Читать книгу Texas Standoff - Ruth Smith Alana - Страница 8

THE WEATHER SYSTEM moved out of Bandera County about 4 a.m., which was approximately the same time Elise slipped out of the guest room and made her way to her own sleeping quarters down the hall. She eased into the master suite, softly shut the door, then leaned back against the solid wood, taking a moment to collect herself.

As the dense cloud cover rolled back to the west, making way for the break of dawn to the east, most everybody else on the ranch was taking advantage of the best hour of sleep-the one that came right before they were ousted out of a deep, dreamy slumber and had to face the endless cycle of chores for the next twelve. Everyone, that is, except for Luther, the cook, who routinely rose hours before the others, and the boss lady, who’d whiled away the night making love with a man she hardly knew. In stark contrast to the clearing skies over Cheyenne Moon, the past few hours of hazy lovemaking clung to Elise like morning fog, its surreal effect wafting over her and making murky mush of her mind. She couldn’t seem to shake the passion that had clouded her senses and stormed her heart.

She gave it another try, pulling away from the support of the door and drawing a long, replenishing breath. Whenever she was troubled, she paced like a cougar on the prowl. Sometimes it was only the action itself that made her aware of being in a state of flux. She’d catch herself doing it and know something was amiss inside her. This time she knew in advance. It amazed her she could feel so many contradictory emotions at once-satisfied but wanting, wonderful but wretched, embarrassed but excited, unrepentant but remorseful.

Lifting her hair off her neck, she gave in to the urge to twirl about. She spun around the room, a humming, carefree soul for a brief, totally out-of-character moment. Suddenly she drew up short, the sparkle in her eyes snuffed out by a glimpse of lavender hanging on the back of an opened closet door. The mere sight of the sundress dampened her spirits, the significance of it bringing reality crashing down around her shoulders and weighting her conscience like lead. One second drunk on desire, the next as sober as if she’d taken a dunking in Whistling Creek.

God A’mighty, what had gotten into her? She sank to the edge of the bed, falling back flat against the mattress with a groan. There was no denying she’d acted the fool, letting her tainted hot blood overtake her cool head. What must Colin Majors think of her? Not much, her disgusted self answered. He was probably smirking to himself this very minute, thinking she was either the dumbest or the horniest woman in all of Texas. Whereas, even knowing how loco a thing it was to have done, if she was lying on her death bed this very moment and rehashing the lows and highs of her days, undoubtedly she would recall the wild interlude with Colin Majors fondly. For surely it would be one of the most memorable nights and probably the best sex of her life. As badly as she hated to admit it, if she were given the chance to backup and do it differently, she wasn’t real sure she would forgo the experience.

“You can’t undo what’s done. Might as well quit moping about your sorry self, get off your backside and get about your day. Face him down when you must,” she told herself in no uncertain terms.

It was easier said than done. As she went about readying herself for what she knew was going to be a hard morning after, the worry about confronting Colin Majors again kept creeping into her head. What would his reaction to her be? Would he act as if nothing had taken place between them? Or would he feel awkward, so much so that it showed? Damn, but she dreaded having to look on his handsome face again. Maybe he would just cut out without saying a word. But that was unlikely, since he was miles from anywhere without transportation. Part of her hated the thought of his leaving, which was about as crazy a notion as the thought of him staying.

She showered hurriedly, tugged on her socks, boots and a fresh pair of Levi’s. Donning a clean denim shirt, she whipped a brush through her burnished hair, slicked it back and secured the sleek length at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clip. The boys would be expecting her to take breakfast with them at the chuckhouse as usual. She prayed they wouldn’t notice the telltale blush of great sex still lingering on her skin. She was in no mood for their ribbing. She had a lot more important things on her mind, like how to handle the problem of bidding her houseguest adieu. Ranch life had exposed her to a lot of different men-all the wranglers who’d come and gone throughout the years. It was an isolated world in which she existed-primarily a man’s realm. Though each of the men she’d known was a colorful individual with a style all his own, as a group they had a few traits in common. They treasured their freedom almost as much as they liked to linger around a camp fire, sipping coffee, swapping stories and kidding each other unmercifully. And one thing they couldn’t abide was a sticky goodbye, especially when it came to bidding farewell to a woman, and most particularly when it was a woman they wished to be rid of. She’d heard them say they’d prefer being gored or bucked or snake-bit over having to endure a prolonged parting packed with lies. It was ten times more painful than saddle sores.

With a determined set to her jaw, she walked over to the mirror and squared the Stetson on her head. “I’ll make it easy for you, Colin,” she said out loud, trying to convince herself. “It was nothin’ personal, just passing acquaintances who shared a ride and casual sex.”

