by Pam Hillman
“Oh no. Is Buck all right?”
“As long as he doesn’t take pneumonia again, he’ll be fine.”
She pushed his hair out of the way, swallowing as the silky strands tangled about her fingers. “This might sting.”
His lips twitched. “I’ll try not to yell.”
She frowned at him and gently dabbed at a cut over his eye, the cloth soaking up the blood. He smelled of horses, leather, sweat, and a trace of the soap he’d washed up with earlier. “Giff’s a bully, running roughshod over anyone weaker than he is.”
His jaw hardened. “Red should’ve put a stop to it.”
“He’s always let Giff get away with more than he should.” She swiped at the cut on his cheekbone, the rasp of the cloth against his skin breaking the silence.
When she’d cleaned the cuts, she dipped a finger in the salve and spread it across each injury, her stomach clenching. Thank goodness Giff hadn’t broken his nose. His cheekbone felt hard and smooth against her fingertip and slightly cool to her touch. She let her finger glide upward, relishing the contact.
She smoothed his hair back and touched the gash over his eye, gently coating the area with salve. “Do you want this one bandaged?”
“No,” he rasped out, sounding half-strangled.
Her startled gaze collided with his, lids half-cast as he watched her every move. She swallowed, jerked her hand away, and concentrated on screwing the lid back on the salve.
He reached out, capturing a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. Mariah found herself rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the intensity in his blue eyes. His hooded gaze moved leisurely from hers, over her cheekbones to her lips.
Mariah’s breath lodged in her throat.
Tucking the hair behind her ear, he slid his hand behind her head and pulled her toward him. Before she could form a protest, his mouth slanted over hers.
With a soft moan, he wrapped both arms around her, drawing her closer, capturing her mouth more fully. The sweet softness of his lips skimmed along hers. She sighed, letting her hands glide up and over his shoulders, drinking in the taste of him. All too soon, he eased away, putting some distance between them.
Her attention riveted on his chin, zeroing in on another bruise put there by that brute Giff Kerchen. She had a sudden urge to kiss it, somehow make it better.
His fingers moved along her jaw down to her chin. Slowly he cupped her face and tilted her chin up, and she focused on his lips again. A half smile played around them. Her stomach did a delicious little roll of delight.
“I heard you out there.”
She blinked. “Heard what?” Her voice sounded weak and breathless.
“Were you afraid Giff might win?”
“Of course not.” A hot flush crept up her neck.
His eyes twinkled with laughter and something else, and she wondered if he might kiss her again.
“Hmm.” He slid one thumb across her parted lips. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Mariah,” he whispered. “That last punch was for you.”
He pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth and reached for his hat. Placing it securely on his head, he grabbed a handful of her freshly baked tea cakes and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach by a day-old colt.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, Slade reported the rustling incident to Sheriff Dawson, and the lawman promised to ask around. See if any of the other ranchers had noticed anything suspicious. There wasn’t much to go on, but at least he’d filed a formal complaint. On the way back to the Lazy M, he stopped by the Riker homestead. Riker’s operation was small compared to the Lazy M and Cooper’s Roundup, so if the rustlers hit him, they could wipe him out in one night. The news spurred Riker into action, and he and his boys were throwing leather on their horses before Slade even left their homestead.
It was after noon when Slade made it to Frederick Cooper’s Roundup Ranch. He surveyed his surroundings, carefully taking in the bunkhouse and the large barn nestled in a grove of trees a bow-shot from the house. A couple of the horses in the corral looked vaguely familiar. One big roan, even from this distance, favored Giff Kerchen’s horse. Had Giff already hired on with Cooper?
He turned his attention to the ranch house. Big and imposing, with an elegant wraparound porch, it was out of place on the outskirts of a one-horse town like Wisdom. Rio had said Cooper bought the place after the bank foreclosed on the previous owner. Slade wondered which one had built such a monstrosity of a house and for what purpose?
