His hostile attitude puzzled her. “I’m sorry I kept you from getting the fox.”
“I said forget about the damned fox! These dandies have to be a little loco to spend all this energy over one ragged old fox when no one needs the fur to keep warm and they can’t eat it.”
“Then why were you trying to outride Cleve to get it?”
“Making a damned fool out of myself, I reckon.”
“The ladies all thought you were wonderful.”
“I don’t care what the ladies thought.” His mouth looked even grimmer.
“I don’t know why you’re so annoyed. You can put me down and let me return to Cleve; I’m perfectly all right.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Why is it you’ve always got to take charge?”
“Hush, Wannie.”
“I will not!”
“If you weren’t addled from landing on your head, I’d turn you across my knee and dust your britches like I used to.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Don’t tempt me.”
She struggled to sit up and get out of his arms, then realized she wasn’t strong enough. With a resigned sigh, she laid her face against his chest.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
“What about the others?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “They’re coming. Cleve looks like he’s swallowed a green persimmon.”
“Can you blame him? You made him look like a fool.”
“He didn’t need much help.”
“Keso, you’re talking about my fiancé.”
“No other.”
She felt called to defend her choice. “He’s really a fine fellow; you just don’t know him very well.”
“Better than you think.”
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Keso stared straight ahead. “Just forget it, okay?”
She was too weary and bruised to try to make any sense of all this conversation. Keso was no doubt angry because Cleve had plotted to give him that unruly horse, but in the West, cowboys often did that to a greenhorn. Otherwise, she couldn’t imagine why Keso had taken such a dislike to her fiance.
Keso reined in before the veranda and the head groom came running. “Lord protect us! What’s happened, sir?”
“My sister had an accident, Ian. I’ll take her up to her room. The others are on their way in.”
He dismounted, swinging her lightly as he carried her up the steps.
“Dearie me,” Mrs. Brewster said as she hurried into the hall, wringing her plump hands. “I hope she hasn’t hurt anything.”
“Her pride, maybe,” Keso said laconically. “She’ll be all right by tomorrow, I think.” He started up the stairs. “Wannie, which room is it?”
“The third door on the right,” she said, “but I’m not going to stay in bed ’til tomorrow.”
“Yes, you are.” His tone sounded final and he kept walking.
“I’ll miss all the festivities,” she wailed, “the fireworks and all.”
“You can watch them out the window—a maid will bring you some food.” He kicked the door open, carried her over, and laid her on the bed very gently. For a long moment, he leaned over her. She felt an unaccustomed urge to reach up and touch his face, then reminded herself he’d think she was loco. He had been raised as her brother and he had his eye on pretty blond Alexa.
He pulled away suddenly, looking very uncomfortable. “I—I need to be going.”
“Oh, go on downstairs,” Wannie grumbled, “I wouldn’t want you to miss a moment of all those pretty girls ogling you and dropping their hankies so you can pick them up.”
He looked puzzled. “Is that what I’m supposed to do?”
“The way some of them were staring, I imagine they’d drop their drawers for you, too,” Wannie snapped.
“That’s awfully crude talk for a young lady who just graduated from Miss Priddy’s fancy school.”
“Stop lecturing me like a big brother,” she huffed.
“That’s me, all right—your big brother. Now hush and stay in bed!” He looked furious as he started out the door.
“I reckon you intend to go down and party and dance with Alexa and all her pretty friends,” she pouted.
“You damn betcha!” He went out the door and slammed it so hard, it echoed.
Now what was he so angry about when she was the one who was stuck up here for the afternoon? She lay there staring at the flowered wallpaper and thinking about defying him. She might just get dressed and go downstairs anyway. On the other hand, she had no doubt he’d make good his threat to dust her britches, probably in front of everyone, and then Cleve would protest and there’d be trouble.
In a few minutes, Alexa came up with a tray. “Keso sent me up. Mother’s in a dither and Cleve’s making noises about calling a doctor.”
She shook her head. “Tell everyone to stop worrying—I’ m fine.”
Alexa set the tray on the bedside table. “Your brother was wonderful today, so gallant and good-looking. Everyone’s talking about him. All the ladies are gathered around him downstairs.”
The image of pretty girls cooing and flirting with Keso annoyed Wannie to the point of gritting her teeth. It was only because he was going to be having fun while she lay up here bruised and bored. “Are you going to stay up here and keep me company?”
“Are you kidding?” Alexa snorted. “I’m going to hurry down and see if I can sit by Keso at the hunt breakfast before someone else grabs that seat.”
“He’s pretty shy,” Wannie said. “All those eager girls may scare him.”
“Really? When I came up, he was laughing and talking with half a dozen of them. They were clustered around him like hens around a rooster. I’m going to ask him to be my partner at croquet.”
Wannie gritted her teeth. “He doesn’t know how to play croquet.”
Alexa winked at her as she went out the door. “Then think of all the fun I’m going to have teaching him! And maybe he can teach me something!”
Damn! How dare Alexa be so bold. Wannie remembered seeing the couple kissing on the veranda last night and gritted her teeth.