Yet when she passed his closed bedroom door, she paused for a moment. Colin Majors had touched her in a way that was hard to dismiss. He had ignited the fiery yearnings she claimed to dispossess. He’d blown in on the wind and rain and stirred up a maelstrom of emotions within her. Well, at least his appearance in her life had jarred her out of a complacency she’d nearly accepted. The solid and seemingly natural direction she’d been set upon before his arrival no longer seemed so sure a course for her to follow. But then, he’d never know the crucial part he’d played in altering her future.

Images swirled in her head-him frozen like a deer in her headlights, then leaping out of harm’s way at the last possible second; their entwined bodies moving in feverish rhythm to a serenade of fading rain. All at once she was struck by the strange irony of their brief encounter. She might’ve been the one responsible for knocking him off his feet in the beginning, but he was the one who’d knocked the props out from under her in the end. Her fingertips lightly trailed across his bedroom door as she moved away. “Nice knowin’ you, Colin,” she whispered. She sincerely meant it. He’d been a delicious reprieve from the daily grind and the loneliness that sometimes felt as if it might swallow her whole. And in the biblical sense, knowing him had been as fine an experience as any woman could ever hope for. Truly fine.

COLIN WAS SHOWERED and dressed and in the kitchen, in the hopes of seeing her, a mere thirty minutes later. He was anxious to judge her reaction to the bizarre set of circumstances that had taken control of them through the night. More to the point, he felt compelled to confront those blue green eyes in the cold light of day. What private message would they telegraph him? For once in his life, he actually felt uncertain of his ability to express himself adequately. How could he convey to a woman he barely knew the specialness of what they’d shared? How could such strong feelings be reduced to mere words? Dared he risk it? What if he came across sounding foolish or, worse yet, as if he was accustomed to playing one-night stands and delivering practiced lines.

Deprived of rest, bothered by the combustible chemistry between them and a physical attraction he himself did not fully understand or accept, he wondered how in the hell he could convince her that something more complex than hard-core sex had occurred last night? In some mysterious and profound way, the ranchwoman had marked him with her E.Z.-ness in much the same fashion as everything else around this place was branded. In a few short hours, her hot aura had seared his flesh and was indelibly burned into his memory. It was crazy but true. More than anything, he wanted an opportunity to know her better, to explore all the softer facets lurking beneath the diamond-tough surface.

Though they’d engaged in more physical activity than conversation, he’d learned a few things about her. She’d told him that her family roots ran deep and were imbedded in this ranch land, and it was obvious how dearly she’d loved her father and how fiercely protective she was of her heritage. When she spoke of Roe Winston, her voice was full of respect and loyalty; however, such was not the case when Colin had again brought up the subject of the portrait and tried to delve into the background of Lady Pamela Walford-Winston. When it came to her mother, E.Z. had little to say, none of which was flattering. And though she mentioned a brother, she did not elaborate, except to say he was five years younger and precious to her.

He enjoyed her sense of humor. The lady was as naturally easy as her nickname implied. What’s more, he discovered that his first impression of her had been right: she was every bit as passionate as her looks suggested. He couldn’t help but make the comparison to his ex-wife. Making love to E.Z. was akin to riding an intense Texas heat wave. She created a thirst within a man that made him want to drink her in quenching gulps. Gwen had been more like a cool, smooth libation, light refreshment sampled in measured sips. He’d been hungry for many things in his life-money, success, professional recognition-but thirsting for a woman was a new sensation for him, one he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Yet wary as he was of being the one consumed rather than the consumer, his need to know whether the sensation was fleeting or something more lasting in nature was even greater.

So here he stood, in her kitchen, his palms sweating and heart pounding, waiting for her to appear.

Minutes passed. Spying the coffeepot, he poured himself a cup of the steamy brew and sat down at the table. He drummed his fingers and glanced at the clock, finding it unbelievable that he was even up at this unholy hour. The earliest he’d ever made it into the office was eight. It wasn’t even six yet. He thought ranch people were supposed to rise and do whatever it was they did with the chickens. Where was everybody? The place was like a mausoleum.

Finally the sound of approaching boot steps. Someone paused on the back porch. Colin grabbed the untouched newspaper from the center of the table and did his best to appear nonchalant. At the creak of the screen door, he lifted his glance from the headlines, only to peer into a pair of deep-set gray eyes wedged between a maze of wrinkles and sagging lids.

“Mornin’,” the old man grunted as he stepped inside and removed his dusty hat.

“Morning,” Colin echoed, exerting great effort to hide his disappointment.

“The name’s Riley-Riley James. Miz Winston sent me to carry you into San Antonio. Whenever you’re ready, that is.” Ill at ease himself, Riley scratched his stubbled neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You ate yet?” he inquired.

“No.” Colin’s reply sounded more irritated than stunned. Actually he was both.

