by Jill Gregory
“Well, maybe yes and maybe no. But if Miss Summers stays around for the May Day dance over at the Crooked T, I just might ask her to let me be her escort,” Jake boasted.
“You might have to get in line, old friend.” Dirk Watkins, who’d done some tracking and some gunslinging before settling into ranch work, shot him a cool glance. “Could be someone else might ask her first.”
Wade frowned. “The lady might be pretty, but she’s got the heart of a vulture,” he growled. “Myself, I prefer the softer type.”
“Like Miss Luanne Porter?” Rooster nodded knowingly. “How many times you had supper over at her place this past week?”
“None of your damn business.”
“She looks plenty soft to me,” Dirk murmured.
“What’s that?” Jake asked.
“Miss Summers.” The former gunslinger’s dark eyes were unreadable in the dim lantern light of the bunkhouse. “She looks plenty soft to me.”
Wade’s jaw clenched. If he heard one more word about Caitlin Summers tonight, he’d punch somebody. “Are we going to play poker or not?”
Caitlin stood by her window, gazing at the cool, glittering stars, thinking how best to drive Wade Barclay to distraction.
It was nearly midnight when she left her room, tugging a shawl around her shoulders as she let herself out the kitchen door and wandered toward the stream that ran and dipped about fifty yards behind the bunkhouse. Immersed in her plans, she sat down on a tree stump in a clearing flanked by cottonwoods and pondered the shimmering ribbon of water, where moonlight glistened and unseen frogs chirruped in the night.
“We’ll see how much fortitude you possess, Wade Barclay,” she muttered to herself.
Something cold and wet pushed against her hand, and she gave a gasp. Glowing eyes stared up at her, and a tail wagged in the starlight.
“Dawg,” she breathed and with a sigh of relief, she reached down to let the animal sniff her hand.
The tail wagged harder and Caitlin began to stroke behind the dog’s ears.
“Looks like you’re my only friend right now in the world.” She smiled down into the animal’s eager face as his tongue licked at her fingertips. “But that’s all right. It’s not always easy to find a friend. A real friend. Is it, boy? People aren’t always what they seem.”
“Talking to yourself?”
Her head flew up and her eyes widened as she saw Wade standing there. Moonlight illuminated his dark hair and slanted across his broad shoulders. But no moonbeam could have matched the cold bright glint of his eyes.
“What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death!”
She was annoyed to see that Dawg had deserted her to amble over to Wade and nudge at his hand.
“You don’t seem like the kind of woman who scares that easily. I mean,” he corrected himself, advancing toward her slowly in the darkness, “that you might look all soft and helpless, but from what I’ve seen, you’re a lot tougher than you appear.”
Caitlin didn’t feel all that tough suddenly. He looked so strong, so formidable there in the darkness, a dark, dangerous figure capable of anything.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she retorted only a little breathlesssly, “though I doubt you meant it as one.”
Something flickered in his eyes. He shrugged unexpectedly. “Don’t be so sure. I may not like you much, princess, but I’ve got to hand it to you. You stand your ground.”
He halted right before her. Close, so close. Again she wanted to step back, to give herself some space because his presence seemed to fill the small clearing and it was having a strange effect on her. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his rugged face.
“You said you didn’t cry, didn’t faint, and so far, from what I’ve seen, you told the truth.” He was studying her, taking in the shawl flung across her shoulders, her lips parted in surprise, even the soft rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened. “You’ve had a hard shock, but you didn’t crumble. I’ll hand you that.”
“I fight for what I want, if that’s what you mean. No matter what it takes,” she added quickly, thinking of Dominic Trent lying on the floor in a pool of blood, after she’d been forced to hit him with the candlestick. Caitlin saw that Dawg was trotting away, back toward the bunkhouse. Only she and Wade and the moonlight faint as fairy mist occupied the clearing now.
“Which I suppose puts us on opposite sides,” she finished defiantly.