Cooper stepped out onto the porch, sporting a shiny vest and matching black coat and pants. Slade frowned. Cooper looked more like a slick gambler than a rancher. A man didn’t dress like that for a day of punching cows and fixing fences.
“Donovan.” His hand swung out in a grand gesture, a sardonic smile on his face. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
Slade dismounted, wondering if he’d get any satisfaction from the other man. He’d worked for many men like Cooper. Kings of their own spreads, they paid little attention to the smaller ranchers around them or the problems they faced. But even though he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Cooper concerning Mariah, if rustlers were stealing cattle in the area, they’d do well to put aside their differences and work together.
“Someone cut the fence between the Lazy M and the Roundup and took off with a couple hundred cows.”
“Mine or Mariah’s?”
“Mine.” Slade didn’t acknowledge the intended reference to the cattle belonging to Mariah.
Cooper reached into his pocket and withdrew a fat cigar, taking his time snipping off the end and lighting it. His gaze flickered over Slade’s face, but he didn’t ask about the cuts and bruises. “I haven’t lost any cattle to rustling.”
“The cattle were driven onto Roundup land. I’d like to take a look, see what direction they went after that.”
“A friendly warning.” Cooper puffed on his cigar. “My men have instructions to shoot and then ask questions, so I’d be careful if I were you.”
Slade went still, eyes narrowed on his neighbor.
One wrong word and they’d have a fight on their hands. He’d seen feuds between two ranches escalate from something as simple as a dead skunk in a water hole, and the resulting bloodbaths stunk to high heaven with many innocent ranch hands caught in the middle. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be that way here in Wisdom, but he should have known better.
Men were men, but greedy men were insatiable in their thirst for power. And Cooper struck him as a greedy man. He didn’t like Cooper, and he certainly didn’t trust him, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing and start a feud.
Not until he had a better grip on the lay of the land.
“I’ll watch my back.” He gathered up his reins and swung into the saddle. “The same goes for Roundup men. Keep away from me and mine, and we’ll get along just fine.”
“Does that include Mariah?” Cooper snubbed out his cigar on the pristine white porch railing, the only evidence Slade’s words had burrowed under his skin. “I plan to marry her, you know.”
Slade leaned on the saddle horn, studying Cooper. The man seemed almighty sure of himself given the fact that Mariah had refused him—more than once from what Slade gathered. The taste of her kiss lingered in his mind, and he had a sudden urge to keep Cooper as far away from her as possible.
“I suggest you stay away from her, too. With rustlers on the prowl, I can’t be responsible for what might happen to anyone who sets foot on the Lazy M.” He paused. “As you said, we’ll shoot and ask questions later.”
“Rustlers?” Mariah crossed her arms and glared at Slade. He wanted to believe her ire was directed at Buck, too, but her flashing brown eyes zeroed in on him, leaving Buck in the clear. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I was getting around to it.”
Slade glanced at Buck. His brother gave a helpless shrug, his split-bottom chair
tipped back against the front of the barn. He’d recovered from his drenching without contracting pneumonia, but he was still weak as water.
“It happened two days ago. It’s all the men are talking about. Grandma heard it from Cookie, and I got the whole story out of Rio this morning.”
“I’ll let you two hash this out on your own.” Buck smothered a cough and tipped his chair forward, the two front legs plunking into the dirt with a solid thunk. Without another word, he slipped away into the barn.
Slade watched him go, then turned his attention to Mariah. “We found the fence the same day Buck fell in the water hole.”
“Oh.” Her face flamed, and instantly he was transported back to the fight, Mariah applying salve to his cuts, and then the moment he’d kissed her. And from the look on her face, she was thinking the same thing.
“So you know as much as I do.” He pointed a finger at her. “But I don’t want you riding off by yourself. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Her concerned gaze met his, and his fingers itched to smooth the line of worry between her beautiful brown eyes. “Do you think they’ve been working this area before? Maybe that’s why the Lazy M has been doing so poorly the last couple of years.”
