Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (53 page)

"No! I
said
I was sorry. Zack, please! Don't leave me."

Boss broke into a canter.

"Zack!"

His spine grew more rigid at her cry.

"Zack, you're all I have left!"

Thunder rumbled; the wind snatched her words away. All her pleas, all her apologies, were useless.

He was gone.

* * *

The rain pummeled the ground for three days and three nights. Bailey watched it forlornly from the sitting room in Cord Rawlins's home. She'd gone there not so much because of the stench near her homestead, which was undeniable, or the flooding, which had always been more of a problem than any drought on her flat canyon floor.

No, she'd gone there out of loneliness. And the cherished hope that she might see Zack.

He never appeared, though. He never came home. Although none of his kinfolk seemed particularly concerned by his absence—they confided he liked his solitude—Bailey conjured all manner of disasters because he'd ridden off in a hail of lightning and rain.

Besides, he'd been so blisteringly angry. He hadn't been thinking straight, and she clung to that thought, hoping he'd spent the last few days holed up somewhere to ride out the storm and calm down.

On the fourth evening of rain, Bailey's worst fears for Zack's safety were relieved by Seth. Defying the bedtime rules and earning his mother's censure, the nine-year-old grumbled all the way up the stairs that he was going to hide out with his Uncle Zack in the Reedstrom Hotel so he, too, wouldn't be pestered by women.

Rorie and Fancy looked as surprised by Seth's revelation as Bailey had been. But before their womenfolk could question them, Wes and Cord suddenly remembered they had to muck stalls and bolted out the door.

Too relieved by the news of Zack's safety to want to throttle his brothers—at least for the moment—Bailey paced beside the sitting room window, waiting impatiently for the next lull in the downpour. Rorie perched on a rustic cowhide settee, rocking Little Wes and Sarah in the same cradle. Fancy sat in an armchair, reading aloud W. R. Alger's
The Friendship of Women,
until Aunt Lally jumped up with an oath and hurried to the kitchen to rescue her burning pies.

Her reading interrupted, Fancy set the book aside and looked at Bailey. "You've been pacing and muttering most of the night now. You aren't planning what I think you're planning, are you?"

Bailey's chin rose with determination. "I can't let Zack ride out of my life. I have to make him change his mind."

"So you're going to hit him with a club and drag him off to your cave, is that it?"

Bailey winced. "Well... he is my man."

Fancy sighed, shaking her head. "Bailey, Bailey, Bailey. Wooing a man requires tact. Some finesse. Zack's as stubborn as you are. If you start butting heads again, you'll do more harm than good."

"I have to agree," Rorie said. "There are other ways besides arguing to earn the respect you want from your man."

Bailey shifted from foot to foot. "There are?"

Fancy smiled, a mischievous glint lighting her violet eyes. "Oh, most certainly. We are the cleverer sex, after all."

Bailey could heartily agree with that. Postponing her hastily made plan to dash off into the stormy night and beat down Zack's door, she dragged a cane chair into a pool of lamplight and joined the older, wiser women at the far side of the sitting room.

"What kind of ways?" she prompted, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward in rapt attention.

"Well," Fancy said, "there's always the method of listening politely when he speaks, thanking him warmly for his counsel, and then going out and doing exactly what you wanted to do in the first place."

Bailey blinked at this advice. "But isn't that kind of, uh, underhanded?"

"Oh, no—" Fancy hesitated, catching Rorie's eye. "Well, I suppose it can be," she amended. "But only if you're asking for advice you never intend to use. Most men go around giving women advice whether we ask for it or not. That's the problem with them. They mean well, of course. They want to protect us, but they just can't seem to get it through their heads that we each have highly functioning brains that are perfectly capable of making decisions."

Bailey nodded vigorously. Giving unwanted advice was one of Zack's problems, all right.

"What do you do when a man refuses to accept that you've made up your mind?" she asked after a moment of thought. "Or that you can fend for yourself?"

