The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  “Another new drover. Name’s Hermano,” he grunted. “Andy brought him. Says he’s a friend of Diego’s. You’re the boss so it’s your choice, a’ course. I say send him on his way. He can go fight it out with the Zarzas.”

  With that, he turned his back and walked toward the bunkhouse. Earl was damn lucky Malcolm had never back shot a man. It was mighty damn tempting.

  He heard the rider behind him dismount so he turned to face him. Determined to be polite and respectful to the boss of the Circle O. Or at least try to.

  It wasn’t often Malcolm was surprised, even more rare that he was shocked, and he had never been rendered speechless.

  Until now.

  Holy shit. O’Reilly was definitely not a man.

  Staring at him with the ever-present spectacles perched on her nose was Leigh Wynne. The little girl who learned to ride astride, to the shock of her father and the entire Zarza ranch. The little girl who could shoot out a chipmunk’s eye at a hundred yards. The little girl who stuck to him like a cocklebur for fifteen years. The little girl who hadn’t cried when she broke her leg trying to jump the canyon on the edge of town. His first and best friend.

  She’d been fifteen when he lit out, never looking back at those he left behind. Now she must be thirty. And she damn sure wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was tall, close to his height, a black hat sitting on light brown hair shorn like a man’s, cut above her ears. She wore men’s clothes—brown pants, well-used chaps, and a blue chambray shirt with a yellow neckerchief tied around a slender neck—she and Roja could be great friends. One pistol rode low on her right hip. She was dusty and dirty from whatever work she’d been doing. But all woman, all over. Her breasts would more than fill his hands, her hips curved so sweetly, and her lips were pouty enough to urge him to nibble on them.

  When the hell did Leigh get those tits?

  She was his boss.

  Worse, she knew who he really was. He saw it in the depths of those shrewd hazel eyes. He should have known. Should have guessed somehow. He could engrave “Should Have” on his tombstone. He assumed Leigh O’Reilly, the owner of the Circle O Ranch, was a man. And he certainly made an ass of himself by assuming.

  “Hermano, huh?”

  “Señora O’Reilly, sí? My name is Hermano.”

  “Horseshit. If you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Malcolm Ross, you are dumber than a bag of hammers.” She tugged off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket, then bracketed her hips with her hands.

  Okay, so that wouldn’t work. He cursed heartily in English, then Spanish, in his head as she regarded him with an unblinking stare. How the hell was he supposed to spy on his father’s ranch unnoticed if the one person who recognized him ran the neighboring ranch?

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “Want to talk inside…Hermano?” she offered as she passed by him on her way to the huge sprawling ranch house.

  It wasn’t really a question, or even a request. It was a command. And he had no choice. He turned and followed her, trying not to focus on her gently swaying hips, hips he’d like to grab hold of and not let go.

  Damn. Leigh Wynne O’Reilly just put a major kink in his life. Somehow he had to convince her to straighten that kink out and pretend she never saw him.

  Chapter Four

  Leigh could barely control the knocking of her knees, not to mention the rest of her body that was jumping like an ant on a hot rock.

  Malcolm Ross was back, more dangerous, handsome and devastating than ever.

  Holy hell.

  Her legs shook, her heart slammed into her ribs like a stampede of longhorns, and sweat poured down her back. She tightened her hands into fists, nearly drawing blood, willing away the emotions. She had to be hard. She needed to be hard. Life kicked you in the balls, theoretically speaking of course, if you didn’t have any. She had to wear armor plating.

  Turning down the hallway, she went into the office. Although officially her office, Sean’s presence remained. It still smelled like him, and sitting in his chair reminded her of him, but he was gone. Gone two years now. It seemed she was due to be emotional and sentimental today. She stomped into the room like a firing squad was dogging her steps. The bookcase along the right wall was stuffed with books on animal husbandry, several years’ worth of ledgers, and a few Montgomery Ward catalogs. The big rough-hewn desk was covered in a pile of papers requiring her attention. When she’d opened the door, some of them had blown up like leaves in a storm and settled somewhere other than where they should have been. The brown leather chair behind the desk was her destination. She plopped down into it and glared at her guest.

