Rachel Donnelly (22 page)

But he was determined to keep his hands off of her, even if he had to grit his teeth all the way home. One thing was certain, it would take more than a finger of whiskey to put him to sleep tonight.

When the Williams’ hacienda came into sight, he reined Diablo in to give Christie a chance to collect herself. In his experience, women set great store in the little adjustments they made to their hair and clothing before a first meeting.

She reined in beside him, appearing frazzled.

No doubt a result of the dapple grey she chose to ride. The mare was a little on the green side, requiring a light touch. He’d warned her, but she insisted she could handle it. He had to admit, she’d done a fine job so far. She and the grey devil had a lot in common — sassy, proud, and full of spunk.

“Why are you smiling?” Christie put a hand under her straw hat. “It’s my hair, isn’t it? I knew I should have braided it.”

He chuckled at her flustered state. He’d been right, even a woman as practical as Christie Wallace fretted over her appearance. “Your hair looks fine.”

“You must be looking forward to seeing them again.”

“I’m looking forward to tucking into a big slice of peach pie.”

She shot him a quick glance. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Ellie loves company, so do the children.”

“Children?” She sounded like she was stalling. “How many are there?”

“Last time I counted there were three, one for every year Ellie and Roscoe have been married.”

Color stained her cheeks. “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

“Good.” He nudged Diablo into motion. No sense in delaying. If Christie was nervous, Ellie would soon put her at ease.

After dismounting in front of the Williams’ veranda there was no time left to consider it.

Ellie hugged him soundly, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. What do you mean, trying to sneak off to Sacramento without paying us a visit?”

Nat smiled back, thinking for the hundredth time how lucky Roscoe was to have found a woman as beautiful and loving as Ellie. She never failed to look happy. Her skin glowed like a fresh peach. “You know I can’t resist a good home cooked meal.”

She held him away from her slender frame, tilting her auburn head of curls to look him up and down. “It’s a good thing you came. You look thinner. I think you’re losing weight.”

Nat gave a snort. “If you had to eat Holt’s cooking, you’d know why.”

Ellie chuckled heartily at the standing joke. “You’d better not let him hear that. It might be the last rabbit you ever eat.”

“I told you to tell Bernice to make something other than rabbit stew.” Roscoe said in dour tones.

“Stop that!” Ellie gave him a playful slap on the arm. “You’re making Nat’s eyes roll back in his head. Bernice has been cooking all day. We’re having a lovely roast of beef and her famous Yorkshire pudding.”

Nat turned toward Christie to make the necessary introductions.

“You don’t know how happy I am to meet you. If Nat hadn’t brought you,” Ellie said with a wink, “I’d have skinned him alive.”

“She can be mean like that,” Nat said to Christie.

“Don’t you believe him!” Ellie laughed. “Come on in!” She hustled them inside to the bright sitting room of the sprawling Spanish style ranch house.

Bernice, their silver haired housekeeper, stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. She took up most of it with Edward, the newest offspring, balanced on her hip. Young George, the eldest, and three year old Catherine, who was the spitting image of her mother, flanked her in their Sunday best.

When Nat held out his arms, Catherine raced right into them. “Uncle Nat! Uncle Nat!”

He lifted her high in the air over his head. “Hello firefly.”

Catherine gave a loud squeal of delight.

“She’s too big to be a firefly,” George said, looking perturbed that his sister was getting all of the attention.

“I expect you’re right.” Nat set her back down on the floor, then reached over to ruffle George’s auburn hair. “You and I will have to think up a better name.”

“She’ll always be a sparker,” Bernice said stoutly, her round features creasing into a smile. “I think that name will suit for many a year to come.”

“What a beautiful home,” Christie observed.

“Thank you,” Ellie’s voice rang full of pride. “I admit to having a fascination for all things Spanish.”

“In other words, as fancy as a wedding cake,” Roscoe said. “Come on Nat, we’ll leave the women to gab in private. That will give Ellie time to crow to Miss Wallace about how she connived me into shipping all this furniture from Mexico City.”

Nat followed Roscoe to his office, leaving Christie in Ellie’s capable hands. Ellie would likely give her a tour of the house, as she was especially proud of it, then sit down to fill her in on the local gossip. Ellie was never shy on words.

