by Pam Hillman
His roaming gaze collided with Mariah’s. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and her face had the rosy glow of simple contentment. But then her smile shimmered and died, and she turned away.
A gut-wrenching sadness filled him.
He’d done that to her. He’d taken away her smile. Every time she saw him, his presence reminded her of her loss. And how much more she’d lose when she left.
His jaw clenched.
The ranch belonged to him and his family. He couldn’t help it if her father had stolen the gold that bought the land. And he wouldn’t let some two-bit preacher or a woman with hair like molasses make him feel guilty for claiming something that belonged to him.
The camaraderie of the close-knit community closed in on him, and he pivoted, taking long strides toward a gap in the trees that led to the creek. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t need to get closer to Mariah, close to these people who loved her, or close to God, who demanded he forgive.
Because forgiveness might force him to give back the ranch and ride off. And he didn’t know if he was strong enough to do that.
Mariah watched Slade disappear into the shadows, an aching hurt in her chest. Why did things have to be this way? Why hadn’t he come to Wisdom as an ordinary cowhand? Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with him without the bitterness and hurt from the past?
She sighed. He wouldn’t have come here at all if not for revenge. Revenge against her father and her family.
Reverend Winston clapped his hands and gained everyone’s attention. “Well, the ladies have put on a mighty fine spread, and I for one can’t wait to get started.” Laughter rolled through the crowd. “Brother Slaughter, could you say the blessing, please?”
Mariah bowed her head.
“Our Father in heaven, we thank You for this day You’ve given us and for this food we are about to partake. Bless the hands that prepared it. Amen.”
Mariah poured lemonade until most of the crowd had filled their plates and moved out of the way. Then she fixed something for her grandmother and carried it to her.
“Here you go, Grandma. Sally made her chicken and dumplings. One of your favorites.”
“Thank you, Mariah. Where’s Jim? I told him to bring me something to eat.”
Mariah glanced at the creek. “He’s off with the other boys and forgot all about us.”
“Well, he has to eat.”
“They’ll come whooping up here before long. Don’t worry about those boys. They’ll take care of themselves when they’re good and ready.” She turned away.
“Mariah.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you fix Slade a plate?”
Mariah glanced in the direction Slade had gone. “He’s a grown man. He can get his own food.”
“He’s a stranger to most of these folks, and he feels uncomfortable.”
“Grandma.”
“It would be the neighborly thing to do. After all, Slade did come to church with us this morning. It’s the least you can do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mariah trudged back to the tables. A nervous flutter found its way into her stomach. She didn’t want to fix Slade a plate and then take it to him like some kind of peace offering. He’d made her so nervous this morning she could barely carry a tune.
Halfway down the table, she ran into Sally. “Gracious, Mariah, whose plate is that?”
Mariah glanced down. Maybe she’d overdone it. She’d piled the plate high with all of Slade’s favorites. “Grandma insisted I fix Slade a plate since he wouldn’t do it for himself.”
“I’m glad he came to church today.”
“Of course you are.” Mariah glared at her friend. “It gave you an excuse to ask me to sing.”
Sally laughed. “You enjoyed every minute of it.”
“I did not,” Mariah sputtered. “You embarrassed me. We both know you only asked me to sing so he could hear me.”
“Yep.”
“Sally Riker Winston.” Mariah shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Nothing. You’re going to take that monstrous helping down to the creek and give it to that handsome man who can’t keep his eyes off you.” Sally shoved another plate of food into her hand. “Here. Take this with you. It would be rude to leave him to eat by himself.”
Hands full, Mariah quipped, “Well, if I only had two more hands, I could carry some lemonade.”
“The kids are headed this way. I’ll send one of them down to the creek with lemonade. Now scat.” Sally gave her a gentle push toward the tree line and the gurgling creek. “And don’t come back, or I’ll make you regret it.”
“Sally!” But Sally had already abandoned her, her laughter lingering as she made a beeline for the dessert table.
Mariah skirted the crowd and slipped among the trees where she’d last seen Slade. Picking her way carefully down the path leading to the creek, she found him chucking rocks into the water. He glanced up as she approached, and his gaze went to the food. His eyebrow quirked upward.
“Grandma and Sally insisted.” She shrugged.
She held out the heavily laden plate. After a moment of hesitation, he took it from her.
Jim came racing down the path, a quart jar of lemonade in his hand. “Mrs. Winston said to bring this to you.”
He handed the jar to Slade and took off downstream.
“Jim, get back here,” Slade called after him. “Where are you going?”
“To catch frogs.”
Slade jerked his head toward the picnic area. “Get on up there and eat. The women aren’t going to leave all that food out there till you boys decide you’re hungry. Now get.”
“Yes, sir.” He took off up the hill, running full speed.
Mariah watched him go. “He’ll probably grab a chicken leg and keep running.”
“Probably. But at least he’ll have something in his stomach.”
She stood uncertainly. What would Sally do if she returned? Say something about Slade in front of the other women? She could skirt around the tables and join her grandmother under the trees. Then Sally would be none the wiser. “Well, I’d better—”
Slade motioned to the tangled roots jutting out from a tree. “That looks like a level enough place to sit. Can you manage?”
