Tall, Dark, and Texan (4 page)

Bethie nodded, and Jessie felt a twinge of guilt. The girls hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

As she moved into the cool shadows of the mud room, she saw clean towels stacked beside a huge tub. Neatly folded clothes were in long columns against one wall, and buckets for water hung on pegs near the door.

She heard Martha yell at Teagen, “We’ll be needing water before you disappear.” About the time buckets clanged, she added, “What’d you do to your hand?”

“Nothing,” Teagen snapped back.

“Well, I’ll be seeing about that ‘nothing’ as soon as you come in. The blood’s already spotting through that handkerchief, and you know what that means.”

“I get pie?” Teagen guessed.

“No.” Martha snorted. “It means more laundry for me. I know there’s no use trying to tie you down and doctor you now, but you’d better make it in before nightfall.”

“It’ll wait until I get the work done today. Don’t lose any sleep waiting up.”

“I won’t, but you doctor it right,” Martha ordered. “Do you hear me, Teagen?”

Jessie smiled. They sounded angry, but she had a feeling there was real caring in this argument. He might be a man in his early thirties, but Martha had known him long enough to at least try to order him around.

WHEN TEAGEN FINALLY TURNED TOWARD HOME, THE dying light of a summer sun reflected off Whispering Mountain. He’d spent most of the day in the saddle covering the ranch and checking every pasture. Twice he’d seen tracks that didn’t belong to McMurray horses. Whoever planned to raid the ranch was being careful, taking no chance of being caught in daylight. That kind of precaution could mean only one thing. When the raid came, it would be a big one.

Like an animal feeling a storm coming, Teagen raised his head slightly and listened. He could feel trouble riding the wind, and he planned to be ready when it came.

For twenty years, since he’d been twelve, Teagen’s primary goal had been to protect the ranch and his family. He felt weary and, with none of the family home, he half wished he could let down his guard. But, deep down he knew he never would . . . never could. This ranch was all the family he had near.

Most of their land was open range where horses could run full out, fenced only by the rocks bordering the hills and the river’s edge. Some of the canyons had been blocked off to keep in bred mares and horses Tobin was working with. The McMurrays trained some of the best riding horses in the state, and a matched pair of carriage horses went for top dollar. There were outlaws who’d risk their lives to steal them.

Teagen frowned and headed for the creek. Tobin, his brother who swore he’d never leave Whispering Mountain, was in Washington, D.C., with his new wife and baby. The kid who claimed he’d never wear anything but moccasins was probably dressed in one of those fancy suits with tails and dancing around a ballroom floor. Marriage made men do strange things. Even Travis, who was only a year younger than Teagen, had put down his gun and Ranger badge for the love of a woman. All his fights of late had been as a lawyer in the courtroom.

Teagen was the last. The only brother who’d never marry, which suited him just fine. He didn’t trust most people, and women were a total mystery to him. Plus, if a man married, there was always the possibility that children would appear. The last thing Teagen wanted was kids. His adopted nephew they called Duck was all right, but little girls, like the ones visiting, were nothing but pestersome. The small one called Bethie seemed to think he was some kind of toy bear to pat on; the oldest, Emily, was afraid of him; and that middle one, Rose, never stopped asking questions.

When he reached the creek, Teagen stripped off his gun belt and clothes, then dove in without remembering to take off the bandage around his hand. The wound had bothered him all day. He’d soak it in a mixture of turpentine and baking soda when he got home, but for now he just wanted to wash a layer of sweat and dust off before he turned in for a few hours’ sleep.

As he swam in long, steady strokes around the pool of deep water, he thought not of what he’d accomplished but what he hadn’t completed. Ranch work was never done. Trouble was so close he could smell it. He’d be up while it was still dark making his first round before breakfast.

Climbing from the water, he slung his hair like an animal and laughed, thinking he wasn’t far from the bear little Bethie claimed him to be.

After tugging on his trousers, he rode the short distance home shirtless and shoeless. The night air felt good as it dried his body. He’d bathed in the stream every summer of his life and wondered if people who lived in towns had any idea of what they missed.

