Wearing the shirt she’d sewn for him, he wished he had something of equal value that he could have bestowed upon her. She wore the bonnet that normally graced her head as she worked the fields—not a plume, a colored ribbon, or a bow to be seen except for the one tucked beneath her chin to keep the plain thing in place. Abbie’s dress had faded to leave nothing but a shadowy reminder of the colors it might have once possessed. Yet he thought she had never looked more beautiful.
Lydia proudly wore a new dress. Following alongside the wagon, Johnny sat astride the horse he would ride in the tournament. Micah was perched behind his brother, his arms wrapped tightly around Johnny’s waist. The boys wore shirts that resembled Grayson’s.
Grayson climbed from the wagon and reached for Abbie. She blushed becomingly before placing her hands on his shoulders. His hands spanned her waist, his thumbs touching, and he wondered how the mother of three could be so tiny. His gaze delving into the violet of her eyes, he slowly brought her to the ground. Christ, but he wanted to kiss her.
“I dislike that bonnet.”
Her hand flew to the brim that reminded him of a duck’s beak. “It keeps the sun from turning my face into leather.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How much harm could one day without it cause?” Without waiting for her answer, he grabbed the end of the faded ribbon and tugged the bow loose of its moorings. Her blush deepened but she did nothing to stop him. He slipped a finger between the ribbon and her throat and felt the rapid beat of her pulse. He was tempted to press his lips against her fluttering flesh. He loosened the ribbon and tugged the bonnet from her head.
She quickly pressed a hand to her head, touching different areas of her upswept hair as though to make sure everything was in place. A touch of vanity, perhaps, and it pleased him beyond measure.
“What are we gonna do first?” Johnny asked.
“Stake a claim to some shade beneath a tree,” Abbie said as she walked to the back of the wagon and fetched a quilt. “Come on. Everyone needs to help.”
They tended the horses, then Grayson and Johnny each carried a large basket to the shade of a towering tree that Abbie had called “perfect.” Grayson heard the babbling of a nearby brook, but he had no desire to swim. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day in Abbie’s company.
She spread the quilt beneath the tree—a lone star quilt, she called it—and he wondered how many of the diamond-shaped scraps of cloth had once been a portion of her clothes.
By the time they’d finished setting up, several families had arrived.
“Ma, can me and the boys go play?” Lydia asked.
“Yes, but stay together and within sight.”
Holding hands, the children scampered away.
More people began to arrive, and Grayson reluctantly admitted that Abbie had been right—the atmosphere was more jovial with friends in attendance. He had not realized how much a part of the community he had become.
Before Texas, even with Kit and Harry as friends, he had hovered on the fringes of acceptance. He had always wondered at first if Kit and Harry had accepted him into their circle simply because having him as a friend was so incredibly scandalous.
He remembered the first time Kit had taken him to Ravenleigh. The earl had looked as though something sour were sitting on his stomach when Kit had introduced Grayson to him.
“Now, whose son are you?” he’d asked.
“He’s no one’s son, Father,” Kit had piped up. “He’s a bastard.”
Grayson had prayed fervently that the stone floor of the manor would crack open and he’d disappear. Instead the carriage door had been flung open, and he’d found himself back in the carriage, traveling to Eton.
He had been staring out the window when Kit had quietly said, “I hurt your feelings—”
“You knew he wouldn’t let me stay.”
“Yes, and I knew he’d send me packing right along with you. I apologize for using you, but I had no wish to spend the holiday at Ravenleigh.”
Grayson had slid his gaze to Kit. “Why?”
“Because there I am nothing. My father never sees me unless I’m into mischief and causing trouble.” He shrugged. “So I decided to cause trouble from the beginning and be done with it.”
Grayson had realized then that not only bastards belonged to no one.
“Rhodes!” someone called, and Grayson turned to see Andy Turner walking toward him. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and tanned. Like many others, he’d returned from the war quietly. He and Grayson had worked in the fields together, occasionally lamenting the heat. “Interested in some horseshoes?”
“I don’t think so.” Grayson cast a look Abbie’s way. “Your horses don’t need shoeing, do they?”
She smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Horseshoes. It’s a game.”
“Ah. Do you think I can beat Andy here?”
“Probably.” Her eyes gleamed with a challenge. “But I don’t think you can beat me.”
He held his arm out to her. “We shall see, my lady.”
She slipped her hand around his arm, and he tucked it in close to his body. He could almost imagine that they were strolling through a park. The green leaves were breathtaking as they lay against the azure sky. The constant breeze ruffled the loose-fitting shirt she had sewn him, cooling him as much as it was able. They neared a spot where several men stood about, and a steady clanging like a blacksmith’s hammer could be heard.
Grayson watched a man swing his arm like a pendulum as he gripped a horseshoe. Bending slightly, he tossed it. The inside curve of the shoe hit a metal stake in the ground a few feet away, ringing loudly before thudding to the ground.
With a nod of understanding, he said, “Seems easy enough. I accept your challenge, Andy.” He leaned toward Abbie. “After which, I shall challenge you.”
To his regret, she released her hold on him and stepped aside. Realistically, he knew he could not play with her hanging onto him—but still, he would have been willing to give it a go.