“Well, no hurry,” Riley assured him, settling his stooped form in a chair at the opposite end of the table. “Andele will fix ya up and I don’t mind keepin’ ya company. Matter o’ fact, another cup of coffee would hit the spot.” He favored Colin with a lazy grin. “Sure would like a plug o’tobacco to go along with my coffee, but Miz Winston don’t allow chewin’ in the big house. She don’t much trust our aim when we spit.”

Andele breezed through the swinging door, carrying an armload of dirty linens to the adjacent laundry room.

“Buenos dias,” the spry Mexican chirped as he blew past them. “Un momento.”

The old man made a big production of clearing the phlegm from his throat as he shoved back the chair and ambled over to the stove. “Yeah, ya better feed this fella so’s we kin get under way, Andele.” He wet a finger, testing the temperature of the blue-and-white-speckled coffeepot simmering on the burner. Satisfied it wasn’t too hot to handle, he grabbed a mug from the counter and poured himself a cup of the stout java. “Miz Winston wants me back out at South Camp by lunchtime.”

“Si, I take care of pronto.” Andele began slinging skillets, frying up ham and scrambling eggs in double-time. Fresh-squeezed orange juice appeared at Colin’s elbow in a blink.

“Quick, ain’t he?” the old gent snickered between sips of his coffee.

Colin concurred with a nod of his head.

“Might as well throw an extra slice of that there ham in the skillet, Andele. Drop a few extra biscuits while you’re at it. Roads might be slow after the rain ‘n all. There’s a chance I won’t make it back before lunch and it’s a long stretch till supper. Figure I need a bite to tide me over.” Riley knew he had the dubious reputation of having an appetite that was greatly disproportionate to his work habits, but it didn’t bother him overly much.

Colin was only half paying attention to Riley’s breakfast order. He was more interested in finding out why he was sharing the table with him rather than E.Z.

“I was hoping to see Miss Winston this morning. Where is she, anyway?” He tried to pry the information out of the whiskered emissary.

“She’s out at South Camp. Storms have a way of spookin’ the cattle. Gotta scour the countryside in search of ‘em. Ya wouldn’t believe some of the tight places they kin hole up in,” he explained. “She ‘n the boys rode watch over the herd part of the night, but there’s always a few strays that’s gotta be rounded up and brought in.”

So that was why she went back out into the storm, Colin reasoned, marveling at the sheer stamina of the woman.

Andele placed a plate heaped high with ham, eggs, grits and biscuits before each of them. Riley immediately started scooping the tasty vittles into his watering mouth.

Colin had the good manners to at least thank Andele before filling his fork.

Riley merely offered the Mexican an indelicate burp. His appreciation was understood. No need to go ‘round thankin’ a body every time they done somethin’ they was paid to do anyways. That was his philosophy.

True to form, Andele left them to their breakfast and hurried off to tend to his next chore.

Colin decided to try a different approach with the old geezer. “I really was hoping to thank Miss Winston for her hospitality. How far away is South Camp?”

“It’s a fer piece,” was the scant information provided. Riley swallowed a mouthful of coffee and studied him over the edge of the mug. “It ain’t necessary for you to chase her down to tell her that. Takin’ folks in outta the weather is just common courtesy.” The logic he put forth made perfect sense to him.

“All the same, I’d like to say goodbye,” Colin persisted with a determined chomp of ham.

“Well, I dunno,” Riley stated ponderously. “Miz Winston might not take kindly to the notion o’ me haulin’ you out there. She might accuse me of dawdling ‘cause she knows I don’t care much for chasin’ down steers in the heat o’ the day.”

“I’ll explain that I insisted.” Colin intended to see her again if he had to walk to South Camp.

“Yeah, well.” Riley sopped up the last of his eggs with a hunk of biscuit, shoveled it into his mouth and rolled it around the same as he rolled around the idea of cartin’ the pilgrim out to the lower range. “I suppose it’d be okay for me to run ya by. To tell you the truth, Miz Winston has me pegged. I ain’t real keen on sittin’ a saddle no more. I’d rather ride that pickup out yonder.”

For the first time that morning, Colin smiled. “Good, then it’s settled. I’ll just go gather my things and we can get started.”

“Whatever you say.” Riley swiped his shirtsleeve across his mouth and let loose with another belch. “Only don’t blame me if she ain’t excited at seein’ ya. The woman’s one-minded where work’s concerned and kinda short on patience when it comes to somebody interruptin’ her schedule.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” Colin couldn’t care less if his unexpected intrusion upset her work schedule. He was not about to leave Cheyenne Moon without a word or an inkling as to what part he might have in her future.

It was a bumpy trip to South Camp. The rain-rutted road cut through long stretches of grazing land. The brunt of the conversation was carried by Riley. For the most part, Colin tuned him out, concentrating, instead, on the native habitat of the wild cowgirl he’d body-wrestled with the previous night and the longhorns that roamed the area at will.

