She stirred her tea and shrugged. “Once Billy died and I had no way to earn a living, it hit me how right they had been. It was pure luck that Big Bob needed a cook and was willing to take me on with my limited experience.”
“And you’re satisfied with your life now? Happy with cooking three meals a day for hungry cowboys?”
She stiffened. “Yes. I am happy.” Then she grinned. “At least that’s what I tell myself every day.”
They sat together in silence, each with their own thoughts. Rusty glanced at Rachel, taking in her weary expression and the slump to her body. Her black eye was stark against her pale skin, and her other eye sported a dark circle underneath.
“It’s time you went to bed, Mrs. Stevens.” He carried their plates to the sink and dumped them in. He leaned against the sink, crossing his ankles. “I still haven’t talked to Amelia.”
Rachel stood and stifled a yawn. “Good. By tomorrow you’ll be calmed down.”
“But I still need to speak to her about this.”
“I agree. It wouldn’t hurt. But you were too mad before.”
They strolled together to the front door. Rusty turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Take tomorrow off, too.”
When she started to shake her head, he pulled her closer. “I insist. I’m the boss, and I want you to take tomorrow off.”
“All right.” The words came out breathless.
His heart sped up, and he wrapped his arms around her waist until their bodies were touching. “Thanks for the tea and pie.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
Slowly, he bent his head and brushed her lips gently, barely a kiss. She sucked in her breath, and he moved his arm up to her shoulders. Tugging her closer, he took her mouth in a searing kiss. Rachel eased her hands up his chest to encircle his neck, playing with the hairs at the back of his head.
Her supple breasts, hidden behind the soft cotton nightgown, pressed against his chest, causing all his blood to race to his cock. His hands slid down, cupping her plump bottom, tugging her against him. He rotated his hips, teasing the spot between her legs that he longed to uncover and touch, feel her silky skin, moist from her passion.
How he wanted this woman. Her scent, her touch, her whimpers. He tormented her lips with his tongue, demanding entrance. She gasped and he swept in, the heat and sweetness pushing him further, wanting more. Much more.
He pulled away, his chest heaving as he attempted to draw in air. He rested his wrists on her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers. “Darlin’ if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop at all. And when I take you to bed it won’t be with two kids in the next room, or with you sore from a beating.” He backed up and kissed her lightly on her nose. “Good night.”
***
Rachel stood stupefied, as the front door closed with Rusty on the other side. What had just happened? What did she do, and what had he said? Dear God, either one of the kids could have come upon them just now. She’d behaved like a wanton, allowing him to touch her in ways only a husband should touch a wife. She turned from the door and entered the kitchen on shaky legs. With muddled thoughts, she carefully rinsed out the teapot and put it on the shelf over the sink.
She blew out the lamps and headed to her bedroom. Once inside, she sat on the bed and thought about Rusty.
. . . when I take you to bed it won’t be with two kids in the next room . . .
That was what he had said. As if it was a definite thing. She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms. She lay back on the mattress and closed her eyes, remembering. Then she sat up with a jolt, and groaned as she dropped her head in her hands. The entire time Rusty had been here, she’d been wearing only her nightgown!
Three days later, Rachel returned to work. The black eye had turned a reddish-yellow color, and her sore muscles had healed. Everyone accepted Rusty’s story about her falling out of the wagon and striking her face on the wheel.
Since Rusty had already spoken with the young man who’d been snuggling with his daughter, he convinced Rachel to talk to Amelia about the importance of a girl’s reputation, and other female things. What started out as an awkward conversation soon became a gabfest, leaving Rachel feeling very good about Amelia. She was a smart girl, with a good head on her shoulders. They also talked about school, and Amelia admitted she could use some more education.
“Mrs. Stevens, would you grant me the honor of your company at the Grange Hall social this Saturday evening?” Rusty leaned against the cookhouse doorframe watching Rachel as she finished washing the pots from supper.
