Never Love a Cowboy (3 page)

She was currently skewing her luscious mouth in such a way that she could blow a constant breeze over those loose strands—an indication that she was holding three of a kind or better.

He loved poker. After his arrival in Texas, he had quickly mastered the game. It contained so many possibilities, and the challenge was to make certain that he barely beat his opponent. He had learned the hard way that a royal flush was never drawn three times in one evening.

He was fortunate the gambling gentlemen of Galveston had only broken his hand and not drowned him in the Gulf waters. He wasn’t certain his father would have seen the irony in his demise. His father had feared his gaming debts would land him in the River Thames and had sent him to Texas as an alternative.

He flexed his fingers, trying to work out the stiffness that occasionally crept in to serve as a reminder of his foolishness.

“Is your hand hurting?” she asked.

“It gets a bit stiff if I don’t move it often. Did you want to kiss it and make it well?”

Her response was a look of disgust designed to send him scurrying to a corner in shame. It never worked.

“I can’t believe you cheated some fellas—and got caught.”

“They did not catch me cheating. They assumed I was dishonest because I was blessed with three royal flushes that evening. I could not convince them it was only luck.”

“You couldn’t convince them because no one is that lucky. You had to be cheating, no two ways about it. Makes me doubt my wisdom in financing this cattle venture.”

“I’d never cheat you, Jessye love.”

“Prove it.” She slapped her cards on the ground. Three queens.

Unfortunately, he could not now reach for the deck and swap his cards without her noticing. “Lady Luck is smiling on me tonight,” he said as he laid down a full house.

She snorted in a very unladylike manner. “I don’t know how you do it, but I know that you cheat every time.”

“Jessye love, I would never cheat you.”

She scoffed. “You’d cheat the devil if you could.”

He gave her a disarming smile. “Now that I would do, but I’d never cheat an angel.”

“I’m no angel.”

He pressed his aching palm over his heart. “I beg to disagree.”

He scraped his meager winnings across the ground. She wouldn’t wager more than two bits per hand, which made accumulating wealth a slow process. “Another hand, Jessye, and I shall attempt to prove I don’t cheat.”

“Nope. You’ve won enough from me tonight.”

He watched as she crouched before the fire and poured coffee into her tin cup. He tried to imagine
the women he’d known in England riding from dawn until well past dusk without complaining once—and the image simply would not take shape in his mind.

He couldn’t see them setting up camp or building a fire by which to cook the hare they had shot and skinned only moments before. But Jessye did it, seeming to relish the independence that her iron stomach gave her.

“If you two could keep your voices low tonight, I’d appreciate it,” Kit said as he spread his blankets over the ground near the supply wagon. “I’d enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

Jessye glanced over at Harry, and he saw the faintest blush creep up her cheeks. He liked the camaraderie that settled between them as the night deepened.

“I’ll take the first watch,” she said as she planted her bottom on the ground and worked her back against the log.

He cursed himself for envying the dirt and rotting wood, but Kit had been right. The clothes she wore did nothing to help a man forget she was female. The absence of petticoats and corsets only made her that much more alluring because so little separated her skin from the open air. With but the flick of a button or two, his palm could meet her flesh. With great effort, he shoved his errant thoughts aside. She did not want his body without his heart, and he had no heart to give.

“I know we’ve done this two nights before, but I haven’t quite figured out exactly what we’re watching for,” he said.

She lifted a narrow shoulder. “Critters. Despera
does. Stampeding cattle.” She cut her gaze over to him. “Once we round up some cows, you’ll need to sing to them to calm them through the night.”

“Sing to them? Surely you jest.”

“Nope. That’s the way it’s done.”

“Kit’s singing is likely to make the animals run off.”

“I heard that,” Kit grumbled, continuing to arrange his blankets. “I’ll have you know that I was a choirboy.”

“That doesn’t mean you can sing,” Harrison pointed out. “It only indicates your mother didn’t want to have to bother with you during the church service.”

