“Looks like we’ll have to call it a draw,” Norquist said good-naturedly. He holstered his gun, ready to call it quits.
“Or try a different kind of target,” the gambler suggested.
“We’re just wasting ammunition,” Tyree said, reloading his Colt. “The kid, here, is a fine shot. I’m satisfied with a draw.”
“Well, I’m not,” the gambler said curtly. “We made a bet, and it has to be decided, one way or the other.”
“Mr. Brockton, let him have the money,” Pauley Norquist said. “It isn’t important.”
“Brockton!” Tyree whistled under his breath. “I thought you cashed in down on the Panhandle.”
“Not hardly,” Brockton said impudently. “You killed a friend of mine down there, Newt Ralston.”
“Ralston! I didn’t know that squaw lover had any friends.”
“He had one. You as fast with that iron as they say?”
“Only one way to find out,” Brockton said. Very slowly, his hand lifted to hover over his gun butt.
Tyree swore under his breath. He had not meant to goad the man into a fight, not with Rachel standing behind him, her eyes wide and frightened.
“Make your move,” Brockton challenged.
“Forget it.”
Brockton laughed. “I might have known any friend of Ralston’s would be a coward. Go for your gun, squawman, or I’ll shoot you down where you stand.”
“If you think you can do it, go ahead.”
Rachel’s gasp sounded like thunder in the sudden silence that surrounded the two men. Brockton reached for his gun, his eyes shining with confidence. But Tyree’s draw was quicker, smoother. The bullet slammed into Brockton’s right shoulder, numbing his arm so that he dropped his gun into the dirt.
“Get out of here,” Tyree said in a hard voice.
Brockton nodded, his face white as he turned away from the crowd and made his way down the street.
Tyree stared after him. Once he would have killed the man without a qualm, but not now. Not with Rachel watching his every move.
The crowd parted like soft butter as Tyree took Rachel’s arm and headed for the schoolyard.
“Damn!” murmured Wesley, who had watched the whole thing from the sidelines. “One of these days he’s gonna kill someone, and I’m gonna have to take him in.”
Chapter Seven
It was John Halloran’s sixtieth birthday and Rachel was planning a party. She spent several days organizing the menu, and then spent another full day trying to decide how to get rid of Tyree on the night of the party.
As it turned out, Tyree solved the problem for her. One look at the guest list was all it took. Rachel had invited Essie O’Shay, who was the Yellow Creek schoolmarm; Olaf Johnson, the blacksmith; Mr. and Mrs. Thorngood, who owned the General Store; Gus Kibbee, who doubled as barber and dentist; Vincent Myers, editor of the local newspaper; and her best friend, Carol Ann McKee. The Reverend and Mrs. Jenkins were also on the list, as well as Clint Wesley, and several other, equally dreary people.
It was the thought of making polite conversation with the likes of the minister and the marshal that persuaded Tyree to spend the evening in town.
He left the Lazy H just before dark.
Rachel’s party was a big success. The food was excellent, the guests congenial, the conversation intelligent, interspersed with witticisms and laughter. They ate and danced and played a few parlor games before Rachel served the cake.
By midnight, everyone had gone home except for Clint Wesley, who lingered on the front porch with Rachel, reluctant to bid her good night.
“It’s pretty out,” Rachel commented. “The stars are beautiful.”
“You’re prettier than any star,” Clint murmured, taking her in his arms. “You’re the prettiest, sweetest, most wonderful girl I’ve ever known.”
“You probably say that to all the girls,” Rachel teased, though she was flattered by his kind words.
“You know you’re the only girl for me,” Clint said earnestly.
“Am I?” Rachel was boldly flirting now. “Millie Cloward couldn’t keep her eyes off you in church last Sunday.”
“Millie Cloward!” Clint exclaimed in a pained tone. “She looks like a pregnant heifer.”
“She does not. She has a lovely figure. And I overheard Mrs. Cloward say she’d be happy as a clam to have a lawman in the family.”
