Читать книгу Rebel Outlaw - Carol Arens - Страница 12

Chapter Three

“The reason she looks at home is because she is.” Holly Jane heard a man’s voice say, the tone so rich it made her imagine melted caramel.

She snuggled more deeply into her dream, trying to savor the sound. It was a shame that she couldn’t see him, but he had popped into the dream without warning. His voice was a welcome change from the stubborn suitor she was trying to send on his way...and something burning in the oven at the kitchen of The Sweet Treat.

No wonder it was burning if she had been so careless as to return home without taking whatever was baking out of the oven. Just then the dream fog cleared from her brain. Nothing was burning. She was home in her bed.

She sighed deeply, snuggling into the pillow and wishing she might return to the dream. She would face the stubborn suitor and the ruined baked goods in order to hear that other manly voice one more time.

“Wake up, Mischief Muffin.”

Her eyes popped open before her vision cleared. Peering down at her was the blurred face of the man she had spun castle’s in the air about last night. The man whose voice had trespassed into her dream.

The man that Lulu had humiliated her in front of!

He gazed down at her with a grin and eyes bluer than any she had ever seen...and a pair of dimples that very clearly knew what deviltry was all about.

Disturbingly, her first reaction to him was not “What are you doing in my bedroom?” or “Get off my property!” but “I think I’m in love.”

Which was impossible, because one didn’t fall in love willy-nilly with a stranger bending over one’s bed. One would screech and scratch until he ran away.

“You always sleep with a pig, Bo Peep?”

Suddenly, her senses snapped back into place.

“I never sleep with—” The weight of the bed shifted near her belly. “Lulu!”

She pushed at Lulu’s rump. Hopping off the bed with a grunt, she hit the floor in a puff of flour.

Holly Jane sat up, grabbed her robe from the spindle of the headboard then yanked her arms though the sleeves. She stood up.

Being a good head taller than she was, the man stared down at her. He was trouble for sure, with a gaze that threatened devilment even more than the dimples did.

What was he doing here? And the pair of elderly women with him? He couldn’t be... Oh, please don’t let him be—

She shivered, but only because the floorboards were cold under her bare feet.

“Come along, sister,” a woman said. This was Grannie Rose, she recalled from yesterday afternoon’s disaster. “Let’s let the lovebirds get acquainted.”

“They aren’t lovebirds, Rose.” The tall, slender woman led the shorter, rounder woman by the elbow. “By the looks of the house she’s not well pleased to have any of us here.”

And who would be pleased to be awoken from a sweet and spicy dream by trespassers...or so she desperately hoped.

“I’m sure that’s not true, sister.” Rose glanced back at her with a smile. “Miss Munroe is nearly kin.”

The ladies walked out of the room.

The man stood too close, looking down with his dimples flaring and his lips... Well, she had to look away from them. Even though he remained silent, the creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter.

The chill in her toes shot goose bumps up her legs.

“Pleasure to meet you, Holly Jane.”

The man, who she had by now decided could only be Mr. Colt Wesson Travers, tipped his head then backed out of the bedroom, clearly enjoying the fact that he had come upon her vulnerable and in her bed, wearing her nightgown—and sleeping with a pig to go with it.

Without warning, he winked, spun about on his boot heel and followed his elderly relatives down the stairs.

She had not by any means fallen instantly in love with this stranger! Just the opposite, she disliked him with a righteous intensity. He was arrogant...cocky...and much too handsome for anyone’s good.

And he owned the ranch that should have been hers!

* * *

Half an hour later, Holly Jane stood at the top of the stairs, yanking the bow of her apron and listening to the murmur of voices drifting up the stairs.

The scent of fried potatoes drifted up as well, but she did her best to ignore it. One would think that the aroma would make her want to retch, being that a stranger was using her kitchen, but it only made her stomach growl.

With a sigh, she straightened her spine, the one in her back and the one in her soul. She descended the stairs determined to present the new owners with a smile. She would pass through the kitchen as quickly as possible on her way to her own circle of property, where she would make herself a cozy place to live.

No doubt that’s what Granddaddy would have expected of her...a smile and a friendly greeting.