But the office was Roscoe’s domain, a place where they talked horses and sipped ten-year-old scotch. Tonight, it would be difficult to keep his mind on the price of horseflesh, knowing only a foot of stucco stood between him and Christie. He kept picturing her by the lake, standing on his diving rock with her wet chemise clinging to every luscious curve.

When George skittered in to announce dinner, Nat rose to his feet like a shot.

As soon as they entered the sitting room, his gaze sought her out. She and Ellie sat on the striped yellow and red sofa conversing like old friends. Catherine lounged in Christie’s arms, her bright head resting against Christie’s shoulder, while one chubby finger twirled an auburn curl.

It was a shame to break up such a pretty domestic picture. But when Bernice announced dinner, everyone rushed to the table, or risked a sharp tongue lashing. There was no worse crime than making her dinner late.

“Well, Mother, are you ready?” Roscoe said. “I could eat the hind end out of a steer.”

“Lucky for you, that’s what we’re having.” Ellie rose to her feet with an impish smile curving her lips.

Roscoe took her by the arm to lead the way to the dining room.

“Come on, firefly.” Nat plucked Catherine from Christie’s lap. “You can sit beside me.”

“I want to sit beside Christie!”

“You can’t have her,” Nat teased. “She’s mine.”

“Is she your wife?”

“She won’t have me,” he whispered against her little pink ear. “Whenever I try to kiss her, she runs away.”

Catherine shook her head with a look of disgust. “Papa catches Mama every time.”

Nat threw back his head and laughed.

Christie came to her feet red faced. “You can sit between us.” She accepted the arm he offered, avoiding his gaze. “Then perhaps he’ll behave.”

The silver and crystal on the table and the sideboard shone so bright in the coral papered room, they needn’t have lit candles. But Nat couldn’t take his eyes off Christie. The lavish ornate atmosphere paled next to the warm glow of her skin.

Roscoe placed a quick kiss on Ellie’s neck as he pushed in her chair. “Now don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Behave yourself!” Ellie admonished. “Everyone needn’t know what a devil you are.”

“A handsome devil, you labeled me this morning when you were scrubbing my back in the tub. By the way, I don’t believe that soap really slipped out of your hand.” He jumped away with chortle of glee when she tried to swat at him.

Christie’s shoulders shook with suppressed laugher as Nat pushed in her chair.

“He’s not really as bad as he seems,” Ellie assured them. But her cheeks appeared flushed as she bowed her head. “George, would you like to show Uncle Nat how well you’ve learned to say grace?”

George folded his chubby hands together in a steeple, then began gravely, “Bless us oh Lord for these thy gifts which we are forced to receive.”

“Which we are about to receive,” Ellie corrected.

“Which we are about to receive,” George remanded. “From thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.”

Catherine chirped in, “We love our bread. We love our butter, but most of all we love each other.”

“Hey! You’re not supposed to say that!” George’s face creased with a frown. “I’m saying grace.”

“Amen,” Roscoe finished, silencing them both. “Dig in.”

Nat looked across the table to see how Christie was holding up under the commotion, but she appeared to be taking it all in her stride. In fact, he’d never seen her look so happy.

• • •

Christie sat wrapped in a spell of enchantment. The children’s chatter, Roscoe and Ellie’s warm candor, good food — gathered up tidily in an elegant, loving atmosphere. It was like a hug from home.

No wonder Nat spent so much time here. The Williams took the place of family — the thing missing most in his life.

“I wonder why she won’t let you kiss her?” Catherine mused to her desert more than anyone else.

“Catherine!” Ellie admonished, though her lips twitched with amusement.

Christie choked loudly on her tea.

“He kisses me all the time,” Catherine declared.

Nat gave her a broad wink. “That’s because you taste better than a peach pie.” He reached behind Catherine to give Christie two firm slaps on the back, supposedly to help her regain her breath. “Miss Wallace, on the other hand, eats so many lemons it makes her sour.”

Christie recovered in time to flash him a healthy glare. Though it was true, she had wandered out to the orchard almost every day to partake of the delicious fruit.

