Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 (21 page)

Cut. Set the knife across the top of your plate. Take a bite. Set down the fork. Chew at least ten times. Sip from your goblet. Gently press the napkin to your lips, return it to your lap, and begin again
. She could still remember Mrs. Capshaw barking those words in her ear. No wonder she had such a delicate digestion.

Not so Rafe. He ate like a man who enjoyed his food—and needed a lot of it to fuel that big body. A man with an appetite. When he chewed, it did the most fascinating things to his cheeks and jaw, and when he swallowed . . . She smiled, remembering how it seemed to involve every muscle and tendon in his throat, all the way down to that small hollow at the base of his neck, where sometimes a few dark, curling hairs—

“Daughter?”

Startled, she looked up to find both men staring expectantly at her.

“What do you think of the baron’s invitation?” Father prodded.

“Invitation?”

“To visit his home at Fell Ridge. Weren’t you listening?”

Fell Ridge? The scene of his wife’s recent death?

Misreading her hesitancy, William sought to reassure her. “It would be entirely proper. My maiden aunt is visiting and will act as chaperone. And of course, you may bring your maid, or my aunt will be happy to provide one. As for traveling arrangements, I will accompany you on horseback, rather than ride inside the carriage.”

Too bad he hadn’t considered propriety eight years ago. But what Josephine found even more disturbing was that within weeks of his wife’s passing, Adderly sought to parade her replacement before his bereaved son. “Isn’t it a bit soon to be entertaining? Edward must still be in distress after his mother’s recent passing.”

“That’s precisely why I’ve invited you and Jamie to visit.” William seemed to wrestle with himself then come to a decision. “Edward isn’t well. An incurable weakness of the heart, the doctors say. That and his mother’s death have pushed him into a deep state of melancholy. It is my hope that if he has someone to play with—a brother—he might revive somewhat.”

Josephine felt a swell of sympathy. She couldn’t imagine a parent’s despair at having a child so gravely ill. “I’m sorry. Is there no chance of recovery?”

“The doctors are not hopeful. And I would like for Neddy to meet his brother before . . . well . . .”

“Of course we shall come.” How could she deny his heartfelt request? Her own fears seemed petty in the face of such a tragedy. Although, she did have to wonder why, if his son was so terribly ill, had William taken the time away from him to visit here? “When did you propose this visit to take place, and for how long?”

“A couple of days, if you could spare them. I’m not sure Neddy would be up to a longer visit at this time. If it’s convenient, I could escort you and Jamie to Fell Ridge when I return home tomorrow.”

Pushing aside her reservations, Josephine smiled. “It sounds lovely,” she said, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice.

Hopefully, Jamie wouldn’t prove difficult. But she wasn’t certain how Rafe would react. He had low regard for the baron and took few pains to hide it.

However, it was clear, judging by his satisfied smile, that Father fully approved of the visit. Doubtless, he thought it would bring her closer to accepting William’s suit, and himself one step nearer to solvency.

How irritating that everyone seemed to have plans for her future—William, Father, even Rafe. Perhaps it was time she made plans of her own.

J
amie took the news that they would be going to the baron’s home the following day with the expected scowl of resistance. But he did seem calmer about the horse debacle. She understood why when he let slip that he had sneaked down to the stable to visit Mr. Jessup.

“He said I didn’t have to give up Blaze. That I could have lots of horses if I wanted. And more than one father, too.”

She was a little disquieted that Jamie had gone to Rafe rather than his own mother, but she understood why. The Texan’s quiet steadiness brought a sense of stability and balance to those around him. She had seen it in horses. Had felt it within herself. So it shouldn’t surprise her that her troubled son would be drawn to that calm strength, as well.

“So you’re content to visit Adderly’s home?”

He gave the listless shrug of a child faced with an irksome chore. “I wouldn’t mind meeting my half brother, I suppose. How old is he?”

“I’m not certain. I know Neddy is younger than you. And sickly. You must take special care not to play too rough with him.”