  Malcolm had followed her in. She had known he would. She gestured to the straight back chair on the other side of the desk. It wasn’t a pretty piece of furniture, couldn’t get much plainer, but it was sturdy, made with Sean’s big hands.

  “Sit.”

  He raised one eyebrow, then swept off his hat and sat.

  That was probably a mistake. Sitting in this little office, he almost filled the room. Malcolm had never been small, but now he was big, really big, and not just in height. His presence was huge. No, beyond huge—it was stifling. She wished now they could talk outside where there was fresh air.

  He was dressed in browns and blues, with faded dark brown pants that had seen better days, as had those pitiful excuses for boots. She noticed he still didn’t wear spurs. That she respected. No horse worth its mettle needed to be gouged to work. His hair was too long, a dark brown, nearly black, with a little bit of wave. Reminded her of his mother Leslie’s hair. Leslie Ross was the mother Leigh had never had, until Leslie left soon after Malcolm did. Leigh wasn’t even supposed to know Malcolm had left, and not died as the story was told, but eavesdropping had been one of her vices. She had heard Diego and Lorena talking.

  Malcolm’s eyes were truly unsettling, though, still fathomless pools of absolute blackness. She had always had trouble reading his eyes, except when he was angry. Then they practically burned. But now they were completely indecipherable. She pushed up the glasses on her nose and folded her hands together on the desk.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  “Did you know that most people around here think you’re dead?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” was his terse response. And, oh Lordy, his voice had not changed, except perhaps to get deeper, rougher, like an untamed mustang.

  “Your mother spread that story around, with Diego’s help.”

  He stared at her. “You didn’t believe it.” It wasn’t a question. “Were you listening at doors again, little Leigh?”

  She kicked up one corner of her mouth in a smirk. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not exactly little anymore, Malcolm. There isn’t a woman in four counties who’s taller than me, and that probably includes half the men.”

  “I noticed.”

  She had to restrain the shiver from running up and down her traitorous spine.

  “What the hell are you doing back? And who is Hermano?”

  His gaze never wavered from hers, damn the man.

  “I see you have worked on your manners, niña.”

  She stood and paced to the small window behind the desk.

  “I’m thirty years old, Malcolm. I’m not little, not a niña. I’m a widow and a rancher, hanging on to what I’ve got with everything I’ve got.” She turned to look at him again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you don’t answer, you’re going to leave the Circle O in about five minutes. If you’re lucky, your ass will still be in one piece.” She paused and leaned over the desk to glare at him. “What are you doing here and who is Hermano?”

  ———

  Malcolm may have looked calm on the outside, but inside a twister had taken up residence in his stomach. Goddamn her. Leigh had been the only friend he’d had growing up, more like a pesky little sister, but a steadfast presence in his life. Now she was a stranger, demanding answers he wasn’t ready to give her.

 
; Her hazel eyes were hard. That saddened him. Life had probably not been kind to a motherless girl who looked and acted more like a boy. He wondered what she’d been doing and how she’d ended up married to a man at least twenty years her senior. She obviously ran the Circle O outfit with a tight fist. The foreman even looked to her before he hired someone. That told him a lot about how much she was respected, and how hard she worked. This was not a woman’s world. It was a man’s world with no room for softness.

  “Time’s a wastin’, Malcolm. In case you forgot how to count, it’s about four minutes now.”

  Her sharp words brought him back into the here and now. How much did he trust her? How much did she know about Rancho Zarza?

  “I am Hermano. It’s a name I took as my own after I left here.”

  She finally sat back down in the cracked leather chair. She rested her elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled her long fingers together. Waiting. Watching.

  “I am here because I want to find my mother.”

  It wasn’t exactly all the reasons he was here, but it was definitely the most truthful. She looked in his eyes for a full minute before nodding.

  “Obviously you aren’t the letter writing type or you’d know where she was. I think there’s more to your story. How much, I can’t rightly tell, but it’s there. I don’t know where she is now, but I’ll tell you what I do know. She left about a year after you did. It was strange. She left one day and didn’t come back.” Leigh rubbed her finger along a stain on the grain of the wood desk. His eyes followed its movement. “I think she just wanted to get away from your father and the memories. Without you here, she didn’t have anything to keep her.”

