Never Love a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  “But you were only a child—”

  “A male—even one as young as I was—does not cry. Ever. An earl’s son is never a child. He is born a man.”

  Shuddering, Jessye longed to wrap her arms around him, but she feared his reaction. His voice carried no emotion. His body was coiled tighter than a snake’s. Little wonder he knew nothing of love.

  “Did she ever take you to the cellar again?”

  “Ah, yes,” he replied as though no other answer could exist. “Our journey became a weekly ritual. Even when I stopped telling her that I loved her.”

  “How could she do that to you?”

  He slid his gaze to her. “Haven’t a clue. I rather suspect she might have been insane.”

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she touched her fingers to his cheek, holding his gaze. “She was insane. No mother would have done such a horrid thing to her own child—to any child. A mother’s love—”

  He shifted his body so quickly that she nearly fell backward. Facing her directly, his emerald eyes were hard as stone, his face set in rigid lines. “Yes, Jessye, tell me all about a mother’s love. Explain to me how a mother could abandon her child.”

  Chapter 5

  “Looks like you had a rough night,” Jo Beth said. “I know sleepin’ on the floor can be hard on a person. We should have offered you our bed—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Jessye said as she held the bundle of joy within her arms. She hadn’t slept after Harry had asked his accusatory question. A bed wouldn’t have made any difference. She’d asked herself the same question a thousand times in the passing years, but the words coming from him had hurt her more than she would have thought possible. “A new mother needs all the comforts she can find.”

  “Well, I sure don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t happened along,” Jo Beth said as she eased out of bed.

  Jessye stroked the child’s soft hair. “You would have managed.”

  “Not likely. My Pete’s a good man, but he worries something fierce.”

  Jessye smiled at the woman. “Appreciate that he does. Most men don’t.” She handed the child to her mother.

  “You oughta think about staying until the weather warms,” Jo Beth said.

  Jessye settled her hat into place. “It’ll warm up in a day or so, and we’ll be that much closer to finding the cattle.”

  “You watch that fella you’re traveling with. I think he has an eye set on you.”

  “He has his eyes set on my money.” With that honest truth nipping at her heels, Jessye strode from the house.

  She saw Harry talking with Pete near the saddled horses. Although Jessye had protested, Jo Beth had insisted they take some of the canned goods from her pantry. Jessye slung the saddlebags over the horse’s rump before mounting. “Come on, English, we’re burning daylight.”

  Grinning broadly, Pete took a step toward Jessye. “Did Jo Beth tell you we was naming the baby after the two of you? Jessica Harriet.”

  Jessye felt the tears sting her eyes. “I’m honored. It’s a right fine name. I hope the world always treats her kindly.”

  Harry slanted his gaze toward her. They held no warmth for her. They were as cold as those of the rattler that had curled on his chest. “Pete said he saw unmarked cattle to the south.”

  “How many?”

  “A dozen or so.”

  Jessye nodded. “Fine.”

  Harry shook Pete’s hand. “Thanks for the tip.” He pulled himself onto the saddle and urged his horse south.

  With disappointment swirling through her, Jessye kicked her horse’s sides and followed Harry’s lead.

  With a blanket wrapped around her, Jessye stared at the fire blazing within the hearth of the small vacant shack they’d discovered earlier in the evening. They’d traveled three days without rain, three days without sighting cattle.

  Three days without speaking to each other.

  Strange how they could work side by side, do what needed doing, and never utter a word. She’d always imagined love worked that way—allowed people to communicate in ways that went beyond speech.

  But no love existed between her and Harry. She could see in his eyes exactly what she’d seen in her own for over a year after she’d given up her daughter: disgust, revulsion, disrespect.

  When she’d returned to Fortune, she’d removed every mirror from her room. She’d been unable to tolerate the sight of herself.

  That Christmas, her father had given her a beautiful mirror, edged in gold. “I don’t know why you left,” he’d said, “but I do know until you face yourself in that mirror, you’ll never really be home.”

  The first time had been the hardest. Each time, it grew a little easier…and each time she looked in the mirror, she forgave herself a little more.

  But with Harry, she’d find no forgiveness. He was indeed teaching her a lesson in hate, one she would have preferred not to learn.

  She heard the thunder rumble. The storm had hit just before they’d spotted the rustic cabin. But even with the fire and the dry clothing she’d changed into, she still trembled from the winter festering within her heart.

  Tomorrow, whether or not the frigid winds stayed, the cold within her would leave. She’d wait until Harry started forward, then she’d turn and go in the opposite direction.

  She neither wanted nor needed Harry’s company. She’d find her own cattle and to hell with him and his judgments.

  She heard him roving around the shack, scavenging for odds and ends. Their supplies were sorely depleted, but as long as she had bullets for her gun, she’d have food for her belly.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said quietly as he dropped beside her.

  “You should mind your own business.”

  “I’ve been trying to understand how the Haskells determined that they’d named their daughter in my honor when my name isn’t Harriet.”

  “Reckon that’s why you’ve been so quiet these past few days—you can’t think and talk at the same time.”

