He’d used hay to make a pillow under his bedroll, and hung the lantern on a hook beside the stall door. He’d made it look like a little home. That’s when Brett made up his mind—the boy could stay. Brett stood with his hands on his hips looking down at the boy sitting cross-legged on his bedroll.
“House rules, boy. You steal anything, your ass is in the jail in Cheshire. You harm me or mine, you won’t see the jail cell. Other than that, I expect you to work, to be respectful and honest.”
“Yessir,” he responded in a low voice that shook ever so slightly.
Brett stuck out his hand. “Brett Malloy.”
“My name’s Mason.”
As he shook the boy’s hand, he realized Kincaid had been right. Nothing but skin and bones.
“Where you hail from, Mason? No last name?”
“No, sir. My mama didn’t give me a last name. And I’m from just about everywhere.”
“Fair enough, a man’s business is his own. Okay then, Mason, did Kincaid feed you?” Brett sure as hell hoped so.
“Yessir, we had some beans, bacon and biscuits. Mighty tasty they were.”
“We get up early around here, before the sun, and work hard all day.”
The boy nodded, his dark eyes looking like a baby owl’s in the gloom of the barn.
“Good night then.”
As Brett stepped out of the barn, Kincaid followed.
“Thanks.”
Brett turned to look at Kincaid. “No reason to thank me. That boy is going to work his ass off.”
Kincaid grinned. “You keep telling yourself that. I’ll pretend I don’t know any better.”
Brett grunted. He was not coddling the boy, he was giving him the opportunity to make his way in the world. Nothing more.
———
A week after her seduction of Brett, Alex saddled Rowdy and headed out to his ranch. She needed to check on his wounds and when time allowed she extended the courtesy of a follow-up visit to her patients at their homes. She could have waited for him to come back into town, and knew she didn’t have to go see him.
Her physician’s side had warred constantly with her woman’s side since she’d been with him. Her body, newly reawakened, yearned for his. Her heart kept thumping and sputtering each time she thought of him. While her head told her that she needed to remember he was a patient.
A basket of food hung from her saddle. A patient she’d treated the week before had come by that morning with a complete chicken dinner. A significant amount of chicken and biscuits, and even a peach pie—certainly more than she’d be able to consume by herself. Her father didn’t eat much more than a bird, so it was entirely too much food to go to waste.
She knew that Brett and Kincaid would be working hard and they needed to eat. Whatever it was they planned on eating would keep, likely jerky or tins of beans. No need to throw away the fresh food.
Truth was she didn’t get a chance to ride her horse as much as she wanted to. Riding was one of the great pleasures in life. She loved the feel of the wind in her face, the power of the horse beneath her. Unlike most women, she didn’t ride a mare. She rode a gelding, a big Buckskin that felt like thunder beneath her.
Although she loved to ride, today’s expedition wasn’t giving her the usual high. Confused, off-balance and needy, Alex rode out to Brett’s ranch talking to herself about why she should and shouldn’t be seeing him again.
By the time she reached the ranch, the sky was painted orange and pink by the Master’s paintbrush. When she rode into the yard, she was surprised to find Brett standing on the porch. He looked as if he’d been dipped in dirt.
“Alex, what are you doing here?”
Alex immediately felt somewhat awkward even though they’d been intimate a week before. Her mouth ran like a mountain stream in spring. “I need to check on your wounds. It’s been seven days and I want to be sure no infection has set in.” She pointed to the basket. “Plus Sally Jenson came by with a basket full of food to pay me for last week’s problem with her son. I set his arm…he broke it climbing a tree. And well, I figured you and Mr. Kincaid would be hungry and tired. I thought perhaps some fried chicken would be welcome for your supper.”
When Brett smiled, Alex’s heart skipped a beat. She’d been right. He was the most beautiful man God put on the planet.
“Fried chicken sounds just about like heaven right now. That was really kind of you to come check on me, Alex.”
