His tone told her she’d done it again. Irritated him. So be it.
They bid their farewells and Bridgette gave Garth time to brood. For a mile or two, then she asked, “What’s your place like in Texas?”
“I don’t have a place.” His answer was accompanied by a deep scowl.
She’d mainly been trying to drum up a conversation. Confused, she asked, “Where do you live?”
“I spend a night or two in Malcolm’s bunkhouses when I need to get out of the weather, and pay him rent to store my cattle on his pastures.” His gaze was solemn when he said, “I don’t have a house. I don’t have any trees or gardens or rainbows.” He shook his head. “All I have are a bunch of cows that nobody wants to pay me for.”
Bridgette was taken aback. She’d never, not even when they’d lived in the orphanage with next to nothing to call their own, heard him say anything so demoralizing. Telling him all would work out in due time wouldn’t help, not right now, so she held her silence the rest of the way to town. And contemplated exactly what could be done to solve the issues he faced the entire way. Virginia’s comment about taking things into your own hands entered her mind, as did something Dr. Rodgers had told her on her first assignment. When someone needs your help, you don’t offer, you act. You do what needs to be done.
Chapter Eighteen
Garth left Bridgette at JoJo’s tent and went in search of Slim. He’d left for Solstead’s ranch full of optimism and hope, and returned empty. A void sat inside him, leaving him so hollow he couldn’t even muster up anger. That had never happened before.
He’d never lost everything before. Because he’d never had anything to lose. Not like he did now. He hadn’t lost yet, but it was imminent. He’d almost had it all, too. Still could if he got full price for his cattle, but from what Tom Osborne said, that wasn’t going to happen. Solstead might think the former governor was on their side, but Garth hadn’t gotten that impression.
He cursed. He was tired. Tired of dusting himself off and going on. Straightening his shoulders, he drew in air all the way to the bottom of his stomach, and held it there for a moment. This all might be easier if not for Bridgette. Sitting at Solstead’s table had made him understand something. He wanted to be successful for her. Show her how hard he’d worked the past few years. Not just dreaming as they used to, but doing.
He found Slim on the other side of the tent city, sitting on an overturned bucket and whittling on a stick of wood.
“Boys spread the word,” Slim said, “but it’s not helping. Making this worse actually. A bunch of plowboys are saying the end of the cattle drives is a good thing.” Tossing the stick onto the ground, he stuck his knife into the dirt. “To boot, one of the slaughter house men was just out to see me. Said he’d wired old man Seacrest about the trouble my cowboys are causing. How they’re trying to start a feud with the farmers.”
“Maybe he was bluffing,” Garth offered.
Slim shook his head. “I’d let you read Secrest’s reply, but I threw it in the fire. He told me to get the boys in check, and that we’ll all answer for it when we get back to Texas.”
Garth considered telling Slim the rest of what was happening, the quarantine line, but held off. There wasn’t anything either of them could do about that. Instead, he nodded toward the stockyards. “Another herd arrived.”
“Yep, and three more are held up on the trail. I told them to look you up.”
“Are they in town or should I ride out?” Garth asked. No matter how discouraging things seemed, he wasn’t going to give up. There had to be a way to make the slaughter houses back down, at least this year. The dismal outlook for the cattle drives would need to be taken into account before next year.
“Ride out,” Slim said. “You know cowboys, if the boss ain’t there, they’ll be sneaking into town, especially when they are this close.”
“I’ll go mount up,” Garth said.
“I’ll ride with you,” Slim answered. “Nothing for me to do here.”
He and Slim spent the rest of the day talking with trail bosses. As a whole they hashed around several scenarios and though not one of them held a lot of hope or weight, Garth promised he’d talk with Nathan tomorrow morning and told the bosses to ride into town midafternoon to see if anything had changed.
Garth was hungry and tired by the time he unsaddled the mare. Upon delivering his gear to Bat, he glanced around before asking JoJo, “Where’s Bridgette?”
“Don’t know,” JoJo admitted. “Been gone all day. I figured she was with you.”
“I dropped her off here before I rode out with Slim,” Garth growled. Hell, he shouldn’t have to make her promise to stay put every time he left.
“Her bag’s not here,” Bat said. “Maybe she went to the Dodge House.”
“Now, see there, she probably did,” JoJo said. “That’s most likely where she is, waiting on you to arrive.”
The cook was trying to cover his own ass, and that didn’t settle any better than him not knowing where Bridgette was. “She better be,” Garth barked. “She damn well better be.”
As he started across the open field, the anger boiling in his belly had him glancing over his shoulder. He stumbled slightly and then spun around, trying to figure out what was out of place. Nothing. The tent, the chuck wagon. JoJo and Bat going about their business.
Going about their business as if nothing was wrong. That’s what was out of place. They’d both be searching high and low if Bridgette was really missing.
