Wild Texas Rose (21 page)

Mariah cuddled the half-pint to the cleft between her breasts. “Can't I hold her for just a couple more minutes?”

“Well, all right.”

“What's her name?”

“Haven't named her.” Whit winked at Mariah and said, “I was waiting for you to do that.”

His gently ardent voice caused Mariah's gaze to fly to him. His eyes were unusually soft, and delightful gooseflesh rose on her arms. She adored this sentimental, tender, sweet, hardheaded, obstinate, aggravating, rough-and-tumble man!

“Well, Red, can't you think of an appropriate name?”

“Wonderful,” she murmured, caught up in her musings.

“That's a sorry name for a cat. What happened to Puss or Boots or Beelzebub?”

Mariah held the nearing-four-weeks kitty aloft, and wrinkled her nose. “The first two don't strike me right. Of course, she is black as the devil, but she's a female–and she's going to be sweet, I can tell!–so Beelzebub won't do.” Again cuddling the black ball of fur, she lifted a brow at Whit. “Any more suggestions?”

He combed his fingers through his midnight-black hair. “What about–”

“I've got it! Midnight. Her name is Midnight.”

“Suits her.” He winked. “Can I interest you in a kitten?”

“I can't,” Mariah replied sadly. “Gus would never–Gus! He hasn't been fed or watered since last evening–the chickens or Old Glue, either. I must take my leave.”

“Whoa, now. They're the least of our worries. I'll have someone go over and feed them.”

“Thank you.”

Whit rang the bell to summon a servant. When the serving girl answered his call to fetch a ranch hand, Fancy leapt into the room and, hissing, rescued her babe from Mariah's arms. Tail straight as a dorsal fin, Fancy hurried to the door, Midnight between her teeth.

Mariah, with Whit behind her, followed the two to the butler's pantry where a wooden box lined with flannel was stowed in a corner. Fancy arranged her family around her tummy, then her tongue snaked out to rid Midnight of the odious human smell that contaminated her fur.

Both Mariah and Whit chuckled, and she bent at the knees to tickle Fancy's whiskers. “Meow.” An approving purr rattled the cat's throat.

“Such a sweet kitty.”

Whit laughed. “Never thought I'd hear you say something nice about Fancy! Now wash your hands, you ridiculous cat person.” He motioned toward a pitcher and bowl. “Our food grows cold.”

After they had rinsed their hands, Whit, his palm at the small of her back, led Mariah to the dining room and seated her. He served their plates with the somewhat tepid, yet still delicious, fare.

Taking a sip of red wine, he studied Mariah. “You fit in here at Crosswind.”

Her spirits dropped. Was this a prelude to another offer to be his kept woman? Fearing so, she pointed the conversation on a different tack. “Your home is lovely.”

“Guess it beats a covered wagon.”

“Don't be modest, Whit.” She watched him push his glass aside. “You've a right to be proud,” she said.

“I am proud. I've worked hard for everything I've got.” He rubbed his mouth. “I've had to. 'Course it wasn't always that way. The Reagors used to have money.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“My folks died before the Reagor fortune was lost. My mother passed away when I was wet behind the ears, and my dad took a bullet at Shiloh.” Whit's expression was grim. “By the time General Lee surrendered to the damn yankees at Appomattox Courthouse, we didn't have much money left. I ... well, I didn't do a good job of putting the homeplace back together after I was mustered out.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said earnestly.

“Don't be. I've made up for those losses. Now let's change the subject.”

She admired Whit's will to succeed, and was saddened for his heartache. She now understood more about Whit and his drive for security and the finer things in life.

Fear of failure motivated him, which was such a human trait. She found it endearing. Morever, she realized the sacrifice he had made by agreeing to help her in the range war situation. He was putting his fortune on the line.

She had never loved him as much as at this moment.

Into the silence that stretched between them, she prompted, “Tell me about your ranch.”

He launched into a description of the many acres of what once had been deep grassland. He told her of the dam project and the contrary Longhorns who waited for that water.

Her curiosity about Whit knew no bounds, and Mariah asked, “How long have you owned this ranch?”

“Been ranching the property since ‘68–but flat out own it?–since '75, near as I can recall.”

“I was eight years old in 1868. How young are you?”

He hesitated before answering, “Red, I'm not young. Far from it. I was thirty-seven last autumn.” He leaned to rub his thumb slowly down her index finger. “Reckon I'm too old for you?”

He's afraid our age difference makes a difference, she thought. Actually, he was just right for her. Well, she'd tease him out of his silliness. “Yes, you're too aged, you old goat. You're so decrepit that I–”

“Watch out,” he warned and his rubbing turned to a soft slap. “Or you're gonna get as good as you give.”

“What could you possibly say about me?” she asked with mock hauteur.

“You have funny-looking feet.”

“What's wrong with my feet?”

