Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (18 page)

“I'll be careful. You get some rest.”

She nodded to Louisa, who was waiting by the door, her knitting in hand, ready to sit with the patient. “I need some fresh air,” she said.

“Where's Hunter?” Addie asked Louisa.

“He has this place where he sits at night to keep watch.” She indicated a place outside the window. “That's why the window's open so wide, so he can get here if I need him.”

Maria nodded, and when Addie started to follow her out, she said, “You see if you can get anything more out of Oscar. I'll talk to Chet.”

Addie shrugged and returned to sit with Louisa and their patient. Maria slipped out through the back door and approached the cluster of shrubs and bushes that offered a hiding place with a good view of Oscar's sick room.

“You shouldn't be here, Maria.” His voice was low and husky and held no surprise.

Now that she was finally within arm's reach of him, she didn't know what to do or say. She'd been thinking about what he said, about him, since he'd left. She'd had a hard time thinking of anything else at times. And now she felt the strong impulse to run to him, throw her arms around him and press her cheek to his chest. She wanted to feel his warmth and his gentleness. She wanted to take all the times she had imagined—sometimes against her better judgment—what it might be like to kiss him and make that a reality. But because he stayed where he was, so did she.

“This is the one place I should be, Chet. I need to find out what's going on.”

“It's between Joker and whoever did this to him.”

“And whoever ordered this done to him. What is it he knows, Chet?”

“Stay out of it, Maria, before somebody else gets hurt.”

“Oscar works for me, Chet. He worked for my father. He has been loyal to our family, and I intend to see that whoever is behind this is stopped.”

Before she knew what was happening, Chet had grabbed her arm and pulled her deep into the bushes with him. With one hand, he covered her mouth, and his lips were close to her ear as he whispered, “Be still. Somebody's comin'.”

She felt his arms tighten around her, felt the beat of his heart against her cheek as he cradled her head against his chest. Without realizing it, she wrapped her arms around him and held on, listening as he was for whoever might be nearby.

“‘Evening, Mr. Johnson.”

She startled as she recognized Roger's voice. She heard his step on the wooden slats of the porch, heard the creak of George Johnson's rocking chair.

“Evenin', Roger. Cigar?”

The scratch of a match, then the scent of tobacco snaked its way around the side of the house to where she and Chet waited.

“I understand Maria's here.”

“Yep. Came over with Addie Wilcox. The two girls plan to stay the night, have a nice long visit with Louisa.”

“Maria's needed back at the ranch. I came to get her.”

Maria's instinct was to run, but Chet tightened his grip.

“Something happen over there, did it?” George asked.

Roger ignored the question. “That Florida cowhand still working for you?”

“Yep. Good man. My guy working out over at Porterfields' place?”

“Fine. Look, George, Hunter might be a good ranch hand, but he's bad news for Maria. It's like he's gotten to her somehow.”

“She came here to see Louisa.”

“Since when have she and your daughter been so close? Amanda and Louisa, sure, but Maria? Now let her know I'm here so we can get back.”

“Afraid you're too late, Turnbull. The girls headed up to bed right after supper. Mrs. Johnson told me not five minutes before you got here that she heard them giggling and whispering together. Do Maria good to have some time like that. She's had a lot on her shoulders since her pa passed. Give her this one night, and she can get back to whatever trouble's brewing first thing tomorrow.”

Both men were silent for a long moment, smoking their cigars. Then Maria heard George add, “Course if you ask me, the trouble is that you've got a burr under your saddle about the drifter and Maria—something you've made up in your head and can't seem to be shed of. A word of advice, son. The more you make of this, the more you push her to the man.” One of the cigars hit the dirt and glowed weakly. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a long day tomorrow, and I'm not as young as I used to be.”

The screen door opened with a scraping sound. “Go home, Turnbull. Stop stirring up trouble where there's none in the pot. Maria will be back tomorrow.”

She felt a strange sort of hope that perhaps Roger's problem was pure jealousy after all and had nothing to do with being involved with the Tiptons or their plot to take over her ranch. She tried to sit up, but Chet held her firm.