Clint looked genuinely shocked. “You’re not serious?”
“Yes, indeed,” Rachel assured him with mock gravity. “Mrs. Cloward is going to invite you to Sunday dinner next week. And Millie is making a new dress for the occasion. I saw her in Thorngood’s picking out material and she was all aflutter.”
Wesley groaned. “Whatever made her think that I… I never did anything to… Why, I’ve hardly spoken ten words to the girl.”
“Well, you did buy her supper at the box social,” Rachel pointed out, laughing impishly. “And you did look like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t be silly. I only bought that awful box because I felt sorry for her. And so I could keep an eye on you and that gunslinger.”
“Well, Millie seems to think there was much more to it than that. And I’m sure she would make you a truly fine wife.”
“Wife!” Clint choked on the word. “Rachel, you’ve got to get me out of this. Invite me to dinner next Sunday.”
“Coward.”
“Guilty as charged,” Wesley allowed. “Can I come for dinner?”
“Of course.” Rachel’s laughter was as light and musical as the tinkling of Christmas bells. “You know you’re always welcome here. Listen! Candido is playing his guitar.”
Wesley nodded as the faint strains of a Spanish love song drifted up from the bunkhouse. Wordlessly, he held out his arms and Rachel moved into his embrace, their feet moving to the melody as they danced across the porch.
Tyree watched them from the shadows beside the house, feeling a sharp twinge of jealousy as Clint Wesley kissed Rachel. They stayed in each other’s arms a long time, now dancing, now kissing, now just standing quietly close. The moonlight touched Rachel’s hair, turning the gold to silver. Her expression was soft, warm, beautiful.
Rachel sighed as she laid her head on Clint’s shoulder. They had been courting for over a year now, and still Clint had not asked her to marry him. But he would. And she was content to wait. She felt safe with Clint, secure. He would always be there, dependable as the sun. There were no high mountains in their relationship, but there were no dark valleys, either.
“I guess I’d better be going,” Clint said with regret. “I’ve got a meeting with Judge Thackery in the morning. Eight o’clock sharp.”
“Will I see you Saturday?”
“You bet. And Sunday, too,” Clint reminded her. “And every Sunday until old lady Cloward gets the message.”
Rachel laughed softly as she took Clint’s arm and walked with him down the stairs to where his horse was tethered. Still smiling, she lifted her face for one last kiss.
Dreamy-eyed, she stared after Clint as he rode out of the yard. She was picturing herself as Clint’s wife when she became aware of someone standing behind her. Startled, she whirled around to find Tyree at her shoulder. With a curt nod of her head, Rachel acknowledged his presence, then started toward the front steps.
“Seems a shame to let that music go to waste,” Tyree drawled, pulling her into his arms, and before Rachel could protest, he was waltzing her around the moon-dappled yard.
“I never thought of you as a dancing man,” Rachel remarked, hoping a little lighthearted conversation would cover the nervousness she felt at his nearness.
“Oh, I’ve got a lot of talents you’ve never dreamed of,” Tyree assured her. “Shall I whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and tell you you’re prettier than all the stars in the sky?”
Anger flared deep in Rachel’s eyes as she twisted out of Tyree’s arms. “How dare you spy on us!”
“I wasn’t spying. I just
happened to get back while the two of you were on the front porch.”
“You should have made your presence known,” Rachel accused.
“Maybe,” Tyree allowed with a shrug. “But it seemed a shame to intrude on such a romantic moment.”
Rachel glared at him, irritated by the sardonic laughter dancing in the depths of his amber eyes. Oh, but he was incorrigible!
“Come here,” Tyree whispered.
Rachel shook her head, confused by the conflicting emotions that warred within her breast. She knew she should go inside the house, knew that it was wrong to be alone in the moonlight with a man like Tyree. He wanted only one thing from her, and she had vowed it would never happen again. And yet, knowing all those things, she did not resist when he drew her into his arms a second time.
