No such luck.
“You lookin’ for this?”
I think my heart leaped into my throat. Either that or I swallowed my tongue. It was hard to tell since the lump lodged in my gullet was as big around as a tree stump. Feeling like a condemned man walking up the steps to face the hangman, I forced myself to take the hat from his hands, but I kept my gaze fixed on the ground.
“Dixie. Look at me.”
Anger flared. But not for McCullough. I was mad at myself. Why did I feel so ashamed? It wasn’t like I’d killed my first born. It was just hair. My head shot up, and I stared him square in the eye, daring him to say anything.
He said nothing, which was worse. A shocked expression crossed his tanned face followed by a puzzled look, then understanding. His square jaw tightened.
We rode in silence. Two feet separated us but it felt like a mile. I heard him sigh.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to. Besides Thunder is a gift.”
“Horses are a dime a dozen.”
“Not like Thunder.”
“Dixie—”
“Jackson. My hair. My decision.”
His jaw muscle twitched.
The dull clop-clop of horses’ hooves sounded too loud in the strained silence. Each squeak of saddle leather backlashed the rocks and trees. Purple and orange streaks painted the sky and the sun sank lower. The wind blew cool matching his mood. He cleared his throat.
“A lot of folks think it’s a sin for a woman to cut her hair.”
I snorted. “No doubt they’re the same people that think it’s a sin for a white man to have an Indian for a blood brother.”
Tinged with amusement, his voice sounded resigned. “Yep. No doubt.”
A quick glance at his face told me the storm had passed. Taut shoulders relaxed and swayed in rhythm with Thunder’s smooth stride. He reined in closer. Stirrup to stirrup we rode back to town in comfortable, peaceful companionship.
Chapter Seventeen
The last rays of sunshine vanished when we reached Big Mike’s barn. I held Thunder while Jackson lit a lantern. We unsaddled the horses in the dull yellow glow. I hooked a stirrup over the horn and tugged at the saddle girth. A question about something he’d said on the trail burned on the tip of my tongue. I drew a deep breath and asked, “Jackson, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think I’m sinful for cutting my hair.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re a lot of things, Dixie, but sinful ain’t one of ’em.”
I couldn’t help the grin from inching its way across my face or the flutter of my heart. His answer made me feel like a giddy school girl whose beau had just grabbed her hand.
Strong hands around my waist made me gasp. He picked me up and sat me on top of the feed bin like I was no heavier than an empty tow sack. Eye-to-eye we stared at one another, so close I could see the pulse beating in his neck and a tiny scar above his eyebrow that I never noticed before. His scent of sun and wind washed over me. Barn noises of chickens and cows faded. Wood slats and beams closed in around us. It was just him and me, all alone in the glow of the soft light. The serious look in his eyes stole my breath.
“When I turned eighteen, Mother gave me an elk-horned handled knife that I’d been admiring for weeks in the window of ol’ man Grayson’s dry goods store. It cost two dollars. Every night for a month, she’d ride into town to dust, sweep, and mop the store to pay for it. That knife was the last gift I ever got.”
He hesitated for a heartbeat that seemed to last forever.
“And it was the last time anyone thought I mattered enough to make that kind of sacrifice for—until today.”
I didn’t dare breathe, twitch, or blink.
His large hand, strong and hard enough to break a man’s jaw, reached and smoothed the jagged strands of my hair into place, gentle as snow. Inches from my face, his voice came soft. “Hair don’t make the woman, darlin’. It’s what’s in her heart what does.”
He winked.
I wilted
“And you, Miss Dixie Belle Dandelion, stand head and shoulders above ’em all.”
Good God. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him till my lips fell off. I leaned toward his warmth. His breath, a mere whisper on my skin, sent chills racing up my spine. And his scent. Wild, untamed. I could do it. Just a fraction of an inch and I’d feel those full lips on mine.
Whitaker’s face flashed in my mind. His whiskey-sour breath washed over me.