Several stakes had been set up. He and Andy moved to a pair that was unoccupied. Andy handed him a horseshoe. Grayson tested the weight. It was evenly distributed. It seemed too fine a piece of workmanship to be tossed around.
“You go first,” Andy said.
Grayson peered at Abbie. She held up her hands, fingers crossed—for good luck, he supposed. Not that he would need it.
He brought his arm back, then forward, and released his hold on the horseshoe. It sailed through the air, past the stake, and landed with a thud some feet away.
Straightening, he cleared his throat. “The weight carried it a bit farther than I anticipated.”
With a broad grin, Andy picked up a shoe, squinted one eye, and tossed it. One end clanged against the stake. Andy spewed forth a stream of tobacco. Grayson had noted that many of the men harbored that vile habit.
“Care to make a bet on the next set?” Andy asked.
“What sort of bet?”
Andy looked at Abbie. “You paying on the number of sacks picked?”
She nodded. “That’s the way John did it. I reckon I’d do it the same.”
Andy looked pleased as he slanted his gaze back to Grayson. “I’ll bet you a full sack of picked cotton that I can get my horseshoe closer than you can.”
“You’re on.”
Abbie grabbed Grayson’s arm. “No, don’t do this. You don’t know how much work is involved in filling a sack of cotton.”
“She’s right, Andy. It wouldn’t be fair to you to have to sacrifice your hard labors to me.”
Andy threw his head back and laughed. “She ain’t worried about my hard work, she’s worried about yours. Come on, Abbie. If’n he wins, he’ll get my sack.”
It stung Grayson’s pride to see the look Abbie bestowed upon Andy—she didn’t think Grayson had a chance in hell of winning. Grayson strode to the far stake and picked up both horseshoes. “Come on, then, lad, you can have the first go.”
With a confidence to his step, Andy sauntered to the line.
“Andy Turner, you’re taking advantage—”
“Aw, Abbie, it’s just a little wager.”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, throwing the gentle swells into delightful relief.
Andy tossed his shoe. It hit the stake dead center and did a half-turn before dropping to the ground. Andy folded his arms across his chest, smiled broadly, and rocked back on his heels. Grayson contemplated his strategy for a full minute before throwing his strategy for a full minute before throwing his horseshoe. It fell short of the mark.
Andy released what Grayson thought was termed a rebel yell. Abbie looked as though the defeat were hers instead of Grayson’s. Grayson extended his hand. “Good job, Andy.”
Andy rubbed the side of his nose. “Hell, with Abbie lookin’ at me like that, I feel like I took advantage of you.”
“Nonsense,” Grayson assured him.
“Andy, you aren’t really gonna make him hand over a sack of cotton—”
Grayson gave her a glare that stopped her words cold. “A gentleman always pays his debts.”
Andy pumped his hand. “Well, hell, then, you want to play again?”
Grayson smiled. “No, the next game is Abbie’s.” He strolled to the stake, picking up his shoe along the way before retrieving the one Andy had thrown.
“What shall we wager?” he asked.
“Nothing. The fun is simply in winning,” she said.
“But a wager adds to the excitement. If I win, you will allow me to unpin your hair, and you shall wear it loose for the remainder of the day.”
She thrust out a hip and planted her hand on it. “I’ve seen you play. You’re not going to win.”
He contemplated her stance, wondering what he could offer her that would ensure her desire to wager. “If I lose…I shall give Ivanhoe to you.”
“The book?”
“The book.”
“For keeps?” she asked breathlessly.
“For keeps.”
She snatched a horseshoe from his grasp. “You made a mistake wagering something that I covet.”
He smiled lazily. “I shall be the judge of that mistake. But since what I am wagering means so much to both of us, I hate the thought of losing it on a single toss. Would you be willing to go best two out of three?”
“That seems fair.”
He angled his head. “You may go first.”
He stood to the side and a little behind her. She furrowed her brow and pressed her lips into a straight line, concentrating on the stake at the far end. She swung her arm back and forth, back and forth. She bent over slightly, giving him a lovely view of her backside. She released her hold and the horseshoe glided through the air, hit the stake, and bounced back marginally, close enough that the open end framed the stake. Smiling broadly, she turned to him.
“Well done,” he said, hating the thought of seeing that smile disappear, but his strategy would no doubt demand it.
He stepped to the line, balancing the horseshoe between both hands, before bringing his arm back and tossing the shoe with a fluid movement. The curve caught the stake, clanged, and slid to the ground.
He turned, swallowing back the laughter at the incredulous expression on Abbie’s face. “Well, it seems I might have mastered the technique.”
Her narrowed gaze darted between the stake, him, the stake, and finally him, suspicion lurking in her eyes. “The best two out of three, right?”
“Absolutely.”
With her arms swinging as though she were warming up for the toss, she marched to the other end of their field. Grayson caught the gazes of a few people watching them. She snatched up both horseshoes and handed one over to him.
“You can go first this time,” she said.
“No, ladies first.” He leaned toward her. “The gentleman in me insists.”
