Читать книгу The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride - Debra Cowan - Страница 9
ОглавлениеChapter Two
Gideon Black’s face had gone from blank to grim upon seeing the remains of that campfire.
By the time they sat down to lunch, Ivy was impressed with the man, though she didn’t want to be. For whatever reason, she hadn’t thought to look in the woods for signs of the person causing her trouble.
Maybe because she was so tired. She’d barely slept last night for replaying the night of Tom’s death over and over. She’d managed to stop the memory, but not the guilt. As a result, she had slept poorly, and she couldn’t blame that on her guest.
Gideon gestured to the platter of ham and corn bread. “This is good.”
“Thank you.” Sitting across from him, her skin felt prickly.
And hot.
The man was the size of a mountain. He dominated the space, making even the table that could seat ten people look small. His face, rugged and strong, was weathered by the sun and life. Grooves cut on either side of his mouth hinted that he must’ve smiled a lot at one time. She’d seen no evidence of it.
Using the cloth napkin she’d laid next to his plate, he wiped his lips then took a sip of coffee. “When does your contract with the mayor end?”
So he was still trying to figure out why someone might want to cause trouble for her. “In a year.”
“Is there anyone who might want that?”
“Not to my knowledge.” She sighed. “The mayor will have to be told about the horse. I’ll need to drive into Paladin.”
“I’ll go with you.”
The thought of riding all that way in the wagon with him made her skittish. “It’s not necessary.”
“Still, I’ll go.”
Her own food sat untouched as he forked open another piece of corn bread and spread it with honey. Why had Gideon been in prison? Maybe it had been due to a mistake like her brother being wrongly identified as a train robber. A clerical error had incorrectly listed him as dead rather than as one of the prisoners transported to Leavenworth.
“Mr. Black?”
“Gideon.”
“Gideon. How long were you in prison?”
His head came up, those blue eyes burning into her. Wariness etched his features. “Five years.”
“Why were you there?”
He laid down his fork. A long moment passed. “For murder.”
She drew in a sharp breath. There was no need to ask if he was serious. His eyes hardened, squelching a brief flare of remorse and anger.
“And were you guilty?”
“Yes.” He watched her carefully, as if expecting her to order him to leave.
She wasn’t afraid of him. If Smith thought Gideon was dangerous, he never would’ve sent him.
Just as he took another sip of coffee, she asked, “Who did you kill?”
He shook his head.
“I think I have a right to know, Mr. Black. You’re living here.”
Looking pained and irritated at the same time, he set his cup down. “A rancher’s son.”
“Did you kill him in self-defense?”
“No.” His jaw tightened as he held her gaze, his entire frame rigid with tension.
She wanted to press him for more, but the raw bleakness in his face reached right into her chest and squeezed. She couldn’t do it. “Thank you for telling me.”
He said nothing, just resumed eating.
For a moment, the only sounds were the scrape of forks on the plates, the occasional call of a bird. The man clearly didn’t want to discuss himself. That was fine. She had other questions.
“Smith won’t talk much about his time in prison.”
Resignation chased across Gideon’s face, and he again set aside his utensils. His voice was flat. “He doesn’t want you to know.”
Because it had been horrible. Ivy’s throat tightened. Her brother was home. That was what mattered. Their parents and his wife, Caroline, were helping him heal. Who was helping Gideon Black? Did a murderer deserve help? Smith thought so. “Do you have any family?”
“No, ma’am.”
“No one at all?”
“No.”
His tone was polite, yet she could sense his agitation. “How did you and Smith become friends?”
After a longing glance at his food, he said, “There was a, um, misunderstanding between him and some other inmates. I helped straighten it out.”
His words were so careful, so deliberate that she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.
“Was that when you saved his life?”
“Yes.” His muscles were drawn taut beneath his buff-colored work shirt, his shoulders straining at the fabric.
“Was that when his leg was broken?”
The jerky nod and coiled energy in his body warned her off, but she couldn’t help another question. “Is that how you got those scars?”
His face completely closed up. She’d never seen anything like it. His features turned to granite, blue eyes blazing, his mouth white with restraint. Angry color slashed across his sharp cheekbones.
