Rogue in Texas

by Lorraine Heath

  She quickly placed a finger to her lips. Over her shoulder, she pointed to the table with her other hand. Grayson shifted his gaze, noticing for the first time the little urchin crouched beneath the table. Micah scooted forward, came out from beneath the table like a turtle from its shell, swiped a finger across the cake, and ducked back beneath the table, the icing tucked into his mouth before he’d fully disappeared.

  “He thinks I don’t notice him sneaking in,” she whispered low, a conspiratorial smile gracing her features.

  Humming again, she strolled back to the table. She stomped her foot. “I thought I’d already put icing on this cake.”

  Grayson heard Micah release a throaty chortle and saw him wrap his arms around his drawn-up knees as though he could make himself smaller and increase the effectiveness of his hiding place. But as soon as Abbie walked back to the hearth, Micah uncoiled his body and headed for another taste of the forbidden. Grayson found himself wondering what forbidden pleasures Abbie might be willing to sample.

  The game went on for several minutes before Micah’s laughter grew too loud to ignore. Abbie looked beneath the table. Had Grayson pulled Micah’s prank within the duke’s kitchen, he would have had his ears boxed. After his discovery beneath the table, Micah received a sound tickling and the bowl of remaining icing.

  As Micah loped out of the house with his reward, Grayson thought Abbie had never looked happier. He imagined the glow he would see upon her face if she really knew how to relax and play. He was determined to find a way to bring that radiance forth.

  Floating on her back, the waters of the river lapping around her, Abbie studied the billowing clouds in the blue sky. Grayson had seemed incredibly pleased when someone had suggested everyone go for a swim.

  The afternoon sun warmed her as she remembered the disbelief that had washed over his face when he’d discovered that the men were to take a different path to another swimming hole. Surely he didn’t expect the men and women to swim together. A smile touched her lips. Yes, she imagined he did, rogue that he claimed to be.

  But how many rogues would have willingly taken on the responsibility of watching over two active boys? She had planned to keep Micah with her because his swimming skills were limited to splashing, kicking, and screaming. But Grayson had interceded on her son’s behalf, and smiling brightly, Micah had tromped off alongside the men and older boys.

  Joy had shot through her at the sight of her son’s happiness—along with a measure of hurt. She didn’t resent that he wanted to be with the men, but it was hard knowing that her baby was growing up.

  She sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and thought of Grayson’s kiss. She wondered how many women he had enticed into his bed with little more than the persuasion of his lips.

  Not that she was tempted to illicitly clamber into the loft one night. But she did find herself wondering what he looked like, farther down the river, with drops of water rolling over his bare body. She imagined he was a powerful swimmer, cutting a path through the river toward her—

  She halted her errant thoughts, swam to the bank, and trudged up to the shore. Snatching her towel from a low-hanging tree branch, she briskly dried herself. She was surprised Grayson had stayed at the farm as long as he had.

  But picking time would be the real test. Regretfully, she didn’t think he’d last more than a day.

  Lying on his stomach in the loft, Grayson concentrated on the sound of the milk hitting the galvanized pail—anything to take his mind off the excruciating blaze of fire dancing over his back. He had felt the pricks of pain yesterday evening after they’d returned from the river. He had not realized the agony that would follow.

  The Texas sun was unmerciful and it had wreaked its wrath with a vengeance. He heard the creak and moan of someone climbing the ladder. A halo of light crept over the edge of the loft.

  “Gray, you comin’ down to breakfast?” Johnny asked.

  “No, lad. I’m hoping Fate will be kind and I shall die before the meal is served.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the light increase and felt the slight trembling as Johnny scrambled into the loft.

  “Gawd Almighty!” Johnny cried.

  “That bad, eh?”

  “I’ll get Ma.”

  He closed his eyes. He could think of nothing sweeter than holding a woman’s hand as he died. Especially if that hand belonged to Abbie. She had actually been smiling broadly when they’d all met up after their swim in the river. He decided he could take credit for that smile. Even though the day had not been spent doing nothing, she had looked relaxed and much younger as evening drew near. He had nearly given in to the temptation to draw her into his embrace and kiss her soundly.

  He felt the slight vibration as someone climbed the ladder, and then he smelled the sweet fragrance of roses.

  “Oh my Lord,” Abbie whispered, the anguish in her voice easing the pain throbbing through his shoulders. In all his life, he couldn’t recall anyone caring that he might be experiencing some discomfort. When he was ten, he’d broken his arm and received a tongue-lashing for inconveniencing everyone.

  He forced his eyes open. Kneeling beside him, she furrowed her brow so deeply that he could have planted seeds within the folds. She combed her fingers through his hair, lifting it away from his face with a gentleness he’d never known.

  “Your back is burned and your shoulders are blistering. What were you thinking yesterday?”

  “Obviously, I wasn’t.” She began to gnaw on her bottom lip. “Don’t fret so, Abbie. I’m certain it looks worse than it is.”

  He watched as she reached into her pocket and brought forth something green. “What’s that?”

