A Texan's Promise (5 page)

"That night I felt like I'd crossed a line. A cowboy thought of me as a woman. I stood up to him, all by myself. I went to bed that night feeling a whole year older."

She turned to her side to catch his eye, a sweet, sad smile flickering in the fading sparks of their campfire. "I feel older tonight, too."

Her words shamed him. She should have never felt like that. He should have known to keep an eye on Price. He should have heard her cries, gotten there sooner. Noticed that things were getting dangerous for her. "Van—"

"Let me finish, Clayton. If someone had told me two days ago that I was going to have to leave my home in the middle of the night, ride with you all day, then go sleep next to a fire, I would have told them I wasn't strong enough. But maybe I am, after all."

Clayton swallowed hard. "Yes, you are. The Lord provides.'
For now we live, if ye stand fast in the Lord,'
" he quoted.

After another moment, she murmured sleepily, "I think . . . I think I'm gonna be all right."

Only hours later, when the blazing fire had turned to glowing embers and the winds had died down enough to hear even a twig break in the distance, did Clayton dare answer. "You will be all right, sweetheart. I promise on my life."

S
hame weighed deep on a man's soul when there was no hope of forgiveness, Miles Grant decided while wandering through Clayton's empty suite of rooms. During the last few days, the Circle Z had been in an uproar, and all of it was his stepfather's fault.

First came Price's ugly cursing when he awoke the next morning to find both Vanessa and Clayton gone. After eating his usual hearty breakfast, he'd tromped over to the barn where Miles had been hanging out.

"You know where they went off to?"

"No sir, I sure don't."

With dismay, Price had believed him. After deciding to wait a few days to see if they'd return, an evil gleam flew into his gaze. "She'll have to get off her high horse now, don't you think?"

Before Miles could answer, Price continued. "When Vanessa returns, she'll be no better than the women at Camp Hope. She's used goods now, boy. You mark my words."

Miles had been afraid to say a word.

When he was alone again, a few of the cowhands appeared.

"Where's Clayton?" one asked. Miles had never learned everyone's names.

"Gone."

"You in charge now?"

Miles puffed up a bit. It was about time he got the respect he deserved. "Maybe."

But only snickers greeted his reply. Slim George took charge instead. "Looks like it'll be up to me to hold things down for a while." In quick-fire manner, he assigned chores, directing hands to various pastures and jobs.

Within minutes, they had abandoned Miles. And that was how he had ended up in Clayton's rooms.

After tentatively testing out Clayton's mattress, he sat on the edge and dared to let himself remember the night his sister had been attacked.

Price had been drinking all evening—slurring his words at dinner. Miles's mother hadn't said a word, just looked eager to escape to the kitchen. Vanessa merely ran up to her room.

"Boy, you old enough for a shot of whiskey?"

Miles had taken a glass and swung back the amber liquid.The whiskey had burned and scalded the back of his throat, but it had given him hope as well. Perhaps this was the way to gain acceptance.

It hadn't been.

Miles couldn't recall what he'd done wrong, but it had earned him a fierce slap and shove. Hours later, he heard Vanessa being dealt far worse.

Her room butted up to his. He heard her cries through the thin walls.

Standing in the hallway hadn't helped. Neither had the knowledge that though he'd worried for her, he had been too weak to help. Too weak to do much except be glad it wasn't him.

Miles had accepted Clayton's anger—a part of him knew he deserved it. But just as big a part of him desired something even more than the will to do the right thing. He wanted acceptance and respect.

He wanted what Clayton had gotten so easily. What other men gave him without so much as a raised voice or a cross word.

Even Price had never dared to cross their formidable foreman's directives.

Why was that?

But as he scanned the room, Miles saw nothing there to give him a hint of how to become the man Clayton was. All that was there was old furniture, mismatched plates, a quilt constructed of old clothes, and a cross whittled out of birch.

No, there was nothing of worth there at all.

