Adrienne deWolfe

by Texas Lover

  Wes swallowed hard. He knew he'd lost some of his color. "What was Miss Rorie's answer?"

  Topher looked off thoughtfully, as if he were trying to recall.

  "Well, she ain't as loud as him, you know. So I can't say that I heard."

  By the time Wes and Topher rode into the yard, the whole household had turned out to greet them. Wes dutifully picked up Po, who scolded, "Me missed you."

  He hugged Nita, Ginevee, and Merrilee, and he shook Shae's hand.

  Then, stealing himself against his secret dread, he turned to greet Ethan Hawkins. Rorie nodded furtively, and Ginevee dragged the protesting children off to bed while Shae led Two-Step to the corral.

  "So," Ethan said. "You must be that young Ranger Rawlins I've been hearing so much about." He stuck out his hand. "Hawkins is my name, but most folks call me Hawk. Or Colonel Hawk," he added with unmistakable pride.

  Wes forced himself to shake the man's hand.

  "I want to thank you, Ranger, for taking care of things around here for me while I've been away. I owe you a debt of gratitude."

  Wes glanced at Rorie. When she averted her eyes, he battled a surge of pure, raw outrage.

  "I've come to think of this place as home... Hawk."

  "And you'll always be welcome here, son."

  Ethan clapped him on the shoulder, and Wes was hard-pressed not to punch out his lights.

  Rorie cleared her throat. "Ethan knows your brother, Zack."

  "Yep." Ethan folded his arms across his chest. "I bought the finest bull I ever did own from that boy. Zack's got a keen eye for stock and a shrewd head for business." Ethan chuckled. "That boy damned near broke me on that deal, but it was worth it."

  Wes glared at the old rancher. If Ethan thought Zack, at twenty-five, was a boy, it was pretty clear what Ethan thought of him.

  Shae chose that moment to return from the corral, and Wes couldn't help but notice how Ethan's eyes narrowed as Shae approached.

  "It's the damnedest thing," he muttered.

  "What is?" Wes asked, ignoring Rorie's sharp, warning glance.

  "The way that mulatto puts on airs. Calling himself Gator's next of kin. Hell, I knew Gator for twenty years, and he never said a thing to me about siring any colored bastard."

  Rorie shot her suitor a quelling look, but Shae must have overheard. He halted, giving Ethan a wintry smile.

  "I reckon you and Pa weren't all that close, then."

  Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Listen here, upstart—"

  "Tell you what, Hawk," Wes interrupted, "before you start calling anybody names, why don't you and I have a private little talk and get some facts straight."

  Ethan's eyes locked with Wes's, and panic made Rorie break out in a cold sweat.

  "Wes," she said with thinly veiled desperation, "I've already told Ethan about the missing will. And Doc Warren. And—and the court order." But not about us.

  Her eyes pleaded with him not to push for a confrontation, and he scowled.

  "Colonel Hawk!" An aging, tobacco-chewing cowpoke waved to his boss. "We've done finished drawing straws over here, and Hank and Rusty are going to take the first watch. You want to ride on out to Sultan's with the rest of us boys?"

  Ethan had the decency to redden. "Er, I apologize, Miss Aurora. Seems like my men could stand to have a few more manners knocked into their heads." He tipped his hat. "Excuse me, ma'am. I won't be but a moment."

  Air rushed from Rorie's lungs. Wes pressed his lips into a thin line. Shae glanced between them both and cleared his throat.

  "I'll, uh, let you folks talk," he said, nodding his good-nights and turning toward the privy.

  Rorie nervously laced her fingers together. Now the full intensity of Wes's unyielding stare was drilling into her. She could feel the upset radiating from his frame as if he were a mountain with a molten core ready to blow. She didn't know what to say or where to begin, but he saved her the trouble. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured for her to walk beside him. She fell into step, and into an uneasy conversation.

  "How was your trip to Bandera?" she asked, deciding not to chide him for showing himself on the farm before dark—even though she was sorely tempted.

  "Uneventful." His tone was clipped.

  She glanced at his profile and spied the tensing of his jaw in the fading light. She wished she dared touch him to soothe away his ire, but she was too keenly aware of Ethan and his watchful men—and the decision that now loomed before her.