Mrs. Brewster came in as Wannie ate. There was a bowl of fresh fruit, the ham was crisp, the biscuits light and fluffy, but Wannie’s mind wasn’t on food. She assured the lady she was all right and didn’t need a doctor, but she did say she’d like to see Cleve.
He came upstairs, leaving the door open behind him. “Wannie, are you all right?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“Thank God!” He walked to the bed and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I certainly meant to carry you to the house myself, but your brother just shouldered me aside.”
Maybe that was how it had been; it was difficult to remember exactly. “You’ll have to ignore it, dearest. He’s been looking after me so long, he probably hasn’t gotten used to the idea of handing me over to someone else.”
“And doesn’t intend to,” Cleve muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, my dear, forget it. I’m just so relieved you’re all right.”
Through the door, she could hear the laughter and talk downstairs as the festivities continued.
He looked toward the noise with a wistful sigh. “Really, it’s not proper for me to stay up here in a lady’s bedroom, even with the door open.”
“I wish you’d stay and talk and forget what’s proper.”
He drew himself up proudly. “Wannie, people of our status never forget what’s proper. Besides, some of the fellows have a card game going in the library.”
“Run along then.” She hoped she sounded more cheerful than she felt.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes, go on. I’ll take a nap and watch the fireworks from the window tonight.”
“Fine.” He was gone before she could reconsider.
Wannie lay there bored and sore, staring at the big diamond on
her finger. Someday, she would be mistress of Steel Manor and in charge of all these festivities. Her children would be riding their ponies in the hunt with the other well-bred children. Children. She felt her face flush as she pictured herself naked in Cleve’s arms. Somehow, she didn’t like the thought. She closed her eyes and smiled, remembering the way Keso’s strong arms had cradled her and carried her up to her bed; that split-second when she had touched his face and felt ... Her eyes flew open in horror. What in God’s name was the matter with her? She must have really landed on her head to have such a thought about her own brother!
SIX
Cherokee walked into the kitchen as Silver finished putting away the dinner things.
“Hey, sweet darlin,” I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He kissed the back of her neck, then slipped his arms around her.
Such a comforting feeling, his nuzzling the back of her neck. She let her body relax to fit into the curves of his. “Not much of a Fourth of July. I miss the kids.”
“They’ll be home in a few days,” he comforted. “They’re probably in the middle of big doin’s at that fancy estate today.” He kissed the back of her neck again, moving his hands up to cover her breasts, squeezing gently. “Then they’ll marry and have a bunch of babies for us to spoil.”
She stared out the window at the mountains in the distance, her hands going up to cover his. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you any children of our own.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, whirling her around in his arms. “We’ve got two nice kids; so what if we didn’t hatch ’em? I couldn’t be happier if they were our own flesh and blood.”
“What—what do you suppose Wannie would say if she knew all the horrible scandal about her parents?”
“Maybe she knows already; kids are smarter than you think. Anyway, I can’t rightly think of a good way to tell a kid something that terrible.”
“And my part in it.” She slipped her arms around his neck and blinked back tears.
“Hush, sweet darlin’, you only did what you had to do.” He began to kiss her face, trailing kisses along her jaw. “I love you; stop worrying about the past.”
His big arms were comforting as always and finally, she stopped crying.
“I know what we can do to celebrate the holiday.”
She laughed softly. “We can do that without a reason.”
He swung her up in his arms and kissed her again. “Yes, but it is a great idea, don’t you think?”
She smiled at him, her pale blond hair hanging across his arm. “We’ll make a few fireworks of our own.”
“Now, that’s more like it.” He kissed the tip of her nose, “and the kids aren’t around to interrupt about the time the skyrockets go off.”
“They’d probably faint to think an old married couple like us still make love.” She closed her eyes as he carried her into the bedroom.
He chuckled. “Kids never think of their parents making love at all; if they only knew it’s better when you grow older ... that is, if you really love each other.”
Cherokee laid her on the bed and very slowly unbuttoned her bodice. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“To you, maybe,” she said, thinking of her scarred face.
“Does any other guy’s opinion matter? I’m the one who’s married to you.” He lay down next to her, tracing his finger around the pale rosette of her breast.
“Almost fifteen years we’ve been married, come November,” she recalled, closing her eyes as his warm mouth found her nipple. “Don’t you ever tire of making love to me?”
“Not in a million years.” His breath was warm against her breast and she ran her hands through his gray-streaked hair, thinking he was as handsome as he had been all those years ago when they wed the day after the Duchess’s Palace burned down. The night it burned, she and Cherokee had taken the two children and ridden out of Denver, only hours after she killed Wannie’s father.
She let Cherokee touch and caress her skin with the slow leisure of an expert, mature lover who was in no hurry to finish until he had explored and tasted every inch of her body while gradually making her want him beyond all reason. Their hurtful pasts were behind them now and they trusted and cherished each other as they never would anyone else.
She let her thighs fall apart as his hand went up to stroke and tease her. “Make it last a long, long time,” she whispered.
