Dorothy Garlock (31 page)

“I know. My mother followed her heart. She married my father against the wishes of her parents. They thought she was marrying beneath her station in life, but she loved him and never regretted it no matter how many hardships she had to endure.”

Sylvia looked away toward the railed enclosure where Logan and Cooper were examining the mares. “Tell me about Logan,” she said in her quiet way. “He must have been very young when he left his mother.”

“Yes. His white father divorced his mother in something called the Omaha Dance. It was very humiliating for his mother, but it allowed his father to leave the village without making deadly enemies of her people. His brother was more honorable and refused to leave without his Indian wife and child. He took them and Logan back to Saint Louis with him. His uncle must have loved him in his own way. I hope he did. A little boy without his mother needs love.”

“Has Logan said anything about his . . . father?”

“Nothing, but I know he despises him. I heard him tell his mother he’d vowed to kill him. I’ll never forget the words she spoke just before she died. She said, ‘Killing is the refuge of cowards and my son is not a coward. Show your father you are the better man and he will die a thousand times.’”

“Yes,” Sylvia said slowly. “It would he a bitter blow to the pride of . . . such a man to be bested by a son, and doubly so if his son had Indian blood.”

“Logan was younger than Odell when he discovered he was different from the other boys,” Rosalee continued, her thoughts completely involved with the story she was telling. “He couldn’t understand why they refused to play with him and called him a dirty half-breed Indian. He said he ran home and asked his uncle what it meant. Later, the parents of the other boys demanded he be removed from the school, and he was tutored privately until his uncle sent him to a school back East.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Poor little boy. He had a worse time of it than Cooper.” She looked at Rosalee quickly and added, “I raised Cooper by myself until we met Oscar Parnell. He was a wonderful man and was everything a father could be to my boy. He died after we’d put the money down on this place and before we even got here. He would have loved this valley.”

“Did you come out to the territory before the war?”

“I’ve lived here all my life. I was born at Bent’s Fort. My parents were missionaries sent out here to educate the ‘savages,’” she said with a dry laugh. “There are times when I find it hard to tell which are the savages and which the civilized people in this country.”

The vision of her burned-out home flashed into Rosalee’s mind. “If Adam Clayhill and all he stands for is what’s considered civilized, I’d sooner remain a savage!” she bit out bitterly.

Sylvia’s shoulders stiffened. She kept her face averted and watched the two men down at the corral climb over the rails and walk toward the house. Both were tall, strong men who moved with loose-limbed ease. Logan was dark, and she was sure that the mustache that curved down the sides of his mouth and gave him such a fierce look covered gentleness, or this sweet girl could not have fallen so completely in love with him. Cooper, on the other hand, was blond, with blue, laughing eyes that gave the impression he was unconcerned about anything except the joy of living. Sylvia knew how deceptive her son’s appearance was. He was steel inside; when riled to anger, when pushed to the extreme, he lashed out at a foe with deadly accuracy and didn’t understand the word “quit.” The two men were so alike, yet so different. How strange that fate had brought them together.

*  *  *

Logan was immensely relieved that his men, the remains of the trusted platoon who served with him during four years of a hellish war, were on the way. He wanted to ride out to meet them, but more than that he wanted to marry Rosalee so that if he were killed she would have financial security for herself and her brother and sister. He spoke of this to Cooper on the way to the house.

“Is there a preacher in town? I want to marry Rosalee as soon as possible.” His direct, serious gaze met Cooper’s amused one and the other man’s smile faded. “She’d not be able to live here peacefully as my widow, but she’d have money to go East and make a new life.”

“I see what you mean. There’s a preacher who could do it up legal . . . that is, if he will.” Cooper looked him straight in the eyes and added, “He’s a hypocritical bastard.” The emotion rioting through the fair-haired man when he thought of the preacher was wholly concealed behind the noncommittal expression that settled over his face. “Ma knew him years ago down around Fort Bent.”

“If he can marry us and make it legal, he’ll do it,” Logan replied stiffly.