“My mother adored me. She would have kept me at her side until I was eighty. More than likely it was Father who didn’t want to be bothered with me.”

He heard the touch of wistfulness in Kit’s voice, so slight as to be as elusive as a shadow. How hard it must have been for him growing up to see someone who looked exactly as he did receive all the Earl of Ravenleigh’s love and attention while he received none. Still, he had known his mother’s adoration.

Harrison had only known his mother’s hate.

“If we’re successful in gathering those cattle we saw late this afternoon, I’ll put you both to the test tomorrow night,” Jessye said sternly, as though sensing the tension in the air.

Harrison had noticed that she spoke harshest when most women would have coddled. From the window of his room at the saloon, he’d watched her hug her father the night before they were to depart—but the next morning when the leaving actually took place,
she’d issued orders to him as though she were a general. She hadn’t hugged him then, even though the old man’s chin had trembled. Harrison had a feeling it was her own chin she had hoped to prevent from quivering.

“So we’ll have cattle here tomorrow night,” Kit said.

“Yep. I don’t want either one of you forgetting my instructions.”

“Instructions?” Harrison snorted. “They sounded like mandates to me.”

“Call them what you want. Just be sure you follow them.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t take a cow that has a brand on it. Surely if the owner were about, it wouldn’t be roaming the wilds,” Kit said.

“I told you before that it’s not practical to build a fence. Ranchers just let their cattle graze on the open range. When it’s time to take them to market, they gather them up and divvy them accordingly.”

“What if the rancher was killed during the war?” Harrison asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“We’ll keep a tally of the brands we see. If we discover that a rancher was killed, we’ll drive the cattle to market for his widow.”

“
What?
”

“We take her cattle to market and bring back her money.”

“What percentage does she get?” Kit asked.

“The whole kit and caboodle.”

“But why?” Kit fairly yelled, clearly incensed at the idea. “She did nothing—”

“Her husband did it all by sacrificing his life for
Texas,” Jessye insisted, a stubborn set to her chin.

Harrison enjoyed watching the passion with which she defended her beliefs. If he could but harness it and unleash it at his will, with his touch…and without involving their hearts.

“It was my understanding that the cattle were free for the taking—” Kit began.

“Not if they’re branded.”

“Yes, even if they are branded, because it’s assumed after this length of time if no one has gathered them, there is no one
to
gather them so we can have them,” Kit ended on a note of finality that would have ended any discussion among gentlemen. Unfortunately, his adversary was an obstinate female.

Jessye shook her head so hard that Harrison was surprised it didn’t fly off. “That’s not the way we’re doing it.”

Kit waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Harry, talk to her.”

“Only a moment ago, you forbid me to talk to her.”

“I asked that you not talk to her until the wee hours of the morning. Right now, I need you to convince her that this isn’t going to be a charitable endeavor. We are not going to adopt the cattle of every widow we run across.”

Harrison shifted his backside on the log and met Jessye’s challenging gaze. “I know you want to save our blackened souls—”

“You’re past saving, Harry.”

“And that, Jessye love, is our point.”

“I am not stealing a dead man’s cattle!”

“But if the man is dead, you can’t steal from him.”

She jumped to her feet. “I can steal from his
widow, steal from his children. I am
not
stealing from his children.”

Harrison slowly rose. “And if he has no widow or children?”

She pressed her mouth into a hard, straight line until her lips disappeared. “Then they might be free for the taking—”

Harrison breathed a sigh of relief.

“—unless he has grandchildren.”

“Good God, woman!” Kit yelled.

Harrison took a step toward her. He knew by the slight jerk of her body that she wanted to move away, but she stood her ground. “Jessye, in order to make the fortune we’ve envisioned, we
must
get the cattle to market before anyone else. That won’t happen if we spend our time hunting down a man’s ancestors.”

“If we take branded cattle, there’s a good chance that they’ll string us up.”

He shot his gaze over to Kit before returning it to Jessye. “String us up?”

“Hang us—as cattle thieves.”