“My, so formal.” She laughed as she continued to scrub.
He pushed away from the doorframe and moved to prop himself against the sink. “It’s been a long time since I asked a lady out on a date. I might be out of practice.”
If anyone was out of practice, it was her. She’d rebuffed the few men who had shown an interest in her since Billy’s death. With no desire or intention to ever marry again, there seemed to be no point in encouraging them.
Then why did she have this strong urge to say ‘yes’ to this man?
Rachel used the back of her hand to push the damp curls off her forehead. “What about Will and Amelia?”
He frowned. “What about them?”
“I’ve never been to a Grange dance. Do they allow children?”
“I’m not sure about that, but I’m in favor of Amelia staying here with Will and just you and I go. It’s a ‘date,’ remember.”
A date. That inferred courting. She glanced up at Rusty, then quickly back down again to continue scrubbing. What was the purpose of this ‘date?’ She’d told him something of Billy and her marriage, but she knew very little about him, except for his broken engagement and the daughter he wasn’t sure he’d fathered.
She’d lived in the Guthrie area since she was fifteen years old. Just about everyone she encountered every day, she’d known for years. It was even through Uncle Jesse that she got her job working for Big Bob, who was his client.
“Why did you leave Kansas to work here in Oklahoma?”
He regarded her with raised eyebrows and that lazy smile that set her heart to thumping. “Where did that come from? Does your acceptance to my invitation depend on the answer to that question?”
“No. I only asked because I realize I don’t know very much about you.”
“Honey, I’m inviting you to a dance, not asking you to marry me.” He appeared as surprised by his statement as she was. They stared at each other, the word hanging between them like a harbinger.
Rachel swallowed and attempted a smile. “Yes. Of course. How silly of me.” She forced a smile, hoping it hid her flaming cheeks. “I will go to the dance. It sounds very nice.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he mumbled, and fled the room.
***
Damnation. What the hell made him say something so stupid? The last thing he wanted to do was put that word out there.
Lefty Collins, one of the older cowboys on the ranch, walked up to him. “Hey, boss, Big Bob’s been looking for you. Last I seen him he was headed that-a-way.” He jerked his thumb toward the barn.
“Thanks.” Rusty turned on his heel and headed in that direction.
Big Bob’s frame filled the doorway of the barn as he leaned against it, watching one of the younger cowboys breaking in a new horse. Besides all the cattle they ran, Big Bob enjoyed buying horses that needed taming. He’d bought, trained, and sold a number of them over the years, adding to his already full coffers.
Now with the years catching up with him, he told Rusty the time had come to allow the younger men to take on that task. “There’s no fool like an old fool,” he’d quoted at him when they had their first meeting in Kansas.
Big Bob had visited the ranch of an old friend in Kansas where Rusty worked as foreman. Anxious to move to a bigger spread for more money, Rusty approached Big Bob about a job with him, never dreaming he’d snag the foreman’s spot.
The prior foreman had been injured in an accident with an angry stallion, and decided to retire, after thirty years of breaking horses. The man Big Bob had in charge didn’t have what it took to gain the respect of the men.
The two ranch owners had worked it out for Rusty to stay until his job in Kansas had been filled. It had been a good move for him. The added income was squirreled away for his future, putting him one step closer to the dream of his own spread.
“Lefty said you wanted to see me?”
Big Bob pushed away from the doorframe. “Yeah. Let’s take a walk.”
The two ambled along in silence until they were well out of earshot from the men. Big Bob rested his hand on Rusty’s shoulder and directed him to a large rock where they both sat. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “My wife means the world to me.”
Since that didn’t require an answer, Rusty waited for the man to continue.
“She has this arthritis thing that seems to be getting worse.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, then resettled the hat. “Doctor tells me the only thing to do for her is to move to Arizona Territory.”
Rusty’s heart jumped. Was Big Bob selling the place? Was he going to be out of a job? The man seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so he just waited.