A nostalgic smile curved Rorie's lips. "I remember once when Wes thought he was in the right, when he was in the wrong."

"Just once?" Fancy quipped.

Rorie laughed above her teacup. "You have a point, of course, but we're trying to repair Wes's reputation as the family hothead." She winked.

"You see," she continued, addressing Bailey, "about two years ago, Wes decided to shut himself away from his kin because he thought Cord would never forgive him after a particularly unpleasant argument. Realizing the real problem was nothing more than silly male pride, I wrote to Fancy to get the two brothers back together again. Wes was furious with me." She grinned at Bailey. "But in the end, he realized the action I took was a course he should have taken months earlier.

"Nobody ever wants to admit they're wrong," Rorie continued. "Especially Wes. But even my husband is willing to support my decisions when I make it easy on his pride. I've always held the opinion that blame-casting and grudge-holding take a whole lot more effort than forgiveness. After all, love is the essence of forgiveness. And you love Zack, don't you?"

Bailey nodded, her expression woeful. "Yes, but I've never been very good at forgiveness. I mean, my whole life, I've been angry at my mother. And my father too, in a way." She bit her lip as the old, hurtful memories lanced her chest. "Besides, forgiveness takes time, and I'm not very good at waiting either."

"I used to feel the same way," Fancy confessed, demurely lacing her fingers. "When Cord and I were, er, still on opposite sides of the law, I made a grave mistake, a mistake that nearly cost him Zack and Aunt Lally, along with his ranch. And so, believing Cord would never forgive me, I ran away while he was clearing my name in Nevada." She smiled. "Imagine my surprise when he tracked down my stagecoach and married me on the spot.

"You see, Bailey," she continued quietly, "Cord was the one who taught me about forgiveness. I could have saved myself a lot of heartache if I'd been patient and waited for him to come home so we could straighten out that misunderstanding. Instead, I let fear and pride rule my head.

"Now whenever I get angry with him, I remember how he went the extra mile for me. And I try to find a way to make a compromise we both can live with."

Bailey fidgeted. She
had
tried to compromise with Zack... hadn't she? "But what happens if Cord doesn't want to reach an agreement with you?"

Fancy's lips curved in a smug little smile. "Then I make it worth his while," she drawled, wrapping a black curl around her forefinger.

"How?"

Rorie exchanged an amused look with her sister-in-law. "Let's just say we women have a whole, mmm, arsenal of weapons at our disposal. I've never considered tears to be fair in love and war. But wits are."

"Kisses too," Fancy purred.

Bailey frowned, considering their advice. She could see a degree of logic in substituting kisses for arguments. When Zack kissed her, he distracted her embarrassingly well.

But she didn't want to use sex the way she'd accused him of using it on her. And she didn't want to spend her days thinking up ways to outsmart him. Surely there was some other way to live in peace with the man she loved.

She stared wistfully at the mantel and the daguerreotype of Zack that sat on it, his arms folded and his legs straddled to show off his champion rodeo buckle and spurs.

Maybe being less opinionated and more understanding was the solution, she thought, inspired by the ardent desire to be a better wife to Zack than her mother had been to her father. For love's sake, Bailey supposed she could take the middle ground more often when Zack crossed her. Compromise would be a challenge, of course, but she'd never passed up a chance to meet a challenge.

She just hoped Zack would give her the opportunity to prove she was every inch the woman he needed her to be.

* * *

A loud rap rattled the hotel door. Startled, Zack broke out of his doom-and-gloom reverie long enough to bark, "Go the hell away."

The door swung open.

"Howdy to you too, grumpy-puss. Punch any mutton lately?"

Zack scowled at his younger brother. "What are you doing here? And how did you unlock that—"

Wes grinned, holding up the widdy he'd confiscated from a thief during his Texas Ranger days. Zack muttered an oath, and Cord chuckled, following his kid brother into the room.