  She leaned forward slightly, rolling one across her palm. “It’s a stem from a plant.”

  He thought the thick object looked more like a branch. She squeezed it and a small bit of juice eased onto her finger. She shoved it toward his face.

  “I don’t know what it is, but my ma taught me to use it on burns. It’ll ease the hurt.” Her gaze shifted to his back. “But I don’t know if I’ve got near enough.”

  He considered telling her not to bother, but he could only think of one way for her to apply whatever the hell it was to his back and shoulders. He wasn’t certain he could endure the pain that her touching him might cause, but neither did he want her not touching him. He closed his eyes. “Just do the best you can.”

  Abbie stared at his back. He’d spread out his arms, bent his elbows, and tucked his hands beneath his cheek so his back was fanned out, revealing its breadth. He seemed completely comfortable with his partial nudity. No doubt countless women had rubbed their hands over his back. She had just never expected that she might be one of them.

  Swallowing hard, she wiped the sweat from her palms using her apron. Then she took one of the stems she’d torn from the plant and squeezed out the juice, drawing a small squiggly line across his back. A back much broader than she’d realized. She wondered if working in the fields had added bulk to his frame. Lightly, she touched her fingers to nature’s balm, gently spreading the salve over his back, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. She was surprised he didn’t cry out from the agony she knew he had to be experiencing. She had burned her hands too many times while cooking not to know how painful a blister could be.

  “How does that feel?” she asked.

  “Heavenly,” he murmured.

  She squeezed the juice from another stem and continued the procedure. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

  “I didn’t imagine there was anything you could have done for me. Tell me about this laid-by time. Will your neighbors come over again today?”

  “No. They won’t come back until I send word the cotton is ready to be picked. They’ll all be getting ready for the winter.”

  “What is winter like here?”

  She squeezed out more balm. “Cold some days. Warm mostly.” />
  “Snow?”

  “Not usually, although I’ve seen it a time or two. But it doesn’t stay long.”

  “I know you were born in Texas. Were…you born here?”

  His voice sounded sleepy, causing her to smile. “Nearby. James lives in the house where we were all born.”

  “He said there were eleven of you—where are they all now?”

  “Dead. Diphtheria came through here the year after I married John. Took them all. Reckon it would have taken me, too, if I hadn’t been with John.”

  “So something good came from your marriage.”

  “That and my three young ’uns. I don’t want you thinking badly of John. He wasn’t a bad husband.”

  He opened his eyes, piercing her with his gaze. “But neither was he a good one.”

  “He had his moments.”

  “Tell me one, just one.”

  She angled her chin defiantly. “When Johnny was born, he brought me a whole passel of wildflowers.”

  Groaning, Grayson struggled to sit up. He cradled her cheek. “If you were mine, I’d bring you a bouquet of flowers every day.”

  Jerking back, she snorted. “That’s easy enough to say—probably easy enough to do—when you don’t have to worry about putting food on a table or clothes on a body’s back. You’re just here playing at being reputable. Working the fields is a game to you and your friends, but to us it’s life. You don’t work the fields, your crops don’t come in, and you go hungry. You ever been hungry, Mr. Rhodes?”

  “No.” He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed which should have lessened her anger, but only served to increase it.

  “Well, I have. I’ve been so hungry that my stomach was gnawing at my backbone. Until I married John, I had one dress and it changed when Elizabeth outgrew the one she was wearing and handed it down to me.” She shoved the remaining stems into his hands. “So don’t go plying me with your fancy words and your quick promises. You’re not here for the long haul, Mr. Rhodes, so don’t pretend you are.”

  She scrambled across the loft and clambered down the ladder before he saw the tears welling within her eyes—before he realized that a part of her wished he might stay forever.

  9

  Grayson found Abbie in the family garden, jerking carrots from the ground and hurling them into a nearby wicker basket. He rather imagined she would have preferred that the carrots were his head.

  How strange that she had grown up with affection and lacked food while he had a constantly full stomach, but lacked affection. He would have traded places with her in a heartbeat…and she would probably have traded with him. The grass was always greener until one had lain upon it.

  “Abbie?”

  She jerked around. Dirt streaked her face where she’d attempted to wipe away tears. His stomach knotted; he knew he was the cause of the tears. Her gaze darted to the scraggly bouquet of wildflowers he halfheartedly extended toward her.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

  “When I was a lad, I thought the duke’s heir was the most fortunate child I’d ever known, not because he would inherit the duke’s estate and title and all the respect that came with it—but because one day, I saw the duke’s wife embrace him. I thought it would be the most wonderful thing in the world to be loved so much.

  “I have known married women who did not love their husbands. They invited me into their beds, caring not one whit whether their husbands discovered their duplicity. I happily accepted what they offered, knowing full well that the invitation was not for the long haul. These women lived lives of wealth and privilege, but not one of them gave her husband half the devotion in life that you give yours in death. I made the mistake of confusing you with them. For that, I humbly apologize.”

  She shook her head. “There you go, making me feel like buttermilk—”

  “You are the cream, Abbie. Never think that you’re not.”

