An Improper Proposal

by Spencer, Davalynn

  Deacon drowned a curse in his coffee cup and shoved a whole cookie in his mouth.

  “If she doesn’t sell it to MacGrath, he’ll contest the will.”

  Mae Ann returned the paper to the envelope and slid it into her skirt pocket. “Which means he has seen it or spoken with someone who has.”

  She looked at Cade. “Do you think Henry filed a copy somewhere? The bank maybe, or the courthouse?”

  “The courthouse is twenty miles away in the county seat, but it’s possible.” Cade gripped his cup with both hands to keep from touching her. “I think Ward read it and got loose-tongued at the saloon.”

  Her brows dipped. “Ward?”

  “The undertaker.”

  Her lips parted in a way that tugged at his gut, and he chugged the rest of his coffee. He’d be having words with Bartholomew Ward.

  ~

  The next morning, those words pinned Ward to the barber chair where Cade found him feet up, asleep. “Early for a nap, wouldn’t you say? Or you been here all night?”

  Ward startled and his eyes flew open, wide and frightened behind his spectacles. He strained against Cade’s hands that pinned both wrists to the arms of his brand-new leather-cushioned chair. “Wha-what brings you to town so early, Cade?” His Adam’s apple bobbed from collar to chin.

  Cade spun the chair to face the fancy wall glass. Then he leaned close enough to smell tonic on the barber’s skin and met his panicked stare in the mirror. “You read Henry Reiker’s will before you gave it to Mae Ann?”

  Ward’s head slowly bobbed down and up, his eyes never leaving Cade’s reflection.

  “Why?”

  “Curious?” He squeaked like a trapped mouse.

  Cade spun the chair again and stopped it with a vicious grip on the padded arms rather than Ward’s skinny throat. “You been drinkin’ lately? Flappin’ your gums?”

  Sweat broke out on the man’s forehead. “Well … I … did step into the saloon night before last. Just a friendly drink or two. Pays to keep up relations with folks in town, you know. Business, and all.”

  “And how much did it pay you to tell Sean MacGrath what Henry Reiker’s will said?”

  Ward blanched as white as his apron. “N-n-nothing. I swear!” He raised his palms chest high. “I never took a cent from MacGrath.”

  Cade leaned in. “You’ll never take another one from me either.” He spun the chair again and marched out the front door without closing it. Even if his beard and mustache grew to rival Deacon’s, he’d not darken the door of Bartholomew Ward’s establishment again.

  The boardwalk echoed beneath his boots, warring against the pounding in his head. He crossed the street and stopped outside the jail to let his blood cool, but Sheriff Wilson came out to greet him.

  “Parker.” He offered a hand. “What brings you to town? More rustler trouble?”

  Cade shook his friend’s hand and looked off down the street, hoping to keep the fire in his chest from flaring in his eyes. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Wilson stuck his thumbs in his belt, and Cade took note of the ever-present Colt strapped to his right hip. The holster was tied down. Not a common practice among ranchers and farmers. But Wilson had been in his share of shootouts and didn’t balk at being prepared for the worst.

  Cade told him what Deacon had found at the Reiker place. “But I’m in town to wire Judge Murphy. MacGrath is contesting Henry Reiker’s will that leaves the farm to Mae Ann.”

  Wilson crossed his arms and spread his stance. “How does he know what the will says?”

  Cade darted a glance at the barbershop. “Ward digs up more than dirt.”

  “And MacGrath’s complaint?”

  “She was never married to Reiker.”

  The sheriff nodded and looked up the street. “That could be a problem.”

  More than he knew. Cade fisted his hands, and Wilson caught the reflex. He didn’t miss much. “If the judge rules in Mae Ann’s favor, the land’s hers. If he doesn’t, and the farm goes to auction, I’ll bid on it. But I can’t be certain MacGrath or someone else won’t outbid me.”

  “He’s wanted that land for a long time. He’d be a fool not to with that water.”

  Cade glared. “You takin’ his side?”

  The sheriff remained calm and steady. “Maybe you don’t need the headache. Let somebody else worry over the place. Can you talk her into selling it?”

