by Brenda Joyce
Shoz just looked at her.
"I brought you some homemade soup; it cures just about everything." She smiled warmly and set the tray down on the lower bunk. "Would you mind coming down here, young man? I want to look at your eye, and more especially your head."
Shoz blushed. It had been years since he'd done so. He slipped off the upper bunk, still dwarfing the tiny woman. "I'm fine, ma'am," he said awkwardly.
She was already gently probing the back of his head. He winced. "Oh my, what a lump. You will not work for a few days," she said. There was no question that that was an order, one Shoz knew was not refutable.
But he tried. "Ma'am, really, I'm fine, aside from having a small headache. I can pull my weight around here." He flashed her his rare, disarming smile.
"If you are too proud to stay abed, you can help me up at the house with some very lightweight chores. Don't argue with me, young man," she said as Shoz began to protest. "Even my husband knows better than to argue with me," she added softly. "Turn your head."
He did. Her touch was as soft as the petals of hothouse flowers. Shoz didn't move while she touched his face, inspected his eye, and clucked with regret. It had been so long. She was treating him exactly the way his own mother would, and for some unfathomable reason, it brought a lump to his throat.
She picked up the tray and pushed it into his hands. "Now. Eat the soup, all of it, get into bed and rest. Tomorrow report to me at the house at nine, no earlier. I will tell Jim you'll be working for me for a few days." She patted his arm and turned away.
She said a few words to each of the cowboys before she left. Shoz gazed after her.
"Someone's got it made, don't they?"
"Yeah, a little tap to the eyeball an' you get to laze around the big house all day! Want to give me a shiner, Lew?"
"Laze around the house all day! What I wouldn't give to be up there next to Miss Lucy!"
At least two groans greeted this remark.
Shoz was expressionless. He set down his tray, walked over to the table, and reached between two of the men for a cookie. He popped it into his mouth and chewed it with relish. Then he took another one. "You want a shiner," he said, "I can give it to you. No problem." He smiled, his good eye as cold as steel.
Thereafter they ignored him. Which was just as well. He ignored them, too.
"Lucy, why didn't you tell me Shoz was the one who brought you and Joanna to Paradise?"
Lucy swallowed. How had he found out! She had been summoned by her grandfather, and now she darted a glance at Miranda. "It didn't seem important," she said lamely. Had Shoz revealed this information? She was sure he had, just as she was sure that he was playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Why else would he be here if he didn't want money?
"What are you hiding?" Derek asked. "Today you acted like you'd never seen the man before."
"I didn't say I didn't know him, Grandpa." Lucy flashed a smile. "I just didn't tell you because it didn't seem important. But really, you should know, he's one of those vagrant tramps, not at all the sort you should employ here on the ranch."
"You should not judge people like that, Lucy," Miranda said firmly. "Especially not a man who was nice enough to give you a ride when you desperately needed it."
Lucy's mouth was set in a firm line, but she said nothing. How was he worming his way into their esteem? It was unfair—it was incredible!
"If he was unemployed, it wasn't his fault," Derek said. "This depression has been ruining hundreds of thousands of good, honest workers. And honey—" he patted her arm "—now he's got a job, so you can't go calling him a tramp."
Lucy managed a weak smile.
"What do you think of Shoz, Derek?" Miranda asked.
"I think he's stubborn as a mule with mettle made from steel. I think he's got a chip on his shoulder bigger than all of Texas. He sure as hell has too much pride for his own good. And I'm sure he's one hard worker."
Lucy turned away, toying with some porcelain and bric-a-brac on a side table.
"They don't accept him, you know," Miranda said. "They were all playing cards and he was sitting by himself, looking so proud and so alone."
Derek frowned. "I can only make the rules, sweetheart, I can't change men's minds."
"I hate prejudice," Miranda said fiercely. "And hypocrisy. They condemn him—while every one of them knows you are half-Apache yourself."
