by Thea Devine
198
199
waist a length of material that was the color of mud and the texture of wool. This was to be basted into the first of her skirts. Madame pinned, Ardelle and Ellie watched, and Prestina assisted quietly and capably.
After, Kalida had no choice but to button herself back into the wretched fitted blue, and then, with a nod of satisfaction at its fit, Madame turned her attention to Ellie. "For whom we must create but the one extra dress, since Madamoiselle already has the gold, the gray, and the rose that seem already made for her."
At this juncture, Madame chased Kalida out of the room, as Ellie required, her black eyes gleaming maliciously, and Kalida thankfully retreated.
No one was watching her now, she thought as she made her way downstairs from the bedrooms. She could just jump on Malca and escape.
Escape; yes, it did feel like a prison. The situation with her father and Deuce, the house, the dress, Ardelle's disapproval —all strands of a tightening web that circumstance was weaving around her, constricting her, controlling her, making her feel like the only course was for her to run for her life.
As she wandered through the open porch door she chastised herself for being fanciful. The heat hit her like a wall. The drive lay ahead of her. She had only to set her feet on it and start walking.
Yes, with nowhere to go and no money to support myself, she thought; and any alternative situation would probably lead to more unpleasant consequences than she could ever suffer at Deuce's hands. She had to make the best of this situation. That was the conclusion she had been avoiding these past weeks.
She saw Jake walking up the path, leading his mount, looking as though he were heading for the house. He seemed preoccupied, and when he lifted his head he was startled to see her. After a moment's hesitation, he hailed
her, and when he drew up beside her, he took off his hat respectfully. "On my way to the bedding ground," he told her. "The boys will be .spending the night there, now the cutting's done, Deuce too; I came to see if he was ready."
"I haven't seen him," Kalida said pleasantly, forbearing to say if she had, she would have done something awful.
"You be sure to come out to the Morgan field tomorrow, Miss KaMda, and watch them mommas and calves come home."
"I want to."
"Deuce is set to start off the drive tomorrow, so maybe after that, I'll have a couple of hours and we can take a quick trip over to your old home."
"I would like that too," Kalida said, warming up to his clear hazel eyes that regarded her so admiringly and courteously. He smiled, and she noticed for the first time, in the bright clear light, the lines that crinkled around his eyes and the dimple in his cheek. He really was very likeable, and she liked him very much at that moment.
He put on his hat and it shaded his suddenly sharpened eyes. "You wouldn't have happened to have seen Miss Ardelle, would you?" he asked offhandedly.
"She's up with Ellie, why?"
"No moment, Miss Kalida. Tell Deuce, if you see him, I've gone on ahead with the provisions. I'll see you tomorrow." He touched the brim of his hat in farewell; he had no time to linger with Kalida Ryland, much as he would have liked to. Business first, he thought swinging gracefully up onto his saddle. Get the calves in and the money herd out, and then I can pursue my fancies. Then, I'll have all the time in the world.
Kalida stared after his retreating figure, perplexed. She did not have the time, however, to follow an elusive thought that had occurred to her, as Ardelle's sharp voice intruded. "Was that Jake Danton?" She sounded cross,
200
201
and Kalida wondered why.
"It was, and he said it wasn't important." She turned to look at Ardelle, who was standing over her right shoulder. "And Deuce?" Ardelle barked in her ear. "Hasn't left yet," Deuce interpolated behind them in his dry, flat voice that Kalida hated.
She spun away as he came down the porch steps, his bedroll slung over his shoulder. "I'm on my way now," he said unnecessarily. "Who's moving them out?" Ardelle asked. "Hayes and Jenkins are taking them, and their boys. We're going to head up to Stoneface Ridge, probably at the end of this week, and bring back the Ryland herd." "And the calves?"
"About a dozen Linaria babies, strong and looking good. Jake's crew will nurse them for the week."