  There was the smallest hitch in her voice. Very little, but he heard it. His life had depended on hearing and seeing everything around him, every subtle movement or inflection.

  “You missed her.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “You’re damn right I missed her. I was fifteen years old, with no mother but yours. I resented like hell that you left without saying goodbye. When she left, it near about killed me.”

  She was trying hard to hide her emotions, but her eyes were suspiciously wet. He averted his gaze to the bookcase. Damn. He hadn’t thought about Leigh and what she’d go through when he left. He had been in such a blinding rage and excruciating pain nothing had intruded. But now? God, to think his mother had left and Leigh had been alone. He snapped his gaze back to hers.

  “Why did you marry Sean O’Reilly?”

  That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Fire flared in her eyes and her jaw clenched so hard, he thought he heard teeth breaking.

  “None of your goddamn business.”

  He nodded. “Lo siento. Shouldn’t have asked. Forget I said anything.”

  She pursed her lips and stared at him. He sighed and twirled his hat in his hands. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, amiga. I didn’t even know you were O’Reilly until about ten minutes ago.”

  She looked surprised and another unnamed emotion flitted through her eyes. “So why are you here instead of at Rancho Zarza?”

  How much should he trust Leigh? She had been closest to him besides his mother throughout his childhood. Hell, she had grown up in his shadow. Did he risk bringing her back into it? Did he have a choice?

  “The offer still stands. You’ve got about one minute left, Malcolm.”

  He had no doubt she would make good on her word and throw him off the ranch. And where would that leave him? Out of a job, a place to sleep, and most importantly, out of friends. Seeing her reminded him of how much he needed one.

  Malcolm crossed his legs at the ankles. Resting his hat on his boots, he laced his fingers together and placed them on his stomach. He sighed deeply and looked up at Leigh.

  “I left because if I hadn’t, I would have killed Damasco eventually. My mother knew it, that’s why she forced me to go.”

  Leigh sat back in the creaky leather chair. “She forced you? Malcolm, you outweighed her by sixty pounds.”

  He almost smiled. “She didn’t tie a rope around me and drag me out the door, little Leigh. She convinced me it was the best thing. She didn’t want to see me dead, and it was certain Isabella would kill me, if not Alejandro, for killing the heir.”

  She leaned forward, warming to the conversation. “True. Isabella is a world class bitch.”

  This time he did smile. “You always did have a flair for cursing.”

  She smiled. Madre de Dios. When she smiled, she looked pretty, like a girl. He used to forget she was female the way she acted, but not anymore. He couldn’t forget with the proof of her womanhood staring him in the face.

  “I learned from the best, Mal.”

  The years they’d been apart seemed to fly away like fall leaves in a brisk breeze. As if suddenly they were together again and no time had passed. He had missed Leigh. She was truly of his heart, his family.

  “Can you fill me in on the last fifteen years at least?” Leigh grinned.

  “Sí, I can, but I think we need to have some dinner to have so much conversation.”

  “Good idea. I’ll tell Mrs. Hanson to set up two plates in the kitchen for us. No need to eat in the cookhouse with the men. They don’t need to know your business.”

  With that, she left the room with a little grace, but more of a man’s swagger. Leigh had grown up, but was she happy? How in the hell had she ended up married to Sean O’Reilly? And why did the thought she had been someone’s wife bother the hell out of him?

  ———

  Leigh needed a brief reprieve. She had to get away from him for a few moments—the sheer intensity of being in the same room with Malcolm made her heart beat like a jackrabbit’s.

  For God’s sake, it’s Malcolm. Not the goddamn King of England.

  That was the whole problem. It was Malcolm. As she headed toward the bright yellow kitchen to talk to Mrs. Hanson, she tried to put thoughts of her childhood romantic fantasies behind her.