A few minutes later, he’d let his horse out into the corral and stepped soundlessly into the back space off the kitchen that everyone called the mud room. He didn’t need the light. He knew where his clean shirt and trousers were. None of the McMurray men wore long johns in the summer, despite Martha’s constant preaching that wool next to the skin prevents illness all year long.

His shelves of clean clothes had always been the first row by the door. Shirt on top, pants next, and then socks.

Leaving his boots by the door, Teagen pulled on a clean pair of socks and stepped into the kitchen. The lamp on the table burned low, casting shadows across shadows. He knew his dinner waited in the warming box above the stove, but he needed to doctor his hand first. Martha had a firm rule about going to bed with the sun, and there had to be a serious crisis for her to break any of her rules. So he’d do his own doctoring tonight.

When he set the medicine box on the table, he sensed someone near more than saw her. Teagen turned slowly and noticed Jessie in the shadow of the doorway leading to the rest of the house. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon, and her white nightgown made her look like an angel come to watch over him. He recognized the robe she wore as one of his sister’s and knew Sage wouldn’t mind her borrowing it.

“I thought you’d be in bed.” He frowned. The dark circles beneath her eyes made him wonder if she ever slept.

She took one step into the room. “I told Martha I’d stay up and doctor that hand. She was worried about infection setting in.”

Teagen didn’t bother to say it was nothing again. No one seemed to have heard him the first two times. He simply sat down and laid his hand, palm up, on the table. “All right, I’m all yours.”

She came close and untied the knots on his wet handkerchief. Her hands shook a little, and he wondered if she dreaded seeing the wound or if it was his nearness that frightened her. Most people he didn’t much care if he frightened or not, but for some reason he didn’t like the idea that she might be afraid of him.

He tried to think of something to say. “How was your day?” Teagen felt bad that he hadn’t given much thought about the widow and her chicks since he’d dropped them off. He’d spent some time remembering his friend, Eli, and how there would be no more letters to look forward to, no more long ramblings about problems he faced on the ranch, and no more eager questions from Eli. It occurred to him that the bookstore owner had never mentioned his family. Had they been too precious to talk about to a stranger, or too insignificant to mention?

“It was very nice,” she answered, pulling Teagen back from his guessing. “We bathed the girls and washed their hair. Then Martha let them help her make blackberry pies while I had time for a real bath. Then we had to wash Bethie all over again because she made such a mess. And . . .” She drew in a sudden breath.

“What?” Teagen asked, realizing he’d been looking at her hair and not really listening.

“Teagen, you’re hurt. The cut is still bleeding, and there’s a piece of wood in your palm.”

He tried to tug his hand from her grip. “It’s—”

She held tightly, her small hand circling his thumb. “Don’t you even think of saying it’s nothing. This needs taking care of right away. Don’t move; I’ll get a bowl of hot water, and we will deal with this before you have an infection. I can’t believe you let it go this long.”

“Bossy little woman, aren’t you, Jessie.” Her temper warmed the paleness from her cheeks.

She didn’t bother to argue. The widow simply went to work cleaning the wound and applying salve. She had a gentle touch.

“You know what you’re doing.” He leaned back in his chair, the wound already feeling better than it had all day.

She didn’t look at him. “Eli often came home with cuts and bruises.”

Teagen frowned. “I wouldn’t think owning a bookstore would be hazardous work.”

“It wasn’t, but drinking in the pubs seemed to be.”

Teagen had trouble mixing the images of a drunk with the words in Eli’s letters describing books he just read. Maybe she was just doing what some wives do, painting her man in a bad light. He’d heard men do it, so he supposed women did the same.

“Do you drink?” she asked, her big eyes flashing to his.

“Yes,” he answered, thinking of the one drink he usually managed to have with his brothers whenever they came together after being separated for a time. “But I’ve never suffered an injury from it.”

She smiled at him then. “Do you need a drink for the pain? I’m about to dig a splinter the size of a sewing needle out of your palm.”

