“Let’s dance.”
“Dance? With no music?”
“Yep.”
Long legs uncurled, and he helped to my feet.
“I don’t dance that well,” I said.
“I got you. You’ll do fine.”
A strong arm cinched me up tight to his muscled body. Had I been sober, I would’ve been stiff as cardboard, more concerned about my feet than the man who held me tight. But drink and his musky scent chased away any thought of dance steps. I melted into him. Closed my eyes. Felt the deep rumble in his chest as he hummed a tune and waltzed me into deep night.
I remembered Mama saying how Papa danced like liquid silk. If Papa was silk, then Jackson McCullough was quicksilver on ice.
Firelight. Twinkling stars. Dancing in the moonlight. It was perfect.
I kissed him. Not a small peck on the cheek, but full on the lips that tasted of sweet bourbon and tobacco.
He kissed back.
Fevered. Hungry. Powerful.
My head swam.
A low groan.
He pushed away.
I stood stupid. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”
A low growl. “Nothing.”
“Then what? I thought you.” A deep gulp. “I thought you wanted me.”
“I do. More than day yearns for light. But not tonight. Not this way.”
“What way?”
“You’re all caught up in wedding fever, and you’re drunk.”
“I certainly am not. A little lightheaded maybe. But I know full well what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
His crooked smile wasn’t so cute this time. Pissed me off good. Here I was throwing my heart out to him, and he’d thrown it back. Felt betrayed. Foolish.
“Go to hell.”
One step put him full in my face. He grabbed me. Pulled me rough to him. Kissed me so hard, so demanding and wild it scared the liver out of me.
He turned me loose. Dark eyes, smoky and deep flamed my fire. His voice came husky.
“You’re a wild prairie dandelion, Dixie gal. But I don’t pick flowers until they’re ready.”
He turned on his heel and faded into the dark.
Chapter Forty-Five
Short room and long legs didn’t fit. Jackson paced only a few steps one way, a few the other in the small tack room.
It wasn’t right. The bride should be the prettiest woman at a wedding. While Cinnamon’s red gown and honey skin had indeed been striking, hands down, Dixie stood head and shoulders above them all.
That green dress wrapped around her like a second skin. Hugged her curves and willowy frame. And tonight. Sister to the fire’s golden embers, her copper hair danced hand-in-hand with its flame. Candlelight flickering in her blue eyes put every twinkling star to shame. Upturned nose. A bridge of freckles. Face glowing with excitement. Lips sweeter than the wine she’d drank made his blood boil. It was enough to drive a man to his knees.
But it was her unbridled spirit that set her apart from all others and made him struggle to hold himself in check. Took all he had to push her away. Hell yes, he wanted her. Had from the first time she’d swore and swung a fist at him that day on the wagon train. White-hot passion. Grit. An untamed daring as impossible to contain as a whirlwind in a bottle. That was Dixie’s true beauty. Her soul.
But a soul was a delicate thing. One false move, one careless moment could bruise and shatter, never to be whole again. A prairie dandelion grew wild and strong. Yet for all its strength could wither and die if handled wrong, its beauty destroyed. That was the reason for his tight rein. The kid gloves he wore around her. Contrary to her notion, she wasn’t ready for his love tonight. He wanted to be more than a regret the next morning. True, he’d embarrassed and confused her by stepping away. He could live with that.
But to break her soul, kill the spirit he so desperately loved would be a sin he could never forgive himself or atone for.
He rolled another smoke. Took in a deep draw.
Yep. No doubt about it. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.
She sure did look pretty in green.
Chapter Forty-Six
Neither Big Mike nor Jackson had any luck finding Tommy Ferrell.
“’Tis like Mother Earth herself opened up and swallowed him whole,” Big Mike said.
“I wager he left the county,” Jackson replied.
Like I said before, Grandmother Margaret had the gift of sight. The Shine. Mother considered her the devil’s spawn because of it. I never gave it much thought as I never saw anything beyond the tip of my nose. Sometimes, however, strong feelings washed over me. I knew deep down inside we hadn’t heard the last of Tommy or Cody Wayne Daggett for that matter.
