by Thea Devine
Ellie said, "That was rather rude. But then, she still is a child." As if to say, I'm here, and I'm not.
Deuce gave her a thoughtful steely-gray once-over, as he considered Kalida's frame of mind, his own, and what Kalida meant to happen with Ellie. It wouldn't hurt, he thought, to give her a taste of her own medicine. It would not hurt at all for her to see him paying some attention to Ellie, who, by most men's standards, was a very desirable woman, particularly since she was no longer a virgin and, according to gossip he had heard, had had several fruitful liaisons as well as a successful business.
He smiled down at Ellie. "Yes, she is rather headstrong. Willful. Refreshing now and again." He shrugged, and Ellie stepped closer. No one could miss the gesture or her hand on his hard-muscled forearm, stroking the crisp cotton of his fresh shirt. It was almost as if she were inhaling him, and his scent stoked her ardor still more. If she could have sucked him inside her by aspiration, he would have been gone ten minutes ago, he thought ruefully. She was a predator and she had staked him out.
He let her ease closer because he felt Kalida's attention on them, although she did not seem to be looking at them directly. But she was aware of every nuance of Ellie's seemingly expert, covert movements. God, Ellie did it
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well, she thought. There was an angle, an attitude, a stance . . . and suddenly her body was leaning into Deuce, her breasts in the silky rose gown, now altered also drastically at the bodice, pressing lightly but firmly against his arm. Her fingers touched, skimmed, patted. And her eyes! Those glowing black eyes, burning and innocent all at once. Kalida envied her. How did she do it? And how could Deuce be so stupid as to be taken in
by her?
Of course he was. Ellie had a certain mature beauty. And, of course, her skin was flawless because she did not work out of doors, never had even when her husband was alive. And the eyes. They were wide, tilting, fascinating. Her mouth was also a fleshy pout of invitation. The new dresses certainly enhanced her body. Madame was so clever with a needle she even made it appear that Ellie had a bosom. And that bosom was pressed tellingly against Deuce's body.
Kalida was so incensed by the thought that she flounced into the dining room, where Ardelle was directing Prestina to lay the covers. Mindlessly, Kalida began to help, oblivious to Ardelle's scathing look until the older woman said tonelessly, "You may summon the others," and Prestina scurried out, very aware herself of Ardelle's anger.
Deuce appropriated the seat next to him for Ellie.
Ardelle sat across from her. Kalida was next to Ardelle
and Madame seated herself across the table beside Ellie.
Prestina tiptoed into the dead-silent room, and just as
silently began to serve.
Kalida was not hungry. She had what amounted to a front-row seat to Ellie's antics, and she was fuming at how much Deuce seemed to enjoy her conversation and her little stroking touches as plates and serving pieces were-passed. A ripple of Ellie's laughter at something Deuce had
said to her in an undertone stiffened Kalida's spine. And then she completely missed something Ellie said to her across the table.
Ellie slanted an amused glance at Deuce, and then repeated her question. "I'm told you were at the ranch today. How did you find it?"
Kalida shot a bolt-blue glance at Deuce. "Devastating," she said coldly.
"You never should have gone back until your father had arranged to lay the foundation again. Really, to see it like that . . ."
"There was nothing to see. Papa had had all the burnt timber removed and the debris cleaned away. There's nothing there, Ellie. Nothing to see. Nothing"—again that explosive flash of blue ricocheted off Deuce's amused gray gaze—"to be upset about."
"If only you had known that, you could have saved yourself a trip," Ellie said complacently, smiling into her soup and then up at Kalida.
"And my foreman a lost afternoon," Deuce added without a shade of expression in his tone.
The bastard, Kalida thought furiously as a hot wave of anger suffused her whole body; not only was he reminding her about how he felt about Jake Danton, he was prompting the memory of what had happened between them. What could have happened between her and Jake, perhaps, if he had not come. Oh, she felt unreasoningly grateful to him. She could kiss his boots for interfering. At that moment, the thought of Jake Danton was infinitely more attractive than him. And she might, if this mood continued, set about to prove it!
