“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t look too happy about it.
At last. She led the way out to the porch and she and Cleve sat down in the creaking swing. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
The swing creaked rhythmically for several seconds as he put his arm along the back of the swing. “And I’ve missed you, my dearest. I’ve dreamed of nothing all these weeks but your kisses.”
Inside the cabin, Keso listened to the swing creaking rhythmically. Abruptly, it stopped its squeak and he came up out of his chair and headed for the porch. That slimy, smooth bastard had better not be compromising his Wannie!
TWELVE
Cleve’s lips were only an inch away from her own when the screen door slammed and they both jumped.
“Keso!” She pulled away from Cleve. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were helping with the accounts.”
He sauntered over and perched on the porch railing, eyeing Cleve. “I decided I needed a smoke.”
“But you don’t smoke,” she protested.
“Well, I started lately.” He reached in his shirt pocket for a little bag of tobacco.
She had never been so annoyed with her foster brother. He was rolling a cigarette so slowly, it looked as if he planned to make a career out of that one cigarette. Couldn’t he see that she and Cleve wanted to be alone?
“Wannie,” Cleve said as he started to get up, “why don’t we take a walk across the yard?”
“Wouldn’t if I were you,” Keso said as he licked the paper shut, “mountain rattlers out in the cool of the night looking for mice.”
“Oh, Cleve, he’s just joking,” Wannie said, but Cleve had already stopped halfway out of the swing.
“Is there any chance at all, Wannie, that there’s a snake out there?”
“Well, maybe one in a million,” she admitted.
Cleve promptly plopped back down in the swing. The three of them sat in awkward silence broken only by a cricket and the creak of the old swing. Keso stuck the cigarette between his lips and began a maddeningly slow search through his pockets for a match. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote sang its lonely tune and its wail echoed and re-echoed through the mountains.
Cleve’s eyes widened. “What in the name of God was that?”
“Wolf,” Keso said somberly, “but they probably aren’t hungry enough to attack people ... yet.”
“Keso Evans!” She was truly angry with him. “That’s only a scrawny old coyote—it wouldn’t attack anyone.”
Keso looked at Cleve and shrugged. “She’s just a girl—what does she know?”
Keso sat balanced on the porch railing, still searching for that elusive match. In that split second, before he realized what she was up to, she jumped to her feet and smacked him. He lost his balance and went over backwards, landing on the grass below.
“Oh my God, I’ve killed him!” She was off the porch in a whirl of petticoats, running to kneel by his side. He lay there sprawled on his back, tobacco scattered everywhere. “Keso? Are you all right?”
He lay motionless in the moonlight. She gathered his head into her lap, stroking the dark hair from his forehead. “Answer me. Are you all right?”
Cleve came to the railing and looked over. “Oh, of course he is. That wasn’t far to fall.”
She paused in her stroking and glared at her fiance. “You’re certainly not being very sympathetic. Maybe he hit his head on a rock, or something. Keso, can you hear me?”
He moaned softly.
“Oh, I’ve hurt him. Cleve, run inside and get Silver.” She kept stroking his face and hugging him to her as Cleve gave her a cranky frown and went inside, the screen slamming behind him. “Keso, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His eyes flickered open. “What—what happened? Everything just went dark.”
She felt beneath his head. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t feel a rock or anything.”
“Just keep stroking,” he murmured, “otherwise, things seem to fade in and out.”
“Keso, I’m so sorry. Maybe I should get Silver’s medicine box—”
“No,” he reached out and caught her hand. “Just keep holding me and talking to me,” he said, “so I won’t lose consciousness.”
“I’m here, I’m here,” she assured him and stroked his face.
The screen door slammed again and now there were three faces peering over the railing.
“Is he hurt?” Cherokee asked.
“Drat!” Silver scolded, “Wannie, what did you do?”
“I—I pushed him, horsing around like we always do.”
“Where I come from, young ladies don’t hit people.” Cleve’s voice was chilly.
“Oh, shut up, Cleve,” she said before she thought.
“Well, excuse me! Perhaps I’d better say good night.” He slammed back into the house.
Was that the slightest grin pulling at the corners of Keso’s mouth? “I—I think I’ll be all right if I just stay out here in the fresh air awhile.” He struggled to sit up.
“Here,” Wannie said, “let me help you. It’s the least I can do after I knocked you off the porch.”
Cherokee came halfway down the steps. “Keso, can I help you—?”
“Cherokee, I think he’ll be all right,” Silver said and caught his arm. “Wannie will look after him—let’s go on to bed.”
“Bed?” Cherokee protested, “but if he’s hurt—”
“I think Wannie can manage,” Silver said and pulled him back up on the porch. “Let’s call it a night.”
“But I’m not sure I can,” Wannie protested. “He’s awfully big—”
“Let us know if he doesn’t get better soon,” Silver said and the older couple went back inside.
Keso moaned. “I—I think I’ll try to sit up. Can I lean on you?”
“Sure.” She made soft, sympathetic sounds in her throat as he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled himself to a sitting position. “Do you think you can stand?”
“I’m afraid to try until my head clears. Let’s just sit here a minute.”
