“That ain’t it, and you know it. I’m talkin’ about me bein’ such a dumb jackass. She’s smart as a whip and has book learnin’. With all the big words she throws at me, I’d be one highfalutin talker if I could figure out what the hell half of ’em mean. I gotta get my ‘X’ witnessed! What in hell do I got to offer a lady like her?”
“A good night’s sleep? And you ain’t a dumb jackass. You’re right smart about things you know. It don’t take book learnin’ to love a woman.”
“Do you think I don’t know it? And much to my regret. She’s had my tail tied in a knot ever since I first clapped eyes on her.”
“Well, then?”
“It ain’t that simple. I think she’s lost her beliefs. I don’t never see her pray. Don’t trust in God no more. She’s taken to trustin’ in me for every damned thing instead. That’s fine, to a point. But I ain’t up to wearin’ His moccasins, that’s for damned sure. Her feelin’s toward me ain’t healthy! And I feel bad for wantin’ to take advantage.”
Pete drew his tobacco plug from his back pocket and tore off a piece. After returning the plug to his pocket, he settled back on his boot heels to enjoy the ritual of savoring and spitting. “Takin’ advantage? That’s an interestin’ way of lookin’ at it.”
“How else is there?”
“Takin’ what’s offered, what’s yours to take.”
“She’s mine to take only because she’s got nothin’ else and no one else! Her folks, her people, even her faith! I’m all she’s got. The girl’s scared of her own shadow.”
“Then teach her not to be.” Pete leaned forward and nailed a nearby rock dead center with a stream of tobacco juice. “If you want the girl, don’t be a damned fool and lose her. If she’s lost her own faith, then teach her how you believe. I reckon it’s not so bad a way to think. You’re a good man. As for the other, you can’t give her back her parents, and if you send her back to her people, you ain’t just a damned fool, you’re a goddamned fool.”
Race drew the bucket through the ripples, catching water only to toss it out again. “You don’t think she’d be happy with ’em?”
“Happy? After she got over losin’ you, maybe. She might marry up and have babies. But what happens when a plug-ugly comes along? You sit there, tellin’ me how you got nothin’ to offer her? You love her. You’d do all in your power to make her happy. And you’ll fight for her. It don’t sound to me like such a shabby deal.”
Race stared at the water, his thoughts in a tangle. “You make it sound so reasonable,” he muttered, knowing it was anything but.
Pete sighed and pushed to his feet. “You gotta do what you feel in your heart. If takin’ her to Denver is it, then do it. But you’d best do it lickety-split. The way it is now, she’s droppin’ weight and off her food. You either gotta be her world, or you gotta wire her church folks to come take her back to her old’un. She can’t go on like she is.”
At the thought of leaving her in Denver, Race felt as if a brutal hand had grabbed hold of his guts and was giving them a twist. Even worse was the thought of some ruffian harming her while grown men stood aside and did nothing to protect her. “I don’t know if I can let her go.”
Pete scuffed the heel of his boot through the leaves, digging a trench. “Well, then, I reckon your decision’s made, ain’t it?”
Chapter 15
Light from the fire played on the canvas, casting a soft amber glow over the dark interior of the wagon. Almost afraid to breathe for fear of making a noise, Rebecca rose from the pallet and tiptoed the length of the wagon floor. One step. Two. She had become very good at this, making scarcely any sound as she touched her feet to the rickety planks. Since Race awoke at the least little noise, maintaining absolute silence was crucial. In a pattern that was now as familiar as the shape of her own hand, she stopped for a moment to hold her breath and listen.
Very good, she thought, slowly exhaling. He was still snoring.
Once she reached the wagon gate, she paused again, her senses attuned and alert for the least sign of danger. Noting none, she carefully unfastened one side of the flap. Light from the full moon bathed her face and turned the world outside to silver.
As she swung over the wood partition, she moved with agonizing slowness for fear of making the frame squeak. Whew! Bare feet finally touching solid ground, she allowed herself to relax a little.
