“Yes. He was quite well-off.”
“Before the war. He could be a beggar now for all you know.”
“I could make discreet inquiries, determine his interest—”
“It’s a moot issue. You signed a contract with Jessye.” Besides, Harrison wanted more from Jessye than her money or her knowledge of cattle. He wanted her climbing those bloody damned stairs with him.
“But you just said if I were able to find another source for the funds—”
“Because I didn’t think you would! Look around at these drab surroundings. An opportunity like this happens but once in a lifetime. I’d rather share the chance for prosperity with a woman who has never known wealth than a man who takes it for granted.”
“It’s a gamble, Harry. We could return with nothing.”
“She knows that. She’s risking her dreaming money, Kit. How do I tell her now that we’ve decided another investor would better suit us?”
“You care for her,” Kit said somberly. “You might not have bedded her, but you do have some feelings for her.”
“I understand her plight. Make no more of it than that.”
“I’ll make as much of it as I bloody well want to and pray that I don’t live to regret it.” Sighing deeply, Kit stood, grabbed the branding iron, and sliced it through the air as though it were a rapier. “I shall finish the preparations.”
“Good. And cheer up, for God’s sake. How much work can be involved in prodding a few cattle north?”
“It’s not the work that concerns me, but the unknown. I don’t know how to plan for it.”
“You strive too hard to account for everything. An element of risk makes life worthwhile.”
“I should imagine it depends upon the nature of the risk.”
As Kit headed toward the stairs, Harrison heard Jessye’s throaty laughter echo over the saloon as she herded the remaining customers through the swinging doors into the night. He wondered what they had said to make her laugh so freely. The laughter she released in his presence usually carried an undercurrent of distrust.
He watched as she shared a moment with her father, smiling at him as they spoke. He couldn’t recall ever smiling at his father—or his father smiling at him.
She affectionately patted her father’s slightly stooped shoulder before striding through a door that led to what he knew was a back room. She’d return with a bucket of water to clean the place until it shone. His favorite moments of the night came when she got on her knees to scrub some mess. Her hips followed the circular motion of her hand, and all he could think about was how much he’d like to be beneath her.
Countless times she’d rejected that proposition. She’d told him that she wasn’t one of those women, but he doubted her claims, for he had yet to meet a serving wench who wasn’t.
Her father’s movements caught his attention as the wiry fellow trudged across the saloon. Tufts of hair, a lighter shade of red than his daughter’s, stood at various angles of attention over his head. His green eyes carried a hardened glint. “I need a word with you.”
Harrison waved a hand toward the chair Kit had vacated. “By all means, then, please sit.”
Jonah Kane dropped his small body into the chair. “I gotta be honest here. I ain’t in favor of Jessye goin’ on this venture with you fellas.”
“Neither am I, but she seems to have a stubborn streak in her.”
Jonah chuckled and scratched his bristly chin. “She calls it independence. Tells me that since she’s twenty-one, she’s all growed up. She don’t realize that a father’s daughter never grows up.”
Harrison felt as though he’d been slapped. “She’s only twenty-one?”
Jonah narrowed his rheumy eyes. “How old did you think she was?”
“A bit older.” He’d never questioned her age, had always considered her closer to his own age of twenty-eight. He’d figured her to be a woman of experience, working in a saloon, surrounded by men all night, but if she were only twenty-one…good God, could her claims be true? Might she still be innocent? Perhaps her refusals had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her purity.
“She’s young, but she don’t like to admit it,” Jonah said.
Harrison was surprised to see tears shimmer in the old man’s eyes before he leaned forward with a steely glare. “She’s been hurt. Had her heart sliced up and tossed out as buzzard bait. I don’t want to see her hurt again.”
“We have no intention of harming her. She is our investor in this undertaking and will have our utmost respect and consideration.”
Jonah narrowed his eyes. “There’s a lot of long nights on a cattle drive. If she comes back with the smallest of bruises on her heart, I’ll cut off your cojones and feed ’em to you.”
Harrison cleared his throat. These Texans so often threw in Spanish words that he sometimes found it difficult to follow their conversations, but he had a gist of the meaning. “Will this action render me incapable of siring an heir?”
“You’d better damn well know it.”
“Then I’ll keep your threat foremost in my mind as we journey.”
“I don’t care what you do with it, just don’t forget it.” Jonah stood and began stacking chairs onto tables.
Harrison rubbed his fingers over his thick beard, wondering why, of all the things Jonah had just revealed, hearing that someone had broken Jessye’s heart bothered him more than the thought of being turned into a eunuch.
He’d never suspected that her tough attitude was an act designed to shield herself. A pity. He had no interest in mending hearts that had once been broken. A shattered heart would forever be a mosaic of cracked pieces, more delicate and prone to break again with less force applied to it.
Experience had taught him that lamentable truth.
Jessye Kane stood outside her father’s saloon and inhaled deeply, allowing the coolness of the autumn breeze to blow the stench of spilled liquor and lingering tobacco smoke away from her. She gazed at the twinkling stars that lay upon the midnight sky like diamonds on black velvet. For the next few months, she would sleep beneath them and use them to guide her journey.
