by Jodi Thomas
An unfamiliar feeling rippled, the intensity choking her.
Something indescribable had changed. Her life had taken a totally unexpected turn. Good, bad, or indifferent—it shook her to the core.
The cloudless sky appeared a vivid turquoise instead of simply blue. Crows flitted and dipped through the air in some sort of odd bird promenade. Perhaps they, too, sensed this odd awakening of sorts.
For once she’d bested the buffle-headed land-grubbers. McCord should understand she wouldn’t abide any cheap tricks.
Although he denied writing the love letters, and perhaps she could believe that without too great a stretch, he hadn’t stood up for her. He hadn’t stopped the ridicule. He hadn’t seen beneath the surface. Disgust for her chosen profession had colored his minty gaze a shadowed tint of purple nightshade.
The man could be dangerous in a way she’d never known.
Before she reached home, a sobering thought crossed her mind, one she didn’t particularly relish—McCord would insist on returning the valise. Putting the assortment of imprisoning devices in the case made certain of that.
She’d have to see him again.
Sudden recollection of the sinful curve of his mouth rocked confidence that she could handle the visit. A horde of locusts seemed to have made a nest in her stomach.
From the wagon bed, the gentle slosh of vinegar against the sides of the bottle added to the floundering in her brain.
At least she had all the ingredients for a vinegar pie. Didn’t hurt to have one ready to throw in McCord’s well-chiseled face. The concoction would serve the conniving jularker right.
She crested a rise and the adobe dwelling she called home came into view. Her breathing returned to normal. She was back on her land where she knew the workings of things, where she didn’t have to pretend, where she could be who she wanted without worry or fear of reprisal. Her dog and her flock provided all the security she needed even though it did get a bit dreary at times. Give her that any day to a piece of the world that saw and judged people unfairly.
The familiar sight also served to remind of her distaste for cattlemen. Something she needed to bear in mind next time she encountered the broad-shouldered Texan. She welcomed the pain if only because it drew horns on P.M.’s handsome head. And anyone else who chose the path to her door.
Movement in front of her home brought skitters of alarm until she saw long braids on the man who eased from the weather-beaten willow chair. Her old Navajo friend, John Two Shoes Running Deer, always seemed to know the precise time for shearing, although he had no use for printed calendars. He marked the days in his head and by the seasons, as his culture had taught for generations. She pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake.
“John, it’s wonderful to see you.”
“I’m here every spring.” He helped her down. “Or are you surprised I didn’t freeze over the winter?”
“Your skin is about as tough as alligator. I doubt you felt the cold. Besides, your hogan is probably warmer than the inside of Hades. I’m just glad for the company.”
Now let McCord come calling. She wasn’t alone.
“Only a fool would refuse the offer of a new wool shirt in exchange for shearing a few sheep.” John’s eyes twinkled. “Your handiwork is some of the finest. You spin and weave in the old customs. If I didn’t know of your heritage I’d believe you had Navajo blood.”
Amanda scowled. “With a Spanish mother and Scottish father, I’m afraid I’m a sorry mixture.”
The blend of nationalities was the kind that aroused prejudice and misgivings. The kind that destroyed chances of a normal life. It seemed men couldn’t look beyond the surface to see how she ached to fit in.
John peered into the bed of the wagon. “You’ve been to town. It explains the burrs under your serape.”
“Can’t hide much from an old war-hide like you.”
“People will continue to shun if you keep adopting the ways of the Indian. Your moccasins remind of your stubbornness.”
“Who said I want to be a horn-tossing hypocrite? My feet are happier in these moccasins than heavy boots.” Images of cold stares, the sneers of some of Amarillo’s finest, created a brittle hardness inside. “Those buffoons wouldn’t accept me no matter what I do.”
“Pain in your heart says this time was worse.”
She side-stepped the unpleasant subject, casting an eye to the sun’s overhead position. “We’re wasting time flapping our gums. If we hurry we can get a few sheep done before dark. I’ll fix a place for you to bed down until we finish the job.”
