Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03]

by Texas Wildcat

  "Not me," Wes said gallantly. "You got this county so riled up thinking about rodeos, no one's had time to go trespassing for water. So I'd say you were smart. Right resourceful too." Lowering his head to her ear, he added in a dramatic stage whisper, "Have you ever thought about becoming a Rawlins woman?"

  Zack bit his tongue to spare his sister-in-law his oath.

  Bailey's color deepened to a fiery shade of red. "Speaking of trespassing, Wes," she said hastily, "there's some business I need to discuss with you. I reckon Zack hasn't had the chance to tell you yet, but my ranch got raided last night. Lost about two miles of fencing. I thought Boo had hunted down a suspect, since he tracked the scent of a glove I found, but Zack doesn't seem jo-fired to do anything about it. So I thought you and Cord might lend a hand."

  "You wait just one damned minute—"

  "You had your chance, Zack," she interrupted tartly. "Now I'm talking to your brother."

  Rorie coughed delicately. Wes arched an eyebrow.

  "Did you pay a call on the sheriff?" he asked her.

  "C'mon, Wes." She sounded exasperated. "Sheriff 'Cattle Jake' Jackson?"

  "He's the law around these parts, Bailey."

  "Sure. If you're a cattleman."

  "Bailey," Zack warned, "we've already been through this. Vigilante justice is going to make matters worse, not better. Cord and Wes have no more legal right to punish wire cutters than you or I."

  "But I thought they could—"

  "We're not lawmen anymore, Bailey," Wes said firmly. "Nor do we wish to be. We have families. A business to run. Now, I sympathize with you. And I'm real sorry you've had this trouble. But the best we can do, as your neighbors, is send over a couple of ranch hands to help your pastores patrol your pastures. I'm sure Zack would be happy to head up the command, since he doesn't have a wife and children to tie him down here."

  Wes added the last part so smoothly that for a moment, Zack just blinked at him. Then his blood began to rise. When he peeked furtively at Bailey, she was looking his way with equal embarrassment.

  "That would be kind of like loosing the fox in the henhouse, wouldn't it?" she rallied lamely.

  Wes shrugged, his lips twitching in amusement. "I reckon some might see it that way. You've got a choice between Zack or the sheriff. Take your pick."

  "I'll take my chances."

  Zack blew out his breath. He didn't know if he was angrier at Wes for volunteering him in what surely had to be another of his matchmaking schemes, or at Bailey for not agreeing to accept a legitimate offer of protection. A cowboy patrol was the perfect solution to her troubles—except for the part about him heading up the command, of course. He might not have a family to manage, but he did have an on-again off-again courtship with Amaryllis Larabee.

  Frankly, though, he'd been wondering how much longer he could put up with Amaryllis's incessant chatter.

  "Well." Rorie smiled with forced brightness. "If everyone's agreed that that's settled... Wes, have you invited Zack and Bailey to lunch? I'm sure there's enough stew and corn bread to feed an army—"

  "That's right kind of you," Zack said tersely, "but if Miss McShane's mind is made up, then I've got a cougar to track. Maybe next time."

  Trying to ignore the twinge of hurt in her chest, Bailey watched Zack tug his gelding's head around. She told herself she should be relieved he hadn't insisted she needed Rawlins protection, since his silence had made it easier for her to decline his brother's proposal. Wes had no business joking about her marriage prospects or trying to force Zack into an association with her. Unfortunately, Wes had a mind of his own, three-quarters of which was filled with naughty nonsense. Even if he couldn't see Zack's distaste for her, she could.

  "Everyone, run inside now and wash your hands for lunch," Rorie called to the children.

  Wes slipped an arm around his wife's waist and looked at Bailey. "Coming, ma'am?"

  She smiled mechanically, shaking her head. "Thank you. But Zack probably needs help tracking that cougar."

  "Suit yourself."

  Wes tipped his hat as the others waved and called good-bye. Then the door slammed, and Bailey was left alone.

  She felt her heart quicken as she gazed after the trail of dust Zack had left behind. Her perverse side had a hard time accepting his dislike. She remembered too vividly the bashful seventeen-year-old who had courted her older cousin with honeysuckles and an incurable case of Cupid's cramp.

