Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “But they will no doubt have an interest in her,” Gray assured him.

  Harrison feared that would be the case. Since she’d stepped out of the saloon and he’d seen the perfect outline of her hips and legs previously kept hidden by a skirt, he’d been unable to take his eyes off her. “She thinks dressed as she is that the men won’t notice she’s a woman.”

  “That’s not bloody likely,” Kit said. “I’m thinking all women should wear trousers. I like the way the garment shows off their rounded bottoms.”

  Harrison had an irrational desire to gouge his friend’s eyes. “She’s your partner,” he snapped.

  Kit jerked his head around. “Yes, and she should be yours as well.”

  “What’s this?” Gray asked.

  “It’s unimportant. Will you let it go?” Harrison demanded, glaring at Kit.

  “It makes no sense not to accept you as a partner, and your willingness to blithely accept the terms of that agreement aggravates the devil out of me. It’s not like you to surrender without a fight—”

  “I have not surrendered.”

  Interest gleamed within Kit’s pale blue eyes. “I should have known. By God, why didn’t you argue your case last night?”

  “Because when we play poker, I absolutely adore the expression of disbelief that crosses her face when she calls my bluff…only to discover I wasn’t bluffing. She has deemed me a laggardly jackanapes. But I have no doubt, a moment will come when she realizes that I hold a true winning hand. And then, watching the truth dawn in her eyes will be a balm to the”—he searched for a word that would not reveal the true extent of what he’d felt: humiliation, anger, resentment—“sting to my pride and will make the gamble worthwhile.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take long,” Kit said. “Even with your acceptance of the deal, I’m not happy with it.”

  “But you will strive to protect her,” Harrison insisted.

  “I should think with that gun strapped to her thigh she can protect herself.”

  “Since she taught me how to handle a gun, I can assure you she knows well how to use it,” Gray said.

  Harrison touched the butt of the gun housed against his own hip. “She taught us as well.” It had unnerved him to see the ease with which she managed the weapon.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a gun, Kit?” Gray asked.

  “I prefer the Henry rifle. It’s more accurate and holds fifteen shells for repeated firing. Besides, I don’t like the weight of the pistol on my person. Makes me feel lopsided.”

  “You could wear one on either side,” Harrison suggested, grinning.

  “Other than hunting for game, I can’t imagine we’re going to use the blasted things anyway. So uncivilized.”

  “I agree,” Gray said quietly. “The day when I faced Abbie’s husband, I realized no honor is found in using the damn things. I swore then to never wear one again.”

  “You should come with us,” Harrison said, wanting to steer the subject away from the past.

  Gray shook his head. “I was forced to leave Abbie before. Only death will take me from her now.”

  “How maudlin,” Harrison muttered.

  “It’s the truth,” Gray assured him.

  Harrison didn’t doubt the words, but he found he envied his friend’s vehement defense. He nudged a blackened cotton stalk with the rounded toe of his boot. “You’re not going to plant cotton, are you?”

  Gray shrugged. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do.” He glanced at his hands. “I hate harvesting the crop.”

  “What would you say to using the land for grazing the cattle?” Kit asked.

  Gray removed his straw hat and combed his fingers through his blond hair. “You want to go into a bit more detail?”

  “According to Jessye, we can’t move the cattle north until spring. She says only a fool would herd cattle in winter.”

  “Then why leave now? Why not wait until spring?” Gray asked.

  “The cattle are spread over the state, particularly to the west and south. We need to round them up and move them to one place where we could keep them until we’re ready to herd them north.”

  “I suppose you’ll tell me all I need to know to take care of these cattle.”

  Kit grinned. “Basically you’ll keep them from wandering off.”

  “I’ll need a fence.”

  “Jessye says a wooden fence isn’t practical,” Harrison told him, “although I can’t see where it would hurt to have some sort of barrier.”

  “I can’t imagine that Abbie will want to give up cotton completely, but holding the cattle here might work well,” Gray said. “We could use their manure for fertilizer.”

