Pioneer Passion (23 page)

Later, Guy played a friendly game with Willy,
along with Skinhead, the bald man, and another man called Bear, who
did look as mean as any bear he had ever seen. He was winning until
he began to feel the liquor, then he lost most of his money. Not
caring much, he turned his thoughts to the green-eyed beauty he was
searching for. Maybe he could drink himself into a stupor and
forget her. He did both and passed out.

The next morning, somewhere in the back
recesses of his mind he heard a rumble of a wagon. A woman’s voice
shouted something about pies and he opened his blood-shot eyes to
see what all the commotion was about. The flap on the tent was
opened partway and he saw through clouds of cotton, a pair of long,
slim legs unloading the wagon. He groaned rubbing his painful eyes;
he must have been hallucinating for the legs looked familiar. He
squeezed his aching lids shut and drifted back to sleep, regretting
the liquor he had consumed.

The sun was high in the sky when he became
fully awake. His head was no better and he helped himself to black
coffee left on the campfire that had long since gone out. It was
cold and bitter but he drank it. He squinted, scanned the area,
assuming the men were in the mines. His stomach rumbled but he
couldn’t eat anything right now. Spying a half-eaten piece of bread
lying on the ground Guy picked it up, studying it as if it were a
foreign object. His mouth felt like it was storing rocks and he
wondered if he could swallow; he couldn’t and placed the bread in
his pocket. He found a pail of cold water, put his head in the
bucket, and held his breath as long as possible. He came up
gasping, doubled over, and the contents of his stomach made a hasty
exit. But he felt better after relieving his belly of its vile
substance and vowed never to drink again. A promise he made quite
often. When the men came out for a lunch break, Willy winked at
Guy. “I’d offer ya a piece of pie, but I kin see yer a little green
’round the gills.”

A bitter smile moved across his lips seeing
Willy’s toothless grin. Willy had the gall to laugh, but Guy had no
one to blame but himself. “Thanks, but I better get going. Thank
you for your hospitality.” He shook the miner’s hand, getting his
own hand dirty.

“Sorry, I forgits how grimy my hands kin
git,” Willy apologized.

Guy didn’t seem to mind. “Thanks again, and I
think I’ll pay a visit to Big Betsy and buy one of her delicious
pies for myself.” He mounted his horse gingerly and rode out,
wincing from the dull pain in the back of his head which
intensified with each hoof beat.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Willy hollered
after Guy, “but ya better not disturb her until after midnight,
when she starts her bakin’. Gets purty ornery if’n’ she’s woke
before then. Big Betsy starts her bakin’ when most folks go to
sleep; that’s why she’s here so early in the mornin’.”

The memory of the noises that morning flashed
in Guy’s brain. So that was Big Betsy he saw, well, part of her
anyway. He still heard Willy calling, “And say hello to that sissy
lookin’ nephew of hers.” He rode back to Ottawa Bend slowly,
nibbling on the half-eaten bread. He was curious to meet Big Betsy.
Long legs, good cook… long legs… delicious pies, long legs… and a
nephew. What was it Willy said?

Say hello to her sissy lookin’ nephew? Long
legs? Nephew?

“Son of a...!” he cursed.

“Whoa!” Guy brought the horse to an abrupt
halt. “Damn!” He spit out the oath along with the last bit of bread
and kicked his horse into a trot, not caring that his head felt as
if it would fall off. From Willy’s description, Guy found the cabin
and dismounted. The place was still except for a few clucking hens
that flapped their wings in protest of his galloping in. He went to
the back of the cabin and found Butterscotch tied there. “Well,
hello, girl.” He patted her nose. The way the horse eyed him, he
was sure the mare remembered his scent. She nuzzled his chest.
“Glad to see me, old girl? Well, I don’t think you mistress will be
as happy.” He was relieved to know Rusty was safe, but she wasn’t
going to get away with what she put his parents through, not to
mention himself. He remounted, kicked his horse into a trot, and
whistled on his way back to town. He would stop at the barber shop
for a shave and hot bath and would purchase new clothes at the
general store.

