RenegadeHeart (21 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Winter settled over the land. The rain, long overdue, came
with a vengeance, flooding the gullies and arroyos, filling the natural granite
tanks in the mountains to overflowing. The toads were treacherous, and people
left their homes only when absolutely necessary. The Slash W lost a hundred
head of cattle in the season’s first big snowstorm.

For the time being, the fighting between the Slash W and the
squatters was over. The settlers migrating westward would not be a problem
again until after spring, and Tyree looked forward to a quiet, peaceful winter.
He spent most of his time sprawled on the couch in the parlor, staring into the
fire that burned night and day in the big stone fireplace, his thoughts
obviously far away.

Annabelle fretted over Tyree’s brooding silence, but he
turned a deaf ear to her tantrums and tirades. He ignored her sultry looks,
shrugged off her eager caresses.

But Annabelle was a hot-blooded woman, one who could not go
long without a man. And when Tyree continued to shun her favors, she salved her
humiliation by taking a young gunman known as Morgan Yarnell under her wing.
But even that failed to provoke a response from Tyree. And after awhile,
Annabelle stopped trying to make Tyree jealous. Whatever was bothering him
would pass. And until then, there was always Yarnell.

Tyree was faintly amused by Annabelle’s behavior, but he had
other things on his mind and when being cooped up in the house got to be more
than he could stand, he saddled the gray and rode out across the vast Slash W
range. Riding became a daily ritual, but no matter in which direction he
started out, he invariably wound up on the outskirts of the Lazy H. He went
there hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel, though he would not admit such a
thing even to himself. Sometimes he caught sight of her in the window of the
Halloran house as she stared out at the blanket of snow that covered the land,
but she never left the protection of the house, and he never rode into the
yard.

Christmas Eve came, and the Slash W ranch house glittered
with shiny decorations and candles. Annabelle bought lavish gifts for everyone
in her employ, hired hands, household servants, the boy who gathered the eggs,
no one was left out. Her gift to Tyree was a new Winchester rifle. It was a
handsome weapon, beautifully wrought, with his name intricately worked into the
smooth rosewood stock.

Tyree gave Annabelle a delicate ruby teardrop on a fine gold
chain.

The new year came amid a raging storm that dropped three
feet of snow in two days. The cowhands worked doubly hard now, loading hay onto
a great flatbed wagon and hauling it out to the range to feed the hungry cattle
that bawled for food. Tyree smiled ruefully as he watched the wagon plough
through the drifts of snow. Buffalo and horses would paw through the snow to
search for food, but not a cow.

And still the elements raged. Snow had to be shoveled from
the roof of the house, pathways had to be shoveled between the buildings. Ice
had to be removed from the water troughs. Cattle died, and their carcasses lay
like fallen statues in the deep snow. The river froze solid. The trees stood
naked and forlorn in the howling wind, their branches sagging beneath a blanket
of white.

Tyree grew increasingly restless. He paced the parlor floor
until Annabelle feared he would wear a rut in the carpet. He grew
quick-tempered and even more sullen until the servants refused to be in the
same room with him, and even the other gunmen began to give him a wide berth.

The first day there was a break in the weather, Tyree threw
a saddle on the gray and rode out across the stark white wilderness. Everyone
on the Slash W was glad to see him go.

Tyree drew in a deep breath as he left the Walsh hacienda
behind. Nothing moved on the face of the land save for the gray stud plodding
laboriously through the deep drifts.

Tyree had gone a good ten miles when fat, lacey snowflakes
began to fall. Just what they needed, he thought glancing skyward. Another
storm. Reining the gray to a halt, Tyree checked his bearings. He was about
halfway between the Slash W and the Lazy H, and for a moment he remained
undecided. Then, clucking to the stud, he urged the animal toward the Halloran
spread, feeling good for the first time in weeks.

John Halloran’s eyes widened when he opened the door and saw
Logan Tyree standing on the porch, hat in hand.

“Something wrong?” the old man asked.

“No. Mind if I come in?”

“I guess not,” Halloran said warily. “You look like you
could use a drink, and a few minutes before the fire.”

“Obliged,” Tyree replied. He shook the snow from his hat
before stepping into the hallway.

