Charlene Sands (11 page)

“She really likes being outdoors. Laura hasn’t taken her out much.”

“Well, then, I know just the place. I’ll take her over to the church grounds. We’ll sit in the shady meadow, and after a while I’ll take her back to your house. I’d planned on seeing Laura today anyway.”

“Gosh, Tess, thanks. You’d really be helping me out.”

“Go then, Tom. Don’t worry about Abby.”

Tom bent to kiss his daughter on the forehead. “You be a good girl for your Aunt Tess, now. Bye-bye, sweet cheeks.”

Tess laughed at the adorable nickname as she watched Tom head back to the newspaper office. Then she took off with the baby, glad to be of help to Tom and even happier to get a chance to spend time with Abby.

Clint watched and waited during the entire week, hoping to uncover something about the calamities occurring on the Double H. He’d spent time with the ranch hands, spoken with each of the rotating guards at night, worked with the smithy, helped put a roof on the new supply shed and spent time with Sunset. At least he’d made a bit of progress gaining the stallion’s trust.

Clint leaned up against a tree, watching Sunset, learning about him, discovering little by little his movements, his frustration and his habits. The stallion still had rage in him. He’d prance and pace and snort his fury. Clint couldn’t blame him. The animal wanted his freedom. He wanted off the Double H ranch and to get back to his herd. So many times Clint watched him from afar as Sunset looked at the high corral fence as if wondering if he could make the jump. Could he clear the last rung of the fence? All that separated him from what he wanted most stood over five feet high and rounded the perimeter of the corral.

Clint understood his desire to be free. He’d let him go if he thought the stallion would survive another winter. But his herd ran wild on the mesas of Palo Duro Canyon, where grazing land was sparse and dry, and fresh water in short supply. Herds in that area struggled with disease and starvation. Clint recalled seeing those dying animals as a young boy when he’d venture that far up the mesa with his friends, and the heartbreaking images had stayed with him.

He pushed his hat up his forehead and walked over to the corral, garnering the stallion’s wary attention. “It’s all right, boy,” he called out, making eye contact. “Nothing to be nervous about.”

He opened the gate and let himself in, keeping a vigil on the horse’s movements. He could only push him so far. Clint hadn’t come up against an animal so hard to tame. And he’d tamed some wild ones back in Houston. He’d made a living working with spirited stallions and training them, then selling them to owners who would value their intelligence and worth.

He’d gotten completely out of the cattle business, and that’s where he wanted to stay. Working the Double H had been ingrained in him from early on, and at one time he’d thought it was his birthright to run the Hayworth empire. Clint knew better now. He knew what brought him a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

Last week Sunset charged him when he’d jumped into the corral, and now the stallion tolerated his being inside so long as he stayed by the opposing fence.

Clint stood inside for a few minutes more than he had the day before. Tomorrow he’d stay a bit longer, and then longer again, until Sunset became familiar with his being inside. Each day he’d step a little closer toward him. Each day he’d stay calm and patient, waiting the stallion out.

He timed his stay and then retreated, keeping eye contact with the horse as he exited the corral and latched the gate.

“It’s all right, boy,” he repeated. “You see? Nothing to get nervous about.”

He spoke in the same tone every day, allowing the stallion to recognize the sound of his voice. Gaining his trust.

He figured making a truce with a wild stallion would be easier than making one with Tess.

Though they lived in the same house, Clint had seen very little of Tess since their time by the creek. Clint caught glimpses of her during the day, but she seemed deep in thought and busier than usual. They’d spoken only a few words, all related to ranch business. Neither one had discovered anything more about the calamities at the ranch lately.

But one day midweek Clint had gone into town early in the afternoon with a few of the ranch hands to pick up supplies. The boys ventured on to the saloon for a drink, but Clint was ill at ease about leaving the ranch for too long. He left town straightaway by himself, and on his way out he’d caught sight of Tess sitting on a soft patch of grass at the church, cradling a baby in her arms.

He’d figured it was Laura’s child. But by all accounts, the baby could have been Tess’s, from the way she held that child to her chest, peering down with love and swaying her body to rock the child to sleep.

