She nodded, a lump rising to her throat. Only too well, Nick. Only too well.
She slipped her hand over his. "Well, we have to come up with a scheme, that's all, to make Amaryllis see things your way."
"I don't know. Maybe I've come up with too many schemes. I think she hates me."
"Oh, Nick." The grief on his face was more than she could bear. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck. "There's a way. There's got to be," she murmured near his ear. "Hell, if I have to, I'll talk to her myself."
"You will?" he asked hopefully, the words muffled against her shoulder.
"'Course. And I'll have a talk with Nat too. He needs to stop going around kissing your sweethearts."
Nick nodded and sniffed. "That's right sporting of you, Bailey. Especially after all the trouble I caused." He drew back several inches to look her in the eye. "It was me and Pa, you know, who cut your fences and, er, burned that empty old line shack."
"I know," she said softly.
"It's not gonna happen anymore, though."
She forgave him, communicating her understanding with a smile. "I know that too."
Relief flooded his features. Catching her off guard, he pulled her into a great bear hug. "I'm gonna make it up to you somehow, Bailey. You're the best friend I ever had. Except maybe for Nat."
She chuckled, blinking back tears. "Yeah? Well, just don't tell anyone. I've got enough trouble with my reputation."
He drew back, grinning. He seemed to be on the verge of an old-Nick retort, when suddenly he frowned, glancing down at his chest. "Oh, damn. We're stuck."
She felt the tugging on her bodice as the lace on her gown threatened to tear. One of his shirt buttons had somehow tangled in the fragile fabric—and between her breasts, of all places. Heating firecracker hot, she met his gaze. He'd blushed crimson.
"Uh," he stammered, "let me..."
He tried to put more distance between them, and she gasped, clutching his shirtfront.
"For heaven's sake, Nick, don't rip it. I have to go inside and face all the Rawlinses!"
They both stared at the errant button a moment longer before Nick started to smirk, his humor restored.
"Here." He reached between them. "It's not as if we haven't done this before, right, hon?"
"Stop it!" She glared into his laughing eyes and caught his hand, thinking she just might punch out his lights after all. "I'm warning you, Nick—"
She never got to finish her threat.
A cry like an enraged puma's sliced through her words. From out of nowhere, thick, bronzed fingers dug like claws into Nick's shoulders. They wrenched Nick around, rending her gown hopelessly beyond repair. Nick stumbled, as surprised as she was to see Zack above them, his lips drawn back in a snarl. A fist flew, Nick's head jerked, and his body crashed into the cider barrels, scattering them like ninepins.
"Zack!" Bailey shouted, clutching awkwardly at her tattered bodice. Horrified by his intent, she tried to grab his arm. "Zack, stop! Nick didn't do anything. It's not what you think!"
He shook her off, though. He was hell-bent on tearing his younger rival limb from limb, like any male wildcat would have done to defend its territory. She looked around frantically, scanning the faces that were turning toward the commotion. "Help! Someone stop them, please!"
An oomph and another crash came from behind her; she heard Nick's oath and the scuffling of boots. When she dared to glance over her shoulder, Zack was hauling Nick up by the collar and preparing to let another fist fly.
"Rawlins!" It was Nat's voice, and she spied him out of the corner of her eye, running to his brother's rescue from the barbecue pits. Dropping his cup of cider, Wes chased after Nat, shouting Cord's name as he ran.
Soon there was a crowd of spectators gathered around her. Rorie, hurrying after her husband, wrapped her shawl around Bailey's shoulders. Cord, sprinting from the candy-apple booth, intercepted Nat before he could leap into the fray.
Wes swerved and made a beeline for Zack.
"Zack! Stop it! That's enough now, you hear?"
But Zack didn't hear his kid brother. Either that, or he didn't care. His fists were flying like windmills, and Nick was getting in alarmingly few swings in return. When he stumbled again, this time flailing backward over the barrel that had rolled into his knees, it took all of Wes's strength to hold Zack from behind and keep him from going for the kill.
"Zack! Enough, dammit. He's down."