“Bet he’s laying low at the Rocking R waiting for his shoulder to heal,” I said. “I know he and Cody Wayne are in cahoots, plotting and planning their next move against me.”
“Aye. Could be so. But we have no call to go and search.”
Jackson pointed a finger at me. “Neither do you. Stay away from Daggett and the Rocking R.”
Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t.
The barn was finished. Good thing. Fall was on its last legs, and winter frothed at the bit waiting to run full bore. I dreaded the cold and damp and took full advantage of the dwindling warm days every chance I got. Since coming to the ranch, Jackson had been too busy to see his faithful buckskin. One sunny afternoon we saddled up and headed out to find the golden stallion and his herd.
“Better leave Thunder here,” Jackson said. “Don’t think Buck would take too kindly to him.”
“Ride Poe. Cinnamon won’t mind.”
I’d forgotten the thrill of the ride. The wind in my face. Blood roaring in my ears. The total surrender of all thought, all control. To just feel the power and speed of the horse. Joe was in fine form, racing both the wind and Poe. Running beside us, the long-legged chestnut chewed up the ground and spit it out. We let both horses take the bit before checking down into a nice, comfortable jog trot.
I’d never ridden the whole fifty acres that was Spirit Dove Ranch. Even though it was fall, lush grass still covered the land and tall, leafy trees dotted the landscape. I glanced over at Jackson.
“I have no idea where Buck and his mares would be.”
“Good bet he’d be close to water.”
We followed the creek bed. A slight breeze rustled the tree tops. Clear water bubbled alongside. The crisp, fresh smell of wood and crunchy leaves swirled around us. I had no reason to feel uneasy. But I did. Queasy and nervous, I slowed to a walk. Jackson noticed the change in me right off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Can’t put my finger on it.”
We stopped. He turned in the saddle. Hawk eyes swept the terrain looking for anything out of place.
“Well?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Jackson was a lawman. Could sense danger miles off. Silly. I was just being silly. Even still I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I rode on slightly in front of Jackson.
Joe’s ears pricked.
Poe whinnied.
The side of my head burned something fierce.
I saw Jackson reach for me.
I pitched from the saddle Smacked the ground hard.
Blackness.
****
Whitaker’s face shot in front me. Changed into Cody Wayne’s. Then Tommy Ferrell’s.
“Leave me alone!”
Black again.
“Papa?”
Aye, daughter. I be right here.
Here? Where was here?
No colors. No smells. No sounds. Just snowy, hushed whiteness all around.
“Am I dead?”
A soft chuckle. Ye not be at the pearly gates just yet if that be what ye mean.
That’s exactly what I meant.
You be in Saint Peter’s back yard for sure. But the living or dying part he’s leaving up to you.
Holy crow
. Even dying was complicated.
“Where are the angels? There’s nothing here but white. Thought Heaven would be prettier.”
Oh, Heaven be a grand sight, child. But ’tis like I say. You’re not quite there yet. Ye be on the borderline.
“I’m tired. Think I’ll sleep some more.”
Nay, lass. Been napping too long. Make a decision. Get busy living or get busy dying.
That was harsh even for a ghost.
“Don’t you want me to stay here with you?”
Aye, would be grand, but I’ve lived my life. ’Tis yours we be discussing. What of that boyo of yours?
“Jackson?”
He’s a fine lad, girl. Loves ye more than his own life. Would break his spirit to see you leave.
“Oh sure. Loves me so much, he pushed me away.”
For your own good, daughter. And ye have no right to cast stones. How many times have ye pushed back?
Good point.
“You like him, don’t you?”
Aye that I do. ’Tis the only lad I know man enough to let ye run, lass. That be rare.
“I’m kinda hungry.”
Then open your eyes, girl. Wake up!