Amused, Harrison shook his head. “Once we explained our mistake to the magistrate—”

“You’ll get no chance to explain anything. This isn’t civilized England. If we are caught with a cow bearing a brand, we’ll be judged as thieves and hanged. Half the time we’re our own law here. I’m not saying I approve of it—but that’s the way it is.”

“Then we shall only take cattle that have no brands—and we’ll let the merry widows take their own herd to market.”

“It just seems to me that if we’re going that way anyway—”

“We have to be the first.”

She tucked her arms beneath her breasts and tapped her booted foot on the ground. “All right. We won’t help any widows, but it seems selfish to me.” She crossed the short expanse, dropped to the ground, and leaned against the log.

Grateful Kit had the good sense not to gloat over their small victory, Harrison sat beside her. He watched Kit settle into his makeshift bed before turning his attention to Jessye. He lowered his voice. “Sometimes, you have to put yourself first.”

“Doing that doesn’t come easy for me.”

“I know.”

She slanted her gaze his way. “Seems to come easy enough for you.”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Only after years of constant practice.”

She released a burst of laughter before covering her mouth and looking toward Kit’s supine figure. “He’s right, you know. You shouldn’t talk to me during my watch. You should sleep.”

“I enjoy talking with you. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known.”

“That sure says it all, doesn’t it?”

“No, actually, it doesn’t say anything.”

She gave him a warning glare. “Don’t start flirting with me, Harry.”

With a sigh, he settled against the hard log and rubbed his beard. He’d considered shaving it. Now he was glad he hadn’t. Few amenities existed in the wilderness they traversed. “How is it that you know so much about cattle?”

She looked at the stars, and he wondered if she was
searching for memories or something to replace them.

“Before the war, I knew a fella who herded cattle. He talked about the things he did. I listened. I used to be good at listening.”

“You still are.”

She sliced her gaze to him, her lips curling into a mockery of a smile that had his chest aching. “Harry—”

“Why do you think every compliment I give you is an attempt to seduce you?”

“Because I’m the only woman out here, and you admitted you’re not a man who likes sleeping alone.”

“Do you enjoy sleeping alone?”

“Yep. I plan to sleep alone until the day I die.”

“What of children?”

She jerked her gaze back to the stars, but not before he saw the pain in her eyes.

“You gotta get married before you can have children. No man in his right mind is gonna tie the knot with me.”

“Why? You’re bright, spunky—”

“Hardheaded, bossy—”

“Curvaceous—”

“Good with a gun—”

“Soft—”

“Better with a knife.”

Harrison chuckled. “Your father has already threatened me with that.”

“He’ll do it, too. So stop your flirting, because it won’t get you anywhere but frustrated.”

“This fellow you knew before the war…what was he like?”

“He was a long drink of water.”

Harrison didn’t like the way she’d said that, as though she were parched and this fellow could quench her thirst when no one else could. Jealousy was not an emotion he’d ever encountered before, but if he were to make a wager with himself, he might speculate that he was experiencing it now. He didn’t much care for the sensation or the thought.

“Were you…involved with him?”

“I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

By not telling him, she’d told him exactly what he’d already surmised. But how involved? Had a kiss evolved into an intimate embrace? Had she gifted this fellow with her innocence?

“Did he break your heart?”

She chuckled. “You English are such a romantic bunch. No, he didn’t break my heart.”

“But you
have
had your heart broken.”

An infinite sadness touched her eyes. “Yeah, Harry, I had my heart broken.”

S
omeone had broken Jessye’s heart. Recognizing
the depth of pain reflected in her eyes, Harrison had wanted to draw her into his embrace and comfort her, but he had no skill at offering solace.

Sometime later during the night, no doubt seeking comfort—or perhaps more—she had come to him. He felt her weight resting on his chest. He hadn’t realized how dainty she was—so much so that he couldn’t feel her along the length of his body. That would change the moment he rolled over and tucked her securely beneath him.

With his eyes closed, he slowly lifted his arm so he could cradle her—

“Harry, don’t move!” Jessye whispered harshly.