At the end of that time, if all went as anticipated, she would turn her modest savings into a considerable sum of money. Unlike Harry, who was motivated by ambition, she was inspired by fear, fear that no matter how strong she was, she would never be strong enough to protect her heart.
And her heart was definitely at risk. The image of the brand was seared in her mind. Texas Lady. Named for her. She’d never in her life felt like a lady, not a true lady. She’d been forced to give herself a mental shake in order to remember with whom she was dealing: a man who knew well how to cheat, a man who let it be known he wanted to bed her.
While working Abbie Westland’s cotton fields during summer harvest, Jessye had learned that Harry had a tendency to sit in the shade, eat watermelon, and entertain the children with card tricks. He only went into the fields when Grayson Rhodes brought him an empty sack. And when next she looked, there he was again, sitting in the shade.
He was in for a rude awakening. He wouldn’t find much time to squander on a cattle drive.
Turning slightly, she lifted her gaze to the windows on the second floor that looked into the rooms reserved for paying guests. Harry and Kit rented rooms that faced each other across the long, narrow hallway.
She saw the pale lamplight spill out of a window—Harry’s window. She didn’t want to think about what Harry might be doing, but she seemed unable to stop herself.
He’d take off those fancy clothes he wore, clothes that would make any other man look like a dandy. It aggravated her that whenever she joined him at a table, she felt like the east end of a westbound mule, while he possessed an abundance of charm and sophistication.
Sauntering through the cotton fields had bronzed his skin. When he shuffled the deck, his deft fingers mesmerized her. He had such a light touch that the cards barely whispered when he sorted them, and she had to
fight against imagining those hands skimming over her body with as much expertise as they handled the deck.
She enjoyed their verbal sparring, was challenged by his ability to always win with the hand he dealt. Out of deference to her suspicions, he played with his sleeves rolled up so she knew he didn’t sport any extra pockets or devices that would give him the cards he needed. But she also knew his forearms weren’t puny and white like those of a man who’d spent his life pampered. The veins bulged beneath his skin, and his muscles appeared hardened even when his arms were at rest. Made no sense, but little about him did.
Damn, but she wished she could figure out how he cheated. Maybe then she’d stop watching him with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Lord help her, she had almost every inch of him memorized, trying to catch him in the act of swindling her.
He swore he never cheated when he played her, but she knew that was an outright lie—otherwise, she’d occasionally win a hand. She wasn’t that poor of a poker player.
Now he needed her—or more accurately, he needed her money. She might have given it to him with no strings attached if he didn’t always call her “Jessye love.” She trusted the endearment as much as she trusted the man. She knew he didn’t love her, and using the word made a mockery of an emotion that had the power to wound unmercifully and heal unconditionally.
The light from his window faded into darkness, and she realized he’d gone to bed. She dared not contemplate what he might not wear while he slept. Every time she changed the sheets on his bed, she wondered if they’d known the touch of his bare back…stomach…buttocks…
Or did he sleep with nothing but the night air to caress his flesh?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she spun around. She’d sworn never again to become involved with a man until she was a woman of independence, although Harry had a disconcerting way of making her regret that vow.
She’d lost count of the number of times he’d invited her to join him beneath the blankets. His voice carried a teasing lilt, but his eyes, Lord, his emerald eyes held a vulnerability that intrigued and frightened her. He wasn’t nearly as simplistic as he appeared.
A high-risk gambler, he manipulated cards, enjoyed strong words, and indulged in strong liquor. Yet there was another facet to him, like turning a diamond and seeing it sparkle from a different angle. A haughtiness in the way he said his name. He was the second son of an earl, sent here to make his way in the world.
With cattle, she thought he had a good chance of succeeding. She knew a lot about cattle. Before the war, she’d known a man who herded longhorns to California. Gerald Milton. He had loved to talk, and she had loved to listen.
He hadn’t looked at her the way most men did—like whiskey that was to be enjoyed during the evening and forgotten come the light of day.
She had learned too late that his innocent eyes shielded an abundance of faults.
“Jessye?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled warmly. “Hey, Pa.”
Her father strolled through the door that led to the rooms they lived in at the rear of the saloon.
“Don’t guess I can talk you out of goin’,” he said.
Turning her gaze back to the stars, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Nope.”
“Gonna be a lot of men—”
“I can handle myself around men. Besides, I’ll be dressed like them. After a few days, they’ll forget I’m a woman.”
“Long stretch of miles between towns. Men ain’t likely to forget anything.”
“I’ll be fine, Pa.”
She heard his sigh travel on the wind. “You’re like your ma, you know. Strong-willed, determined. I can’t help but believe things woulda worked out different if she hadn’t died on us when you was seven.”
She pivoted slightly so she could face him. “Things didn’t turn out so bad.”
He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have had you working in a saloon.”
“I like working in a saloon. I’m thinking if I make enough money on this cattle drive, we can add that stage you’ve always talked about—with the red velvet curtains that open and close. We could get some shows in here. A singer or two. That would draw a crowd and increase profits.”
