Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “Seventeen. Toby was two years older than me. He took it hard.”

  “And that’s it? Some seventeen-year-old grudge? God, men can be so dumb.”

  Raney watched color rise up Dalton’s neck. A very nice neck. Full of muscles and tendons and that angular Adam’s apple that slid up and down whenever he swallowed. Like now.

  “I also dated a girl he had his eye on.”

  “Karla Jenkins?” Joss guessed.

  A darting glance at Raney. “Before that.”

  “Suze Anderson. No, wait! Mary Freed. Or was it Rachel Whatshername?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of them? My, you’ve certainly been busy.” Joss grinned at Raney. “He doesn’t sound gay to me.”

  Five gazes swung toward Raney. Two showed amusement.

  Dalton’s didn’t. “Who said I was gay?”

  “It was just a silly joke,” Mama said with a blindingly bright smile. “Who wants dessert? Shall we take it on the veranda?”

  Dalton followed Raney onto the porch. Herded her, actually. Knowing her moment of reckoning was coming, she decided to forgo the strawberry shortcake and concentrate on wine. She was more embarrassed than afraid of Dalton’s anger. He didn’t deserve to be the butt of her offhand remark and she was ashamed that she’d used him that way. But she couldn’t come up with the right words to explain it. Mama thinks she’s my pimp seemed a bit harsh.

  The mutes were finished and heading down the veranda steps when Dalton turned to Raney and said, “Could I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure.” Unwilling to have this conversation within hearing of her nosy mother and sister, Raney suggested they take a walk. By mutual unspoken agreement, they headed down the long sloping lawn toward the creek.

  It was another beautiful evening, warm, but with enough breeze to keep the bugs away, and the western sky gearing up for another stunning Texas sunset. They didn’t speak and were careful not to touch, not with her mother and sister watching from the veranda, so Raney spent the silence rehearsing what she might say in her own defense and wondering what Dalton was thinking.

  Nothing good, judging by his concentrated expression.

  The creek that had given the town its name was little more than a meandering brook that cascaded from one shallow, rock-lined pool to another as it followed the pitch of the gently rolling grasslands. It provided more music than water, but was so picturesque that photographs of it had appeared in several magazine articles aimed at bringing tourists to the area. On the other side of the county, a natural dam had created a clear swimming hole that had been a favorite teenage hangout for decades until the state took it over for a day-use-only state park.

  Here, at the ranch, it was less picturesque and served the more practical purpose of providing water for the stock and irrigation for the small vegetable garden tended by las esposas. Years ago, Daddy had hired workers to cut back the brush to make a small clearing along the bank under the shade of a wide-limbed oak tree where the four sisters often had picnics when they were younger. It was a quiet, peaceful place, and Raney hoped it would have a soothing effect on Dalton.

  She had just reached the tree when Dalton put his hand on her shoulder, spun her around, and pulled her into his arms.

  Startled, she froze.

  He looked anything but soothed as he stared down at her, unsmiling, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “I came out here to give you hell. Now all I want to do is get you naked.”

  “Does that mean I’m off the hook for saying you’re gay?”

  “Not a chance,” he said, and kissed her.

  It wasn’t a tentative kiss like that first one on the veranda. Or a tenderly sweet one like the more forceful bathroom kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had been without kisses as long as she had, and needed them as much as she did. Like he was sealing a promise. Branding his woman. Staking his claim. Every overblown cliché in Joss’s songs swirled through Raney’s mind, but now she finally understood what they meant. And she reveled in it.

  When at last he lifted his head, she was glad he kept his arms around her because she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. She was also surprised to realize her arms were wrapped around his waist and holding on to him just a little too tightly.

  Dropping his forehead against hers, he let out a deep breath that smelled of strawberries and ruffled her eyelashes. “Do you still think I’m gay?”

  It was a moment before she could speak. “No. I never did.”

  He pulled back and looked at her. “Then why did you say I was?”