“It will be my pleasure to amuse you, lady,” he promised, “and if you aren’t pleased, I’ll start all over again.” He returned to kissing each breast into pink, turgid peaks.
She settled into the curve of his arm, pulled his dear, weathered face down to hers, and sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, feeling his breath quicken with desire. She let him play with her and stroke her, knowing it was raising his ardor. Finally, when neither of them could stand the waiting one second more, he probed her wetness with his throbbing hardness, waiting for her to lock her long, slim legs around him, dig her nails into his broad shoulders, and pull him deep into her.
They made love in a slow, satisfying rhythm that each knew so well after all these years. Then they settled against each other and drifted off to sleep in the warm afternoon. “I love you, Mrs. Evans,” he murmured, “and I think it’s been a great holiday.”
She smiled sleepily at him. “A great holiday,” she agreed as she settled into the big half-breed’s arms to sleep, safe and secure against anything that might hurt her.
I hope Wannie finds this kind of fulfillment, she thought. Waanibe; it was Arapaho for Singing Wind. Perhaps the girl need never know the scandal of her past.
The celebrating crowd had scattered about the house, resting in the hot afternoon as Cleve went down the hall to his father’s study. He was more than a little annoyed. Wannie was upstairs in her room, resting. Maureen was somewhere in the house and he hoped to find her and wheedle a few minutes’ entertainment out of her lush body since he was losing heavily in the card game in the library. Now Father had sent for him. Had the stern old goat found out Cleve had broken his promise and returned to his excessive drinking and gambling?
He knocked at the door. “Father?”
“Come in.”
It was like facing God, Cleve thought with distaste as he came in and closed the door. Seeing his father sitting at his desk, it was like approaching Jehovah’s throne.
Cleveland glowered at his son, thinking perhaps that the boy’s wayward habits had resulted from spoiling him so. He had waited a long time for a son, and finally, the plain Bertha had conceived about the time Cleveland was ready to brave the fire of criticism and divorce her. By then, he controlled Bertha’s wealth and his acquaintances would have understood his leaving her if she hadn’t produced an heir.
“You sent for me, Father?”
Cleveland gestured him to be seated and fixed his gaze on his son, who lounged indulgently in the chair across the fine mahogany desk. “You acted like a damn fool on the hunt this morning.”
“Well, the savage said he could ride—I wanted to see if he could.”
“He made you look stupid, which, if I may say so, usually takes little effort.”
“So you constantly tell me.” Cleve shifted restlessly.
“Wannie Evans is a lovely girl—just the type I have always hoped you would marry.”
“And I will, Father.” Cleve smiled and leaned forward in his chair.
“Not if you get too cross-ways with her foster brother.”
His son made a gesture of dismissal. “He’ll return to the wild West and be out of the picture soon. I promise you a houseful of wonderful, blue-blooded grandchildren.”
Cleveland nodded. “She really has royal bloodlines?”
“So it seems; Mother’s quite impressed and can hardly wait to lord it over all her friends.” Cleve began to fill his pipe. “Wannie’s pretty, too. I was afraid I was going to get stuck with one of those ugly society cows Mother was pushing at me.”
Cleveland watched his son light t
he pipe and thought about his own arranged marriage. “Men do what they must. Love is silly, sentimental nonsense poor poets sing about. Marry for money and social position, my father told me, and he was right. You can buy love in any whorehouse.”
Cleve’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Father, you surprise me.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t surprise me. People are gossiping about your wild ways again.”
Cleve started to say something, then looked out the window instead, smoking his pipe.
He was handsome, Cleveland thought with enormous pride, and his hair wasn’t thinning like his own was. His pride and joy in his only son made up for living with a plain, dumb thing like Bertha. “Son, I’m glad to see you’re taking a wife. I hope this means you’re going to throw yourself into helping to build our fortune, not just spending it.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Cleve said and blew a cloud of sweet-scented smoke. “I work in the office—”
“Balderdash! You collect a paycheck and pinch the girls who work there.” Cleveland leaned back in his chair and glared at his heir. “It’s time you behaved like a Brewster and took some interest in expanding the business.”
“Like what?” Cleve looked petulant and bored.
“Oh, I don’t know—like maybe exploring new markets,” Cleveland said. “With all those settlers moving West, there’s going to be a big market for Brewster kitchenware and farm equipment.”
“I suppose.” Cleve yawned.
God, how he had spoiled his son and even his niece. Of course, no one expected Alexa to do anything but marry well. Cleve was shallow, vain, and a spendthrift.
“I have worked hard and made many sacrifices to build this company into something grand for you, my son. I’ve dreamed of you running for governor or senator.”
“Now, Father,” Cleve said and took the pipe from his mouth and made a soothing gesture, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but whatever it is, it’s a lie—”
“I doubt it, more’s the pity.”
Cleve knocked the ashes from his pipe into a crystal ashtray. “Look, Father, may I go now? There’s a card game in the library and I was trying to make up my losses—”
Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15) Page 8