“How long will we be away? Mr. Jessup said the earl and countess are coming, and I shouldn’t want to miss them.”

Josephine smiled, having forgotten that happy news. “Two days. What would you like to bring? Perhaps some toys to share with Neddy?” As she spoke, she motioned to Nanny Holbrick, standing just outside the door. “Nanny will help you pack.”

After explaining to the elderly woman what he would need to bring for the short visit to Fell Ridge, Josephine excused herself and went down to the stable, hoping Rafe would take the news of their visit to Fell Ridge as well as Jamie had.

He didn’t. Although being the reticent man that he was, he said nothing, but listened in scowling silence, feet braced, arms crossed over his chest. “When?” he asked in a clipped tone.

“Tomorrow.”

“How long?”

“Two days, not counting the two mornings of travel. We should return near the time the Kirkwells arrive.”

“We?” His head came up, disapproval evident in the tightening of his lips and the muscle clenching in his beard-shadowed jaw. “Jamie’s going, too?”

It rankled, having to balance everyone’s wants against her own. Everywhere she turned, she came up against a wall of expectations, and every decision she made disappointed someone, it seemed. “I think it’s important that he meet his half brother.”
And know the life awaiting him if I marry Adderly.

She didn’t say that, of course. To speak those words aloud would awaken doubts she hadn’t the strength to face right then.

“I’ll miss you,” he said simply.

Irritation dissolved. How did he always know the perfect thing to say?

They spoke of inconsequential things for a moment more, then she left before Father or William came looking for her. He made no move to delay her. Yet all the way back up the slope to the house, she was aware of him watching from the doorway of the stable as if loath to see her leave.

But if that was so, and he truly thought he would miss her, why hadn’t he given her a kiss as he often did when they parted?

 • • • 

The next morning, Rafe left Pems tied in the aisleway near where Thomas was saddling Barney for their daily cross-country run, and walked past the silent Indian toward the tack room.

They had had sharp words the night before over something insignificant—Rafe couldn’t even remember what—and the Cheyenne was still stewing in silence.

Which was fine with Rafe. After a sleepless night worrying over Josie and Jamie and what their visit to Adderly’s might mean, he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

Apparently, Thomas was. Regarding him with an expression of disgust, he cocked his head toward the Adderly carriage heading down the drive. “Why do you let him take her?”

He didn’t have to ask who the Cheyenne was referring to. Pretending disinterest, he positioned the pad and English saddle on the stallion’s back, then lifted the flap and buckled the leather girth strap. “Not my call.”

A derisive snort, followed by the usual “white people” remark.

Rafe ignored both.

Thomas reached between Barney’s front legs to secure the breast collar strap to the cinch. “I would not let any man take
my
woman from me.”

Rafe couldn’t ignore that, and the implication of cowardice sent his temper to a flash point. “No, you’d walk away first, wouldn’t you?” Thomas had never said why he’d left Prudence Lincoln in Indiana so abruptly, but with the Cheyenne’s habit of disappearing when things got tense, he could guess.

Thomas straightened.

Rafe could tell by the Cheyenne’s furious expression that he had crossed a line, but he didn’t care. He could also see that their heated exchange had drawn curious faces to the doorway of the bunk room. He didn’t care about that, either.

“I think I will enjoy knocking you from your horse today,” the Indian said in a cold, flat voice.

“You always do. But hell, why wait?” Beyond conciliation, and too stubborn to back down, Rafe waved a hand toward the back of the stable. “What say we step outside and get it over with right now?”

He wasn’t much of a brawler, but today he was in the mood to give it a go. Not just to punish Thomas for his caustic remark, but because he needed an outlet for all the emotions he had held in check for so long.

Thomas gave a wicked smile. “I will hurt you, white man.”

“You’re welcome to try.” Whirling, Rafe stalked past the gawking stable hands and out the back of the stable.

Trailing grooms, Gordon on his crutches, and a frowning Hammersmith, Thomas followed.