  “Then it’s settled. Once we begin encountering cattle, we shall probably hire men. I’ll send them along with a letter of introduction.”

  “What am I to do with the men?” Gray asked.

  “Feed them. Give them a night’s lodging in the barn. Then they’ll head back to round up more cattle.”

  “A moment ago I was only required to watch cattle. Now I must feed and lodge your men? I want the details, Kit, every one of them.”

  Harrison stepped away from his friends and the murmur of their voices. Details held no interest for him. Jessye, however, was another matter. His last night in a bed had been an uncomfortable affair. He’d been unable to sleep with thoughts of her constantly tumbling through his mind.

  He’d tried to concentrate on other women he’d known, graceful, beautiful, genteel. Women who smiled sweetly, laughed softly, and judged his wisdom to be far greater than theirs.

  Dull. Every image had bored him. Those women were completely opposite of the woman who would travel with them. He could not imagine her dressed in finery and attending a ball. He was certain she would curtsy to no one, and her forthright language would have the matriarchs swooning, although her smoky voice with its slow drawl would no doubt attract the ear of every gentleman in attendance. He didn’t much care for that image.

  He watched Jessye plop to the ground and talk to Abbie’s youngest son, obviously not caring that she would begin their journey covered in dirt. She grabbed Micah. He yelled, and then his deep laugher mingled with Jessye’s throaty chuckles as they tickled each other, stirring up a cloud of dust.

  A dull ache spread through Harrison’s chest. Never in his life had anyone tickled him. Never in his childhood had he laughed.

  The pain intensified to an unbearable tightness.

  Last night, Jessye had revealed her price with one shattering word that he knew he could never pay.

  Love.

  He knew nothing of it except to scorn its deceptions and mock its false virtues.

  But as the dawn captured her within a halo of muted sunlight, he could not deny that something drew him to her.

  Not making her one of his conquests would challenge his moral fiber.

  Unfortunately for them both, he feared the fabric was frayed and worn thin.

  Capturing Micah’s eager hands, Jessye held him against her. “I give up!” she cried, laughing. “You win.”

  He scrambled from her lap and pointed to the spectacles that enlarged his violet eyes. “And see, they didn’t come off.” He tugged on a tiny braided strip of leather attached to the wire that circled his ears and tied together at the back of his head. “Pa made this to hold ’em on so when I’m bein’ a knight, they don’t go flyin’ off.”

  “Your pa’s a smart man.”

  He nodded, his dark hair flapping against his brow. “We just gotta learn him how to talk right.” He jumped to his feet and loped toward his older brother and sister, who were watching the horses.

  Jessye rose to her feet, brushing the dirt off her backside and smiling at Abbie. “I can’t imagine with your husband’s education that your children don’t think he talks right,” she said.

  “It’s not the words so much as the way he pronounces them. They find his accent peculiar,” Abbie admitted. She was the only woman in Fortune who’d ever made
Jessye feel welcome. It was the reason she’d helped pick her cotton during the late summer.

  “Do you find it peculiar?”

  “No,” Abbie said wistfully. “I love his accent, but then I love everything about him.”

  “It’s good that they think of him as their pa.”

  “It’s not hard, when he gives them so much attention. Watching him with the children is like watching you with Micah just now. You would make a wonderful mother, Jessye.”

  The anguish of inescapable regrets threatened to pummel her. She held it at bay with thoughts of Harry’s offer, an offer other men had made as well: the joining of bodies without hearts. “That’s not likely to happen, Abbie. A woman needs a husband to have children, and I’m the kind of woman men proposition for the night, not for life.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Jessye. You have a lot to offer.”

  A lot of baggage that she didn’t think any man in his right mind would willingly help her carry.

  “You just haven’t met the right man,” Abbie added. “You should meet a lot of men on this cattle drive.”