Blame it, her cheeks blushed like flames when she stepped into the kitchen and saw the three of them gathered about the dining table.

She’d like to blame the darn pig for it all, but it hadn’t been Lulu’s idea to ruin the house.

“Good morning,” she said, and since they hadn’t really been introduced and she could be anyone, she added. “I’m Holly Jane Munroe. Welcome home.”

“Good morning, dear,” the shorter woman said, her smile as agreeable as sunrise after a cold night. “I’m Grannie Rose, and this is my sister, Aunt Tillie. Our young man is my grandson, Colt Wesson.”

“A pleasure,” she said, nodding at each of the people sitting at the table because it was the polite thing to do and she was a polite person. “I’ll be out of your way in a heartbeat.”

“But we’ve saved you a chair,” Grannie Rose said, sliding it away from the table for her to sit down.

“And a plate of food.” Aunt Tillie pushed it toward the place they had saved for her.

“You must be hungry,” Colt Travers said with a wink. “Working late...making the place ready.”

“Colt Wesson, mind your manners.” Aunt Tillie shot her nephew a frown.

“Please do eat with us, dear.” Grannie Rose patted the chair seat. “You did a remarkable job on the house. I couldn’t have sabotaged it better myself.”

With her humiliation complete, Holly Jane felt her jaw drop open. It only took a second or two to recall her dignity, though. She straightened her shoulders and dug deep for the sunny smile she was noted for.

“Ordinarily, it’s a lovely home,” she said, then glanced about one more time, holding on to the vision of the curtains hanging at the kitchen window. Grandma had crocheted them only a month before the arthritis in her fingers became debilitating. She gazed at the table that Granddaddy had built with his own hands. If only she could sit at it one more time.

Since she just couldn’t, she said the only thing to be said. “I hope you find joy here. I’ll have my belongings out by noon.”

Tears burned her eyes. She dashed out the kitchen door before anyone might notice them.

Daylight, warm and fresh with autumn, greeted her, but she would have to wait to savor it. As it was, she would barely make it to the carousel before she bawled her heart out.

Lulu, roused from her morning nap, waddled out from under the porch and followed on short pink legs.

Halfway to the carousel, she heard the chickens raising a fuss in the barn.

Blame it. She was late feeding them. Changing direction, she strode toward the barn, wiping her eyes with her apron.

She stopped and went suddenly still. The chickens were no longer hers. It wasn’t her responsibility to feed them. If Mr. Colt Travers wanted his livestock fed he should have been here at dawn to do it.

Had the hens been merely livestock, she would have turned and gone back, left him to do his chore.

She probably shouldn’t have, but over the years she had given every hen and rooster a name. She could hear Henrietta cackling with pride at the egg she must have just laid. And her sister Matilda was brooding a batch of eggs. The chicks were due to hatch in a week.

Holly Jane continued toward the barn. Once she knew that Colt Travers was competent in caring for the flock, she would allow him to take care of them.

All at once a sickening thought hit her like a blow to the belly. She stared at the house, watching through the window while three distant figures ate their breakfast.

What if the Travers family was partial to chicken and dumplings? What if their favorite Sunday dinner was fried chicken?

Today was Sunday!

She hurried to the barn trying to decide what to do. Feed the chickens, yes, but what then? Set them free to become prey to hawks? Keep them in their safe little yard where Colt Travers might make dinner of them?

For now she’d watch to see what the man had in mind. He would have to pass through her land to get to the barn, or take a very long way around. She’d know if he were up to no good.

After she fed the chickens, she turned her attention to the task at hand...creating her new home. Over the past few weeks she had been collecting things to fabricate a shelter under the dome of the carousel. She had an oilcloth tarp to keep out the wind and rain, a big bundle of blankets to fashion a bed of, and two lanterns.

Last week, knowing that the new owners were on the way, she had dragged a big trunk down from the attic and stuffed it with corsets, petticoats, skirts and blouses, aprons and gowns.

Only a few of her personal belongings remained in the house. She ought to leave them there, spare herself the pain and humiliation of going back inside, but they were some of her favorites.

Since there was no help for her situation but to move on with life, Holly Jane picked up a hammer and a big square nail. She began to tack her tarp to the carousal poles.