“Okay.” She had forgotten how brawny he was. Somehow, with his arm around her shoulders, she was nestled against his chest rather than him leaning on her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He nodded. “Just hit the back of my head, that’s all.”
“I shouldn’t have whacked you—I’m sorry.”
“I think you shocked Cleve. He’s not used to prim young ladies from Miss Priddy’s getting so physical.”
“Oh my!” She put her hand to her mouth in horror.
“What’s wrong?”
“I distinctly remember telling him to shut up!”
“No wonder he went to bed in a huff.”
“And things had been going so well,” Wannie wailed. She stiffened suddenly as a thought crossed her mind. “Just why did you come outside anyway?”
“I told you I wanted to smoke a cigarette.”
“Liar! You came out here to spy on us,” she accused. “You could have smoked a cigarette on the back porch.”
“Ohh, Wannie, my head aches,” he moaned. “It really hurts my feelings that you think I’d do something sneaky like that. Help me stand up, will you?”
She forgot her suspicions in her concern for his pain. “Do you think you can?”
“I’ll try—help me.”
He was a big man and he seemed to be all over her as she helped him to his feet. “Watch out, Keso, are you about to faint?”
He put his arms around her and held on tight for a long moment. “I—I think I’m okay.”
She could feel his hard body pressed against hers. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to Keso. The memory returned of the time in New York when the horse had thrown her and he’d carried her home and then sat on her bed. Her face flamed at the emotions his body was arousing in hers. He was staring down into her face. She held her breath, looking up at him in the moonlight. For a long moment, she got
the craziest feeling that he was about to kiss her and was horrified to realize she wasn’t sure how she would react if he did.
Had she lost her mind? This man had been raised as her brother and she had a handsome fiancé sleeping in a bedroom only a few yards away. Wannie took a deep breath and pulled out of Keso’s arms. “There! See? You can stand all right.”
“Yes, I can, can’t I? Wannie ... ?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Let’s go in.” He started toward the porch.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
He nodded. “You two are going riding tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She smiled, already imagining stopping in some shaded dell to share a stolen kiss with Cleve.
“You don’t know the woods as well as I do and Cleve doesn’t know them at all,” Keso said. “Maybe I should go along.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about getting lost.” What they didn’t need, Wannie thought, was her big brother right at their heels playing chaperon all day.
He put his hand to his head and swayed slightly.
“What’s the matter?” She was alarmed.
“I—I don’t feel as well as I thought I did.”
“Here, let me help you into the house” She slipped his arm over her shoulder and helped him. Damn the ornery galoot—he night be faking, but there was no way to know.
He leaned on her as they went up the steps, then paused in the doorway. “If you don’t mind, you might help me to my room. I’d hate to fall in the hallway.”
“Sure. I feel terrible about this—I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“It isn’t as if it were the first time,” he reminded her. “Remember I’ve got a scar over one eye because of you.”
“Are you going to make me feel guilty over that?” she snapped at him. “I was a little girl then.”
He staggered as she helped him inside. “Don’t worry about me falling—I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Oh, shut up! I’ll help you to your room.”
They limped down the hall and paused at the closed door.
Keso sighed loudly. “Maybe you’re right, Wannie—about tomorrow, I mean. I don’t think I’m going to feel like riding. I’ll just stay at the house and pray I don’t have a skull fracture.”
“Oh God, I feel so guilty!”
They were standing next to the closed door and she was looking up at him again. His dark eyes were intense and smoldering as he stared down at her; their faces only inches apart. Her pulse quickened. She got the craziest feeling that he was about to ... no, of course that would be the farthest thought from his mind. She had to be crazy even to have that thought.
The bedroom door opened so abruptly that both she and Keso almost fell.
Cleve stood there. “I thought I heard a sound.”
She pulled out of Keso’s grasp with a guilty flush. “I—Keso felt faint, so I had to help him down the hall.”
Cleve looked from one to the other, skepticism in his pale eyes. “Really? He looks strong enough to fell an ox to me.”
“Cleve, how can you be so unfeeling?” She was more than a little annoyed with her fiance. “He really needed help.”
“Thanks, brat,” Keso said, “I might have fainted trying to get here alone.”
“Wannie,” Cleve bristled, “I think we need to talk—”
“It’s late,” Keso said. “Why don’t you talk tomorrow?” He pushed Cleve back into the room as he went through the door. “Good night, Wannie.” Keso closed the door with Cleve still protesting that he wanted to talk to Wannie privately.
What a day. With a sigh, she went down the hall to her own room, still seeming to feel Keso’s strong arm around her, the heat of his hard-muscled body against her own. It took her a long time to drop off to sleep and when she did, she had erotic dreams of a man holding her close, caressing and kissing her, and she remembered only that the man had black hair, not blond.
The next morning, she was almost embarrassed to face Keso as she joined the family at breakfast. Don’t be silly, she admonished herself. Keso can’t possibly know what you dreamed, although he’d probably be as shocked as she was if he knew about its erotic content.
The four of them sat down for breakfast.
Cherokee looked around. “Where’s young Brewster?”
“Still snoozing like a baby.” Keso’s expression was glib as he propped his chair back on two legs.
