Here Comes the Bride (4 page)

“Rosa doesn’t sleep in the main house.”

“Yes, I know, but I do not believe you would try to compromise me in any way.”

“Is that right? Have you even thought about what staying here will do to your reputation—even if I was honorable, upright, and what was the other one again?”

“Conscientious.”

“Right. Conscientious.” He paused. “Well, have you?”

“Of course I have! And as far as I can see, we have two options.”

“Really?” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “Would you care to share them with me?”

“Certainly.” She smiled. “The first option is for you to sleep in the barn or in the bunkhouse with the other men.”

Gabe choked. “This is my house. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be kicked out of it by
anyone
—especially a little wisp of a girl like you!”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. The other option is much simpler anyway. We can get married.”

It was the scent of honey that snapped Gabe back to his senses. Her scent. It lingered in the air, surrounding him, sapping him of any cognitive thought other than her. He struggled through the fog in his brain, trying to decide if she had, indeed, said what he thought he’d heard. Of course she had not waited for him to offer his own suggestions, but instead collected the tray of food and bolted into the house, leaving him on the porch with his mouth agape.

She had given him two choices, purposely omitting the third and most obvious, which would have Gabe staying in the house with her, reputation be damned. He should do it—just march right in and go on up to bed. This was his house after all, and he certainly had not invited her here. No, he smiled ruefully, he should take her up on her idea and marry her. That would teach her, wouldn’t it? Maybe then she’d find out how
un
romantic the ranching life really was and hightail it on out of here. Gabe’s smile faded. If it was such a good idea, why did it sit like a rock in the bottom of his belly? Must be the idea of marriage that disagreed with him, because it certainly couldn’t be the notion of her leaving. Hell, he didn’t even know her. But she sure smelled good.

Cursing under his breath, Gabe cast a final glance toward the kitchen door before trudging out to the barn. Why the hell did his mother—no, Rosa—have to instill such an overactive conscience in him? And how was it she hadn’t managed to do the same with his brother? Bart would have been up the stairs and fast asleep by now, his only concern being whether he would have company in his bed or not.

The full moon cast a shimmering yellow light across the yard, but even in the pitch of darkness Gabe would not have taken a misstep. He’d been born and raised right here on the ranch and not a day had gone by when he hadn’t made this trek out to the barn at least a half dozen times. He knew, without counting, exactly how many steps it was from the house, the exact angle at which it sat in conjunction with the house, and exactly where every nail had been hammered to keep the structure sound. He spent at least twice as much time out there than he did in the house and, truth be told, it wasn’t such a bad place to sleep. It was warm in the winter, cool in the summer, quiet, and at this time of night usually still smelled of clean, fresh hay.

So where was that familiar smell now? And even more disturbing, why the hell did it smell of honey?

Zeus nickered softly and tossed his glossy black mane.

“Hullo, ol’ boy,” Gabe murmured. “Looks like we’re going to be spending a bit more time together.”

He scratched the huge stallion’s ears and muzzle, whispering nothings to him the whole while. Everyone else in town, including his own ranch hands, referred to his horse as Satan, and that was fine with Gabe. The more wary a body was of an animal, the more they tended to respect it and keep their damn hands to themselves. More than one rancher in Porter Creek had lost horses to thieves in the last few years, but not the Calloways. Zeus was a force to be reckoned with, and the only one up to the challenge was Gabe. No one else would even feed him, let alone clean out his stall or ride him. Not that Gabe would have allowed it anyway, but there was a whole other story.

When Zeus was satisfied he’d not been ignored, Gabe mounted the ladder to the loft and flopped down on the huge pile of straw. The tiny window above his head looked directly back at the house, directly at the bedroom window where Tess lay sleeping. If he peeked out, would he see her there? She seemed to have a thing about looking out at the sky; first it was the sunset, then the full moon. Perhaps she was a stargazer too.

Cussing into the straw, he shifted and twisted in an unsuccessful effort to relax. Why the hell should he care if she was looking out the damned window or not? All that mattered was she was sleeping in the house while he was stuck out in the barn alone with his thoughts. Being alone didn’t usually bother Gabe; it gave him the opportunity to focus on the ranch, on what jobs needed to be done first, how much those jobs would cost, and how much profit he would make. Tonight, however, his thoughts were stuck on one thing—Tess Kinley.