  Bailey had always secretly nurtured the hope that Zack might someday notice her the way he'd noticed Caitlin. She'd done just about everything she'd known during her adolescent tomboy years to get his attention: jumping into the fishing hole to scare off his catch, stealing his cowbells and tying them to a tree, dumping hay on him and Caitlin when they smooched.

  Later, during her more mature courting years, she'd grown cannier in her mischief, sending him lamb chops and goat's cheese for Christmas. But after her daddy had died, making her the proprietor of her own ranch, she'd stopped trying so hard to win Zack's heart. She'd had to worry about more important things than his reasons for never smiling or chasing after her in good-natured vengeance, the way Nick and Nat had always done when she'd pulled pranks on them.

  She supposed she would never understand Zack. Certainly she would never understand why he was so chilly and aloof when Wes and Cord were so kind. Was it because she wasn't as round in all the places that Caitlin was?

  Bailey cast a reluctant, critical glance down her length. Nick had assured her on her ill-fated, twenty-first birthday that she was pretty, and Nat, as if to prove his brother's words, still trotted after her like a puppy on a string. She grimaced, hastily averting her gaze. Being burdened with a female body was bad enough. Why did she have to have one with such limited appeal?

  Swinging into her mare's saddle, she whistled to Boo, who was forlornly wagging his tail after the departed children, and set off down the drive at a brisk canter. By the time Sassy caught up with Boss, Zack was already dismounting before the big house's veranda.

  "Zack."

  He hesitated at her call, then tossed his reins over the rail.

  "What's this I hear about cougars?" she asked.

  With his dusty, black boot poised on the bottom stair, he looked none too pleased at her delaying him. "One Toe took down a heifer. Could've been a day ago. Maybe two. I also lost the calf."

  "Sorry."

  He nodded, touching his hat brim in dismissal.

  "I've had cougar trouble too," she called quickly after him. While Zack might never admire her as a woman, she kept hoping she would someday earn his respect as a rancher. That was her real reason for refusing his help earlier. How could he possibly respect her if she became an imposition on his time and resources? "I lost a stud ram last month. Now I keep the breeders close to home. Guard dogs have helped."

  He tossed her another glance. "Glad to hear it."

  "Need a hand?" she jumped down, ground-hitching Sassy, and hoped Zack would take her dismount as his cue to stay.

  "With what?" he demanded.

  "Tracking."

  She didn't know what arrested him more, her answer or her bold march to the porch. He actually looked straight at her.

  "Tracking?"

  "Sure. Boo's treed cats before."

  A trace of amusement lighted his eyes. "Calicos or tabbies?"

  She bristled. Remembering her mission was to earn his respect, not his ire, she fought her resentment down.

  "You remember that lion pelt hanging over our mantel?" She stuck her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her house. "Well, Boo was only a year old when he treed that puma."

  "Hmm."

  Zack sized up Boo, who was sniffing curiously at a forgotten rag doll near the well. Then he took a heartbeat longer to size her up. She had the fleeting impression of smoke and cinders as his gaze swept up her length to lock with hers. When he finally answered, his voice was cool.

  "Much obliged... neighbor. But I've got my own hound. Got a cou
ple, as a matter of fact. Boo would only be in the way."

  "What you're really saying is I would be in the way."

  He cocked his head, no doubt considering his answer. For a moment, she thought he might back down, that good breeding or fair play would win out over his integrity.

  Instead, he nodded. "I reckon so."

  She expelled a breath. As grating on the nerves as Zack Rawlins could be, at least he was honest. Sometimes brutally, but she could admire that. It took courage to be honest. She'd been tested enough times to know.

  "If you don't care for my company, Zack, that's fine by me. But don't go making judgments about my skills until you've seen them. Boo's too. You'd expect the same from any other neighbor, and I deserve no less."

  A pale flush rolled up his neck. Momentarily distracted, she watched in fascination as his swarthy good looks turned ruddy. Back in the days when he'd come calling for her cousin, Bailey used to hide up in the apple tree, watching him and Caitlin spark, wondering what her cousin was saying to bring that bashful glow to Zack's face, or those sheepish dimples to his cheeks.