  She blushed. “If I am, I’m sitting in a cracked pitcher.”

  He glanced around, his gaze touching on the three children who stood nearby watching, eyes wide and round. “No, sweetheart, you’re sitting in the finest china.” He extended the bouquet toward her. “You are correct. I will not be here for the long haul, but while I am here, I would cherish your friendship.”

  He noticed the slightest hesitation before she reached for the flowers, their fingers touching briefly before he relinquished his gift into her keeping. She blushed profusely, averting her gaze, and he feared he might have inadvertently given her his heart as well.

  “What in God’s name are we looking for?” Kit asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Grayson said as he guided the horse through the woods. “But I’ll know when I see it.”

  “I thought we were going into town, to the saloon,” Harry said.

  “We will,” Grayson assured him, “as soon as I find what I’m looking for.”

  “Can you give us a hint?” Kit asked. “It might hasten our finding it.”

  Grayson rubbed his shoulders with a vengeance. The skin was peeling off in clumps and it itched like bloody hell. “I want a place where we can hold a tournament.”

  “A tournament?” Kit asked. “What in the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  Grayson drew his horse to a halt and turned to face his friends. “I read Ivanhoe to the children. Certain things simply cry out to be seen.”

  “Where do you think you’re going to find knights?” Kit asked.

  “For the most part, I expect the older lads would take on those roles, although they will need examples by which to learn.”

  Kit narrowed his eyes. “Is there a reason you’re looking at me when you say that?”

  Grayson smiled. “I thought the three of us might each have a team.”

  “The sun not only baked your shoulders, it cooked your brain,” Harry said.

  “The real reason,” Kit said.

  Grayson slammed his eyes closed. It infuriated him that Kit never took anything at face value. He opened his eyes and glared at his friend. “A few days ago when I suggested we have a day to play, Abbie worked as hard as she does any other day. I want to give her a day where she has nothing to do. I want it away from the house so she won’t be tempted to work. I want…I just want to give her something that no one else has.”

  “You’re planning on staying.” Kit’s voice contained no censure, no question.

  Grayson averted his gaze. How could he possibly be falling in love with a woman he had not yet bedded? “I don’t know.” He looked back at Kit. “I just know that I want them to remember we were here. I want us to leave our mark.”

  “You don’t think leaving our sweat and blood in the fields is mark enough?” Harry asked.

  Grayson shook his head. “Not for me.”

  Kit nodded. “I know a place.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Harry demanded.

  “Because Gray didn’t tell us what we were looking for.” Kit turned his horse. “Come on. Follow me.”

  Grayson urged his horse forward. He knew Harry would grumble, Kit would roll his eyes, but in the end, they would humor him.

  Abbie enjoyed laid-by time most of all. Although she knew that the cotton crops brought in the money, she liked knowing that the other things she did touched her children in tangible ways. She prepared the foods that would last them through winter and into the spring. She had a little more time to sew and moments when she could simply watch her children.

  She knew Grayson had not understood how much she had enjoyed the day when they’d all played. Relaxing to him was doing nothing—to her, it was doing something she enjoyed.

  Their recent days had settled into a routine. In the early morning, they walked through the fields in quiet camaraderie, inspecting the crops. He was fascinated with the bolls. She could barely wait for that first morning when one popped open, and she could share the moment with him. Sometimes their hands would accidentally brush, and he would look at her as though he wis
hed it were more.

  He no longer voiced the comments that had once made her uncomfortable, and Lord help her, she missed the teasing, missed the way his eyes would sparkle just before he said something wicked—like licking buttermilk.

  He did whatever chores she assigned him without complaint, and in the late afternoon, he always went riding with his friends. He had begun taking her sons with him. She was torn between being grateful that they had a man to influence them and wishing they’d never let go of her apron hem. Especially Micah. But the violet eyes that the spectacles enlarged had never shined more brightly.

  A part of her feared the grief her children would experience when Grayson moved on, but grief was part of life—as was saying good-bye.

  If only she’d had a chance to say good-bye to John—perhaps then she might look toward the horizon more freely.

  Standing on the front porch, she saw the silhouettes of Grayson and her sons as they rode in from the west. Unlike some communities, theirs had an abundance of fine horses. Their men had decided that they could best serve the Cause as an infantry unit, and they had not taken the horses with them when they had marched off to war. Abbie had heard of another community whose men had taken the horses with them, only to have them returned within a month. She would have thought having horses would have aided their journey. She knew so little about war—or men.

  Each day, Grayson looked less like the stiff-collared Englishman who’d stepped foot on her land weeks ago, but he would never look like a man shaped by the land—for the genteel refinement had a way of shining through.

  He and the boys drew their horses to a halt. He dismounted and extended a bouquet of wildflowers toward her. “My lady.”

  She felt the heat creep into her face as she took the flowers. Although he did it every day, she seemed unable to become accustomed to the idea. “I reckon it’s a good thing you’ll be gone before the flowers are.”

  “What’s good about it?” he asked quietly.