I pushed back on the bin and stared at the floor.
“Dixie?”
The wonder in his voice made me want to explain. He’d expected a kiss. Sassy said a man can always tell when a woman wants to kiss. I owed him a reason for my sudden coldness. But none came. I jumped down and reached for the water bucket.
“Gotta get Joe some water.”
I shot him a forced smile when I walked past and headed for the door. “See ya tomorrow. Maybe you can teach me how to shoot?”
I didn’t wait to hear his answer, just kept walking away. Papa’s voice shouted behind me.
“Margaret Katelyn O’Shea, you be nothing but a coward.”
Chapter Eighteen
The revolver sat heavy in my hand.
Yesterday learning to shoot seemed like a sure-fire good idea. But today after running off and leaving Jackson flat-footed and all confused looking the night before, the excitement of guns and bullets had waned.
“Put linen cartridges in the chamber. Ram the ball down tight against the powder. Cap the nipples.”
Jackson’s voice sounded a mile away. Half-hearted, I listened to his instructions on how to load the six shooter. For the hundredth time that morning, I tugged at my short hair. Doubt I’d ever get used to it.
“Are you ready?”
I jumped at Jackson’s voice. “What?”
He cocked his head and shot me a puzzled look. “We need to do this another time?”
“No. What do I do first?”
He pointed to tin cans he’d lined up on a boulder. “Bring your gun arm up like you were pointing a finger at that second red can there and squeeze the trigger.”
First shot went wide.
Second shot hit dirt.
Third shot chipped a piece off the rock.
Fourth shot went only God knows where. Good thing the horses were tied behind us.
Fifth and sixth were closer to the target, but the tin cans stood free from holes, mocking me.
Thoroughly disgusted, I swore under my breath. “Hell and damnation.”
“Darlin’? Stop.”
He took the pistol from my hand and reloaded. I watched every step of the complicated process. “It’s a wonder anyone gets around to shooting anyone. Takes too long to load one of these things.”
“Yep. That’s why I carry extra guns and loaded cylinders. Saves a lot of time.”
“Guess it don’t matter anyway. I can’t hit nothing.”
He came up beside me. “That’s because you’re pulling the trigger instead of squeezing.”
I scoffed. “Pull. Squeeze. What’s the difference?”
He whirled me around so quick my eyes crossed. Fast and heartless, he gave me a peck on the mouth hard enough to crack walnuts. To top it off, the rude smack missed my lips entirely hitting their edge instead. “That’s pulling.”
Before I could slap the fire out of him, he folded me into arms strong enough to crush a small grizzly. Lowering his mouth to mine, he kissed me full.
A hint of salt favored lips firm yet so tender made my head swam. Knees weak, I surrendered to feelings I’d be hard-pressed to describe. Hot. Chilled. Dizzy. He made no attempt to pull away holding me steady against him. His scent, a mixture of shaving soap, horse, and morning coffee wrapped me inside a cocoon of fringe and buckskin.
Sounds of wind and birds, leaves and grass hushed.
My heart leaped from my chest, met his half-way, and melted into one.
He backed away.
Brown eyes twinkling. Dimples dancing. “That’s squeezing.”
He winked. “Now you tell me. Which one hit the mark?”
Hit the mark? Which one? Was he loco? At the moment I couldn’t even tell him my name.
Chapter Nineteen
His kiss froze my insides. The need to say something…anything lay heavy between us, but I struggled to catch even a whisper of a breath. Talking was out of the question. A mixture of confusion, humor, and a hint of a blush raced across Jackson’s strong face. For an instant I thought he was close to apologizing, which made heat creep back into my bones.
I’ll slap you silly if you do. Don’t cheapen the moment by saying you’re sorry.
Reckon he heard my silent warning. He turned back to the box of ammunition and cleared his throat.
“I think that’s enough,” he said. “You get the idea. All ya need to do now is practice.”
Still weak in the knees, I managed to pull my way into the saddle and watched him slide his new gun and holster back into his saddlebags. That’s when I noticed how heavy the bags were packed.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” My voice cracked.