“I don’t know. Riker said he hadn’t seen any evidence of rustlers before now, and I didn’t get much out of Cooper.”
“Frederick hasn’t been in the cattle business long enough to know, really. He just bought the Crenshaw place and started stocking it two summers ago.” She chewed her fingernail, eyes wide. “What are we going to do?”
Slade noticed how she referred to the ranch as if she were still involved. Somehow hearing Mariah lay claim to ownership didn’t prick him nearly as much as when Cooper had needled him.
“We’ll keep a close watch and report anything suspicious to the sheriff. That’s all we can do right now.”
A plume of dust rose in the distance, and the rattle and creak of a buggy reached their ears. Slade straightened. “Somebody’s coming.”
Mariah shaded her eyes and smiled. “It’s Sally and Reverend Winston.”
As the buggy pulled up in front of the barn, Slade took hold of the harness.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Donovan. Mariah.” Sally Winston offered them a bright, bubbly smile.
Slade shook his head as the tall, lanky preacher helped his short, plump wife down from the buggy. He’d never seen a more unevenly matched pair. He shrugged off the thought. What he knew about matched pairs when it came to happily married folks would fit in his back pocket with room to spare.
While Mariah hugged the preacher’s wife, the preacher took Slade’s hand in a firm handshake. “Afternoon, Donovan.”
“Afternoon.”
Sally Winston gave him a once-over. “Goodness gracious. What happened to your face?”
“I had a run-in with one of the hands. Nothing serious.”
“Well.” She pursed her lips. “I certainly hope everything turned out all right in the end.”
“It did.” Slade nodded.
“It’s so good to see you both.” Mariah hugged her friend again. “What brings you out this way?”
“What’s this I hear about rustlers?” The preacher caught Slade’s eye. “I was over at the jail having coffee with Sheriff Dawson this morning, and he told me all about it.”
“Not much to tell. We found some broken fence, and some cattle are missing.”
Sally lifted a basket from the back of the buggy. “When I heard, I wanted to check on Ma and Pa and stop by here, but George wouldn’t hear of me coming out here by myself. Said it was too dangerous.”
“Did your pa find anything yet?” Slade squinted at the preacher’s wife.
“Nothing yet.”
“Maybe they’ve already left the area, then.”
“We can hope and pray.” The preacher’s wife patted the basket. “I brought your grandmother some fig preserves.”
“Oh, thank you. She’ll be thrilled.” Mariah looped her arm through Sally’s. “You will stay for supper, won’t you?”
The words had no sooner left her mouth before she turned toward Slade, eyes wide and questioning. “I’m sorry. Is that all right with you?”
Slade frowned. His mother rarely had company over, and it hadn’t even occurred to him to invite the preacher and his wife for supper. He wiped the scowl off his face in case they took it the wrong way. “Of course it’s all right. Glad to have you.”
“Good, it’s settled then.” Mariah smiled. “Let’s go see if Grandma’s up from her nap. She’ll be happy to have company.” The women moved toward the house, Mariah chattering like an excited magpie.
Slade headed to the barn, already thinking up excuses to get out of eating supper with their visitors.
“Do you mind if I tag along, Donovan?” Reverend Winston fell into step beside him. “I like to look at a good horse now and then.”
“Sure.” He didn’t see any way of getting rid of the preacher.
“I heard you were making some improvements around here.” Reverend Winston appraised the recently repaired corral and the new roof on the bunkhouse. “You’ll have this place in tip-top shape in no time.”
They meandered into the barn and studied Duncan’s lame horse. “That brother of yours must be a miracle worker. I heard how he helped my father-in-law the other day with his prize bull.”
“He’s no miracle worker, but he has a way with animals. Treats them like he’d want to be treated.” Slade rested his elbows on a stall and squinted at the reverend, putting two and two together. “John Riker is your wife’s pa?”
