Deborah Camp (29 page)

“I don’t mean he actually stuck him,” she said with a labored sigh. “He didn’t stand up for him when he should have. A.J. let Drew go to prison when he could have easily showed up in court and vouched for him.”

“Ever wonder why? Lots of other people did and have since. When a father can’t speak up for his own son…”

“It proves the father is a backstabbing coward. A.J.
knew Drew had nothing to do with the cattle rustling.”

“A.J. told you that, did he?”

She bent to the wound again, her stubborn streak widening. “No. Drew told me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And knowing A.J., I believe Drew.”

“I heard you wasn’t aware there was another son until Drew rode up pretty as you please.”

“Who told you that?”

“Monroe Hendrix. Is he a liar, too?”

“No.” She finished bandaging the wound and turned to gather up the medicine and other supplies. “It’s true that A.J. never talked to me about Drew, but A.J. was a man full of suspicions. He wouldn’t turn his back on anybody. He thought the whole dagblamed world was out to take this land and put him in the ground. I never in my life saw anyone more eaten up with bad feelings for his fellow man.”

“Maybe he couldn’t speak for his son because he knew his boy was as guilty as sin.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I work side by side with Drew every day. I
know
him, I tell you. He is a man of honor. He would never steal cattle. Never!”

“Okay, okay.” The sheriff held up one hand in surrender, then moved his injured arm, testing it. “That’ll do fine until I can get to the doc’s. Thank you kindly.” He picked his hat up off the table. “But there is this other bit of trouble. Those tracks led to your land.”

“From where?”

“Cattle has come up missing from the Clover Leaf, west of here.”

“I know the ranch,” she said. “How many head?”

“Twenty or so.”

“I haven’t seen any strange cattle, but none of us have been far from the house for the past few days. We’ve been doing chores around here. Got our strays rounded up and branded and now we’re fattening them for the trip to market.” She looked out the window. Drew was in the corral, working one of the horses. “Where were you when you were shot?”

“That creek that runs—”

“Two Forks Creek,” she interrupted. “Some funny things have been happening out there. I think whoever is doing this stealing must water his cattle there, and he makes sure they stomp all over the ground. It’s always muddy along the banks. The drainage is bad. That creek floods every time it rains. Good place to make tracks.”

“You think someone is trying to point the finger at you and Dalton?”

“I
know
someone is and doing a mighty fine job of it.” She turned back to him. “You know the vultures have been circling ever since A.J. died. This is prime country. Cattle country. I’m a widow with a baby. If they can’t get this land by wooing me or threatening me, then they’ll steal it from me.”

“If Drew goes back to prison, you’ll still have this land.”

Would she? she wondered. Could she go on without Drew beside her? Would she want to? She clamped down on the gloomy thoughts. “Why would he steal cattle? He isn’t that interested in the ones he already wrangles.”

“Habit? Habits are hard to break.”

She stiffened and delivered a hard glare that wiped the smirk off the sheriff’s face. “You can’t do any better than that? You come here and accuse Drew Dalton of
stealing cattle because it’s his
habit?”
She shook her head. “Men have been shot for lesser things. Why, it’s a wonder to me he didn’t beat the living hell out of you instead of just calling you a few well-chosen words.”

The sheriff shoved his hat onto his head and made for the door, but Cassie stepped into his path.

“Just so you and me are straight on this,” she said, standing tall, “there is nothing anybody can say or do to make me believe that Drew Dalton would steal cattle. If you’re not of a mind to find the cattle thief or thieves, then me and Drew will. His name has been muddied by this, and it looks like it’s up to me and him to clean it up. That’s fine. It’ll be a tough job, but we’re used to that. We’ll manage.”

Sheriff Nelson cocked one bristling brow. “You two are quite a team.”

She nodded. “Me and Drew will saddle up and take a look at those tracks. If we find the cattle on this land, we’ll round them up and drive them back to their range.”

“If you find them, you get word to me first.”

“So you can make an arrest?”

“No, not if your intention is to return the cattle.”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “The Square D doesn’t need any cows other than our own. We’ve got some of the best bloodlines in the country, and we’re particular about what we breed our heifers to.”