When he spoke her name, it was like a caress. Her nipples peaked beneath her shirt. She was grateful her jacket covered the evidence of her desire.
“Let me help you down.”
He held up his arms and she frowned.
“You probably shouldn’t be lifting something as heavy as me.” She glanced at his shoulder. “How are your wounds feeling?”
He flexed his shoulder. “It’s a little stiff, but the pain is almost gone. Please, Alex, let me help you down. My mother wouldn’t forgive me if you didn’t let me be a gentleman.”
Against her better judgment, she leaned down into his grasp. As his hands closed around his waist, she closed her eyes.
“Brett.” She hadn’t realized she’d said the name out loud until he responded.
“Alex?”
Her eyes popped open and she locked gazes with him. A moment frozen in time. She was nearly eye level with him. Unbelievable really. Alex was not a small woman yet he held her suspended at least a foot off the ground. Alex licked her lips while her body ached for him, an arousal that left no part of her untouched.
After Brett’s rejection she’d decided that marriage wasn’t in the cards for her and had chosen her lovers carefully over the last ten years. There had only been a few and none of them, not one of those four men, had ever inspired the level of heat that licked through her at the mere touch of Brett’s hands.
“Am I interrupting something?” Kincaid’s amused voice sliced through the moment.
Soon Alex stood on the ground in front of Brett, straightening her jacket and trying to find some semblance of control. She’d been about to invite him to her bedroom. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’ll just get that basket.” Brett turned to retrieve the food from the back of the horse.
Alex’s gaze immediately dropped, again, to his trousers. She was pleased to note that he had been as affected by their encounter as she. Her entire body throbbed. A heavy, thick throb as she remembered what he looked like beneath the clothing, and how much she enjoyed the sight, the sounds, the touch.
“Alex brought us a fried chicken dinner.”
Kincaid stepped off the porch. “Well that was mighty nice of you, Doc. Did you make it yourself?”
Alex focused on Kincaid, still trying to get her control back. “No, unfortunately my skills in the kitchen are somewhat limited. About the only thing I can make are scrambled eggs.”
“Well, you can eat with us then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kincaid. One of my patients brought this huge basket of food as payment. I thought it would be best to serve it to two hungry men who needed it more than I did.” Alex was pleased to note her voice didn’t shake.
Brett handed the basket to Alex. “We don’t have a table yet, but we can spread a blanket on the floor, if that’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine.” Did she sound breathless? “Like an indoor picnic.”
Brett frowned. “Well, your kindness is most appreciated, Alex. I’m sorry that I can’t extend proper hospitality and offer you a chair.”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“It’s not but it will have to be. Well, let me get that blanket for you and Kincaid and I can go wash up.”
“Where did you put your medical supplies? I brought some extra bandages with me.”
Brett pointed. “I put up a shelf above the sink in the kitchen. Everything is there.”
Alex walked in the door and was pleased with the condition of the house. Much better than she’d expected, even if there wasn’t a
ny furniture. They’d apparently swept the house, and had put some soap to use. It smelled a bit musty, but it wasn’t bad at all. Two bedrolls lay in the living room area. She wondered which one was Brett’s, then wanted to smack herself for caring.
A clean spot over on the left beckoned, perfect for their picnic. She set the basket down and went to put the bandages on the shelf. Brett came in with a blanket.
He held it up. “It’s clean.”
It was a beautiful patterned blanket, looked like his sister-in-law Bonita’s work. She was a half-Indian, married to Brett’s older brother Ethan, with amazing loom skills. Bonita was a quiet, strong woman who Alex didn’t know very well, but what she did know was all good.
“Is this one of Bonita’s?”
“Huh?” Brett appeared startled.
“Bonita. Did she make the blanket?”
“Yeah, she did. Um, Ray brought it over with him before.”
As they spread the blanket, just the slightest bit of dust flew up.
