by Sivad, Gem
*
River ended the evening disappointed. She admitted to herself that knowing Edge Grayson’s age had put a damper on her thoughts. I’m old enough… She frowned, finishing her thought in a rush. Old enough to be his not very much older sister.
Nevertheless, it didn’t diminish her enthusiasm for sketching him at work. She arrived at the top of the hill on the following morning to find Edge waiting.
Amos had accompanied her, claiming he needed to instruct and advise the greenhorn next door. She was glad for his company after he made her aware that Emmett Price had visited Edge by way of Prescott land. Knowing what the miscreant had done made her even more furious, and she felt that he’d fouled her willow retreat. Unpleasant thoughts of Emmett were dispelled quickly, though.
“Your bicycle’s heavy. I’ll just wheel it down the incline for you.” He took charge as soon as she dismounted.
“She’s been backwards since birth,” Amos advised. “Most folks want something to carry ‘em. She gets a contraption she has to carry. It’s on you now, son.” He wagged his head in disgust, tied his horse to a tree, and walked down the slope to the river.
Edge went next, and River followed behind, admiring the length and breadth of him as he steadied the Rover and rolled it to the willow tree where he leaned it.
Amos poked around and offered advice on bridge building; then he left her alone with her work—and Edge.
“Guess I’d better get started. Sandy probably wonders what I’m up to.” Edge nodded toward his horse, grazing across the river behind his section of fence.
“First,” she stopped him. “We didn’t agree upon a sum to compensate you for your time.”
He looked at her quizzically. “I’m already building a fence on my time, so I can’t sell you what I’m already using.”
“I mean, for allowing me to use you as my subject.”
He shrugged. “Food was good. Feed me again, and we’ll call it even.”
Before she could agree or not, he left her standing by the willow, watching him cross the fallen tree to get to the other side of the river. He had already laid out his tools, and by the time she set up her easel and began her own work the sound of hammering filled the air.
She laid her sketches out on a blanket, mixed her paints, prepared her palette, and stood before her canvas. Hours later, she looked up from her work to discover her subject standing next to her, staring down at the painting.
“Are we finished?” Dazed, she blinked, looking up at him. Her arm felt as if someone had tied a lead weight to it. She gazed around. The sun had shifted to overhead. “Oh.”
“You’ve got a dab of sky on your face.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed it over the end of her nose.
She vaguely remembered brushing away a strand of hair earlier.
“The sun is perfect today. Thank you so much. You’ve been a wonderful subject.” She heard herself gushing and tried to take control. But, he was so tall, so handsome and so near… “I have leftover chicken in my lunch basket if you’d care to join me.”
“Well now, I’m not saying no to that offer.” He looked so pleased she wished the chicken had been of her making.
“I have bread too.”
He nodded, evidently eager for a repeat of the meal he’d had the night before.
She left the painting on the easel and carried the food to a blanket he’d spread.
“How long does it have to set before you can carry it home without messing up the paint?”
“My portable easel has a compartment inside, Mr. Grayson. It will be fine in transport by the time we finish here.”
“Edge,” he answered.
“Did your mother have a special reason for naming you that?”
He grimaced, an expression of disgust appearing on his face and then quickly disappearing. “Being able to draw a weapon and shoot straight and fast with either hand, gave me an edge in a gunfight. The name stuck.”
“You don’t like your name?”
He shrugged. “I guess it beats nothing.”
“Well, I for one, think it fits. Your body is honed to perfection—as sharp and flawless as the edge of a steel blade.” She stopped her enthusiastic description, realizing she’d perhaps said too much.
Edge held the last roll before his open mouth, the motion of his hand suspended, his head tipped sideways as he stared at her.
“I am an artist, Mr. Grayson.” She hid her smile, feeling terribly sophisticated as she demonstrated to him her freedom from mundane concerns such as nudity. Another day perhaps she’d ask him how he obtained the ragged scar on his rump.
But she’d shocked him enough for one day. With her morning’s work completed and the meal at end, she had no reason to linger. She repacked the cloth and blanket in the basket and prepared to leave. After she’d strapped the easel onto the bicycle and turned toward the path leading to the crest of the hill Edge took charge.
“I’ll just roll your ride to the top for you, Miss Prescott,” he said, taking hold of the handle bars and setting off at a fast pace before she could object.
“You may call me, River,” she answered, hurrying behind him.
When they reached the top of the hill, he handed her bicycle over and she leaned toward him, her head tipping back as she peered up at his tallness. He smiled. The expression made his eyes crinkle at the corners and she wished she could capture the exact shade of his eyes.
“Will you be working here tomorrow?” she asked breathlessly. He nodded.
“See you in the morning, River.” He left her standing by her bicycle and made his way quickly down the slope and back to his horse. She watched him mount before she left her spot on the hill and continued toward home. She’d no more than reached the bottom of the hill and begun following the trail leading to the ranch yard, when Edge rode up beside her.
“What are you doing?” she teetered precariously, balancing as she tried to peer up at him and talk without falling over.
“Figured if you’re paying me with food, I’ll pick up something at your house now and save a trip back later tonight.”