Garth spun around and started walking toward town again. The Dodge House was safer for her than the camp. He’d thought about her today, and her safety, and while talking with the other trail bosses he’d come to admit he wasn’t in as dire straits as he’d made himself believe. He still had a pocket full of bank notes, money he’d saved over the years, and even a bad sale would give him enough funds to pay off his hired hands. Things not turning out as he’d expected bothered him, but it wouldn’t consume him.
Bridgette did that. The couple of kisses they’d shared had hung with him all day. Forgetting her this time might prove to be harder than the last time after all. That had him wondering if he even wanted to forget her. The idea of her waiting for him at the Dodge House had him walking a bit faster. The streets weren’t busy yet, mainly because the sun hadn’t set. Once that happened and the cowboys who had driven their herds into the stockyards got cleaned up, and liquored up, the streets would be full.
Nothing slowed his trek to the Dodge House like the laugh he heard walking through the doors. Turning his steps away from the staircase, he entered the dining room. Bridgette sat at a table with Mrs. Franklin and a few other women he didn’t know, or care to. She didn’t look his way as she nodded and apparently answered whatever question someone had asked.
It struck him then how beautiful she was compared to the others, and how proud he was to have those others believing she belonged to him.
Mrs. Franklin noticed him at the door and directed Bridgette to look that way. She smiled as her eyes met his, and then hurriedly walked around the table. His heart picked up speed the closer she came.
“There you are,” she said upon arrival at the arched doorway. “Where did you go?”
“I had to ride out to meet the drives held up on the trail,” he answered, trying to sound normal despite his insides. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just visiting. Have you eaten?”
“No. You?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
That was Bridgette. She’d waited for him to eat years ago, often saving her meager portions to share with him. Glancing over her head, he noticed all the women had stood. As they gathered slips of paper off the table, he continued to try and act normal. “What was all that?”
“Recipe sharing.”
His spine quivered a
t the innocence she attempted to display. It too took him back years. “Bridgette,” he said slowly.
“What?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Mrs. Franklin puts honey in her corn bread. Not on top afterwards, but in the mixture before she bakes it. It’s delicious. You’ll have to order some.”
The women were filing past them, saying farewells, and when one made mention of a cake recipe, he had to conclude she was telling the truth. There was no reason for her not to. He nodded toward the dining room. “I will order the corn bread,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
They sat at a table for two near the window, across from each other, and he couldn’t help but notice how the setting sun caught on her hair, making each honey-colored strand sparkle and shine. When Mrs. Franklin took their order, and Bridgette ordered the roast beef, a hint of humility burned his cheeks. “You could have ordered chicken,” he said after the owner’s wife had walked away.
She smiled. “I don’t feel like eating chicken tonight, I feel like eating beef. The Dodge House gets their meat from the Wagners. They own the butcher shop on the north end of town. The Wagners buy their beef from several local ranchers, and guarantee its freshness.”
Thoughts were circling his head, the past and the future, and every one included her. “Oh? How do you know that?”
“Adele Wagner just left.”
“She was part of your recipe exchange?” Talking with her, even about things as silly as lady’s groups, was enchanting. She was enchanting, and maybe it was time he realized just how much she meant to him.
“It was not my recipe exchange. The women gather regularly to exchange recipes—I just happened to be here at the right time.” She unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap. “I’ll share some with JoJo. It wouldn’t hurt him to broaden his basics b’s.”
“Basic b’s?”
Tilting her head sideways, she lifted both brows. “Biscuits, beans and bacon.”
Garth had to chuckle. “He does include beef every now and again.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
They both laughed, and far more relaxed than he had been earlier, he asked, “What did you do all afternoon? Besides exchanging recipes?”
She glanced out the window. “Nothing really.”
Onto her again, he said, “Bridgette.”
She snapped her gaze back to him and leaned across the table. “How can you do that?”
He leaned over until they were almost nose to nose. “What?”
“Say my name in such a way it gives me the chills.”
“Only when you know I know you aren’t telling the truth.”
She sat back and huffed out a breath of air. “I came here to return the dress you had purchased for me, but I couldn’t.”
“Good. It’s yours,” he said. “I bought it for you.” And deep down, he wanted to buy her more than a dress. Always had. Years ago, she’d made him want more out of his life, and now he understood why. Because he wanted to see her dreams come true. That was his dream.
“But it was so expensive.”
“I’m not broke,” he said a bit defensively.
“You don’t have a house,” she said quietly, bashfully.
“No, I don’t. Because I haven’t needed one. When I wasn’t rounding up cattle of my own, or taking care of them, I worked for Malcolm, just like I had for years. It made no sense for me to buy a house, buy land.”
“But you will someday, won’t you?”
He’d contemplated that a bit today, during their silent ride back from Solsteads. The man did have a fine spread. Close to the stockyards, too. “Yes. When I figure out where I want to live.”
“You don’t want to live in Texas?”
“I don’t know.” He picked up his glass of water and took a sip before asking, “Where do you want to live?”