“Stay,” he whispered. “He's still there.”

He was right of course. What might Roger do if he realized that instead of being in the house with her friends, she was outside—outside and being held in Chet's strong arms?

The truth was that holding Maria, her face pressed to his chest, the scent of her filling his nostrils until he thought he might pass out from the sheer heaven of it, was not something Chet was anxious to put an end to. But when he saw Roger head down to the bunkhouse, he eased Maria to a sitting position. “Stay here until he's inside and then go back into the house.”

“No. We have to talk.”

She was right. For one thing, he needed to tell her about the dam. He dreaded that, knowing she would see it as one step closer to losing the ranch, but she deserved to know what he'd found out.

“I have to get to the bunkhouse before Turnbull decides to start looking around for me out here.”

“Fine. You go and get him to leave and then come back. I am not going back inside until we talk, even if it takes all night.”

She had to be the most mulish female God ever put on the face of the earth. “We can do this tomorrow.”

“We're doing it tonight. Now go.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He couldn't help smiling as he walked away. But the minute he entered the bunkhouse, his smile faded. “Evenin', Turnbull.” He pulled up a stool and nodded to the dealer to give him cards.

“Where you been, Hunter?”

Chet studied his cards. “That's kind of a personal question, but since you asked, nature called, and I felt inclined to answer that call.” He discarded two cards and saw his fellow players smirk.

“Once the branding is done over at our place and Johnson's cowhand returns, you might as well keep on riding west, Hunter.”

“Well, now, seems to me that'll be up to Miss Maria and Mr. Johnson to decide.”

“If Johnson is fool enough to keep you on, that's his business, but get one thing straight:
I
do the hiring at the Clear Springs, and I ain't interested in hiring you.”

The men around the table played out their hands, none of them so much as glancing Turnbull's way, but all of them well aware of the possibility of a fight.

“Miss Maria hired me, Turnbull, not you. Seems to me that was the day you quit her place and went off to work for Tipton Brothers.” He played a card. “How did that work out?”

“He's back at Porterfields', ain't he?” Dusty muttered and all the men snickered.

Turnbull's neck turned a deep red, and as the color climbed to his cheeks, he turned and left the bunkhouse. A minute later, they heard him ride off into the night. “That cowboy has too high an opinion of himself,” Smiley said. “Somebody's gonna take him down a notch or two one of these days.” He stood up and threw his cards on the table. “That's it for me, gents. Calling it a night.”

To Chet's relief, the others took Smiley's cue and turned in their cards as well. Chet sat on the side of his bunk and pulled off his boots as the other cowboys prepared for bed. He laid down, hoping it wouldn't be long before the others were sleeping and he could slip out and find Maria. He had no doubt that she would still be waiting for him to tell her what he'd been able to learn about Joker's injuries. The woman was just that stubborn.

Sure enough, she was still sitting right where he'd left her, huddled under the bushes, her arms wrapped around her knees. “What kept you?” she demanded.

“Had to wait for Turnbull to leave and the others to turn in for the night.” He held out his hand to her. “You should stand up and stretch. Come on. We'll walk down to the creek.”

She did as he suggested, stumbling a little. He wrapped his arm around her waist to support her, then left it there because it felt right. To his surprise, she didn't push him away. “Maria, you need to back off this thing. Let me handle it.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“In time, Joker will tell me what I need to know. He's just scared right now.”

“And with good reason. Whoever attacked him almost killed him. As it is, Addie isn't sure he'll ever regain full use of that leg. But I don't care. Oscar will always have a job at Clear Springs.”

“You're assuming there will always be a Clear Springs Ranch?”

She pulled free of him and turned to face him. “Now understand this, Chet Hunter: I will not lose that ranch. I will do whatever it takes to make sure we never lose our land—our home.”

He took hold of her shoulders. “I was right about the water flow, Maria. I got onto Tipton land, and they've built a dam. We can check with the fort, but there's no law I know that'd stop them. I don't think there's anything you and the others can do about it.”