The lack of clues gave him pause.

Vanessa was fairly sure her body remained the same under her skirts, but she wouldn't have been surprised to find certain vital parts missing. Sometime during the last twenty-four hours, her backside had become numb.

They'd ridden hard over the last two days. Clayton had been anxious to make it to Lubbock, then just beyond it. He had a friend who owned some property on the outskirts, and wanted to spend the night there so they could relax in relative privacy.

Even though they'd been on the trail for three days, in some ways it felt like forever. Everything in her life had changed, and because the outward changes were so drastic, she'd been holding onto what was inside of her like it was in danger of lifting up and taking flight.

Her sense of self was as hard to keep hold of as her seat on Coco. Everything between her and Clay was now drastically different, their roles in each other's lives gone as topsy-turvy as the flight of a chicken hawk on patrol.

No longer was she the ranch owner's daughter, he the trusted employee. Now, he was in charge. He guided her and provided for her. She was in his hands because he had saved her. Because she was so grateful to be away from Price. Because she had no control over what was about to come.

Saying they were now friends didn't quite describe things, either. They'd always been close, but now there was a tension between them, an invisible wall that kept them aware of propriety at all times. While he still called her sweet names, it wasn't nearly as often, and never quite as lighthearted.

He didn't look at her the way he used to, either. His gaze was more guarded; the muscles around his mouth looked more tense.

Vanessa felt immeasurably guilty. She was completely, totally dependent on him, draining him dry. Taking, yet giving nothing in return. He must surely be resentful.

And, though their relationship might not have been so equal when he was working for her father, and then for Price, she'd felt as if she could cheer him up on some days, sit with him quietly on others.

Then, Clayton hadn't been responsible for every part of her being.

Indeed, Clayton had given up everything for her. He'd made her life better, and she would be forever grateful to him, but she wanted to be able to give him something in return, anything to make what they had more equal, anything to help her feel a little more pride.

But all she had was herself and what was left of her dignity.

Abruptly, Clayton stopped. Vanessa reined in Coco and shifted her legs a bit, hoping to regain some sort of feeling in her thighs.

"See that ridge?" he asked, pointing to a pale structure in the distance. "Ken's place is beyond it. We should be there in no time."

A warm sense of expectation shined through in his tone, sounding welcome and familiar. Pleased—and anxious to end the stilted silence—she asked, "How do you know him, again?"

"Ken was one of my men in the war."

Clayton's voice was full of pride. Knowing the little bit about his past that she did, Vanessa said, "Is he older or younger than you?"

"Older, but not by much."

Recalling stories she'd overheard, Vanessa said, "Strange, isn't it, that you were an officer so young?"

Eyes trained on the desolate horizon, he shrugged. "Not really. By the end of the war, men joked that you could be an officer if you survived the next battle." Somewhat bitterly, he murmured, "I somehow managed to survive them all."

The things he went through broke her heart. "Oh, Clayton."

"It's true." As if he was in no hurry to go, he leaned back in his saddle. "Ken is the best tracker I know. He saved us a time or two from starvation. More times than that, he rescued us from being killed outright. I owe him."

"I'll look forward to meeting him." Vanessa loved to hear Clay speak of the war. Oh, not the pain, or how hungry and cold he'd been, or how dangerous the battles were. What she liked was hearing the stories of him and his men. Each one gave her insight into another facet of Clayton—one that didn't seem as tightly wound, as tightly contained, as wary and reserved.

"You'll like Ken's wife Mary. She's quiet, but not when she's ordering him around. When she gets on her high horse, you'd better look out!"

She grinned. "She sounds like a formidable woman. Do they have children?"

"I know they have one. I'd be surprised if they didn't have a houseful by now."

"I love children."

Brown eyes blinked in surprise. "Do you? I didn't know that."

"How could you? It's not like we had a chance to see many children at the Circle Z." Or if they would've spoken of such things if they had.