"Thought you'd like some of Aunt Lally's pumpkin pie, seeing as how you've been holed up in here for five days, eating nothing but sawdust and cobwebs," Cord drawled, mocking his middle brother's mood. "'Course, it was a long ride from the ranch. There isn't much left."

Wes sighed with gusto and patted his stomach. Cord tossed the crumb-filled pie tin onto the chest of drawers.

"So..." Disregarding the inhospitable look Zack sent him from the bed, Wes lowered himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the footboard. "Miss anyone yet?"

"If I did," Zack retorted, "it wouldn't be you."

Removing his hat, Cord sat on the neatly folded quilt beside Zack. "It stopped raining for a spell. You just might be able to ride home in time for dinner. I hear that old sheepherder, Jerky, makes a mean
cabrito
chili."

Zack's jaw hardened, and he kept his arms and ankles crossed. "No sheepherder cooks in any home of mine."

"Bailey will be right glad to hear that," Wes quipped. "I reckon she's not looking forward to that particular aspect of marriage."

"I told you. There's not going to be any marriage."

"Aw, c'mon, Zack. Get off your high horse. It takes two to make an argument, you know."

Cord cleared his throat. "The womenfolk have been talking to Bailey, Zack. We thought it only fair to warn you."

"Yeah," Wes said. "You'd best come get her before they ruin her for good."

Zack arched an eyebrow. "Talking to her? About what?"

"We're not sure," Wes admitted. "But I did hear something about a woman's arsenal before they caught me red-handed and chased me away from the keyhole. After that, they barred the door and sat up giggling 'til the witching hour." He shook his head. "I sure wouldn't want to be in your boots, pard."

Zack narrowed his eyes. So Fancy and Rorie were helping Bailey plot something, were they?

"Doesn't make a difference to me," he said loftily. "If that girl can't show a little gratitude after I risked my life to save her hide—and twice in one afternoon, mind you—then I figure it's best to cut my losses. Clear out of that relationship before I get dragged in any deeper."

Cord's green gaze pinned him to the headboard. "So what you're trying to tell us is you'd rather be right than happy?"

Zack squirmed. He never did understand why a man couldn't be right
and
be happy. But he had to admit, feuding with Bailey never gave him a good night's sleep. Pride was a cold bedfellow.

"I've tried to make peace with her," he protested sullenly. "I asked her to marry me, to let me into her life, and she slammed the door in my face."

"That's not exactly how we heard it told," Cord said more gently. "Didn't you undermine her orders to those sheep shearers?"

"I was trying to save her from being hurt. She loved those stupid goats. She loved them more than she loved me. To hear her tell it, she loves
everything
more than she loves me."

"I'm sure she was crazy out of her mind when she talked that way," Cord said.

"Wasn't her ranch burning down at the time?" Wes added wryly.

Zack's neck heated. He hated when his brothers were right. They never let him hear the end of it. "So she sent you boys here to browbeat me, is that it?"

"Nope," Cord said. "We figured you've been doing enough of that on your own. I have to admit, though, her story has some merit to it. I helped raise you, and I know there are times when you, uh, can take on the personality of one of your bulls."

Zack scowled at him.

"A cantankerous bull," Wes supplied helpfully.

Zack scowled at him in turn.

"It's easy for y'all to make fun," he grumbled. "Rorie never crossed Wes a day in her life. As for Fancy, she mellowed out considerably after the nuptials."

Cord and Wes blinked at him, their mouths agape. Suddenly they burst out laughing, rocking back on their seats, slapping their knees.

"What's so funny?" Zack demanded.

"You, thinking life with Rorie is all 'Yes, Wes, thank you, Wes, and as you please, Mr. Wes, sir.' "

Cord chuckled, wiping his eyes. "You're lucky Fancy didn't overhear you. You'd be praying for mercy between swallows of crow."

Zack pressed his lips together. "So what's your point?"