“No,” he said, hoping he was telling the truth.

She began to work. “Tell me of your day, Teagen. It’ll take your mind off what I’m doing.”

Teagen placed his other hand over his forearm, holding his injury still as she poked into damaged flesh. “I think there is someone riding onto my land at night. If the broken fence is any indication, it’s someone trying to steal several horses. The way we have the ranch set up, it would take a while to move a herd off our land fast. But if they cut the fences ahead of time, they could do it in one day . . . or one night. It’s been a long time since we’ve lost even one horse.”

He paused, took a slow breath, and tried not to think of the pain.

“Like the boy Roak did over a year ago.”

“You know about him?” Teagen was surprised Eli had shared his letters.

She nodded and continued doctoring his hand.

“No.” He thought of the kid he’d caught trying to take a horse. The boy had escaped and ended up doing them a great favor last year. Roak wasn’t like the band of thieves he’d been born into. Drummond Roak would always be welcome on the ranch after what he did to help Tobin’s wife, and he had promised never to try to steal another McMurray horse.

“It’s out,” she said as she leaned against his leg and placed the splinter on the table. “I can’t believe you put up with that all day.”

Teagen didn’t speak. His hand could have fallen off, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Every sense he had seemed to be warming to the feel of her leg pressing against his.

She didn’t step away as she cleaned and wrapped the wound.

Teagen finally found his tongue and managed to tell her of what he’d discovered—the tracks, the cut fence—but he didn’t tell her of the danger. Let her believe only the loss of horses worried him. She didn’t need to be frightened.

As she wrapped his hand, he felt her soft touch on his skin. When she tied off the bandage, he started to stand, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I’ll get your dinner. You just hold still.”

Teagen almost argued that she didn’t need to wait on him, but he thought she’d leave if he objected. The sudden realization that he wanted her to stay awhile shocked him.

She set his plate and silverware in front of him, and for a moment the room seemed crowded with silence.

“Do you need something else?” she finally asked when he made no move to eat.

The words seemed to fight their way up his throat. “Sit down and have some pie. There’s more here than I can eat.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask for company, but if she wanted to stay, he wouldn’t mind.

He expected her to tell him how tired she was, but she pulled a chair out across from him and cut a slice of pie no bigger than a bite.

He ate in silence, then asked the only question he could think of. “How did Eli die?”

Jessie straightened as if she were a witness on the stand. “He passed out in the snow one night. By the time I found him the next morning, he was half frozen. I tried everything, but pneumonia took over. His family blamed me for not letting them know, for not taking better care of him.”

Teagen had a feeling there was far more to the story, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know it all. It seemed enough that Eli had been his friend. Teagen figured if Eli sent Jessie to Whispering Mountain, he wanted him to be on her side. “What did they do?”

“They came and took him to the hospital, but he died two days later. With the girls, I couldn’t go visit him, and I wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral. When his mother came by, not to tell me he’d died, but to make sure I knew I couldn’t come even to the gravesite, she said she wished I’d died and not him.”

“But why run? Why come all the way here?”

Her brown eyes met his. “Because they wanted to take the girls away from me, and they have the money to do it. Eli’s mother told me I was being selfish wanting to keep them when she could give them the best of everything, but I saw what else she gave Eli, and the price was too high. Without love, the money doesn’t matter.”

He found himself admiring her. “So you wouldn’t let them take the girls?”

“Not as long as I’m breathing. They couldn’t name one of the girls’ birthdays, yet now that their only child is dead, they want the part of him left alive.”

Teagen refilled his glass with milk and offered her one. “I’m glad you came here,” he said, surprised that he meant every word. “They’ll never find you here.”

She smiled. “I agree. It was the first place I . . . I mean Eli thought I should go if something bad happened. Thank you for letting me stay.”

The rest of the meal Jessie told him of all the funny things the girls did trying to make pies. At one point Bethie was stumbling around with an unbaked pie crust drooping over her face. “Martha laughed so hard I thought she might faint.”