by Lough, Loree
“I saw you packing last night,” he said, interrupting her self-recriminating tirade, “and I had a feeling you might ride off on my horse.”
That had her sitting up straight in the saddle. “Your horse? But—but I—I thought—”
Josh’s grating harrumph stopped her stuttering.
“If you thought I can afford to give horses away, you thought wrong. What I thought was, I’d get you safely to Mexico, just as I promised, dressed in clean clothes and decent boots; I’d make sure you had a job and a place to live; and then I’d lead this horse back to Eagle Pass.”
So, if she had left last night, as planned, Josh could have had her arrested as a horse thief. Kate didn’t know which shamed her more—that he actually thought her capable of stealing from him, or that she’d been foolish—no, stupid—enough to think he’d give her such an expensive gift. The humiliation of it ached all the way to the soles of her oh-so-decent new boots. “Oh, Josh,” she finally managed to say. “I’m sorry, truly sorry.”
His expression said, “For what?” But his lips remained a taut line.
Don’t you cry, you pathetic, little weakling, don’t you dare cry! A sob ached in her throat, but she pressed on. “I’m sorry for everything. For taking your bed that first night. For costing you so much money. For keeping you from your family. For believing you’d—for making the mistake of—for thinking that—for—”
“Whoa,” Josh said, bringing both horses to a halt. He slid from his saddle and, holding his horse’s reins, grabbed hers and pointed at the ground. “Get down from there, missy. I need to have a few words with you.”
It galled her that he was treating her like a spoiled child—mostly, because that’s exactly how she felt. She’d hear him out, and, once he’d gotten a few things off his chest, she’d politely ask him to point the way to Mexico. He had a pencil stub and an envelope in his saddlebag—she’d seen them when she’d been looking for the matches. Kate still had the pistol he’d given her to prove she had nothing to fear from him, and she made a mental note to give that back, too, just as soon as he tore the flap off that envelope and wrote down where she could send the money to repay him.
That is, if she made it to Mexico and found a job.
Would she ever dig herself out of this hole? By the time she sent money to the families of the people Frank had killed, and sent still more to Josh, she’d be lucky if she could afford bread and water for herself. You’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for yourself later, when you’re alone on the trail, she told herself. She started to dismount, thinking she might as well get this over with.
“Dinah, watch out for that—”
His warning came a tick in time too late, for she’d already rolled her ankle on the rock beneath her heel. Tears stung her eyes as she collapsed onto the sandy soil. The last thing she wanted to do was add to Josh’s burdens. But she’d broken that same ankle as a girl, playing leapfrog on the slippery rocks in her grandmother’s pond. If she hadn’t broken it again, it would be a miracle.
Oh, sweet Jesus, she prayed silently, I know I don’t deserve it, but I sure could use a miracle right about now.
13
No woman in his life had ever exasperated him—or touched him—the way Dinah Theodore did. She’d crumpled to the ground like an empty flour sack, and if she’d hurt herself, well, it would be his fault. If only he hadn’t commanded her to climb down from her horse, as if he were General Houston himself, and she, a lowly private.
Kneeling beside her, Josh said, “Don’t try to move it. If it’s broken, you’ll only make it worse.”
Grimacing, she nodded.
He’d given Dinah his word that she’d be safe with him. Had given her a loaded pistol to underscore that fact. But now, he felt like a bully, a cad, and a heel, because his surly mood had put this scene in motion. The irony wasn’t lost on him, even as he condemned his impatience, that the reason he’d stopped the horses in the first place had been to put an end to her ongoing apologies. Now, he was the sorry one. Sorrier than he’d been in—well, at the moment, Josh couldn’t recall anything he regretted as much.
“Goodness gracious, sakes alive,” she whimpered, her shoulders sagging. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. I’ve upset you. Again.” Lifting her chin, she got onto her knees. “I’ve broken bones before—this very one, as a matter of fact—so please don’t worry. I’m not made of porcelain, you know. I know you’re anxious to get home, so I promise not to slow you down.” She shot him a crooked little grin. “I can still ride. Really, I can! You might have to help me into the saddle, and out of it when we stop, and I’m sorry about that, but—”
“Dinah,” he interrupted her, grabbing her wrists, “for the love of all that’s holy, will you please stop talking?” His mood vacillated between guilt and frustration. “Stop saying you’re sorry. You have nothing to apologize for!”
In this position, they were eye to eye for the first time, and the intense glow of the sun left little to the imagination. He noticed the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Saw for the first time blue flecks that glittered in her green eyes. Despite her womanly features, she seemed so young, so inexperienced, and so innocent.
Dinah looked as transfixed as he felt. She swallowed, hard. Widened those remarkable, riveting eyes. Raised her perfectly arched brows. He could tell she was holding her breath, and he could feel her pulse pounding through the fingers of his gloves. Josh frowned with self-loathing at the doubt that was etched in her delicate features. But there was no time for lingering here, gawking at her pretty face. “We’d better head out.”
One corner of her pretty mouth lifted in a tiny grin. “’Cause we’re burnin’ daylight?”