After turning the corner, she crept in a half-crouch along the side of the wagon that faced away from the fire. Once at the right front wheel, she pulled the quilt more snugly around her shoulders and carefully lowered herself to the ground, taking care not to stir the dirt with the trailing quilt corners. After getting comfortably situated, she peeked beneath the wagon at the men presently gathered at the fire for hot coffee and a much-deserved break from riding guard on the herd.
Relief flooded through her when she saw that all of them were still talking, none looking in her direction. It wouldn’t do for any of them to see her sitting out here. They’d tell their employer immediately, which would get her into something of a pickle. If Race learned she was having difficulty sleeping, he would insist on joining her in the wagon at night, and propriety aside, she simply wasn’t certain she could feel comfortable with such an arrangement.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. Far from it. While in his company, she felt absolutely safe. Just the opposite was true when he left her, even for short periods of time. For no reason she could pinpoint, she felt frantic. It was like being locked in a chest with a dozen venomous snakes slithering over her skin. Mindless terror, her body pouring sweat, her heart slamming, her lungs grabbing desperately for oxygen.
The fear always disappeared the instant Race returned. The mere sound of his voice worked on her raw nerve endings like a soothing balm. Unfortunately, she sensed that he had feelings for her that went far deeper than just friendship. Sometimes, she’d turn toward him when he didn’t expect it, and she would catch him watching her, his dark gaze lambent with yearning and searing her everywhere it touched. It was a proprietary look, and it concerned her.
Unlike the brethren in her church, whose ardent inclinations were held in check by religious strictures, Race Spencer was a rugged, earthy man who answered to nothing and no one, not even God. As kindly and considerate as he was in all other ways, she feared he was the kind of man who would give his woman no quarter behind closed doors, the devil take her modesty, her beliefs, and her inhibitions.
Thus came into play her reluctance to sleep in the wagon with him, even though she would have trusted him with her life in every other way. According to Rebecca’s ma, rest her dear soul, even the kindest and most caring man suffered from primitive physical yearnings—yearnings that could overpower his good sense if a woman he desired was foolish enough to tempt him. In light of that, it struck Rebecca that sleeping with Race in a small enclosure, barely wide enough for them to turn over without bumping into each other, might be foolhardy indeed. He was a very large and frighteningly strong man. If his passions overcame him, her goose would be cooked.
Crazy, so crazy. She was afraid to sleep near the man, yet she clung to him like an insecure child.
As she settled her back against the wagon spokes, the frantic feeling that always came over her at night when she was alone in the wagon dissipated. The sound of his snoring—so deep and close she could almost feel the vibrations—curled around her like an embrace. Blue, who slept next to him on a pad of wool blankets, chimed in with softer snores of his own, making her smile. What a pair they were, the big tough cowboy and the convalescing hound. Blue was able to walk without assistance now, albeit painfully and with a limp. Rebecca felt sure he would soon be recovered enough to chase rabbits again.
She angled her head to peer through the wheel spokes at Race. Flickering light played over his long muscular body, splashing gold patterns over his black shirt sleeve and the gray wool blanket that covered him. He lay on his side, the arm closest to the ground stretched toward her.
> Sighing, she fixed her gaze on the stars above her, prepared for yet another long night of sitting alone in the darkness with only her thoughts for company. It was better than lying awake in the wagon, though. At least out here she felt a sense of calm that, despite the cold, was more restful than being tense with fear all night.
What a beautiful place, she thought dreamily, shifting her gaze to the treetops that rose in black silhouette against the moon-silvered night sky. She loved the smells and sounds—the pungency of autumn leaves moldering on the woodland floor, the crisp coolness of the air, the scent of the trees, slightly sharp with a wildwood muskiness, and the clean moistness that seemed to hover over everything, compliments of the nearby stream, which filled the night with the constant rushing sound of water cascading over rocks.
Race said it was even prettier at his ranch in the foothills of the Rockies southwest of Denver, that there were thick stands of lofty ponderosa pine and green meadowlands tucked among the trees. After the first snow, he said it always looked like a wonderland there, with white drifts in places, a blanket of white over everything.