As soon as she was settled, he hunkered down and leaned against the tree, his plate balanced on one knee. He set the jar on the ground between them. “We’ll have to share the lemonade.”
Mariah swallowed a dumpling. “You might not want to share when you taste it. Sally’s mother makes the best lemonade in the country.”
They ate in silence, listening to the murmur of the townspeople on the knoll above them. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves overhead, and a squirrel chattered at them from across the creek.
Slade took a long drink of lemonade. She arched a brow. “Well?”
He closed his eyes, his mouth puckering as he savored the taste. Mariah’s stomach did a slow flop as he licked the sweet, tart liquid off his lips. He considered the jar and tossed her a wink. “Best stuff I ever tasted.”
Then he turned up the jar and started guzzling it down.
“Hey, stop that. You’re supposed to share.” Mariah lunged for the lemonade. She squealed as she pitched over a root as big as her leg, dumping the rest of her lunch onto the ground.
Slade’s arm snaked out, and he snagged her before she fell headlong into the dirt. He held the jar out of her reach, laughing. “Hey, watch out; you almost spilled the lemonade.”
His laughter did funny things to her insides, and to cover her embarrassment, she adopted an imperious attitude and held out a hand. “The lemonade.”
“Nope. You’re not getting it.” He dangled the jar over her head. “But I will let you have a sip.”
His smile faded as he lowered the jar. Her world tipped into slow motion. Mariah cupped both hands around his and took a sip. When she finished, he drank from the other side, never taking his eyes from hers. He leaned
over, pressing her gently against the tree. His mouth slanted across hers, and she savored the sweetness of his kiss.
He moved back slightly and smiled. “You taste like lemonade.”
Her gaze flickered to his lips—so soft, yet so firm. “You do too,” she whispered.
Unable to resist, she closed the short distance between them and kissed the corner of his mouth. With a low groan, he turned his head and slanted his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss.
They pulled apart as squeals of laughter spilled over the quiet solitude. A half-dozen boys, Jim included, rounded the bend and raced by on their way to the creek.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHILE MARIAH GATHERED THE EGGS, the chickens pecked at the corn she’d scattered on the ground. Her basket full, she left the chicken coop, latching the gate securely behind her. As she rounded the corner of the barn, Slade and Jim rode into the barnyard.
Her knees turned to jelly when Slade’s gaze rested on her lips and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Her own face grew hot as she remembered their kiss from yesterday. She forced her thoughts away from the kiss they’d shared and smiled at Jim.
“Good morning, Jim.”
The boy grinned as he slid from the back of Slade’s horse and ran to her. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“Pa’s going to come work for the Lazy M. Mr. Slade asked him this morning, and he said yes.” The boy fairly danced with excitement.
“That’s wonderful news.” She tousled his hair.
“I gotta go tell Buck. Won’t he be surprised?” Jim whirled around and raced away.
“That’s one happy little boy.” Mariah smiled at his enthusiasm and headed toward the house. Slade fell into step beside her.
“I know. He nearly talked my head off all the way back this morning. I asked Denton if they’d like to move into that old cabin down by the road. I know it’s not much, but it’s better than what they’re living in now. And I thought you’d enjoy having another woman around.”
“I’d like that.” A warm glow started somewhere in the pit of her stomach and spread outward before reality returned to snuff it out. Slade spoke as if she would be here to enjoy another woman’s company. Had he forgotten that she’d be leaving soon?
He gave her a crooked little smile, touched the tips of two fingers to his hat, and turned away.
“When are they coming?” she remembered to ask.
“Denton said they would have to take it easy on the way out here because of Becky, so it’ll be late afternoon, I imagine.”
“Late afternoon?” Mariah gasped. “Today? Oh, my goodness, I’ve got to get the cabin aired out.”
Slade laughed. “Elizabeth can help you.”
“No, it’ll never work.” She shook her head. “Becky shouldn’t be around all that dust and dirt.” She thrust the basket of eggs at him. “Here. Put these in the kitchen. I’ve got to get some buckets.”
She hurried toward the barn, already making a mental list of what she’d need. “Jim!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He skidded out of the barn.
“I need your help. We’ve got to get that cabin cleaned up before your ma and pa get here.”
Mariah bustled about, gathering cleaning supplies. At the last minute, she hurried back inside and put together the makings of stew for supper. No telling how long it would take to clean the cabin, and the stew could simmer on low heat while she was gone. Within the hour, she and Jim headed toward the cabin.
Jim explored every nook and cranny when they reached the cabin.
“Did you know this was where my parents lived when Papa bought the Lazy M?” Mariah swept the worst of the debris out the door.
“Really?” Jim grinned. “I like it. I hope Pa decides to stay here a long, long time.”
Mariah laughed. “Me too, Jim. Me too.”
Two hours later, she sloshed another bucket of water onto the wooden floor of the old cabin. “Men,” she muttered. “To think they wanted to bring that little girl into this filthy place.”