Bailey shivered, iced to the bone despite the comforting warmth of Rorie's hands on her shoulders. As she watched Zack struggle a moment longer against his taller brother's weight and strength, she thought she might be physically ill. Nick's panting ripped from the chaos of smashed barrels, the sound harsh, shallow, and pained.
"All right, Wes. All right!" Zack growled back, at last lucid enough to stop fighting. He wrenched himself free. Breathing hard, every muscle taut and quivering, he loomed over Nick while the younger man struggled to an elbow.
"So help me God, Rotterdam, if you lay a hand on my woman again, I'll kill you."
The spectators hushed. The deadly sincerity in Zack's voice had been unmistakable. Bailey's knees went weak.
Still, Nick glared his defiance through his unswollen eye. He licked his bloody lip, as if preparing to hurl back some inflammatory retort.
Before he could speak, another commotion sounded at the fringe of the crowd. With an unladylike squeal and a shove, Amaryllis broke into the arena, her eyes wide with fright, her face whiter than the moon.
"Nick!" She ran to his side. Heedless of the wood fragments, the dust, and the blood, she dropped to her knees. "Oh, Nick, you're hurt!" Her gaze was brighter and sharper than a stiletto when she glared through her tears at Zack. "What are you? A—a mad dog? Look what you've done!
"Nicky? Honey?" Her voice softened in anguish as she dabbed at his battered face with her handkerchief. "Speak to me."
Skullduggery, apparently, died hard in the Rotterdam family. Nick glanced once at Bailey, once at Zack, then fell back into his sweetheart's arms with a melodramatic groan.
Nat shook off Cord's hands. The two men glared at each other for a moment before Nat apparently thought better of striking the former deputy U.S. marshal.
"Don't worry, Amaryllis, he's just got a nosebleed," Nat said, squatting to offer her his larger, more absorbent bandanna.
Cord turned to the crowd. Even without a badge, he commanded their attention. "All right, folks, the show's over. There's nothing left to gawk at. Move along."
Wes, towering over just about every man there, lent his silent support. His intimidating stare helped disperse the last of the stragglers while Nat and Amaryllis lifted Nick to his feet. He leaned heavily on his sweetheart's shoulder.
As Nick limped past Bailey, the scapegrace tossed her a wink. Nick must have decided all of Amaryllis's cooing and fluttering was worth getting the tar beat out of him. Bailey just hoped he was right.
Rorie delicately cleared her throat as Topher and Seth broke from the line of children Fancy was valiantly trying to hold at bay.
"Hoo-boy, Uncle Zack, I've never seen anybody fight that good, not even Pa!" Topher crowed, halting to beam up at his glowering uncle.
"Me too!" Seth chimed in, crouching in the barrel debris. "Lookee here, Toph, blood!"
"Seth, Topher, that will be quite enough," Rorie said sternly. "Go back and tell the others Zack wasn't hurt."
"Aw."
"You heard your aunt," Cord said in a voice that would brook no disobedience. He caught hold of his son's collar and snared his nephew's arm. "Let's go get those candy apples."
Left with only Wes to defend her, Bailey felt her stomach do a queasy flip. With shaking hands, she clutched the shawl tighter over her shredded bodice as Zack's smoldering gaze raked over her.
"Did he hurt you?" he ground out.
"N-no," she stammered, grateful when Rorie's arms wrapped protectively around her from behind. In that instant, Bailey knew she had another ally. "It
was my fault. Really."'
"Wes," Rorie began with her usual, seamless diplomacy, "perhaps you and Zack should go down to the river and check on the horses—"
"No." Bailey licked her dry lips, mortified to hear herself croak. "I'll go with Zack. I want to go home anyway." She met his gaze uncertainly. "Will you take me? Please?"
She was scared to death he'd say yes. She was even more afraid he'd say no. Marshaling her courage, she unhappily reminded herself she had a job to do. The nightmare of the evening had only begun. She felt honor bound to explain how Nick's button had gotten stuck between her breasts. Then she had to set Zack free. As much as it ripped at her heart, she had to tell him he'd been mistaken to believe she was his woman.