“You know, Mrs. Dalton, some men sprout from bad seeds. It ain’t always noticeable at first, but it shows up later. They run with other bad seeds and they enjoy thumbing their noses at decent people. I noticed you got a new cowhand.”

“Ice. He’s Drew’s friend.”

“You know his last name?”

“Perez, I think.”

“Uh-huh.” He took a swipe at his mustache with the side of one finger. “I do believe he has two brothers in prison and one swung from a rope.” He paused, and his eyes bored into Cassie. “Cattle thieves.”

“So that makes Ice a cattle thief, too?” she charged. “When your pa was alive, I hear tell he made and sold moonshine all over this county. I guess that means you peddle it, too. Can I buy a bottle off you?”

He glared at her, then tugged at the brim of his hat. “Thanks again for the doctoring.”

Cassie felt like a pillar of stone as she stood in the doorway and watched the sheriff move stiffly to his horse and ride away. Drew stopped working in the corral and stared at the sheriff until he was nothing but a dot on the horizon, then he slipped through the fence rails and strode to the house.

“Well? What did he say to you?”

“I told him we’d look for the cattle that’s missing from the Clover Leaf Ranch. If we find them on our land, we’ll send word to him.”

“Then he’ll arrest me?”

“No, not if we return the cattle to the Clover Leaf.”

He spun away, muttering foul words under his breath, and stalked toward the barn. After a few moments Cassie muttered her own unsavory word and took a step after him.

“Mamamamama,” Andy said, reaching out from his swing and grabbing handfuls of air.

“Listen to you.” Cassie turned back and caught his little fists. She kissed them. “Yes, I’m Mama. I’m your doting mama.”

“Mamama.”

She laughed and kissed his rosebud mouth. “You precious angel, you.”

“Dadadada,” Andy said, then gave a shriek of delight and bounced in his swing.

Her heart nearly choked her, and her gaze went immediately toward the barn. Was Drew saddling up a horse to go looking for those stolen cattle? She wanted to be with him. Always.

“Oleta, I… I…” She glanced toward the girl. “I’ll be back later. If the baby gets hungry, give him some juice.”

The dark-eyed girl nodded and looked toward the barn. “Is there going to be more trouble?”

“No—yes.” Cassie sighed. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She sprinted to the barn, her skirts flying, making her aware that she wasn’t dressed for riding. She’d have to change. “Drew!” she called as she entered the barn, her breath whistling in her throat. “Drew Dalton!”

He stepped from a stall. “I’m here. No need to shout.”

“Drew!” She rushed to him, rested her hands on his chest, and looked up into his shadowed eyes. She felt his reserve, his guarded heart. “I thought you were going to ride off without me.”

“I was going to saddle two horses. I didn’t expect you’d want me to go alone.”

“Well, yes. I wanted to go with you.” She frowned at his choice of words. “What’s wrong? Are you mad because I hit you?” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin where the skin was slightly discolored. “I hurt myself more than you. My knuckles are still stinging.” She stroked her hands across his chest. “Don’t be angry. I
didn’t want you and the sheriff to come to blows. That would only have made things worse for you.”

“Tell me!” He grabbed her by the wrists and gave her a shake. “Tell me which one of us you believe!”

“Which one?” She blinked up at him, her mind scrambling, then grasping at his meaning. “You! I believe you! How can you doubt—?”

“Doubt,” he said, his fingers tight around her wrists. “If you have the slightest doubt, tell me now. We can’t go on, not like this. If you have any question of my—”

“I don’t!” She pressed into him, and he stepped back against the stall gate. The old wood creaked and groaned. “I’ve told you, Drew. I believe in you. Nothing has changed the way I feel. Nothing could. Certainly not Sheriff Nelson.” She wanted to ask about Ice, but now wasn’t the time. Not when he thought she might doubt him. Instead she pulled free of his grip and brought his face down to hers for a searing kiss that was meant to cleanse him of any doubt that she spoke the truth. Her heart’s truth.

She felt the anger and resentment and frustration whirling in him like a funnel storm, and she wanted to give him release. Kissing him deeply, she combed her fingers through his hair, knocking off his hat. His mouth warmed under hers, and his hands cupped her hips, then slid up to her waist.

“Cassie, Cassie,” he whispered against her lips. “God, how I need you!”