"It's because I look white," Derek said easily. "Besides—" he grinned "—I pay their salaries."
Lucy decided she just couldn't listen to any more. "Would you mind? I'm going upstairs to read."
Shoz trudged up to the house the next morning just before nine. He'd been up for hours, but hadn't dared go sooner, for fear of disturbing Mrs. Bragg. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, feeling foolish. The sun beat down on his back, blazingly hot already, and humid. It was going to be a bitch of a day.
He knocked on the front door and was greeted by Miranda
herself.
"Prompt," she remarked, her eyes twinkling. "Good morning, Shoz. How did you sleep?" She was already moving briskly down the hall, and he followed, remembering to take his hat off just in time.
He said, to her tiny back, "Fine, thank you, ma'am."
She pushed through the door to the kitchen, where lunch was already being prepared for the family. Maria was drying the breakfast dishes, another girl was cutting up a chicken. "Coffee?" Miranda asked.
"I already ate, ma'am."
She shoved a bowl of pea pods into his hands. "Then you can shell these," she said, moving to a dicing board, where she rapidly began slicing carrots.
He blinked. Shell peas? She wanted him to shell peas? He felt foolish enough, and now he felt all of ten or twelve. She glanced at him. "You do know how, don't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, hanging his hat on a peg on the wall. He began shelling peas.
Everyone worked in silence, Maria humming a pleasant tune. It was quiet and comfortable and comforting in the kitchen. Miranda reminded him of his mother, although they were nothing alike. Candice was much younger, for one, and tall and voluptuous and blond. But it went beyond the physical differences; Candice was softer, gentler. It didn't matter; he got the same warm feelings from Miranda that he got from his own mother. It was very disconcerting, yet very soothing, too.
Miranda finished dicing and left the kitchen. Shoz kept shelling the peas, somewhat clumsily. When he heard a gasp, he looked up to meet Lucy's surprised gaze. All he could think of was how idiotic he felt to be caught shelling peas.
Lucy glanced at Maria and Anna, then stepped closer, furious. Her voice was barely a whisper. "What are you doing in here?"
He gestured to the bowl. "What does it look like?"
Lucy looked over her shoulder toward the open doorway where her grandmother had disappeared. Both Maria and Anna were now regarding them with avid curiosity. "Come outside with me," she ordered in a low voice.
Of course, the two maids could hear every word. "Anything you want, Miss Bragg."
She hurried to the back door, then held it open, making sure he preceded her. In the backyard she grabbed his arm and dragged him behind some bushes.
"Can't wait to get me alone?" Shoz grinned. "Can't wait to continue where we left off yesterday?"
Her hands flew to her hips. "You know I can't wait for you to ride out of Paradise—and out of my life!"
"Am I in your life?"
"Oh! You know I didn't mean it that way!"
"You did," he stated, his eyes smoky. "You sure as hell did."
"Think what you want—you will anyway," Lucy cried. "First you stay in town, then you come to the ranch, now you're in the housel What are you doing? What do you want?"
Shoz smiled. "Better control that red temper, princess, or someone will hear you, and you're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
She clenched her fists. She knew he enjoyed annoying her, that he did it on purpose, and she should refrain from taking the bait. "What do you
want?"
"You know what I want."
She looked at him. His low, sexy tone did just what he wanted it to do, it sent a tingle along her spine and raised some vivid, hot memories. She took a breath. "Did you tell Grandpa that it was you who brought me and Joanna to town?"
"Now, why would I do that?"
"Someone did!"
"Take my advice, princess, and calm the hell down. The only one who's going to reveal your deep, dark secrets is you, yourself."
She looked at him.
He jammed his hand in his back pocket and came out with a folded note. "Here." He shoved it in her hand. "Something you seemed to have forgotten in the Governor's Suite a couple of days ago."
Lucy glanced wildly around, afraid someone had heard. She looked at the paper; it was her banker's draft. And when she looked up, he was gone, striding back into the house. The screen door banged shut behind him.