He rose, his massive frame blocking out the sun. “Would you like me to take my meals somewhere else, Miss Ivy?”
“No.” She stood, too. Would he really go? Absolutely, she realized. There was no bluff on his face. “Please, finish your meal.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then started to sit. The sound of an approaching horse had them both turning toward the open screened door. A couple of chickens squawked and hustled out of the way of a brown mare, its hooves flinging red mud as it trotted toward the house.
She held back a groan. “I wonder what he wants.”
Gideon strapped on the gun belt he’d shed for their meal. Plucking his hat from the peg beside the door, he looked at her over his shoulder. “You know him?”
“Yes. It’s Conrad, the stagecoach driver. Neal Conrad, but he goes by his last name.”
“Didn’t you say he was just here yesterday?”
“Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.”
She stepped onto the porch, and her guest followed. An enticing mix of man and leather floated to her. She could feel the powerful width of Gideon’s chest at her back. While she appreciated the gesture, Conrad was an annoyance, not a threat.
The stage driver, a man with sharp features and flowing blond hair, jumped off his horse and whipped the reins around the hitching post. “I came as soon as I could.”
Giving Gideon a narrow-eyed look, Conrad reached her in two strides, arms outstretched.
She stepped back, managing to avoid contact. He was always touching her, and she didn’t like it.
His blue-checked shirt and dark trousers were clean. His eyes were deep brown, his features as perfect as a drawing and he possessed about as much substance as a piece of paper. He was trim and well built, a handsome man. And he knew it.
“What brings you out two days in a row, Conrad?” Ivy asked evenly.
“I came to check on you. See how you fared in the storm.”
“Just fine.”
He turned his attention to Gideon, his eyes hardening when he saw how close the other man stood to her.
“Who are you?” he asked sharply.
Ivy barely stopped herself from snapping that it was none of his business. Before Gideon could answer, she did. “Conrad, this is Gideon Black, a family friend.”
“Are you staying here or just passing through?”
As if that were any of his concern. Ivy fought the urge to order the stage driver off her property, but that wouldn’t be smart, businesswise. “He’s my guest, Conrad. He brought a message from my brother.”
The man scrutinized Gideon before his gaze swung to Ivy. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Gideon and I are just having a visit.”
The subject of the conversation had yet to say a word, but Ivy didn’t miss the shrewd glint in his eyes as he sized up the other man. She also didn’t miss the way he kept one hand on the butt of the revolver in his holster.
“I drive the stage,” Conrad announced unnecessarily.
“So Miss Ivy said.” Gideon folded his arms over that broad chest. With a scowl on his compelling features, he looked as approachable as a rattlesnake.
Seeming to dismiss Gideon, Conrad turned to her with a smile and took her elbow, towing her inside.
As he always did, he walked into her house without an invitation. Gideon followed them over the threshold, disapproval pulsing from him.
When Ivy pulled away, Conrad paused at the dining table, his smile still in place. “You were probably frightened last night. That storm really kicked up a fuss.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” she said stiffly.
“Maybe you’ve got some of that delicious coffee?” Conrad’s gaze fell to the two plates on the table. The two cups. Mouth tight, he sat in the chair next to hers.
She didn’t like it, but she didn’t need to upset the man who recommended her stage stop and was responsible for bringing passengers here.
Gideon remained at the door like a sentry. Tension arced in the room, and she thought she could physically feel him willing the stage driver to leave.
Conrad drummed his fingers on the table.
She took another tin cup from the cabinet that held the tin plates and mugs reserved for the passengers. Going to the stove, she wrapped the hem of her apron around the hot handle of the coffeepot.
As she poured, he said, “It would’ve been better if you’d been in town last night, not out here all alone.”
“I was fine.” Her words were short as she handed him the cup. She glanced at Gideon, noticing that his face hadn’t changed one bit. It still looked carved out of stone. Forbidding. Conrad was either blind or not intimidated.
“You know how I feel about you being out here all by your lonesome,” he said.
Yes, and she didn’t give two figs about it. It took effort to keep her voice level. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t leave my home.”
“You shouldn’t be running this place by yourself.” He sipped at the steamy brew. “You shouldn’t be running it at all.”
