Deborah Camp (25 page)

“Ask,” she said.

He motioned for her to step onto the porch. “It’s private. For your pretty ears and yours alone.”

“Just ask and get going,” Grandy said. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Suzanna, does your husband know about how close I was to Fayne? Have you told him?”

Hatred darkened the world around her, transforming her heaven into hell and Duncan into Satan. Standing straight and tall beside Grandy, she felt invincible, but Grandy’s opinion of her mattered. At first it hadn’t, but as the weeks had slipped by, Zanna had realized she wanted to impress Grandy. Like a child with a new friend, she wanted to
keep him, so she had been trying to charm him lately. She let go of Grandy, eager to appease Duncan and get him off her land. “Very well. Be brief.”

Grandy shrugged. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thank you, Grandville.” She smiled quickly, reacting to the suspicion in his eyes and the taut set of his lips. “I’ll be fine, really.”

She followed Duncan, stepping off the porch and a little ways into the yard. “This is far enough.” She glanced over her shoulder, making sure Grandy could still see her. “What did you want to ask me?”

Duncan passed a soiled glove over the lower part of his face as if to erase his smirk. Zanna shivered, watching that glove and remembering until she had to press a fist to her roiling stomach. A sticky, clammy sweat covered her body and for a few, dizzy moments she was afraid she might gag on her bilious memories.

“You haven’t told Adams about your plot against Fayne, have you?”

“I had no plot against Fayne.”

“You’re talking to me now, woman,” Duncan said, lowering his voice to an unpleasant rasp. “I know of your wicked ways.”

“How can you stand there and call me ‘wicked’ when your heart is as black as soot?”

“I didn’t plot to murder anyone.”

“You never had to. People touched by you usually plot to kill themselves.”

He tensed and one stained glove inched back. Sensing what was coming, Zanna stepped away from him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Grandy charge over the threshold and she flung out one arm, palm out, to signal him to remain on the porch. Keeping her gaze steadily on Duncan, she called out, “It’s okay, Grandville.” She sensed, rather than saw, Grandy’s uncoiling, but she knew he stood ready to defend her and that thought poured steel into her veins.

“State your business, Duncan,” she snapped.

Duncan’s eyes shifted to Grandy, then slid back to Zanna. “Your trained mutt might get himself killed if he tries to tangle with me.”

“State your business,” she repeated, her voice as tough as leather.

“I guess all the
men
went off to market,” Duncan said, raising his tone so that Grandy could hear his remark. “That means the Jacksons will put on a dance Thursday.”

“I suppose so. They always do to celebrate the end of the round-up.”

“I want you to go with me. I’ll come by for you around five that evening.” He started to swing around toward his horse.

“Wait.” Zanna shook her head. “I won’t go with you. I’m married. I’ll go with my husband.”

“Your
husband
,” Duncan said, making the title a curse. “That’s a laugh. Does your
husband
know what happened to your first one?”

“Duncan, I’m not going to stand here and gossip,” Zanna said, her knees beginning to tremble. Why couldn’t she face him without fear? If only she could find the courage to call him out, let him tell his sordid story and be done with it. But she couldn’t do that. She glanced toward the house where Grandy stood like a tall oak. She couldn’t let Grandville hear Duncan’s story before learning her version of it. “I’ll be going to the dance with my husband. That’s that.”

“I know what you’re up to, but it won’t work.” He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and threw out his chest. “When I want you, I’ll squash Grandville Adams like a bug and I’ll come and get you. Simple as that. You know it.” He winked. “I know it.”

Zanna’s courage wilted. She dropped her gaze to the ground, hating herself for showing weakness.

“I’ll get this land, Suzanna. I’ll get it because it’s rightfully mine. I’ll either own it by marriage or I’ll buy you
out.” He threw back his head and laughed when her gaze snapped to his at the mention of her marrying him. “You think this little old sham of a marriage you’ve cooked up will stop me from wedding you? Why, woman, use your head for something else besides showing off bonnets. Who will give a rat’s ass if one more convicted horse thief is found lying dead somewhere? Hell, maybe he’ll get hit by lightning come the next storm. It’s happened before on Primrose, ain’t it? I don’t care what anyone else says. I believe lightning
can
strike twice.”