The music from Candido’s guitar filled the air with a haunting melody that spoke of lost love and bitter tears shed in the darkness of a long and lonely night. Tyree’s arms were strong around her as they danced under the stars, and Rachel’s body molded to his as if they had danced together for years. He was incredibly light on his feet, and she thought again how catlike Tyree was, his movements always quick and sure with a smooth, masculine grace, his eyes yellow-gold, like a tiger’s.
Tyree was intensely aware of the woman in his arms. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, her nearness filled his senses and his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer, closer.
His eyes met hers, then dropped downward to linger on her mouth. He felt the sudden intake of her breath and he knew she was remembering Sunset Canyon, just as he was.
Rachel flushed under his probing gaze, but could not draw her eyes from his. Tyree’s kiss came unexpectedly, catching her off guard. One moment he was gazing into her face, and the next his mouth was slanting over hers, sending sparks to every part of her body. For a time, she remained placid in his embrace, caught up in the magic of the music and the moonlight and the waves of pleasure his merest touch sent spiraling through her.
“You really are lovely,” Tyree murmured in her ear. “Your eyes are as blue as cornflowers, and your hair is as soft as new grass.” His lips moved to her neck, nibbling softly. “Sweet,” he whispered huskily. “So sweet.”
“Tyree, you mustn’t—” Rachel protested weakly.
“Mustn’t what?”
Confused, Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. You make me feel so strange.”
“There’s nothing strange about this,” Tyree said. His hands caressed her back while his mouth traveled up her neck toward her left earlobe. “It’s all perfectly natural. Kiss me, Rachel.”
“No. Go away and leave me alone.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked, but there was no anger in his voice, no reproach, only a husky yearning.
“No,” Rachel replied quickly. “I like men who are gentlemen.”
“I can be a gentle man,” Tyree purred in a low tone. “Kiss me and see.”
Feeling as though she were in a trance, Rachel stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to Tyree’s, bewildered by the tremors that shook her from head to foot as his mouth met hers. She did not even like Logan Tyree, she thought absently, and yet his kisses left her weak and wanting, sparking a hunger deep in her insides the likes of which she had never known. Clint’s kisses never aroused her in such a way, never left her longing for more than just kisses. But Tyree had only to touch her and every nerve ending in her body sprang to life, straining toward him, eager to be touched and caressed. It was most peculiar.
“You’re beautiful,” Tyree said, his voice low and husky, mesmerizing. He stroked her hair, bent to breathe in the scent of it. “So damn beautiful.”
“Tyree, don’t—”
“I want to make love to you. Now. Tonight.”
Rachel shook her head. She had vowed never to surrender to Logan Tyree again. One mistake was enough.
“Rachel.” His voice was warm and coaxing, sweeter than honey.
He kissed her again. Unbidden, unwanted, came the memory of his body pressing against hers, possessing her. As though reading her thoughts, he pulled her close. His tongue slid over her lips, teasing the soft inner flesh of her lower lip like a darting finger of flame, spreading a delicious warmth to every fiber of her being. His hands moved lazily over her shoulders and back and hips, gentling her to his touch, arousing her to fever pitch, letting her feel his rising desire, until she stood trembling in his arms, her eyes half-closed, her heart fluttering wildly, her face lifted for his kisses.
Mesmerized by his touch, she sagged against him while he continued to murmur soft words in her ear. It felt so good to be in his arms, to feel his hard length pressed against her. His voice was soft, husky, entreating.
It was only when she found herself being carried swiftly toward the barn that sanity returned. Alarmed, she slapped Tyree’s face with all the force at her command. Who did he think he was, that he could woo her so easily! Did he think a few sweet words would render her completely senseless, so that he could have his way with her?
Tyree stared down at Rachel, anger and surprise reflected in his hot yellow eyes.
“Logan Tyree, you put me down this instant,” Rachel demanded indignantly.
“Change your mind?” Tyree asked. But he did not put her down.
“No! Yes! Oh, I never intended for you to…to…and you know it!”
“You seemed pretty willing a minute ago.”
“I was not. I…you tricked me.”