Committed and anxious to get started, Rafe stepped through the rails of the round pen, pulled off his shirt, and tossed it over a post. Ignoring the murmurs when the watchers saw the bullet scars on his chest and back, he said to Thomas, “No knives or guns.”

“I will not need them.” More murmurs when Thomas pulled off his shirt, exposing the thick ridges of scar tissue across his chest from the brutal ordeal of the Sun Dance ceremony.

“No biting, eye gouging, hair pulling, or kicks to the groin,” Rafe continued as they walked side by side into the ring.

“I am a Cheyenne warrior. Not a little white girl.”

“We’ll see.”

Stopping in the center of the pen, they turned and faced each other from a distance of six feet.

Rafe was ready and primed for battle. Frustration had been burning in his gut and he welcomed a chance to vent it. He shook out his arms and legs. Flexed his shoulders. Rolled his head to loosen his neck. Then balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, he bent slightly forward, hands up and ready. “I’ll try not to hurt you too bad, redskin,” he taunted.

A snarling lunge from Thomas, and the fight began.

Rafe had size and height. Thomas had quickness and agility. Both could give and take a lot of punishment.

Within minutes, blood was flowing.

Rafe’s world shrank to the reach of his arms, the sound of their grunts as fists struck hard. Pain became secondary to the ferocity of physical exertion and the elation of pitting his strength against Thomas’s.

He called on all the rage that had festered inside of him since that hot, dusty afternoon in Dirtwater—his disappointment when the woman he thought he’d loved ran away—his disgust when the townspeople he fought to save left him to live or die on his own. He fought with savage determination to win back all he’d lost that day, and all he stood to lose now if Josie walked away, too.

But the wounds he’d suffered a year ago began to take their toll on him and he finally began to tire. The fifth time he hit the ground, Thomas sank onto his knees beside him, his chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut over his eye. “Are you done yet?”

Fighting for breath, Rafe rolled onto his back and stared up into the cloudy sky. He hurt so bad he figured he’d have to die to feel better. “For now.”

With a groan, the Cheyenne slumped down beside him. “You are a good fighter,” he said between breaths. “For a white man.”

“For an Indian,” Rafe countered, his own lungs pumping, “you do okay, too.” Once he caught his breath, he pushed himself into a seated position, wincing at the pull of sore muscles.

The watchers had left. The dust had settled, mostly on him and Thomas. And Josie and Jamie were still gone. Nothing had changed, other than the bruises he’d be sporting tomorrow. Still, he figured it was worth it.

More groans as Thomas sat up, one arm clamped across his middle. He wore his usual smirk behind a split lip and a rapidly swelling eye. “Do you feel better now, Rayford Jessup?”

Rafe spit blood into the dirt, then gave Thomas a weary grin. “By God, I do. Nothing clears a man’s mind like a good brawl, and that’s a fact.”

Thomas held out a battered, blood-smeared hand. “We are friends again?”

“We are.” Ignoring the pinch of his cracked knuckles, Rafe shook the Indian’s hand, then struggled to his feet. “Come along, then. Pems is waiting for his run.” And time was running out.

 • • • 

The following afternoon, as Rafe and Thomas led their winded horses into the stable, a carriage rolled through the gate. Anticipation faded into a momentary disappointment when Rafe saw the gold crest emblazoned on the black lacquered door. Not Josie.

“Ash is here,” he said to Thomas. “He must have brought the countess, or he would have ridden rather than come by carriage.”

Hopefully, Josie and Jamie would arrive soon, too.

Knowing Ash would come to them when he could, he and Thomas tended their horses, then washed at the pump at the back of the stable. Rafe was debating whether he should change clothes in case Josie came early, when the earl walked into the stable.

“Hallo, lads. I’ve come to invite you to join the countess and me for an early tea in the conservatory.”

“Cathcart doesn’t allow me in the house,” Rafe told him.

“I’ll convince him to make an exception.” Handshakes all around, then the Scotsman clasped his hands behind his back and regarded the two men before him with a stern expression. “Did your banishment have aught to do with fighting, I’m wondering?”