“I’ve got a feeling it’s not the gentleman I’m playing, but the rogue.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Perhaps the last toss was simply fortune smiling upon me.”
She pivoted and faced the far marker. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and released a slow, quiet breath. Then she opened her eyes and tossed the horseshoe. It slammed against the stake and fell to the ground. Grayson moved into position, sighted the target, and threw the shoe. It hit the stake, circling it as it made its way to the ground, landing on top of Abbie’s shoe. She charged over, Grayson in her wake.
His shoe had hers beat by a thumbnail. She snapped her fiery gaze up to his. “You won.”
“It appears so.” He reached for a pin and she jerked back, pressing her hand to her head.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Receiving my prize.”
“You sure got good awfully fast.”
“Remarkable, wasn’t it? You shouldn’t have wagered something that I coveted. Now you must pay up.”
He slid a pin from her hair, then another, and another until her hair tumbled down her back and curled over her hips. In his wildest dreams, he had not imagined it so thick, so glossy as to truly look as though it had been woven from moonbeams.
“Beautiful,” he whispered reverently.
He saw the doubts flit across her face. She touched her slender fingers to the flowing strands.
“If I leave it loose, it’ll be tangled by nightfall.”
“I’ll brush out the tangles for you.”
“Gray!”
He jerked around at the sound of Harry’s voice. He watched Kit and Harry stride toward him, each wearing the clothes of a gentleman: trousers, starched white shirt, and a jacket. He would have thought the two of them believed they were back in England.
Bending over, Harry picked up a horseshoe. “Horseshoes?” He turned to Abbie. “Have you seen Gray toss one of these? He’s quite good—”
“Harry!” Gray interjected, but knew he’d cut off his friend too late.
Abbie angled her head, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Is he good?”
“He has an excellent aim,” Harry confided.
“Harry,” Gray warned.
“If you are so talented, why didn’t you beat Andy?” Abbie said.
“Would you have wagered against me if I had?”
She studied him a moment before shaking her head. “You think you’re so clever. You’ll regret both wagers once you discover how much work goes into filling a sack with cotton.”
He watched her walk away, her hair cascading around her, and knew he would have willingly traded ten sacks of cotton for no more than a glimpse of her hair unfettered.
Abbie stayed angry for all of two minutes. Then she felt a thrill of pleasure such as she’d never known ripple through her as she remembered the adoration in Grayson’s eyes as he’d reverently removed the pins from her hair. She’d barely been able to breathe. He looked as though he might devour her on the spot.
She should have been frightened. Instead, she wondered if he truly would brush her hair come nightfall.
When he joined her and the children for lunch, she knew he felt no remorse for his earlier duplicity. It was the rogue within him, the rogue that constantly warred with the gentleman. She feared she might be falling in love with both.
When he finished eating and stretched out beside her, she couldn’t stop herself from wishing he’d laid his head in her lap, as James had with Amy.
Grayson released a sigh of deep male contentment. “Now, this is how a holiday is supposed to be spent—doing absolutely nothing.”
“Aren’t you bored?”
He opened one eye. “Relax, Abbie. Watch the clouds roll by or listen to the leaves rustle.”
She heard thundering feet. Johnny and Micah tore toward the tree and dropped to their haunches beside Grayson. “When are we gonna have the tournament?” Johnny asked.
“Later, lad.”
“When?”
Grayson closed his eyes. “When I’m rested.”
“When
will that be?” Micah asked.
“In a bit.”
Her sons exchanged anxious glances. She had found it difficult to get them to sleep last night. They had talked constantly of the joust, asking her over and over about their surcoats until she’d finally relented and allowed them to sleep in the costumes.
“Why don’t you boys take a little nap as well?” Abbie suggested. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Johnny scrunched up his face with distaste, but Micah bent his small body over and laid his head on Grayson’s stomach. Grayson’s eyes flew open, and he tucked in his chin as he stared at Micah, on whose face was an innocent smile.
Gently Grayson unwound Micah’s spectacles from around his ears. “Let’s remove these for the time being, shall we?” He folded them and placed them on his chest.
“How long we gonna sleep?” Micah asked in his gravelly voice.
“Until we’re rested.”
Johnny jumped to his feet. “I’m gonna go play with Ezra.”
She watched her older son run off before turning her attention back to the man and boy who had stayed behind. Their eyes were closed and Grayson’s large hand had come to rest against the back of her younger son’s head as though to support and protect him.
A rogue indeed.
She leaned against the tree, thinking she’d never been happier.
The tournament was scheduled to begin in the late afternoon, but the third time that Micah asked of Grayson, “Are we rested yet?” he got the answer he wanted.
“Yes, lad, as rested as we’ll ever be.”
Six poles were set at equal distances apart along a path cut by wagon wheels over the years. Johnny sat astride the bay horse he’d ridden to the picnic earlier. On a makeshift stage, with pennants ruffling in the slight breeze, three judges sat. Abbie stood along the sidelines with the other spectators, her heart leaping with excitement and worry.
She didn’t want Johnny to be disappointed. He’d only ever practiced snatching three rings. She feared his arm would be too tired by the time he reached the sixth ring.
Rogue in Texas Page 14
