West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  Unlike her.

  Tears rushed into Christine’s eyes again, and this time she did nothing to stop them. She felt overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the past few weeks. Ira’s death—he’d been such a kind man. In the eight months she’d worked for him, she’d come to care deeply for him. It had been heartbreaking to watch his strength decline. She remembered the quiet moments they’d shared when he no longer had any business or personal affairs to attend to and only wanted the warmth of human companionship, which he seemed to find in her. He had died in his own bed, as he’d requested, holding her hand, because Abigail and Brendan couldn’t be reached. Then the discovery that he’d bequeathed to her and Erin a secure future—only to find that his family resisted even the idea that he could have done this! To be called a thief—and have no way to disprove it! All she wanted was something good for her child. A child who meant nothing to the Parkers and everything to her. Had she been right in bringing Erin here? In exposing her to people who—

  Once again she heard the horse before she saw it, but this time the sounds were unmistakable. She brushed the tears away from her cheeks as best she could and reached deep inside herself for some spirit.

  It was the same horse. Thunder. And the same rider. Morgan Hughes. He looked much as he had that other day: hat, vest, chaps, rough-and-ready manner. Only this time his rifle stayed securely in its mount.

  She felt his eyes move over her and knew he would have no trouble detecting she’d been crying. As he swung down from the saddle and came toward her, she stood on legs that suddenly felt weak. His blue eyes were striking in his sun-bronzed face. She looked away.

  When he stopped directly in front of her, he reached out to touch her cheek. “You’ve been crying,” he said as if the idea was foreign to him.

  Christine tossed her head, rejecting his touch. “Yes,” she said tightly. “Is that another crime against the Parkers?”

  “Has someone accused you of something?” he asked carefully.

  Christine bit her bottom lip, again forced to brush tears from her cheeks. She wanted only to get away from him—away from his prying eyes.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

  “Maybe you’d better talk to Mae,” she retorted.

  “I have talked to Mae.”

  Slowly she lifted her gaze. “Then why did you have to ask? You know what she thinks! What about you? Do you believe I stole everything Abigail says I did? That I have a partner and we planned to take advantage of a poor old man’s dying days? And that I’m here now trying to get more?”

  “Ira Parker, poor?”

  “I meant, in having people near him who cared!” she snapped. Then she turned the tables on him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  His gaze remained steady. “I’m holdin’ my options open,” he drawled.

  Christine had expected something much more definite. A definite yes.

  Then he surprised her further by closing the gap between them, taking her by the shoulders, pulling her close and kissing her with a passion that could easily rob her of her senses. And promptly did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHRISTINES’S INSTINCTS egged her on, urging her to listen to the throbbing thrilling dictates of her body. It didn’t matter that she didn’t really know this man. Mutual attraction was enough. The way she felt when pressed against him, the way he tasted, his natural male scent, the strength of his hard muscles as he strained to bring her even closer. His hands searching, exploring. Intoxicating her.

  Intoxicating. She burst free of his embrace, memory of her mother’s behavior producing a very different instinctual response. “No!” she cried, shaking her head. “No!” This was the way her mother had behaved, listening only to her own needs, unmindful and uncaring of everything and everyone else. Christine had vowed she wouldn’t be like that. Even before Erin was born she’d made that promise. She was a firsthand witness to the pain left by that kind of selfish thinking. Human hearts laid open, bleeding. Her heart.

  Morgan frowned. He reached for her again, but she evaded him. Finally he drew back, appearing confused.

  Christine had to steel herself against his good looks. Was he growing more handsome each time she saw him or was she just looking more closely? But what did thinking that way get her, except back where she’d been moments before? She had to hold herself aloof from everything about him-his appearance, his personality, his”I’ll apologize if it’s important to you,” he offered, cutting into her thoughts.

  Her breathing had not yet returned to normal, so all she did was shake her head. She didn’t want an apology.

  “But I can’t promise it won’t happen again,” he said.

  “I—I would think you could,” she managed.