She’d long ago given up trying to keep her skirt from getting soaked. She grabbed her scrub brush and got down on her knees, attacking the boards with a vengeance.
Thankfully, the stream was close by, and she’d enlisted Jim to carry bucket after bucket of water for her. He’d been more than willing at first, bounding around like an excited puppy. She couldn’t count the times he’d climbed the ladder to the cozy niche tucked under the eaves, which he’d claimed as his very own room.
But he’d grown restless during the last half hour.
She spotted Jim returning from the creek and smiled. He trudged up the path, his little body swaying from side to side as he concentrated on keeping his balance and saving as much water as he could.
Mariah stood and arched her back before walking out to the porch. She reached for the bucket. “It’s getting on toward noon, Jim. Why don’t you run up to the house and get something to eat?”
Relief flashed across his sun-kissed face. “You coming?”
“Later.” She glanced around. “I’d like to finish here first. Go on. I think I’ve got enough water now.”
Jim whooped and raced toward the house. She shook her head. One minute he’d been all tuckered out, the next full of energy.
She picked up the nearest bucket and toted it inside, then bent to her task again.
Slade sauntered down the road toward the cabin, a burlap bundle in one hand and a jar of cold water in the other. He heard humming and stopped outside to listen.
Mariah hummed some tune that sounded like one of the hymns they’d sung in church on Sunday. He studied the peaceful little house nestled beneath a stand of oaks, the stream gurgling not a hundred yards away.
The creek supplied plenty of fresh water, and the trees offered fuel for a fire, protection from the wind, and shade from the sun. Mariah’s father had chosen this spot with care. Slade stepped onto the low porch and peered inside. Mariah knelt on the floor, her back to him, scrubbing hard. Her hair resembled a cross between a rat’s nest and a cobweb, and her skirt looked like she’d tossed herself in the creek, then rolled in the dirt.
And she was still beautiful.
He cleared his throat.
She whirled. Her foot caught the bucket of water and knocked it over. Most of it soaked into her skirt where she knelt on the floor. She groaned.
He laughed.
“It’s not funny.” She tossed her scrub brush at him and swiped a hand at the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun. “My skirt’s so wet I’m not even sure I can make it back to the house. I’m a mess.”
He crouched down beside her, letting his gaze travel over her face. At his perusal, her eyes softened and her lips parted, and if anything, the rosy hue of her cheeks turned pinker. He reached out and plucked the spiderwebs from her hair, smoothing her golden-brown tresses back. “You look fine,” he murmured, his words tinged with laughter.
His hand stilled as their eyes met. As slow as molasses, he eased his hand behind her head and drew her toward him. His lips touched hers, and he felt himself falling . . . falling . . . falling . . . right onto the wet, slippery hardwood floor of the cabin.
As he lay on his back, he heard a giggle, then another. She sat in the middle of the puddle of water, both hands clapped over her mouth, trying to hold back her amusement. Her laughter subsided, and she bit her bottom lip. Then slowly, ever so gently, she leaned over and let her lips touch the corner of his, as light as the brush of butterfly wings.
He claimed her mouth fully, his arms going around her, pulling her down beside him. For a long, breathtaking moment, she kissed him back with a sweetness that left him reeling.
A murmured protest reminded Slade that he’d better slow down. They were traveling a dangerous path. He caressed her lips one last time and pulled away.
“Enough,” he rasped out.
Her eyes blinked open, a bemused expression of contentment in their depths.
He s
wallowed and gently ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing the wayward strands into place, knowing he had to get up before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her again.
Standing, he helped her to her feet. “We need to clean up this mess.”
He searched for a corn-husk mop or a brush broom or anything. Anything to keep his mind—and his hands—off her. Grabbing the first thing that came handy, he took the broom and started to sweep the puddled water out of the cabin.
They ate lunch by the creek, the sun drying their damp clothes. Birds sang in harmony with the gurgling stream, and Mariah wanted to sing along with them.
Slade cared for her. She knew he did. Why else would he kiss her? Why else would he help her mop up the water she’d spilled in the cabin? Why else would he buy her a new pair of boots?
And he’d gone to church yesterday. That counted for something, didn’t it? A warm glow engulfed her. They could take one step at a time. Maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t have to leave the Lazy M after all.
A niggling worry about what her father had done hovered on the fringes of her mind, but she pushed the thought away. For this one day, she didn’t want to think about her father, the gold, or the ranch.
She watched as Slade walked to the creek to refill the jar with water. Her heart filled to overflowing as he hunkered down on the creek bank.
His shoulders strained at the fabric of his work shirt as he leaned over and held the jar beneath the surface of the cool, sweet water.
He returned, and she drank her fill. “Thank you for bringing me something to eat.”
“You’re welcome.” He slid down the tree and leaned against it, relaxed. “It wasn’t much.”
“One of Cookie’s ham-filled biscuits is plenty, thank you.”
“He does make good biscuits. Reminds me of Ma’s.”
“Tell me about your mother and your sisters.” She held her breath, half-afraid he wouldn’t. He’d never talked much about his life before he’d come here, except that time at the bank. Would he open up to her today?