  “And what’s your excuse?” he asked.

  “I haven’t been in the company of anyone I thought was worth talking to.”

  He cleared his throat. “Is Jessye short for Jessica?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it short for anything?”

  “Nope.”

  He sighed deeply. “Jessye, I am striving to mend this rift between us—”

  “Some things can’t be mended.”

  “We cannot continue going on as we have been—”

  She spun around and faced him. “You got that right. Tomorrow, I’m looking at the back end of your horse and heading in the other direction.”

  “You bloody well will not. I’m not going to allow you to travel alone—”

  “I traveled alone when I was seventeen. Went from Fortune to a mission east of San Antone. That’s a long stretch of miles. I gave birth to my baby alone, with no one to hear my screams, hold my hand, or wipe my brow, and I alone decided what was best for her. So don’t go telling me that I can’t do things alone!”

  She grabbed his saddlebag and began rummaging through it.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “That dang mirror you use when you shave.” She pulled it out and looked at her reflection.

  “Why in God’s name do you want that?”

  “Because I need to see someone look at me without hate in their eyes.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  She shoved the mirror in front of his face. “Look inside those eyes, Harry, and tell me that’s not hatred lookin’ back.”

  He grabbed the mirror from her hand and threw it into the fire. “I asked you to explain how you could abandon a child you claimed to love, and you answered with silence. I learned the hard way that silence mirrors hatred.”

  “Go to hell!” She surged to her feet, rushed across the room, flung open the front door, and escaped into the night. The cold winds buffeted her, the harsh rain pelted her unmercifull
y, tears blinded her as she ran, ran with only one thought: to escape the guilt that gnawed at her constantly, the doubts that plagued her.

  She screamed as strong arms snaked around her. She twisted and pounded her fists against Harry’s shoulders. “Let me go!”

  “You foolish woman! You’ll die out here!” he yelled over the howling winds.

  “Do you think I give a damn! Don’t you understand? I had nothing of value to give her. Nothing! And, God, it hurt, it hurt so bad…and it still does. Do you know the agony of waking up every morning wondering if she’s happy? Can you imagine the grief of knowing you’ll never tuck her into bed and kiss her goodnight?” She bucked. “Now let me go!” She wrenched free of his hold. She managed to take three steps before he grabbed her and pulled her against his body. His arms closed around her, pinning her against him, chest to chest. She tilted her head back. Through her tears, the rain, and the darkness, he was only a blur. “Let me go and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t,” he rasped.

  Dipping down, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her. She cursed her arms that betrayed her and slid around his neck, cursed her shivering body that pressed against his, seeking warmth. She doubted she could have run much farther. And what was the point in escape? Sooner or later, she would have to face him. He held the key to her future security; she held the key to his present needs. Money. Money when she would sell her soul for love.

  He kicked open the door, carried her into the shack, and set her in front of the fire. She eased forward, extending her hands toward the heat, waiting for it to work its way through her body. She heard him slam the front door. From the corner of her eye, she watched him kneel and riffle through her belongings. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find you some dry clothing.”

  “This is all I’ve got.”

  He glared at her over his shoulder. “Wonderful.” He reached for the clothing she’d worn when they’d first arrived at the shack, clothing she’d hung near the fire so it could dry. “It’s still damp,” he murmured before reaching for his own bag. “You can wear some of my clothing.” He snatched out a shirt and a pair of britches.

  “How many outfits…did you bring?” she asked, her teeth clattering.

  “This is it,” he said, turning to face her. He reached for the button on her shirt, and she slapped his hand away.

  He sighed deeply. “You have got to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  She hated the wisdom of his words. “Get outta here, and I’ll change.”

  “I am not leaving the warmth of the fire,” he explained as he set his clothes beside her. He lifted his blanket, forming a woolen wall between them.

  With shaking fingers, she unfastened the buttons on her shirt. “What are you going to wear?”

  “It’s acceptable for a man to be without a shirt—not a lady. Although I’ve never understood the reasoning. A woman’s chest is so much lovelier to gaze upon.”

  Jessye fought back her smile as she slipped into his shirt. His words were as deft as his fingers when it came to dealing a winning hand. He’d melt her anger like butter on a biscuit if she allowed it. His shirt swallowed her, but it was dry, warm, and welcoming. She ran her fingers over his trousers. “Your britches are way too big. You wear them, and I’ll wrap myself in a blanket.”

  He lowered the blanket. “I want you out of everything that is wet.”

  “You are not my boss.”

  “Jessye, for God’s sake, there are moments when stubbornness is not an asset.”

  She thrust his britches toward him. “Change outside.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Only if you promise to pray that nothing of importance freezes off.”

  “I’ll pray just the opposite.”

  He gave her a smile that set her heart to fluttering.

  “No you won’t. Your words are always tough, but your eyes usually betray your softness.”

  She waited until he’d walked out of the shack before she shucked her drenched britches, wrapped the blanket around her waist, and tucked it around her legs. The door swung open, and Harry, barefoot and bare-chested, rushed inside.

  “It’s freezing out there,” he snapped as he draped his clothes over the rickety chairs near a rotting table. “I do wish the warmer weather you promised would return.”