“There, perfect. Why don’t I get the food out while you two wash up.” She wanted to touch Brett but didn’t and it wasn’t just because he was dirty. It was because she needed to regain her self-control, and it wouldn’t happen if she touched him again.
“Thank you kindly, Alex.” He tipped his hat and left the room, she assumed to wash.
Alex somewhat regretted coming out to the ranch. The reception was odd to say the least. She wondered if Brett lamented their intimacy, or if he burned with the urge to do it again. Funny thing was, Alex felt a little of both herself. Half of her felt a little awkward, the other half wanted to grab him and kiss him.
Brett joined Kincaid at the well pump with a bucket and a bar of soap.
“Water is colder than a well digger’s ass.” Kincaid had taken off his shirt and left it on the pump handle. “Does the water ever get warmer than this in Wyoming?”
“Not really, these underground streams are fed by the mountains. Always cold.”
Brett was startled to find one long scar running from the other man’s left shoulder to the side of his waist. Jagged, it had obviously been doctored badly. Brett didn’t say a word though. A man’s scars were his own business. Besides he was lucky if he could string two words together after his encounter with Alex.
Kincaid had been right. The water was ice cold, but Brett didn’t complain. He needed it cold. As it was, he had a half erection from just touching her waist. For a second there, he’d almost kissed her in front of Kincaid. His control had nearly slipped simply because he’d touched her. Madness.
Some soap and fresh shirts transformed Kincaid and Brett into acceptable dinner companions. When they came back into the house, Alex had the food ready.
“We need to set some aside for Mason.” Brett sat down.
“Who’s Mason?” Alex glanced around.
“A stray,” Brett grunted.
Kincaid snickered. “A boy we kind of hired to help us out around here. He just left to go bathe in the creek, after Brett here told him he smelled like a pig.”
“What? Brett, that’s not nice,” Alex scolded with a frown.
“He did smell. I wasn’t being mean.” He pointed at the food. “Besides I’m the one who said we need to set food aside for him.”
“That you did,” Kincaid offered. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll be the keeper of his share.”
Brett glared at Kincaid while Alex chuckled. She set out cider for them to drink in tin cups. Kincaid sat right down Indian style and poured himself a cup.
“This here is cider, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. Sally makes the best of everything. I wish I had half the skills she did.”
Kincaid took a big gulp and smacked his lips noisily. “This is damn good. Oh, sorry, Doc.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have tender sensibilities. In my line of work I hear a lot worse than damn.”
Kincaid grinned. “I’ll bet you do.”
Alex hadn’t been kidding about the food. Sally cooked like an angel. The fried chicken tasted delicious and Brett’s stomach purred with pleasure. The biscuits were as good as his mother’s and that said a lot. He hadn’t realized she’d brought a pie until Alex took it out of the basket.
“Pie too? Woohoo!” Kincaid crowed. “This is the best meal I’ve had in ages.”
“I remembered forks, but I forgot a knife.”
Alex dug around in the basket. “Well, I guess we could all just eat out of the pie plate.”
“Don’t worry, Alex. I’ve got a knife.” Kincaid pulled a lethal-looking blade from the scabbard on his waist. He quickly sliced the pie into six pieces.
Alex nodded her thanks and used a fork to put a piece on each of their plates. The first bite of the peach pie, sweet and sticky, coated Brett’s tongue. When he glanced over at her, the expression on her face nearly undid him. She closed her eyes and moaned low, but loud enough for him to hear it.
He didn’t realize he was staring until Kincaid kicked him.
“Good pie, ain’t it, boss?”
Brett stuck a forkful in his mouth and chewed, almost choking on his desire for the woman in front of him. “Delicious.”
Alex’s gaze met his and something passed between them. A pulse, a beat, a sweet promise of more than peach pie.
———
After her examination of his wounds, leaving on just a small dressing, Brett insisted on escorting Alex back to town. It had become full dark while they ate and he was concerned for her safety. Regardless if they were in a small town, a woman traveling alone in the dark was never a good idea.