The scene she made with that baby loosened something in his heart. Initially it didn’t look right seeing that child in her arms, but as he’d continued to watch her from the cover of a tall willow, he’d found it looked more than right on Tess.

It looked perfect.

No, I’m not the motherly kind.

He recalled her admission to him. Had that been a lie?

And what did it matter to him if she did have motherly tendencies?

Yet, he’d left town that day with a feeling in his gut that wouldn’t quit niggling at him.

At night, Clint would walk past her bedroom door, where he pictured her sleeping alone in that big bed. He’d stop and listen, sorely tempted to enter the room and take her into his arms.

There was a connection between them that was created by a contest of wills over the Double H. Yet his desire for her went beyond a need to bed his father’s widow. Though that would be sweet revenge, it didn’t matter to him who she was or when or where they’d met, Clint would want her.

He’d had a taste of her passion.

And now he wanted it all.

L
ater that week Clint couldn’t contain his bad mood. He slammed the front door and strode into the house, catching a glimpse of Tess seated in the parlor, knitting.

Seeing her that way, with head down, concentrating over a pink baby blanket, only irritated him more. He’d been thinking about her all day, and the lusty images he’d pictured in his mind didn’t come close to the tranquil scene before him.

He leaned on the door frame, watching her cross one needle over the other, making stitches. In the past, his mother had sat on that very chair, knitting for her family. His gut churned seeing the redheaded widow do the same. The maternal scene struck him. Tess had no business looking so damn domestic. “Practicing for when you snare your next rich husband?”

She didn’t react to his comment. She kept on creating stitches. “I’m making a blanket for baby Abby.”

Set on her task, there was serenity in her voice, and her expression was one of peace and joy.

The same damn expression that had knocked him to his knees when he saw her in the church meadow, holding the baby in her arms.

For a moment Clint’s foul mood ebbed. He watched her.

“Is there something you want?” she asked, still concentrating on the blanket.

“I had to fire Jeb Sweeny today.”

She stopped knitting and looked up.

“We had us…a little problem.”

Tess set her knitting aside and stood. “What kind of problem?” She approached him, her gaze falling to his mouth. “And why is your lip bleeding?”

Clint touched his sore lip and came away with a drop of blood. Before he could reach for his bandanna, Tess produced a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. She dabbed at his lip with soft-eyed concern. “Are you going to tell me why I see blood on your shirt? Or shall I ask Sonny?”

Clint grabbed the kerchief from her hand. “Nah…don’t ask Sonny.”

She looked at him with curious eyes. “As far as I know, Jeb’s been a good worker. He’s been on the payroll for two years. What happened, Clint?”

“I slammed my fist in his face.”

Tess gasped, but she recovered quickly. “He must have gotten in a shot, too, or you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

Clint frowned. A flowery fragrance filled the room and brought back memories of being with Tess at the creek, breathing in her sweet scent and touching her in ways he wanted to repeat again.

“Lucky shot. After that it was all over.”

“You still haven’t told me why.”

He didn’t want to tell her, but he figured if he didn’t, then she’d find out by Sonny or one of the other men. He couldn’t trust their accounting of the incident.

Clint wondered at the wisdom of what he’d done, but there was no taking it back. He’d do it all over again if he had to. “Let’s just say Jeb had notions that I didn’t agree with.”

Tess looked puzzled. Her brows gathered as she waited for his explanation. When Clint hesitated, she breathed out, “For heaven’s sake, Clint. Just tell me.”

Sonny entered the room. “He was protecting your honor, Tess.”

She hadn’t heard the ranch foreman come into the house. He nodded and looked at Clint. “Jeb got a little outta line and Clint—”

“He got
a lot
outta line,” Clint said, still angry at Jeb’s assumptions.

Tess looked from Clint to Sonny and back. “Protecting my
honor?
”

Sonny rubbed his cheek, frowning. “This ain’t easy to say out loud. But, uh, Jeb—”

“Damn it, Sonny. I’ll tell it.” Clint sent him a long, hard stare and Sonny backed off.

“Okay, then. Tell it, boy. I’ll just go get myself one of Greta’s Berliners.”

Tess folded her arms around her middle and waited. “Clint?”