She couldn’t stay—not in Porter Creek. It was too rough for the likes of her. She needed to live in a place where she could have regular milk baths, go to fancy dances, eat in those fine restaurants he’d heard so much about. She didn’t belong here in the middle of nowhere walking through acres of cattle crap and chicken slop. She didn’t need to be filthy bloody dirty from sunup to sundown, to sweat like a horse out in the blazing sun or freeze her behind off for months on end in the winter. She needed to be waited on, to be treated like the lady she was born to be. She needed to have servants bring whatever her heart desired, to never have to raise her voice to be heard over the wind or rain or braying of cattle.

Gabe smirked. What she needed was a good whoopin’ to put her right. She was far too stubborn for his liking. Far too stubborn. It was a good thing the stage came every week because she’d never last longer than that. Maybe if she was lucky, Bart would arrive before then and take her back to Butte himself. Gabe’s easy smirk faded into a deep frown. He didn’t even know this girl, but of one thing he was certain—she deserved better than Bart Calloway, a lot better.

He linked his hands behind his head, staring high up into the rafters, seeing nothing but the image of Tess Kinley floating above him. She was a vision all right; her thick, flowing hair tumbling over her shoulder in long graceful waves, her gold-flecked eyes snapping with determination. Yet there was something else that belied her steely resolve. Nobody fidgeted or rambled that much without being fearful of something. Or someone. But who? Bart?

His dark brows drew together. His brother might not be completely virtuous, but he’d never lay a hand to a woman, that much Gabe knew. He might use her and then discard her like a worn-out shoe, but he would never cause her physical harm.

“If she had any sense at all,” he mused aloud, “she’d be afraid of me.”

Everyone was afraid of Gabe Calloway for one reason or another. His size alone instilled fear in most, his dark scowl and thunderous yell intimidated everyone else. But little Tess hadn’t even flinched when he stood over her, towering like one of the huge ponderosa pines so abundant in the Montana Territory. She had, in fact, brushed him aside as though he were nothing more than a spoiled child looking for attention.

Gabe slept fitfully, fighting the haunted memories that plagued him almost nightly and woke him with such a jolt he was certain his heart had leapt from his chest. He wiped his hand slowly across his mouth, knowing the sweat he removed would be replaced just as quickly. The usual torment of his nightmares was even worse tonight. He was still a young boy watching it all happen; the baby, so terribly small, so ghostly blue, and Mama . . . struggling feebly against her own angel of death. She looked to Gabe, the light slowly fading from her gray eyes. Suddenly her eyes were no longer the steel gray of his mother’s; they were amber. . . .

 

 

Tess tucked herself up into the huge, soft bed and sighed. She was finally home. Whether Gabriel Calloway liked it or not, this was where she belonged—safe at El Cielo with him.

She had, in all honesty, fully expected him to follow her into the house. There was a second bedroom, after all, which he could very easily have slept in. But when she still didn’t hear the kitchen door open again, she went to the window and watched, hidden behind the sheer curtains, as Gabe strode purposefully toward the barn. She knew she was right about him; he was a good man. He would make a fine husband.

For all her pomp and display, Tess was more nervous than she ever would have expected or admitted to. She was exactly where she wanted to be, everything was within her grasp, but all it would take was for Gabe to put her sorry behind back on the stage and everything would be ruined. She couldn’t let that happen. She belonged here; she was safe here. And best of all, Gabriel was here.

For years Tess had practically devoured the dime novels her friend Charlotte gave her. They filled her with a sense of purpose, a knowledge that life was not meant to be spent drinking tea and playing croquet all day. And it certainly was not meant to be spent with a man you did not love.

Love was something that could neither be helped nor avoided. It happened whether you wanted it to or not, and despite what Mr. Gabriel Calloway thought, it happened immediately. Some people took a little longer to realize it, was all.

She knew she loved him, knew it the moment she opened her eyes and saw him standing in the doorway yelling at Rosa. She also knew nobody would believe her, they’d all think she was a silly little girl living in a dream world.