“Conrad,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been running it since Tom passed, and I intend to keep doing so.”
“Now, now, don’t get your back up.” He clumsily placed his cup on the table, liquid sloshing out as he stood and moved toward her.
Gideon took a step in her direction. Only one.
It was enough to stop the other man. Conrad blinked then turned to Ivy. “I’m only thinking of you. You need a man around here to help you.”
She certainly did not.
“She has one,” Gideon said.
Surprised, Ivy shot him a look.
The stage driver’s lip curled. “I meant someone she can depend on regularly.”
With the exception of her brother and father, there were no men she would depend on. If she needed a man on the farm, she would hire one.
She walked out to the porch, hoping the stage driver would take the hint. “Everything is fine, Conrad. Thanks for checking on me.”
After another slit-eyed look at Gideon, the man gave her a quick hug, moving away before she could remove his arm. He touched her often, never with permission, although he’d never tried more than a hug. Which was good, because Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to use the pistol in her skirt pocket.
“Is your stock all right?” Conrad asked. “All accounted for?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t telling him about the dead mare.
“I’ll check the horses. If any of them need shoes, I brought some.”
“That’s not necessary, Conrad.”
“It’ll just take a minute.”
“Only one of them needed to be shod, and Gideon did it this morning.”
“That’s really not your—” He broke off, glowering at Gideon before giving Ivy a sideways look. “That’s nice, but I usually take care of that for you.”
“And I appreciate it, even though I can take care of it on my own,” she said sharply. She was sick to death of Conrad acting as if she were helpless. At least Gideon hadn’t acted that way. Yet.
Wanting to hurry the stage driver along, she moved down the steps to his horse. “I’ll see you on your next stage run.”
“Yes, all right.” Coming to stand beside his mount, he looked over her head at Gideon, but spoke to her. “I’ll see you soon.”
She made a noncommittal noise as he mounted up and finally rode off.
Ivy exhaled, glad to be rid of him.
“Is he always like that?” Gideon asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” She turned, in no mood for him to start any of that silly man-take-care-of-woman business. “And I can handle him just fine.”
“You sure can. He must not know about that pistol in your skirt pocket. Why do you put up with the way he treats you?”
“He could discourage passengers from staying for a meal.”
“And that would cost you money.”
“Yes.” She moved past him and back into the house to clean up the dishes. Gideon followed, but stopped in the doorway. Sunlight haloed his giant frame.
“Besides, he leaves a lot quicker if he thinks he’s getting what he wants.”
A half smile tugged at Gideon’s mouth, and it made her smile in return.
She carried the plates and cups across the room and past the stove.
“You say he was here yesterday?” Gideon asked.
“Yes.”
“Before that, when was his most recent visit?”
“Four days ago.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”
“That means he was here the day before—”
“The day before I found my horse killed,” she breathed, hastily putting the dishes in the dry sink. “Do you think Conrad had something to do with that?”
“Can you remember if he was around just before the other incidents?”
“I can’t remember about the chickens, but...he wasn’t here the day Tug went missing.”
Gideon frowned. “That you know of.”
“That’s right.” Did he take anyone’s word for anything? She bet not. Was that because he’d been in prison, or was there more to it? “He could’ve been in the woods, and I wouldn’t have known. He could’ve come across Tug. If he did something to my dog—”
“Hey, we don’t know anything yet. What motive would he have for causing you trouble?”
“To make me decide I need a man around here,” she muttered. “That I need him. I know it sounds ridiculous.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Since Tom and I married, almost ten years.” She appreciated that Gideon didn’t dismiss her theory.
Her guest looked her over slowly, sparking all her nerve endings. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Does he always put his hands on you like that?”
“He didn’t pay me much mind until Tom died.” And he had certainly never made her feel halfway dizzy the way Gideon just had with only a look. “Do you think he might be behind this?”
“I’m considerin’ the possibility. He wants you.”
“Well, it isn’t mutual,” she said hotly. The idea made her shudder.
Gideon turned and stepped off the porch, kneeling near the hitching post.
Ivy followed him outside. “What are you doing?”