“What brings you out on a day like this?” Halloran inquired,
leading the way into the parlor. He poured two drinks, handed one to Tyree.
“Sit,” he invited. “Make yourself at home.”

Taking a place on the sofa, Tyree stretched his long legs
out in front of him. The whiskey was prime, and the fire and the smooth liquor
quickly chased the chill from his bones.

The parlor was a comfortable room, done in rich mahogany and
native stone. A gun rack held several Henry repeaters and an old Sharps buffalo
gun. There was a bearskin rug on the floor, a rack of antlers over the mantle.
It was definitely a man’s room, and Tyree wondered how long Ellen Halloran had
been dead. The only evidence he could find to indicate a woman’s touch was a
vase of dried desert flowers on one of the tables.

“I hear Annabelle lost some stock,” Halloran remarked after
a lengthy silence.

“Yeah, a couple hundred head or so. How about you?”

Halloran made a vague gesture of defeat. “All dead. Somebody
burned my winter hay a while back. The cows that didn’t freeze to death died
hungry.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess we’re broke for sure.” The old man
stared vacantly into the fireplace. “I had to let Candido and the others go. I
guess, come spring, Annabelle will run me out.” There was a thinly veiled look
of accusation in Halloran’s eyes when he glanced at his guest.

“You think I’ll come gunning for you?” Tyree asked flatly.

“I don’t know,” Halloran answered honestly. “I’d like to
think not.”

“But…”

Halloran raised his shoulders, then let them drop. “I keep
remembering Job Walsh. I paid you five hundred dollars and you gunned him down
without a second thought. And now…”

“And now I’m working for Annabelle,” Tyree muttered with a
sigh. “And she can afford to pay more than five hundred dollars.”

“Yeah.”

“Stop worrying, Halloran. If she wants this place, come
spring, she’ll buy you out.”

“Annabelle seems to have a great deal of money,” Rachel said
from the doorway. “And yet, I hear she’s paying you more than just cash for
your services.” There was contempt in her tone and in her eyes as she stepped
into the room.

A muscle worked in Tyree’s jaw. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s all over town. Are you going to deny it?”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Tyree scowled at her as she took a seat in one of the big
brown leather chairs that flanked the fireplace, trying to ignore the way the
blue wool dress she was wearing outlined her figure, and the way the flames
danced in her hair, highlighting the thick golden mass with streaks of red.
Looking at her stirred a familiar ache in his loins.

“Just what are you doing here, Mr. Tyree?” Rachel asked bluntly.

“I came by to see how you and your old man were making out,”
Tyree replied curtly, angered by her rude tone of voice, and by the disdain
shining in her eyes.

“Why?”

“Rachel!”

“Oh, Pa, how can you sit here and talk to him like he’s a
long lost friend? You know he’s only here because Annabelle sent him to spy on
us.”

“Dammit, that’s not true!” Tyree hurled the words at Rachel.
“I came because…” The sentence died unfinished. “I’d better be going.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Halloran chided gruffly. “You can’t ride
in this weather. You’ll freeze before you get out of the yard.”

“Good riddance,” Rachel muttered under her breath, then
flushed guiltily when she realized Tyree had heard her.

“I don’t think I’m welcome here,” Tyree said with a wry
grin. “But thanks for the drink and the fire.”

“I’m still the boss in this house,” Halloran declared,
silencing Rachel with a sharp glance. “And I won’t have you riding out in this
storm. Supper’s about ready. And there’s enough for one more. Isn’t there,
daughter?”

“Yes, Pa,” Rachel answered sullenly.

“Good. It’s settled then. You’ll stay the night, Tyree. And
tomorrow, too, if the weather doesn’t clear.”

When dinner was over they gathered in the parlor again,
around the fireplace. Outside, the wind howled and the elements raged, but
inside it was warm and comfortable, save for the strained atmosphere between
Rachel and Tyree.

John Halloran rambled on about crops and cattle and the
advantages of barn feeding as opposed to pasture feeding until he ran out of
small talk. Lighting his pipe, he stared at the flames, letting his thoughts
wander back to the nights when Ellen had sat beside him, her small hand in his,
her face warm with love as they dreamed and planned for the future. He
remembered how beautiful she had been when she sat with Tommy at her breast,
her face glowing like the Virgin Mary’s.

Feeling a sudden tightness in his throat, Halloran rose
abruptly to his feet and left the room.

