Widow Woman (35 page)

"Yes, Davis?"

"I mean to marry you, you know that, don't you?"

Her eyes filled, but even more quickly the longing and regret flooded her heart.

"I know I should've waited till after we're married with a lady like you and all, but we are going to marry."

"Davis, you should not marry a woman who...” He rose on an elbow, his eyes slits. “You are a man of property. You should marry a girl, one who can give you babies. I have never been with child, I may not be able. The scars—"

"I don't care for any of that. I want you for my wife."

"Davis, think of a future. Think of having a fam—"

"I don't want any future without you. I can make something of myself with you helping me. Marry me, Alba."

"But—"

"I won't ever love another woman."

Her gentle Davis said it with the certainty of God pronouncing salvation. The salvation of a heart, or perhaps two hearts. And, as she trusted Davis in all other things, she could not doubt him in this.

"I will marry you, Davis."

Nick strode toward the cabin with his temper straining against a tight rein.

He'd been doctoring a steer on the north range, figuring on another two and a half hours of light to work in, when Davis rode up. He'd held off, careful not to spook the steer, until Nick finished. But Davis hadn't been near as careful of Nick's sensibilities, brusquely ordering him to get to the cabin because Alba wanted to talk to him.

When Nick reared back and demanded what she wanted to talk about that wouldn't wait a few hours, Davis stood firm and silent.

Alba wanted to talk to Nick—now—and that clearly was enough for Davis. He'd said he'd take over checking stock, and then waited until Nick mounted and headed for the cabin.

He stalked into the cabin to find Alba waiting, arms folded across her chest. “Sit down, Nick."

Tom between impatience and a swelling fear—she'd seen Rachel and the boy—he snapped, “What do you want?"

"Sit down."

He'd never heard that tone from her. He sat, but he slammed his hat on the table, gaining a perverse satisfaction in the discharge of dust across Alba's clean table.

She sat opposite him. “First, I ask why you have not taken Rachel's horses to her."

"She won't take them from me because of her damned pride and I've got too much work to do to go on a fool's errand."

"You are afraid. Afraid because of what you feel for her."

"That's done with."

"You lie, John Nicholas Dusaq. And you are a fool."

His gentle sister's harsh words brought him up like a yank on a bridle.

He shook his head. “She's got ideas like one of those books she reads. That the trail will run smooth because you want it that way. She wants a fairy tale and I'm not the man to give it to her."

"You talk of her as if she had the dreams of a child. She has had two husbands, and she has borne the burden of this land, she has lost people she loves, and you think she looks for a fairy tale?” Hands on her hips, she fired the question at him. “I have never seen a more clear-eyed woman than Rachel. And you know that of her. You know she sees the need to sell the horses she loves, and does not flinch from it. Do you not know, then, that she sees people as clearly? Do you not know that she sees you as you are?"

Maybe.
Hope edged into his thoughts, a hungry wolf circling an unwary herd. He pushed it back. “She does not see what I came from, or she would know better than to talk of love and marriage."

"She sees what you are. What you came from—what
we
came from—does not matter."

"It matters."

"Only as long as you press the thorn of it always deeper into your skin. Leave it, Nick."

"Can you?” His blunt challenge recalled every bruising blow, every demeaning moment.

"I can try. I am trying."

"Good luck to you, then.” If she wanted to believe in fairy tales after all the years’ lessons, he wouldn't try to dissuade her. He wouldn't encourage her, either. He stood. “I've got work. Tell Davis he'll have to—"

"Davis and I are to be married. I love him."

Her soft statement brought him to a standstill. Slowly he dropped into the chair.

His lips felt dry and stiff. “Alba, after what happened..."

"You think I should fear? You think I should trust no one? Love no one? Have faith in no one, as you do?"

"It's kept me alive,” he said grimly.

"It has kept you alone."

He jerked his gaze from the implacable tenderness in her eyes. “I wish you happiness."

"I know you do. Even if you do not believe. And I know you fear happiness is not possible for me, as you do not believe it possible for yourself. But I know I love him. I know he loves me."

