Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (18 page)

Yet to watch him, to hear him, one would think that he cared nothing at all for those inconveniences. One would think that he put as much stock as she did in a heifer he'd never before laid eyes on, and that he was as eager as she to witness a four-legged blessing as it came into the world.

"We've got the hindquarters," he called triumphantly.

Bailey breathed another prayer, this one of gratitude mixed with hope.

"Aye, and the head," Mac huffed moments later, his ruddy features creasing in a grin.

There was no need for Mac and the rope after that, since the calf's forelegs followed naturally, sliding into the straw after the rest of its body. Zack untied the hemp, and Bailey scrambled up the stall wall to let Buttercup twist her neck and peer behind her.

"Come on, Buttercup," Mac urged, squatting down to give the beast's rump a helpful shove. "Ye did yerself proud, graduating from heifer to cow today. On yer feet now. Time to greet ye're bairn."

Zack scooped the dazed red and white calf into his arms and deposited it near its mother's nose. The baby heifer flailed feebly, seeking the musty warmth of Buttercup's flank, and Bailey, sitting on the wall, watched anxiously as the cow sniffed her newborn.

"C'mon, Buttercup," she murmured, shifting her buttocks impatiently on her splintered seat. "C'mon, stand up. You can do it."

Zack stepped back to join her, offering his silent support during that crucial, agonizing moment—a moment that seemed to stretch beyond time. If Buttercup was permanently paralyzed, she would have to be destroyed.

Bailey held her breath as Buttercup's great body heaved. The cow's forelegs thrashed, and she rolled onto her belly.

"The hindquarters, girl," Bailey heard herself mutter, vaguely aware she was wringing her hands. "Throw your hips into it."

Slowly, as if the entire world were operating at molasses speed, Bailey watched Buttercup drag her rear knees under her weight. She saw Mac's slow nod; she heard Buttercup's long-drawn-out breaths and the steady, drumlike beating of Zack's heart—or maybe the echo in her ears was her pulse.

Then Buttercup's knees trembled. They held. She hiked her tail and thrust her rump into the air. Her head, neck, and forelegs quickly followed.

Bailey was so happy, she whooped. If she'd had her hat, she would have thrown it into the air. Instead, she threw herself sideways, hugging Zack's neck to thank him, and planted a wet kiss on his lips.

She wasn't sure who was more surprised by that kiss, him or her.

She'd meant to kiss his cheek, but he'd turned so quickly when she'd whooped, perhaps thinking she was falling, that he'd thrown off her aim, and her balance. The next thing she knew, she was toppling off the wall, flailing like a windmill until he caught her in his arms.

She knew a breathless moment, blinking up into his eyes, feeling his heart thumping against her breasts. In a rush of heat that had little to do with the summer night, she felt her skin sizzle and her nerves spark, shooting electrical currents to her toes.

The sensations left her mystified—and more than a little intrigued. Never before had she been able to tolerate more than a perfunctory hug from her daddy, Mac, or any of her suitors. In fact, she had never been able to understand why Caitlin would practically purr with anticipation, relishing the thought of a beau's embrace. As Bailey understood it, hugging led to kissing, kissing to mating, and mating to children. No mystery there.

But with Zack's body pressed close to hers, Bailey at last had an inkling of the comforts a manly embrace might bring. She wished she could explore this newfound pleasure further; she wished, with a pang of guilt, that the
pastores
weren't on their way to the house and that Mac had long since retired to his sleeping quarters. She even dared to wish Zack would kiss her again, as he had at the rodeo, only longer and more leisurely this time, so she could finally learn what she'd missed when she'd run off all her beaux.

Her face warming with embarrassment and an unexpected yearning, she forced herself to make light of their intimacy. "Nice catch, cowboy," she said with brassy brightness, "but you can save yourself the trouble next time if you'd just pucker up."

Zack's face turned as red as the sunset behind him. When he hastily set her on her feet, she hoped he wouldn't notice the trembling in her legs. They felt like melted butter.

Eager to put their relationship back on its safe, familiar footing, she pointed, directing his attention to his patients. "Well, what d'ya know, Zack?"

Buttercup had accepted her calf and was eagerly licking its fur. Bailey turned to Mac—her rock, her confidant—and winked. "Looks like you and Zack are fathers now. Reckon that makes me a mother."

Mac held her gaze for a long, deliberate moment before stooping and gathering up the rope, broomstick, and stool. She was surprised, not to mention discomfited, by his reticence. Usually Mac was as excited about babies as she was, but he'd had a long afternoon, and she supposed he was tired. After all, lambing was never as much work as calving.

"Someone best go tell Jerky he has a new baby to spoil," she said, trying again to dispel the tension, "or we'll never hear the end of it. Reckon I can do that when I wash for chow. You're staying, aren't you, Zack?"

He glanced at Mac, who kept his gaze riveted on his task, and his jaw squared. Fidgeting, Zack looked down his soiled length. "Reckon I'm not too presentable right now—"

She waved away his protest. "You can use Mac's shower bath. It's right around the corner. Seems like the least we can do after all your help is put some vittles in your belly and fit you with new duds." She crossed her arms, sizing him up. "Hmm. Someone on this ranch has gotta have legs as long as yours. I still have a trunk full of Daddy's old clothes...."

"Uh, that's okay," he said quickly. "I have some spare rigging in my saddlebag. Don't ever travel without it, seeing as how I never know when I'll be spending a night or two on the range."

Mac snorted, dunking his hands in a pail of water and lathering his arms with soap. Bailey tossed him an exasperated look. She was beginning to suspect weariness wasn't the only thing messing with her foreman's mood. If he had something to say, why didn't he just say it?