  Jessye felt Harry’s disconcerting gaze settle on her. She ignored the desire to stare him down, turned slightly, and pressed her shoulder against the post. “I’m not searching for a husband. I’m looking for independence.”

  “I can’t believe you’re actually going on this adventure,” Abbie said, her voice laced with excitement.

  “I was afraid Harry might get his hands on the money and gamble it away before they got the cattle to market,” she admitted.

  “You don’t trust him, then?” Abbie asked, surprised.

  Jessye glanced down at her boots. “I don’t trust him with money. Don’t think he’d hurt me, though. If he tried, I’d shoot him.” She lifted her gaze. “How well do you know him?”

  “Not well at all. He and Grayson are friends, but Harry hated picking the cotton, and he seldom came to visit.”

  Jessye snorted. “I remember him sitting in the shade more often than not.”

  Abbie smiled warmly. “Grayson used to get so angry when he did that.”

  “Can’t say as I blame him.”

  “Grayson said Harry was a master at cards, so his deft fingers could pluck the cotton more quickly. It was amazing to watch.”

  Jessye felt as though someone had just spun her until she was dizzy. Were they discussing the same man, the same thing? “I’m talking about Harrison Bainbridge, here.”

  “I know. He and Grayson had a pact. Harry didn’t want to pick the cotton, but he agreed he would fill as many bags as Grayson did. So when Harry’s bag was full, he’d sit in the shade until Grayson caught up.”

  Jessye turned and stared at the fields, thinking back to the long, hot, arduous days of summer. “I never saw him with any full bags,” she said quietly.

  “Grayson used to tell him that if he’d just continue picking, we’d all be finished that much sooner. Harry didn’t think he should have to do more than his share. I couldn’t really complain, when he matched Grayson’s efforts, which was more than I did.”

  Jessye felt the prick of guilt as she remembered Kit’s defense of his friend last night. He was still angry. His greeting this morning had been clipped and extremely British. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to hold no ill will toward her. Was that because he recognized that she was correct in her assessment of him, or did he have plans to manipulate her as easily as he did cards?

  “He’ll have to do more than his share on the cattle drive,” she said absently. “Can’t have any slackers.”

  “I told Grayson he should go with them, but he won’t leave…because of the baby.”

  Jessye darted a glance at Abbie’s stomach and was hit with a sharp stab of envy. “I think you’re both likely to be the reason he’s staying.”

  “Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s not going. I just don’t want him to look back in later years and regret that he missed this great cattle drive.”

  “Your marriage sure took me by surprise. I thought these Englishmen were just passing through.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but Grayson found a reason to stay.”

  The tender expression of love that glowed in Abbie’s eyes as she gazed across the land to where her husband stood caused an unaccountable ache deep within Jessye’s chest. For what she thought she’d once possessed, for what she now knew she’d never held.

  “We’d best get going. We’re burning daylight,” Jessye announced.

  Abbie wrapped her arms around Jessye and hugged her tightly. “Be careful. There’s more to these Englishmen than meets the eye.”

  Jessye nodded, suddenly aware that was her greatest fear.

  Sitting on a log, Harrison watched the sparks shoot up from the campfire while the stars looked down. He’d never known such peace.

  “I swear, Harry, I’m beginning to think you’re on a first-name basis with the bottom of that deck of cards.”

  Harrison gazed into Jessye’s lovely green eyes. Although he’d never seen her bright red hair unbound, he had a feeling it was as untamed as she was, because curling strands constantly sought their freedom, circling her face, offering the hint of a glorious crown.

  She was currently skewing her luscious mouth in such a way that she could blow a constant breeze over those loose strands—an indication that she was holding three of a kind or better.

  He loved poker. After his arrival in Texas, he had quickly mastered the game. It contained so many possibilities, and the challenge was to make certain that he barely beat his opponent. He had learned the hard way that a royal flush was never drawn three times in one evening.