If he caressed Ellie's hand one more time! Blast him and damn him to hell! She might well throw a knife at him if he did one more untoward thing.
And then Ardelle was speaking. "Personally, I don't blame Kalida for wanting to see the ranch. It was time.
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She had to lay her hopes in that direction to rest. It's time for her to bear up to her responsibilities. And you've made a very nice start tonight, my dear. The dress is ravishing on you. You look quite elegant."
I don't want your compliments, Kalida wanted to scream. But she sat very still, her hands primly folded in her lap while Prestina cleared away the first course and returned to set out platters of meat, biscuits, beans, and corn.
"And compliments to Madame," Ardelle continued, "both for her speed and the excellence of her designs, and her willingness to come and attend us in this emergency." I'd sooner have walked around stark naked, Kalida thought willfully, digging into the meat with a vengeance. "Thank you," said Madame, nodding her head graciously. "It is a pleasure to dress two such lovely ladies." "Now," Ardelle went on, and her tone turned brisk, "your plans, Deuce . . ."
Deuce's warming gray gaze swept down at Ellie. "... have changed," he interpolated smoothly. "Really, Deuce . . ."
"Really, Ardelle, do I have to dot every / and put a period on every sentence so you may know to the minute what my plans are?"
"Yes, actually," she answered calmly, shooting him a sparking sherry-red look. "How else can I plan? Look, Deuce, we've had this argument for years, and we'll have it forever if you keep refusing to be pinned down as to your comings and goings. I can't even begin to account for how much food we waste just because you won't tell me your plans."
"I've told you as much as I know. The market herd moves out tomorrow. The rest stay at Balsam for summer grazing. The calves come here. Me and Jake are taking some of the crew to Stoneface Ridge for the Ryland herd. We'll cut and brand back at Morgan field, I think, and
see what kind of shipment we can get out of them. That should take a day and a half, since Ryland hired his own day men and they're stil) with the herd as far as I know. We'll move out the day after tomorrow, be back by the weekend. Is that detailed enough?"
"And the Linaria?"
"Are being well taken care of."
"I'm worried* about them. And our losses."
"We have the babies. And the remainder of the stud herd is safe. And being taken care of."
"I wish you would tell me where," Ardelle said fretfully.
Deuce looked around at the three avid faces listening. "No, you're all better off not knowing. You notice nothing's happened since I sequestered them. I still think someone on Sweetland is selling information."
"Don't get cocky," Ardelle cautioned. "They don't only steal the Linaria. Haskins was hit for a couple hundred head a few weeks back."
"I know," Deuce said, and a grim line appeared around his mouth. "That's why we're going to wire up after I disperse the Ryland herd. I'm damned tired of it, and damned tired of throwing money away. If the vigilante association can't do something about it, / will."
"I don't want to talk about it any more at the dinner table," Ardelle said suddenly, not liking Deuce's hard expression at all. And if some thieving rustlers found the Linaria—what then? Would he shoot to kill by his own deputization? Deuce was a formidable foe, as even she had reason to know. She was frightened for him. He was trying new methods, new mind games to deal with the thieves — games that could g
et him killed.
She looked around the table. Her words had sobered everyone, as if they had all thought the same thing. Ellie's pale hand gripped Deuce's wrist, and her round black eyes were riveted on his tense face.
Kalida looked at Ardelle. The older woman had a
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strange look on her face, and Kalida could not tell whether she approved of Ellie's possessiveness or whether her mind was totally somewhere else. However Ardelle felt about it, Kalida was ready to throw things. She wanted Ellie to get her thin white grasping hand off Deuce, and she wanted Ellie to remove herself back to Bozeman as soon as was expediently possible, so that Kalida could deal with Deuce and his agreement with her father with some equanimity. As of this moment, she was consumed with rage at Ellie's forwardness and Deuce's blatant encouragement.