“Yep. Got to get back to the wagon train. Been gone far too long. I don’t want them to come looking for me and finding you. I need to show you something before I go.”
If I hadn’t been trying to start my heart again, I would’ve asked him a bushel basket full of questions. First a kiss that sucked the wind out of me and now the news of him riding away made me dumb as a post.
About a mile’s ride through woods and brush, he stopped on a ridgeline and pointed down at an old ranch house surrounded by corrals, a barn, and a bunkhouse that had seen better days.
“I wanted you to see this,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want you to buy it.”
“What?”
He rushed on ignoring my snort. “I saw this place a while back. It used to be a working ranch, but when the owner died, it went to seed. I’ve been asking around. I don’t know how much money you borrowed from Whitaker, but you could get this place for a song. Course you’d need to fix it up. But you could hire some hands pretty cheap. Build back the corrals and barn. Shore up the house.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well for your own horse ranch, darlin’. The railroad is gonna be finished in a few months. That means the Army will be moving west. They’re gonna need good mounts. People will start moving in. Good horseflesh will be in demand. Black Bear will give you mares and foals. Heck, for what you did for him, I’d wager he’d throw in a good stud. Probably ol’ Buck.”
“And just why would I do this?”
He looked at me then.
“To get out of Six Shooter Siding. I don’t want you living at the White Dove.”
Anger flared. He didn’t want me living where? He’d ask around? He didn’t want? He. He. He. What right did he have telling me what to do? I spit back at him.
“Well pardon me, sir, but the last time I checked my welfare was none of your concern. In fact, you made it more than plain you didn’t want to be burdened with me. Besides, I thought you liked Peg.”
“I do like her. Admire her grit. Like all her girls too. But I don’t like the business they’re in.” He twisted in the saddle. “It’s—”
“Not respectable enough for ya? Didn’t think you were a snob.”
Dark eyes flashed like black lightning. “I didn’t say that. Their life is bitter, Dixie. Hard. Dangerous. Often times violent. Peg does her best to protect her girls. Keeps them and The Dove clean. But the cold, hard truth of the matter is most Doves die young. Either from disease or some cowboy who gets too rough with them. Remember how Jimmy Ray slapped Fancy around? That’s tame compared to what some men do.”
I thought about Whitaker, and my voice lost its bite. “I’m not a Dove, Jackson.”
“I know that, and Peg knows that. But some dusty cowpoke who’s been on the Santa Fe for months don’t know that. Face it. You live at a whore house, Dixie. You associate with soiled women. I don’t want some drunk yahoo kicking down your door in the middle of the night, pawing, fondling, and taking advantage of you.”
The raw emotion in his voice pinned me to the saddle. His gaze returned to the ranch.
“I’ve seen you with horses. You got a special way with them. You’re smart. And just stubborn enough to build this ranch up into something big.” He turned back to me.
“True, there are things out here that can harm too. Wolves. Cougars. Snakes. Cold winters. Hot, dry summers. I have no doubt you can hold your own with them. But men are a different kind of animal. Deceiving. Ruthless. Cruel.”
Again my thoughts turned to Whitaker, then jumped to the outlaws who had raped and killed Jackson’s family. I swallowed hard.
“Dixie, I’m not trying to run your life or tell you what to do. I’d just sleep better knowing you were away from all of that. Promise me you’ll think about the ranch.”
Well hell. How could I stay angry at him for caring so much? “I’ll think on it.”
Satisfied, he sighed deep. Heavy silence hung in the air between us. Uncomfortable silence. Truth be known, I didn’t want him to go. I’d gotten used to his strength and calm ways. His steadiness tamed the panic always lurking under my skin.
“Guess you’ll be leaving now?” I asked a little too cool.
“Reckon so.”
Papa’s voice whispered in my ear. “Ask him to stay, girl.”
I couldn’t.