  He laughed rather hollowly, glancing up to the sky as if for divine guidance before leveling his gaze back on her. “I’ll try. Is that satisfactory?”

  Christine shrugged, smoothing her hair and her blouse.

  “Only,” he drawled, his eyes narrowing, “you have to promise not to do that!” Then he gathered Thunder’s reins from the ground where he’d dropped them. “One thing I should warn you about-Mae usually comes out here to sit every afternoon about this time. When I first saw you from a distance, I thought you were her.”

  Christine looked around as if at any second Mae might appear. “I didn’t know.”

  He slanted a smile. “I didn’t think so.”

  “I—I have to go,” she murmured.

  He brought Thunder forward. “I’ll give you a ride back,” he said. “We’ll circle around to the right or left so you won’t see her.”

  Christine refused. “No, I—”

  “I promise I won’t take advantage,” he said lightly.

  While she pondered his offer, he swung easily into the saddle, then leaned toward her, extending a hand. Christine looked at it. It was a nice hand—strong, capable, long-fingered.

  He waited patiently, unmoving.

  Finally, thinking she heard a noise, Christine grabbed his hand and, placing her foot in the empty stirrup, swung up behind him.

  At a light tap from Morgan’s heels, Thunder started forward, causing Christine to clutch Morgan’s waist to keep from falling off. His low chuckle indicated that he was finding a certain amusement in the situation.

  Ordinarily Christine would have protested, but at that moment Mae appeared, walking up the worn pathway. She’d come upon them before they’d had time to get away.

  The older woman stopped and stared at them. Then to Christine’s surprise, she waved them on without a word.

  Christine was forced to hold on even tighter as Thunder broke into a trot, but since the pace took them quickly away from the little knoll, she said nothing to Morgan. A short time later, though, he slowed the horse to a walk and she was able to loosen her grip.

  “Well, that was a narrow escape,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Yes. Too narrow.”

  It bothered her to be so close to him. Bothered her to feel the strong taut muscles of his waist and back, to feel his warmth, his every breath. It was far too intimate after their earlier exchange. Some of the feelings she’d had then returned.

  To protect herself from such feelings, she concentrated on the one thing that was equally unsettling—the accusations Abigail and Brendan had made against her. She tried to remember that last afternoon in Ira’s house. Mrs. Tobin had given her her sister’s address just after warning her that Abigail and Brendan were on their way. Christine had then gone upstairs and, hurrying from spot to spot, collected all their things that remained unpacked. Could the slip of paper have gotten lost during that rush? Earlier this afternoon she’d checked the suit she’d worn that day, the one she’d dressed in to go to Eugene Hernandez’s office. There was no slip of paper in any of the pockets. So where was it?

  “Penny for ‘em,” Morgan said, twisting to look over his shoulder.

  “They’re not worth it,” Christine murmured.

/>   “Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

  Christine stared at his profile. Solid yet beautifully handsome. She dragged her gaze away.

  “I—I was thinking about how I can prove I didn’t take any of those things from Ira that Abigail says I did, when—”

  “Abigail Parker’s a spoiled bitch.”

  “—when the woman I know who’ll vouch for me no longer works at the house in River Oaks. Abigail fired her the day I left, and now she’s somewhere in Central Texas living with her sister, and I don’t know where exactly. I did, but—”

  “—you’ve lost the address.”

  Christine sighed. “That’s it.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t just misplaced it?”

  “I’ve looked.”

  “Look again.”

  Christine cocked her head. “Why should you care?” she asked. “I thought you were on the Parkers’ side.”

  “Nobody here likes Abigail and Brendan. They’re family, but ones the rest of the Parkers would just as soon do without.”

  “Mae believes her.”

  “It suits Mae to believe her—for now.”

  “Are you saying—”

  “Hop down and get that gate, would you?”

  Christine looked ahead. There was a gated opening in the miles-long barbed-wire fence. “Sure,” she said, and after a bit of shifting, she was on the ground. Morgan took Thunder through and Christine closed the gate again. She crossed to the waiting horse. “Shouldn’t we be at the compound by now?” she asked, frowning. “Erin’s going to wake up from her nap soon and wonder where I am. I’ve been out far longer than I intended.”