  Cade looked away, rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever tried to hold oil in your hand?”

  Wilson huffed and shook his head. “Just be sure you know what you’re up against.”

  “Afraid I do. MacGrath was out to the ranch yesterday, trying to intimidate Mae Ann.”

  The lawman’s right hand dropped to his holster and he absently fingered the butt of his gun. “What can I do to help?”

  Cade emptied his lungs, let his frustration drain away, and drew in a clean breath. “That yellow dog of yours got any pups?”

  Wilson snorted. “When does she not?” He slapped Cade on the shoulder. “Come around back. There’s two half-grown, and you’re welcome to both if you want ’em. Pick ’em up on your way back from the telegraph office.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Mae Ann served Deacon eggs and steak for breakfast and set a plate in the oven for Cade, about whose absence Deacon had nothing to say. He merely raised or lowered a bushy brow at her questions, feigning a mouthful of coffee or meat. His timing was impeccable in that matter, but he did not fail to offer his gratitude for the meal, as always.

  She was happy to give him the peppermint stick from another Arbuckle’s bag. Old enough to be the father she’d never had, the man was childlike when it came to grinding coffee beans for candy. Imagining him in a paternal role was a bit of fancy that couldn’t hurt. She knew his crusty shell hid a kindhearted soul that thought the world of Cade.

  And evidently, Henry had thought the world of her. Why hadn’t the word beloved registered with her six weeks ago when she read Henry’s will the first time?

  The endearment had been written before they were even married—which they never were, as Sean MacGrath had charged so cruelly. As if it were a crime. The memory of his cold stare made her shudder. But he was right. She’d never been Mrs. Henry Reiker, in spite of Henry’s kind words. What if a judge ruled against her and she lost the farm? Though she’d never felt it was really hers, she bristled against a stranger trying to claim it, particularly MacGrath, whom Henry had withstood for so long.

  She pulled her apron off and folded it over a chair back. Why hadn’t Cade told her he would not be at breakfast? His absence contradicted his feverish embrace after MacGrath’s visit. She would never forget it, regardless of what happened next. Henry had called her his beloved before he met her. But Cade had rescued her and drawn her into his arms as if she really were.

  With her kitchen chores out of the way and sweet beans baking for dinner, she went upstairs to gather the laundry. Frankly, she did not care to know what Cade had done for clean clothes before her arrival, but she appreciated the tubs and wringer set up on the back porch.

  Sparrows chittered from the trees as she worked, lessening her chore with their merry song, and cottontails hopped and chased among the junipers in clear abandon.

  She filled her apron pocket with clothespins from a kitchen drawer, and pinned the wash to a wire strung between two poles behind the house. As she spread the shoulders of Cade’s chambray shirt, the sound of an approaching rider sent her heart to her throat. Quickly, she pinned the shirt and hurried to the corner of the house to see who approached. When Cade and Cricket came into view, relief left her nearly light-headed.

  Relief, or the sight of such a kind and handsome man. She must get hold of herself. Swooning over one’s husband while hanging his shirts to dry was simply not done. She smoothed her hair away from her face and returned to pinning the wash. If he wanted to see her, he would seek her out.

  At a soft whimper, she turned to find him standing a few feet a
way with a squirming yellow bundle in his arms, all leg and tail and floppy ears. Her insides melted.

  “Like him?” From his expression, Cade desperately wanted her to.

  Mae Ann dropped to her knees and patted her lap. “Come here, little fellow. Come here.”

  He set the gangly thing on the ground and it galloped into her, knocking her over in its exuberance. She couldn’t stop laughing as Cade rushed in to pull off the dog and help her to her feet. By the time she righted herself, he was laughing too and ruffling the dog’s ears.

  “Where did he come from?” She stooped again to hold the pup’s head between her hands and look into his amber eyes while the rest of his body wagged. How dearly she missed her beloved Percy. But he’d been a morsel compared to this beast. “Look at the size of his feet. He’ll be a giant.”