And she didn't care about cows or ranches or the Santa Linaria or her father's herd. Or anything. She slapped her napkin down on her table. And then stopped. Her first impulse was to leave the room. Ellie could have him, damn his hide, but she did not have to sit and watch them.
But her second feeling was stronger. She couldn't bear to think about what might be happening, and on that account, she was stuck in the dining room until dinner was over.
There was pie, dried fruit, cheese, and coffee afterwards, but she ate little of it. It seemed to her that there was a deeper tension surrounding them now, and perhaps it had come on because of Ardelle's intent questioning about Deuce's plans. He didn't-like schedules or being kept in one place at someone else's behest. Something about what Ardelle had said had gotten him riled up, but only Kalida saw it.
Everyone else perceived him to have reverted back to his usual self. His reckless flinty gaze darted back and forth between Kalida and Ellie, with whom he began a desultory conversation when they adjourned to the parlor after dinner. And Kalida didn't like that either. She didn't like anything tonight, and finally she decided she would excuse herself.
"Well, really, Kalida." Again that chiding tone in Ardelle's voice.
"I'm tired," she said testily. "I've had a long day."
"Yes, I expect you have," Ardelle agreed, thinking she could not very well disapprove of Kalida's antics this afternoon when she herself had given her the go-ahead to ride with Jake to the Ryland homestead. A mistake, certainly, but* Kalida sensed her displeasure anyway. And didn't care, of course. And that was just like her.
"Kalida will go and hide in her room," Ellie said, just loudly enough so Kalida could hear, "like a disappointed child. But come, Deuce, we have delicious things to talk about."
Kalida pounded the wall as she climbed the stairs. Oh, he could have the brazen old witch, what did she care? She was old, anyway. Old and desperate. Maybe she thought Deuce was desperate, since he got to town so rarely. That had to be it. Any old woman would look good to a man who hadn't seen one in months.
Ha! The idea was laughable. She shoved in the door of Deuce's room, scanned it briefly, grabbed up her silk robe, skirt, shirtwaist, and underthings, freshly washed and pressed by Prestina, as well as her boots, a hanger, and her brush, and slammed down the hallway looking for an empty room.
There were several, all dimly lit by guttering kerosene lamps, always ready, and she blazed up again in anger at Deuce's presumption that she would even choose to share a room with him if another were available. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible, but there weren't that many rooms from which to choose. One was obviously Ellie's, since the dove-gray dress was hanging outside the wardrobe door almost as if Prestina had just pressed it and hung it there so as not to wrinkle it.
She certainly did not want to be anywhere near Ellie, whose room was right at the head of the stairs and down
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the hall from Deuce's. She proceeded to look in the line of doors on the opposite side of the hallway. Here was Madame. There was Prestina. The next was empty but, she thought, her father might have used it. There was a book on the table and her father was an avid reader, and she knew that no one else at Sweetland was. The next room was empty also, and so was the one beyond it, which was directly opposite Deuce's room.
She chose the former room, which put her far enough away from everyone, she thought. By the dim light of the ever-present kerosene lamp, she could see it was a pleasant, nondescript room that was obviously reserved for unexpected company.
She closed the door and spread out her few belongings. What a pleasure to occupy a totally featureless room, alone and private. She turned down the lamp and lay down on the bed fully dressed. Bliss and peace, alone at last.
But what were they doing downstairs? She could hear nothing through the thick door. No, it was none of her business. Her mind jumped from that notion to the idea of busyness. And the forthcoming roundup of her father's herd. God, if she could only go! A day and a half on the trail, scrounging out straggling calves, keeping them moving, always mindful of the money on the hoof; sharing the cooking chores because she could do that well, and the men liked her coffee and her biscuits; earning the respect of the men for doing the work as well as any male. And she had done it; she could do it. It had been necessary to do it when her father had not had the money to hire the extra day hand.
She would do it, she thought suddenly. It would be insurance. It was something Ellie would never think to do. Whether Deuce liked her coming or not, it was something Ellie couldn't or wouldn't do.
