by Starla Kaye
So had she. She’d seen him looking at Brandy, her always perfectly dressed, always pretty sister. Whenever she was around Brandy, she felt…less than perfect. And she’d remembered him talking to Taos about marrying Brandy instead of her. Not that she wanted to marry him. Yet that memory and the way he looked at Brandy…
Not wanting to think about that any more, she forced down her hurt feelings and changed the subject. “Do you want to go fishing? There’s a really nice spot along the river not too far from here.” She hadn’t been fishing in a couple of years but she’d always liked it. And she was of the mood to put some distance between her and Brandy…and Morgan.
His eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, setting the skunk down. “Uncle Chase used to take me fishing a lot. We liked to get away from Grampa.”
He glanced at his feet as if he’d said something bad. “Sometimes he could be kinda mean. It was best to steer well out of his way when he got like that.”
Morgan had just walked into the doorway and his shadow stretched partly into the center of the barn. Both of them looked his way. She sensed that he’d heard Tyler’s comment about his father. His jaw was tight; his hands fisted at his sides. He hadn’t liked what he’d heard, but he shouldn’t, she thought.
“I’m not sure I like the idea of just the two of you going off alone right now,” he said, and she knew he was worried. About Rafe?
“You could come with us,” she offered, then wanted to take the words back. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she’d just decided to put distance between them?
“It doesn’t seem right for me to go off playing somewhere when the men are out fixing fences. There’re plenty of other chores to be done as well.” He watched his son, who appeared both hopeful and resigned to be disappointed.
Whiskey gathered up her rag and oil and headed for the tack room. “There are always chores to be done. But Tyler and I’ll go either way.”
“I don’t think you should—”
“We. Are. Going.” She faced him, noted the irritation flashing in his expression at her defiance. She’d probably pay for it later, but right now doing something with the far too sad little boy mattered more.
She focused on Tyler, forced a smile. “There are some fishing poles out in the woodshed. Go grab us a couple. I’ll get a pail from the tack room and a shovel for digging up worms.”
Tyler took a final look at his scowling father and raced out of the barn, making sure he stayed well away from Morgan as he ran by him.
A flock of butterflies fluttered in her stomach but she refused to back down. “He needs this, Morgan. He needs you, too, but I can see that you aren’t coming with us.”
“Like I said, there’s chores to be done.” He continued to frown in disapproval, but she could see in his eyes that he wanted to go with them. He just felt a duty to work with his men.
“Like I said, there are always chores to be done.” It disappointed her that he didn’t feel a stronger duty to be with his son. Then men would get the fence work done with or without him.
“God, you’re a stubborn woman.” His nostrils flared.
“You’re a hardheaded man, too, Marshal Rydell.” She held his gaze, deciding to get to the real problem, although she should probably stay out of the matter. “Being a father scares you, doesn’t it?”
He blinked in clear surprise, and then avoided her gaze. “Haven’t had much practice at it is all.”
She snorted. “And whose fault is that?”
“You don’t know anything about me, not really,” he said bitterly. “You would never understand why I did what I did. So leave it alone.”
She flinched at the anger in his tone. But she refused to back down now. “All right, I won’t go into the past. Your mistakes are your mistakes.” Ignoring the grinding of his jaw, she added, “You’re going to get lots of practice now.”
He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. As he started to turn toward the doorway, he said firmly, “You don’t go far, and you take a shotgun with you. You can shoot. I already know that. Taos taught you.”
She stood stiffly for a second. He was worried about their safety. Maybe they shouldn’t go. No! They would be fine, and he was right. She could shoot almost as well as her brothers. She would never let harm come to Tyler. Never.
* * *
They’d been gone too long. The sun was dropping in the sky, hours yet from sunset, but getting late enough. Morgan had kept busy doing this and that around the barn after Whiskey and Tyler first rode off. Then he’d done some repairs on a couple of the rails around the corral. He’d even taken a few minutes to check on her mule and the blasted camel that had tried to steal his hat. He’d considered more than once riding to the river to find them, but he’d resisted. Until now.
They’d been gone too damn long.
He paced across the back porch where he’d finally decided to enjoy some shade and drink a glass of lemonade that Brandy had given him. He stopped at the far end and looked off toward the river. He couldn’t see a lot from here, but he knew it was the direction she and Tyler had gone.
Nearly crushing the glass in his tightened hand, he grumbled, “I’m not ever letting the two of them go off like this again. Not ever.”
From where she sat in a rocking chair at the other end of the porch, Brandy gave a quiet laugh. “I wish you luck with that. But we both know Whiskey will go off on her own again. Or take Tyler with her. She is quite independent.”
“Hell of an understatement.” He frowned at her in annoyance. It was still unnerving to see a woman who looked so much like his Whiskey and yet was so different. What they did seem to have in common was an independent nature and a look of mischief that came to their green eyes so easily. Like now. Brandy sat there doing some fancy needlework and appeared amused.
“My advice would be that if you can’t accept her ways, love her in spite of them, that you not marry her.” She sounded defensive and the look she gave him was serious.