“They're peculiar. Your toes are too long.” He winked and clicked his tongue. “Us old goats have gotta take what we can get, I suppose.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Well, grin and bear it.”

“I'll do my best.” His booted foot moved up and down her calf, drawing a sigh of pleasure from Mariah. “ 'Cause I aim to please, ma'am.”

“Then how about a kiss?”

He was happy to oblige. A couple of minutes later, he suggested hoarsely, “If I'm going to take you on the tour, we'd better stop this stuff.”

“You'll deny me my dessert?”

“You're gonna have plenty of opportunities for your just desserts, my sweet. But if you're really wanting a sugary morsel of food, there's
one
piece of pecan pie left in the pantry.” His intent blue gaze welded with the brown of hers. “I'll let you have it.”

Recalling the day Whit had defined love for her, she was riveted by hope. “Would the big handsome hunk of cowboy be trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah.” His fingers settled against the fast pulse of her throat. “I love you, Mariah McGuire.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Mariah McGuire.”

The moment she had waited for was here. She couldn't find the words to describe her happiness, but knew she'd never been this happy. Ever.

“I love you, too, Mr. Reagor.”

And he carried her to the master suite to seal their avowals with the passions of true love. Hot, wild, tender, gentle, body-and-soul-satisfying love.

The next afternoon, they were still in bed. Cupping her head, he murmured, “Share my home with me, Mariah. I want us to be together.”

He hadn't said, “Marry me.” Her disappointment was great. She desperately wanted to hear those words. She loved him. He loved her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life at his side. But Whit, she was well aware, wasn't ready to make a lifelong commitment.

“I'm sorry, Whit, but I can't live here. Gus and Fancy are an incompatible pair,” she said, making light of the situation.

“This house is big enough for both of them.”

“I'm pledged to stay in Trick'em, Whit, and I hope you can understand that I ... Oh,
sacrebleu!
Why pussyfoot around? I'll tell you why I don't want to be your kept woman.” She paused to take a breath and to gaze into his unreadable eyes. “If I move into this house, I'll be nothing but another in your long line of women. I won't settle for that. We're going to get to know each other better, Whitman Reagor, and it's not going to be here. You're going to court me, good and proper, the intentions being marriage.”

Nonplussed, he was still as stone.

“Whit, close your mouth before you swallow a fly.” She crossed her arms under her naked breasts. “If my terms aren't acceptable to you, then you'd better speak now or forever hold your tongue.”

“I ... I . . . I . . .”

“Well, Mr. Reagor, are you going to keep your promise of yesterday and show me the rest of this ranch, or not? Remember, though, if you do, I'll take it as an agreement to my terms.”

Chapter Twenty

As afternoon waned, Whit tied Bay Fire to a mesquite tree and gazed across the south range where, thirty feet away, a crew of ten was in the process of building a dam on the Indian spring. Grass still grew here. The beeves left behind when the herd had hit the trail to Dodge were grazing on the best pasture Crosswind offered. Half thinking of the cattle drive, Whit no longer missed the trip to the railhead. Being with Mariah had that effect on him.

He liked the idea of courting Miss Mariah McGuire and of taking his time in the doing. He moved behind her, pulling her back against him to wind his arms under her breasts. “Wanna go to the dance next Saturday night?” he asked, dropping a kiss on the top of her clean hair.

“Depends on who takes me,” she retorted.

“Witch.” He bent to nip her rose-scented neck. “I'm taking you.”

“Oh, I had no idea you meant yourself,” she said with feigned innocence. “I might be free.”

Cuddling her closer to him, he chuckled. “You are truly a witch.”

“And you are truly a devil, Whit Reagor.” She scooted out of his arms, giving him her profile. “And if you don't stop tempting me with all these hugs and kisses, we're going to embarrass ourselves in front of your men.”

“Can't have that.”

“Really.” She looked at the dam. “When will it be finished?”

“A few more days, I'd say.”

“Whit, will one dam be enough for all your cattle?”

“Till the drought breaks, it's the best I can do.”

“Have you considered digging for water?” she asked.

“Nobody in their right mind would go to the bother.”

She rounded on him, “I've considered it.”

“You'd be wasting your time. Rumor has it, you dig for water and get oil, I'm not denying that mucky guck has its purposes for doctoring horses and cattle, but I'd hate to see you tie up good money in something that wouldn't serve your needs.”

She planted a fist on her hip. “Surely you don't put stock in someone else's tales. Maybe water wasn't found on other property, but I might find it ... and you might, too. Look at that Indian spring down there! Its water had to come from somewhere,” Determination was written in each of her features. Dig a well, What's the harm in giving it a go?”

She had a point, but ... A thought came to him. “Wait a minute. Didn't you say you aren't going to farm? What do you need a well for?”