Nostalgia cemented her resolve; one way or another she
was going on roundup. The thought that Ardelle would disapprove did not deter her either. And Deuce?
She was the collateral for her father's deal. She wondered if, once the cattle were dispersed to market, her worth to him would diminish. If once he got his money, she would be of no use to him.
Well, that wasn't strictly true, she thought wryly; she was of some use to him. Except if it weren't her, it would be someone else. It would be . . . Ellie.
Oh God, I can't keep my* mind off of what they might be doing . . . She sat up abruptly. What if they had all gone to bed? What if, at this very moment, Ellie were expecting Deuce in her room, steps down the hallway?
She wondered if she would hear them.
She didn't want to hear them. She just didn't want them to be together. Ellie had pushed a little bit too hard at the dinner table. Damn her pale hands and obsidian eyes. Damn Deuce's supercilious feudal overlord attitude, sitting at his very own dinner table and insinuating that Ellie Dean pleased him to the point where she might find him in her bed!
What you wanted, the small undaunted voice in the back of her mind announced with smug satisfaction.
She had heard it before; she tamped down on it and replaced it with the vision of Ellie's bedroom, which she had just entered not a half hour ago. She could see it clearly, with its painted pine furniture, relics from another era but comfortable and homey enough for the guest room, softly lit, inviting, with Ellie's essence permeating the room. She would be seated in the center of the bed, only the sheets wrapped around her, loosely, her dark hair flowing straight and glossy down her shoulders, her black eyes glittering with dark fires that would beg to be quenched.
That was the thing about Ellie, that faint air of mystery that no other woman could penetrate: It demanded a
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man's logic, a man's mastery. The pure male insolence of someone like Deuce Cavender.
No!
Yes! And if someone like Deuce wanted a woman like Ellie . . . The thought was torture. Ellie, of course, would have discarded her rose gown and underthings, and her bare body would be just barely covered by the thin revealing sheet. She would hold her arm under her breasts to push them forward slightly (she would have to, Kalida assured herself with some satisfaction), and after a moment, that would not matter. Deuce would have stripped away the sheet, and it would not matter.
And then . . . And then Ellie would have the pleasure of those large, h
ot knowledgeable hands exploring and discovering. Only Ellie would be receptive, not abrasive and disparaging. She would allow . . . She would not . . .
Of course she would — anything Kalida would not. And what had Kalida not? . . . she asked herself in consternation.
Her body quivered; she could not spend a night like this, wondering enthralled by the vision of what might be happening, probably was happening.
Her imagination was too vivid; the picture she envisioned of Ellie entwined in Deuce's arms, his mouth ravishing her saucy breasts, scorched her consciousness and nearly drove her wild with longing that it was she experiencing the unbridled pleasure of his virile tongue.
She had to stop it and face the fact Deuce was not going to come looking for her this evening. Whether he was with Ellie or not was irrelevant. She had wanted privacy and now she had it. She could now curl up with her ultimate desire and derive the fullest pleasure from her solitude.
The brazen little bitch, he thought, as he stood in the door of the room where Kalida all unknowingly slept. It was very late. He had left everyone and gone off by himself, first outside to the porch and subsequently to his office, where he knew no one would seek him out. He had had enough of Ellie —and Ardelle, come to that, after a half-hour—and he had felt that Kalida ought to have time to stew over the outrageous little plot she had created and to assess the consequences.
Certainly she had looked upset, as he had paid obsequious attention to Ellie, and it was obvious she was very close to stamping pettishly out of the room at one point.
He had not expected her to abscond entirely. Her claws were out again, ready to rake him over. Well, she didn't know it yet, but she had met her match. He was the man who would tame the cat.
"Kalida!"
His voice roared all up and down the hallway an hour later, waking Ardelle and Madame and Prestina, who grumblingly shut their collective doors in his face. Only Ellie hung in her doorway, pulsating and seductive in her thin lawn nightgown, which she had not bothered to cover with a robe. "Deuce?" her low, throaty voice inquired with a touch of curiosity.