It was like watching a sun rise, how her face started to light up and then grew brighter and brighter. Her smile was enough to drop him to his knees if he’d been standing.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and there was a hint of moisture on her lashes when she opened them, and the blue of her eyes was darker, brighter. A smile still curled her lips as she said, “Wherever you live.”
If they weren’t sitting at a table in the middle of a restaurant he’d have kissed her. Instead, he reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around hers. “I want to live wherever you want to live.” Squeezing her fingers gently, he added, “I couldn’t buy a place in Texas when I figured on going to Wyoming some day.”
“Why?”
“I heard that a girl I used to know lived there.”
She licked her lips as if she was going to say something, but Mrs. Franklin arrived with their food.
He thanked the woman, out loud so Bridgette could hear it, and ate, although he couldn’t say he tasted much. Not even the honey corn bread. The way Bridgette kept looking at him, and smiling, even the way she took a bite of food and chewed, made it impossible to think of anything but her. Verbal conversation was nonexistent, but they communicated silently throughout the entire meal, and that had his blood hammering inside his veins.
They laid down their forks at the same time, and their napkins. Their eyes remained locked on each other as they stood and met at the edge of the table. Once again, if they hadn’t been in public, he’d have kissed her, and not stopped.
Her eyes said she’d have let him. No, that wasn’t what her eyes told him. There was no “letting” when it came to Bridgette. Her eyes said she’d have kissed him back, and not stopped.
He took her hand, and without a word, they walked out of the dining room.
“Good night, Mr. and Mrs. McCain.”
“Good night, Chrissy,” Bridgette said.
Garth nodded. He wasn’t about to waste a breath of air. He’d need it in a few minutes. As soon as they entered their room. Their room. That’s what it would become in a few minutes.
Each step he took increased the thudding inside him, pushing at the desire that was already consuming him. They walked down the hall, slowly, sharing knowing glances that made him want to pick her up and run.
She giggled as if reading his mind, and when they stopped near the door, she ran a hand up and down his back while he dug in his pocket for the key.
In the room, he shut the door and locked it. Bridgette had entered before him, and as he turned around, she stood no more than a foot away, waiting. Fighting the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe, he lifted a hand and ran the backs of his fingers over the softness of her cheek.
“You know what’s going to happen,” he said quietly.
Her eyes searched his face, slowly, as if considering the ins and outs and unknown ways of the world thoroughly. His lungs were locked tight by the time she folded her fingers around his and pulled his hand off her cheek.
She kissed the back side of his hand before she whispered, “Yes, Garth, and it’s been a long time coming.”
Leave it to her to point that out. She was being coy, teasing him, that was clear, and he couldn’t help giving back a bit of his own. He leaned back against the door. “Well, if I’ve made you wait too long...”
She laughed. “Changing your mind?”
He wanted this woman and every teasing little move she made increased the agony of that want. “No, but if you are...”
She shook her head. “Don’t put this off on me.”
“I—” His thought stopped.
With a brazen, slow sway of her hips, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Garth,” she whispered. “Kiss me like a man kisses his wife.”
“I intend to,” he managed to say before his lips found hers.
He covered her face with kisses, every curve and crevice, and slid his hands up
and down her arms, over her shoulders, down her back, around her waist. The need inside him grew beyond cognition. All he knew was this was Bridgette, a part of him that had been missing for too long. Much too long.
Picking her up by the waist, and capturing her lips completely, he carried her across the room. They fell onto the bed as one, and bounced. The springs creaked and the headboard bounced against the wall.
The sounds made them both laugh. Garth rolled onto his back and pulled her with him so she was lying atop him. Brushing her hair away from her face, he bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep in check all the emotions and desires racing inside him. He’d never told her how much she meant to him and wasn’t sure how to go about doing so. Flowery words and compliments weren’t his way, but he had an inkling she’d like to hear them.
He swallowed. “Bridgette, I—”
She pressed a finger against his lips, and while shaking her head, leaned closer, until her lips took the place of her finger. Softly and slowly, she kissed his lips, his chin, his neck and the hollow of his throat. By the time she worked her way back up to his lips, he was as close to the edge as she’d ever taken him.
Bridgette had never known such freedom. She didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hold back, or even imagine. This was real. This was Garth. Finally, completely, hers. Exactly what she’d been waiting for her entire life.
Her heartbeat increased as Garth took control of their kissing. While his hands ran up and down her back, his tongue parted her lips and swept in to catch hers. The thrill was beyond comprehension, and she joined the sweet tussle of their tongues and lips with all she had.
New and fascinating sensations washed over her, and she welcomed each one. Tremors of delight ran up and down her spine as his hands continued to caress her back, pressing her entire length more firmly against him. And something she could only imagine was pure ecstasy erupted inside her breasts as they pressed against his chest.
The desire that flowed inside, filling every nook and cranny, encouraged her to end the kissing and push herself off him. She jumped off the bed before he could stop her.
The Cowboy's Orphan Bride Page 21