As a child, she had begged Granddaddy to let her live on the carousel. Well, here she was, her dream fulfilled at last. Without a doubt, her grandfather was somewhere in the Great Beyond having a good belly laugh with Grandma.

* * *

Frowning, Colt stood on the front porch watching Holly Jane trying to hammer a tarp to the carousel.

There were some things that needed setting straight, and he’d begin with breakfast.

The old man hadn’t sold him the ranch with the expectation that his granddaughter would go hungry.

From the looks of things, she also planned to go cold. The temperature might be pleasant right now with the sun all warm and fuzzy, but once it set the night would turn blistering cold in a hurry.

He trotted down the steps with her breakfast plate, watching while she struggled with a hammer that was too heavy and a nail that was too big.

What did that little speck of a girl think she was going to do, live on the carousel?

That didn’t fit with the vow he had made to her granddaddy. He was to care for the spinster...it was written in black and white right on the contract, as legal and binding as all the rest of it. Even if it weren’t a legal obligation, he had given his word. He and William had shaken hands on it.

While it was clear that Holly Jane wasn’t the dried prune that her grandfather had hinted at, he meant to live up to their agreement...and he meant to do it in the house.

He watched her struggle while he crossed the yard. One time she nearly had the tarp tacked up, but the wood was hard and the hammerhead slipped. The nail went flying.

The odd little pig scurried after it, her beribboned ear flapping.

“Don’t you eat that, Lulu!” Holly Jane rucked up her skirt and hurried down the short ladder she had been standing on.

“I never should have sneaked you out of the butcher’s shed!” Holly Jane was so intent on chasing Lulu that she didn’t even notice him coming toward her.

The pair of them wove in and out of wooden horses, fancy carved benches, a lion and an elephant.

Before he knew it, Colt was no longer frowning. Watching the pig’s flapping bow and the woman’s bouncing yellow skirt would turn the sourest day sweet.

But that’s what Holly Jane specialized in, he reckoned, sugar and spice. He couldn’t deny that watching the curvy figure of his charge romping about was a treat. He didn’t even have to visit her shop in town to enjoy a sweet treat.

Too soon the chase ended and Holly Jane shot her pig a triumphant grin. She held the nail high with her delicate-looking fingers gripping it tight.

She climbed the short ladder, swinging yellow skirt and hammer in hand, clearly believing she would nail the tarp to the pole. Too bad the hammer was still too heavy and the nail too large.

The ladder began to wobble. Holly Jane dropped the hammer but held the tarp in place with her fingers.

He reached for the knife slung across his back and drew it from its sheath. He hoped Aunt Tillie was watching so she’d know how many uses his weapon had. She’d harped on him time and again to remove it at home. The trouble was, a man never knew when he might need its services.

Like right now.

Colt let the knife fly and watched with satisfaction as the blade pinned the tarp to the pole. And hell...there was even more satisfaction hearing Miss Sunbeam give a little screech.

She hopped off the ladder and glared at him.

“You could have cut my hand off!”

“Once we’re better acquainted you’ll know the blade was as good as a mile away.”

He walked past her, picked up the hammer and plucked the nail from her fingers. Reaching over her head, he tacked the tarp to the pole with one blow then plucked his knife from the wood.

She tried to hide it, but Miss Holly Jane didn’t seem pleased with his help. That was something she’d have to get used to since he was legally bound to provide it.

“We’re neighbors and nothing more,” she said. “I don’t reckon I’ll see all the things you can do with your blade.”

The plate of food wobbled in his hand. While she blinked at him in virtuous innocence, he imagined all sorts of provocative images involving “his blade.”

He was fairly certain that William Munroe had not meant for him to seduce his granddaughter. Damn far from it... He was supposed to protect her from the advances of greedy suitors.

“Eat your breakfast, Holly Jane.” He set the plate on the floor of the carousel.

She speared a glance at the cold food then at him. She plunked down on the creaky boards and set the plate in her lap. He sat down beside her.

“Look,” he said, watching her nibble a biscuit, “I know you don’t want us here. It must have been tough to find out your grandpappy had sold the place out from under you.”