Chapter 13
Leon Claxton stood on the outside platform between two railroad cars as the locomotive slowly chugged into Paradise, blowing its horn.
He was arriving as scheduled one week before Derek Bragg's surprise party. Had he not wanted to spend most of his two-week holiday with Lucy, the rest given over to the journey, he would have traveled with his parents next week in the luxury of the private Claxton car. But he did want to be with Lucy, and his parents would not arrive until the day before the party, like most of the other out-of-town guests.
Leon was smiling with anticipation. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders, and he cut a dashing figure in his dark, expensive suit. He was blond and blue-eyed, and most women found him very handsome. His face was oval, his features perfect and patrician—he had inherited his mother's superb looks. Lucy had once told him that he was the "epitome of elegance." He had liked that. He had liked that a lot.
Lucy. His heart quickened. He could see the train station ahead as they approached. It had been too long since he had last seen her. He had been very annoyed and had not bothered to hide his feelings when she decided to go to Paradise ahead of her family with the chaperone. It was hard to believe, even now, that she would prefer this cow town to his company.
However, the love and loyalty she felt for her family was commendable, and it was one of the reasons she would make a perfect wife for him. The others were her beauty and sensuality, not to mention his own lust, but Leon was clearheaded enough not to make too much of that. There were other beautiful, enticing women in the world, equal to Lucy in every way. Except one. None of them were Braggs.
Right now Leon might be stuck in the grimy job of Roosevelt's assistant police commissioner in New York, but it would not continue for long. The job had been his own choice. He had decided to leave the foreign service and his post in Madrid, begging a leave of absence. His father had arranged the appointment to Roosevelt. Roger Claxton was one of the most powerful senators in the United States, and one of the most politically shrewd. His father was friends with the young Roosevelt, but not out of the goodness of his heart. He knew a winner when he saw one.
Leon respected and admired his boss, even if he thought that Roosevelt was too idealistic at times. Fortunately, his idealism was mitigated by his shrewd practicality. Like his boss, Leon had jumped on the McKinley bandwagon, as had most of corporate America, including his father and the Braggs. Teddy was campaigning and working actively for McKinley's election over the populist Democratic nominee, Jennings, and he had recruited Leon. Leon knew Teddy expected a "plum" after McKinley's election, and so did he—although being younger, he did not expect as high a position. But it was another important stepping stone. His future was coming along nicely, but that wasn't enough. He was going to add the power of the Bragg family to his arsenal, and he was going to go places quickly, indeed.
Leon was only twenty-six, but he was very impatient.
Which was why he clutched an three-carat diamond ring in his pocket. No woman, and certainly not Lucy, who loved beautiful and expensive things, could resist the flawless ring he carried with him. Not that he thought she could resist him. He had everything and he knew it—looks, charm, charisma, power, breeding, wealth. He hadn't proposed to anyone since his wife's death in Madrid. She should be quite flattered. He intended to court her all week, and after the party, before he left, he would propose.
He saw her. He waved. She waved back gaily.
***
Lucy was exhausted. She had had another sleepless night. Her insomnia was getting worse, not better. She waved at Leon with a bright smile. She felt a bit guilty because she had not thought about him once since she had arrived in Texas.
That was strange, now that she realized it. Leon had been her favorite beau by far for the past few months. They had had a lot of fun together, attending balls and soirees, horse races and sailboat competitions, and everyone had said how well suited they were. Lucy had sort of assumed that one day he would propose and one day she would accept. After all, next year she was graduating, and it wouldn't do for her to become a spinster, and she certainly would not find a more suitable fiance than Leon. Lucy had always accepted her parents' unspoken rule that the man she married must have certain qualifications—social status and wealth. Of course, she would fall in love with the man she eventually chose to marry. For a while, she had been merrily in love with Leon. Or close to it. She had found his career exciting. Although he now worked in New York City, he assured her he would be returning to the Foreign Service soon. Lucy had easily imagined herself the wife of an ambassador and living in Paris or London or even Rome, three of her favorite cities. That had soothed her when she had faced the fact that one day she would marry, and marry someone like Leon—if not Leon himself. She wasn't particularly ready to wed and raise children and become a Society hostess, so she preferred not to dwell on those responsibilities that awaited her after graduation.