  “We’re almost there,” he assured her, and once again extended his hand.

  Christine looked doubtfully at it, then at him. “Are you sure? You’re not taking me somewhere else again, are you? Because if you are.” She was starting to work up a head of steam.

  “Listen,” he murmured.

  In the distance, a horse whinnied and two men could be heard talking and laughing.

  “Where are we?” she asked, once she was mounted again.

  “Near where a part of the roundup will soon be taking place. We’ll be branding, marking, dehorning, castrating, vaccinating. It’s messy dirty work, so we usually keep it away from the house. There’s four or five other sites across the ranch, but I thought you might like to have a quick look-see at this one, since it’s so close.”

  “So you are taking me somewhere else!”

  “It’s on the way, and I told you we’d circle.”

  “Yes, but that was to avoid Mae.”

  “You don’t want to see it?” he asked.

  “Another time maybe,” Christine said. “I told you, Erin might be frightened.”

  He twisted around again so he could see her. “You sure think a lot of that little girl of yours.”

  “Of course,” Christine said.

  “Why didn’t you marry her daddy, then?” he asked. “Don’t you think two parents—”

  “Just take me back to the compound, would you, please?” she interrupted coolly.

  He smiled. “You know, I’m never sure when you get all quiet and politelike whether you’re doin’ it because you think you’re supposed to, or whether you’re mad at somebody. In this case, me!”

  Christine murmured, “The compound, please?”

  Several seconds ticked by, then, facing front again, he urged Thunder on, and this time set the pace somewhere between a trot and a walk, which by necessity made Christine have to tighten her hold.

  Eventually they passed the pens and corrals, then the bunkhouse and the barn. Several cowboys paused in their work to watch them. One called out something Christine didn’t understand, but she wasn’t about to ask.

  Bits of loose rock scattered beneath Thunder’s hooves as he was reined to a halt near the path that connected the housing compound to the work area. The curving gravel drive and Mae’s stone house were only steps away.

  “You’re home, all safe and sound,” Morgan said, and as he’d done at the gate, reached round to assist her off the horse.

  But this time as Christine dismounted, her foot slipped, causing her to give a strangled yelp and reach out to Morgan for support. He reacted instantly, somehow managing to catch hold of her and swing her around, until she was in his arms, balanced across the saddle in front of him.

  For a second all Christine could do was blink. In her mind’s eye she had seen herself crashing to the ground with Thunder’s hooves dancing dangerously nearby. Then she realized that in being saved, she’d merely leapt from the frying pan into the fire.

  He grinned at her. “Manna from heaven,” he joked, but she could sense something more serious beneath his teasing words.

  Her heart beat rapidly. All she could think was that she didn’t want him to kiss her again. Or touch her again. She had to tear her gaze away, afraid he would read a message in her eyes she didn’t mean. “Please. let me down,” she said.

  “Don’t I even get a thank-you?” he asked.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Her body was taut and growing warmer by the second. If he didn’t let her down soon she was going to spontaneously combust! She wriggled, wanting her freedom. “I said what you asked,” she reminded him.

  “And very nicely, too.” Then, to her relief, he let her slide carefully to the ground.

  The earth wobbled under Christine’s feet. Then she realized that the wobbliness originated in her. Not because of her near tumble, but because of her continuing reaction to Morgan! “I have to go,” she said, then wondered why she’d felt the need to say it. What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she just go if that was what she truly wanted?

  He seemed as loath to break the moment as she was. “Is Erin’s riding lesson still on for this evening?” he asked.

  “She’ll be disappointed if it’s not.”

  “Will you be there, too?” he asked quietly.

  Christine was coming to believe that he would never harm Erin. But that wasn’t what he was asking. She shrugged. “Yes.”

  Another breathtaking smile slanted across his face, then he said simply, “Good,” before he swung Thunder around and they trotted off toward the pens and corrals.

