She noted the strength in his hands, remembering too well how those long, blunt fingers had felt splayed against her bare skin. How she’d let her own hands skim up his muscled arms to find purchase on his broad shoulders.
Trey March had been the forbidden fruit. The man who was more exciting, more dangerous, more man than the one she’d been engaged to marry.
And just thinking of Trey’s hands brought a new flush to her face. Dammit, she didn’t want to think about what they’d shared. What they’d lost.
She’d convinced herself she had found true love with Trey and that what they did wasn’t wrong. She’d been such a fool.
“Make two copies,” Trey said and slid the paper back to her before ambling over to take a closer look at the books on the shelves.
“Of course.”
She’d not thought of that. She’d have made one copy and given it to him. She wouldn’t have had any record of their agreement. Stupid, stupid!
She took another paper and began making a duplicate, achingly aware that Trey was watching her every move. Watching and probably laughing at her ineptness.
And she was inept.
She could blame the headaches that came often, more so since her fall from the loft. But the truth was that she had holes in her memory. Like a child’s puzzle scattered about, with pieces that just didn’t fit.
Snippets of a mother she barely remembered. Of trains and cold dank rooms. Of a boy tugging her along and a fear that wouldn’t leave her. Of being too afraid to even cry.
Nightmares, her mama had called them.
And soon after, her mama had become one of them.
From then on it’d been just her and her daddy. He’d raised her to be taken care of instead of teaching her how to take care of herself and this ranch. He’d kept her removed from his dealings because all she was destined to be was a rancher’s wife. A rich rancher’s wife.
She was supposed to have a life where those menial tasks were done for her. Where every thing she whimpered for would be granted.
She knew how to manage the house, knew how to ride a horse, and knew how to entertain. She knew how to look pretty and what to say to guests that would help her husband’s status in the county.
As her daddy said, she’d make a husband proud.
Just thinking of that old saw made her anger bubble to the surface. She wasn’t an ornament.
Dammit all, she owed it to her daddy to prove that he worked hard to amass this land only to have her lose it.
Right now she was mighty close to losing the empire that Jared Barton had built with his sweat, blood, and determination.
Please don’t let this be a mistake I’ll regret. She carefully signed and dated both contracts and passed them back to Trey, glad her hands didn’t shake.
“This is a fair deal,” she said, mimicking what she’d heard her daddy say and hoping it was true.
Trey returned to the desk—to her side actually. He was too close, too big, but she kept those thoughts to herself as he stood beside her and slowly read the contract that bound them together for the next two months.
He gave a curt nod, then signed his name on both documents with bold straight strokes that mirrored this no-nonsense man’s attitude.
“If the Circle 46 is in good shape, I’ll move the cattle up there as soon as possible. Then we’ll come back for the remuda. Shouldn’t take more than four or five days to get all the stock settled.” He folded one paper and tucked it into his vest pocket.
“I’d like a weekly report on how things are going up there,” she said, staring at her copy of their agreement because she refused to lean back in her chair to look up into his eyes.
“That’s fair.”
Trey took a step to leave just as the back door slammed shut. He stopped cold, and she did the same.
Dread washed over her as Ramona’s voice took on a strained pitch. Too much so for the visitor to be her son.
The measured tread of boot heels striking the floor grew louder. Someone was on his way to the office and that could only be one man. Ned.
The headache that never seemed to leave her pounded harder when she thought of the coming confrontation between her and the foreman. The fact that Trey hadn’t moved from her side, seeming to tower over the room and her, also kept her anxiety level high.
Every inch of him screamed fury, from the rigid line of his broad shoulders to the strong arms that hung deceptively loose at his sides. Like a rattler, he was ready to strike.
Daisy had no doubt he could be deadly if he so wished.
Ned stepped into the doorway of the office and stopped cold. He stared at Trey, his angular features taking on a honed edge.
She didn’t like Ned, but keeping him on had been easy. She had intended to let him manage the ranch until she decided what to do—stay or sell. But she hadn’t counted on a drought hitting them or on her foreman having an ulterior motive.
Yes, letting the ranch ride as it’d been doing had been easy. She hadn’t had to think about what to do when she’d been crippled by grief. When she felt so alone that she wanted to die too.
Ned’s shrewd gaze swung back to her, hard and assessing. “You need help getting rid of this unwanted visitor, Miss Daisy?”
As far as she knew Ned didn’t know there’d been anything more between her and Trey than infatuation on her part. If she was wrong ...
“Why would you assume Mr. March is unwelcome?” she asked, sensing more than seeing any hint of surprise in Trey.
“You saying he is?” Ned asked.
How to answer? Caution seemed the prudent approach, for the moment Ned sensed he was losing his position here, God only knew what he’d do in retaliation.
“According to Daddy’s ledger, he owes Mr. March a substantial amount that I simply don’t have,” she said, opting for honesty as there were too damned many lies out there already.
“Why would Barton owe the likes of him anything?” Ned asked in a voice taut with poison.
“‘Why’ isn’t the issue here,” she said, not about to divulge anymore than she had. “I inherited daddy’s holdings along with his debts. Since I am cash poor, I can only pay Mr. March in cattle. But he’s land poor, so I’ve agreed to let him run his herd on the Circle 46 and act as foreman there until better times prevail.”