“Duncan, you wouldn’t …”

“In a minute.” He snapped his fingers an inch from her nose, making her flinch. “Like that. I’d snuff out that horse thief’s life just like that and I wouldn’t lose one wink of sleep over it. Neither would anybody else, ’cepting for you. Then what, Suzanna? Will you go to the jail again for another man? See, woman? I’ll get this land sooner or later.” He glanced Grandy’s way before leaning closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know all about the plan you and Booker hatched before Fayne showed up dead, but you don’t scare me. I’ve never been one to run from a challenge, Suzanna. I always get what I want because I’m willing to do whatever’s necessary—and if that means putting a few well-placed holes in a horse thief and a sissy lawyer, then I’ll do it.”

“No,” Zanna said, shaking her head vigorously. “No, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid,” he warned, then laughed again, sounding to Zanna like bones rattling. “Guess I’ll see you at the dance. You save one for me, woman. Y’hear?” He sauntered to his horse, pausing briefly to smirk at Grandy “Down, boy. You can go on inside now. You’re a good dog.”

“And you can kiss my butt and call it sweetheart,” Grandy drawled. Zanna came to stand beside him and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. They stood silently,
watching as Duncan and his big palomino grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to take me to a dance Thursday.”

Grandy chuckled. “He’s got a helluva nerve.”

“I told him I’d be going to the dance with you.” She looked up at his attractive profile. “Will I?”

His arm slipped from her shoulders. “I suppose. He wants you for himself, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Did he want you while you were married to his brother?”

“Yes.”

“What did Fayne think about that?”

Zanna shrugged. “It didn’t seem to bother him.”

“Guess I’ll unsaddle my horse,” Grandy said, stepping off the porch.

“You’re staying here with me? You won’t follow the other men to market?”

His hazel eyes were a stony, mossy green that destroyed the happiness she’d been savoring. “Like Duncan said, I’m a good dog and good dogs obey their owners.”

“Grandville …” She reached out to him, but he made a dismissing motion and strode angrily toward the bunk-house where he planned to spend his evenings while the other men were away.

It was nearing twilight on Thursday by the time Perkins and the other men hitched up the buggy and the wagon. Grandy was glad the men were back from market, but he wasn’t so happy to move back into the house. He’d spent the last few days in strained silence around Zanna and had passed his nights in relative comfort in the bunkhouse, alone with his thoughts. But he couldn’t sleep there now that the men were back. It would raise too many questions that neither he nor Zanna would care to answer.

The men commandeered the wagon, letting Butch take
the reins of the two horses they’d hitched to it. Everyone was moving quickly, anxious to kick up their heels at the party in town.

“See you there,” Butch called to Grandy as the wagon rumbled forward.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Grandy called back from where he stood on the front porch. He directed his next words inside the house. “Shake a leg, Zanna. We don’t want to be the last to arrive at the dance.”

“Coming!”

He fingered the red handkerchief he’d tied around his neck and ran his hand down the front of his new black shirt with its red stitching. “I’m a real cowboy,” he muttered, remembering the fine, tailored clothing he’d worn as a gambler. He tapped the heel of his black boots against the edge of the porch, to dislodge the dirt caked on the heels, smiling at how excited the other men had been about the dance being held that evening at a neighbor’s place on the outskirts of Scyene. The men were in high spirits, having delivered the cattle to market and received a better than average price. Zanna had given them each a haircut-even Grandy—and now they were rip-roaring ready to flirt with pretty women, drink a little rotgut, and kick up their boot heels.

How would he be treated at the dance? Given his cold welcome in town, he wasn’t looking forward to the event. Maybe Elmer and Stubby would show up and keep him company.

He’d passed a lonely, restless three days while the other men were off on their adventure and he’d stayed behind like a naughty boy being punished by his mother. He’d given much thought to his escape, but he’d also thought about making love to Zanna one last time before he left her and Primrose.

“Grandville, I found this and I want to return it.”

Grandy turned and his heart stopped beating as time stood still, frozen in place by Zanna’s beauty.

