Deborah Camp (16 page)

“What have we here?” he said contemptuously. “Ma and Pa working the fields. Ain’t that touching?” His oily gaze slid to Zanna. “This is ranching land, not farming. Fayne’s rolling over in his grave, but what do you care? You got rid of him, got his land, and now you’re ruining it.”

Grandy smiled, knowing that Duncan had just grabbed a tiger by the tail. Ready for a tongue-lashing, old boy? he asked mentally as he turned to Zanna, expecting a tirade. Instead, he confronted her look of terror as she inched backward until she was standing behind him. Her fingertips danced against his back, giving him a tentative signal to take charge. He half turned to examine the stark plea in her eyes, then he sighed and faced Duncan, still astride his nervous palomino.

“If you’ve got a good reason for being here, state it,” Grandy said, summoning up his hatred for Duncan and his kind. “If not, vamoose!” He flicked his hands, shooing away the pest.

Duncan’s body shook with silent laughter. “Big man.”

“That’s right,” Grandy agreed. “If you doubt it, climb off that horse and I’ll prove it.”

“Oh-ho!” Duncan’s thin lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes sought Zanna. “You got yourself a younger one, but he don’t seem too smart to me, Suzanna. Maybe you wanted it that way. If he’s dumb, you can control him. This one won’t give you much trouble so you probably won’t have to kill him.”

Zanna pressed closer to Grandy and her voice drifted over his shoulder, her breath beating a hot tattoo against his back. “I didn’t. You know I didn’t.”

“I don’t know any such thing,” Duncan said, then wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “I know my brother wouldn’t leave all this to the likes of you. That I
do
know, woman. This land is rightfully mine arid I don’t like what you’re doing to it. This is grazing land. It ain’t fit for planting.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Grandy said, irritated with both of them. He reached behind him, gathered both of Zanna’s wrists in one hand, and hauled her out into the open, making her stand beside him. “I don’t know about Zanna, but I’m tired of you riding up every few days and speaking your mind about things that are none of your business.”

“This
is
my business,” Duncan said, lifting his rear from the saddle as if he might spring off the horse and onto Grandy. “But it’s none of yours. She might have married you, but everybody knows it ain’t a real marriage. You’re just a chaperone. Don’t you think I know
everything
about her?” Duncan sneered as he studied Zanna’s pale face. “She likes being a married woman, but she don’t like being a wife. She got just what she wanted in you, a man she can lead around by the nose.”

The palomino’s eyes were rolling and its nostrils quivered. Duncan was still standing in the stirrups so that he had added height from which to look down upon Grandy and Zanna. Grandy assessed the situation in a split-second,
then acted. He flung his arms above his head and ran at the horse.

“Hiya, hi! hi! hi!” he shouted and the palomino reared and whinnied in a surge of fear.

Grandy stepped out of the range of the flashing hooves. Duncan grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and a lock of Pride’s mane with the other to keep himself in the saddle, but he almost toppled when Pride whirled three times in a tight circle.

“You bastard.” Duncan grappled for the reins, which had slipped from his gloves. “I’ll nail your hide to the front door!”

Grandy reached out and slapped Pride’s rump. That’s all it took for the horse to stretch its neck and race with the wind. In moments, Duncan and the horse were only a cloud of dust on the horizon.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He spun around to her. “Done what? You expect me to let him talk like that to me? I told you; he doesn’t scare me.”

“Well, he should.”

“It’s obvious he’s got you running for cover. What’s all this about you killing his brother and stealing the land?”

“Nothing. He’s crazy, that’s all.” She pushed a lock of wayward hair off her forehead and went over to the mules. “Let’s get these animals stabled.”

He started to argue but talked himself out of it. Later, a wise voice advised him. Later when she’s not so defensive. He was beginning to sense her moods and know how to deal with them. The knowledge lent him patience, but the memory of her cowering behind him—just like his ma!—sent a surge of resentment through him. Duncan had called him a chaperone. Is that all I am to her? he wondered. Did she really think she could snatch a man from jail, castrate him with some stupid contract, and turn him into a dam that kept her dry and safe from life’s waves of
turbulent trouble? Well, he thought with derision, the dam had just sprung a leak.