It wasn’t how she’d planned it. But it worked out for the better. Instead of packing a basket of food each day or getting ready for him to visit for a meal that night, he was just there.
By the end of the week, River decided she’d never enjoyed life so much. Spending each day with Edge was heavenly. She sketched, he hammered, and a hundred future pictures crowded her mind as she experienced newfound contentment.
No matter where he worked, she set up her easel nearby; when the day’s sun reached its zenith, they always stopped and retired to the umbrella of shade the willow offered. Its long tendrils arched to the ground and made the place within a bower of privacy. The intimacy of their setting was not lost on River. She found herself speaking to Edge with the ease of one who has been a long time friend.
“I would think you must find this a very tame place after your former life.”
“Yep,” he agreed easily.
“What do you miss the most?” she asked curiously as she watched him devour a piece of chicken. She was unaccustomed to stopping midmorning for a short meal, but having seen the paucity of his diet when left alone, she made it a point to bring food with her on all of her visits.
“Nothing,” he answered and helped himself to another piece of chicken she’d packed.
“But you said it’s tame.”
“It is that; well, for the most part, barring any visits from the local bully boy.”
She grimaced at the reference, wishing he’d not reminded her of Emmett and his cattle still grazing on her land.
“I’m sure you miss something,” she said, her voice sharper from thinking about the looming fight.
“Picture a life where every day you run into three Emmett’s and a couple of Hanks for good measure,” he growled and stretched out on the blanket, resting on his elbows as he looked at the sky.
“Hold that pose,” she
ordered him, grabbing her sketchpad and drawing feverishly. There were so many moments with him she wanted to capture, so many of his expressions she wanted to affix to paper. She often felt panicked, as if she’d never have enough time with him to get everything recorded.
CHAPTER NINE
Don’t let her have a lick…
Edge spent a cozy week with River while she did her sketching and he did his building. He embraced the hard labor because it felt good to accomplish something, even hammering together an old fence. Also, he ate too much every day and if he didn’t work some of it off Sandy would soon be swayback from carrying him.
River just kept feeding him and Edge couldn’t say no. As a matter of fact, he looked forward to every crumb of food she watched him swallow with mesmerized interest.
Granted, they hadn’t known each other but a little bit of time, but between her seeing him naked and her having her hands down his pants in the middle of town, he just couldn’t think of her as a stranger.
She was the kind of woman he’d always figured he’d never find. Oh, he knew she had a tart manner and a bossy side, but underneath all that bluster, he saw a little girl wanting to be loved, and he was a man who wanted to do that loving.
He escorted her home every afternoon and puttered around the Prescott Ranch until supper time. The first day, Amos invited Edge to ride out and study the irrigation trenches with him. Before the ride ended, Edge knew why. The old man spent the trip laying the law down, Amos-style.
“Your daddy broke your grandmama’s heart and sullied the Grayson name hereabouts before he took himself to other places. Sensible folks were glad to see him gone.” Amos, being a sensible person, indicated he was one of those folks who’d been glad.
“I get that.” Edge wasn’t about to take on the burden of his father’s sins. He had enough of his own. “But he’s gone, and I’m here.” And then he stated his case. “And there’s only one opinion I’m interested in. Rest assured, River’s heart is safe with me.”
The old man chuckled, slapped his thigh and got down to business. “I knew she’d met her match. It ain’t gonna be easy, though son. I’m here to tell you, she’s spoiled, that’s for certain. Her mama spoiled her, her daddy spoiled her, and when they were gone, I spoiled her.”
Edge didn’t have a quarrel with that. He’d shrugged and agreed. “It must have been the right thing to do since she turned out so fine.”
It was soon clear Amos had already spent time plotting ways to get River married. Edge was flattered that the old man had targeted Edge to get the job done. It was a dire change from the old man’s original suspicion and disapproval.
Amos took the opportunity on their ride, to warn Edge what his boss wouldn’t do as well as what Edge shouldn’t do. They were riding along the fence line in the east pasture when Amos said, “She won’t do housekeeping, you know.”
“If push comes to shove, I know how to wield a dust cloth.” Edge didn’t know if he was auditioning for the role of River’s husband or her backup domestic.
“She takes it in her head to go off to these art shows now and again. You’ll just have to learn to live with her gallivanting around.” Amos offered that opinion as gospel.
“Maybe I’ll gallivant too.”
Amos frowned, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “That might work.” Then he continued with more advice. “Don’t give into her too much.” That from a man who’d already admitted he’d spoiled her rotten. “You know what I mean. If she tries to honey up to you, don’t let her make you forget yourself.”
“I promise I won’t lose my head and ravish her,” Edge promised gruffly, trying not to laugh.
“Hell, I know that. It’s River I’m worried about. She looked at you over Sunday dinner like you’re a dollop of ice cream she wants to have for dessert. Don’t give into her. Don’t let her have a lick until she buys the cow.”
“Bull,” Edge corrected.
“No I mean it, Edge. I’ve not ever seen her look at a prospect the way she stares at you. You’ve got her in a tizzy for sure.” Amos gazed at him with mixed approval. “You’re not to break her heart. You hear?”