  That tingly, weak-kneed feeling faded. She took her arms from around his waist and tried to put space between them but his big hands stayed on her ribs. “It was just a stupid remark, Dalton. I’m sorry I said it.”

  He waited, eyes locked on hers.

  “I only did it to make Mama leave me alone.” She tried to sound offhand, but the warmth of the hands almost spanning her rib cage was starting to make her sweat.

  “What’s your mother got to do with it?”

  “She keeps trying to foist me off on you.” There. She’d said it. Now he would know she was so pitiful her own mother was trying to pimp her out. Sort of.

  He didn’t respond.

  When she got the nerve to look at him, she saw mischief in his eyes. His lips—soft, yet utterly masculine, and ringed by a slight stubble of dark whiskers—widened in a grin. “Smart lady.”

  Relief spread through her. Teasing she could handle. It was emotion that flustered her. “Don’t take it personally,” she told him. “She tries to pass me off on any man old enough to father children.”

  His grin faded. But he kept his hands where they were, still holding her captive and making her sweat. “Why? You’re beautiful. Sexy. Smart—”

  “Don’t forget rich,” she piped in, hoping her bitterness didn’t show. After one disastrous near-marriage, she’d learned the hard truth: forget honey—what really drew men was money.

  He didn’t laugh with her. In fact, he almost looked angry.

  This time, when she stepped back, he let her go. Unsettled by his intense scrutiny, she started walking again, following a faint game trail worn into the grass along the bank. He fell in beside her. “But I’m also almost thirty,” she went on. “Still unmarried and childless.”

  “So? That’s your business. Not hers.”

  Raney felt a swell of gratitude. No one ever took her side against Mama. “Tell that to my mother. She thinks if she doesn’t intervene, I’ll end up alone with a ratty, fur-covered lap blanket and twenty cats for company.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Sadly, no.”

  He laughed. “Then, sweetheart, you can tell your mother that her worries are over.” He spread his big hands wide. “’Cause here I am. Every mama’s dream.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Naturally, Joss didn’t give up on the idea of going to Harley’s Roadhouse the following Saturday. And naturally, Mama was all for it. She even insisted they take either Dalton or Alejandro along for protection—which was code for “chaperone.” Mama wasn’t a big fan of women going unescorted to dance halls, taverns, or bars.

  Alejandro was still negotiating with his Honduran amada for custody of numero Uno, so he had an excuse not to go. Dalton didn’t need one. He was all in. Raney realized she didn’t want an excuse, either. She was actually getting excited about going out, catching up with old friends, and doing something other than ranch work for a change. Like dancing with Dalton.

  On Friday night, a rumbling thunderstorm came through, dumped three inches of much-needed rain on the thirsty ground within an hour, caused a one-hour power outage, then moved on. Luckily, the barns and paddocks were on higher ground and when the creek flooded overnight, they weren’t threatened.

  When Raney got up on Saturday morning, it was as if nothing had happened, except for the w
ater swirling around the trunks of the trees beside the creek. But by noon, the water started to recede, and by midafternoon, the cloudless sky was so clear and clean it was almost the same turquoise blue as the blouse Raney chose to wear to the dance hall that night.

  A few minutes before supper, Joss came in to offer her critique of Raney’s outfit. Did everybody in her family think she was incapable of dressing herself?

  “You’re wearing jeans? You’ll roast. Do you think I look pregnant in this outfit?”

  “You are pregnant.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to look pregnant.” Joss twirled, her handkerchief-hemmed skirt swinging around her tall fringed boots. “What do you think?”

  Raney thought she looked like something in a ’60s hippie catalog. But knowing Joss wouldn’t want to hear that, she gave her a thorough once-over. The full peasant blouse disguised the slight bulge of her belly, and the short suede vest with six-inch fringe provided additional camouflage. The layers of beads and bangles hanging around her neck would also draw the eye away from her thicker waistline, as would the multicolored hair and dangling earrings. And those boots would certainly keep the illusion going. Each individual garment was a testament to poor taste. But put together, and considering they were headed to a raucous Texas honky-tonk, the ensemble was inspired. “You look like a lady out for a fun evening,” Raney announced.