He wanted to say, “No, ’cause if we don’t head out, I’m liable to kiss you right where you sit.” Instead, he said, “Yeah, ’cause we’re burnin’ daylight.”
Josh wanted to gather her close and admit how much he’d come to care for her. Wanted to pledge that he’d never speak a cross word to her again. That as long as they were together, he’d protect her from rain and wind, from whatever might—
“Then, I guess we’d best get going.”
“First, let’s have a look at that ankle. If it’s broken, it might need a splint.”
“And if it isn’t, it’ll puff up like a bullfrog’s throat, and I’ll never get my boot back on.”
“Good point,” he said. “I’ll have a look at it when we stop for the night.”
She nodded, and as Josh held out a hand to help her up, she didn’t hesitate to take it. So, he was furious with himself for not thinking to use both hands, because Dinah lost her balance when she stood up and had to lean on him for support. Not that he minded having her so close, of course.
He held on tight, determined not to let her fall again. But he knew without a doubt that if they stood this way a minute longer, he’d find out firsthand if those extraordinary lips felt as soft and tasted as sweet as they looked. “Let’s get you back on the horse,” he said. “Start out sidesaddle, so you won’t bang your ankle on the horn.”
Dinah took a deep breath.
With one hand on either side of her waist, he said, “Ready?”
Another nod. Then, with her eyes closed tight and her lips taut, she said, “Ready when you are.”
“Up you go.”
Once her backside hit the saddle, a high-pitched yet barely audible “Ouch” squeaked from her mouth. And then, she laughed. “Whew,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m glad that’s over!”
Well, I’m not, he thought, heaving himself up onto Callie’s back.
“You want to hear something funny?” she asked as they cantered south.
Leave it to Dinah to find something comical about an injured ankle. “Sure.”
“I’m famished.”
He grinned. “Want to hear something funnier?”
She matched his smile, tooth for tooth. “Sure.”
“Me, too.”
A moment o
f silence ticked by as they stared into each other’s eyes. Their laughter started slow and low, escalating in pitch and volume, until both Dinah and Josh were breathless and wiping tears from their eyes. How long had it been since he’d laughed like that? Had he ever laughed as long or as hard? If so, he couldn’t remember when.
“Think I can dig some food out of my saddlebags without falling off my horse?”
“A man can hope.”
Half an hour later, after polishing off a stale biscuit and a strip of jerky, Josh found that his good humor had soured like milk left too long in the sun. Every clip-clop of the horses’ hooves moved them closer to Mexico, and he couldn’t imagine saying good-bye to Dinah; he didn’t want to think about the fact that, once he did, he’d probably never see her again.
He would cross the river with her, accompany her into some little border town, help her find a job and a room to rent. He’d check the place out to make sure it was safe for a woman on her own, and, if it wasn’t, he would insist that they move on to another town. That way, at least he’d know where to find her, if he had a mind to.
“So, who do you know in Mexico?”
“No one.”
“I don’t get it,” Josh admitted. “Why Mexico?”
Something akin to a shadow darkened Dinah’s expression before she looked away. Shrugging, she said, “It’s just—it’s just something I have to do. Call it a girlish dream.”
A foolish dream is more like it. “You’re not afraid of banditos?”
He wasn’t sure what name he’d give to the expression that skittered across her face. Apprehension? Fear? “Lots of outlaws down there, you know,” he went on. “Very shady characters, according to the newspapers. No surprise, if you think about it, because the U.S. Marshals and the Texas Rangers can’t touch ’em once they cross the border.”
Dinah blew a whiff of air through her lips. “So I’ve heard. But that’s a—”
A chance she’d have to take? If only she’d trust him with the secret that had put her on the run! How bad could the truth be?
“It’s getting dark,” he observed.
“So it is.”
Small talk, Josh thought with a mental harrumph. He’d never been any good at it. And he wouldn’t have had to deal with it now if he hadn’t stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. “Let’s pull up over there,” he said, indicating a tall pine. “I’ll rustle us up some firewood while you—” He remembered her ankle. “Actually, you sit tight. As soon as I get a fire going, I’ll take a look at that foot of yours.”
An hour later, as the night matured around them, she appeared to be resting comfortably in a splint made of branches held in place by strips of cloth torn from his blanket. He had determined that her ankle wasn’t broken, but it had been twisted badly. They’d dined on jerky and stale biscuits, washed down by tepid water, and she seemed calm and content.
Josh tossed another log onto the fire. “I’ve been thinkin’.”
She stretched languorously. “Do tell,” she said around a huge yawn.
He grinned. “I’m thinkin’ you shouldn’t go to Mexico.”
That certainly woke her up!
“My gut tells me you haven’t thought this through,” he went on.
Dinah tilted her head and regarded him for a moment. “You’re wrong. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
She was downright beautiful in the firelight, and he cleared his throat. “Then you must’ve hit your head sometime before you lit out for Mexico.”
“Hit my….”
He scooted closer and took hold of her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not thinking straight, Dinah. Now, I know you think you’re strong and smart and capable, but you’re just a little slip of a thing.” He nodded into the endless darkness. “And it’s dangerous down there.”