“I sleep outside under the stars.”
“As you wish.”
“It is.” John lifted the sack of flour, threw it over his shoulder, and carried it into the house while Amanda gave a sharp command for Fraser to round up the flock.
Sight of the collie marching the sheep toward the fold like fat, little soldiers banished raw feelings. She could count on the animal to do his job with skilled perfection. Unlike people. Bitterness rose. Years had flown and yet certain events ate at her sanity….
Argus Lemmons’s abandonment upon the heels of her mother’s death opened wounds that had scarred with age. Sure, he’d left Amanda in the care of an old aunt. But he did his daughter no favor, considering the woman forced her to stand on the street and pretend blindness so passersby would toss a few coins in her cup. Not that she got to keep any for herself. Dear Auntie made her strip and scrubbed her thoroughly for any hidden tokens.
“Worthless stray mutt,” Aunt Zelda would call Amanda, wrinkling up her nose. “Argus shoulda drowned you.”
Amanda turned fifteen before she got up enough courage to set out alone for Santa Fe to start a life that had to be better than lying, begging, and starvation.
Except new surroundings didn’t improve Amanda’s situation. A few years later, her fancy suitor left her at the altar after he made the less than thrilling discovery that she was heir to nothing but a scraggly flock of sheep. He abruptly moved Amanda from the assets to the liability column.
And fighting Argus’s second wife for a place in her father’s heart had most certainly shown the worst of humanity.
The hollow victory of survival spared Amanda peace in the dead of night. She was still that stray mutt looking for a home.
If the world had a dropping off point, she’d found it on this rocky piece of land in the Texas Panhandle. High winds, dry winters, and low rainfall didn’t represent being in high cotton, but this parcel of shortgrass prairie was hers and they’d have to kill her to get her off.
Today she’d almost forgotten the anguish that twisted like a knife before McCord up and heaped on a lot more. Then, she did the same as she’d always done. She ran.
Well, she wouldn’t run again. She squared her jaw. This was the last button remaining on Jacob’s coat!
Stashing the supplies, Amanda changed from her finery and hurried to help John. Together they penned the sheep and set up the foot-pump clippers.
Fraser watched over his charges with guarded vigilance. No ram, ewe, or lamb would dare shirk its duty in filling the bags with wool, not with the faithful collie on hand. Amanda rewarded him with a tasty morsel of cured bacon.
“Keep a sharp eye for trespassers, boy. P.M. will be coming.”
John’s dark stare narrowed. “You expect trouble.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
“Who is this P.M.?”
A man who’d given her hope, who walked with purpose, and who snatched away airy dreams with the lift of an arched brow.
“No one much.”
“And yet, you are sure he will come.”
Oh, yeah. The awakened lion would definitely ride her way.
“He’s just another two-bit cowboy who fills Amarillo’s establishments. Works for the Frying Pan. I turned the tables on him and he’s madder than a frog on a hot skillet at being bested by a woolie.”
“Whatever happened he earned. He comes, we scalp him.”
“Now John, no reason to get out the bows, arrows, and tomahawks. I can handle one measly nuisance. I am grateful to have your company for a few days though.”
“Hmph!”
The Navajo flipped a ewe onto her back and began peeling the thick wool from the belly and throat with the clippers before moving to the topside. Amanda stuffed the greasy fleece into a burlap bag to separate later. She’d keep a good portion and sell the rest. What she kept would get a thorough washing before she carded and spun the long fibers into yarn.
She was so busy planning she failed to hear approaching hoofbeats until a low growl rumbled in Fraser’s throat and the hair on his neck rose. She jerked around and her spit dried.
McCord sat astride a spotted appaloosa. Sparks in his gaze betrayed the easy slouch that might’ve suggested he’d stopped for a moment to discuss nothing more than the weather.
Steel strengthened Amanda’s spine. “Get off my land.”