Oh, how she hoped it would snow soon. Before he got a chance to take her to Denver. Just the thought of his riding away and leaving her in a strange place made her breathing get shallow. Hundreds of people she didn’t know. Drunken men on the boardwalks. Streets going every which way in a confusing maze. Having no one to turn to. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet. She closed her eyes, trying ward off the panic, but it was like a fist closing around her throat.
If it would just snow, he wouldn’t be able to take her anywhere, and she’d be with him until spring. Surely his cabin would be large enough to accommodate them both comfortably, without forcing them into such close proximity that her presence would be a temptation for him. It would be a simple enough thing for her to make a pallet on the floor at the opposite side of the room, well away from his bed.
“Countin’ the stars, darlin’?”
Rebecca jumped so violently at the unexpected sound of his voice that she lost her hold on the quilt. Pressing a hand to her throat, she turned to squint through the wagon spokes at him.
“Mr. Spencer?”
“Who else’d be under your wagon?”
He hooked a big hand over the wheel rim and crawled out. As he settled to sit beside her, he seemed to loom, his breadth of shoulder and length of leg making her feel dwarfed. Drawing up the knee opposite her to rest his arm, he turned slightly toward her, his ebony hair glistening in the silvery moonlight, his chiseled features etched with shadows, the collar of his black shirt open to reveal a V of muscular chest. As he studied her, his coffee-dark eyes seemed to take on a satisfied gleam, his firm yet mobile mouth tipping up at one corner, as if he were secretly amused by something. She had an uncomfortable feeling it had something to do with her.
She expected him to ask what she was doing out there, and she searched her mind for a believable lie. She had just decided to say she had come out for a breath of fresh air, when he said, “You gettin’ anxious to go to Denver?”
Her heart caught. Keeping her expression carefully blank, she replied, “I’ve tried not to count too heavily on it, actually. It could snow, and then I couldn’t go until spring.”
“Nah.” He tipped his head back to study the sky. “Now that we’re this close to home, I can take that worry off your mind. We got a good month before the snows’ll hit.” He settled his gaze back on her face, his eyes still gleaming. “In three days, we’ll reach my ranch, and we’ll head out straightaway. I’ll have you in Denver within five days.”
“I’m not in that great a hurry. I’m sure you’ll want to get your herd settled in and see to business that’s been neglected in your absence. After all you’ve done for me, being patient is the least I can do.”
He shrugged her off. “Pete can handle the herd and anything else that comes up. Gettin’ you settled somewhere is my first concern.”
Rebecca gulped, struggled to breathe. Stay calm. Don’t panic. But it was easier said than done. She dug her nails into the quilt, applying so much pressure they felt as if they were pulling from the quick. Inhale, exhale. Don’t think about his leaving you. But it was there in her head, a vivid tableau, Race riding away from her on his buckskin, his black outline getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared from sight. She started to shake.
In a thin voice, she said, “Mr. Spencer, what if I were to tell you I don’t wish to go to Denver?”
He didn’t look in the least surprised. “I’d offer you two other choices.” He searched her gaze. “One of ’em would be permanent, though.” His shifted his bent leg to better support his arm, then began clenching and relaxing his hand as he turned his head to stare into the darkness. “So you probably wouldn’t be interested in that one. Which’d leave you with just one choice, livin’ in Cutter Gulch until you decide you wanna contact your people in Santa Fe and tell them to come fetch you.”
“In Cutter Gulch?” Her voice sounded as shrill as a reed whistle.
She swallowed and grabbed for breath. Cutter Gulch? That sounded nearly as bad as Denver. And she didn’t want to contact her church family. Why couldn’t he understand that? Why should she go to live in Santa Fe with misguided fools who believed a benevolent heavenly Father would protect them from all harm? She knew better. And now that she no longer believed as they did, how could she possibly live where she’d be expected to get on her knees countless times each day?