“Jess—”

“Don’t move. Don’t talk,” she ordered. “Don’t breathe.”

Strange how her voice seemed to come from some distance away when he knew she lay curled upon him. He opened his eyes and stared into black orbs immersed in death—instead of the green of spring he’d
expected. A forked tongue slithered out of a mouth that had no lips.

“Don’t panic. Kit’s aiming his rifle—”

He heard a rattle that sounded like a thousand wooden chess pieces toppling to the ground. The serpent lifted its head—an explosion ripped through the air.

The head disappeared.

Scrambling to his feet, Harrison shoved off what remained of the vile creature. Breathing heavily, his eyes locked onto the scaly beast that jerked and writhed over the ground before settling into death’s stillness, Harrison backed up until he slammed against a tree.

Jessye grabbed his arm. “You all right?”

He wrenched free of her hold. “Bloody damned hell, no I’m not all right. What in God’s name was that, and what was it doing on me?”

She took his arm again. “A rattlesnake. It’s not unusual for one to crawl on a person while he’s sleeping. I’ve heard tales of men waking up to find the critter coiled on their chests—”

He snapped his gaze to Kit, who still held his rifle. “What if you’d missed?”

“Then I would have shot again. It’s like the Texans say. I can load this rifle on Sunday and shoot all week.”

Harrison pointed his finger at Kit. “You were supposed to be on watch. Why didn’t you shoot it before it crawled on me?”

“Because I don’t keep my gaze fastened on your
sleeping form like you watch Jessye while she sleeps!” Kit shot back.

Jessye’s hold on him slipped away. “You watch me while I sleep?” she asked.

“I keep a close guard on everyone and everything,” Harrison lied. In his mind, as long as Jessye was safe, the camp was safe.

“So do I,” Kit said. “I was walking the perimeter—”

“A lot of good that did.” Harrison took a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from pounding with such ferocity. Rattlesnakes. He’d heard of the poisonous creatures. No one had mentioned they were huge or that they enjoyed using a man’s chest as a bed.

Thank God, his wits were returning along with his better judgment. He reluctantly admitted that he unfairly blamed Kit. Truthfully, he never cast a glance Kit’s way during his own watch. “I didn’t realize you were
that
skilled with a rifle.”

“I saw little point in carrying a weapon I couldn’t use effectively,” Kit said. “Jessye taught me the basics, and the rest came with constant practice.”

Harrison rubbed his sweating palms along his trousers. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Yes, you should.”

He groaned. “I suppose you intend to hold this little episode over my head—”

“Indeed I do,” Kit assured him with a mischievous smile.

“At least we don’t have to hunt for breakfast,” Jessye said.

Harrison watched as she retrieved her knife and
knelt. “Surely you’re not implying that we’re going to eat it.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It’s not half bad. Tastes like chicken.”

“I don’t care what it tastes like. I do not eat serpents.”

“You do if you’re hungry. There’s a lot of things you’ll eat if you’re hungry.”

She began skinning the snake. He shot his gaze toward Kit, grateful to see that his friend looked a bit queasy.

Kit glanced his way. “Would you like to share a can of beans?”

Harrison nodded, disconcerted to discover that he suddenly wished he were in a field picking cotton. None of the cattlemen with whom he’d spoken had ever mentioned the snakes. He wondered what else they’d failed to mention.

Stubborn, obstinate, pigheaded. A litany of other unflattering words ran through Harrison’s head as he shoved his shoulder against the beast’s backside. He stood knee-deep in the mud of a small pond while it sat thigh high in the muck and refused to budge.

He had damn near been gored when the animal had unexpectedly jerked his head in Harrison’s direction. It could easily thrust those long horns straight through a man, and it looked mean enough to try. He didn’t know if he was dealing with a bull or a steer, but he refused to accept that a neutered animal could get the better of him, so as far as he was concerned, the animal was a bull. That status would end shortly after he got it out of the mud.