She started past him, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her. “It doesn’t have to be that way. You can’t win this fight because I gave Reese my word—and one thing you need to know about me, I don’t go back on my word.”
She had a sudden all-too-vivid memory of Alec Ballantree’s low, unhappy voice. I don’t believe in going back on my word, but I can no longer marry you, Caitlin. It just isn’t possible . . .
A man of his word. She no longer believed in such things. She spoke icily. “You’ll change your mind—when it’s in your best interest to do so.”
“No. I won’t.” His tone was calm, purposeful. “So you’re just wasting your time trying to fight this. You may as well accept the terms of the will and try to—”
“I have a sister, Mr. Barclay, an eleven-year-old sister.” There was a warm tingle where he was touching her arm. She pulled away from him and plunged on, “I am responsible for her upbringing now. Perhaps you don’t know, but our parents,” and she deliberately emphasized the last word so that he would realize she did not consider Reese her parent in any way, “died recently and now she is depending solely on me.”
A startled look crossed his face. “I heard something about that—an accident at sea—but I didn’t know anything about a sister,” he said sharply.
“You don’t know anything about my life, or about me, Mr. Barclay. You just think you do.”
“I know that when your father—Reese—when he sent for you, you turned your back on him.”
“His letter came the same day the news arrived about my mother and Gillis!” she burst out. “I couldn’t have come to him then, even if I’d wanted to!”
He looked stunned. For a moment there was silence, but for the croaking of the frogs on the streambank and the sharp, sudden intake of her breath. “I’m going back to the house now. At first light, I’ll conduct an interview of the men in the bunkhouse—to see if they all meet with my approval,” she flung at him. “And then I want to go over the ledgers with you—all of them. I’ve found three errors of addition and subtraction having to do with the February accounts—your numbers are off by a total of twenty-seven cents.”
Wade’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not possible. I’ve double-checked every page of the accounts. There’re no mistakes.”
“Would you care to place a wager on that?”
Suddenly his eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Sure. What are you in for?”
“In for?”
“How much—money?”
Caitlin hesitated. She only had twelve dollars and forty-seven cents left in her reticule. As certain as she was that she was right, she couldn’t afford to risk even a penny of it.
“Money is so boring,” she said haughtily. “Let’s wager something more interesting than that.”
“Oh, yeah? So what do you find more interesting than money?” The question was slow and speculative, and there was a mocking challenge in his eyes, but Caitlin had him exactly where she wanted him.
“If I’m correct you’ll buy my share of the ranch immediately,” she stated.
He stepped closer, a slow grin curling the corners of his lips. “Nuh-uh. Sorry, princess, but that clause of the will is off-limits.”
“Then . . .” She took a deep breath. “If I’m correct, you’ll advance me two months’ worth of my stipend immediately.” With that she could pay what was overdue for Becky’s tuition, room and board, send her sister some spending money, and still have something left over for the servants who’d been let go unpaid.
Wade wondered why an he
iress who’d no doubt just inherited a damned fortune back east was so interested in money.
“All right—done,” he agreed. He couldn’t help noticing the pretty way she smiled with excitement at the prospect of the wager. She looked delectable here in the moonlight, all soft and sweet and tempting as a dainty little iced cake. “What do I get if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll promise not to fire any of your wranglers.” She gave him a cool nod. “That’s fair.”
He was about to point out that he wouldn’t allow her to fire a single one of them anyway—he needed every last man on this ranch. They were a handpicked group who worked well together as a team, and each had his own special skills that made him invaluable. But she looked so pleased at having come up with this suggestion that he forgot about arguing with her and suddenly found himself standing right in front of her, his hands at her waist.
“Maybe we should leave the wranglers out of this. Maybe this should be just between you and me.”
“You . . . and me?” Suddenly she felt light-headed. His touch seemed to melt her brain—and everything else in her body. “I don’t understand . . . what could we possibly . . . have to wager between . . . us?”