"And you've put the Linaria bulls in hiding," Ardelle finished caustically, not even looking at him. Her sherry eyes were fixed on a point above his head, somewhere far away in a place he couldn't see, and Kalida could not understand. Not yet, at any rate.
"Necessary precaution," Deuce said briefly. "Just for the week; I can't take any more losses there, you know that." "I know it," she said grimly.
"Where's Ellie?" he asked, effectively changing that subject. His steel-gray eyes raked over Kalida, who still stood uncomfortably by the porch steps looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but in his vicinity.
Damn her to hell, he cursed exasperatedly; she needed a damned week and more to ruminate on her sins. If they all came up and slapped her in the face, then she might be able to admit feelings she was hiding and desires she would not let herself feel. But oh no, the proud, almighty Miss Kalida Ryland was too fine for all that. She would let him go any which way, but she would never let him
touch her within, in the place where the fire burned. He felt as though he would never get in there, and he wondered whether he wanted to.
His frosty gray gaze discomfitted her, and he knew it from the way she was fidgeting. No memories of any kisses in the barnyard here; she effectively put away the reality of her dizzying response. Only he would remember, alone at night on the range with just the lowing of the cattle and the crooning of the nighthawkers to keep him
company.
Goddamn hell, I waste too much energy wanting, he thought angrily, slapping his hat against his denim-clad muscular thigh.
"Cheer up, Kalida," he said abruptly. "I won't be sleeping with you tonight."
Her startled cobalt gaze rammed into him with its anger and resentment of his audacious comment. And to say it out loud in front of Ardelle! She clenched her fists to keep from swinging at him. "So happily / can get some sleep," she snapped back before she thought. The words sounded brazen, inviting by their very denial of what he implied. His firm mouth quirked consideringly as her lips tightened in dismay.
Ellie made her entrance just then, smiling and purring, Kalida might have described it as she turned away and stalked to the far end of the porch. She peeked over her shoulder. Deuce was saying something to Ellie, and Ellie was smiling. She grasped his muscular forearms and stood on her toes to kiss him, right on the mouth. A lingering kiss, one he answered deliberately, willfully, Kalida thought angrily, because he knew she was watching.
Fine. Ellie was perfect for him; hadn't she been saying that since they had come to Sweetland. Let him trample her. Let him swallow her up alive. Let him try.
She leaned against the porch railing as telling heat washed through her body. She couldn't reconcile the fact
202
203
that she didn't want that —and she wanted it, all at the same time.
For the first time since they had arrived, Sweetland seemed bereft of life. It was just the three women, Prestina, and several aging ranch hands to oversee things and protect them if anything untoward happened.
It was eerie sitting in the parlor by lamplight, with Ellie doing some inconsequential embroidery, Ardelle sewing something else with detached intensity, Prestina sitting by the fire with mending, and Kalida herself pacing restlessly.
Ardelle was ready to slap her. Her restiveness was like a thunderbolt crackling through the peaceful atmosphere. "Sit down, Kalida, for heaven's sake. I am out of patience with you. You would think you never spent an evening at home at the Ryland ranch. However did you keep yourself occupied then? Your poor father!" she clucked, and bent her head back to her work.
At the ranch, Kalida thought, sinking into her
favorite little sofa. It seemed a lifetime ago. What did she used to do? She used to do sewing — mending, as Prestina was doing now; she used to read. She used to keep a diary, but that had been burned to ashes. She used to play cards with Papa. She used to practice her guitar, but there was nothing at Sweetland that made music. Nothing. She couldn't remember what else, but she was absolutely sure every evening had been eventfully filled when she had been back at her father's ranch. But Ardelle would never believe it.
And she herself could hardly credit it. It seemed the wealthier one was, the less one had available to occupy oneself. It was another vision of her possible future that she did not like one bit.
She got up abruptly. "I'm riding out to Morgan field tomorrow," she announced defiantly, daring Ardelle to
204
forbid her to do it.