“Checking his horse’s tracks.”
So if he saw them again, he would recognize them, she realized. She should do the same. She moved behind him and to his other side. He wore his hat now, drawing her attention to the nape of his corded neck. Skirts brushing against his shoulder, she bent over to study the hoofprints, too.
“Is there anything distinctive about them?” she asked.
He pointed to the impressions in the mud. “His mount lists to the right. Like she has one front leg shorter than the other.”
Too aware of the way his powerful thigh muscles pulled his trousers taut, she forced herself to look at what he was showing her.
When he half turned to study the stage driver’s boot prints, she did the same.
“I can’t tell anything about them,” she said.
“Yeah, they’re just scuff marks in the dirt. I plan to keep an eye out for him. If something happens tonight, we’ll have some tracks to compare, and maybe we can start to figure out who’s doing these things.”
She nodded.
His gaze trailed over her almost impersonally, as if he were checking to make sure she was all right. He tipped his hat. “If you need me, I’ll be around the barn doing chores.”
Conrad’s visit had almost made her forget what had happened at lunch with Gideon. The way she’d ambushed him with all those questions.
“Do you want more coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“All right.” She watched him walk away, taking in the broad line of his shoulders. The way they narrowed to his lean hips.
The reason he wasn’t coming back inside was probably because she’d opened old wounds with her questions. The information was a curiosity to her, but it was his life, his past. A clearly painful past he didn’t want to share.
That was fine. Gideon Black could keep his secrets. And she would keep hers.
* * *
Now Ivy knew he’d done murder. Once she’d had time to absorb that he had killed a man, he’d see the familiar revulsion and wariness in her eyes that he saw in everyone’s, except Smith’s and Smith’s parents.
Gideon eased out a breath. He didn’t like her stirring up the past, and he wasn’t having it. He would never tell her about the man he’d killed or the woman he’d killed for.
He was living here, so she might deserve to know a few things, but she had no right to get inside his head. Inside him.
She hadn’t liked that he wouldn’t answer every question she asked, especially about Smith. Too bad. There was no way he was telling her that he had saved her brother’s life after fighting off five men who were beating the hell out of him. He also wasn’t giving up to her how Smith had saved him after Gideon had been jumped and strung up by the neck in his own cell. And she wouldn’t be learning that he had other scars he’d gotten before going to prison.
Ivy didn’t need to know any of that.
He didn’t intend to answer any more questions. If she didn’t like it, she could send him packing. Or try. He wasn’t leaving until he figured out what was going on. Regardless of what Ivy did, he wouldn’t let Smith down. And he didn’t have to be her friend in order to protect her.
He could do what needed to be done without taking his meals with her, although it would be difficult to walk away from good food after years of prison slop. Still, he’d done harder things.
He’d keep to himself as much as possible. He was used to solitude. It was what he knew and understood. What he wanted.
If Ivy had told Gideon before lunch that a man might be causing trouble on her farm in hopes that she would turn to him in her time of need, Gideon would’ve thought the idea was far-fetched. But after seeing Conrad with her, Gideon couldn’t dismiss the idea, no matter how downright addled it was.
He hadn’t cared for the man’s manner at all, especially hadn’t liked how often he touched Ivy. Because of their business dealings, he understood why she hadn’t run the guy off her property at gunpoint, but that didn’t mean Gideon wouldn’t if he had cause.
After replacing a cheek billet on a bridle then a worn cinch, he strode out of the barn and across the backyard in search of Ivy. When he didn’t find her at the garden or the chicken house, he circled around to the front porch.
He knocked on the door. “Miss Ivy?”
“Yes.”
Gideon shaded his eyes to see inside, but she wasn’t in the front room.
“What is it?”
He opened the door and poked his head in. Still no sign of her. “I thought I’d look for your dog and also see if I could find anything that might help me figure out what happened to your missing chickens.”
“I thought I might look again, too.”
He turned toward her voice, coming from his left. Her bedroom. “Does Tug have a favorite spot?”
“There’s a place on the river that runs through the woods beyond the back pasture.” She stepped into the large front room. His pulse jumped. It took his brain a second to register what he saw.
Hell for breakfast.