In the moonlight, she saw her father’s wrinkles shift until he looked much older, so much older. “Is that why you’re doing this crazy thing…on account of my dreams?”
“No, Pa, I’m doing it for me.”
She heard him sniff. “You just take care then, girl, ’cuz if somethin’ was to happen to you…wouldn’t be no reason for me to live.”
She slung her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”
His thin arms circled her. Once upon a time, she’d thought all men loved as unconditionally, as fiercely as he did.
He patted her back and stepped out of her embrace. “Just so you’ll know, I told Bainbridge I’d castrate him if he hurt you.”
She laughed lightly. “He won’t hurt me, Pa.”
No man ever would because she wouldn’t let any man get close enough to do so.
He sniffed again and rubbed his eyes. “I’m gonna go talk to your ma for a spell. She might have some words of wisdom for me to share with you before you go.”
She watched him walk into the night shadows, toward the church at the far end of town and the small cemetery behind it. She wondered if her mother had truly known how much her father had loved her.
Jessye had once dreamed of giving and receiving that kind of powerful love. But not any longer.
At seventeen, she’d had her heart ripped from her chest. She’d vowed then that she’d never again be dependent on either a man or money. This arrangement with Harry and Kit would ensure that she kept that promise.
“He’s right, you know,” a deep voice rumbled into the night. “You should stay here.”
Jessye spun around, her heart thundering. Harry stood at the edge of the shadows, a silhouette guarded by darkness. His jacket and vest were gone. Several buttons on his white shirt were loosened as though he’d been undressing and changed his mind. His black hair and beard framed his face, accentuating his emerald eyes, holding her captive. She swallowed hard. “Figured you’d gone to bed.”
“I thought as much, since I saw you watching my window.”
“I wasn’t watching your window. I was just looking around, and your window happens to be there. Besides, it’s going to be a long while before you sleep in a bed again. You ought to be up there enjoying the comforts of a mattress.”
A lazy grin spread across his face. “I never enjoy being in a bed when I’m in it alone.”
She chuckled low. “And the next words you speak are going to be an invite to join you. I’ve served drinks long enough that I’ve heard it all, and I know that the sweet talkin’ stops as soon as the whiskey wears off.”
“Mine wouldn’t.”
She laughed. “You’re smoother than most, Harry. I have to give you credit for that, and if I had a dollar for every time you invited me to climb those stairs with you, I wouldn’t have to go on this cattle drive.”
He took a step toward her, effectively closing the distance between them until she felt the warmth of his body battling the cool night air. “Why are you going, Jessye? You must realize that traveling alone with men is bound to ruin your reputation.”
“I’ve worked in a saloon all my life. I’ve got no reputation to ruin.”
“From what I hear, the nights on a cattle drive are not only long, but lonely.”
“Nights in a saloon are just as lonely.”
He slowly trailed his finger along the column of her throat. The intense heat surged through her like flames igniting with the promise to consume.
“Then come upstairs with me,” he murmured in a low, seductive voice. “Physical pleasure can ease the loneliness without involving the heart.”
She felt her body and resolve melting, but bittersweet memories kept her from reaching for him and allowed her to spe
ak in a calm voice that hid the turbulence swirling within her. “Not for me, Harry. I’ve told you before that I’m not one of those women. I can’t be persuaded by a silver-tongued scoundrel. Besides, I’ve already marked you as a man who can’t afford me.”
“Name your price.”
“Love.”
A heavy silence permeated the air, and she knew she’d named the one thing he’d never give her. His touch retreated, and the coldness swept in like a blue north wind.
He bowed slightly. “I bid you goodnight.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and watched him walk up the stairs, knowing both he and her father were right. She should stay behind.
Because if she were truly honest with herself, Harrison Bainbridge had the power to destroy the fragmented remains of her broken heart.
Chapter 2
With Kit and Grayson Rhodes flanking him, Harrison strolled through the fields where cottons bolls had once quivered in the wind. He thought Grayson had done rather well for himself when he’d taken Abigail Westland as his wife. In addition to the land, he’d gained three children from her first marriage and her fierce, undying love.
“Abbie says it’s bad luck to have a woman on a cattle drive,” Gray murmured speculatively.
Harrison stopped walking and faced his friend squarely. “Without Jessye’s money, we would have no hope of pursuing a cattle drive.”
“I cannot fathom why she would risk ruining her reputation by going with you.”
“Did Abbie not risk her reputation when she allowed you to live here without the benefit of marriage?” Harrison asked, finding it odd to defend a stance he did not support.
“I slept in the barn.”
“Jessye will sleep on her own pallet,” Harrison assured him.
Gray narrowed his blue eyes. “For two or three nights perhaps—”
“For the entire duration of this venture.” Harrison glanced toward the front porch, where Jessye was talking with Gray’s wife. Jessye wore clothes similar to his: plain flannel shirt, simple vest, boots, red bandanna, woolen trousers. Dear Lord, but he already missed his finer garments. Once this drive ended, he would never go another day dressed as a commoner. “She has no interest in men.”
Never Love a Cowboy Page 2