  "We didn't have any trouble with Creed while you were gone." She tried to keep her tone from echoing the agitation in her breast. "I suppose he must have been campaigning with his father."

  "Actually..." Wes's lips twisted into a tight, dry smile. "Creed and his pa have had a falling out of late. Over a lady."

  This news surprised Rorie, but when she would have asked him what else his investigation had uncovered, he halted before the magnolia tree.

  As she watched him, all thought of the Dukker threat slipped from her mind. He placed his hand on the trunk and tipped back his head, gazing into the branches, much as she had done that night of the storm. The only difference was that this night, Maggie was bursting with life.

  When Wes turned his head to look at her, they simply gazed into each other's eyes for an endless moment.

  Finally, a sad little smile curved his lips. He reached for the nearest branch of the tree and eased a blossom closer.

  "He's nothing like I expected, you know."

  She watched the branch bow, its leaves spilling over his shoulders in a soft, loving embrace.

  "Ethan?" she breathed, mesmerized by the relationship of tree and man.

  "Uh-huh." He smelled the flawlessly formed blossom. "I didn't expect him to be quite so much older than I am." His gaze flickered to hers. "Or than you."

  She shifted uncomfortably. Age was one of Ethan's drawbacks, but then, she used to think age was one of Wes's too.

  "And I didn't expect him to be quite so... loud," Wes added in a feeble attempt at humor.

  She secretly had to admit Ethan's booming voice annoyed her at times, but she always felt guilty immediately afterward, knowing the reason behind it. "He lost his hearing in one ear, commanding a cannon brigade during the war."

  "So that's what Topher meant."

  Her face heated. "What else did Topher tell you?"

  "Well, let's just say the boy doesn't like your Ethan very much."

  "Topher doesn't like anyone who tries to discipline him."

  Wes's amusement was fleeting. "I wasn't much under the impression Shae got along with him, either."

  Rorie couldn't rebut that argument quite as easily, but she had the hope that two reasonable men could learn to tolerate and respect each other. Wes and Shae certainly had.

  "Ethan just needs time to get used to the idea of Shae being Gator's son."

  Wes said nothing. He touched the flower again, and it seemed to give itself to him, floating down into his palm.

  "So you've got it all figured out, is that it?"

  "What—what do you mean?"

  "Topher told me about Ethan's proposal."

  She cringed. That boy. Topher had as much delicacy as a charging bull.

  "I'm sorry, Wes. I didn't want for you to find out that way. Topher had no business carrying tales."

  He stared down at the stem he was twirling between his thumb and forefinger. "What answer did you give Ethan?"

  She ached to hear the pain in his voice "I... asked for time to think on it."

  His head shot up. The hope in his eye made her knees weaken, in spite of all the rational arguments she had piled up in her head against him.

  "You told me to be patient with you, Wes, and—" she struggled to keep the note of entreaty from her voice, "and to give you a chance. That was three weeks ago."

  He grimaced. "I also said I wouldn't make you a promise I couldn't keep."

  "I remember." She watched his reactions as closely as she could through her growing mist of tears. "I r
emember, too, that I asked you what you wanted from me."

  He ripped his gaze away.

  "To wait," he said finally.

  "For how long?"

  "I don't know, Rorie. It's not that simple."

  He pushed back his hat with a frustrated hand. "I've wanted to be a Ranger ever since I was a boy. Ever since... my parents were murdered. That dream has been a part of me for as long as I can remember."

  His eyes begged her to understand. "But it won't always be my dream, Rorie. I want a wife and children too. Having a family is important to me, so important, in fact, that I don't want to ride away for months on end, leaving them behind. I want to watch my children grow and—and to share my nights with the woman I love.

  "I grew up watching my brother's wife—his first wife, and then Fancy too—worrying about him," he continued grimly, "wondering if he was dead or alive as long as he wore his star. I don't want to do my woman that way. I don't want to do you that way, Rorie. That's why I swore to myself I would never take a wife as long as I wore this badge."