Ivy was wearing trousers. Ill-fitting and too large, but definitely trousers.
A plain white blouse was tucked into dark pants that were cinched tight at her tiny waist. Though the pants weren’t tight, they shadowed the slender line of her thighs, the hint of her calves. Despite her petite frame, she was perfectly proportioned and all woman.
He clamped his jaw tight to keep it from dropping.
She must have noted his astonishment because she stopped in the middle of the room, angling her chin at him. “What? I’m not wearing a blasted skirt to look for my dog. The grass is wet, and that will weigh me down. Besides, we might have to go through some brush.”
“Makes sense.” He had no problem with her wearing a garment that showed so much of her shape, though he was glad no other man was around to see her. “I’ve just never seen a woman in pants.”
“Well, now you have.”
Oh, yeah. And he liked it. But as much as he enjoyed the front view, he nearly swallowed his teeth when she turned away and he got a look at her backside outlined perfectly in the loosely fitted garment. His mouth went dry.
“Let’s go out the back door,” she said.
Unable to take his eyes off her, he followed her like a half-wit across the front room and down the hall. His gaze slid over her narrow shoulders, the sleek curve of her waist, and lingered on her hips. The urge to touch had him curling his hands into fists.
How was he supposed to focus on anything when he was faced with that view?
After plucking a wide flat-brimmed hat from a peg on the wall, she settled it on her head as she pushed through the back door. She started for the fence, and Gideon lengthened his stride to catch up to her. They headed toward the river he’d only seen from a distance.
Bright sunlight and a clear sky gave no hint of last night’s storm. The ground was springy from the recent rain. The air was fresh and cool, filled with the smells of mud and grass and animals.
He and Ivy called out several times for the dog. Branches and limbs were scattered across the pasture. There was no sign of Tug or the chickens.
They topped a small rise, and Gideon saw the glitter of water through the trees ahead and to the left.
Ivy gestured toward the spot. “This is the Kiamichi River.”
“Little River is the one outside Paladin, isn’t it? Where the gristmill operates?”
“Yes.” Her soft floral scent drifted on the air.
During their few minutes of brisk walking through the damp grass, Gideon found his gaze on her more than he liked. Finally, they reached the river. The bank sloped gently to the water, slightly cloudy from being stirred up by last night’s rain. The river bottom was lined with flat rocks of all sizes.
The cattle and horses had kept the alfalfa grazed near the ground. Here and downstream, mature pecan trees and oaks spread wide canopies of shade. Farther upstream, where the channel narrowed, limbs tangled and arced over the water, hanging so low it would be difficult to guide a canoe through without getting smacked in the face.
Ivy pointed to a thick, scarred oak several feet away. “That tree has been here forever. There’s a hollow on the other side, and Tug likes to chase squirrels into it.”
As they made their way over to it, Ivy called out, “Tug! Here, boy!”
Birds flew out of the trees, and squirrels scurried across the branches.
Gideon’s gaze panned the area as they neared the tree. Ivy tromped ahead through ankle-high grass and stopped on the opposite side of the oak.
“Oh, Tug.” She braced one hand on the tree, her eyes troubled as they met Gideon’s.
He closed the distance between them, then ducked his head to look inside the hollow.
A large dog with dark, matted fur lay curled on its side, rigid and lifeless.
Ivy knelt, touching the animal’s stiff body. “This is why he didn’t come home.”
Her voice quivered, and tears slid down her cheeks.
The pain in her voice lashed at him. She choked out a sob then another. And another. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a pet so he didn’t know how it felt to lose one, but he did know how it felt to be alone. She’d lost her husband and now her dog.
She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Gideon’s heart squeezed. Finally, tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched, and he quickly drew back.
After a moment, she straightened, wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve. “I’m sorry.”
For crying or for jumping like he’d taken a branding iron to her? “There’s no need to apologize.”
“You startled me.”
Gideon heard a faint whine and looked down at the dog.
Leaning in for a closer look, he saw a pup nestled in the circle of Tug’s curled legs. “There’s a puppy.”
“Oh, my.” Still on her knees, Ivy leaned in and carefully picked it up. “It’s so tiny.”
