the ride from town determined to pack up and be gone before dawn, but each step his horse took seemed to diminish the anger that filled him, his need to put distance between himself and the only woman he'd ever believed he could trust. By the time he'd reached the ranch, he was wondering where everything had gone off course.
He couldn't remember when he'd stopped lumping Hetta with all other women, when he'd decided she was someone he wanted to help, to get to know. It probably began the moment he decided to improve her self-image. His sister was the sweetest, kindest person he'd ever known, but no matter how hard he worked to build her self-confidence, their father's indifference and their mother's selfishness tore it down again.
Hetta was stronger than his sister. All she needed was someone to believe in her, to convince her to believe in herself.
He believed in her, too.
But he hadn't been able to believe in her tonight. He'd taken one look at her and William together--the image of her kissing him still burned in his memory--and all rational thought had left him. Anger such as he hadn't known in years had consumed him; he'd said things he didn't mean. He'd just wanted to lash out, to hurt her as much as he'd been hurt.
Had he been hurt? Disappointed, betrayed, and used, but hurt? You had to be emotionally involved to be hurt. You had to have let someone inside your defenses, let them come to mean something to you. But if he hadn't been hurt, why was he feeling as if he'd lost something of great value he could never replace?
He looked up at the house again. The feeling that he belonged here wouldn't go away. Somehow it had become a part of him. It probably came from his having been the one to build it. He'd helped build houses before, but he'd never felt this attachment. There was a feeling of permanency, constancy, but why should he have found it here?
Because of Hetta.
He'd have to be a fool not to recognize that truth. But it was the nature and the extent of the connection that surprised and upset him. He'd sworn he'd never get emotionally involved with anyone.
He'd failed.
He'd also sworn he'd never let anything control him.
He'd failed at that, too.
And that meant he had to leave before he lost the last shred of pretense that he was in control of his life.
Yet he couldn't leave without seeing Hetta again. He had to tell her he hoped she would be happy with
William. He'd been wrong to try to separate them. If she wanted William badly enough to wear a fancy dress and cover her face with cosmetics, she ought to have him.
But even as he made this resolution, he knew it would be the hardest thing he'd ever do. He didn't want her to marry William. He wanted her to want him instead.
Okay, he'd finally admitted the truth. He wanted Hetta for himself. But that didn't help. He didn't want to get married. Just the thought of being tied down made him jittery. Besides, he wasn't marriage material. Neither of his parents were nice people.
The sound of hoofbeats intruded on his thoughts. It was probably Myrl or Ben, but he didn't want to see them. He walked over to his horse, picked up the reins, started to lead the animal into the trees. Maybe whoever it was would decide he'd gone somewhere else and go back to town.
But he changed his mind. He'd been running from things his whole life. First his mother, then his father, his sister, and finally himself. It was time to face what he was and come to terms with it. He wanted to go off somewhere and see if he could discover who he really was. But before he did, he had to see Hetta one last time.
Hetta had rehearsed what she meant to say to Owen, but the moment he materialized from the shadows, the words went straight out of her head. How could she think of diViere or rustling when the man she loved stared at her as though his worst nightmare had just materialized before his eyes?
"I had to come," she said, determined to speak before he did. "I had to tell you--"
He cut her off. "I was going to come see you in the morning."
"Then you know?"
"I didn't know until tonight, but if you really want to marry William, I hope you'll be happy."
"I don't want to marry William," she said, forgetting all about diViere.
"But I saw you kissing him."
"He and Ida are in love with each other. I couldn't get Ida to listen, so I was trying to build up his courage to talk to Ida despite her resistance."
He looked as if he didn't believe her, couldn't believe her.
"It was a kiss of friendship. You told me that friends kiss each other, remember?"
He still looked doubtful.
"I couldn't be in love with him, not now that I've fallen in love with someone else."
He looked shocked. Then he turned stiff; his face became wooden.
"I'm sorry for what I said," he began. "I should have told you that you looked very pretty tonight, but you reminded me of my mother. And when I thought you'd just used me ..."
"You were angry and wanted to get back at me."
He didn't say anything, but she didn't need words. Pain had caused him to strike back at her. She felt hope surge within her. The more she had hurt him, the greater the possibility he was in love with her.
"I don't know who you're in love with," he said, "but I hope it's somebody who can make you happy."
"I'm sure he can, but I don't know if he will."
That startled the stiffness out of him. "Is he crazy?"
"I don't think he knows I'm in love with him."
"That's not surprising. You haven't been off the ranch enough in the last two months for him to know you're interested."
"He knows, but he's determined not to fall in love. He doesn't trust it. He doesn't trust women. But mainly he doesn't trust himself."
He turned suddenly still. "Why?"
"Because he thinks he's like his mother. And though he would deny it with his last breath, he loved his mother very much. He had to, or she couldn't have hurt him so much."
He looked as though he'd been turned to stone. "You're in love with me?"
She smiled at the look of disbelief on his face. "Couldn't you tell? Everyone else could."
He came toward her, stumbling at first, then more quickly. She didn't wait for him to reach her. She threw herself out of the saddle into his arms.