  She stared down at her fingers. They were laced so tightly, the knuckles looked like white knots. How could she fault Wes for his reasons for waiting? And how could she stand in the way of everything he'd ever wanted—a lawman's career and children?

  "Rorie."

  Ever so softly, the petals of the magnolia grazed her cheek. His heart was in his eyes as he traced her jawline with the blossom, letting it linger just a hairsbreadth below her lips.

  "I love you, Rorie."

  A tear rolled down her cheek. She'd never, ever dared to believe she would hear those words from him.

  "I love you too, Wes."

  The first blush of his elation faded away, leaving his face gray and strained with uneasiness. "What are you thinking?"

  She dragged her gaze back to her hands. They were trembling.

  "I don't know. Like you, I... seem to have some things to sort out."

  A heartbeat passed. The magnolia blossom swam back into focus. Through her tears, she watched him press it into her hands. Be patient with him, it seemed to say.

  "When can I come back?" he asked.

  Oh, God, how could she let him come back? And how could she be strong enough to let him go?

  Ever the diplomat, her brain forced her paralyzed tongue to respond. "I think we shouldn't see each other for a while."

  But the cowardly part of her couldn't leave things at that. "You'll be at the Founder's Day celebration, won't you?"

  He nodded, looking greatly relieved.

  "A week then."

  "A week," she repeated.

  Only seven days before she must give him her answer.

  She watched a tear splash onto the magnolia.

  Chapter 20

  No matter how many times Rorie reviewed her dilemma, turning matters over, examining every angle, she always drew the same, bitter conclusion. She had to let Wes go.

  As great as her love for him was, it would never be enough to hold him. From the father she had disappointed at her birth, to the husband she had disappointed with her barrenness, every man she had ever known had wanted sons of their own seed.

  Even Gator had at last been willing to overlook Shae's color to reclaim the boy as his long-lost child, rather than let Creed, his second cousin, inherit the farm.

  Rorie had heard Wes speak wistfully of children enough times to know he was no exception. So whether he stayed a Ranger or became a farmer or rancher, it wouldn't matter. The day would come when he would want his lifeblood carried on. And on that day she would have to disappoint him too.

  Better to end the pain now, her ever-practical mind assured her. Better to set him free rather than wait for that awful day when he turns to you with eyes clouded over with resentment. Do what's best for him and the children. Your heart will heal in time.

  Ethan might be a strict disciplinarian, but he wasn't cruel like Hannibal Dukker. He lived on a prosperous spread, far from the bigotry of Elodea, and he had three grown sons, all of whom were fathers to children her orphans could play with. Despite their age and cultural differences, he treated her with respect. She didn't love him, but she could fulfill his need for companionship. As for the rest...

  She supposed she could learn to forget rose petals, blackberries, and magnolias. She just prayed she could forget laughing green eyes and a fallen-angel's smile too.

  On the morning of Founder's Day—which also happened to be election day—Ethan and two of his men arrived to help pack her and the children into the wagon. Rorie could tell by the way her suitor's eyes followed her that he was eager to end their courtship and take her as his wife and lover. She couldn't bring herself to give him the answer he waited for, though. Not then.

  She told herself she owed Wes the courtesy of breaking the news to him first, before some nosy Elodean did. Ethan had made her wait more than two months for his proposal, riding off on his cattle drive to recover from the shock of her barrenness. She figured it wouldn't hurt him to wait a week and a day for her answer to his offer.

  By noon, when Shae drove the rattling old buckboard into town, the streets of Elodea were swarming with townsfolk and county dwellers alike. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the buildings on Main Street, and a brass band was playing in the center of Town Square. Every inch of shade seemed to be crowded with onlookers.

  In spite of the blistering heat, children ran and couples strolled from booth to colorful booth. The displays included tanned hides, a stuffed cougar, tortoise-handled knives, cornhusk dolls, and a variety of foods. The most popular attraction of all, though, seemed to be the free barrels of cider and lemonade , and the keg of whiskey for the voters.

  The orphans were so excited, they could hardly contain themselves.

  "Where's Uncle Wes? Do you see Uncle Wes? He's going to be here, isn't he?" Topher chattered, scrambling to stand in the moving wagon bed so he could get a better view of the milling crowd.