But how on earth did he know that?

Later, as they rode away from the Williams ranch, a brief rush of melancholy swept over Christie. Visiting their busy family had made her pine for her own. Soon her father would receive her letter and her future would change forever. Perhaps it already had. She wasn’t the same young woman who’d come to Nevada two months earlier — the young woman who’d banked her future on a kiss.

How naive that had been. In the end, she’d have only exchanged one arranged marriage for another. When in truth, she didn’t want either. She wanted something more.

Meeting Ellie and Roscoe made her realize that.

Her gaze strayed to Nat, loping a horse-length ahead. He never spoke of his wife. What had she been like? Clearly, a woman who inspired great loyalty to keep him focused on a path of revenge for so long. He could have hired someone else to do the job, but instead he had made it his personal vendetta.

If only Ellie had been able to supply more details.

Somehow it didn’t add up. He said he hadn’t loved his wife. He gave away her expensive gowns as though her belongings meant nothing. In fact, there wasn’t a shred of evidence in his home of his wife’s existence — no portrait, no mementos of any kind. It was odd. It made Christie very curious to know the circumstance of their marriage.

After a half hour at a steady gallop, Nat reined Diablo in. “I thought you could use a breather,” he said as she brought her mare to a halt alongside him.

She wasn’t the least bit tired and opened her mouth to tell him so, then thought better of it. It had been such a lovely evening. She didn’t want to spoil it.

He pointed to a cropping of pines in the distance. “There’s a creek up ahead. We’ll stop there and let the horses have a drink.”

She nodded, pressing her knees against the mare’s flanks.

The mare gave a buck, then shot forward like a sprung garter.

Christie clutched the reins, fighting to keep her seat.

The mare seemed to sense where they were headed, racing straight for the creek.

By the time Christie pulled her to a quivering trot, Christie’s straw hat billowed behind her on its cord. Most of the pins were ripped from her hair. Her hands shook as much as the horse.

When the shock of her ordeal wore off, she began to laugh. “You are a little grey devil,” she said, patting the mare’s sweat soaked neck. “I’d like to take you home, but a wild thing like you wouldn’t be happy trotting once a week in the park.” Christie wasn’t certain how well she’d take to city life again herself after her recent adventures. The constraints of her former life seemed dull compared to this untamed frontier. A part of her missed her family, but another part longed to be free.

Nat came thundering up behind her, the half-moon scar on his chin white against his pale bronze skin. His eyes shot blue sparks. “Are you alright?”

Christie flashed a reassuring smile. “She’s a little skittish, but I’m fine.”

His lips thinned. “I should never have let you talk me into riding her. She’s as green as you are and just as stubborn.”

Christie’s tone stiffened along with her spine. “I had no trouble handling her.”

Nat gave a grunt as he swung down from Diablo’s back. “Like I said — stubborn.”

Christie dismounted, saying airily, “I prefer a spirited mount.”

“I doubt you’d feel that way if you’d been thrown and trampled on.”

“But I wasn’t thrown.”

“I don’t want you riding her while I’m gone.” He took both pair of reins, leading the horses toward the creek.

Thoughts of his leave-taking drained away all desire to argue. She strolled behind him, sending covert glances at his broad back. His jet black hair had grown longer. Soft waves curled against his collar. Her gaze traveled downward to the red shirt tucked neatly into his snug black trousers. An image of him standing naked by the lake sent her heart banging hard against her chest.

Dark clouds hovered to the north, threatening rain.

A roll of distant thunder sent the grey devil’s ears perking upward.

Christie made a grab for her reins.

The mare nickered, prancing sideways.

Nat came toward her, speaking in soothing tones. “Steady, girl.” A moment later, he had her by the bridle. “You’d better ride with me. Can’t trust her to behave in this weather.”

Christie didn’t argue. One wild ride a day was enough for her. She didn’t relish being crushed beneath the grey devil’s hooves.

Her questions melted away, once perched in front of Nat on Diablo’s back. The warmth of his strong arms around her waist and the smell of his wind-freshened hair blocked out every other thought. There was only him and the cool rushing wind. It was difficult to resist the urge to lean back against his hard chest and rest her head on his shoulder.