“I’ll admit, I cried for a solid week.” She looked at him with eyes the color of whiskey stirred in cocoa. “But you should know that I plan to buy it back from you as soon as I can.”

“I ain’t sellin’, Sunshine.” He was sorry that her dream had died with her grandfather, but his had only begun. “But you’ve got a home here as long as you want it.”

“I have a carousel for a home. You, Mr. Travers, are a guest on my front porch.”

“There’s things worse than a carousel to inherit.” A family of criminals, for one. “All that your grandfather wanted was for you to be safe. He knew the Folsoms and the Broadhowers would be after you, so he sold the land to me. Your circle of land being smack in the center of my ranch, guarantees that.”

“I believe that we need to set down some neighborly rules.” Holly Jane put down her plate after eating only the biscuit. “I need to pass through your land to go to town. You need to pass through my land to get to the barn. We should agree to allow that.”

“I appreciate that. You walk freely over my land and I’ll walk freely over yours.”

“Not freely, but to and from. I’ll keep to myself and you keep to yourself.”

“Grannie Rose and Aunt Tillie have their hearts set on mothering you.” She wanted that. He saw the need cross her expression like a ripple on water. “Come back to the house, Holly Jane.”

“I’ll stay on my own land, thank you very much.”

She stood up, clearly dismissing him and his invitation.

“We’re knee-deep in October. It’ll be cold as hell tonight.”

“Don’t worry. Granddaddy built your house to be snug and warm.”

She turned her back on him. Hell and damn... Nothing he said to the woman would make any difference.

She picked up her hammer and another nail.

He wouldn’t help her this time. When she got cold enough she’d come inside.

* * *

At midnight, Holly Jane wrapped the tarp about her body and watched smoke rise from the chimney of the house. The imagined warmth inside made her shiver even more.

The wind had begun to howl at sundown and picked up velocity ever since. Lulu had felt no shame in squealing outside the kitchen door until Grannie Rose let her in.

The little traitor had gone inside gleefully and was, no doubt, warm and coddled by now. At least the raccoon, Mayberry, hadn’t deserted her. The sweet creature sat beside her, no doubt wondering what the foolish human was doing sitting out after dark in the cold.

Defying Granddaddy’s wishes is what.

Colt Travers might believe that her grandfather had sold him the ranch to protect her from the Broadhowers and the Folsoms, but she knew better.

She had been raised by the man and knew him like she knew herself. Colt Travers was not here to protect her from this or that groom... He was here to be the groom.

Granddaddy was a thorough man. He would want her to be protected by a husband, not a neighbor. That’s why he had left her the carousel, so that she would be surrounded by Mr. Travers...nowhere to run...nowhere to hide.

In the moonlight, Holly Jane watched the wind rip the leaves off the trees, whip them about in the air then tumble them on across the earth. Her ribs fairly ached with shivering and, she had to admit, rebellion.

She had never been disobedient to her grandfather during his lifetime, but he knew her as well as she knew him and she was taking a stand.

Colt Wesson Travers was the embodiment of the man she told her grandparents that she would marry. As a dreamy adolescent, she had described him in vivid detail on a daily basis. Granddaddy would have recognized him as easily as she had.

Had she ever guessed that a man existed who fit her fantasy description to a letter, and that Granddaddy would find him and sell him her land, she would have kept her mouth shut.

Oh, but the wind had a bite. She yanked the tarp over her head and squeezed her eyes tight. No matter what happened she was not going to go into that house.

Granddaddy was not going to reach out from beyond the sky and force her to wed.

If she could dodge the Folsoms and duck the Broadhowers, she could elude her neighbor, as well.

And what Granddaddy had failed to take into account was that Colt Travers did not appear to be the marrying kind. He was bad-mannered, bold, certainly not a gallant man like the one of her dreams. He was clearly used to having his way and—

All of a sudden her behind lifted off the carousel and Colt carried her, wrapped up in the tarp. She twisted, trying to wriggle out of the arms that banded her, but they only held on tighter, pressing her against his very solid chest.

It would be a lie to say that this chest was not an exact fulfillment of her dream lover’s chest, but she pushed away from it anyway.

A deep, rumbling laugh vibrated her fingertips.

“Time to come home, Snowflake.”