“Looks like Tug was protecting it.” The whelp would fit comfortably in Gideon’s palm. Its coat, a mottle of black, brown and gray, was matted.
Ivy looked up, eyes still wet from her tears. “Maybe you were right about him finding a lady friend at some point and this is his pup?”
“Maybe so.” Gideon went to his haunches, pointing at the animal. “Or maybe he didn’t come home because he was hurt. His right back leg is at an odd angle.”
“No. That was broken the night Tom—” She stopped. “That was broken a while back.”
What had she been about to say? Maybe that Tug’s leg had been broken the night her husband died? Gideon could see how that would be a painful memory.
“Was he in the wagon with your husband and thrown out, too?”
“No,” she said tersely.
He could’ve sworn he saw guilt flash across her delicate features, but he must have read that wrong. Why would she feel guilty about a dog’s broken leg?
She didn’t seem inclined to give details, and he wondered why not.
The pup whimpered, and its eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Ivy gently examined the animal. “It’s a female. Do you see any more pups?”
Gideon stood and searched the nearby area. “No. Don’t see a mother, either.” He returned, noticing the sharp points on the pup’s ears. “This baby is half wolf.”
Ivy glanced around. “If the mother were alive, she would be taking care of the pup. Something must’ve happened to her, too. Maybe that’s why Tug has the pup.”
“Maybe.”
Ivy rose, lifting the pup to eye level. “See the black stripe up the middle of her muzzle? Tug has one just like it. I think he sired this pup. She looks like she might not make it.”
“If we get some food in her, she might surprise us.”
Ivy’s gaze shifted to the adult canine. “I want to bury him near the house. I’ll bring the wagon down later to get him.”
“I can carry him back right now.”
“Would you?” The relief and gratitude on her face did something strange to Gideon’s insides.
Going down on one knee, he leaned in and gently pulled the dog from the hollow. A few minutes later, he had the big animal in his arms and was walking with Ivy back through the pasture to the house.
“Do you think someone killed him?” she asked quietly.
He figured she had been wondering that since they’d spotted the dog. He had, too. Now that he had the animal in full sunlight, he could see blood on his coat along with the mud. And a knife wound just like the one he’d found on the dead horse.
Anger blazed inside him. “He has a stab wound in his neck.”
“It’s likely that the same person killed Tug and the horse.”
He nodded.
Ivy’s throat worked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you think Tug died trying to protect the pup?”
“It’s possible.”
“Who would do this to my dog? Why?”
Gideon wanted to know, too. Thanks to the rain, there were no signs of who might’ve killed the animal.
Ivy glanced over at her lifeless pet, saying wistfully, “Tug was the runt of the litter, but he didn’t stay that way, as you can see.”
The dog was huge. And heavy. “What breed is he?”
“I don’t know. Just a mix.”
He could see stark pain in her midnight eyes. “How long did you have him?”
“From the time Tom and I married.”
The animal had been with her through her entire marriage. And her husband’s death. Now she had another loss to deal with. Gideon didn’t know anything about relationships of that duration. Smith was his longest association, and that added up to a sum total of two years.
They stopped at a grouping of mature pecan trees where Ivy said she wanted to bury the dog. When she started to go for a shovel, Gideon stopped her.
“I’ll do it.” He wasn’t letting her dig dirt or bury her animal.
In short order, the dog was resting in the soft ground. Ivy still held the pup, staring down at the fresh grave with a broken look on her face.
Gideon felt as if he were intruding. “I’ll feed the pup if you want to take some time here.”
“Thank you.” She carefully handed over the little female.
“Milk in the pitcher?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Grasping the shovel in his free hand, he started past her.
Ivy touched his arm. “Thank you for carrying Tug and for putting him to rest.”
“You’re welcome.” He left her with her pet and her memories.
Once, he glanced back. She sat next to the grave, her head bowed. She looked slight. And alone. Gideon wanted to return to her. And do what? he jeered at himself. Comfort her?
He needed to watch his step with that. Earlier, he hadn’t been able to turn away from her suffering. He’d first gotten tangled up with Eleanor for the same reason.
He was here to protect Ivy. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by her.