“Not very hospitable. I recall you seemed pretty friendly when you were dragging a man’s life through the muck. What did you do with that woman? She was soft and…obliging.” A lazy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“If you came out here to discuss my qualities or the lack thereof I’m afraid I have no time.”
With a quick motion, he untied the worn leather valise and held it out. “Thought you might need your equipment before nightfall. The assortment appears well broken in. Must get regular use I figure. Lord only knows why a handsome woman would have to depend on restraints to hold a man. Seems you’re awfully insecure of your abilities.”
Amanda gritted her teeth, becoming rigid at the suggestion she had to hogtie a man for his company. McCord bedeviled in a thousand impossible ways and every last one of them irritated beyond belief. Every fiber prodded for attack. So she blocked out the sight of his sandy, sun-streaked waves ruffled by the wind, and the mustache that drew attention to the firm shape of his mouth. Amanda met the dangerous glint in his eyes head on.
“Begs to ask why you pried into personal belongings.”
“It wasn’t by choice, believe me. The damn thing flew open and everyone in the hotel and hell’s half acre saw the contraptions. Made me a laughingstock. I hope you’re happy.”
“Not yet, but close.”
John Two Shoes Running Deer released the freshly naked ewe and stood to his full six feet. “Ahhhh, this must be P.M. Can we scalp him now?”
Chapter 7
Waning light bounced off the glistening coat of a border collie as it danced around Payton’s horse, Domino, threatening to tear the strapping animal limb from limb. Leave it to a woman who played with torture devices to keep a dog with the temper of a rabid coyote.
Had he heard or imagined the threat to scalp him?
Good God! He should’ve had better sense than ride out alone. He didn’t know who was crazier: Amanda, the Navajo, himself, or the dog.
The woman had seemed perfectly normal back at the hotel. He never would’ve mistaken her for a lunatic.
It must be the sheep. Those God-awful, smelly sheep.
They would make anyone lose their ever-loving minds. Payton scowled at the sneaky cotton-balls-with-eyes, shifting to the critter the Navajo had just stripped bare. One problem with the animals—besides the fact they weren’t cows—was they either looked like scrubby, puffy clouds or so spindly a gust of wind would blow them away. Cows looked the same day in and day out. They were hefty on their hooves and their bellering could lull a man right to sleep. He’d have to stick something in his ears and a clove of garlic under his nose if he had to put up with this damn baahing.
“I can’t relieve you of your loathsome burden right now.” Amanda raised palms that were greasy from handling the wool and pointed to the ground. “Drop it there and I’ll get it later.”
He stiffened in the saddle. “Since you’re up to your elbows in mutton, I’ll set the bag inside your door. Just call off your dog. I’d like to be gone before your friend gets out the scalping knife.”
Annoyance and open irritation pinched her kissable lips into a narrow line. He’d like to believe he saw the makings of a smile, but that appeared merely wishful thinking. Lush willingness he’d glimpsed in the hotel had given way to a tough-as-almighty-steel banshee.
“Fraser, enough!” The collie ceased yapping after Amanda’s stern order, but sat on his haunches and watched with distrust.
Payton adjusted the brim of his new hat that didn’t fit quite right yet, slid from Domino’s back, and ambled toward the adobe structure.
Three sets of eyes followed his every move.
A string of curses rolled around his brain but they remained unsaid in case the threat to lift his hair had been more than idle words. But damn, if he’d wanted to pillage and plunder he would’ve chosen some place more lucrative. This sheep farm didn’t have a blessed thing worth taking. Except maybe the lady who owned it. In spite of all, he found her a worthy opponent if not someone he could share a life with.
He pushed open the door and bent to set the worn piece of leather inside. Raising up, he spied a circle of black felt on the floor with a handful of boiled carrots smack in the center of it.
His gaze narrowed. It appeared a hat of some sort although it’d been flattened almost beyond recognition. Taking two steps forward, he determined it had indeed once been a noble Stetson.
Furthermore, a piece of rawhide stuck off to one side, the same kind that had served for a band on the hat he’d lost. He inched closer and gulped.