Edge was still trying to establish he was a bull not a cow but he finally dropped that issue. All in all, he liked the idea of marrying River. But, for all the old man’s hurry and the easy relationship Edge and River seemed to be developing, he wasn’t sure if she’d known him long enough to consider something more.
“You don’t think I need to take things slow, let her get to know me?”
“Dammit. That’s the wrong approach. I’m telling you, she’s rattled right now and it’s because of you. Sweep her off her feet and marry her before she gets her sense back.”
Edge didn’t really want River to marry in haste and then repent the decision after she got her sense back. He wanted more for them; wanted to spend the rest of his life with her smiling and stuffing him with food he didn’t need; he wanted to stay in the sturdy house with her and after supper, help her do the dishes; he wanted to go upstairs—where he’d never been and likely would never be—crawl into bed with her and let her have her way with him. When he got to that part of his wants, he quit.
River had wrought havoc on his control from the start. Toying with the idea of bedding her left him hard. He refused to ease his lust with his hand, because where River was concerned, that didn’t seem right. So, he avoided carnal thoughts of them together as much as he could.
“Amos, what’s the hurry. She likes me so far and I’m more than partial to her. Let it be.”
That was when Amos told him about Emmett Price and what he’d done to River when she wasn’t but a baby.
“Eight years old she was. She’s little now; you can imagine how small she was back then. Blindfolded her, he did. Tied her up, and slung her over a horse, and tied her on that too.” Amos shook with anger when he finished the telling.
“Then why in hell did you lease that land to the sonofabitch last year?” Edge had been wondering and figured asking was the best way to find out. For all River talked about everything else, she didn’t talk about Emmett other than to say the Prescott Ranch quit doing business with him.
“She was away, everyone knew it. It was a big deal with her getting a spot at the Austin Art Symposium. Hell, the whole county was and is real proud of her.” For all his pride, Amos wore a grim expression. “Emmett Price came riding in as soon as she was gone. He had the lease with him.”
“How bad did he hurt you?” Having had had his own sample of Emmett’s idea of negotiations, Edge braced for the worst.
“Dammit, it wasn’t me. He could have stomped me into the floor and I wouldn’t have leased to him.”
“What was his bully club?” Edge asked, dreading the answer before it came.
“River. He said he’d ruin her hands, maim her, maybe blind her in one eye.” Amos choked up in the telling. “He laughed like he couldn’t wait to begin. The crazy sonofabitch scared me into believing he’d do it, and I signed the lease.”
That changed Edge’s courtship timetable for certain. If he could have figured out how to do the sweeping Amos had recommended, he would have swept River along the same day and moved in. He needed to be close to guard her in case Price tried to make good on his threats.
He couldn’t move in, but he damned well stayed close to her every moment during the rest of the week. Friday arrived quickly and after Edge finished his section of fence, he crossed to her side of the river and spread out the blanket, unfolded the tablecloth, and laid out the food.
Yesterday, she’d said she was almost finished with the landscape she labored over. Today, she’d worked right through their usual time to stop. She made faces, biting her lip, pursing her mouth, even sometimes muttering to herself while she worked. He lounged in the shade and waited. He loved watching her.
She paced a distance away, and stood for a time just staring at the canvas sitting on the easel. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes squinted while she studied the painting.
Finally she strode back like a general going into battle, wielding her brush to victory.
“There,” she murmured and he heard a note of satisfaction in her voice.
Edge stood from the blanket and walked to the picture. It was fine. A lot of color, a cowboy—him he guessed—the fence, more sky, the river.
“I think I saw this in Fort Worth,” he said hesitantly. As a matter of fact he knew he’d seen one damned near like it in the race track owner’s hotel suite.
River nodded, smiling proudly. “I paint this scene a lot. It sells.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and brushed the hair from her forehead. “That’s why I call myself a commercial artist. I’m not a master. But, I paint pretty pictures that people like to hang in their homes.”
“And you make a pretty penny off your work when they do.” Edge smiled at her.
Edge had never so much as kissed her, but he wanted to. He thought about it a lot. He wanted to peel off her bloomers, or knickers, or whatever she called the pants she wore, and discover her treasures underneath. But, he also wanted more than that.
Edge gazed at her protectively and felt a smile curl his lips.
“You’ve got paint on your nose again,” he told her. “I’d think you’d want to keep it on the canvas.” He pointed at the food he’d laid out ready for her to eat. He was getting her accustomed to following his lead—well he was trying.
She sank down on the blanket next to him and held out her hand for the washcloth. Instead, he leaned closer and used it to wipe her face clean.
“Tell me,” she murmured from sweet lips so close her words caressed his chin. “How did a man like you become a gun fighter?”
Edge didn’t want to talk about himself. As a matter of fact, the less she knew about his back story the better, but, she settled down on the blanket, put a dab of food on a plate for her, filled a plate for him, and then sat back and waited expectantly for an answer.
“Did you ever hear of a gunslinger named, Kid Starks?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Not really. He was never as famous as he wanted to be. Kid was a gun for hire and I met him when he came to Dodge. He’d just finished escorting a herd of cattle to the stockyards there. I was working for my keep in the local stable.”