Big Bob turned and looked at him. “You told me when we talked in Kansas that you wanted a spread of your own.”
Rusty nodded, his mouth dry. “Yes, sir. I sure do.”
“I like the way you do things. I know you haven’t been here long, but I can see the respect you’ve gained from the men, and the way things run real smooth.” He leaned his forearms on his knees, gazing at the ranch house, corral, and barn. Several men hung on the rail fence, watching the horse giving the cowboy a rough time.
Rusty waited as long as he could stand it, and then said, “What are you saying?”
Big Bob continued to stare straight ahead. “How would you like to buy into the ranch as my partner?”
Chapter Eight
Rachel had taken extra care with her appearance as she readied herself for the dance. Her rose gown was lovely, even if slightly outdated. She’d spruced it up a bit with lace trim on the hem of the skirt and the cuffs.
After dressing, she stared at herself in the mirror, surprised the dress still fit. She’d worn it for her wedding ten years past. With no reason to ever need another fancy dress, this was the only one she owned. With Amelia’s help, she’d put her hair up in a fancy topknot, with curls loose at her temples and neck. She pulled the finishing touch, her one good shawl—white linen shot through with silver threads—from her drawer and wrapped it around her shoulders. With a pinch to her cheeks for color, she left the bedroom to meet Rusty, waiting for her in the parlor.
After leaving last-minute instructions with Will and Amelia, who was still sulking over not being able to attend the dance, they left the house. Rusty helped Rachel into the borrowed buggy and jumped up on the seat. With a snap of the reins they pulled away from the ranch and were off to the Grange Hall.
She glanced at Rusty, chiding herself for the fluttering in her stomach. His hair still damp from his bath, the curls at his nape hung over the collar of his white shirt. He wore black trousers and a black string tie. The play of muscles under his shirt as he directed the horses made her squirm. What was wrong with her? Sure he was handsome, had always been, but for some reason she seemed more aware of him tonight.
His light scent of bay rum drifted to her, mixed with the end-of-summer flowers along the road. “I haven’t been to a dance since before Will was born.”
He flashed her a smile. “You and your husband weren’t high steppers?”
“Heavens, no. I doubt any more boring people than us ever walked the earth. I always enjoyed home life, and Billy—well—he worked hard, and wanted nothing more than to relax when he was home.”
“What type of work did Billy do?”
“He was a bank clerk.” She grinned at Rusty’s surprised look. “Yes, I know that’s not exactly hard work, but it seemed to wear him out.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. Hard work to Rusty had a whole different meaning.
A short time later they pulled up to the Grange Hall. Buggies, carriages and even one automobile sat in neat rows in front of the building. It seemed as though hundreds of lamps burned inside, casting an almost daylight glow from the windows, lighting the outside. Arm in arm, couples made their way from their vehicles to the Hall, chatting excitedly. It seemed everyone was dressed in their finest.
Rachel took Rusty’s offered arm. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even know how often they have these dances. Do you know?”
“Lefty said about four or five times a year.”
The sounds of laughter and the hum of conversation greeted them as Rusty escorted her through the door, his warm hand placed firmly on her lower back. Three men stood on a raised platform at one end of the hall, tuning up their instruments. The excitement in the room was palpable. Rachel rolled her eyes as women embraced, acting as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, instead of last Sunday at church.
“I wonder if Ellie is here,” Rachel said as she went up on her tiptoes, stretching her neck to search the crowd.
“Ellie?”
She steadied herself on his arm. “My sister. She teaches at Guthrie High School.”
“You never talk about your family.”
Giving up on searching the crowd, she lowered her heels and turned to him. “I don’t, do I? I have two brothers and a sister. Hunter is a federal marshal—we don’t see him very often. Michael is a pharmacist and married. He and Heidi have a little baby girl, Madeline.”
The first notes of a lively country dance started up. Rusty tilted his head toward the dance floor since the noise of the crowd and the music made conversation impossible. Rachel pulled him close and spoke into his ear. “I haven’t danced in ages. Can we sit a few out, so I can just watch?”