“More to do with Miss Cathcart. And a bargain I forced her father into.”

“Ah.” The Scot looked from one to the other. “And who won?”

“I did,” Thomas and Rafe said at the same time.

Seeing Hammersmith coming toward them, Ash requested they go make themselves presentable, then turned to the Scottish groom with a jovial smile. Babbling to each other in such thick Scottish accents Rafe could scarcely make out a word, they went out to view the warmblood mares, while Rafe and Thomas went up to the loft to change.

A few minutes later, the three of them headed up the slope. “So what is this bargain you made with Cathcart?” Ash asked.

Rafe explained about the private steeplechase race, and the high-stakes wagers, adding that Pems was making such amazing progress he might actually have a chance of winning. “And whether he does or not, the stallion is mine once he’s finished the run. I already hold a signed postdated Bill of Sale.”

“Clever lad. Is that why you asked for an advance in pay? To bet on the horse?”

“That’s part of it.” Rafe didn’t want to discuss his hopes of bringing Josie and Jamie back with him to America, so he changed the subject. “Do you have need of another wrangler? There’s a groom here who was injured when Cathcart insisted he ride Pembroke before he was ready. He’d like to emigrate with his woman. They’re both good people.”

“Aye. I can always use help. The countess and I are agreed that if we have a son, we might need to spend more time in Scotland, since he’ll be heir to the lands and title. But we dinna want to give up our home in Heartbreak Creek, so we’ll need a dependable man to oversee the house and manage the stable in our absence. If he had a wife, that would be even better.” He glanced at Rafe. “We were hoping you might consider the position.”

Rafe stopped in the path, his mind spinning. “Me?”

Thomas and Ash stopped beside him. “Aye. You could stay in the house. Or if you’d rather something smaller, we could see to it, although houses left vacant dinna hold up over time. I’d pay you well.”

Rafe was stunned. It was too good to be true. A home. A steady position. A place for Josie and Jamie. And he’d be paid to do something he loved.

There had to be a drawback. “What if you have a daughter?”

Ash thought for a moment. “Even if that’s the case and we spend most of our time in Colorado, the countess willna give up her photography. And I canna let her travel about making her tintypes and such without proper protection. So we’ll be needing someone whether we’re in Scotland or off on a photography expedition.” He grinned at Thomas. “I’d ask the savage here, but he would probably cure buffalo hides in the parlor and wander off whenever the mood struck him. In addition, he’s no’ as good with horses as are you.”

“I am good with horses,” the Cheyenne protested.

“Aye, and you’ve probably eaten one or two, I’ll warrant.”

Thomas shrugged. “Winters can be hard in the mountains.”

The Scotsman gave him a look of disgust, then turned back to Rafe. “No need to decide now, lad. But think about it.”

Rafe didn’t have to think about it. His mind was already racing ahead to all the tasks awaiting him. Convincing Josie and Jamie to go with him. Winning enough money to cover passage for all of them, plus Pems and Blaze and the new thoroughbred if Jamie decided to take him, too. Making a real proposal to her.

Something shifted inside him, as if, after all these years and all his struggles, everything was finally falling into place.

This could really happen.

It was astonishing . . . and a bit terrifying.

A wife. A son. A home. His lonely, wandering life over. Forever.

Ash’s hand on his shoulder started him up the path again. “Come along, lads. The countess is waiting in the conservatory. Oh, and a word of caution. Dinna comment on her size. She’s sensitive about her expanding girth, so she is. And she has a special surprise,” he added, grinning at Thomas. “A letter. All the way from Indiana. And addressed only to the heathen.”

Rafe was glad the earl had warned him. His wife had certainly ballooned in the few weeks since they’d last seen her. Still, she looked more beautiful than ever. Looking at her, sitting there with that pleased look on her face, made him conjure in his mind an image of Josie, her body ripe with his child, smiling at him the way the countess was smiling at her Scotsman.