“Reckon we can think of something.” Wade barely knew what he was saying. He was lost in those dazzling green eyes, lost in the soft feel of her beneath his hands. For once, her blond hair was not pinned up in a damned knot, it flowed over her shoulders. He wanted to stroke it, see if it felt as soft as it looked. And her mouth . . .
“We could wager a kiss.” He didn’t know where the words came from, all low and hoarse like that—they just popped out. Probably because he was staring at her mouth.
But it sent a quiver of panic through her that he felt beneath his palms.
“We . . . most certainly could not!” Alarmed, she started to pull away, but Wade’s arm slipped around her waist and held her tight, while his other hand cupped her chin.
“Whoa, don’t go all skittish on me, princess, I was just fooling.”
Was he? Even he wasn’t sure and he saw the wild doubt and suspicion in her eyes as they searched his. That one word—kiss—had been like taking his spurs to a filly he was trying to gentle. It had spooked her but good.
“How about if I’m right—and the ledger’s free of mistakes —you wear that pretty hair of yours down for a whole week. Nice and loose, just like it is right now.”
Those bewitching eyes gazed at him in bewilderment. “Why could you possibly care . . . about how I . . .”
“Deal or no, princess,” he interrupted softly, and without realizing it pulled her even closer against him.
A sudden urge to kiss her assaulted him, and Wade had to use all of his self-control to resist. He didn’t want to kiss her, he told himself—hell, he didn’t even like her. But that beautiful lush mouth was putting loco ideas in his head. He actually felt himself lowering his own mouth toward hers . . .
Caitlin broke away with a low cry. “Don’t!”
Her breathing was ragged. And she was staring at him with fear in those big green eyes—as if she thought he would throw her down on the ground and rape her.
Chagrin and anger—anger at himself—rushed through him. “Hold on,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You tried to kiss me!”
“Why the hell would I do something like that?”
“You tell me!”
The hell of it was, he couldn’t. He didn’t know why he had tried to kiss her, he only knew it was a big mistake. So he did the only thing he could think of: he changed the subject.
“Look, I’ve got to get some shut-eye. Are we going to get this wager set and check the books tonight or not?”
“F-fine.” Uncertainty swept over her. Had she been wrong—had he really not tried to kiss her? Caitlin wasn’t at all sure. “But you—you keep your distance from me. I’m warning you!”
“My pleasure,” he muttered. “So what do I get if I win?”
Caitlin cast desperately in her mind for something. Why was she letting this man make her so nervous?
“I’ll bake you a pie,” she said at last, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“You can bake?”
He sounded so astonished her temper heated up all over again. “I reckon you’ll find out. If you win,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back toward the ranch house.
“What kind of pie?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
“Poison berry.”
He chuckled. The sound of it almost made her smile in response, but she managed to smother it by remembering how much she disliked him.
“So you agree on our terms?”
“Sure, princess.” He caught her arm and steadied her as she tripped over an unseen twig in the grass. “Reckon I can almost taste that pie right now.”
When they reached the study, Wade confidently turned up the lamp, strode to the desk, and lifted the ledger books.
“Go ahead then. Show me these so-called mistakes.”
She took the books from him and flipped through the pages, her face set with determination in the golden light.
“Here.” Triumphantly, she slid one slender finger to the bottom of a row of figures. “And here.”
Wade bent closer to peer over her shoulder. Her hair felt like silk as it brushed his chin. And . . . damn. Ever so delicately, she smelled like violets.
“And here.”
He forced himself to concentrate on the numbers before him, but it was difficult when she smelled so sweet and felt so soft and she was standing so close. He snatched the book from her and went around to the far side of the desk.
With this bit of distance between them his powers of concentration heightened, and he saw exactly what she was talking about. He stared at the columns—and did the figuring again. And again.
“What the hell.”
Damned if she wasn’t right.