She froze. “That's how they plan to ruin us? By driving us to drought?”

“I'm afraid so.”

She'd gone so still that he thought maybe she might collapse. Instead, she turned her face to the sky, and in the moonlight he could see tears brimming in her eyes. “Then I've lost it, haven't I? The ranch. It's only a matter of time.” Her voice was hollow and defeated. She had so much to deal with, and she was magnificent in handling everything from her mother's illness to keeping the ranch going. It was hard to see her give up.

“We'll figure out a way, Maria.”

“I don't see how. If they have the law on their side, then—” She shivered, whether from fear, distress, or the chill of a desert night he couldn't have said, but he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She settled against him, unresisting.

Once again he inhaled the sweet floral scent of her hair, and this time he kissed the top of her head. “Go inside before Addie comes looking for you.”

“I didn't just wait here so I could learn what you know about Oscar. I want you to tell me more about Loralei,” she said softly.

“I've told you, Maria. The boy is not mine.”

“But she believes that he is.”

“No.” He told her what Loralei had told him—about the married man, about the letter coming, about her father's threat to hunt Chet down.

“So she came here to save you?”

He chuckled and pulled her back against him. “Loralei is not that noble. Don't get me wrong. She's not a bad person, but she has a lot of trouble seeing beyond her own needs and wants.”

“She's a terrible mother,” Maria grumbled.

“She's lucky you took her in and that she has Ezma and your mother and Juanita to care for the boy.”

“That baby has been like a tonic for Mama. She's more like her old self every day. She's been getting dressed and coming down to the kitchen for meals, and she is always looking for Ezma and the baby. At least I have Loralei to thank for that, I suppose.”

He took a step back, establishing some distance between them, wanting instead to hold her closer. “So do you believe me when I tell you there was never anything more than friendship between me and Loralei? Do you believe me when I tell you that boy is not mine?”

She placed her palm on his cheek. “I barely know you, Chet Hunter, and yet there is something about you that tells me I can trust you. So what will you do?”

He leaned into her touch, savoring it. “I don't know yet. What I do know is that I seem to be a guy trouble follows, so best keep your distance.”

She ran the backs of her fingers along the line of his jaw. “And what if I don't want to keep my distance?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and he wondered if she even knew she had spoken the words aloud.

“Maria, I plan on kissing you now, so if that's something you'd rather not have happen, you'd best walk away.” He held up his hands so that she was free of his touch. She did not remove her hand from his cheek.

“Fair warning,” he said, taking a step closer.

She snaked her hand around to the back of his neck and raised herself onto her toes. “Thanks for asking,” she said just before she brushed her lips across his.

And suddenly, all bets were off—his past, her ranch, anything else that might reasonably have kept them apart was scattered to the wind like the dust that constantly blew over the land. He pulled her closer. She pushed his hat off as she buried her fingers in his hair. He grasped the knot of her hair and unraveled it, uncaring of hairpins that fell to the ground around them. As he combed his fingers through the waves and curls, he kept on kissing her. Their lips fit like pieces of a puzzle and nothing in Chet's entire life had ever felt so right.

* * *

Maria thought she must be going mad. She had known this man for only a few months and yet instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer. At the same time, she banished all thoughts of anything or anyone else. Roger, Loralei, the baby, the ranch—they lost all importance. The only thing that mattered was Chet—being in his embrace, matching her breath to his, basking in the feel of his mouth pressed to hers, his fingers combing through her hair. Everything about this moment seemed right—destined. It was as if she'd always been waiting for Chet to come into her life.

She felt the tip of his tongue outline her lips, and it seemed the most normal thing in the world to open to him. When she did, he groaned and tightened his hold on her as he deepened the kiss. Following his lead, she responded, and it was as if he was teaching her a new dance. She had never felt so powerful and vulnerable all at the same time, and she prayed the moment would never end.