“We are getting married.” He met her eyes in challenge; saw her thread a needle back and forth through a piece of cloth. Her stitches were tiny, expertly done. He couldn’t imagine Whiskey ever being able to do that. But he had seen her stitch up a cut on one of the horses’ legs. Truthfully, he found that skill a lot more useful than stitching something fancy.
“So you say.” She held his gaze. “Can you truly live with butting heads with her the rest of your life? Because it will happen, a lot.”
She narrowed her eyes and asked pointedly, “Do you love my sister? Or do you just want all of this ranch badly enough to take her for wife to get her share of it?”
He avoided answering the “love” question, but he was pretty sure he did love Whiskey. She aggravated him at times, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. “I can deal with her.”
Brandy raised one eyebrow in a knowing manner. Evidently she understood without him actually having to say that he’d burn Whiskey’s butt when she got too defiant or when she sassed him too much. What he couldn’t deal with was worrying so much he appeared a damn fool for pacing around like this. But he couldn’t stop worrying that Rafe could pop up any moment and take her from him. Or take his son. Or take them both.
“I shouldn’t have let them go off like this. I’m going after…”
He stopped talking as they both noted a dust plume drifting up down the road. He squinted into the lowering sun and breathed fully, freely for the first time since they’d ridden out of his sight. Whiskey and Tyler were riding side by side at a casual trot, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
“I guess we’re having fish for supper,” Brandy said as she spotted the line of fish dangling down the side of Tyler’s horse. She set her stitching down and joined Morgan to watch her sister and his son return.
* * *
Whiskey would never admit it to Tyler, but she was relieved to be headed back to the house again. Almost from the minute they’d ridden away from the ma
in part of the ranch she’d felt uneasy. She hadn’t spotted anyone as she she’d scanned the area as they’d gone to her favorite place alongside the Arkansas River. It hadn’t mattered; she couldn’t stop feeling like they were being watched. She probably should have turned back at the first tickle of unease, but Tyler’s bubbling enthusiasm for going fishing had stopped her. With effort, she’d kept her discomfort hidden—she hoped—for the several hours she’d allowed him to fish, allowed him to be a happy-go-lucky boy again. But she was almost ecstatic to see the house once more.
As they rode closer, she started grinding her teeth. Morgan was watching them from the back porch. Brandy stood right next to him. Too damn close to him, with her hand resting on his arm casual as you damn please. What was that about? Had they gotten all chummy while she and Tyler had been gone?
Tyler’s excitement faded when he glanced over at her and then looked to his father and Brandy. “If’n he likes her better than you, he’s a dadblamed fool.”
“Don’t talk about your father that way,” she corrected, stomach knotting. She hated feeling jealous, again. Every boy she’d ever liked had been more interested in her sister than in her. Brandy was always the pretty one, the one dressed like a delicate lady. Whiskey was always the one with the dirty dress because she’d done something or other that she shouldn’t have. Sometimes she’d worn her brother’s jeans. Her hair always—like now—seemed to be straggling free from a braid…never swept up in perfect curls like Brandy’s hair was now.
“She’s not eating any of my fish,” Tyler grumbled. He sounded determined to make her know that he supported her however he could.
She couldn’t help loving the little imp, even if she shouldn’t let him think poorly of Brandy. “She wouldn’t anyway. Brandy doesn’t like fish.”
“Figures.”
The instant they were within a hundred feet of the house Morgan called out, “It’s about damn time you two got back. I was getting ready to go looking for you.”
“Now Morgan.” Brandy patted his arm. “They’re back safely. That’s enough.”
He shrugged off her hand and went to walk down the steps. As he strode closer he said, “There are evening chores to be done, Tyler.”
Tyler flinched at the harshness in his tone, and then raised his chin. “I got fish to clean for supper.”
“Chores.” Morgan moved next to Tyler’s horse and began untying the string of catfish. “I’ll clean these.”
“There is no call for acting mean,” Whiskey snapped. “Your son had a great time. He caught all of those fish himself. He was feeling proud to bring them back and show you. Then you go and…” She closed her mouth at the sharp look he gave her.
Morgan had seen the hurt expression in Tyler’s eyes and knew he was responsible for it. He felt lower than a snake. But his pride didn’t like been trampled on either. He didn’t like being upbraided by Whiskey in front of his son and Brandy…even if he deserved it.
To everyone’s surprise, Brandy walked up and took the string of fish. She looked pointedly from him to Whiskey to him again. “The two of you need to talk, to settle things. Tyler and I will clean the fish and have Manuel cook them up for supper. You and Whiskey can handle the chores.”
He watched Whiskey gape at Brandy. “You hate fish. You’ve never even touched them before.”
Brandy’s chin shot up in a manner like Whiskey’s. “I’ve changed.”
She motioned for Tyler to dismount and when he did, she thrust the reins at Morgan. “This can be part of the chores you two need to take care of.”
Whiskey was furious with Morgan, puzzled by her sister, and a little miffed at Tyler for suddenly smiling at Brandy and heading happily off with her. She reached for the other horse’s reins. “I can take care of the horses. You can go do whatever damn important chores that couldn’t wait.”