Cooper recognized the determination behind the words. “Will I have time to use your stallion before you go?” he asked, and grinned, bringing the conversation to a lighter vein.

“If you can get the job done tomorrow. He’s ready,” Logan observed pointedly and jerked his head toward the towering animal who paced the corral with shivers racking his muscle-corded frame. He paused to emit a piercing neigh. Logan raised his dark brows and grinned at Cooper. “Thank God he doesn’t go around in that condition all the time! He’d have a hell of a time jumping a fence.”

*  *  *

It was dusk when the men came to the house and dark when Sylvia went inside, lit a lamp, and showed Odell where she was to sleep. Cooper disappeared to talk to a gaunt, old man with an unkempt, gray-yellow mane that whipped around his shoulders as he turned his head from side to side, constantly surveying his surroundings. He came riding in on a small dun horse and headed straight for the bunkhouse without even a wave of his hand.

“Volney Burbank,” Cooper said. “A bona fide, born and bred mountain man. He’s been a big help keeping my land free of predators and spotting wild herds in the mountains. He comes by now and then for his tobacco or for bullets for that Winchester he carries. I’ll go down and visit a spell, that is, if the wind’s in the right direction.”

As soon as Cooper rounded the corner, Logan slid down on the bench and pulled Rosalee to him. Her breathy laugh came softly to his ears and she let him draw her close. He bent his head and put his lips hard against hers. She expelled her breath and her body strained to his. Suddenly there was hunger in his kiss. Searching, healthy hunger.

With his arm still around her, he drew his shoulders back and looked into her face. Through the layers of clothing between them, she could feel the strong beat of his heart and the tautness of his muscled thigh pressed to hers. His lips were folded together, deepening the lines down his cheeks, but his eyes shone with laughter.

“Do you know what I want to do to you?”

“I can’t imagine!” she exclaimed with a provocative smile.

“I’d like to hurry you back to the cliff houses, take that dress off you,” his voice lowered threateningly, “and the petticoats and all else women wear, and . . . love you, love you, love you.”

“But we can’t go back for awhile.”

“No,” he breathed, and leaned toward her and kissed her lips tenderly and possessively. “No,” he said again, tiredly, and folded her into the crook of his arm and pressed her head to his shoulder.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I’m going to tell you that everyday for the rest of my life.”

“I love you, too, sweet woman, but you see how it’s going to be. What happened at the Haywards will happen again and again. The day may come when you’ll feel it’s not worth it.”

“Oh, darling! The day will never come that I don’t love you and want to be with you.”

“Cooper says there’s a preacher in town who can marry us. We’ll go there the day after tomorrow if you’re still of a mind to.”

“If I’m still of a mind to! What a thing to say, Logan Horn.” Sharp white teeth nipped the skin on his neck. “I want to marry you more than anything else in the world and be with you every minute of the day and night. I don’t care if we live here, or in Denver, or in a Cheyenne village as long as I’m with you.”

Rosalee rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart. If only they could have remained in the cliff houses where there were no conflicts, no day-to-day battles with ignorant prejudices, no Adam Clayhill. She lifted his hand to her face and kissed the crooked finger that fascinated her so. A sudden thought occurred to her and she pulled away from him so she could see his face.

“Logan, do you think our child will have a crooked finger like yours? Oh, I hope so!” she exclaimed before he could answer. “Our son will have it, then our grandson, and his son . . .” She laughed happily and began to quote as if reading from a book: “The crooked forefinger on the left hand is a characteristic of the famous Horn family, who were early day settlers in Colorado Territory, and whose patriarch, Logan Horn, was so adored by his wife, Rosalee Spurlock Horn, that she followed him constantly, never letting him out of her sight for the entire fifty years of their married life!” She giggled softly with her mouth open against his neck. “How does that sound to you, Mr. Horn?”

He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply before he spoke. “Perfectly wonderful, sweetheart,” he whispered against her lips, and doubled the hand with the crooked finger into a tight fist.

Della Clayhill stood at the head of the stairs and listened to Adam’s angry voice coming from his office below.