She was going to be sick. Violently sick. Sweat filmed her face, and tears burned at the backs of her eyes. She needed him. And he was thrusting her away from him. She wanted to grab handfuls of his shirt and shake him, plead with him. Instead she just sat there, hugging her knees and swallowing down her gorge. She felt him return his gaze to her, and she feared he could probably see her trembling.
He released a weary sigh, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him bend his head and rub his brow. Then he suddenly laughed, the sound coming from deep in his chest and laced with self-deprecation.
“Christ,” he said, his voice pitched to barely more than a whisper. “It’s a damned good thing I never had to stay permanent with my mother’s people. I’d have been a sorry excuse for an Apache brave.” He glanced up, his mouth tipping into a crooked grin that flashed white teeth. “Every time I captured me a pretty little white gal, I’d have been turnin’ around and takin’ her home within a week. I would’ve spent all my time comin’ and goin’.”
Rebecca couldn’t see how the observation related to their conversation. She was just relieved to see the calculating gleam vanish from his dark eyes, to be replaced by the tender warmth she had grown to expect. He drew up his other knee to rest his other arm, both wrists dangling. “Well, hell…” he said with another sigh. “So you ain’t too fond of the idea of me takin’ you to Denver, huh?”
“No,” she replied shakily.
He puffed air into his cheeks. “You know, darlin’, livin’ in Cutter Gulch wouldn’t be so awful bad. It’s only about ten miles from my place, and you just might like it there. And it ain’t like you’d be all alone, with no friends. All us fellas, we’d be close. If you needed us, there we’d be.” He leaned forward to pluck a blade of grass and twirl it between his fingers. “If you wanna send the church money on to Santa Fe, I’ll help you make arrangements for transport and pay your livin’ costs until you find work. I could probably even help you find a job, as far as that goes, by givin’ you a high recommend around town. You wouldn’t make fancy wages, but probably enough to get by.”
Ten miles? That was a very long way in terms of how often a person might make the trip. “Do you go to town frequently?”
“Every few months.” He flashed her a smile. “I’d step it up to once a month if you was there.”
Once a month? Rebecca leaned over her knees and pretended to be fascinated with her big toe. “Mr. Spencer…” Her heart came up in her throat. “I—you wouldn’t happen to—to have a position of employment for m
e on y-your ranch, would you?”
He dug the heels of his boots into the dirt, raising the toes, then lowering them. Silence. She was dying, praying to a nonexistent God for him to say yes, quivering inside with a horrible, clawing panic. She sneaked a glance at him. He was studying the trees, a distant expression on his face. She hoped he was thinking of different jobs she might perform for him.
He sighed again. Spread his knees. Bent his head to stare down at the earth between his boots. Took to staring off again. Finally he said, “You know, darlin’, we got us a helluva problem here.” He turned his gaze on her, his expression solemn. “I’m gonna be straight-out honest with you. And I hope you’ll not hold it against me. But I reckon you might.” He stuck the blade of grass in the corner of his mouth and directed his gaze straight ahead again. “I know you feel frantic when I talk about leavin’ you in Denver,” he said, his voice turning husky. “And I know you ain’t got no big itch to go to Santa Fe and live with a bunch of faint hearts who wouldn’t lift a hand to save themselves, let alone you.
“To my credit, I got to feelin’ guilty and tried to make Cutter Gulch sound good, but it don’t look like you’re real high on that idea, either.” He took a fast breath and huffed on the exhale. “I know you been sittin’ here by this wheel every night to be near me because you’re afraid and can’t sleep. I also think I know why you was afraid to ask me to sleep with you in the wagon. And I know that you get real frantic other times if I leave camp, even with Johnny and Pete here to watch over you.” He paused. “It also ain’t escaped my notice that you been tryin’ real hard to please me, like maybe that’ll make me less likely to wanna be rid of you.”
Rebecca couldn’t bear to look at him. So she stared through a blur of tears at the wedding ring pattern of the quilt. She felt stripped naked. Ashamed. It was all true. Every word. The worst part was, she couldn’t even explain it to him. She didn’t understand it herself.
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