  Merrilee shaded her eyes, looking past Ethan and his palomino to the black-and-white targets set up for the shooting match at the end of Main. "I think I see Uncle Wes over there with Miss Lorelei."

  "Where?" Topher had to be physically restrained from crawling over Ginevee's knees. "Does he have his Winchester, huh? Is he going to shoot in the contest, do you think?"

  Nita sniffed, tossing her painstakingly braided, beribboned length of hair over her shoulder. "Not if he's with Miss Lorelei. I hear she faints at the smell of gun smoke."

  One corner of Shae's mouth curved up.

  "Besides," Nita said, "Uncle Wes is a Ranger. Gunfighters aren't allowed to enter the contest and claim the hundred-dollar prize. That means Shae's going to win that money hands down."

  "I reckon that Dukker boy will be itching for the prize," Ethan called in a voice three times louder than necessary. "I hear he's a pretty fair shot."

  Shae's humor ebbed at the old man's observation. Rorie tried to dispel the tension.

  "I daresay every man in the county who fancies himself a marksman will enter that contest. One hundred dollars is a generous prize."

  "Let's just hope Creed remembers to keep his gun pointed at the bull's-eye," Ginevee muttered.

  By the time Shae found a livery and argued the inflated boarding price down to an affordable one, he and Ethan were glaring daggers at each other. Ethan had wanted to pay the full price and get on with the day; Shae had refused to be fleeced.

  Of course, Topher hadn't helped matters when he took Shae's side, calling Ethan "an old cooter who's just showing off with his money."

  Ginevee had to drag Topher away by his ear, Shae stormed off to register for the shooting match, and the girls ran to the pie booth to sign Nita up for her first baking contest.

  That left Rorie with a snoozing Po and a fuming Ethan. She was just thinking matters surely could only get better, when Wes rounded the corner with a laughing Lorelei on his arm.

  In spite of every common-sense argument against it, Rorie felt the fierce hot s
tab of jealousy.

  For one stomach-knotting moment, the couples just stared at each other. Then Lorelei, who probably didn't have a clue that her County Fair Queen banner and tiara made Rorie feel twice as unattractive as usual, flashed her perfect smile.

  "Why, Mrs. Sinclair, how nice to see you! And Colonel Hawkins. I haven't seen the two of you since Bonnie Sue Harrigan's wedding."

  Rorie winced at the word "wedding," tearing her gaze from Wes.

  Ethan nodded a cool greeting to Wes. To Rorie's agitated mind, their silent interaction seemed like the prelude to war. Ethan had not been pleased with the way she'd allowed Wes's magnolia to touch her face, and he'd privately boomed his feelings to her in his own inimitable fashion.

  Doing her best to forget that last tender moment she was ever likely to share with Wes, Rorie forced down the lump in her throat.

  "Yes, Lorelei, it has been awhile, hasn't it? You're looking lovely today."

  "Thank you, ma'am." She blushed prettily. "This heat is so dreadful, isn't it? Papa's been worrying folks will drink too much of that free whiskey Mr. Jackson—or should I say Sheriff Jackson—brought to thank all the voters. Frankly, I don't know who's been to the tap more often, Marshal Dukker or our county's new sheriff."

  Rorie's gaze flickered uneasily to Wes. So Dukker had lost the election. Between his hurt pride and his pickled conscience, he could become even more of a menace.

  "Well, if a man can't hold his whiskey, he's not much of a man," Ethan said flatly.

  For some reason, Wes grew extraordinarily red above his neckerchief.

  "Tell Mayor Faraday," Ethan went on, "that I'd be pleased to lend a hand if some of those hayseeds start popping off their guns."

  "Much obliged, Hawk." Wes looked anything but grateful. "But until you're deputized, I suggest you leave the peace- keeping to the law."

  Ethan snorted. "Hell, son, there's only one of you and two dozen or more rowdies on these streets."

  "Well now, that's what bullets are for, Hawk."

  Rorie and Lorelei exchanged anxious glances as the two men glared at each other. Fortunately, Preacher Jenkins chose that moment to stroll past them with a cup of lemonade.