  He was fortunate the gambling gentlemen of Galveston had only broken his hand and not drowned him in the Gulf waters. He wasn’t certain his father would have seen the irony in his demise. His father had feared his gaming debts would land him in the River Thames and had sent him to Texas as an alternative.

  He flexed his fingers, trying to work out the stiffness that occasionally crept in to serve as a reminder of his foolishness.

  “Is your hand hurting?” she asked.

  “It gets a bit stiff if I don’t move it often. Did you want to kiss it and make it well?”

  Her response was a look of disgust designed to send him scurrying to a corner in shame. It never worked.

  “I can’t believe you cheated some fellas—and got caught.”

  “They did not catch me cheating. They assumed I was dishonest because I was blessed with three royal flushes that evening. I could not convince them it was only luck.”

  “You couldn’t convince them because no one is that lucky. You had to be cheating, no two ways about it. Makes me doubt my wisdom in financing this cattle venture.”

  “I’d never cheat you, Jessye love.”

  “Prove it.” She slapped her cards on the ground. Three queens.

  Unfortunately, he could not now reach for the deck and swap his cards without her noticing. “Lady Luck is smiling on me tonight,” he said as he laid down a full house.

  She snorted in a very unladylike manner. “I don’t know how you do it, but I know that you cheat every time.”

  “Jessye love, I would never cheat you.”

  She scoffed. “You’d cheat the devil if you could.”

  He gave her a disarming smile. “Now that I would do, but I’d never cheat an angel.”

  “I’m no angel.”

  He pressed his aching palm over his heart. “I beg to disagree.”

  He scraped his meager winnings across the ground. She wouldn’t wager more than two bits per hand, which made accumulating wealth a slow process. “Another hand, Jessye, and I shall attempt to prove I don’t cheat.”

  “Nope. You’ve won enough from me tonight.”

  He watched as she crouched before the fire and poured coffee into her tin cup. He tried to imagine the women he’d known in England riding from dawn until well past dusk without complaining once—and the image simply would not tak
e shape in his mind.

  He couldn’t see them setting up camp or building a fire by which to cook the hare they had shot and skinned only moments before. But Jessye did it, seeming to relish the independence that her iron stomach gave her.

  “If you two could keep your voices low tonight, I’d appreciate it,” Kit said as he spread his blankets over the ground near the supply wagon. “I’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

  Jessye glanced over at Harry, and he saw the faintest blush creep up her cheeks. He liked the camaraderie that settled between them as the night deepened.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” she said as she planted her bottom on the ground and worked her back against the log.

  He cursed himself for envying the dirt and rotting wood, but Kit had been right. The clothes she wore did nothing to help a man forget she was female. The absence of petticoats and corsets only made her that much more alluring because so little separated her skin from the open air. With but the flick of a button or two, his palm could meet her flesh. With great effort, he shoved his errant thoughts aside. She did not want his body without his heart, and he had no heart to give.

  “I know we’ve done this two nights before, but I haven’t quite figured out exactly what we’re watching for,” he said.

  She lifted a narrow shoulder. “Critters. Desperadoes. Stampeding cattle.” She cut her gaze over to him. “Once we round up some cows, you’ll need to sing to them to calm them through the night.”

  “Sing to them? Surely you jest.”

  “Nope. That’s the way it’s done.”

  “Kit’s singing is likely to make the animals run off.”

  “I heard that,” Kit grumbled, continuing to arrange his blankets. “I’ll have you know that I was a choirboy.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can sing,” Harrison pointed out. “It only indicates your mother didn’t want to have to bother with you during the church service.”

  “My mother adored me. She would have kept me at her side until I was eighty. More than likely it was Father who didn’t want to be bothered with me.”

  He heard the touch of wistfulness in Kit’s voice, so slight as to be as elusive as a shadow. How hard it must have been for him growing up to see someone who looked exactly as he did receive all the Earl of Ravenleigh’s love and attention while he received none. Still, he had known his mother’s adoration.