Chapter Forty-Seven
Like a lantern in the fog, Peg’s voice guided me out of the whiteness. “She’s waking up! Everyone. She’s awake.”
I heard shuffling of feet and chairs being scooted back. Still groggy, I fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Someone grabbed my hand. That did it. I opened my eyes.
“Mother of God, Dixie. It’s about time.”
Sassy. Good ol’ Sassy. Out of all the Doves, she was the most steadfast. Should’ve guessed she’d be the one to take my hand and jerk me back into the land of the living.
Throat dry as sawdust, I tried to croak out a word or two, but a fit of coughing stopped the words cold.
“Easy does it there, gal. Sip this.”
Peg held a cup to my lips. Water never tasted so good. She eased me back. “What happened?”
“You got shot,” Peg said.
“In the head,” Sassy added.
I must’va looked at them goofier than a city slicker wearing a bow tie with spurs.
“We ain’t joshing. Someone bushwhacked you and Jackson.”
“Jackson!” My heart flipped over and threw me upright. Woozy, my head swam. “Is he—”
“Good God, Dixie. Take it easy.” Sassy propped me up against the pillows. “Jackson’s fine. Well physically, at least. Ain’t got his head on too straight right at the moment. He was worried plumb sick about you.”
“Oui. He never left your side.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Today makes three days,” Peg said. “The bullet only grazed you, but Jackson said when you fell, the ground punched you in the head with a sickening thud. Doc said you’d either wake up, or…well, that don’t matter none now. What Cinnamon said about Jackson is true. He damn near rode Poe’s legs off getting you back here. Had blood all over him. Looked like he’d wrestled a bear. Practically had to take a crowbar and pry you out of his arms. He just kept hugging you to his chest. Mumbling over and over how it was his fault.”
“Where is he now?”
“When you started jabbering in your sleep and saying you were hungry, he figured the worst was over and you’d be coming out of it. So he and Donovan rode out yesterday morning headed to the Rocking R. Donovan came back last night for supplies. Said when there was no sign of Tommy or Cody Wayne at Daggett’s, Jackson took off toward Santa Fe vowing he’d track down those two varmints and some fella named Whitaker or die trying. Big Mike left at dawn to catch up with him.”
“Did you say Whitaker?”
“Yep. Big Mike said Jackson suspects that this hombre, Whitaker, has been behind all your troubles from the very beginning. The attempted lynching, the barn, and now you being shot. Heard you mumble his name in your sleep. Who is he?”
Just hearing the slimy weasel’s name made me sick to my stomach. Wondered if I’d ever get rid of him and the memories that haunted me. Hoped Jackson drilled him full of holes. If Ferrell and Daggett were riding with Whitaker, Jackson needed to take extra care. One-on-one Jackson could snap Whitaker in half easier than a twig, but three on one was a different story.
“He’s my stepfather. Killed my mother. Tried to rape me on the wagon train. I stabbed him. Stole Jackson’s horse and rode to Six Shooter.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop. Debbie Ann’s tiny voice broke the silence. “You never told us that, Dixie.”
“Isn’t something I like to talk about.”
“So that’s the connection between you and McCullough,” Sassy said. “Always thought the two of you had a past. Now I know. You should’ve told me, Dixie.”
Just a little put-out I snapped back. “And Big Mike should’ve made Jackson wait to ride to Santa Fe till he got back with the supplies.”
“Shoot, not even Archangel Michael and all his Legions could’ve stopped McCullough. The man was on fire.”
“I’m going after him.”
I swung my legs over the bed to meet the floor and promptly fell on my butt. Clicking her tongue, Sassy rushed to my side and helped me back into bed.
“Land sakes, Dixie. Did all your common sense leak out that hole in your head? You ain’t going nowhere. Not yet. Gotta build your strength back first.”
The room bucked and pitched. Maybe she was right.
“Yet? Does that mean when I’m back to normal you’ll let me go?”
She grinned. “Only if I ride beside ya.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jackson scowled at the rain. He turned his anger on Big Mike.