  Cade’s features flushed with good humor, something Mae Ann hadn’t seen much of lately. How handsome he was when he smiled. No worry creases. No frown.

  “I got him from the sheriff.”

  Straightening, she brushed paw prints from her apron at his admission. “You were in town.”

  His smile dimmed, and he avoided her eyes. “Wired Judge Murphy about the will.”

  “I see.” So much for a pleasant moment between them.

  Blue bounded up to welcome the new playmate, and the two of them romped around the porch, yapping and scampering as only canine comrades could. She returned to the clothesline, arguing against her irritation that Cade was only trying to do the honorable thing.

  She snapped out his sister’s shirt, the one he’d given her for riding. “The dog is wonderful. Did you think Blue needed a companion?”

  Cade thumbed his hat up and stood just inside her field of vision, his hands on his hips. “He’s for you. I wanted you to have a companion.”

  A companion? Disappointment vied with gratitude. Did he think she did not enjoy his companionship? Then again, he was busy most of the day with chores, or gone for hours with Deacon, checking the herd. And theirs was a business arrangement, after all.

  She chose gratitude. “How thoughtful of you.”

  The turn of his lips said she’d chosen well. “What will you call him?”

  She pinned the shirt to the line, then tapped her chin with a finger, watching Blue nip at the big pup’s heels. “I’ll have to give it some thought. He’s going to be as big as a bear, but bears aren’t the color of dark honey.”

  Cade rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to call him Honey, are you?”

  Though dampened earlier at mention of Henry’s will, good humor thrummed through her and, with little effort, spilled out. “Of course not, silly. He’s much too masculine for a name like that.”

  “Good.”

  She slid him a glance. “I could follow your lead and call him a color.”

  “My lead?”

  “Yes. You have Blue and Ginger. I could call the dog Goldenrod. Or Mustard. Buttercup … Peaches.”

  Cade’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s it—he’s such a lovely peach color.”

  “No!”

  Fully committed to egging him on, she picked up the empty basket and propped it on her hip. “You wanted to know what I intend to call him.”

  He stared at her, speechless.

  Empowered by triumph, she hurried inside before she burst out laughing.

  ~

  Cade moaned and dragged a hand over his face. Blue and—God forbid—Peaches splashed through the mud where Mae Ann had dumped the wash water. Some guard dog.

  Surely she wouldn’t give it that sissy name, but who knew the mind of a woman?

  He watched the dogs romp, grateful all over again that he’d arrived when he did yesterday. Twice now MacGrath had trailed Mae Ann, and it made Cade’s blood boil. He might not be around the next time, and he reloaded an idea that had struck him at the sheriff’s.

  Mae Ann excelled at what she did, but she needed to know more than how to ride a horse. Washing and cooking and cleaning were fine for a city gal, but out here in the high parks, God-knew-what could show up without notice. Like MacGrath or some stray no-account.

  She needed to know how to handle a gun. They carried easier than a shovel.

  He stomped off his boots and walked through the back door into a mouthwatering aroma. Mae Ann reached into the oven with a length of toweling in her hands, then set a covered pot on the stove and closed the oven door with her foot. His ma used to do that.

  Her dress sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and loose curls fell around her face. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Hungry?”

  He swallowed.

  She brought him a cup of cold water and waited while he downed it. With the back of one hand, she pushed her hair off her forehead and braced the other on her hip, watching him as if he were an invalid. “You all right?”

  No, he was not. “Right as rain.” In Noah’s flood.

  He handed her the cup. “Thanks.”

  At the sink he splashed cold water on his face and neck and ran his fingers through his hair before drying his hands.

  Deacon came in the front and around to the kitchen. “Smells mighty fine, ma’am. I swear I’ve put on weight since you come.”

  “You are too kind, Deacon.”

  He took his seat and cut Cade a look. “I see ya brung home another critter.”

  If Mae Ann called the dog Peaches, he’d never hear the end of it.

  “Got a name for it?”

  Mae Ann rolled her lips, but her cheeks puffed out with pent-up laughter. After she sat down, Cade said grace and reached for the serving spoon. He dished up her plate, hoping to catch her eye.