Patrick fumbled nervously with his hat after
knocking on Big Betsy‘s door. He was slightly annoyed for being
rousted at this God-forsaken hour and he didn’t like the idea of
arresting a woman for horse theft. Guy had appeared after midnight
with the news that the girl, he was looking for, had stolen one of
Hal’s horses and he wanted her locked up. Patrick, still disturbed
at the thought, had tried to talk Guy out of it, suggesting the
girl could work it off somehow, but Guy was adamant. When the woman
let them in, she asked, “Well, sheriff, to what do I owe the
pleasure?”

He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his
dirty sleeve stalling. Guy nudged him and he tried to clear his
throat. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, ma’am.” He yawned,
and then gulped. The young man grunted, reminding him to proceed
with his duty to uphold the law.

“I’ve come for the person who rides that
golden horse tied up behind the cabin,” Patrick informed her
dryly.

Big Betsy and her helper were up to their
elbows with flour when there was a knock at the door. “Now who can
that be at this hour?” she murmured and wiped her white hands on
her large hips. When the lawman and a stranger stood in the
doorway, she saw Rusty’s face pale and the girl quickly pushed her
hair up into the old hat. In her hurry, red hair hung like silken
thread around her face and the kid had no notion that white dust
was all over her face and hat. In a flash, the door was pushed
fully opened and the lawman stood meekly, staring at them.

“Yep, that’s the kid who stole my father’s
horse!” The cowboy’s voice roared through the cabin and Betsy saw
Rusty’s features become horrified and her green eyes widen to the
size of saucers. The girl looked as she was about to swoon and she
grabbed hold of the work bench. “Guy!?” she croaked.

Betsy put her body in front of the quaking
girl. “What’s the meaning of this?!” She didn’t like the look in
the tall stranger’s eyes and she assumed that this must be the one
Rusty was hiding from. She didn’t know the reason for feeling
protective, but she wasn’t about to let this young’um be hurt by
the cowboy. She had to admit he was a handsome specimen of a man
and eyed him more out of curiosity than fear. Pulling herself to
full height, putting her hands on her hips to show she meant
business, she gave the handsome cowboy a suspicious look.

“Now, what’s this nonsense about horse
stealin’?” she snapped.

Patrick looked at her, then the cowboy.
“Tarnation! I can’t argue with either of you and I don’t like this
one bit!” The lawman inhaled deeply. “Shucks, ma’am, I’m sorry, but
this here fellow claims that your nephew girl, whatever, err, stole
that horse back yonder. I’m afraid I have to believe him since I
know his pappy and the name Strong is well known in these here
parts.”

“I didn’t steal any horse,” Rusty answered in
a small voice and Betsy put her arm around the frightened girl. “Of
course, ya didn’t, honey.” She looked at the accuser dourly,
through slit eyelids.

“Look ma’am, I have to uphold the law and the
law says horse theivin’ is a hangin’ offense.” The words seemed to
have caught in the sheriff’s throat and came out strangled.

Rusty heard and gasped. He wouldn’t, would
he? Finding her own courage, she slipped from the protection of the
woman’s arms and faced Guy. “How dare you say I stole Butterscotch
when you know darn well he was a gift from your father? And,
further more, I intended to….” She was so incensed she wanted to
spit nails, but she was oh, so glad to see him. Her heart was
racing. She wanted to strike him... no, she wanted to kiss him.
Ooooh! She was so confused, it was maddening. But her anger
replaced her fear.

“I know no such thing!” Guy spat out the lie.
“Now, you have a choice, you can hang for horse stealing, or… or
marry me!”

“Pompous ass! I wouldn’t marry you if you
were the....” Her voice snapped like a horsewhip, tearing the
silence. Befuddled, Rusty puffed up her chest and stared at Guy for
a long time. Surely, the damn fool didn’t mean what he had blurted
out without thinking. Her breasts heaved against her shirt and with
her breath caught in the confinements of her chest, she croaked,
“And anyway, I don’t have to because....” She felt fiery heat on
her cheeks and noticed Guy arched his brows; deep creases appeared
in his forehead. How could she tell him that she got her monthly
with people looking on?

“You’re refusing to marry me?” he asked
looking totally confused and maybe, a bit hurt.

Why that fool thinks my refusal is an insult.
Did he think I’ll fall at his feet?

“Excuse us a minute,” Guy snapped, never
giving her a chance to explain.

Rusty was swung over his shoulder while the
two bystanders watched. She heard Big Betsy chuckle then yell, “Go
git him, gal. Ain’t love grand?”