Contemplatively she stared at the ground, then met his eyes. “I have to make a living until my school is under way. Anyway, my market garden will be a success, but I ... I won't be digging a well.”

“Why not?”

“My ... pond still has water. I'm sure there'll be enough for the vegetables.”

He read something in her eyes. He'd bet the ranch she didn't have money to hire diggers. “You know, on second thought, what's the harm in trying for water? We could give it a shot at your place. Soon as those fellows–” He motioned toward the workmen. “When they finish here, why don't I send them over to the farm?”

“Thank you, but no thank you.” Her cheeks flushed. “I can't pay their wages.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

“You're kind to offer, Whit, but I won't have you coddling me.”

He had to indulge her mule-headed pride, “You were right a minute ago. The Mukewater ought to hold till you bring in your garden,” There was truth to his words, and suddenly Whit had an idea. “It'll take weeks for you to turn a profit in your garden. My cows need water. Will you lease me the rights to your pond?”

Again, she took a contemplative glance at the ground.

“I'm not offering charity or coddling,” he said, “This is a business arrangement. You need cash, my herd needs your pond, and we'd be helping each other.”

She extended her hand. “You've got a deal.”

He shook on the arrangement, all the while thinking how soft her hand felt in his rough one.

A wagon piled high with rocks drew up to the dam site, and the workers who were constructing the stock tank left their labors to unload the stones. Several of the men, however, took a moment to gawk at Mariah.

Whit said, “It's time we moved on.”

“But this is interesting.”

“What? Having my men ogling you?”

“For heaven's sake, Whit, you needn't be jealous,”

“I am.” He took her arm. “Let's take a walk.”

They ascended the low hill from which the spring cascaded downward. Making certain Mariah was above his men's easy sight, he led her to a boulder and seated her, hunkering back on his heels at her feet.

His gaze drilled into hers. “You set down some strong terms about the direction you and I are taking. I agreed to your demands. Before we go any further, though, I've got some conditions of my own and I want your undivided attention.”

“I was interested in the dam project, not in the workers. I refuse to be kept on a short lead.”

“That's exactly where I'd keep you if I had my druthers. You know what I went through with my wife; I can't forget what she did. And, yes, you're the one who has to pay for her sins. That's a crooked deal for you, I don't deny, but I am what I am, and she was what she was, and you've got to be better. If you can't handle it, let me know. Now.”

“I can handle it.”

He angled forward, cupping her cheeks with his palms. “I love you, Mariah.” He kissed away the tear that formed in her eye. “I love you with all my heart, and I think you can be trusted, but I'm still jumpy about trust.”

“I know. But I hope, in time, you'll realize you have nothing to be concerned about.”

“I hope so, too, because I love you so much I'd kill for you.”

“Don't say something like that. You scare me.”

“It was just an expression.” He wrapped his arms around her. Her heartbeat thumped against his chest as he said, “I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

“Oh, Whit my dear darling, you haven't a thing to fear. I love you. A thousand times over I love you.”

Would she love him, he wondered, if she knew the truth? He had asked for her unquestioned loyalty, had asked a helluva lot from her, yet what could he give her in return, beyond the offer of marriage she wanted?

Well, Whit was getting closer to the idea of taking her to wife. When they married, though, she was entitled to honesty. Honesty he wasn't able to give. All because of a promise to a now-dead woman.

He strode away from Mariah. Reaching down for a cactus flower, he tossed the orange bloom away. Twenty years ago he had been in love with Jenny, had been obsessed with marrying her. Of course, he'd never had his way with her while they were courting. But when he'd been on the verge of joining Ochiltree's forces, she'd made a carnal promise: “I won't let you go into battle without the memory of me fresh in your mind. The night before you leave, I'm going to give you my most precious gift.”

His youthful excitement had been overshadowed by fear. As a green kid of seventeen, he'd had no experience in the art of lovemaking. Art, hell. He'd been a virgin. And he'd listened to enough man-talk to know a gal needed more than just a tumble in the cotton patch.

In Whit's mind, then and now, he'd never tried to gloss over the truth. He'd done an unpardonable thing. He'd turned to an experienced widow woman. Lilibet Chapman had been a willing teacher. They hadn't loved each other; both had known and accepted that.

Afterward, Jenny had sacrificed her maidenhead, and he'd strutted toward war, never giving Lilibet another thought except in thanks for showing him a woman's sensitive spots. When the Confederate States of America were no more, Whit had returned to Jefferson. Lilibet was married to his cousin, Kelley Reagor, and she had a babe. It hadn't taken much finger-counting on Whit's part to figure out who was the father. He'd confronted Lilibet, and she'd admitted as much. But she had pleaded with him: “Don't ruin things for me with Kelley. If you do, my marriage and my reputation will be in shambles. And you have to think of the child. Will you ruin her life by marking her a bastard? I want your promise, Whitman. Promise me you'll never breathe a word of this. Promise me!”