“I’ll be saying good night, too,” Rachel said, after her
father left the parlor. “You can sleep in here, on the sofa, if you like. It’ll
be warmer than the spare bedroom.”

“What’s the matter, Rachel?” Tyree challenged. “Afraid to be
alone with me?”

Rachel’s chin went up defiantly. “Afraid? Why should I be
afraid?”

“I don’t know,” Tyree responded softly. “You tell me.”

He was standing in front of her, so close she could smell
the heady male scent of him. She had forgotten how tall he was, how
overwhelmingly masculine. His nearness dwarfed the memory of every other man
she had ever known, making them all seem pale and insignificant by comparison.
A slow fire started in the core of her being, rising hotter and faster with
every moment that passed, and it was all she could do to keep from reaching out
to touch the dark hair brushing against his shirt collar.

Tyree’s eyes danced with amusement and with the sure
knowledge of what Rachel was thinking and feeling. The current between them was
like a live wire, humming with shared longing, and Tyree whispered her name as
he reached out to caress the curve of her cheek.

Rachel stood like one hypnotized as Tyree’s long brown
fingers touched her skin. Slowly, he tilted her face up. Slowly, he bent down
to cover her mouth with his own. Her eyelids flickered down and she swayed
toward him, her arms stealing around his neck, her body molding itself to his.
She had dreamed of being in his arms for so long, so long, and now he was here.

She breathed in the scent of him, let her fingers curl in
his hair. Slowly, her hands dropped to his shoulders, marveling anew at the
strength there before letting her fingers trail down his back, under his shirt
to caress his skin. She heard Tyree groan softly, felt the tangible proof of
his rising desire, and exulted in the knowledge that he wanted her.

It was like a dream, she thought, gazing up into Tyree’s
eyes. The snow falling outside the windows, the fire filling the room with
primitive warmth. It never occurred to her to refuse him. She had waited for
him, wanted him, for far too long to resist now and she remained passive while
he undressed her, felt her cheeks blossom with color as his eyes openly admired
her bare flesh. She watched through eyes dark with passion as Tyree shed his
own clothing, revealing a body of bronze perfection, and then he was stretching
out beside her on the couch. She turned readily in his arms, hungry for his
kiss, sighing with pleasure as he made her his at last.

Rachel woke in her own bed the following morning with no
recollection of how she had gotten there. But she had no trouble recalling what
had happened in the parlor the night before, and her cheeks burned with shame.
How would she ever face Tyree again after her wanton behavior of the night
before?

Oh, but she would do it all again, she mused. It had been
heavenly to be in his arms, to feel his touch, hear his voice. No matter that
he did not love her, no matter if he looked at her in that dreadful, mocking
way, it had been worth it. She was all aflutter as she wondered how to behave
when she went downstairs and then a terrible thought crossed her mind. What if
he had already gone?

Jumping out of bed, she dressed quickly, brushed her hair,
and flew down the stairs, her heart pounding with the need to see him again,
dreading the thought that he might already be gone.

Tyree and her father were sitting in the parlor, talking
about the weather, when Rachel rushed in.

“Mornin’, Rachel,” Tyree said pleasantly, and for once there
was no mockery in his voice or his eyes.

“Something wrong, daughter?” Halloran asked. “You came
running in here like the devil was at your heels.”

“No, Pa. I was afraid… I mean, I overslept. I’ll get
breakfast.”

Cheeks red with embarrassment, Rachel fled to the kitchen.
Glancing out the window, she saw that the world was still swathed in white. A
light rain began to fall while she scrambled eggs and fried up a mess of bacon.

She was grinning as she set the table. The rain would turn
the roads to slush, making travel dangerous, and that meant Tyree would have to
stay another day. The thought filled her with joy and dread at the same time.

Breakfast seemed to last longer than usual. Rachel was
thrilled that Tyree was sitting across from her at the table, that he was
really here at last. She could not keep her eyes from his face, could not keep
her heart from racing each time he looked in her direction. And yet, she felt
uncomfortable when their eyes met. She kept waiting for him to make some veiled
remark about the night before. What did he think of her? She professed to hate
him, and yet she had fallen into his arms without so much as a verbal protest,
her lips eager for his kiss, her body all too ready for his.