They'd had a cordial relationship, but over the years their roles had become more sharply defined. Most recently, Clayton had always taken care to treat her with the utmost respect, and Vanessa had tried her best not to let on how fascinated she was with the foreman of their spread.

The air stilled as her words sank in. Clayton seemed to notice the difference, too. "I reckon we've tarried long enough.Let's head on up," he said simply.

Vanessa took care to let Clayton lead, learning by now that he liked a good distance to separate them, just in case he needed to stop or change directions quickly. He and Lee moved as if in one motion. Vanessa, while an able horsewoman, had no claim to ride so well.

As they rode up toward the homestead, Coco nickered.Vanessa rubbed her neck. "Almost there, girl. Then we'll stop for a day or two."

Coco swung her head around, like she was nodding in agreement.Vanessa felt the same way. A day without dust blowing in her eyes and nose would be a welcome change. Finally, they neared the homestead, a sturdy stone and wooden house that looked as if it could withstand an Indian raid or a violent windstorm with ease.

All that mattered at the moment was that there would be a bed or cot for her, and for that she would be eternally grateful.Vanessa had never been so tired as she was at that very minute.

Every muscle ached, and though she hadn't dared let on, her back burned like the blazes. She'd purposely asked Clayton to leave it be until they got to the Willoughbys, knowing that even if things were as bad as she feared, there was little he could do to make things better on the trail.

A man with a military bearing and coal black hair looked up when they approached. His welcoming smile told Vanessa that he could only be Clayton's tracker, Ken Willoughby."Clayton Proffitt? As I live and breathe."

Clayton tipped his hat. "Ken. I was hoping I'd find you home. Is Mary here, too?"

"She's in town with the children, getting supplies." Ken stood still, but it was obvious he was waiting for some introductions and an explanation.

After a moment, Clayton did the honors. "Ken, this here's Vanessa Grant. May we impose on you for a day or two?"

"You know you don't need to ask." Tipping his hat, Ken smiled, though Vanessa saw his golden eyes weren't missing a single detail. "Ma'am."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Willoughby."

"Likewise. And, it's Ken, ma'am. Please."

They walked Coco and Lee to the barn. Vanessa was too tired to do more than wait patiently until Clayton helped her down. Not caring what his friend thought, she held onto him for dear life until feeling rushed back to her toes.

Ken eyed the two of them for a good long moment before clearing his throat. "Well, now. Vanessa, I'm sure you'd like to wash up. Go on up to the house, if you'd please. In the back room, there's a pump and somesuch. Captain, I'll help you with the horses."

"Thank you, and it's Clayton now. The war's long gone."Turning to Vanessa, his voice gentled. "You need some help, Van?"

Vanessa knew he was referring to her back and her stiff muscles. But Ken didn't even attempt to hide his surprise at the question, though he wisely held his tongue.

"I'll be fine," she said more brightly than she intended, then bit her lip as she sought to walk with a little jaunt to the house.

She'd gone three yards when she heard Ken chuckle."Proffitt, what in the world is going on?"

Clayton watched Vanessa enter the house, then waited a full minute after the door closed, just in case she needed something, before turning to his friend.

Still as impatient as ever, Ken folded his arms across his chest. "Talk."

Clayton did. Ken had been his lieutenant at the end of the war, and he trusted the man's judgment more than just about anyone else's. Haltingly, he told Ken about his job at the Circle Z, about Price, and finally about what had happened with Vanessa, though he didn't dare mention Price's name or exactly what he'd attempted, choosing instead to describe the beating.

The knowing look in Ken's golden eyes didn't disappoint.Even after all these years, Willoughby understood more in a look than in a mess of sentences. "She's a pretty girl, Captain.Lovely."

Ken was also a master of using few words to convey a wealth of meaning. "She's just that—a girl. She needs my protection.You don't need to imagine that there's anything more between us, because there isn't."