“Whatever you want. Let’s see if we can get out of everyone’s way.” He grasped her hand and moved through the crowd. They wended their way past groups of people lining up for the dance. Rusty found them a place against a wall far enough away from the music that they could actually hear each other.
“Rachel Stevens, is that you?” Katie Brenner, a woman well known in the community as having eyes for the best looking men in town, strolled up to Rachel, her hands extended as if they were the best of friends. They were not.
“I haven’t seen you at one of these dances in years.” She laughed gaily, her gaze the entire time on Rusty. “And who is this?” She placed her hand on Rusty’s arm, looking up at him as if he might be her next meal.
Rachel gritted her teeth. “Rusty McIntyre, the new foreman at the Lazy Sunset. Rusty, Katie Brenner.” She spoke quickly, waving her hand back and forth between the two of them.
“Really?” Katie raised her eyebrows as if such a statement was the most amazing thing she’d heard all year. “Well, I must make a visit to the ranch sometime soon. I make a mean pecan pie, Mr. McIntyre.”
Rusty threw his arm around Rachel’s shoulders, hugging her close. “Isn’t that something? So does Rachel.”
“But I do so much more than baking.” Her cupid lips drew into a pout that had Rachel’s dinner climbing up the back of her throat.
Katie took hold of Rusty’s arm just as the next number, a waltz, started up. “Rachel, I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow Mr. McIntyre, do you?” Without waiting for a reply, or even glancing in Rachel’s direction, she tugged Rusty toward the dance floor.
Rachel told herself over and over she didn’t care one whit if Rusty waltzed all night with Katie. Or any other woman at the dance, for that matter. He was a good-looking, single man, and could dance with whomever he pleased. She plastered a smile on her face, her jaw so tight it was amazing her teeth didn’t shatter.
“Mrs. Stevens, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” Greg Hancock stood in front of her, grinning like a small b
oy. The cowboy had been with the Lazy Sunset since before Rachel began working there. A widower himself, he’d shown some interest in her when she first arrived, however soon gave up when she remained polite, but distant.
Although she would have preferred to share the waltz with Rusty, since Katie had beat her to it, she might as well enjoy herself, anyway. “Yes, I would like that.” She accepted his hand and followed him to the dance floor where Katie was practically climbing up Rusty’s body.
Not that she cared. Not one whit.
***
If Rusty had to move Katie’s hand one more time, he would do the ungentlemanly thing and leave her right here in the middle of the dance floor. Her delicate fingers, resting at his waist, kept wandering toward his backside. Aside from the soiled doves in a bordello, he’d never encountered a woman so forward before. Cut from the same cloth as his erstwhile fiancée, apparently.
While he continued to wrestle with Katie, he twisted and turned, curious to see Greg Hancock approach Rachel. What was that old coot doing, cozying up to her? He was old enough to be her father. When she smiled up at the man and took his hand to accept a dance, his gut twisted. Turning Katie in a circle, he maneuvered his way through the other dancers.
“Why are you dragging me across the floor?” Katie frowned when she saw the direction he was headed.
“It was too crowded where we were.”
The dance seemed to go on forever. He watched how close Greg and Rachel danced, not happy with the lack of space between them. He tried to catch Rachel’s eye, but she never glanced his way.
What the hell was the matter with him? He had no claim on Rachel. Maybe he should be taking advantage of all the signals Katie was sending him. He glanced down at her. All wrong. She was the wrong height, the wrong hair color. Hell, the curves she pushed against him were wrong.
Damnation. She wasn’t Rachel.
Maybe it was time to admit he had feelings for the woman. Feelings beyond friendship. If he wanted to settle down—not saying that he did—Rachel was everything he would want in a wife. She was beautiful, compassionate, a wonderful mother, and made his blood boil.
A Chance to Love Again Page 7