“I told you!” Caitlin nearly clapped her hands in glee, but dropped them as he scowled.
“So . . . I’ll accept that stipend—two months’ worth— first thing in the morning,” she informed him haughtily. “ After I’ve interviewed the men.”
The scowl deepened. “Forget about interviewing the men.” He tossed the ledger book back down on the desk. “If you take it into your head to fire anyone, I’ll just rehire ’em.”
It was her turn to narrow her eyes. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Barclay. I own equal shares and have equal say. If I want to fire someone, I will.”
“You thought you were going to fire me too,” he pointed out. “Or have you forgotten?”
Caitlin gritted her teeth, remembering how he’d laughed when she’d said that in the wagon. She’d never imagined the rude and arrogant foreman would own equal shares of her father’s ranch. That he’d been raised as her father’s son. “Too bad I can’t fire you,” she muttered under her breath as she spun away from him and headed for the door.
“Be sure to let me know if you find any more mistakes in the ledgers,” he called out after her. “If you want I can dig out the books from last quarter too and let you take a look.”
“Maybe I just will. As you can see, I’m merely taking an active interest in this ranch—my ranch,” she shot back.
“I’m sure Reese would be glad to know you’re so committed to the place that he gave more than twenty years’ worth of sweat, blood, and tears. Too bad you wouldn’t deign to set foot on it till he was dead.”
The moment the words were out, a heavy silence thundered through the room. A silence that weighed on Wade’s shoulders like an anvil. He watched her face tighten, saw her swallow, and noticed the way her hands suddenly gripped her skirt so tightly her knuckles whitened.
“Don’t be obnoxious, Mr. Barclay,” she said at last. Didn’t he know how completely Reese had rejected her, that he’d never answered a single one of her letters, much less invited her to visit the ranch? Well, she wasn’t about to let him in on that particular
humiliation. Especially since Reese had raised all three Barclay boys in this house as his sons. “I’ve had my fill of obnoxious men.”
She whirled and left the study without waiting for him to reply.
When she was gone, Wade could have sworn that the lamplight seemed dimmer. The room flat, empty somehow.
I’ve had my fill of obnoxious men.
He walked around the desk to one of the crystal whiskey decanters and poured himself a shot glass. Tossing it back, he remembered the bitterness around her lovely mouth when she’d said that.
He also remembered something else she’d said tonight, when she’d told him about her younger sister. “You don’t know anything about my life, Mr. Barclay. You just think you do.”
Don’t start getting sentimental over a dazzling little beauty who ignored Reese for the past eighteen years, tried to manipulate his attorney into changing the will, and is probably now fixing to turn her machinations on you, he told himself.
She was up to something with this annoying checking of the books and interviewing the men. He didn’t quite understand the point of it all, but it sure was wearing on his nerves.
Think about something else. Think about Luanne.
Luanne Porter, the schoolteacher who’d arrived from St. Louis a few months back to teach the children of Silver Valley who were too far away to attend the school-house just outside of Hope, had gingery-red hair, a dash of becoming freckles, and a smile as big as all of the valley. She lived close by, with her aunt and uncle at their Hanging Circle spread, and not only had she been inviting him to supper since Reese died, but she’d brought over pies and cakes and cookies on a regular basis. She’d done all she could to cheer him up.
Her kisses had helped too. Sweet, vanilla-tasting kisses.
When Clint and Nick were here, they’d teased him and said he’d be married within the year.
But Wade didn’t see it that way at all. He was in no particular hurry to get tied down, though he’d always wanted a wife and family someday. But he’d always thought of it as something far off and in the future. So sweet as Luanne Porter was, he’d been careful not to be too attentive. There were too many pretty girls in the saloon who liked fussing over him, sitting in his lap, inviting him upstairs to one of the private bedrooms wallpapered in red and gold. Too many fine daughters of ranchers in the valley and merchants in Hope—hell, he hadn’t gotten to know half of them as well as he’d like to.