Ned crossed his arms over his chest, and she was tempted to huddle up from the cold hard glint in his eyes. “Going to cost you to go back to having a foreman on both spreads when one man can handle it all.”
“Very true,” she said. “But I owe Mr. March cattle and—”
“Then give him his cattle and good riddance to him,” Ned said.
She’d given him that option. Take his stock or take over as foreman. Time would tell if she’d made a strong pact or a huge mistake.
“Due to the declining conditions here, I’ve decided a major change is in order. We’ll move the stock to the Circle 46. Mr. March will be the new foreman.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Ned said.
“You’re entitled to your opinion, but it won’t change my mind,” she said.
Ned visibly stiffened, head snapping back and shoulders racking taut. He didn’t glance at Trey beyond the swift shifting of his eyes.
“You’re giving me the boot?” Ned asked.
“It’s for the best,” she said.
“Don’t look that way from where I’m standing,” Ned said, sliding Trey a damning look before turning that same glower on her. “I’m betting if he hadn’t dragged back here, you’d have taken me up on my offer.”
She shook her head, feeling Trey’s gaze on her, questioning, doubting. “You’re wrong.”
“Easy for you to say that now.” Ned’s light eyes sparked fire for a heartbeat, then narrowed into glacial slits. “The old man would roll over in his grave if he knew you were putting him in charge over me.”
She shot to her feet. “That’s enough. Daddy’s holdings are mine, and I can damn well pick who I want man
aging them.”
“Yes’m, you sure enough can.” Ned scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his expression mellowing and his stance losing its brittle edge. A chameleon with a Stetson and spurs. “I’ve got a small herd I’ve got to get settled elsewhere now. How soon you want me to clear out?”
She was tempted to give him the same answer as he’d suggested for Trey. But she wouldn’t put the cattle through more stress than they were already suffering with the drought.
“A week, but I’ll be lenient on time,” she said.
“I can do that. I’ll also be taking a couple of extra head to cover this month’s pay.”
“Fine,” she said, for whether she liked him or not, she still owed him that.
Without another word, the foreman strode out with the same surety he’d shown when he walked in.
Daisy waited until the back door closed. “I expected him to try working a deal where he could keep his stock here.”
“Why the hell would he want to keep them in this dust bowl?” Trey asked.
She shook her head, simply surprised that Ned had agreed so easily. That he’d given in without a fight.
“What was his offer?”
She grimaced, loath to tell him. “Last week, Ned asked me to marry him.”
Trey didn’t say anything for the longest time. She wondered what was going through his mind. If he was wondering why she hadn’t married the man she’d been betrothed to.
She hoped he didn’t ask about that, because she saw no need to tell him the truth. She didn’t intend to tell him anything about that awful time after he up and left. What had happened couldn’t be changed, though it had changed her forever.
“I figured as much,” he said. “While I’m gone, you need a man here in case Ned tries to force your hand.”
That dragged a shiver of dread from her. But he was right. She needed to put up fences between her and Ned, and between her and Trey as well.
Some mistakes simply didn’t bear repeating.
Trey’s boots kicked up dust clouds as he made his way to the blacksmith’s shop. The clanging of metal had stopped long ago, but the tang of hot metal still hung in the air.
He saw the older man when he rounded the cookshack. He picked up his pace, anxious to get answers from Ramona’s husband—the one man he trusted to be square with him.
Fernando glanced up from repairing staves on barrels that had seen better days. But then hauling water day after day tended to take its wear and tear on the equipment and the men.
“How many miles are they hauling water?” Trey asked after giving the older man a nod in greeting.
“Too many for thirsty cattle, señor.”
Trey imagined what didn’t splash out en route evaporated. “Where’s Ned holding his herd?”
Fernando shrugged. “I have heard the vaqueros speak of Señor Ned driving cattle to an old rancho on the Devil’s River.”
A fair piece from here. “Let me guess. Ned owns it.”
“Si. He won it in a poker game last fall.”
One man’s bad luck was another’s lucky charm. Hell, that’s how he came to own four thoroughbreds.
But had Ned thought of leaving the JDB back then? Or was he setting up a place where he could rustle off a few head of JDB cattle with nobody the wiser?
If so, there’d have been hell to pay if Barton had found out. Damned shame the man dropped dead.
“You here the day Barton had his stroke?”
“Si.” The older man hung his head, seeming so intent on his work that Trey wondered if he’d tell him what had happened. “It was the señorita’s birthday, and the señor had great plans for it.”
Trey could well imagine. Birthdays were always celebrated large on the JDB, especially Daisy’s.
“Barton died that day?”
Fernando nodded, his eyes bleak with sorrow. “Galen Patrick from the old homestead arrived that afternoon with a fine mare he’d trained for Señor Barton. That is when the señor and Ned had words. After that, Galen and the señor talked in private before Galen left.”
“What got Ned on Barton’s bad side?”