  Of course, she'd been too high in the tree to hear their whispers clearly, and she'd always fretted, wishing she could learn more. The day she got brave enough to crawl lower, she took a misstep and nearly landed on their heads. Seeing her cousin's pride was more bruised than her body, Caitlin had laughed until she'd hiccupped into tears. But forgiveness hadn't come as easily to Zack—if it had ever come at all.

  "I reckon that's a reasonable request," he said finally, his tone less gruff. "I'll try to keep that in mind next time."

  "Thanks. And..." She drew a bolstering breath before plunging in. "Thank you, too, for not pushing the cowboy-patrol matter. Wes's offer was misguided but well-intentioned, I think."

  A hint of humor crept back into his eyes, making them warmer, like coffee. "You think?"

  "Well, sure. I know what Hank's like. He'd find a way to turn any association you have with me into a political debacle for you. And in the long run, that wouldn't be good for us sheepherders. You've done more to bring peace to this county in just twenty months than he did in six years. I always thought it was a shame his daughter had to get sick that way, making him resign right after he got sworn in to his fourth term, but I still say having you fill his shoes was the best thing that ever could have happened to us Woolgrowers. None of us wants him back on the board."

  She sensed she'd won some ground, because he sighed, shaking his head as he stepped down to the drive to face her. Now she didn't have to crane her neck back so far to look into his eyes. Now she was almost tall enough for her head to graze the cinnamon-colored stubble on his chin.

  "Not that it's any of my business, Bailey—"

  "Then why bring it up?"

  "Are you going to let me finish for a change?"

  She felt the rise of chagrin. She didn't mean to be ornery—well, that wasn't entirely true. Sometimes she did. For the most part, though, her tongue fired with a will of its own.

  "Sorry. What's not your business?"

  He shook his head again, this time in exasperation.

  "Neighbor, all that sass and vinegar of yours is going to rile the wrong man someday. If I were you, I'd practice a little patience and a whole lot of prudence where Hank Rotterdam is concerned. Your daddy had the right idea, rallying the sheepmen to establish the Bandera County Woolgrowers' Association. Groups like yours have already had some influence on the governor. Men who think like Hank are on their way out of the legislature.

  "But the balance of power won't change overnight. One rash move toward range war, and you sheepherders will lose everything you've been fighting for over the last twenty years."

  Bailey squirmed on the inside. She really hated it when he took on that preachy tone, but she also knew he was right.

  "Like I said, range war isn't on my agenda. It's too bad I can't vote for you, Zack. Hell, they won't even let me vote in my own association, despite the fact that my daddy founded it." She shrugged and gave him a bitter smile. "Maybe someday, if you ever make it to Austin, you can work on getting us female property owners a couple of the same rights you males have."

  She stuck out her hand. The gesture was appropriate, her daddy had taught her, when two businessmen—two equals—struck a truce.

  Zack blinked down at the slender, calfskin riding gauntlet hovering a foot or so from his chest. Surely she didn't mean for him to shake her hand.

  Well, maybe she did.

  Discomfort needled him. Just what did she want him to shake on anyway? His handshake was his bond, and he had no authority to get her a vote in her own organization, much less in state government.

  Besides, men and women weren't supposed to go around pumping each other's hands. A mountain of social etiquette existed relating to ladies and their body parts, and while his courting techniques might be a bit rusty, he felt confident that one rule was still in place: Ladies were supposed to keep their hands discreetly to themselves.

  An uneasy moment dragged by. Then another. He watched the spark of belligerence rekindle in her eyes, and he grew even more uncomfortable. He didn't want to treat Bailey the way he treated men. Women were special, and they should be honored as such. Why did she always make him feel like the worst kind of cad whenever he tried to show her the respect her gender was due?

  Fortunately, Cord's front door squealed open, sparing Zack from Bailey's impending wrath.

  "Well, it's about damned time you showed up, Rawlins," Hank Rotterdam growled, plunking his Stetson down on his thinning blond hair. "I've been waiting on you for nigh on an hour. You're lucky your Aunt Lally bakes a pecan pie like a dream. If she weren't so consarned full of opinions, I'd have to marry her. Now. You want to sell me a hunting hound, or don't you?"