Zanna let her fork clatter onto her empty plate. She rested her hands on her stomach and nodded across the table at Grandy.

“Delicious, as usual. I’m going to get as big as the side of this house eating your meals.” She glanced toward the dark window. “At first I missed eating with the boys, but now …” She let her voice dwindle to a sigh as courage deserted her. It would be foolish to reveal too much of herself to him, she thought, although the desire to do just that was growing steadily … stealthily. Lately, she had a burning need to tell him her innermost feelings, to confide in him, to let him know the secrets she had shared only with Theodore.

She knew why. And it made her uneasy. So uneasy that she fidgeted in the chair and regarded him through the veil of her lowered lashes.

She was attracted to him. Incredible, but true.

Zanna felt herself blush at her clandestine admission even as she admired the fullness of his lips and the thickness of his hair. The scar on his chin showed white against the shadow of whiskers. Lines formed on his forehead as he lifted his brows in a silent question she couldn’t fathom.

“Like what you see?” he asked, then laughed silently when her color deepened. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“
Should
I like you?”

“Should you not?” he countered.

“I can think of one reason why it might be better if I didn’t.”

“Let’s hear it,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he propped an elbow on the table.

“You’re a lawbreaker.”

“Oh, that.” He wrinkled his nose in a chiding expression that made Zanna’s heart skip a beat.

“Isn’t
that
enough?”

“I broke no laws.”

“But you were jailed.”

“And that makes me guilty?”

“A judge found you so.”

“The judge was wrong. He took the words of lawmen over mine.”

“And well he should have.”

“Why? Where is it written that men wearing badges never lie?”

She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, making herself comfortable. “Ever since we met, you’ve insisted that you’re innocent. Tell me your side of the story and let me be the judge.”

“Will you judge impartially—with a free and open mind?”

She furrowed her brow and examined her heart and mind. “Yes,” she said, giving a firm nod. “I promise.”

“Very well.” He fell back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling, stroking his chin with long, blunt-ended fingers. “How did it start … oh, yes.” His hazel eyes dropped to her again. “I had been riding the riverboats for months and I wanted to set foot on land for a spell. I bought me a horse and set off for mining towns, working my way to Texas. I’d heard there were towns and gambling halls springing up at every crossroads in the state, so I figured that was a good place for me. I met trouble in a saloon just this side of Dallas. I think the name was Scotty’s Star, or—”

“Scotty’s Lone Star. I’ve heard of it from some of the boys. They go there from time to time.”

“That’s it. Scotty’s Lone Star. I set up a game and got some quick takers. I played one night and came back the next. Some men were waiting for me. They wanted to join the game, so I dealt them in. Everything was going fast and friendly until I kept winning and they kept losing.”

“And you didn’t cheat?”

“Didn’t have to,” he said, frowning a little. “I told you that. I wasn’t even wearing my ring. I put it in my vest pocket and kept it there.”

“Your ring? I don’t understand.”

“My ring …” He held up one hand to check her response. “Wait. I’ll get it.”

He went into his bedroom and returned holding the ring the sheriff had recovered. Zanna was mildly perturbed when Grandy brought his chair around to her side of the table and sat right next to her. He held the ring out for her inspection.

“See how shiny it is,” he said, letting the flat, silver disk on top reflect the light from the kerosene-powered chandelier suspended above the table. He brought it close to her face. “Look in it and see your reflection.”

Zanna nodded, seeing the blur of her face there.

“Turn it around like this,” Grandy said, twisting the ring on his pinkie until the disk was on the underside of his finger, “and it becomes a little mirror.”

“For what?”

“For reading cards.” He pretended to deal cards, demonstrating how the ring would reflect the face of the cards as he flicked each one to the other players. “Pretty clever, huh?”

“Pretty dishonest is more like it.”

He turned the ring back around and stared at his frowning reflection. “I told you I didn’t use it that night. I won, fair and square, but the lawmen couldn’t take it. They accused me of cheating. I called them damned liars. They called me out. I went. That’s when things went from bad to worse for me.”

“What happened?”

“They ganged up on me. I thought it was going to be a fair fight—man to man, you know—but they all jumped me.”