Their gazes met and then, as if orchestrated, skittered to the barn’s loft. She looked at him. He looked at her. She nodded. He grinned.

They raced each other to the ladder. Cassie got there
first and climbed up ahead of Drew. She began unbuttoning her dress even as she turned toward him to watch him peel off his shirt and unbuckle his belt. Sunlight speared the loft and dust motes danced in the golden bars. The place was warm, almost too warm, and the smell of hay and dust and barn critters was nearly suffocating. She breathed heavily through her mouth, her gaze drinking in the muscled span of Drew’s chest, the tautness of his waist, the readiness of his manhood. With a strangled cry she took a few running steps and flung herself into his arms.

Wrapped around each other, they dropped to their knees in the hay. His hands moved up under her skirt, caught at her underpants, and pulled them down and off her. Pushing up petticoats and skirts, his knowing hands located the bare skin of her thighs, and his mouth made love to hers.

Like the storm churning within him, his movements were swift, his hands and lips full of tumult. He joined with her in a jolting, shuddering surge. She clung to him, panting, and the world spun crazily and her body exploded from within. He thrust into her again, hips bucking, face buried between her breasts, hands gripping her hips and guiding her, controlling her.

“Cassie. My Cassie,” he groaned.

She stared at the sunlight above her. Blood sang in her ears and her heart beat like a drum.

“No woman has ever believed in me like you do. No woman has ever wanted me like you do.”

His confession was almost more than she could bear. She kissed the top of his head and wound the short curls of his russet hair around her fingers. She said nothing because no words could convey
the
joy or the pleasure
she was experiencing because of this man.

Her man.

She ran her fingertips across the pink scar on his upper arm, the bullet wound she had dressed. “We’re two of a kind, you know. We both have scars we carry on the outside and on the inside.”

“What kind of man could whip a little thing like you?”

She flinched from the memory. “I—I don’t want to talk about it now. Later, maybe. Not now. I’m feeling too wonderful.”

He lifted his head. The storm had passed, leaving his eyes shining and his mouth smiling again.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, bringing one of his hands to her lips to kiss each blunt-tipped finger.

“I’m trying to recall any other lofts we could meet in. Christen, so to speak.”

She brought his mouth to hers again, tasted his tongue, gave him hers. He caressed her thighs, her stomach. He nuzzled her breasts through her chemise. Slowly he pleasured her. Carefully he brought her to a trembling pinnacle of fulfillment. Lovingly he dusted her face with kisses. Wordlessly he cared for her.

In the loft that was too warm, too redolent, too dusty, Cassie realized that she could never love him enough. There were not enough hours or days or years, and there were not enough words or ways. In that loft, with the man cradled in her arms, she discovered that she did not love him as she did her son. She loved her child unconditionally. She loved this man with conditions, with the knowledge that there would be times when she might even regret loving him, when she might curse him and even come close to despising him. This was a love of
one adult for another, permanent only in the moment, but feeling like forever.

But she would never, ever love him enough. She would die wanting one more fleeting moment with him, one more sun-golden moment.

She sighed and held him tightly, glad for the lessons she had once thought she would never learn, never be given the chance to learn. Such was life, she mused with a wistful smile. Such was love.

“D
id you find those stolen cattle?” Oleta asked as she sat at the kitchen table with Cassie.

The noon sun lit the room, warming it. Andy suckled noisily at Cassie’s breast. “No. We saw their tracks and followed them. They cut across the west corner of the ranch and went on toward Abilene.” She glanced out the window, looking for a rider.

“To market?”

“Hmm? Maybe. Who knows? None of this makes much sense to me.” She winced when Andy’s new tooth sank into her tender skin. “You keep gnawing on me and I’ll be weaning you right quick,” she warned him, and he giggled and gurgled around her nipple. “You little scamp, you. Sometimes I think he knows what I’m saying, Oleta.” She sighed. “I suppose I should start weaning him, though.”

“Some women let their children nurse until they are two or three years old.”

Cassie shook her head. “Not this woman!” She noticed that Andy seemed to be finished, so she straightened
her blouse and buttoned it. “I’m glad I could give him nourishment, but I don’t want to keep him from growing and moving on, taking the next step and the one after that.”