  Joss clapped her hands. “Perfect! Now let’s work on you. You need a skirt.”

  “I don’t have one that will go with this blouse.”

  “I might.” Joss swept out and returned a few minutes later with a slinky floral skirt that came past the knee. “Try this.”

  Raney held it up and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Flowers? Really?”

  “It’s feminine, and they look more like paint splotches. You need to remind Dalton you’re not just another cowboy.”

  “As if he cares,” Raney said, trying to pretend Dalton Cardwell wasn’t the main reason she was going out in the first place.

  “Oh, he cares, all right.” Joss’s gaze met Raney’s in the mirror. She wasn’t laughing. In fact, her expression was serious. And troubled. “The question is, do you care whether he cares?”

  Raney didn’t answer.

  “I know he’s been to prison, Raney. He made a mistake and he suffered for it. But he’s a good guy and he deserves a second chance. Can’t you give him that?”

  Raney turned and faced her. “I want to, Joss. I really do. But . . .”

  “But nothing. He’s handsome, built like a brick shithouse, and obviously has the hots for you. You don’t have to marry the guy, but what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

  “Says my fun-loving, pregnant, unmarried sister.” Raney said it as a joke.

  But Joss didn’t smile. “I fell in love with the wrong guy, but at least I was trying. How long are you going to hold that against me?”

  Raney immediately reached out to her sister. “Oh, Joss, I didn’t mean it like that. I admire the courageous way you’re handling the baby and the changes she’ll bring. Good changes. But scary, too.” She brushed a blue curl off her sister’s cheek. “I just worry about you, is all. Seems like I’ve spent most of my life worrying about my baby sister.”

  “You don’t need to. You never really did, you know. I’m not as wild or crazy as my family thinks I am.”

  “No?” Raney slipped off her jeans and tried on the skirt. She checked it in the mirror and liked the way it moved when she spun to check the back. “That wasn’t your bra hanging over the goalpost upright after homecoming?”

  “Okay, maybe I was a little wild. But what choice did I have? That skirt looks better on you than me.” She ducked into Raney’s closet and came back out carrying a pair of boots with turquoise leather cutouts. “Here, try it with these.”

  “Cowboy boots?”

  “It’s a cowboy roadhouse. You’d prefer flats with support hose?”

  Raney tried them on. They were perfect with the skirt. She should have Joss pick out her clothes more often.

  Joss motioned to the vanity. “Now sit down and let’s do something with your hair. And no, you’re not wearing a ball cap or Stetson.”

  With a wary glance at her sister’s mop of blue and green and hot pink streaks, Raney sat. “What do you mean, what choice did you have?”

  Joss plugged in the hair straightener and began brushing out Raney’s hair. “Len was the smart one. You were the hardworking one—and Daddy’s favorite, I might add. And even as a kid, KD knew exactly what she wanted and worked to get it. The only role left was party girl and dream chaser.”

  Raney looked at her in confusion. “But I thought that’s what you wanted to be.”

  “Like you wanted to give up college?” She must have seen Raney’s shock. “Yeah, I know about that. And I saw how broken you were when Daddy died and how desperately you tried to fill his shoes. I wouldn’t have minded helping, too, but you and Mama had everything under control. So, I just did my thing. I think you’d look better with curls. Where’s your fat curling iron?”

  While Joss transformed her nondescript hair into a mass of tousled curls, Raney stared into the mirror, her mind in turmoil. How had she not seen how Daddy’s death might have affected her little sister? Joss had been sixteen during that terrible time—still a kid—and Daddy had been her father, too. “Joss, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Joss laughed, breaking the tension between them. “And miss all the fun of being the wild one?” She gave that smirk Raney hated, although now she suspected her sister did it more in self-defense than an attempt to hurt. “I’d much rather be a party girl than a workhorse.”