“All?”

“Four. Four against one. That’s how noble your lawmen are, sweetheart.”

“All lawmen aren’t wicked.”

“And all gamblers aren’t dishonest,” he countered. “Anyway, I jumped on my horse and tried to get away, but they ran me down. They played kick the can with me for a while—I was the can—and tied me up behind a horse.”

“Horrible.” She shuddered, hoping he would end his story there.

“I blacked out finally and when I came to I was being carried into a jail cell. They said I was a horse thief, but the horse was mine. They said I cheated at cards, but they were lying through their teeth. I was sentenced. One man can’t fight three Texas Rangers.”

“Three? I thought there were four.”

“Right. The other one was the sheriff in Dallas.”

“Oh, dear.” Zanna covered her face with her hands for a few moments while her sense of justice rearranged itself. “Who can one trust in this world?”

“No one.”

His answer rang so strongly that Zanna flinched and stared at the hard planes of his face. It amazed her that they had so much in common. Their meeting and association seemed more fated than ever before. She began stacking dishes, trying not to think of herself being somehow connected to Grandy. Thinking of them as partners, thrown together by fate, was dangerous, she told herself. Serendipity had nothing to do with it. She’d carefully considered her situation and had decided to claim a husband, No use putting fanciful imaginings to a cut-and-dried event.

“Zanna …”

“Yes?” He was no longer stern-faced. His glowing eyes sent a quivering apprehension through her. “What is it?”

“Tell me about Duncan Hathaway.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “I don’t want
to talk about him,” she said as calmly as possible. She carried the dishes into the kitchen and prepared a pan of hot water to wash them in. Grandy began to dry the dishes she laid out on a clean white cloth.

“Is he married?”

“Who?”

Grandy sighed with impatience. “Duncan.”

“No. He’s … widowed.”

“Just like you. Recently widowed?”

“No. His wife died years ago. He married when he was barely eighteen and his wife died three years later.”

Grandy picked up a platter and dried it to a glossy shine. He thought of his mother. He used to dry dishes for her, too. Had Duncan’s wife been like his mother? Cowed, quiet, quivering? He looked at Zanna, standing so straight and regal before the basin of dishwater. At times he saw flashes of his mother in her. Like today when Duncan had ridden up and Zanna had hidden behind him. Just like his mother …

“Did Duncan ever hit you?”

Her fingers convulsed on the coffee cup she held in her hands and the pressure was enough to shatter it. China fragments popped into the air and larger shards tinkled into the basin and sliced through the palm of her hand. She felt no pain at first, but the water turned pink and she Cried out in alarm.

“Let me see.” Grandy gripped her wrist and brought her away from the basin toward the sideboard where a lantern burned. He held her hand to the light and examined the cut. He soaked up her blood with the cloth he’d been using to dry the dishes. “Does it hurt?”

“Y-yes.” It was stinging fiercely now and making her stomach churn sickeningly. “I feel faint.”

He grabbed a chair, set it near the sideboard, and pushed her into it. He bent over her again. “I don’t think it’s deep enough for stitches.”

“G-good.” She swallowed a sob and trembled all over.
“Stupid of me. Should b-be more careful.” She curled her fingers as the pain increased. “It won’t stop bl-bleeding!”

“It will.”

Before she knew his intentions, he’d grabbed up the kerosene lamp, removed the stopper, and splashed the contents over her hand. Zanna cried out and jumped up from the chair, flinging her hand to relieve the stinging.

“What are you doing?” she cried, sobbing and jumping about. “That hurts! It burns!”

“It’ll kill any infection and it doesn’t burn. That’s your imagination. Whatever pain you’re feeling has nothing to do with the kerosene.” He made her sit in the chair again, still holding her hand and examining it carefully. “Need to stop that bleeding.” He let go of her and went to the stove. He reached inside, ran a forefinger against its sides, and came back to Zanna. “Let me rub this spot on the wound to cauterize it.”

“To what?” She jerked back. “No!”

“Trust me.” He commandeered her hand again and smoothed the black stuff across her stinging palm. “There. Now I’ll bandage it and you’ll be as good as new.”