“How can you be so calm? While you suck on that pipe, Ferrell and Daggett are getting farther away. We’re wasting time and daylight.”
“Don’t bark at me, lad. ’Tis Mother Nature holding ye up, not me. Besides, in this downpour those two will he holed-up same as us.”
“We could catch up with them if we keep going.”
Thunder cracked bullwhip sharp. Lightning forked the sky. Uneasy, the horses snorted and threw their heads. Big Mike flinched. “Me thinks the Grand Lady be trying to tell ye something, lad.”
Jackson watched the rain bounce off the cliff. They’d barely found the shallow cave before the skies opened up. He settled down on the dirt floor, leaned his back against the rock, and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, like what?”
Big Mike pulled the corncob pipe from his mouth and knocked it against his boot. Sharp tobacco smoke circled the thin niche before vanishing into the cracks and creases. He pulled a pouch from his vest pocket and refilled the bowl.
“Slow down for one. Ye been pushing yourself and the horses too hard. Not to mention meself. Me arse be sore as a boil.”
Jackson opened one eye. “You got plenty of padding in that area. Surprised you felt anything.”
Frowning, Big Mike clamped down hard on the stem. “No need to be insulting.”
A deep sigh. “Sorry, Donovan. I’m wore out and frustrated. This rain will wash away any sign of tracks, will make it double hard to find them.”
“Have ye not noticed we’ve been riding blind for days?”
“I’ve noticed. But I can’t give up. I owe it to Dixie to keep pushing.”
“Ye owe the lass nothing.”
Jackson’s short fuse exploded. “Damn it, Donovan. How can you say such a thing? It’s my fault she got shot.”
“Oh, is it now? How could ye have known?”
“She did. She told me something felt wrong. I looked. Couldn’t see anything out of place. Thought she was being skittish. We had a…misunderstanding the night of the wedding. I should’ve trusted her. If I’d just looked harder, I could’ve—”
“Could’ve what? Stopped the bullet?”
“You don’t understand. If she’s dead—”
“She isn’t. No dying person asks for food.”
He
found that funny and chuckled. “Guess not.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. Ye be so wrapped up in guilt and worry riding both of us into the ground, that ye missed the mark.”
“What mark?”
“Think, lad. For one thing, why haven’t we found any tracks? Two men riding hard would leave some kind of evidence behind. Second, Dixie was shot on her own land. Which—”
“Which means someone’s been watching and following her.”
Big Mike pointed his pipe at Jackson. “Aye. Now ye be thinking.”
“Tommy Ferrell?”
“Would explain why we never found him. He be camped out right under Dixie’s nose just waiting for the right time to strike. But we have no proof of that. He may not be behind any of this.”
“Cody Wayne?”
“Possible. But why?”
“Dixie made him look like a jackass.”
“She wasn’t the first, lad. If the stupid arse shot everyone who made him look that way, he’d run out of ammunition.”
“What about Daddy Daggett?”
“Aye. But for what reason?”
“The ranch?”
“Could be. Sassy’s always suspected him of that. But here again, for what purpose?”
“That only leaves Whitaker.”
“Aye.”
Jackson’s face blanched. He swallowed hard.
“Dixie and I were sitting ducks that day, yet the bullet only creased her. It was the fall and her head bouncing off the ground that did all the harm.”
“Where ye going with this?”
“Even Dixie isn’t that bad of a shot. What if I was the target and she just happened to get in the way? Or…”
“Or what?”
“What if the ambush was a diversion to get us out of town? Whitaker would know we’d assume Daggett and Ferrell were guilty. He’d figure we’d ride out looking for them.”
“Aye. Dixie and the Doves would think all danger be passed. Their guard would be down.”
Realization dawned on both of them at the same time. Jackson scrambled from the ground, hit the saddle a split second before Big Mike cut the supplies away from the pack mule. Jackson tossed the reins on Donovan’s big dun to him. He caught them midair and found the stirrup.
The Adventures of Dixie Dandelion Page 18