  “A workhorse? That’s how you see me?”

  “No. Not really. In fact, I envy the way you take charge and everybody listens. I doubt Mama could have made it without you. But wouldn’t it be great if we were both a little of each? There, how’s that?”

  Raney looked into the mirror. “It looks like I just got out of bed.”

  “Exactly. Now hurry up. I hear the guys downstairs and you know how restless they get if they don’t eat on time.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dalton couldn’t take his eyes off Raney. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Or sexy. Just looking at her got him worked up. Judging by the way Joss and her mother kept eyeing him, he knew he was making a spectacle of himself. But Raney looked too damn good to look away. He could hardly even concentrate on Mrs. Whitcomb’s usual questions about Rosco and how the colts had handled the storm last night. And it wasn’t until the meal was almost over that he realized he couldn’t remember what he’d eaten.

  It was a relief when Joss asked Alejandro about his custody battle. They talked about that for a while, which gave Dalton cover to study Raney. He was pleased to catch her studying him back. He gave her a wink, which made her blush. A female with a Glock who blushed at a wink. The woman was a bundle of contradictions.

  What she’d said last night about her mother pushing her on men had shocked and infuriated him. Raney didn’t deserve being treated like something was wrong with her just because she wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. He knew it wasn’t because she had an aversion to men. Despite her efforts to keep her distance, he had felt her response when he’d kissed her. But now he knew why she held back. Like a crack opening in that armor she hid behind, when she’d said she was rich, he’d gotten a glimpse into her mind. Somewhere, somehow, she’d gotten the idea that her money was the most important thing she had to offer. Bullshit. It was no wonder she was so skittish if she thought every man who showed interest was only after her money. As far as he was concerned, that money was what he liked least about her, since it created a barrier he couldn’t get past.

  Mrs. Whitcomb’s voice cut through his thoughts. �
�Dalton? Is something wrong? You seem upset.”

  He looked up, saw the faces staring at him, and struggled to put on a pleasant expression. “Just thinking about something Amala suggested yesterday.” Not an outright lie. He had been thinking about what Press said. Just not right then.

  “Care to share? Perhaps we can help.”

  Realizing he’d have to respond or arouse more suspicions, he said, “While I was there, I saw a mare you might be interested in. Not for showing. Press said she’d been overworked years ago and doubted she’d ever be showable again. But she has strong bloodlines, and since you’re expanding your breeding program, I thought you might want to take a look at her.”

  “How old is she?” Raney asked.

  “Ten.” Dalton explained that she’d been bred before and had dropped two healthy foals. Neither had made it into the arena, but the sire wasn’t anything special. “Breeding always tells, and he didn’t have it.”

  “And you think this mare does?”

  “I’ve seen her papers. She’s top-notch.” As he said the words, it occurred to him how similar the mare’s situation was to Raney’s. Both were outstanding females that had been poorly used and overworked, and both were scarred because of it. It fit, but he doubted Raney would appreciate him making the comparison.

  “And Press is willing to sell her?” Mrs. Whitcomb asked.

  “He has no use for her. He’s selling off most of his horses. Wants to go live near his daughter. He’s said several times that if you were to breed her to Rosco in a few years, you’d have a real winner.”

  “What do you think, Raney?” Mama asked.

  “I think we should take a look at her.”

  “Then I’ll call him,” Mama decided. “See what he’s asking.”

  A few minutes later, Maria came in with dessert. Brandied fruit compote, Mrs. Whitcomb called it. Smelled more like booze than fruit, but was pretty tasty.

  Beside Dalton, Glenn started fidgeting, which usually meant he was working himself up to say something. After a lot of throat clearing and hemming and hawing, the foreman voiced his concern that the short power outage during the storm the previous night might have caused an issue with the liquid nitrogen tanks where the straws of bull semen were stored. Obviously, a difficult subject for the shy man to bring up in the presence of the ladies, although Dalton suspected those same ladies had set up the artificial insemination program in the first place.