  Leigh had thought he’d come back to see her. A little flame of hope had lit in her breast oh so briefly until he’d snuffed it out with one swipe of a tanned hand. He had come looking for his mother. About fifteen years too late in her opinion, but at least he was here. But why did he not just knock on the door at Rancho Zarza?

  After Leslie told everyone Malcolm was dead, Alejandro, Damasco and Isabella believed it. They had no reason to think she was lying. Malcolm couldn’t just be resurrected without another Easter holiday being declared. Well, damn, now she was having blasphemous thoughts. She shook her head and entered the kitchen.

  Mrs. Hanson was pulling a pan of cornbread out of the oven. The housekeeper was a middle-aged woman with mousy-brown hair wound forever in a tight little bun. Though short and squat, she had a long reach. Sean had hired her right before he died. Leigh had never been fond of the woman and it wasn’t only because she was rude, big-mouthed and foul-tempered. Hell, Leigh herself was all of that and more. Mrs. Hanson, however, was just plain mean. Leigh had seen her kick chickens, almost pull the ears off Andy, and belittle Old Moses—the man who cooked for the hands and did odd jobs around the ranch—so much she nearly made him cry. Leigh didn’t know why she kept Mrs. Hanson around, probably because hiring another cook and housekeeper was a task she avoided. She knew more about longhorns and horses than running a house. Even if her housekeeper was a witch, at least she didn’t have to deal with running a house all by herself.

  “‘Bout time you got here, missy. This cornbread is nearly burnt and the chili is starting to stick to the pot.” She slammed the oven door closed and dropped the pan on the top. “Be lucky if it’s edible by now.”

  “Mrs. Hanson, I’m only ten minutes late. I was talking to the new drover in my office.”

  She turned and glared at Leigh. “You mean Sean’s office.”

  Leigh straightened up and thrust her shoulders back. “No, I mean my office. Sean’s been gone two years. I think it’s time you accepted me as the boss o
f this ranch.”

  Mrs. Hanson snorted. “When pigs fly, missy. Now sit yourself down and—”

  A deep, deadly voice sliced through her words. “You would be wise to speak respectfully to Señora O’Reilly, bruja.”

  Malcolm stood in the doorway, the hat on his head shielding his black eyes. The menace in his stance and his cold words hung in the air.

  Mrs. Hanson apparently was too stupid to notice. “Oh, and are you giving me orders now, you filthy Mex?”

  He stepped into the room and practically glided to the woman. Being over six feet tall, Malcolm towered above her.

  “My name is Hermano.”

  Before she could clap a hand over her mouth, Mrs. Hanson let loose a gasp. Malcolm smiled, revealing rows of shiny white teeth that resembled a wolf’s snarl.

  “You know me, eh? Bueno. Remember my name. If I ever hear you talk like that to the patrona, you will answer to me. Comprende?”

  Mrs. Hanson nodded and with one last dirty look at Leigh, she stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  “I think she forgot her broom,” Malcolm said.

  Leigh glanced at him in surprise. “Broom?”

  “Don’t all witches use them?”

  She grinned. Malcolm was home. Malcolm was home.

  After grabbing two bowls from the shelf, she ladled hot chili into them and placed them on the table. She realized Malcolm was standing and watching her. Self-consciously, she wiped her hands on her pants.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “I was memorizing Leigh actually in a kitchen with her hands near a stove. A rare sight if I remember right.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to the stove to get the cornbread. After sticking a knife in the center of the loaf, Leigh picked up the pan with the dishcloth since it was still piping hot, and went back to the table.

  “I’ll get some of this cornbread for us. Can you pour some coffee? The mugs are right up above the sink.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she heard his booted feet approach the stove. The clink of the pot on the tin mug followed. Unsure of what to do with the cornbread, she simply sliced it, however crookedly, and left it in the pan. Sitting down, she realized there were no spoons on the table. Sighing at her own ineptitude, she started to rise, when Malcolm’s hand rested on her shoulder. The heat from it was almost as hot as the cornbread. She glanced up at him and forgot what she was going to say. His dark eyes were a mere foot from hers. He held two mugs with a spoon stuck in each in his left hand. Her breath caught in her throat and words crowded in there like water behind a beaver dam.