He'd given Lilibet his vow of silence and had kept it, even though she had been dead for five years now.

To this day, Whit took no pride in his decision. Back then he had wanted Jenny and had taken the easy way out, never realizing how much he would regret his oath of honor, never realizing how much he'd love Gail, nor how much he would regret not being able to face his daughter and say, “I'm proud you're mine.”

Now as he turned to stare at Mariah, he had never regretted his decision more strongly. Would she be able to accept him, knowing he was the father of a daughter only four years younger than she?

“Is something wrong, Whit?” Mariah asked, walking up beside him.

“Yes. I've asked a lot of you, but I wonder what I can give in return. I've done a lot of things in my life I'm not proud of, Mariah.”

“I'm willing to accept you just the way you are.”

“I hope so.”

The sound of hooves and a faint male shout drew Whit's attention. A rider, having topped a north rise, rode ninety to nothing toward the workers. Something had to be wrong.

Five minutes later Whit stood with the dam crew, Mariah at his side, and watched Slim Culpepper jump from his mount.

“Reagor, your trail boss sent a messenger.” The cowpoke drew off his sweat-rimmed hat, wiping his brow, “The herd's in trouble. North of Vernon, just this side of the Red River. The drought's worse up there. The cows are going blind from thirst.”

“Damn,” Whit muttered.

“Sumthin's gotta be done,” said his construction foreman, his sentiment echoed by the rest of the crew.

“I'm on top of it.” He could order Slim to handle the matter, but Whit was edgy, this being the first cattle drive he'd missed. He had to size up the situation, and do his part. Personally. He could provision himself, picking up riders and water wagons, at Crosswind's northernmost line shack. If he rode hard, he could reach the herd in three days. He fired off orders to his men. That left Mariah to be dealt with. He had promised to take care of Taft and the range war business, but those matters would have to wait.

Whit turned to her. “I'm sorry, but you'll have to go it alone for a while.”

“Knowing I have your support is enough for me.”

“Glad to hear it. Now let's get you home.”

“I can make it by myself. I'll be perfectly safe.”

“Safety isn't a matter for discussion. Promise me you won't do
anything
till I get back.”

“But–”

“No ‘buts', Mariah. Just promise me.”

Chewing her lip, she glanced at the ground. Finally, she raised her eyes. “I promise.”

“Thatta girl.” He turned to Culpepper. “Take Miss McGuire home. Keep an eye on her while I'm gone. If she needs anything whatsoever, you make sure she gets it.”

“You bet, boss.”

Whit placed a too-quick kiss on Mariah's cheek. “I'll be back as soon as possible. Give me a rain check on that dance?” At her nod, he murmured, “I'm gonna miss you, Red.”

“Same goes for me. And good luck, cowboy.”

He turned to Bay Fire, hefted himself into the high-cantled saddle, and touched his spurs to the sorrel's flanks. Already Whit was missing Mariah ...

 

 

And a fierce sense of loneliness filled Mariah as she watched Whit ride north. Yet that loneliness was superceded by a stronger emotion. Love.

She turned to her mare but caught sight of Culpepper in the process. This young ranch hand had flirted with her on the morning she'd met her beloved, but after all Whit's jealous talk, he'd left her with this cowboy. Maybe her cowboy was more trusting than he realized.

She sat her mount. “Shall we go, Mr. Culpepper?”

Headed east, she recalled her promise to Whit. It would be difficult, not doing something about Taft. She was filled with zealous determination to bring law and order to the area. What would she do until Whit returned? Of course she had chores to tend, plus a social obligation. She had promised the Lamkins she'd tell them goodbye before they left Coleman County. Why not do it right now?

“Mr. Culpepper–”

“Call me Slim. When you say mister, I think you're calling my pa.”

“We can't have that, can we ... But, Slim, you needn't see me home. I'm going to call on the Lamkin family.”

“The boss told me I'm responsible for you, and that's what I'm gonna be. You wanna make a detour, it's my job to go with you.” He reined in his gelding. “But what do you wanna go messin' around with squatters for?”

“Do you make a habit of putting your nose in other people's business?”

“No, ma'am. Leastways, I try not to.” He paused, then said, “Come on, Miz McGuire. I'll lead the way.”

Silently they rode on. Dusk began to settle an hour later, but Mariah had no problem seeing trouble. A plume of smoke painted the horizon. The faint sounds of gunfire came from the same direction. Someone needed help.

Eschewing sidesaddle and skirts, she gave the mare her head. Topping a hill, Mariah cried “No!” and raced forward.

The roof of the Lamkins' soddy was ablaze! Three riders were circling the dugout, their guns pointed at A.W. Lamkin, who flew backward from a bullet's impact.

“Stay out of it, Miz McGuire!” Slim warned, trying to block her path.