She pounded the broad back, creating a cloud
of white dust with her floured hands. The particles choked her more
than her fists hurt Guy’s back and she had to stop pounding to
catch her breath. She could have pounded and squirmed until
doomsday but believed that he wouldn’t release her. He took her to
a woody area and dropped her on the ground. Thump! She wobbled and
sputtered, trying to get her balance, but she failed and landed
smartly on her backside, spitting out white dust.

When she regained some of her senses, she
stood in front of Guy and spots appeared before her eyes, triggered
by wild rage. Her heart thumping wildly, and she inhaled with a
shudder. How dare he treat her like this? First he didn’t want to
marry her, and then he had the nerve to accuse her of stealing her
own horse. Humph! Some choice. If she didn’t like her own neck so
much, she’d take the hanging. He infuriated her so!

And…she wanted to slap that smirk from his
handsome face. She wanted to pound him to a pulp. She wanted to hug
him and she wanted to feel those hot lips on her body again. She
trembled but she wouldn’t let him know how her heart thumped when
he was so close. Oh, she loved him and wanted to be with him, but
not this way. Not by force.

But…Oh, God, she did want him.

Marry him! Where the hell did that question
come from?

Guy now wondered as he stood before the angry
female. He had discovered a side of himself he never knew existed
and his statement startled him. He only intended to lock her up
over night to scare her into coming back to the ranch. He would
have explained everything to Patrick and have her released in the
morning. But it came out all wrong and he had felt the big woman
and the sheriff’s curious eyes watching him.

Now, Guy was so surprised that he stood
there, with the patience of a saint, waiting for her to answer him.
Standing tall with his arms folded across his chest, he waited
until she composed herself, but he had to stifle a laugh at the
hilarious sight she made. God! She was something else. He still
couldn’t believe his own outburst. Why did he feel so responsible
for her and want to protect her? Life with this spitfire was going
to be real interesting. He had felt so lost without her even though
she was a pain in his ass. But what a lovely pain.

He quirked an eyebrow to show Rusty he was
still waiting for an answer.

“Okay, you win. I’ll marry you, but only to
save my neck!” Her lower lip jutted out in a belligerent pout. Ill
tempered and without giving him any warning, the kid kicked him in
the shin and ran back to the cabin. Guy rubbed his smarting leg,
swore, and produced a grin as big as all of California.

Big Betsy and Patrick were the witnesses as
the barber, who was also the preacher, married Guy and Rusty that
afternoon. When they stood before the minister, to say their vows,
she was wearing her breeches and had her hair up under that damn
old hat. This annoyed him that she still looked like a boy and he
noticed the preacher’s stunned expression. Guy, sensing the cause
for the strange look on the man’s face, grabbed her hat, releasing
her long braid. The preacher cleared his throat, covering his
chagrin. He threw the hat on the floor, scowling at Rusty.

“No more boys’ clothes!” he said crossly.
Rusty pouted at him but she had that “we’ll see” look in her eyes.
He didn’t let her warning faze him, too much.

The minister asked for the ring to be placed
on Rusty’s finger. After a moment of uneasy silence, Guy saw
Patrick reach into his pocket and placed a golden band into his
palm. The sheriff nodded and stated that his deceased wife wouldn’t
mind.

“Ahem!” The preacher cleared his throat.

Guy accepted the generous gift and placed it
on Rusty’s finger, but it wouldn’t go past her knuckle. He settled
for her pinkie after a small frown spoiled the smooth perfection of
her brow. He whispered that he’d replace it with her very own band
of gold as soon as possible. She shrugged with indifference and
they were married.

Two days and three nights later Rusty stood
again in the big foyer, just as nervous as the first time. She had
mixed emotions returning to the Strong’s home. She had dreaded
their reaction to her running away but was relieved that she didn’t
have to hide anymore. She wished she could be happy about being
married to Guy but she believed he only married her to do right by
her, what he thought in his mind was the right thing to do.

“Married?!” Claire’s snug embrace was so
overwhelming that Rusty lost her breath for a moment. Her happy
mother-in-law was ecstatic to hear the good news and kissed her son
on both cheeks, giving his shoulders a loving squeeze. She wished
she could share such joy.