"Take our wagon," Wes said quietly. "We'll ride back with Cord and Fancy."
Zack nodded curtly. His jawline was twitching when he dropped his hand to the small of her back. She flinched. She couldn't help herself. She wanted to run somewhere to cry, but her legs trembled like leaves in the wind, and her stomach was turning like a twister. She prayed to God she'd get through the ordeal ahead without bursting into tears. Zack didn't look terribly inclined to be patient.
She walked in a daze beside him, conscious only of the restrained power in his hand, quaking ever so slightly against her spine. She attributed that to a dangerously strained self-control. She'd always known a temper seethed beneath Zack's scowls and glares, but never had she dreamed it could erupt so forcefully. Now she carried the guilt that the fistfight with Nick could have been averted if she hadn't been so selfish, so yellow, and had told Zack immediately, as he'd deserved, that he was no longer bound to her.
The impact of her omission hit her square in the gut. Bile rose hard and fast to her throat. Staggering, she clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Bailey?" He halted as she stumbled few steps away. "Are you all right?"
She shook her head feebly, gesturing for him to stay where he was as she picked up her pace, heading for the nearest bush. The treeline closed around her. In her hurry, she lost Rorie's shawl and tore her skirts on the shrubs that grabbed and scratched her. Dimly she heard his muffled oath, the crackling of twigs as he trailed her to the river's edge. Then she sank to her knees and heaved.
Nothing came out.
Weakly, she reached to cup water in her hand. He was quicker, squatting and offering her a dripping handkerchief. She took it tremulously, unable to meet his gaze as she pressed the cloth to her burning face.
"Honey," he murmured, and touched her hair. "I'm sorry. Did the fight upset you that much?"
The dreaded tears sprang to her eyes. She fought them, keeping the cloth strategically pressed to her burning forehead. He edged nearer, his hand sliding to her shoulder.
"Take deep breaths," he said. "That's it. Good." He fumbled at her back for a moment, and her gown loosened. "Is that better?"
She nodded, sinking to her buttocks, and he draped the shawl around her again. Vaguely she was aware of the unfamiliar padding of her undergarments. She imagined her torso must look like it was sticking out of a sapphire-colored pincushion.
"Here. Stretch your legs." He knelt at her ankles, lifting her foot onto his thigh much as he had on the night of the storm. When he unlaced her boots, she started to protest, but she thought better of it. She'd wanted to take the damned things off all evening.
"Zack?" she whispered.
He glanced up, her second stockinged foot in the palm of his hand. He gently began to massage it.
"I know what you're going to say," he murmured.
"You do?"
"Uh-huh. But Nick deserved worse than a beating, Bailey. When I followed you outside and saw what he was doing, and when I heard you tell the bastard to stop..."
His voice trailed off as she repeatedly shook her head.
"What, then?"
She sighed, averting her gaze. Moonlight turned the breeze-blown grasses around her to rippling pewter, and the river beyond looked silvery black, like a string of jet pearls winding around the column of sycamore trees. She tried to look at him again, but found herself glancing quickly away. Her courage wasn't fully mustered yet.
"I... can't let you blame Nick," she answered lamely. "He had a fight with Amaryllis, and he was asking for my help, and I gave him a hug to make him feel better, and... somehow, we got stuck, his shirt button in the lace of my dress. It was completely innocent," she added, feeling his thigh stiffen beneath her heel. She made a face. Now who was she defending? she wondered. Herself or Nick?
"Anyway," she continued drearily, "it's in the past now." Like everything we ever shared.
He didn't look mollified. "Nick Rotterdam is a bastard, and whatever passed between you and him tonight I leave entirely at his door—along with all the other humbugs he's ever pulled. I'm sorry, Bailey, but I just can't be as forgiving as you."
"That's your prerogative, of course." I guess you won't be very forgiving of me, then, either.
Tugging her foot from his hands, she tucked both legs beneath her skirts. She kept her eyes carefully trained on her fingers, which she'd knotted in her lap. She couldn't bear to see the relief on his face when she told him his personal hell was over, that he was rid of her at last.