Not until Riley stated that they were nearing the area in question did he snap to attention. “It’s just around the bend. I figure she’s still at the camp house. Her and Andy Smallwood was hashin’ out buyin’ fresh breedin’ bulls at the upcoming stock sale over in Luckenbach next month.”

As the pickup drew closer to the wood-frame house, his pulse quickened. The place was set between two giant shade trees in the middle of a vast panorama of grasslands encircled by a natural barrier of swelling hills. In spite of the glare of the sun and the screen enclosing the wraparound front porch, he recognized E.Z.’s shapely figure immediately. As Riley had predicted, she was talking with a lanky man Colin assumed to be Andy Smallwood. Even from a distance Colin could plainly make out a certain carriage of authority about the ranch manager as he propped a foot on a chair rung, rested his forearm on a knee and argued a point with E.Z.

Their heads jerked up simultaneously as the pickup came to a stop short of the hitching rail out front. The manager eased himself to an upright position and took measure of the unknown caller as Colin got out of the truck and came up the walk. E.Z. displayed no surprise, at least not outwardly, at his unexpected appearance. She merely strolled out the screen door, tucked her hands into the back pockets of her snug-fitting jeans and waited for him to draw near.

Now that he actually faced her, Colin hadn’t the vaguest notion how to behave. He glanced up at the man behind the screen, then over to the woman seated in a rocking chair on a far corner of the porch, whom he hadn’t noticed until now. The plump matron swayed to and fro, the wicker rocker creaking with each backward motion and her bare feet tapping the porch floorboards with every forward swing. She was as plain as the alamo switchgrass covering the countryside; almost homely. And she was studying him. For that matter, so was E.Z.

“What brings you this way? I thought you’d be on the road to San Antonio by now,” she said.

His mouth went dry. He wished for a drink of water, wished he’d heeded Riley’s advice and not bothered with saying goodbye. Now that he thought about it, maybe that was the way she’d have preferred it. Maybe she’d pegged him for some demented sex maniac and purposely arranged to be absent when he departed Cheyenne Moon. Maybe he’d been too filled with romantic notions to realize her intent and was about to make a colossal ass of himself.

“I thought I should say goodbye personally. I wanted to thank you for.” He hesitated when their gazes collided. In the bright sunlight, those blue green eyes possessed a startling clarity, as though capable of penetrating the outer layers of a person and peering straight into the soul. “For everything,” he managed to get out.

For a long, painfully awkward moment, she just stared at him, as if she was weighing the actions of the previous night and sizing up the man all at once.

“I appreciate your taking the time to track me down, Mr. Majors. It was no trouble a’tall to put you up for the night.” Such was her noncommittal response. But he thought he detected a hint of melancholy, a flicker of some betraying emotion that swept across her face and crept into her voice a split second before she extended her hand.

The creak of the rocker and the rustle of tree leaves stirring on a gentle breeze were the only sounds filling the hot air. The two of them were oblivious to Andy Smallwood’s approach until he drew dead even with them. He acknowledged Colin with a respectful dip of his head and a touch of a hand to the brim of his Stetson.

“Yes, well, perhaps we’ll see each other again,” Colin said to E.Z. Aware of watching eyes taking in their every move, he was doing his best to conduct himself in a manner that would not betray their secret tryst or compromise her good name. The only means by which he could communicate his intimate regard for her was a firm and lingering squeeze of her fingertips.

Feeling Mamie Smallwood’s gaze boring through her back, E.Z. extricated her hand from his grip, swallowed the lump in her throat and shrugged off the silly hope that he might mean what he said. “Well, you know where to find me should you happen to pass this way again.” It was not exactly an open invitation to visit, but neither had she slammed shut the door on the possibility of future contact.

There was nothing left to say now. He knew it and so did she. As if on cue, Riley started up the truck. With a nod and a parting smile, Colin turned his back to her, climbed into the truck and went his own way. After all, they both had very separate lives to get on with.

E.Z. returned to the porch. Mamie raised a brow in silent question.

“He’s nobody special, Mamie. Just somebody I rescued from the road yesterday,” she explained.

“That so,” her friend said in her usual dry fashion.

Standing at the screen door, E.Z. stared after the truck until it became a speck in the distance. “I suppose he broke up the monotony a bit,” she admitted.

“He’s sure a fine-lookin’ man.”

Knowing her friend like she did, E.Z. was well aware that the casual observation carried a subtle probe. “Don’t make more of it than is there, Mamie.”

“I reckon it’s no different than making less of it than is there,” was the astute comeback.

The two women traded looks. It was then that Mamie knew for certain that the man was a complication in Elise Winston’s life, and not a minor one, either. Nope. Considering the circumstances, she’d venture a guess that the tall, tanned pilgrim had pretty much put a hitch in E.Z.’s plans.