  He sat the horse beautifully, Christine thought as she watched him. As if he’d been born to it. What did he do when he wasn’t at the Parker Ranch? she wondered. Everyone talked about his taking leave of his job to come help his father and the Parkers on the ranch, but no one had mentioned what that job was.

  Realizing she was staring after him, Christine quickly turned to follow the path to the house. Maybe she shouldn’t accompany Erin to her lesson this evening. But if she stayed away, wouldn’t that be like admitting, she found him too disturbing?

  MORGAN TRACED RAFE to the ranch office, where his friend sat talking to two uniformed visitors. One was Sheriff Jack Denton, the other his deputy, Tate Connelly.

  The tune Morgan had been whistling in happy memory of the past half hour died on his lips the instant the men turned their dour expressions on him. “More trouble?” he asked, instantly alert.

  Sheriff Denton, a soft-spoken man in his late fifties, shifted in his chair. A descendant of one of the Buffalo Soldiers (African American enlisted men who were members of the U.S. Army, and shortly after the Civil War were sent to some of the most dangerous outposts in the unfolding American West), the sheriff had roots almost as deep in the area as the Parkers’. Never rail thin, he had put on some weight over the past few years, but if anyone thought he was slowing down, they were very much mistaken. He still pursued criminals with as much energy as he had his first day on the job.

  “‘Fraid so,” the sheriff confirmed. “Seems that thievin’ gang’s come this way. Last night the Clearys next door lost thirty calves. Fence was cut, then stood back up. Tate here says it looks the same as the ones he saw last week over at Debolt.”

  Morgan hadn’t laid eyes on Tate Connelly in years. One or the o
ther of them had always seemed to be away. Himself at his job, Tate either at the university studying for a degree in criminology or gaining experience on the Dallas police force. He was a young man—twenty-four, twenty-five—but from everything Morgan had heard about him, he had all the instincts of a good lawman. Must be in the genes, Morgan thought. Come down to him from his dad, who’d died a true hero. Not to mention his mother, who worked dispatch in the sheriffs office. Morgan gave him a quick once-over and decided that he liked what he saw. Tate was a nice-looking young man, with neatly clipped brown hair and steady brown eyes. Solid. Sound of spirit.

  “Did they leave anything to go on?” Morgan asked.

  Tate answered, “The hand that found ‘em missin’ had a hissy fit right on the spot, kickin’ up dirt, cussin’ to beat the band. He took care of most everythin’ that might’ve been there. And the road’s been used a bunch after.”

  “We thought you might like to take a look,” the sheriff said.

  “What about Ed?” Morgan asked, mentioning his fellow inspector.

  “He’s comin’ this evening. Said probably about seven.”

  “Then I’ll come about that time, too. Go over it with him. I don’t want to step on his toes. It’s his district.”

  “Just thought you might like a look-see.” The sheriffs smile formed deep creases in his weathered brown cheeks. “Just to keep your hand in. It must be itchin’.”

  “I don’t need to tell you Ed’s a good man,” Morgan said.

  “You bet you don’t,” the sheriff agreed. Then, standing up, he settled the hat he’d been balancing on his knee back onto his graying hair. “We been working together for more years than I care to think about. Ed, too, I’m sure.”

  “What’s this I hear about you retiring?” Rafe asked, getting to his feet, as well.

  Sheriff Denton chuckled. “Just a rumor so far. I’m waiting for Tate here to get out of his trainin’ pants so’s he can take over for me.”

  The deputy was about to protest when Jodie swept into the room.

  She looked like an exotic flower in a prickly desert. She was dressed for town, in a soft cotton dress that made the most of her youthful figure. At first she looked slightly startled, as if she’d expected to find Rafe alone. Then she started to smile. “Is everyone coming or going? I’ll only take a second if a meeting’s about to start. Has anyone seen my dad? Rafe, have you?” She looked questioningly at her cousin, but she wasn’t unaware of the impact she’d made on the other men. Morgan smiled to himself. Mae and Rafe had had trouble with her already, and if they weren’t careful, they were going to have more.