He sidestepped that. “Davis is a good man."

"He is.” Two words, spilling over with something Nick knew most would call love. “He knows what I have come from, Nick. I have shown him the scars, on my body and on my soul. And he has not turned away."

I've never seen a more clear-eyed woman than Rachel.

"I have trusted Davis,” Alba went on, “and I have been given love. Think of that while you ride to see Rachel."

Rising from the chair a second time, he started, “I have no cause to go to the Circle T. I told you, she won't take those horses."

Alba exhaled, then drew in a long, deep breath, as if, after scaling one height, she fortified herself for a second. “Rachel had some money. Her own money, you understand, not Gordon Wood's. Money from the sale of her cattle. She might have used this money to keep her horses. She could not since she gave that money to someone."

Nick's senses focused on his sister the way they would on a rattlesnake. He saw her quick swallow, then the slight raising of her chin before she spoke again.

"She gave that money to me. The money I gave to you to buy the hay. There was no sale of my belongings in Texas. There was only Rachel."

For a moment he let the thunderhead of his anger billow over his senses. He was angry at Rachel, at Wood, at Alba, at Davis, at fate, at his brutal father, at his weakened mother, at the cattle that died, at the land that dared men to tame it, at the bitter winds that proved it would never be totally done. At himself.

The storm swept through him in silence, a lifetime of control holding in check thoughts that raged to be screamed at the skies. Only when the roar in his head tempered itself did a single, raw curse escape him. Alba didn't flinch.

"I said she gave the money to me. That was wrong. She gave it to you."

As if he hadn't felt the slice of that knowledge.

With it nearly full dark, the hoofbeats from so many horses brought everyone outside. Bob was telling the women they should get inside and maybe Joe-Max should get his rifle, when Rachel caught sight of the lead rider. Brujo was so dark his rider seemed to emerge from a shadow, but she knew that straight back, those long legs.

"It's Nick!” Joe-Max shouted. “Bring a lantern."

In the confusion of the next few minutes, Rachel watched numbly as they released a half dozen of her horses into her corral. While the others surrounded Nick with questions and greetings, she found a dark spot along the rail and absorbed the sound and sight of her horses.

"They're yours, Rachel,” he said from beside her. She gave herself another moment before facing Nick. She always seemed to be trying to prepare to face him—that first day at the pond, and every meeting since. Not once had she felt she'd found her balance sufficiently to face him with both feet on the ground, firm and sure of herself.

"They're not.” She gave the horses a final look, then turned, realizing they were the only two still outside. “I sold them."

"I bought them back. They're yours."

"You bought them—they're yours. I won't take cha—"

"It's not charity. You gave Alba that money, damn it! If you'd kept the money you wouldn't have had to sell them in the first place, and I wouldn't have a herd now."

She was silent, then sighed. “I owed you that, Nick."

He stepped closer, and for two hard, heavy heartbeats they looked into each other's eyes. Then he looked beyond her.

"You know, Rachel, that first day you came upon me at the pond, I wanted you. I could feel the heat and the hardness even before I caught sight of you. Like some other sense working."

He narrowed his eyes.

"I've wanted you every day, every night since. A man can't be damned for that. But acting on it ... I shouldn't have bedded you at the shack, shouldn't have given you a child to fend for. I figure I can work off some of that now."

His final words transformed the heat of desire humming through her body to the much safer fire of anger. “By repaying a debt you don't owe?"

"By marrying you."

"I told you—

"Doesn't matter. I intend to marry you,” he said. “Should have done it before I went back to Texas. Damned sure should have done it since Wood died."

"You intend—
Intend!"

"Yes."

"No."

"Rachel, it's for the best.” He reached for her. She jerked free.

"No, I told you last time—"

"Things have changed. You need my help, and I owe you."

"You more than paid any debt. And I won't marry you to save the Circle T or my horses. I won't marry a man who doesn't love me."

"But that's what you did before, wasn't it, Rachel?"

"This is different."

"What's different about it?"