Ardelle looked up at her placidly. Only the faintest spark of red fire in her eyes betrayed her annoyance. But she only nodded and said, "If you must. How fortunate Madame is working on your skirt. And how nicely it will suit the occasion."
And how lovely, Kalida found when she flounced up to Deuce's room in a rage, that it was stitched and ready for her to wear, lying neatly across the foot of the bed with a fresh shirtwaist, and Prestina anxiously hovering, waiting for her to try it on.
"Yes," she said with satisfaction as Kalida modeled it for her, "that will do you nicely for riding. Mr. Deuce say you intend to ride, and how can you with that tight blue dress you cannot move in."
"Deuce said?" Kalida echoed, astonished.
"Mr. Deuce said," Prestina confirmed, taking the skirt and draping it over the back of the upholstered rocking chair. She turned back to Kalida. "Mr. Deuce, he want you to be happy."
Kalida shook her head and began unfastening the pins that held her inky black hair in its tight braid. "He wants me to be a possession," she contradicted, "someone else he has in his power and under his control. Something to use, to tell what to do and when to do it."
Prestina's smooth brown face came up behind her in the mirror. Her liquid eyes spoke volumes; they emanated pity, and Kalida's back stiffened.
"You misunderstand," Prestina murmured. "I have known him since he was a boy."
"Yes," Kalida snapped, "and I have known him since I was a girl. I don't misunderstand. I know exactly what he's like. I always have. He hasn't changed."
"No," Prestina said low.
"And he never will." Her sparking navy eyes challenged Prestina. Prestina's expression did not change; she shook
205
her head and turned away, leaving Kalida to stare at her own rebellious face in the mirror and whisper, "He never will," to the reflection that was perfectly sure the words were true.
Her inner awareness that there was work to be done awakened her at dawn, and she arose with a sense of purpose that had been sorely lacking since she had come to Sweetland.
She thought about the calving all morning as she washed, dressed, ate breakfast alone, and prepared to ride out to Morgan range with Old Bruno, one of the three hands who looked after the house and pastures when Deuce and his crew were on roundup. And it seemed to her that, barring the calf herd was large, nurturing the calves was something she could do, something she had done at home, although their calf count was not nearly as high as Deuce's herd.
Old Bruno, who was a crusty, rusty-voiced older man of about fifty, cheerfully brought Malca to the porch for her, along with his own sway-backed mount. He smiled at her eagerness as she clamped her hat on over her rebellious black curls and made sure her bandanna was turned to just the right angle.
"No hurry," he told her as they walked the horses into the back pasture onto the dirt track behind the barns. "No hurry; they'll have started them moving about now, and it'll take about an hour to bring them down. And they'll spend the day watching over them, and after that Barney and I'll take over."
Kalida smiled at his kindly garrulousness. He was rather taller than she had expected, with sandy receding hair and a freckled open face. Everything about him was large and droopy, like a comfortable old shoe. He had worked for Deuce's father, he told her, from the beginning, and Deuce relied on him heavily for home chores
and tending the horses and the newborn calves. He helped with the haying and the weeding and with some experiments Deuce was trying out of growing their own feed, since Deuce didn't think free grass would last forever and was worried about what might happen if the country went through another bad winter or two, like back in the seventies.
Kalida listened to this restful monologue as they maneuvered their horses through uncultivated pasture that she had not traveled before; enjoying the enthusiasm of Old Bruno for his work and his misplaced admiration for Deuce's foresight.
Old Bruno used to like to go on roundup and sometimes still did. His favorite chore always was rounding up the strays; it was one of his winter tasks, too, along with keeping tabs on the calves, and he enjoyed it so much because he liked having the time in the field alone.
"I used to like it too," Kalida said without thinking. Her cobalt eyes took on a reminiscent blue glow as she smiled at him.
"Did you now, Miss Kalida? Well, well."