"That's good to know," she said to Zack, reaching for his hat and sailing it to him with practiced skill. His eyes lit appreciatively, and when he caught it, she grinned. "Then you can mosey on over to the big house when you're ready. Deal?"

"Deal."

His smile was fleeting, almost bashful as he set the Stetson on his head and tipped the brim. Turning, he headed into the barnyard, and Bailey stifled an admiring growl when she watched his buttocks, so enticingly taut and round, fade into the pewter blue of the coming night. Too bad she and Zack could never be more than neighbors...

Feeling Mac's gaze on her again, she cleared her throat and closed Buttercup's stall door, stepping briskly to join him at the bucket.

"I feel like celebrating. How 'bout you?" she asked.

"It depends." He plucked a ragged towel from a wall peg and scrubbed his arms dry with such briskness, he left them nearly as red as the hair sprinkled over them. "What are ye celebrating, lass?"

"The birth, of course."

"Ah."

She frowned, shaking the water from her own hands. "I should think another dairy cow is cause for a whoop and a holler at least. You got some reason to be so solemn?"

His smile was dry as he passed her the towel. "Not if ye know what ye're about."

She sighed. God knew, she loved the man, but not his riddles. "You want to shoot from the hip, or are you just going to take potshots at me all night long?"

Some of the old humor flickered in his smoke-colored eyes. "Ye sure ye can take a straight shot, then?"

"Give it your best."

"All right. Bailey, lass, I'm worried about ye. For all yer spit and fire, ye're still green when it comes to sparking."

"What, you mean that wisecrack I made to Zack about puckering up?" She snorted, tossing the towel over the manger with a nonchalance that, she hoped, hid her embarrassment. "Come on, Mac. I was only pulling his leg."

"I know, lass. But I canna say
he
does."

She groaned inwardly. Zack was so serious half the time, may he
hadn't
thought she was teasing. But then, would that be so awful?

The question was a disconcerting one. Unlike Amaryllis, Bailey knew next to nothing about she-stuff and sparking. She could talk cows and ranching all night long with Zack Rawlins if she had to, but when it came to behaving like a lady... well, the very idea made her knees weak. She was bound to say or do something wrong, and then Zack would laugh at her. She couldn't bear for him to ridicule her unschooled femininity. That was why she'd always been so careful to show him her good side—her male side.

"If Zack Rawlins can't take a joke after living with his brother Wes his whole life long," she said testily, "something's wrong with him. Besides, I've always made it clear to Zack I'm courting his friendship, not his acreage. Things haven't been too neighborly between our spreads since Daddy died—well, since Caitlin eloped, truth to tell—and I'd like to see that change. We could use a cattleman on our side. God knows, Hank Rotterdam isn't going to do us any favors."

"Is that what ye want, lass? A favor?"

"You know very well what I want," she fired back, not deceived for a moment by Mac's carefully neutral tone. The man was hell-bent on suspecting the worst of Zack, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand why, other than that Zack was a cattleman, of course. "I want peace of mind. I want an end to these damned range wars. I want to know my livestock have only coyotes, cougars, and wolves to fear."

"What do ye think he wants?"

"The same things, most likely."

Mac didn't look convinced, and she muttered an oath, her good mood rapidly rolling downhill.

"Look, Mac. Among other things, I've got a drought to worry about. And so does Zack. We don't have time for a courtship."

"The lad's got more than droughts on his mind, lass, judging by that kiss he gave ye at the rodeo."

Her face turned chili-pepper hot. She should have known Mac's silence about that incident wouldn't go on forever. It was moments like these when she was sorely tempted to remind him who was the boss and who was the foreman.

"Is that so?" She tossed her head. "Well, I think I did a pretty good job of putting him in his place that day, don't you?"

"Hmm." Mac's diplomacy was belied by the challenge in his eyes. "Ye rattled his horns a bit, that's for certain."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I slugged him to
encourage
him?"

"'Fess up, lass. Ye didn't mind him kissing ye one bit."

"I did too!" she lied, too ashamed to admit otherwise. Mac had feelings, and she didn't want to step on them. After all, when he'd refused to let her sacrifice her virginity to him, she'd led him to believe she desired him sexually. She couldn't very well tell him now that moonshine and hurt pride had been talking for her that night. "I've got my life, and I've got my sheep, and I don't need some cowpoke coming along to muck up either one of them."

"So ye're against cowpokes, eh, not husbands?"

She fidgeted. Why did she suddenly feel like he'd opened an old can of worms?

"Mac, you know very well how I feel about husbands. They have to like sheep. And they have to love me."
And not just like a father loves a daughter either,
she added silently. For the sake of that precious paternal love, though, some things were better left unsaid. Mac had his pride too.

"I'm not marrying any man out of convenience or desperation," she continued firmly. "He's got to be the right match, the perfect mate, someone who belongs on this ranch as much as I do myself. He might not make himself known anytime soon, of course. Heck, he might not come along at all. But I figure there're worse things than being alone through life. I watched Daddy suffer long enough with my mother to know that."

"Bailey, love," Mac said quietly, "I wouldna take loneliness so lightly."

"I'm a sheepherder, Mac. I'm used to being alone."

"That may be, lass. But a man's a creature of comfort. He likes to have a woman by his side."

"I reckon women must be different, then. I don't need a man that way."

Mac's smile was melancholy. "Ye're young yet, lass. Ye've got time to change yer mind."

She shrugged, busying herself with the task of rolling down her sleeves. "I've got all I'll ever need right here, Mac. A mate would just be like an extra helping of cream."

He was silent so long, she glanced up, wondering what he could possibly be thinking. She noticed his eyes had turned a rainy shade of gray.

"Well, then, lass," he said quietly. "I just hope ye recognize this perfect mate of yers before he gets tired of waiting around for ye to need him."

Chapter 8