She huffed. “Or you can go help the princess clean those nasty fish.”
To her dismay he reached up and swatted her bottom from where she sat in the saddle. “I’m thinking there is something more important than evening chores to take care of first.”
She nudged her horse and urged him toward the barn. The annoyed look in Morgan’s eye didn’t bode well for her. She feared that the swat had been just a taste of what was to come. Maybe she could lock him out of the barn. Maybe she should just ride off toward town and spend the night with Camelia.
She’d no sooner dismounted in the barn than he strode in behind her with Tyler’s horse. “I’m damn tired of your attitude today, Angelina.”
“Like I told you before, now that the perfect Brandy is here you can…” She stopped when he snatched the reins to her horse out of her hands. She honestly didn’t know why she’d said such a thing.
He turned to lead both horses out to the corral. She didn’t move a muscle as she watched him turn them loose and then stride in ground-eating steps back to the barn. A smarter woman would have skipped right on out of here and gone straight to the house. She’d have settled in beside her sister and Tyler to clean those fish. She would not be standing here about to face the devil himself.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said as he carefully set the fishing poles he’d brought with him next to one of the stalls. “She just makes me crazy.”
“Jealousy does not become you, Angelina.” He grabbed her to him and planted a kiss on her lips that had her shivering all the way to her toes. They were both breathing hard when he set her away. “It’s not your sister I want. You need to get that set in your stubborn head.”
“But she’s always dressed so nice, like you like. And her hair is perfect.” She pulled her drooping braid to the front. “No one…no boy has ever preferred me to her when she’s around.”
“I’m a man, not a boy, Angelina. Granted I like seeing you in a dress, probably wouldn’t mind seeing your hair up nice and curly sometime…but it is definitely not Brandy I intend to marry.” He held her gaze; his eyes darkened.
Tears misted her eyes. He was serious. She could feel it now. He was also still upset with her, or maybe it was more that he’d been so worried about her going off with his son when there was the threat of Rafe around. Her independence had been tough for him to handle right now. But he’d let her go, because if he’d really wanted to, he could have kept them from going. It was difficult, but she wanted to help him settle down; help him feel in charge again. A man like him needed it.
“I acted poorly earlier toward Brandy in front of your son. Like a child, picking at my sister…not acting like an adult.”
She saw him nod, knew that was part of his unhappiness with her. “I acted poorly again when I insisted on taking Tyler fishing, when I more or less said you were a sorry father for not going.”
A muscle tensed in his jaw. “I didn’t appreciate being upbraided about the fish matter or the chores.”
She swallowed hard, pulled up her courage. “Guess you think I need a bottom burning for misbehaving.”
“Guess so.”
He looked toward the ranch yard. Brandy and Tyler were at the house; Chase and Taos were probably in town for a while longer. The men wouldn’t be back for a while either. This was as much privacy as they would get. “I think we’ll take care of this business right here.”
Usually she’d been punished in the house, in her room, but there had been a few times when either her father—or Taos after her father had gone to England—had dealt with her here. She’d been held over her father’s knee and soundly spanked while he sat on a hay bale. One time Taos had blasted her bottom with the back of a curry brush. She’d also stood with hands on a hay bale, her skirt tossed up, bottom bared, and received a licking with her father’s belt here. There were also all sorts of leather straps and brushes that could be used.
She glanced warily at Morgan. Frustration tightened his shoulders and etched his handsome face. He needed relief more than she really needed a spanking. She would give it to him…because she loved him. Lordy, being in love sure could be
troublesome!
Being in love? What the hell! She liked his kisses, liked the feel of him against her. But she couldn’t love him.
Annoyed with her troublesome thoughts and needing to be distracted from them, she walked to the back of the building and stopped in front of a hay bale. She heard him following behind her, knew he wondered what she was up to.
Facing away from him, she unbuttoned her britches and shoved them down to her knees. As he stiffened behind her, she bent over and pulled the back of her drawers apart. She flattened her hands on the bale, her heart racing. She stood there bare bottomed and expectant.
It only took him a minute to decide. She heard the awful whisper of his belt as it slid from the loops. Don’t do this! Pull the britches up and…
“Take me over your knee instead,” she said warily, glancing back at him. He was already doubling the belt. She shivered and she felt her drawers shift, but she left them alone.
“Not this time.” He moved to her side.
“Morgan I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He held her gaze for a few seconds, appeared uncertain, and then determined. “Might be so, but you also knew better than to act so unkindly toward your sister. I could see it in your eyes. But you did anyway.”
She nodded sadly. “I’ll tell her I’m sorry.”
He stroked a hand over the doubled belt and she tensed. “Yep, you will.”
“Let’s get these drawers separated again.” He reached to push the fabric apart again and she sucked in a breath at the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. “I need to see what I’m doing.”
“You enjoy seeing stripes applied?” she asked testily and wished she’d kept quiet.
He smoothed the belt over her bottom. “No, ma’am, I don’t particularly.”
She lowered her head, anxious to be done with this. “I shouldn’t have said that. But can you just get on with the licking?”