"Yes, and I helped with the newborn calves too. We never had many, but any number always had to be looked after the first weeks, same as here. Before"—she swallowed for a moment because all of what Old Bruno had said brought back the days at home, the times she missed, and the tasks she was not supposed to do any more, and she felt a lump rising in her throat "—before I came here, I did a lot of work around my father's ranch. He couldn't rightly afford the kind of help Deuce has, so everyone pitched in, even me. I —I never told anybody but I even had hopes of breeding cutting ponies, except I never told Papa because I thought he would laugh at the idea."
Bruno's pale eyes surveyed her straight-backed figure and her capable hands guiding Malca, and he nodded sympathetically. "That'd take time and money, always
206
207
assuming you could find the right combination of horse to breed."
"Exactly," Kalida agreed wryiy, looking around curiously as they proceeded cautiously through unclaimed brush and towering trees. "Now, where are we?"
"Shortcut," Bruno cackled, and moved ahead of her. "Be there in a minute, you'll see."
She followed him cautiously, and within moments, they came through a break in the bushes into sun-washed open pasture that stretched verdant and rich into the horizon.
"Now we wait," Bruno said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He reached behind into his saddlebag for his canteen and offered it to Kalida. She took it, sipped the cool water gratefully, and handed it back to him. He took a long swallow, capped it, and put it away. "Won't be long," he said, wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
"We don't have to talk," Kalida told him, and he nodded approvingly.
"You've got the right spirit," he commended her. "Come, let's meander in a little ways."
They moved forward slowly, in companionable silence, and Kalida allowed the heat of the sun to suffuse her body and spirit. There was so much to love here, so much about Sweetland she could care about. So much she could do. If she would be allowed to to it.
Her sense of frustration intensified as she imagined announcing to Ardelle that she fully intended to work the calf pen. Ardelle would have a fit, refusing to let anyone in the house that had had her hands in cow chips all day long. Ellie, of course, would have had her hands busy doing genteel things all day long, so naturally her presence would be welcome.
She just didn't know why Ellie didn't pick up and return to Bozeman at this point. What was Ellie doing staying on at Sweetland, anyway? Kalida shaded her eyes over the brim of her hat and looked to the distance. Not a
sign of trail dust yet. Just a quiet calm surrounding her, and a peaceful soul by her side who respected the silence and the need to be alone.
What was Ellie doing at Sweetland? The question kicked back in her con
sciousness again. Ellie had supposedly come to the ranch to take care of her, Kalida, in her hour of need, as a favor to her father. But she remembered it had?seemed strange that after all that time, Ellie had come instantly the moment her father asked. She would have supposed thereto be a residual resentment on Ellie's part. She had as much as chased Ellie away all those years ago, when they had challenged each other for her father's love. She had thought Ellie had given up and that pride would keep her from falling into a trap again. But no, Ellie had come. And then the fire and Deuce's offer of hospitality . . .
What else could they have done? But Ellie . . . She could have requested to return to Bozeman. After all, she had a life there, running a discreet little boarding house to support herself. Of course, it was not Sweetland. Kalida supposed that Ellie would not have been human if she didn't leap on the prospect of living at Sweetland for a while and have the bonus of allowing Deuce to replenish her wardrobe.
Yes, that was feasible. But it had been several weeks now. And if she herself hadn't been so blinded by her need to escape Deuce's control, she might have perceived sooner that it was possible Ellie had overstayed her welcome.
But it was also possible that Ardelle had invited her to stay on. And that Ellie had now set her sights on Deuce Cavender, since it was so patently obvious that Kalida Ryland didn't want him, and Kalida Ryland's father didn't want her.
And Kalida Ryland herself was doing an excellent job of pushing Ellie right into Deuce's arms, she reminded
208
209
herself wryly. Was that what she wanted?
She didn't know what she wanted where Deuce was concerned. She did not like the power he had over her with his wanton hands, which knew exactly how to render her mindless and hot with reckless desire so that her will was suborned to her passion. She only knew she wanted things to be as they had been before the fire; she wanted to be young and carefree, her own mistress who answered to no one but herself.