“He’s not worth the trouble. I say we leave him.”

He glared at Jessye, who dismounted from her horse and stood at the edge of the pond. While Kit was driving the supply wagon to a predetermined destination, Harrison and Jessye were searching for cattle. Thus far, they had only rounded up six. “I am not leaving forty dollars wallowing in the mud.”

The bull released a low bawl.

“He doesn’t want to move,” Jessye said.

“Then we cheat.” Harrison trudged through the sludge, the dank odor rising to suffocate him. It reminded him of the stench of the dungeon, with its mold, dead rotting rats, sweating stone walls, constant dripping, cold—he fought back the images. He refused to succumb to their nightmarish power, and he wasn’t going to let a wayward bull have his way.

His feet bare, he stepped back onto firm ground, stalked to his horse, and loosened the rope from its mooring on the saddle.

“What have you got in mind?” Jessye asked.

On one end of the rope, he created a noose as he walked to her. “I’ve got to figure out a way to get this end around his horns”—he held up the noose—“and you’ll tie the other end to your saddle horn. You’ll climb onto your horse and pull while I push.”

“How are you gonna get that rope around his horns without getting yourself gored?”

“With great care.”

“I wouldn’t do that iffen I was you fellas.”

Harrison jerked around at the unfamiliar voice. A young man sat astride a gray pony. He spit out a stream of tobacco before lifting his hat off his brow
with his thumb. “You’re gonna pull them horns right offa his head. Makes a bloody mess.”

“How would you know?” Harrison asked.

“I was a bogger afore the war—”

“A bogger?”

“Yep. I was the one sent to get the cattle out of the muddy bogs and thickets.” The man slung his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground. His long, slender legs curved out, so he walked as though he still had a horse beneath him. “It was a damn lonely job—”

Staggering to a stop, he jerked his hat off so quickly that Harrison felt the air riffle. He also noticed that the man’s gaze had fallen to the gentle swells of Jessye’s flannel shirt.

“My apologies, ma’am. I thought you was a fella.”

Jessye smiled warmly. “No apologies necessary. I’m Jessye, and this is Harry.”

“Folks call me Magpie. Don’t know why. Reckon it’s on account of my legs bein’ as skinny as a bird’s.” He dropped his hat on his head. “I’ll learn you how to get this here beast outta the mud.”

“Do you know if he belongs to anyone?” Jessye asked.

Deep within his soul, Harrison groaned. He was not exerting all this effort for someone else’s bull.

“I don’t imagine he belongs to anyone. Ain’t a damn, pardon me, ma’am, soul within fifty miles of here.”

Thank God for that
.

The young man approached him and held out his hand. “Iffen I could have your rope.”

“Certainly,” Harrison muttered, handing it over.

The man smiled. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“He’s from England,” Jessye offered, and Harrison gritted his teeth. He wanted the man to finish his business and be off.

“Now ain’t that somethin’,” he said before jerking off his boots and trudging into the mud.

Magpie chattered to the bull as he tied the rope beneath and behind the animal’s shoulders. Harrison decided the man’s mouth, not his legs, had earned him his nickname.

Holding the other end of the rope, Magpie walked to Jessye’s horse with a loose-jointed movement of his hips that made it seem as if hurry was a stranger to the man. He secured the rope around the saddle horn. Bending over, he cupped his hands near the stirrup and motioned toward Jessye. “Ma’am, iffen you’ll just mount up here and guide the horse back, me and your husband there—”

“He’s not my husband,” Jessye told him.

A welcoming grin crept onto the man’s face. “That so?”

Incensed at the camaraderie developing between Jessye and this stranger, Harrison stepped forward. “She is, however, the investor and, therefore, I would take great offense if she was not treated with the utmost respect.”

“Investor? In what?” he asked, his gaze never leaving Jessye.

“Cattle, Mr. Magpie—”

“No mister to it. Just a front name. Ain’t got no back name.”

Jessye smiled warmly. “We’re gathering cattle to take them north.”