  Zack bit back an oath. He'd forgotten all about his appointment with Rotterdam. "Where's Cord?"

  "How should I know? You've got more damned relations on this ranch than I can keep count of. That sister-in-law of yours tried to strike a deal with me, though." Hank snorted. "Thinks she's a regular sharper, the way she kept haggling over the price. So I told Miss Fancy to go do business with her soup kettle. I'd wait for a man to get home."

  Zack glanced into the hallway beyond Hank's hulking frame. If he was speaking even a modicum of truth, Hank was lucky Fancy wasn't standing behind him with a shotgun, or at least a pot of boiling soup to dump over his head.

  "Simmer down, Rotterdam. You'll get your pick of the litter just as I promised. But it's going to take another three weeks before those pups are weaned."

  Hank's color rose, and he lowered his head as if to butt horns. "My grandson's birthday's in two days."

  "Yeah? Well, if you don't like the arrangement, go see Rob Cole. I hear his bitch whelped six weeks ago."

  "What would my Jeremy want with some stinking collie? He's chasing coons, son, not sheep."

  "Glad to hear it, Hank," Bailey interjected dryly. "For a while there I was beginning to think troublemaking ran in your bloodline."

  Hank started, then peered over Zack's shoulder. "Well now, lookie who's here." Hank's anger blew away as quickly as it had come, and he gave Bailey a horsey grin. "Have you sheepherders come begging for mercy already? Shoot. We ain't even decided on the contest's events yet."

  To her credit, Bailey handled Hank's ogling of her chest with more than passing aplomb. Zack, however, wanted to punch out the old skirt-chaser's lights—a confusing feeling that he attributed to the disrespect Hank had shown Aunt Lally and Fancy.

  "Don't go betting the ranch just yet, Hank," Bailey said. "We sheepherders have a couple ideas of our own about how that contest should be run. I expect there's going to be a contract drawn up whenever you boys quit stalling and agree to meet with us Woolgrowers."

  "Stalling?" Hank darted a speculative look at Zack. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Don't tell me you've been holding out on the little lamb lady, Zack. That there's a rodeo planning meeting you called for tomorrow night, a
in't it?"

  Bailey sucked in her breath, and Zack felt absurdly guilty. Damn Hank anyway, it wasn't as if he'd been the one who'd neglected to invite Bailey. The sheepherders had been responsible for alerting their own kind.

  "Nice try, Rawlins." Bailey folded her arms, and Zack felt the temperature between them drop a few degrees. "Did you think you could keep the Woolgrowers' board from participating?"

  "Now, hold on a minute, Bailey. President Eldridge and Vice President Cole were contacted in plenty of time to get the word out to their planning committee—"

  "What planning committee?"

  "Sounds to me like someone's been keeping secrets from you, hon," Hank drawled, his sympathy about as genuine as fool's gold. "Seems a shame your Rawlins neighbors can't be straight with you after the hardships you've had to face all by your lonesome these days.

  "Now, I'm not as versed in cattlemen's business as I used to be, since a certain young whippersnapper filled my presidential boots, but I recollect hearing something about a group of volunteers coming together about sevenish tomorrow night at the Reedstrom Hotel to discuss that rodeo idea you've been peddling."

  "Oh?" Pint-sized as she was, Bailey could be powerfully intimidating when that blue norther rolled across her stare. "And when were you planning on telling me, Zack?"

  Zack shot a quelling glance at Hank. The old rancher looked mighty pleased with himself.

  "Vent your spleen on Will Eldridge, Bailey. Or Rob Cole. I wasn't the one who decided which names to include on the Woolgrowers' roster—"

  "Tarnation, Zack," Hank interrupted, "if the McShane ranch was left off the invitation list, it seems to me you should have paid closer attention to the details. Why, Bailey went and built herself the biggest spread in this here county when she outbid you on old widow Sherridan's property. Shoot. You didn't go and forget her out of spite, did you?"

  "No, Hank." Zack's fingers were itching to form a fist. "I didn't forget her, although it seems to me you must have some agenda of your own for making her think so."

  Hank arched his eyebrows. "The little lady thinks I cut her fences. I'm just trying to show her who her real friends are."