“What the hell do the bastards think I’m paying them for?”

She had been amused at first by Adam’s anger at the Indian who bought up the range he had used for twenty years, and by his plans to keep him off of it. Now, it irritated her.

“I don’t have a man on this ranch with the guts I had when I drove the gawddamn redskins outta this valley and claimed it!”

Della rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Adam was back to the same old story and it was beginning to be boring.

“That red ass whipped Shorty Banes in less than a minute. The fool’s name should have been Short-of-Brains!” Adam shouted.

That’s right, Della thought contemptuously. When Logan Horn got through with him he didn’t have the strength to pull a sick whore off a pisspot! At the thought of all that quiet strength packed in that handsome, bronze body, a thrill of excitement swept through her.

While Della waited for the man who was with Adam to leave, she thought about her relationship with her stepfather. She enjoyed her new position in Adam’s life. It was exciting to have him bellow her name, take the stairs two at a time and come stomping into her room to take her roughly. Since they had become lovers he spent more and more time at the ranch. But he had become too possessive. He seemed to think he could have her whenever he wanted, as if she were his paid whore. Damn him to hell if he thought he was going to keep her here to await his pleasure whenever he wanted a piece of ass, she thought angrily.
She
was going to be the one to call the shots from now on. She’d not be subservient to any man except for as long as it took to get what she wanted.

Shortly after they had become intimate, they had discussed marriage. Adam said it was out of the question. Too many people knew her as his daughter, and he couldn’t afford a breath of scandal if he was going to be a candidate for the first governor of the state of Colorado. Della lifted her carefully plucked eyebrows and smiled at the thought. Adam didn’t know it, but she had no intention of marrying him if she could get what she wanted without doing so. Someday she’d be the sole owner of this cattle empire; the most powerful woman in the territory. With fifty men or more working for her, she’d not only rule sixty thousand acres but own the town as well. She wished now she had paid a little more attention to the tall Texan, Case Malone. She was sure that with a little extra
enticement
he could have been won over. When the time came for her to take over the ranch she’d need a strong man by her side.

Della’s thoughts were interrupted by a bellowing oath from Adam. A cowhand came out of his office and walked rapidly to the door. Adam followed and his loud, angry voice could be heard all over the house.

“The sons of bitches ain’t got the brains of a pissant! I’ll not send out a wagon to pick up a bunch of jackasses who sit around with their fingers up their butts and let a fuckin’ blanket ass steal their horses right out from under their noses. The bastards can walk! Hear? That’s not the half of it by a long shot! They’ll round up those horses on their own time. Tell ’em that!”

“Yes, sir.”

The front door slammed shut with a loud bang that rattled the glass. Della heard Adam stomp back into his office. She knew he would pour himself a half-glass of whiskey, then sit down in his rolling chair behind the desk. She patted her hair in place, shifted the neckline of her dress so a little more bosom showed, and went slowly down the stairs.

At the door of his office she pulled back the heavy velvet drapery and paused to look at him. He was leaning back in the chair, as she knew he would be, with the whiskey glass in his hand. His eyes were closed and she was able to study him without him being aware of it. Had he looked this old a few weeks ago? His thick, gray hair appeared to be even grayer against his sun-browned face. The lines on each side of his mouth had deepened and his jowls had begun to sag. He was still a handsome, robust man for all his fifty years. She had a sudden desire to see him as he had been twenty-five years ago with firm young skin and a strong lithe body. The thought came to her that, then, he would have been a match for the Indian. No wonder her mother had been swept away by his ardent pursuit and allowed him to bring them to this desolate place.

“I know you’re there, Della. Come on in.” Adam lifted the glass and gulped the rest of the whiskey.

“How did you know it was me, Papa?” Della glided into the room and stood before the desk.

“’Cause you smell like a French whore.”

Della knew he was watching her from beneath his heavy lids because they fluttered, his lips remained open, and he took in a deep breath of air into his lungs.

“How many French whores have you smelled, Papa?” she whispered huskily, and sat down on the edge of the desk.