Yet she hadn't even thought of Leon once in the past weeks. Well, she supposed that would soon change. He was here in Paradise now.
She stifled a yawn. She must not allow Leon to see her like this and think she was bored. Yet she was desperate for a good night's sleep. Thoughts of him kept her awake at night.
He'd worked up at the house for three days, during which time Lucy did her utmost to avoid him. Yet it seemed she always knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. She only had to glance out the parlor window to see him returning from the smokehouse with a side of beef, his strong legs stretching taut the fabric of his jeans. Or she'd be in the library, searching for a book, and she'd hear him whistling tunelessly in the living room, as he put back up the heavy drapes Miranda had taken down to clean. She couldn't escape him even in the privacy of her bedroom. She heard him in the hallway outside, helping the maid shift furniture so the floorboards could be dusted.
And each time she heard him, she visualized him, lean and dark, proud and arrogant, every sinew outlined in his damp shirt and his tight jeans. And she waited for blackmail. Surely that was why he was here. There could be no other reason. She didn't believe that he didn't want money. He was toying with her, playing a cruel game, although she could not fathom why. Any day now he would make his demands in return for his silence. She lived in anxiety. And worst of all, she had no doubt that he knew her innermost thoughts, for whenever they came face-to-face, she could see the smug, knowing look in his eyes. He knew damn well how he was racking her nerves, and he was enjoying it.
The insomnia dated from that very first day she had found him working at the ranch. The Texas nights were so hot and so humid that under normal circumstances it was difficult to sleep. But nothing was normal now. Images she did not welcome taunted her, teased her. Images of Shoz demanding blackmail money, images of his hard body in his tight jeans, his torso naked and slick and wet. Images of his mouth. She would toss and turn, the damp sheets twisting around her, her body consumed with its own blazing heat. She could remember the feel of him that one heady night in the desert when they had come together in wild abandon; his body hot, slick,
and hard beneath her hands, his weight warm and heavy on top of her, the power coursing through him which, ultimately, he had not been able to restrain. The feel of him, the scent of him, the look of him . . . Lucy could not bear her memories in the heat and dark of these endless nights.
Last night had been like the others, only worse. The air was so thick and wet, her cotton nightgown was like a second skin, damp and opaque. Even the sheets were annoyingly wet. She had padded barefoot to the open window to try and catch a breath of air—to try and escape her fantasies. To her shock, she saw him standing in the front yard by the swing, clearly illuminated by the moon and the outside porch lights. He was shirtless, his back resting against a tree, his cigarette glowing. No doubt he had the same intention as she, or did he? His was staring directly at her window, directly at her.
Suddenly realizing that if she could see him, he could certainly see her, Lucy hastily drew back. It was a long time before she slept at all.
The train was slowing. The noise was deafening. Leon was smiling and calling to her; Lucy smiled back. She suddenly thought of what she had done with Shoz, and she was stricken. If Leon ever knew, he would drop her like a hot potato, but that would not be as bad as witnessing his incredulity and his disgust. The latter would be withering. Tension suddenly tied her in knots. What if he found out? And next week her family would arrive, not just her parents and brothers, but everyone—Uncle Nick and Jane and their children, Aunt Storm and Brett and their children and grandchildren. And everyone knew her so well, especially Nicole; someone would guess ...
Panic hit her sharply. She knew she must not let it show. Especially not now, because although Leon had only courted her these past few months, he knew her well enough, and he was very astute. He would miss little, if anything.
He jumped agilely from the train, taking her in his arms. "Lucy!"
Her smile was tremulous. "How was your trip?"