“I don’t know, but after the señor gave the señorita the mare, she went riding. It was after that when I heard the señor and Ned arguing again.” Fernando shook his head. “They were too far away for me to hear what was said, but both were angry. It was then that the señor staggered back and fell to the ground. I ran to help, but it was no use. The señor was dead.”
“Damn.” Trey planned to get Galen’s side of it when he rode up to the Circle 46, if the man was still working there. “Had Barton and Ned gotten into arguments before that day?”
Fernando shook his head. “Señor Barton’s temper had been bad all winter, but it grew worse after Señorita Barton’s accident just a month before.”
He was helpless to stop the cold stab of worry that hit his gut. “Tell me about it,” he asked, more than curious how her mishap tied into Barton’s sour mood.
“For weeks, she’d come to the barn every day around ten in the morning and go up to the loft,” Fernando said, and slid him a look that hinted of disapproval.
Trey wasn’t one who embarrassed easily, yet he felt the burn of shame scorch his neck and cheeks now. Hell, did the old man know he’d been meeting Daisy up there last fall?
No, he could only guess. They’d been careful. So who was she meeting up there this time? Who was her new lover?
Those were questions a man didn’t ask about a lady, even if he had cause. Trey had lost the right to know details of Daisy’s private life the day he’d been waylaid.
But it shouldn’t be hard to find out who had suddenly disappeared off the JDB a few months back. Right now a bigger question demanded to be asked.
“You going to tell me about Miss Barton’s accident?”
Fernando treated him to another long stare, but this time Trey saw the worry banked in the old man’s eyes. “She fell through an open trapdoor. By the grace of the Holy Mother, I’d taken Barton’s diablo stallion from his stall in the barn earlier to get him shod and found her when I returned.”
Trey set his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. Divine providence, indeed. Daisy would have been stomped to death by that spooked horse if she’d fallen in when he was in his stall.
And that bit about her just falling through an open trapdoor. . . Though Barton had joked that Daisy was a bit on the clumsy side, Trey had never seen a woman more poised and in control of herself whether she was riding sidesaddle, driving her fancy little buggy, or making love with him.
She knew every nook and cranny in that loft.
“She’s lucky, all right,” Trey said, thinking she looked no worse for wear to him. “Who left the trapdoor open?”
Fernando shrugged. “I fed the stallion last, and the door was shut. Señor Durant told me and Señor Barton that he hadn’t seen anyone go into the loft since I’d left with the horse and the trapdoor above the stallion’s stall was closed.”
“Somebody opened it. Hell, she could’ve broken her neck.”
“Perhaps that was the intention,” Fernando said.
Trey’s annoyance exploded as the old man stared at him with nothing short of accusation. “Just what are you getting at?”
“Señor Barton was with me when I brought the stallion back,” Fernando said. “Barton carried her out after deciding she hadn’t broken any bones. Before she drifted into the deep sleep, she called out for you. She told him she’d been pushed.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know. She fell into a deep sleep then.” Fernando treated him to a cool perusal. “But Señor Barton sent men out looking for you.” Fernando’s cold stare proved he suspected Trey had done it.
“I didn’t push her. Hell, I was hundreds of miles from here.”
“So you say.”
Trey swept his hat off and exposed the scar cutting across his forehead and disappearing into his hair. “Two months ago I was still laid up in an El Paso cantina, nu
rsing a broken arm, busted ribs, and what the doctor called a bruise on my brain. I wasn’t able to walk without weaving like a drunk for another month. I’d been there since a few weeks before Christmas.”
Fernando didn’t break eye contact, staring at him as if trying to read the truth in his eyes. Finally, his brow furrowed, and he looked away.
“Who did this to you?”
It’d be easy to tell the truth, except he’d be obliged to explain why Barton had ordered him nearly beat to death. Not that it would take much imagination to figure out what Trey must have done to warrant the old man’s ire.
Considering what she’d done to him, it’d serve Daisy good too to have her reputation dragged through the mud. To let this fine man know what kind of woman he was working for.
But he couldn’t find any satisfaction in confessing what he and Daisy had done. Mutual consent. That’s what it’d been. He could’ve walked away when tempted. He never would’ve gone as far as he had if she’d just said no.
He wasn’t the type of man to brag over his amorous conquests. If Kirby Morris, his adopted father, had taught him one thing, it was to always respect women—all women.
“Don’t matter much who did it,” Trey said. “Fact remains I was waylaid and left for the vultures. I didn’t much know what had happened for months.”
“So this is why you disappeared,” Fernando said.
Last chance to spill his guts. But Trey merely nodded and turned his gaze to the big barn where he’d awakened a fiery passion in the rancher’s innocent daughter.
“What the hell was she doing up there?” Trey asked.
Fernando shook his head, his expression suddenly haggard. “I do not know. For weeks on end she would go to the hayloft and just sit there, looking out at the plains, looking so sad.”
“You saying she was up there alone every time?” he asked, despite his determination not to ask how she’d spent her days after he was gone.
“Every day after Navidad.” Fernando’s eyes met his, and Trey knew at that moment that the blacksmith was aware of his assignations with Daisy.
They’d been careful, but obviously not careful enough. Had Fernando been the one to spill the beans to Barton all those months ago?
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