It was his hat.
Crumpled and smashed like a piece of trash.
His hat…used for a dog dish.
Hell and be damned!
Payton whirled as Amanda flew through the door with the dog at her side. “What in hell have you done to my damn hat?” he exploded.
The way her spine instantly tensed let him know he was in for a heck of a fight. A reasonable man might back off, but who said he was reasonable? Some things were sacred to even a rough-around-the-edges cowhand like him.
“What makes you think I’m to blame?” she huffed.
“It’s here isn’t it?” It was hard to keep his finger steady; it shook when he pointed to the dog dish. “That belongs to me. What the hell did you do? You’ve mutilated the hat until I barely recognized it as wearing apparel.”
Spite in her eyes told him the place he could go and he’d recognize it by the fire and brimstone.
“Why are you snooping in my house in the first place? You violated the privacy of my belongings and now dare come into my home, my place of refuge, to raise your voice, accusing me of all manner of things. You were merely to set the bag inside. I didn’t tell you to barge in and make yourself comfortable. I should’ve known better than trust a smooth-talking rawhider.”
“I’m a sight better than someone who stomps the guts out of something and treats it like a bad haircut.”
At least she had the grace to color. But nothing excused her. In his estimation she didn’t have a leg to stand on to explain the deliberate destruction of a piece of him. The treasured piece of felt was like family. No, it was better than family because it never nagged, gave reproach or grief. The Stetson had been with him through thick and thin, rain and shine, hay and grass.
“Maybe it used to be yours. Don’t think you’ll waltz in here and take it back. The hat’s mine now.”
“The hell you say.”
From the corner of Payton’s eye he saw Fraser mark a course for the mangled hat. The dog took a bite of carrots then looked up with a satisfied gleam as though gloating that he’d staked his claim and he’d not budge. Payton cringed at the rank dog-breath odorizing the felt circle. He took a step, intending to rectify the situation. But Fraser growled and bared his teeth, ending those grand ideas.
“If you wanted the bonnet so bad why didn’t you glue the darn thing to your head?”
Payton jammed his hands in his pockets and shifted his glare from the bandit dog to Amanda. “It figure
s you’d try to shift the blame. And don’t belittle my Stetson more than you have. It’s a hat, not a bonnet. The thing blew off while I had my hands full with a few thousand pounds of snortin’ cowhide. I’ve searched the Panhandle over for it.”
Anyone with half sense knew how blessed tiresome the wind on the Panhandle got. Old-timers claimed barbed wire was the only divider between this stretch of land and hell. He wasn’t about to apologize for something beyond his control.
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “Guess not hard enough. I didn’t have any trouble finding it.”
Payton struggled with desire to strangle someone. “A dog dish? You thrashed me in town and made sure to finish the job out here.” His gaze narrowed dangerously toward Fraser, who responded with spiked bristles. “What did I ever do to you? As far as I know we’ve never met before today.”
“We haven’t.”
“Then would you care to enlighten me? I think you owe it.”
Her tongue took a slow turn around her lips. “For the record, I didn’t plan a personal attack.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
“I meant to aim the hat, the shackles, and the name-smearing at the faceless author of some love letters. I was positive, whoever the anonymous man was, he intended to use the notes as some sort of vendetta. I finally got tired of the slurs, the laughter, and everyone trying to force me into leaving. So I decided to fight back.” Amanda caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn’t know you were an innocent bystander caught up in Joe Long’s prank.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
A wry grin tugged the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps.”
“What did you think I planned to do? If I had written the letters, of course.”
Amanda shrugged. “The usual. I thought you’d stand up in the middle of the hotel and chide me for believing anyone could love a mutton puncher. Then, the whole blamed town would have a huge laugh. They already shun me as it is. I wouldn’t have been able to trade there after that, to sell my wool or any excess sheep.”
He caught the slight tremble of her chin before she clenched her jaw. The woman carried deep hurt. Would she love as desperately as she fought to keep what was hers? He’d bet his life on it.