“Now if that don’t beat all. I know cows like I know the back of my hand. Here I was wondering what I was gonna do with the rest of my life—”

“Do you think we might attempt to get this beast out before the sun sets?” Harrison asked.

“Yes, sir,” Magpie said.

Jessye slipped her booted foot into Magpie’s cupped palms, and Harrison had to restrain himself from snatching it back. Magpie hoisted her into the saddle, a feat Jessye performed on her own every morning.

The man tipped his hat at Jessye. “You do the pullin’, and we’ll do the pushin’.”

Magpie trudged into the mud as though it weren’t the most disgusting substance in the area. “You comin’?” Magpie asked.

Harrison glanced at Jessye, the challenging glint in her eyes irritating him more than the damned beast’s stubbornness. The slimy mud eased between his toes as he made his way to the back end of the creature.

“Give him a tug!” Magpie ordered just before he leaned his shoulder against the animal’s rump. Harrison did the same. The animal released a bawl, followed by a snort.

The bull lurched forward. Harrison lost his leverage and landed facedown in the muddy bog.

“We got him!” Jessye cried.

“We sure did,” Magpie yelled.

Harrison twisted his head to see Magpie standing beside him, grinning like the village idiot.

“Reckon I forgot to mention that when they get
good and ready to move, they move fast.”

Harrison gave the man a forced grin. “
Reckon
you did, at that.”

While he watched Magpie slinging mud as he made his way toward solid ground, Harrison contemplated various methods of torture that his ancestors had developed, trying to determine which one would offer the best revenge.

Jessye quietly wended her way through the trees and shrubbery to the edge of the river and crouched at its bank. Within the moonlight, she saw Harry scrubbing his body with that fancy-smelling soap of his. Sandalwood, he called it. She couldn’t understand why that scent mingled with the sweat of his labors always made her want to stand closer to him. Maybe because it was so different from the stench of drunks.

His clothes, now free of mud, were draped nearby over some low-hanging branches. The man sure put a lot of stock in the way his clothes looked. Most cowboys put on their clothing at the start of a roundup and took them off when the trail drive ended and they had money with which to purchase a new outfit. But not Harry. His clothes would be worn thin from washing, not wearing.

The water lapped at his hips as he rubbed briskly with the soap, his back to her. She enjoyed watching the light from the moon and stars chase the shadows over his broad shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to touch a man in a long time. Curling her fingers until they bit into her palms, she cursed them for wanting to play the shadow dance over Harry’s back. She imag
ined her lips joining the game. Did Englishmen taste like Texans?

Her tongue circled her lips. She didn’t think kissing Harry would be a hardship, and she contemplated that thought more often than she should. Would his beard tickle or caress? Would his mouth distract her so she wouldn’t notice?

Therein lay one of her fears. If she gave in to a kiss, she might give in to everything—and she was unwilling to pay the price that came with giving everything, especially to a man who thought a woman could separate her heart from her body.

Still, if she was honest with herself, she liked a lot about Harry. Except the beard. He’d been clean-shaven the first time she’d set eyes on him, with his gleaming black hair falling past his collar and those long, thick lashes framing his emerald eyes. His features were strong, as though chiseled by a hand intent on perfection. She remembered everything about him from that first encounter—even the little indentation in his chin that was no longer visible.

Yep, she liked that intriguing dent. She thought it was a shame he’d grown a beard that hid half his face. She needed to find a subtle way to get him to shave it off just so she could take a little additional pleasure in gazing at him. A pity that the few pleasures on a cattle drive made her resort to contemplating the merits of a man’s whiskers.

He’d surprised her today. She hadn’t expected him to work so diligently to get a bull out of the mud when he earned the same money with no effort. Her mind longed to understand him; her heart dreaded the knowledge.

“You still angry?” she called out.

She saw him stiffen, and thought that if she were closer, she might have seen his muscles tighten.

“I am not angry.” He raised an arm and scrubbed viciously at his skin.

“You’ve hardly spoken a word since we got that bull out of the mud.”