Well,
she huffed,
they can all think whatever they like.
Those dime novels she loved so much might not have been the great literature her mother forced on her, but they were just as—if not more—educational.

She needed a plan, something to make her indispensable both to El Cielo and Gabriel, and something she would be able to put into action right away. After all, the next stage would be back in Porter Creek in one week, and if she didn’t prove herself by then, she was certain to be sent packing. And God knew what would happen if Bart happened to show up before then. Or worse . . .

Tess shuddered past the thought, burying herself deeper under the thick, fluffy quilt. Surely it was a good sign Gabe had let her stay in the house. She drifted off into a sound sleep, her dreams a stark contrast to those of Gabe’s, save for the fact that he, too, danced through her subconscious.

She was awakened early the next morning by the sound of boot heels—many boot heels—clomping against the hard kitchen floor. She threw back the blankets, taking but a moment to admire the first light of day from her window. With Gabe’s old jeans secured tightly around her again, she washed up in the wedgewood chamber set, pulled her hair into one long plait down her back, and hurried, barefoot, down the stairs. Maybe if she learned to be of some use to Rosa . . .

Five pairs of eyes stared back at her, stopping her in her tracks. The two unfamiliar faces seated with Gabe and Miguel openly gaped at her. She must be a sight standing there dwarfed in Gabe’s clothes, a strange woman on their turf. Her gaze went immediately to Gabe, who seemed to scowl deeper with every passing second. An eternity passed before Miguel finally spoke.

“Buenos dias.”
He nodded to her, rising from his seat. “Please.” He motioned for her to take his now empty chair.

“Good morning,” she answered brightly. “Thank you, Miguel, but you sit and finish your breakfast. I came to see if there was anything I could do to help Rosa.”

Gabe returned to his coffee, his scowl staring down into the steaming black brew. When he made no motion to do it himself, Tess took it upon herself to make the introductions.

“Hello,” she said to two other men at the table. “My name is Tess Kinley.”

The two men—boys really—nearly fell over their chairs in the race to reach her outstretched hand first. They both stopped short, dipped their heads slightly, and spoke at once.

“Joby Dunn.”

“Seth Laughton.”

“It’s very nice to meet you both,” she smiled, feeling the heat from Gabe’s glare. “Please, finish your breakfast.”

The two men flushed profusely and returned to their chairs. Rosa stood with her back to the table, flipping pancakes over the piping hot griddle. The only one who saw her grin was Tess. It was a funny, strange little grin, one that couldn’t be easily defined. It had a knowing kind of smirk to it but at the same time seemed to say “be careful what you wish for,
muchacha,
you might just get it.”

“Good morning, Rosa,” Tess said. “How can I help?”

“You eat,” Rosa instructed. “Too skinny.”

“I’m fine, really,” Tess began, even as Rosa pushed a full plate toward her.

“Eat.” She turned from the stove and reached for Joby’s and Seth’s still full plates.

“We ain’t done!” Joby cried, his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“Bup bup bup,” Rosa’s hands waved them off. “Shoo!
La niña
sit. Eat.”

Tess did as she was instructed, enjoying for the moment being fussed over. Once she had a good solid meal in her belly, she’d be ready to take on whatever El Cielo and Gabe threw at her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t up earlier to help you, Rosa,” she offered.

“S’okay,” Rosa said with a smile. Her black eyes twinkled cheekily. “You eat now. I find you work.”

Tess smiled warmly at the older woman as she took Joby’s chair.

“You feel better, senorita?” Miguel asked.

“Yes, thank you. It’s amazing what a hot bath and a good night’s sleep can do for a person.” Ignoring the loud snort coming from Gabe’s direction, she finished, “Rosa took good care of me.”

“Si,” he agreed, his smile widening. “Rosa take good care to me, too.”

Tess’s heart pinched tightly. They loved each other so much, so openly. She longed desperately for that kind of love—the easy, no argument kind of love. She was more than ready to offer it, but by the look on Gabe’s face, he was neither ready to receive nor return it.

She straightened her shoulders. She hadn’t come this far to let a little thing like that get in her way. It might take a little work, but she’d have Gabe seeing things her way if it killed her. And judging by his scowl, that was exactly what it might take.