“Hey,” he finally whispered, his lips trailing kisses along her cheek. “It's late and…”

“Stay,” she pleaded. “Can't we just have this one moment?”

He stroked her face with his calloused palm. “Maria, you don't want this, and I don't want you to have regrets come sunup.”

“I need you,” she whispered.

“You need my help and you have that—you have always had that. We will figure this out together, Maria, but this…” He pointed first to her and then to himself. “This is just crazy and can't come to any good for either one of us.”

“Because you'll leave,” she said, and this time she did step away from him. She began twisting her hair back into its knot and then, realizing she had no pins to hold it, let it fall over one shoulder.

“I might have to leave. But right now, what you need is someone with a clear head who can help you figure this all out. I can't do that if all I can think about is holding you. Besides, down the road, you'll likely think twice about tonight.”

She had been brushing dirt and debris from her clothing, but she stopped and looked up at him. Because it was too dark to see his features, she cupped her hands around his face and ran her thumbs over his mouth and cheeks. “I will think of this night often, Chet, and I will do so with no regrets. I need your help—that's true. And because I know you better than you may think, I know that in time you will decide to do what is best for Loralei and her child—even though they are hardly your responsibility. But not even that can rob me of tonight.” Pulling him closer, she lightly kissed each of his cheeks. “Good night, Chet.”

* * *

Once inside the house, she looked out through the kitchen window and saw that he was still there. He was a good man, this drifter. He was also a man with just as many problems as she had. She smiled as she made her way up the stairs. For the first time since her father's death, she knew for certain that as long as he was with her, she would not face the future alone.

Maria's good mood was short-lived. When she reached Oscar's room, she found Louisa attending a man who had clearly taken a turn for the worse. “What's happened?”

“I don't know. He was sleeping soundly, and then he woke up and asked for some water. The pitcher was empty, so I went down and pumped some in the kitchen. By the time I returned, he was gagging and spiking a fever.”

“I'll go wake Addie.”

“I'll do it; he's asking for you,” Louisa said.

Maria sat on the side of the ranch hand's bed. She took his hand between both of hers. “Just hang on, Oscar,” she said. “Doc Wilcox has some—”

“Listen to me, miss.” He squeezed her hand with surprising force although his voice was like the rasp of a blacksmith's file on a horse's hoof. “It's about your pa. Shoulda told earlier, but I was too scared. T'weren't no accident. That's why they came for me. I heared something, and they knew it.”

Her head reeling from Joker's announcement, Maria leaned in closer. “Who is ‘they,' Oscar? And what about my father?”

Sweat poured off the man's face and neck. His breathing came in rattles and gasps. “Do something,” Maria begged as Addie rushed in, wearing her nightclothes and carrying her stethoscope. Addie placed her fingers against his neck.

Again the clutch of Joker's hand on hers, pulling her closer. “It was T-t-t…” he stuttered.

“Tipton?” Maria guessed. “Turnbull?”

But the man was gone.

Addie, who had clearly heard everything, frowned. “Louisa, tell your pa that Oscar Crutchfield has expired. And, Maria, you need to get back home. If what I just heard Joker say is true, then you and everyone in your family may be in danger.”

Maria looked at Oscar's weathered face. Addie was right. Especially if the name Oscar had been trying to say was Roger's—that was even more reason to get home as quickly as possible.

“Look,” Addie said. “There's nothing more I can do here. I'll head back to town and send the marshal back here to see what he can figure out.”

“But he has no jurisdiction outside of town,” Maria argued. “Maybe if we go to the fort…Colonel Ashwood might…”

“Mr. Johnson will handle that,” Addie said as she pulled Maria to her feet.

“I want Oscar's body brought to Clear Springs,” Maria said. “Any cowhand who dies while working for us is buried in the family plot unless they or their family asks for something else.” She stared at Oscar and smoothed his damp hair away from his forehead. “I don't even know if he had a family. Maybe Bunker…”

The tears came then, tears for this man who had given his sweat and loyalty to her family and tears for her father who—if Oscar was to be believed—had been murdered in cold blood.