They rode in comfortable silence. Brett had forgotten Alex was a good horsewoman with an excellent seat. She had a rather large gelding, surprisingly large for a woman. A lot of things about Alex were slightly different from most females he knew.
That included what she did to his equilibrium. He offered her a jacket since the night had gotten cool. Although she already wore one, after ten minutes of riding she finally accepted it. Alex talked about some of the patients she’d had over the last several weeks, then she asked about Brett’s family. Alex knew how to keep up the conversation on her own. She was a very positive person, her outlook on life a bright one. Brett had to wonder about that.
Pity Alex’s father was a drunk. He’d been forced to give up his practice after a particularly nasty incident with a pregnant woman about a year ago. She’d died in his care, bled to death really, and there were whispers that he’d been drinking during the birth. The baby survived, and Brett always wondered if the woman’s husband had. Byron barely survived his wife’s death and dealt with it with drink. That drinking likely caused another’s death. Alex single-handedly took care of their family, including finances. It had been a blessing she had gotten her physician’s license or they might have been out on the street.
Alex’s mother had died ten years earlier. Brett didn’t blame Byron for turning into a drunk. Many men would have if their wife had died such a painful death from cancer like Mrs. Brighton. Most folks thought men were the stronger ones, but Brett doubted it was true.
Alex’s younger brother drowned when she was five. So all in all, Alex’s life wasn’t a bed of roses, yet she still looked on everything with such a bright disposition. If he hadn’t known her better, he would have thought she was touched in the head. However, he did know her, and Alex’s outlook on life was one of the reasons he had been drawn to her so long ago.
When they rode up to the clinic, Brett was not happy to note the house was completely dark. That meant old doc Brighton was either passed out or down at the saloon. Either way, Brett was glad he’d brought her home.
They dismounted and Alex took the basket off the back of her saddle. “I need to bring Rowdy down to the livery.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
She peered at him through the gloom. “Are you sure? Will’s probably not there.”
“I think I can handle putting a horse in a stall and rubbing it down. I’ve done
it a time or two.”
“Was that a joke? Were you trying to be funny? Brett, you are loosening up.”
“Nah. Just a little bit of sarcasm. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I don’t necessarily believe you, but I’ll let you get away with it for now.” She walked up the steps to the porch, her shoes making a dull thump in the darkness.
Their house and clinic sat at the end of the main street in Cheshire. The only folks that usually came down to the end of the street were going to the clinic. Tonight it was deserted, giving the area an abandoned feel.
The only sounds around them were the night creatures. An occasional chirp from a bird or a cricket. They got to the door and he opened it for her, gesturing for her to go inside.
“I want to say thanks again for supper. It was a welcome surprise.”
“You’re welcome, Brett. I almost didn’t come, you know. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to—”
He couldn’t allow her to finish the sentence, so he tugged her to him and slammed his lips onto hers.
The warmth, no the heat, from her mouth seeped into his. After a moment, she softened and moved with him, kissing, nibbling. He tickled her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth. Her slight, supple tongue gently rasped against his while his hand slid around her back and pulled her close. Dueling tongues, dancing in unison. A small moan came from his throat and echoed through him, making every small hair on his body stand up.
“Alex?” Byron Brighton’s voice came from behind them. “Is that you?”
Brett broke free and stepped back, breathing harshly. He tried to speak, but could not. Alex’s eyes were full of shock and confusion. It definitely wasn’t the time to continue what they’d started, especially considering Byron stood there watching.
Damn.
“Yes, Papa. It’s me.”
Brett tipped his hat to Alex and stepped off the porch.
“Good evening, Doc.”
Byron grunted at him and Alex murmured a good night. Brett still pulsed with arousal and heat, knowing the memory of those stolen moments would haunt his dreams.
Chapter Six
The Tribute Page 7