“Well, I’m burning daylight.” He touched the brim of his Stetson. “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”
And just like he rode away.
Again.
****
Jackson resisted the urge to turn back.
He had a mission to complete. A duty to see the wagon train through to California. To keep folks safe.
But he would’ve stayed.
Cantrell and Whitaker had to answer for their crimes. He was a Pinkerton. Hired to bring outlaws to justice. Besides he needed to get proof Whitaker murdered Dixie’s mother. He’d promised her he’d hang, and he wasn’t going back on his word.
But he would’ve stayed.
He was a lawman. Sworn to uphold the law.
Didn’t matter.
He would’ve stayed. For her.
All she had to do was ask him not to go.
He would’ve stayed.
But she never said the word.
Chapter Twenty
I leaned back in the saddle and gave Joe his head. He placed one careful hoof in front of the other and picked his way down the ridgeline. The sharp crack of iron shoes against rock echoed through the quiet woods. I patted his brown and white neck when we reached the flats for a job well done. Wish I had a persimmon to reward him with.
We trotted through the gate and under a sign with faded letters. I strained to see the name of the old ranch. The Double D. Ghosts of wild mustangs and leathery wranglers floated past like feathers in the wind.
I stepped down from Joe’s back and led him to a well that stood by the house. Surprised to find a good rope and bucket sitting on the rocked edge, I dropped the pail into the blackness. A loud splash followed. The old pulley squeaked and groaned but drew smooth. I tasted the water. Cool and clean. Joe drank with long slurps while my gaze traveled from the house across the yard to the barn and corrals.
What a shame. A once proud outfit left to rot in the wind and rain. Papa’s voice rang out so clear I expected to see him standing before me.
“Can still be a fine ranch, lassie. With a little elbow grease and good stock ye can build it back grander than ever.”
“Oh Papa. I can’t. Not alone.”
I said his name out loud. Feeling foolish I glanced around. Only phantoms of chaps, spurs, and lariats heard my cry. A feeling of great loss and self-pity washed over me. I sank to the dust. Why did all the men I cared about ride away from me?
“Quit your moaning, lass.” Papa came to me again.
“’Twas your mother’s selfishness what pushed me out the door and your stubborn pride what chased that fine boyo down the trail. You’re never alone. I be by your side always.”
I could almost see his wink.
My back straightened. What was wrong with me? Damn kiss scrambled my thinking. Softened my resolve. I didn’t need Jackson McCullough or anyone else to save my hide. I was strong enough to take care of myself.
I stumbled to my feet. Fate was a funny thing. Papa lost his dream of a horse ranch only for it to land right back into my lap. I would do this. For Papa. For his memory. His love.
My boot found stirrup leather. I touched spur to flank. Had to hurry.
Had a ranch to buy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rutherford Lee Daggett, President of Daggett Land Bank, gawked at me from behind his polished desk with a look of amusement on his puffy face so severe it teetered on ridicule. I wanted to spit in his eye.
“Let me get this straight Miss…um…Dandelion, is it? You want to buy the old Double D? A worthless, once-upon-a-dream horse ranch in the hopes of restoring it to its former owner’s unrealized potential?”
“That’s right.”
“May I ask what experience you have with horse ranching?”
“I helped Papa with his.”
“And when was that?”
“A few years ago.”
A tiny smirk pulled his lips. “I see. That would have made you all of what? Twelve? Thirteen years old?”
Salvia gathered in my mouth.
“Miss Dandelion, I’m truly sorry. But I don’t see how this institution can help you. We simply can’t afford to loan money to someone with no business experience or creditability. I’m sure you understand.”
The urge to condemn him to hell itched something fierce. Instead I asked myself what would Mama do? I smiled brightly and gushed sticky sweet.
“Well of course I do, Mr. Daggett. After all, it’s only sound business practice, and I can tell you are an intelligent business man. Furthermore, I’m sure that me being an unmarried woman has nothing to with your decision at all. Does it?”
The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion Page 9