The peach-colored, shirt-waisted dress complemented her creamy complexion and auburn hair, but most of all, it brought out the emerald fire in her eyes. The dress had a deep shoulder-to-shoulder ruffle and its skirt’s flounce started at her knees and fell to the toes of her high-button shoes. She wore cream gloves and a perky tan and peach hat made of satin and lace.

Standing before him, she seemed as fragile as a feather and more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. His heart ached with yearning and, inexplicably, he had to swallow a knot of emotion that had formed in his throat. He realized she was holding something out to him and he made his eyes move from the perfect oval of her face to focus on his own stickpin.

“What’s this?” he asked, surprised that he could speak.

“Yours. I thought you might want to wear it tonight.”

He looked down at his open-throated shirt and touched the kerchief at his neck. “It wouldn’t look right,” he said, taking the pin from her and letting his gaze roam over her millinery creation. He found a likely spot and stuck the pin there, angling it so that the pearly head showed prominently. “There. Looks better on you. You keep it.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, I want you to have it.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “No more fussing. Let’s go to the dance and forget for a few hours that we have our differences. Is it a deal?”

Her full, rosy lips tipped up in a smile. “Yes.”

Grandy stuffed his hands in his black trouser pockets to keep from grabbing and kissing her until she begged for a decent breath.

“At the risk of displeasing you by showering you with compliments, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he said, and she sucked in her breath as if he’d shocked her by his flattery. “But you know mat, don’t you?”

“Not until you told me,” she said, her thick lashes
sweeping down to conceal the brilliance of her eyes. “Thank you, Grandville. You’re looking extremely handsome yourself this evening.”

“Thank you, Zanna.” He offered her an elbow. “Ready to make the rest of the men swoon, Sooz?”

“Oh, you!” She tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm. “I’ll save a dance for you, if you like.”

“Better save them all,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I’m the jealous type.”

He helped her into the buggy, then took his place beside her and directed Milkmaid toward Scyene, leaving Primrose behind.

“Who is putting on this dance?”

“The Jacksons. A widow and her widower son. Mrs. Jackson is in her fifties and her son is about thirty, I imagine. They run a boardinghouse on the edge of town and they throw two dances a year—one after round-up and one between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everybody’s invited. They have a large field out back and they string up lanterns and stretch wagon canvases on the ground for the dance floor. The music is provided by Mrs. Jackson’s son and a few of his friends. It’s a lovely time. You’ll enjoy it.”

“I hope so. Do you think the other hanging husbands will be there?”

She shifted uneasily beside him. “I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“I was hoping there’d be someone I could talk to.”

“You can talk to me, Perkins, and the other men, can’t you?”

“Yes, but the townsfolk usually treat me like a case of dysentery.”

She fell silent, unsure what to say since he spoke the truth and it was ugly to acknowledge.

“Will Duncan be there?”

“Yes, I’m sure he will be,” Zanna said, then laid a
hand on Grandy’s forearm. “Please, Grandy. No trouble tonight. Even if Duncan provokes you, ignore him. Please?”

It was his turn to be silent, since he had no intention of backing away from Duncan Hathaway.

“Are you a good dancer?” Zanna asked, trying to guide Grandy back to a better mood.

“Better than any other dirt kicker around here, I’d wager,” he bragged, lifting one brow archly.

“Watch your tongue, Grandville,” Zanna warned. “There are some excellent dancers in this part of Texas.”

“What about you? Can you hold your own on the floor?”

Zanna tugged at her gloves in a manner that spoke of self-confidence and a touch of haughtiness. “Like any well-bred lady, I’m only as good as my partner.”

He smiled and the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled attractively. “Then stick close to me, sugar, and you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Elmer and Stubby flanked Grandy. The three stood at one corner of the makeshift dance floor and watched the knot of tittering women who were arranging platters of homemade cookies and candies around crystal bowls of sarsaparilla and beer.

Zanna’s cheeks were rosy, shining with good health and excitement. As she spoke with the other women, she occasionally cast a glance toward Grandy and invariably blushed when she found his eyes on her. He derived great satisfaction from her discomfort.