One black eyebrow arched upward like a question mark. “Tricked you?” Tyree mused. “Don’t be silly. Why don’t you just admit you’re as eager for it as I am?”
Rachel’s cheeks flushed crimson as words failed her completely. A sudden guilt brought tears to her eyes and she lowered her head, refusing to look at Tyree because what he said was true. All too true. She did want him. Desperately. No matter that she constantly professed to hate him. No matter that she continually professed to despise his touch and all he stood for. The truth was that she liked Logan Tyree and that thought frightened her almost as much as the way her body responded to the desire in his eyes and the slightest touch of his hands. Even now, she longed to let him carry her to the barn and satisfy the need he had aroused in her. But it was wrong, so very wrong.
Tyree held her in his arms for what seemed like forever and then, gently, he set her on her feet and walked away, leaving Rachel standing alone in the moonlight, feeling suddenly empty and very alone.
Rachel was trying to understand her feelings for Tyree the next morning when she slipped on the back stairs and sprained her ankle. It was Tyree who found her lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps, her face white with pain.
Wordlessly, he carried her into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, where he deposited her gently on the bed. Panic took hold of Rachel as Tyree stood looking down at her. Only the night before he had tried to seduce her, and now she was helpless, and quite alone in the house.
“Tyree—”
“Just sit tight,” he said, ignoring the anxiety that was evident in her voice and eyes. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”
“It hurts like blazes.”
“You want me to send for your old man?”
Rachel considered that for a moment, then shook her head. Her father had left before dawn to visit an old friend who had been in a bad accident, and now that her initial panic had subsided, she saw no reason to summon him home. There was nothing he could do. And surely even a man as callous as Tyree wouldn’t try to take advantage of her now.
Tyree’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he wrapped her ankle in a towel he had soaked in cold water.
“You’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Lie back and take it easy. I’ll send for the sawbones.”
To Rachel’s distress, the doctor prescribed two weeks in bed.
“Two weeks!” Rachel complained to Tyree later. “Who’ll look after the house while I’m stuck in bed?”
; “I think I can handle things around here until you’re back on your feet,” Tyree said with a shrug.
“You?” Rachel laughed out loud. “Who’s going to do the washing and ironing and the cooking and—”
Tyree dropped a hand over Rachel’s mouth, effectively stifling her tirade. “Nothing to it,” he drawled, and proved it later that night by serving Rachel a dinner of roast beef, potatoes with brown gravy, peas, and hot biscuits only a little less light and fluffy than her own.
Tyree grinned at her as she ate with obvious enjoyment. “Well?”
“It’s delicious,” Rachel admitted.
“But?”
“But I just can’t believe you made all this yourself.”
“Why not? Who do you think cooks for me when I’m drifting?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said with a shrug. “I guess I never gave it any thought.”
“Yeah. Well, you be a good girl and tomorrow I’ll fix you some fried chicken and dumplings that will melt in your mouth. And if you’re real good, I might bake you a chocolate cake.”
Grinning impudently, Rachel said, “I had no idea you were so domestic.”
“Just another of my hidden talents,” Tyree retorted.
“Yes. Well, I’m sure you’ll make some lucky girl a wonderful wife.”
Tyree looked momentarily taken aback, then he quirked one black eyebrow at her. “That a proposal?”
“Of course not,” Rachel answered quickly.
“Another hope crushed,” Tyree lamented with mock sorrow. “Get some rest now.”
Rachel’s convalescence proved to be one surprise after another as Tyree took over the running of the house. Rachel had been born and raised on the ranch and she was used to the never-ending hard work that was a part of every ranch woman’s life. To stay in bed and be waited on was a rare treat. For once, she had time to linger over a romantic novel, or browse through her father’s mail order catalogs. She could even sit back and enjoy being idle without feeling guilty. She had time to think and dream and ponder, and most of her thoughts were of Tyree. When had she stopped hating him? When had she stopped thinking of him as a heartless murderer and begun to see him as a strong, virile, desirable man?
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