With Sonny out of the room, Clint figured he’d just lay it on the line. “I overheard him telling the men that if the boss wasn’t bedding you by now, then he wanted a chance at the widow. He mentioned something about courting you, but by then my fist was in his face, so I didn’t hear the rest.”

Tess staggered back. Color drained from her face. She got that look again, the one that he’d only seen in her most unguarded moments, as if recalling bad memories. “Oh…I see.”

“He’s already gone. I watched him pack his gear and ride off the property.”

In that moment Tess seemed to snap out of whatever she’d been thinking. Her color came back and she straightened her spine. “I don’t approve of violence, Clint.”

“He got what was coming.” Clint damn well wasn’t about to apologize or make excuses for what he’d done. As it was, he’d sugarcoated what Jeb had said to spare Tess from hearing the vile words spoken.

“Did you break his nose?”

“Maybe. Blood spurted out everywhere.”

Tess took a better inspection of his bloodstained shirt. “Oh, God.” Then she looked at him in earnest. “You’ve spoken worse about me without blinking. I don’t understand why you defended me.”

Clint had asked himself that a dozen times before he’d come inside the house to tell her about firing Jeb. Something just snapped inside him when he heard the ranch hand talking about Tess that way. Clint had reacted out of anger and jealousy and that’s what irritated him the most. Knowing he’d have to admit the truth to her added to his bad mood.

He’d lost a good worker today. Jeb would be hard to replace, but Clint had wanted him off Double H land as quickly as possible.

“Wasn’t so much defending you as teaching the boys about respecting their boss and the Double H.”

Tess put her lips together nearly in a smile. “So you fired him for the
ranch’s
sake?”

Was she mocking him? He set his face in a scowl. “Damn waste of a clean shirt.”

Tess eyed his bloody shirt again, then looked up to meet his gaze directly. “When are you going to see the truth, Clint? You care about this ranch. And maybe you care about me…just a little.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Firing Jeb had nothing to do with you.”

She cast him a knowing look. “It was about
respect?
”

He set his stance firm. “I said it was.”

“Still doesn’t make sense. Why would you care about the crew respecting me or the
ranch
when it’s clear that you don’t?”

Clint didn’t have an answer. He’d reacted from instinct. He didn’t like the notion of Jeb Sweeny anywhere near Tess. The last thing he’d allow to happen was for Tess to take a lover.

Unless it was him.

Tess sat and picked up her knitting, pretty much dismissing him.

He spun around and strode out of the room, Tess’s final comment before he walked out the door ringing in his ears.

“There’s hope for you yet, Clint Hayworth.”

It was like the quiet before the storm. Tess didn’t trust
calm.
She had too many memories of her childhood, when all seemed almost normal in the Metcalf home, then out of nowhere her father would erupt into a rage. Her brother Rusty would take the brunt of his tirade, while a younger Theresa would retreat to the corner, trying to hide, to crawl into herself as she cried her eyes out.

Those feelings never ebbed, and lately she’d been sensing something else coming on. She hadn’t expected the problem with Jeb Sweeny yesterday or Clint’s reaction to him. That had surprised her. But other than Clint’s firing of Jeb, there hadn’t been any incidents on the ranch this week that should give her cause for alarm.

But she felt it.

A certain gnawing unease.

She took a bite of her supper, Greta’s specialty of red cabbage and roasted beef, and listened to her speak about her brother who’d lived in Germany and had settled in the east. Tess appreciated Greta’s slight warming to her. At times it seemed Greta even liked Tess, but she wasn’t an easy woman to impress, and Tess had decided to let things be. They’d come to terms in their own way. Greta wasn’t a woman who befriended easily, but when she did you had a friend for life. Tess wasn’t leaving the ranch, so she’d bide her time and let their relationship develop gradually, over time.

Tess finished her supper and knew better than to help Greta clean up the kitchen. The cook wouldn’t hear of it, and Tess had finally learned to respect her wishes.

Small steps.

She strode down the hallway and past the staircase, ready to pick up her knitting in the parlor, when a hard, pounding knock on the front door startled her. She walked over to the door and opened it. Randy stood on the threshold, his face red, his breathing labored. “Got here as fast as I could.”