Wannie felt embarrassed and offered an explanation. “He’s used to sleeping ’til nine or ten, I think, unless there’s a fox hunt. A servant usually brings him his first cup of tea.”
“Ten o’clock?” Cherokee said as he cut up his steak and eggs. “Why, the day’s half gone by then.”
“Society people do things differently,” Wannie said. She looked around at the amused faces and realized Cleve’s habits made him seem as out of place in this environment as Keso had looked in New York.
“I guess so,” Silver said, “but then, they’re used to other people doing their work, aren’t they?”
“They can afford to pay people.” Wannie felt as if she were apologizing for Cleve.
They were just finishing breakfast as Cleve came out of the bedroom looking rumpled. “Is everyone already up?”
“And have been for hours,” Keso said as he stood.
Cleve sat down at the table. “I’ll have tea and a poached egg with smoked kippers,” he said and then seemed to realize there was no butler at his elbow.
“I’m afraid we only have coffee,” Silver said, “and I don’t know what kippers are. Would a steak do?”
He nodded. “Sorry to put you to so much trouble, Mrs. Evans.” He gave her a smug smile. “After Wannie and I are married, I’ll get you a hired girl.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with one, but thanks for the thought.” Silver smiled back.
Damn, Keso thought, now he’s working his charm on Mom. It wasn’t enough that he brought them gifts, now he’s going to win them both over. “Somebody’s got to do some work around here,” he grumbled, “I’ll go feed the livestock.”
Wannie didn’t even seem to hear him as she sat at the table, drinking coffee and visiting with Cleve as he ate. At the same time, the young dandy kept up a lively conversation with Silver, complimenting her on her cooking and the charming way she’d decorated the cabin.
Keso slammed the screen hard on his way out.
“What’s his problem?” he heard Cleve say.
“You know he hit his head last night,” Wannie shrugged, “he probably still has a headache.”
It was young Cleve who was the pain, and it wasn’t in the head. He’d hoped to discredit the dude, make him look bad in Wannie’s eyes, but so far, it didn’t seem to be working.
“I’ll go help him.” Cherokee walked outside and they went to feed the horses and the milk cow. The other livestock grazed in the pasture.
Wannie watched Cleve sip his coffee and eat his breakfast, proud he was handsome and so elegant. He was taking his time as if the only important thing he had to do all morning was eat his leisurely breakfast. “Isn’t there a morning paper? I need to see how the stock market’s going.”
“Afraid not,” Wannie said. “Sometimes a passing scout or trader brings an old one by.”
“How quaint and primitive,” Cleve said.
Silver began to clean up the kitchen. “Wannie, you might tell the men to cut me up some more firewood.”
“I’ll go tell Keso in a minute.”
“Tell Keso what?” He came in then, his shirt half-buttoned in the morning heat.
“I need some kindling chopped,” Silver said.
“All right.” He looked at Cleve. “Maybe Cleve would—, no, on second thought, he’s probably not in condition for it. I wouldn’t want him fainting out there by the woodpile like some giddy girl.”
“I’ll have you know, Evans,” Cleve drew himself up proudly, “I’m in good physical condition. I was a fencing champion in college.”
“Fancy that!” Keso raised his eyebrows.
“Keso,” Wannie protested, “Cleve’s a guest and he’s liable to end up with a sprained back if he tries to match you chopping wood.”
“I can chop as much as he can,” Cleve said and then stopped as if he realized he’d been sucked into a contest.
“Let’s see about that. You ready, Cleve?”
“Any time you are.”
“Cleve, you don’t have to prove anything.”
“I think I do, at least to some people.” Cleve got up from the table and the pair started out the door toward the woodpile. There was nothing she could do but follow them, protesting all the while.
“It’s gonna be a hot day,” Keso declared and stripped off his shirt, picking up one of a pair of big broad axes. When he moved, his muscles rippled under his tawny skin. It was like watching Spirit, Keso’s black stallion, in motion.
“There’s a lady present,” Cleve said primly as he picked up the other axe, “I don’t think it’s proper to take off my shirt.”
“Suit yourself,” Keso said. “It’s going to be a hot one today.” As he swung the axe, his muscles rippled with power and the axe reflected the sun as it came down and cut into a big log. She had forgotten what it was like to watch Keso work, his strong, sinewy body straining as he swung.
It was immediately apparent that Cleve had never used an axe before as he swung it up over his head and brought it down awkwardly. He barely missed his boot.
“Watch out!” Wannie cautioned, “You’ll cut your foot off.”
“I was just taking a practice swing,” Cleve said and swung the axe again.
Keso paused to watch him. “Careful, Brewster, this isn’t lawn tennis—that axe can do some damage.”
“Oh Cleve, dear, I wish you’d stop,” Wannie said as she hovered in the background, “you’re going to hurt your back.”
Cleve brought the axe down again with considerable effort.
Keso grinned and began to cut wood rhythmically, swinging the axe with strong strokes, wood chips flying.
In five minutes, both men were drenched with sweat and Cleve’s face had gone a little pale, but he kept chopping.
“Cleve,” Wannie said, “you’ll get sun stroke.”
Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15) Page 17