"There's something else you should know," she said. She struggled for an impersonal tone, a businesslike tone, to hide her misery as her childhood dream crashed and burned around her. "You were away when it happened, so I didn't have the chance to tell you until tonight. But you'll be pleased to know that my, er, moontime has started. You aren't a father."
Zack sucked in his breath.
"I realize this is the end of our arrangement," she continued briskly. "Of course, I will return your mother's Bible. And I'd appreciate it if you would drive me home tonight, as you agreed. After that you're free to go, to get on with your life."
"No!"
She winced, biting her lip. "You mean... you won't drive me home?"
Zack stared at her, aghast. How could she be so calm, so collected, when she was dooming him to a life without her?
A blistering cyclone swept through him, a storm of emotions so violent, so turbulent, he began to shake. He couldn't exactly decipher them all, but he did recognize the ache in his chest: Desolation.
Never in his life had he killed a man. But he would have done so that night, without the slightest regret, when he'd thought Rotterdam was forcing his attentions on Bailey.
Now she was telling him there was nothing between them, nothing worth holding on to, because his seed hadn't blossomed? Did he mean so little to her, then? Did she have no affection for him at all?
"Bailey," he whispered hoarsely, rocking forward to touch her knee. "Don't do this. Nothing has changed. I—I still want you to be my wife."
She flinched, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. She refused to look at him.
"I told you how it was, Zack. I won't marry a man who doesn't love me."
A knife twisted in his heart. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Then, as the sun's rays cleaved the darkness of a storm, he felt beams of radiance flood his chest. The sensation was so dizzying, so dazzling, he felt as if he were floating in light.
"But I do love you, Bailey," he said in growing wonder. He gave a breathless laugh to feel his soul smiling in agreement. My God, it's true. "I... never realized it before. Isn't that strange? I'm not even sure when it happened, or how. Maybe at the rodeo... No." He grinned as the memories flashed through his mind. "It was before that, I think. The night you stormed into the Bullwhip with your daddy's scattergun and that old hound. I didn't think I was going to get you out of that saloon alive."
His elation ebbed at the thought, and he gazed earnestly into her eyes. "I want to take care of you, Bailey. I want to be the one you turn to when you need help. Or comfort. It nearly killed me this afternoon when I knocked on your door and you wouldn't let me inside. I knew something was wrong, but I thought you were crying over Mac. Not the baby," he added softly.
"Isn't that just a tad convenient?" she said in such a low, choked voice, he had to strain to hear. "Deciding you're in love with me so I'll marry you and have your babies?"
"No, sweetheart. I know it must seem that way, but I've never been in love before. I didn't know how strong my feelings were until I saw Rotterdam's hands on you. That had to be the worst moment of my life." Straddling her knees with his arms, he leaned forward, willing her to understand, willing her to forgive and relent. "I went crazy, thinking you'd been hurt."
She jerked her head away from his kiss. Her chest heaved, and her cheeks glistened silver with tears. "I don't believe you," she said brokenly. "I don't think you even care about me."
"Bailey." Dismayed, he tried to cup her chin, but she wedged her shoulder against his chest and sought to push him away.
"It's true!" she cried. "Admit it! The only thing you ever cared about in the beginning was the baby."
He felt the stab of that blade again, only this time it cut deeper. "Bailey, I swear, that's not—"
"Then you got accustomed to the idea of ranching my land," she accused him, and a sob hiccupped free. "You don't want to marry me, y-you want to marry my homestead. You're
j-just like all the rest of my suitors. And it's not fair, Zack. It's
n-not fair, when I love you so much...."
The sobs overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands, curling into a tight little ball. The sounds that ripped from her throat were excruciating to hear, like the cries of a wounded animal. He felt the sting of his own tears.
"Bailey, honey, don't cry." Pulling her into his arms, he rocked her, stroking her back, kissing her hair. The sounds she made only grew more anguished, so he stilled, resting his chin on her head. He struggled to swallow the lump that was nearly choking him.
"Bailey, please," he murmured, "don't cry. We don't have to end this way. We can try again. I want to try again. Don't you? Bailey?"
Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] Page 32