"You.” She raised her head and locked her eyes on his. A force of will made her words come steady. “You're what's different."

"Yeah, I'm different. I have no fine past, and I don't know what future I can offer you and our son. But I'll do my damnedest, Rachel. For you and the boy."

"It's not enough, Nick. Not this time."

She didn't cry, not even as she turned her back on him and walked away.

A weariness soul-deep slowed Rachel's movements as she removed her corset and laid it neatly atop the folded split skirt and bodice. After Nick's departure, the hours until she could retire had seemed endless. Now the night hours stretching ahead of her seemed the same.

A rush of raised voices and agitated footsteps from downstairs froze her with one foot raised and her stocking hooked on her toe. Her balance went as the muffled uproar relocated to the stairs. Hopping, she pulled off the second stocking.

Still holding it, she snatched at her nightdress, intending to pull it on to provide more modesty than the thin fabric of her chemise combination as she headed to the door to investigate.

The door flew open and banged against the log wall behind it.

Shock stifled her startled gasp.

Nick.

He stopped inside the doorway, several strides short of her.

"You get out! Go away!” Shouting, Esther came around the door frame, puffing from exertion between each word, and followed immediately by Myrna and Olive, then more slowly, by Fred, all asking questions that no one answered.

Rachel clutched her nightdress to her chest.

"Nick, what on earth do you think you're do—"

"I've got more to say to you, Rachel."

"I will get Bob Chapman, Joe-Max, all the others. They will bring a gun. Many guns. You get out. Now!” It was the most agitated Rachel had ever heard Esther.

"Now, wait a minute,” blurted Fred. “I don't think shooting Nick's the thing to do here—"

Nick never took his eyes off her. “You'll have to have me shot to get me out before I have my say, Rachel, and you better be sure they don't just wing me."

"Olive, you go. Find your father,” Esther ordered from behind Nick. “Tell him to bring his gun."

For an instant longer, Rachel stared at Nick. His jaw was stubbled with beard, his face lined with fatigue. She hadn't seen that outside earlier this evening. But his eyes were the same. Black eyes polished to a point of steel.

"No.” Finding her voice, she repeated it, still locked in Nick's gaze. “No, don't get Bob. It's all right."

She looked beyond him then, to the worried faces at the doorway. “It's all right, Esther. You all go on downstairs."

Esther met her eyes, a long thoughtful survey.

"It's all right,” Rachel repeated. “Thank you, Esther."

"I will wait in the kitchen.” Esther shooed the others in front of her, drawing the door closed with one final look.

Nick hadn't moved since he'd burst into her room.

"What do you want?” Dignity didn't come easy with her nightdress clutched to her chest, but she fought for it.

"You married Terhune to save your father and Wood to save our son, didn't you?"

She said nothing. Not knowing what to expect from him, she was still unprepared for this.

"Didn't you? You near as said it already, so why not now?"

"Okay, yes."

"But you won't marry me to save your land or your horses?"

Misery welled in her. She shouldn't have to turn away from what she most wanted again. She shouldn't have to turn away from him.

"No."

"Okay, then, will you marry me to save me?"

Her head jerked up. A glint shimmered in the black of his gaze. “What?"

"I need saving, Rachel. Maybe it can't be done. If it can, you're the one to do it.” He hitched one shoulder in frustration. “I don't know the words, not like you. I'm saying—
asking—
will you marry me?"

"Will I marry you?” she repeated.

"Yeah. That's what I'm asking."

"Why?"

"I told you—to save me. If I'm ever going to learn about love, like you told me, I guess I need you to teach me."

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes, though not enough to hide the flicker of anger. She was pushing him and they both knew it. His eyes shifted to the window beyond her. When they came to her once more they'd changed.

"Because I'd like to know I could love you proper, Rachel. The way you deserve."

The forgotten nightdress fell as she took the final three steps into his arms, because he'd come so far on so hard a road.

Lifting her face, she took his kiss, hard and hot and deep, and returned it.

That fast, they were slick-skinned and desperate.