The feel of his arms closing around her was like the fragmented parts of her life finally coming together. She was where she belonged, where she wanted to be.
"You shouldn't love me," Owen said after he broke the kiss. "I'm the last person in the world to be able to give you what you need."
"I don't know what I need or what I want."
"You deserve a husband who will be faithful to you, who will think nothing in his day is more important than coming home to you and going to sleep with his arms around you. You deserve a man who has an unblemished reputation, who is respected by your friends. Most of all you deserve a man who thinks you're the most wonderful woman in the world."
"I'll settle for a man who's not quite such a paragon," she said, trying to keep from crying. "I don't want to feel as if he's doing me a favor by marrying me."
"No one could feel like that, especially not anyone who knows you."
"Then it's fortunate I fell in love with you. There's nobody who knows me better.' "
He stiffened. "But I'm not the man for you."
"Do you like me?"
"More than I can say."
"Let's forget all this talk about husbands, and you can concentrate on telling me what you like about me. Don't worry about it being more than you can say. I've got nothing else planned for tonight."
He held her away from him. "I'm being serious."
"So am I. No one has ever told me what they like about me."
"I've told you."
"Tell me again. I have a terrible memory."
"I can't be what you deserve."
"Then let's enjoy the moment. If it's all we have, I don't want to waste it."
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yes."
Did she really know what she was doing? She couldn't be sure, but she couldn't stop herself. She'd been holding herself in reserve her entire life. She hoped she could penetrate Owen's defenses, get him to let down his guard far enough to discover how he felt about her. She might fail. It hadn't been easy for her to overcome years of thinking herself worthless. She was certain it would be even harder for him.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"You've restored my faith in myself. I want to do the same for you."
"Why?"
"Because if you can believe in yourself, you can believe in love." He didn't appear to be convinced. She caressed his cheek with her hand. "You have a lot to give, Owen Wheeler."
"I'm not making any promises."
"I'm not asking for any. Now, are you going to kiss me again, or do I have to show you how?"
He didn't need any more encouragement. For a fleeting moment Hetta was sorry Ida would never know the pleasure of kisses such as Owen could give. He picked her up and carried her to the house. She was pleased when he headed to the log room. When he took her inside, she felt she had come home.
He sat down on the bed with her in his lap. She knew she was too big for that, but she liked the feeling. She rested her forearms on his shoulders and intertwined her fingers behind his head. She could barely see his face in the dim light coming through the window, but she didn't need light. She'd memorized every part of his face weeks ago.
"What made you think I had gone back to William?" she asked.
"Stupidity."
"You're not stupid. There must be a reason."
"Will jealousy do, with a little anger thrown in?"
"I don't know. Nobody's ever been jealous of me before."
"That's because you never let anybody think they had a right to be jealous."
"You're not telling me everything."
"I've told you many times how attractive you are."
"You've said I had a fantastic shape, beautiful hair, and striking eyes. You haven't said they placed you under some kind of spell."
"You want to dig out every secret I have, don't you?"
"I just want to know how you feel about me. And I don't want any descriptions of my skin."
"I like you in a way I've never liked another woman. I thought you were different, that you couldn't be influenced by money and position the way
my mother was. That's why I had to convince you that you didn't love William. You deserve so much more than the tepid kind of love he can give you." He reached up, took her hands in his, gripped them tightly. "Good God, Hetta, you have no idea what kind of passion can exist between a man and a woman."
"I thought that's what love was supposed to teach me."
"I've never been in love, but liking, respect, and strong physical attraction can stir up passions from deep in the soul."
"You never acted as if you were strongly attracted to me."
"After Rachelle, I swore I'd never do that again, even if it meant I'd never live with a woman."
"Will you feel guilty about me?"
"Everything will be different with you."
"Why? What caught your interest?" She needed to know that she meant more to him than just another conquest.
"I couldn't stand to see you being grateful to Ida just because she treated you like a human being. You're special, and I had to make you see that."
"So you talked me into breaking off my not-quite-engagement, branded my calves, and built my house. There must have been an easier way."
"I thought of one, but I was afraid to try."
She chuckled. "I can't believe you've ever been afraid of any woman."
"I was afraid that if I went too far, you'd expect more than I could give. And if you felt I'd betrayed your trust, you'd never trust any man again."
"And that was important?"
"More important than anything."
It wasn't the declaration of love she'd hoped for, but if she could keep him in Pinto Junction a little longer, she'd find a way to make him realize she was more important to him than he suspected. She knew he would go on refusing to admit he was in love because it made him feel vulnerable. She'd spent years building her defenses, but Owen had stormed her barricades and torn them down. Now she had to find a way to do that for him.
"I didn't wear that dress or use cosmetics for William. I did it for you."
"Why?" He sounded as though he couldn't believe her.
"The whole time we've been working on this house, I was certain your feelings for me were growing stronger, but you gradually put more and more distance between us. You even stopped telling me I was attractive. When you asked Ben and Myrl to start sleeping here rather than going back to town every night, I knew you liked me more than you would admit. I was desperate to find some way to break your control."
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