  He moved her damp clothes to the chairs before snatching up her wet clothes and placing them near the fire. Her clothes would be dry by morning, but he’d no doubt be traveling in damp attire.

  Damn the scoundrel for being nice when she wanted to remain angry with him. He crouched before her saddlebag. Hampered by the blanket, she couldn’t peer far enough around him to see what he was about. “What are you doing now?”

  “Looking for your brush. Your hair looks like a rat’s nest.”

  “It always looks like that. It’s the way nature made it.”

  In triumph, he held up her brush and scooted toward her.

  “What do you think you’re going to do?” she asked.

  “Remove the tangles from your hair. I’ll be very gentle.”

  He reached for her braid, and she grabbed his wrist. “Why are you doing this, Harry? Why are you being so nice?”

  He dropped his gaze to the brush, running his thumb up and down the bristles. “Because I’ve hurt you, and apologies are not in my vocabulary.”

  “All you gotta say is ‘I’m sorry.’”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “I’d rather brush your hair.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Fine, but I won’t forgive you until you say you’re sorry.”

  “You’ve already forgiven me,” he said as he unraveled her braid.

  “Have not.”

  “Have so.”

  She snorted. “We sound like a couple of children.”

  “I fear we acted like children as well. What were you thinking to run out into the storm like that?”

  She felt his gentle touch as he draped her hair over her shoulder and worked the brush through the snarled ends. Her heart tightened with the knowledge that he’d done this before, no doubt for countless other women, because only a man of experience would know the best way to work the tangles free. “Obviously, I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get away from the memories.”

  “Because of the guilt?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Harry, I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He stilled the brush and ran his thumb along her chin until she turned her head to meet his gaze. “Jessye, I’ve pondered your words for three days, and I can’t understand them. You said you abandoned her out of love—”

  “I did not abandon her. I gave her up. There’s a difference.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “Why do you care? It was almost four years ago. What difference could it possibly make to you?”

  He cradled her cheek with infinite tenderness. “The pain reflected in your eyes when I said what I did would have brought me to my knees had I not already been sitting. Kit confided to me once of the love he held for another. As his friend, I accepted his words, but I could not fathom his actions or his feelings. What I know of a mother’s love is tainted because my mother was an expert in revealing the ways of hate. As for my mistresses…they were no better.” He slowly trailed his gaze over her face as though searching for something he’d never known. “I have a feeling you’re an expert in the ways of love.”

  “I’m not an expert, Harry. If I was, I wouldn’t have found my belly swelling with the child of a man who wouldn’t stand beside me.”

  “Outside, you said you had nothing of value to offer her. You had yourself, your love.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I had no husband, no father for her. Back then I had no money. I work in a saloon. I didn’t want my baby raised around drunks and gamblers. I didn’t want children to taunt her because her ma got caught in a sin.”

  “I’d say the fellow who left you was the one who sinned.”

&n
bsp; She shook her head. “He didn’t force me. He sweet-talked me. I would have followed him into hell. Guess in a way, I did. When I discovered he’d hightailed it out of Fortune, I was ashamed—not of the baby, never of the baby. But of myself. I didn’t want any witnesses to my stupidity, so I ran off. Got to a mission just east of San Antone. The baby was born there. She had the reddest hair, the bluest eyes. That’s all I remember about her.”

  “You left her at the mission?”

  “I was gonna take her with me. The priest took care of me until I was strong enough to travel. I was packing to leave when he came to see me. He simply said, ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways’ and told me to look out the window. A man and woman had stopped by the mission to bury their baby, who had just died. I saw them standing in the cemetery. It was raining. I didn’t get a good look at them, but I could tell they wore fancy clothes. Then the man put his arms around the woman and drew her close…and I knew they’d take good care of my baby.”

  “So you gave her to them,” Harry said.

  “I gave her to the priest and watched as he gave her to them. You asked me once if I’d had my heart broken. Giving her up shattered it into a thousand pieces.”

  Chapter 6

  Resting up on an elbow, Harrison listened to the logs crackle within the hearth, a sweet harmony enhanced by Jessye’s even breathing as she slept curled on her side, a hand tucked beneath her cheek.

  In silence, he’d finished brushing her hair. The rat’s nest she detested was beautiful in the amber glow from the fire.

  Careful, so as not to wake her, he rubbed several strands between his fingers. From a distance, her hair looked like tangled wire, but in truth, it was as soft as gossamer, much like its owner. Jessye was undeniably strong and incredibly vulnerable. A woman with a shattered heart. And he had unmercifully gouged those shards into her time and again.

  It had hurt to love his mother and to know only her hate. He had shackled the emotion in the darkest pit of his soul where none could touch it, where it could not threaten to taunt him with what he could never possess.

  Just as he had learned to cheat at cards, he had mastered cheating at love. Love could be imitated with baubles, flowers, and hollow words. A touch here, a kiss there, a whispered endearment. Until Jessye, he had always taken great care in choosing his gaming partners. He always selected those who understood the rules and cheated as well.