She looked at their hands, then met his eyes. “Josh, I—”
“How do you expect to hunt for work with that ankle of yours?”
Her eyelashes fluttering, she started, “I—”
“And, even if you find a job, how will you do it in the shape you’re in?”
Her frown deepened.
“How will you pay your rent without a job?”
Dinah stared into the flames and sighed.
“I’m right. You know I am.”
A second, perhaps two, passed before she said, “Right about what?”
“That you haven’t thought this through.”
“I had everything all worked out, until….” She lifted her injured foot. “Until this.”
“Come home with me.”
She turned her head so quickly that a lock of long, luxurious hair gently whiffed his cheek. “You’re joking, right? What would your wife and children think? What would—”
“My wife died three years ago, giving birth to twin boys, who died, too.”
“Oh, Josh,” Dinah whispered, pressing the fingertips of her free hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry. How sad and—that’s just—it’s just awful, that’s what!” And then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. After a moment, she leaned back, but only slightly. “You need me to help care for your other children, is that it? Like a governess, or a—a housekeeper?”
“I live alone,” he admitted, his voice sounding quiet and gravelly, even in his own ears. “No wife. No other children. Just me.”
Her brow furrowed. “But you said—” Dinah pursed her lips. “Didn’t you say you had a big family in Eagle Pass?”
Josh started counting on his fingers. “Parents, sisters, cousins who have wives and young’uns, and we all live in houses on the same ranch. My ma could use some help running the big house.” Later, he’d tell her about Lucinda, his mother’s housekeeper, and his unmarried sister, who helped take care of the home.
“But, my ankle— What help can I possibly be, limping around like a—”
“You can sew, can’t you?”
She waved the question away as if swatting at an annoying mosquito. “Well, of course. Can you name a woman who can’t?”
“Then you can darn socks and sew buttons back onto the field hands’ shirts. There are bound to be dozens of chores you could do, sitting down.” He could tell that he had her attention by the way she was chewing her lower lip, the way her eyes were flashing. “And, once your ankle heals, you can do more.” He hoped she wouldn’t say that when her ankle healed, she’d leave.
“What would your poor mother say?”
“About what?”
She groaned. “Why, about your bringing a stranger into her house—one you found wandering around, alone, dirty, and bruised, in the middle of the night, one who can’t earn her keep because of her own clumsiness!”
Knowing Ma, he expected her to say, “It’s about time you brought a woman home to meet me!” But that wasn’t the answer Dinah needed to hear. Josh cleared his throat. “She’d say, ‘Thank heaven, I finally have some help taking care of this big, drafty, old house.’”
“How far from here to your—hey, wait a minute,” Dinah said, narrowing her eyes. She sat up straighter. “I thought you said you lived alone!”
“I built my house with my own two hands, but I spend a fair amount of time at the home place.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her he’d built the house as a wedding gift to Sadie, and that he hated it more than anthrax now that she wasn’t around to share it with him.
It was clear by the way Dinah sat there, wide-eyed, that she was considering his offer. “Why not sleep on it?” he said, giving her hand another little squeeze. Then, he moved to the opposite side of the campfire and spread out his bedroll. “G’night, Dinah,” he said over the flames.
“G’night, Josh. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know what I’ll decide to do after sleeping on it, but, whatever it is, it can’t change the fact that you’re very sweet to offer to take me home.”
Sweet? The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was sweet.
“Who would’ve guessed…?”
Did he really want to ask what she meant by that? “Guessed what?”
“That, in such a short time, you’d become such a dear friend.”
Her words touched him. But they disappointed him, too, because Josh didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to be more. So much more.
But that was plumb loco, since what he knew about Dinah Theodore, he could put in one eye.
14
Well,” Josh said, “there it is. The Lazy N Ranch…home.”
He sat with one hand atop the other on the saddle horn, staring straight ahead. The view was impressive, to be sure, and Kate squinted, looking for a house, a barn, or a fence that might indicate a property line. Instead, the rise and fall of the gently sloping hills seemed to go on forever, some wearing a blanket of lush, green grass, others draped in brilliant gold, which seamlessly blended the earth and the vivid blue sky. “Where is the ranch?”
Josh swept one arm from left to right. Surely, he didn’t mean that all of this land made up the Lazy N! “How many acres?” she asked.
“Two hundred thousand—now.”
Kate had always lived in a city, or on the fringes of one, in houses surrounded by small yards. As a child, she would spent the summers with her grandparents, who’d owned two acres on the outskirts of Dodge City, and even that space had seemed as vast as an ocean to her. She couldn’t visualize two hundred thousand acres. “How many were you forced to sell?”
“Hmpf,” he snorted. “See that bluff over there?”
Kate followed the imaginary line he’d drawn with his forefinger.
“Used to be ours from there,” he pointed, “to there.” He gave another snort. “Ten thousand acres gone, just like that.”
She wondered how many cows had died of anthrax to force a sale that enormous. “And the contaminated area—where is that?”