  “I’ve given it some thought.” She took a bite and set her spoon down without looking at him. “He’s such an unusual color, and I think he’ll grow to be huge by the size of his feet.”

  Cade grabbed a thick hunk of cornbread and buttered it, waiting. If she said Peaches while his mouth was full, he’d spew cornbread all over the table and his foreman.

  He slid her a glance only to find her watching him. Doubt crawled up and perched on his shoulder. Was she foolin’ with him?

  “I think I’ll call him Cougar.”

  He choked, but not for the reason he’d expected. Cougar? Where’d that come from?

  Deacon shoveled in his beans as he always did, though he took care not to dribble in his beard. “You’re givin’ the dog a cat name?”

  She flicked her dark eyes at Cade, and he knew for certain she was toying with him. Made his chest warm, and he shoved the buttery bread in his mouth.

  “It was something Cade mentioned that day at the farm when you tried to catch the chickens.” She took a dainty bite of beans and set her spoon down again.

  Deacon took the bait. “I’ll get ’em. I told ya I would.”

  She dabbed her mouth and gave him a warm smile. “I’m sure you will. As soon as we have a full moon.”

  Deacon squirmed.

  Cade swigged his coffee, fully determined to take her with him when he drove his yearlings to the stockyards come fall. She’d run a hard bargain with the buyer, and be sure to get top dollar.

  “Cougar’s a fine name,” he offered. “Suits him.” After only one bowl of beans, he shoved himself back and took his dishes to the sink. “We’ll ride earlier today. Meet me at the barn when you’re ready.” He left before she had a chance to reply.

  On his way out he grabbed his .45 and a box of shells and stuck the colonel’s old long-barreled Army issue in his belt.

  ~

  Cade led them around Pine Hill to a spot where he and Betsy used to target-shoot when they were kids. He tethered the horses to a cedar twenty yards from an old, bleached cottonwood that had fallen the year he turned twelve. Riddled tins still littered the ground behind its white mass, rusted evidence that he and his sister had been pretty good shots.

  He stepped off twenty yards in the opposite direction. Mae Ann knelt in the grass, talking to her d
og and Blue. Confounded mongrels looked as if they understood every word she said. He turned away, before his anger at MacGrath and the rustlers—whoever they were—spilled over on her. It wasn’t her fault Reiker died before he said I do.

  But that wasn’t all that ate Cade. A new worry gnawed, and he set the shells on a stump and loaded the Colt. Last night when she’d read the will, he’d seen it in her eyes. She still had feelings for Henry.

  How was he supposed to compete with a dead man who’d won her heart?

  “Are you going to shoot?”

  He flinched at the nearness of her voice and fumbled a shell. She’d come through the grass like an Apache. Either that or he was losing his hearing along with his mind.

  She stooped to retrieve the bullet and dropped it in his hand with so much trust in her expression it was sure to be his undoing. “Yes, and so are you.”

  She blinked. Twice.

  “I know. You’ve never fired a gun.” Her nervous tell hitched his heart. “I’ll make a gunslinger out of you yet.”

  At her shock, laughter escaped from where he’d thought he had none. He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re not up to it.”

  She stiffened like a barn board, exactly as he’d bargained.

  Her hands cocked at her waist. “Show me what to do.”

  That’s my girl. The words swirled through his head, soft and warm, and he coughed and cleared his throat, hoping to clear his wits.

  “Stand right here and face the tree.” He pointed to the ground in front of him. When she stepped into place, he reached around her with both arms, holding the Colt in his right hand and overlapping it with his left. “Both hands on the gun. Just like this.”

  She nodded and her hair brushed against his face.

  “It’s going to be loud.”

  “I know.”

  So she did. His chest squeezed at his oversight, but he pressed on. “Ready?”

  She nodded again.

  He cocked the hammer and fired. A peach tin kicked off the cottonwood, and Mae Ann flinched so hard she fell against him. He lowered the gun and laid his left hand on her shoulder. “You all right?”