The quiet hadn’t lasted. Something was terribly wrong. “What is it?”

“Got this note from Mr. Larson in town. He said to give it to you pronto, Mrs. Hayworth. It’s important.” He handed her the note.

“Thank you, Randy. Why don’t you go into the kitchen? Greta will give you a cold lemonade.”

She was on her way to the parlor to read the note before she’d spoken those last words. Unfolding the paper with hands she willed not to tremble, she read it silently.
Tess, come quick. Meet me in the secret meeting place. I need to see you alone. Tom.

Tess dropped the note on the floor, her mind racing. Her sense of dread had just been answered and, oddly, she wasn’t surprised. But she hadn’t expected the problem to stem from Tom. He would never have summoned her to town this late in the day if he weren’t desperate.

“Randy!” she called out. He was there in an instant, waiting for her instructions. “Saddle up Maple. I need to go into town.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Tess didn’t have time to think any further. She ran upstairs, put on her riding clothes—a split skirt and a cotton blouse—and covered her shoulders with a light wrap.

Without hesitation, she left the house before dusk settled onto the Double H ranch.

Clint watched from a distance, making sure Tess couldn’t see him sitting on his horse, hidden behind tall brush on a ridge. A short time ago he’d come into the house looking for her and found a note on the floor from Tom instead.

Meet me in the secret meeting place. I need to see you alone.

Clint had followed her. Hadn’t been hard. Not as hard as realizing he’d been duped. He’d pegged her deceit right from the beginning. But somewhere along the line he’d begun to think he’d been wrong about her. Somewhere along the line he’d begun to think she wasn’t the hard-hearted, money-grubbing woman he’d convinced himself she was when he’d first arrived at the Double H.

Now he saw the foolishness in that.

Clint ground his teeth watching Tess pace by the stream. And his hands fisted when Tom Larson walked up and seemed relieved to see her.

Tom Larson? He’d married Tess’s best friend, Laura. The woman had just had his child. Clint couldn’t reconcile this in his mind. He’d thought the worst of Tess when she married an elderly, sick man in order to get her hands on his money, but even he hadn’t thought she’d betray her friend.

Tom took Tess in his arms and they embraced.

Clint had seen enough.

He rode toward town, tamping down rage that would have him confronting her. She’d been caught, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind now that Tess was behind the accidents at the ranch. He’d almost believed in her innocence. He’d almost given her that much trust, but now it was all clear.

She had an accomplice. That made all things possible.

She wanted Clint off the ranch. She liked her status as the rich, powerful widow of Hoyt Hayworth. Wouldn’t do to have the townsfolk find out she’d taken a lover so soon after Hoyt’s death. He wondered how many times she’d met with Tom secretly. And how they’d thought to deceive him by causing one ruckus after another on the ranch.

Hell, they probably hadn’t planned on his showing up at all after his father died. And when he did, they’d concocted this scheme knowing that Clint didn’t have any fondness for the ranch. Did they believe he’d turn tail and run at the first hint of trouble?

Clint ground his teeth thinking of all those nights he’d stopped by Tess’s bedroom door, picturing her unclothed and sprawled out on the bed. He’d been plagued with images of touching her again, kissing her senseless and driving himself into her body until both were exhausted and completely sated.

Clint rode Midnight hard. He reached the Hayworth Saloon with a bitter taste in his mouth. He dismounted, tethering his horse, aiming to wipe that taste out with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s ninety-proof bourbon.

As he strode toward the bar, Micah Willits slapped him on the back. “Good to see you in town, Clint.”

Clint was in no mood for pleasantries. He nodded to the rancher and continued on. Another man took his hand in a shake. “Mr. Hayworth, let me say how sorry I am for your father’s passing. Mr. Hayworth paid my bills when my little Joanie took sick.”

Clint accepted his thanks with another nod of his head, figuring Hoyt must have had a self-serving reason to help the man, but he kept that notion to himself.

Finally, when he reached the polished dark oak counter, the barkeep greeted him, wiping a shot glass clean. “Howdy, Mr. Hayworth. What can I do for you?”