“Yes. I never thought I’d almost be as old as my father-in-law.” The preacher tugged on his earlobe with his thumb and forefinger, a flush deepening his features. A wry smile slashed across his lean face. “Or have a wife as young and full of life as Sally. Don’t know what she saw in me.”
Slade didn’t know what to say. He’d never understand women. He frowned. Why had his ma married his pa? Had he been different when they were young, before Malone shot him? Had it been a love match, or had she married him out of necessity? All of a sudden he realized he’d never asked. Someday he’d ask his mother how she met his father. He cast about for something to say. “Maybe she liked your preaching.”
The preacher chuckled. “There is that. Why don’t you and your brother come to church? It’s the fastest way that I know of to get acquainted with your neighbors. And we have a church social once a month. Every fourth Sunday. You’ll want to attend that for sure. Our church ladies cook some of the best victuals you ever put in your mouth.”
After eating Mariah’s cooking for the last few weeks, Slade didn’t doubt it. “Thank you. I’ll pass the invite along to Buck.”
But he wouldn’t be attending church, no matter how friendly Reverend Winston and his plump little wife were. Church had been off-limits for a number of years, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Mariah welcomed Sally’s help in the kitchen but craved the chatter even more. She could depend on Sally to lighten anybody’s mood with her cheerful attitude.
“How are you feeling these days?” With Sally’s slightly rounded frame, it would be a while before most people noticed that she was in the family way.
Sally placed one hand over her stomach and smiled. “Better. The morning sickness is waning.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mariah took the plates out of the pie safe and started setting the table. “I’ve heard it lasts for several months with some women.”
“It does. You remember Emily Baxter? She had her second child, a boy, a couple of months ago, and she told me that she stayed sick the entire time.”
Mariah shuddered. “It’s a good thing I’m not married or expecting. Being sick for nine months doesn’t sound appealing at all.”
“Oh, but there’s so much more to it than being sick, Mariah. Just think. In a few months, I’ll hold my very own baby in my arms. If it’s a boy, he might have George’s hair and eyes.”
A dreamy look stole over Sally’s face.
Mariah smiled. She wouldn’t exactly wish Reverend Winston’s features on any child, but she wouldn’t tell Sally that. When the middle-aged, widowed Reverend George Winston had accepted the pastorate in Wisdom seven years ago, it had never occurred to her that her best friend would end up married to the preacher. But anybody with a lick of sense could tell they were happy. And that’s what mattered.
“If you say so.”
“Just wait and see. When you fall in love and get married, you’ll long to have children of your own, children who will be the spitting image of their father.” Sally hugged her. “Trust me on this one.”
Mariah turned away to hide the blush staining her cheeks as images of little dark-haired, blue-eyed babies danced in her imagination.
Slade slid into his chair at the table beside Reverend Winston. Showing the man around hadn’t been half as bad as he’d expected. A friendly man and easy to talk to, the preacher knew horses and a bit about ranching, and he’d done a smattering of carpentry over the years to supplement his income. He was a jack-of-all-trades but not a know-it-all by any means. Slade liked that in a man.
In the last hour, the preacher revealed that he’d grown up dirt-poor in Alabama, and his first wife had died in childbirth several years ago. He’d left Alabama, working his way west, preaching here and there until finally settling in Wisdom. After spending some time in Winston’s company, Slade felt at ease with the amiable preacher.
He let his gaze travel around the table to the Winstons and Mrs. Malone before settling on Mariah. The sparkle in her eyes held him mesmerized as she laughed at something Sally said. For once he’d be able to watch her unobserved while her attention was focused on entertaining her friends.
She’d changed from her everyday dress into that brown outfit she wore to church and had swirled her thick mane of golden-brown hair up on top of her head. He stared at her hair, realizing the style was fancier than the way she fixed it day in and day out, but he had no clue how she’d accomplished the feat. As usual, several strands had escaped to tickle her high-necked shirtwaist. Even her cheeks had more of a rosy glow than usual. He supposed the heat of the kitchen and the excitement of having company had done that to her.
