Adrienne deWolfe (43 page)

Chapter 20

No matter how many times Rorie reviewed her dilemma, turning matters over, examining every angle, she always drew the same, bitter conclusion. She had to let Wes go.

As great as her love for him was, it would never be enough to hold him. From the father she had disappointed at her birth, to the husband she had disappointed with her barrenness, every man she had ever known had wanted sons of their own seed.

Even Gator had at last been willing to overlook Shae's color to reclaim the boy as his long-lost child, rather than let Creed, his second cousin, inherit the farm.

Rorie had heard Wes speak wistfully of children enough times to know he was no exception. So whether he stayed a Ranger or became a farmer or rancher, it wouldn't matter. The day would come when he would want his lifeblood carried on. And on that day she would have to disappoint him too.

Better to end the pain now,
her ever-practical mind assured her.
Better to set him free rather than wait for that awful day when he turns to you with eyes clouded over with resentment. Do what's best for him and the children. Your heart will heal in time.

Ethan might be a strict disciplinarian, but he wasn't cruel like Hannibal Dukker. He lived on a prosperous spread, far from the bigotry of Elodea, and he had three grown sons, all of whom were fathers to children her orphans could play with. Despite their age and cultural differences, he treated her with respect. She didn't love him, but she could fulfill his need for companionship. As for the rest...

She supposed she could learn to forget rose petals, blackberries, and magnolias. She just prayed she could forget laughing green eyes and a fallen-angel's smile too.

On the morning of Founder's Day—which also happened to be election day—Ethan and two of his men arrived to help pack her and the children into the wagon. Rorie could tell by the way her suitor's eyes followed her that he was eager to end their courtship and take her as his wife and lover. She couldn't bring herself to give him the answer he waited for, though. Not then.

She told herself she owed Wes the courtesy of breaking the news to him first, before some nosy Elodean did. Ethan had made her wait more than two months for his proposal, riding off on his cattle drive to recover from the shock of her barrenness. She figured it wouldn't hurt him to wait a week and a day for her answer to his offer.

By noon, when Shae drove the rattling old buckboard into town, the streets of Elodea were swarming with townsfolk and county dwellers alike. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the buildings on Main Street, and a brass band was playing in the center of Town Square. Every inch of shade seemed to be crowded with onlookers.

In spite of the blistering heat, children ran and couples strolled from booth to colorful booth. The displays included tanned hides, a stuffed cougar, tortoise-handled knives, cornhusk dolls, and a variety of foods. The most popular attraction of all, though, seemed to be the free barrels of cider and lemonade , and the keg of whiskey for the voters.

The orphans were so excited, they could hardly contain themselves.

"Where's Uncle Wes? Do you see Uncle Wes? He's going to be here, isn't he?" Topher chattered, scrambling to stand in the moving wagon bed so he could get a better view of the milling crowd.

Merrilee shaded her eyes, looking past Ethan and his palomino to the black-and-white targets set up for the shooting match at the end of Main. "I think I see Uncle Wes over there with Miss Lorelei."

"Where?" Topher had to be physically restrained from crawling over Ginevee's knees. "Does he have his Winchester, huh? Is he going to shoot in the contest, do you think?"

Nita sniffed, tossing her painstakingly braided, beribboned length of hair over her shoulder. "Not if he's with Miss Lorelei. I hear she faints at the smell of gun smoke."

One corner of Shae's mouth curved up.

"Besides," Nita said, "Uncle Wes is a Ranger. Gunfighters aren't allowed to enter the contest and claim the hundred-dollar prize. That means Shae's going to win that money hands down."

"I reckon that Dukker boy will be itching for the prize," Ethan called in a voice three times louder than necessary. "I hear he's a pretty fair shot."

Shae's humor ebbed at the old man's observation. Rorie tried to dispel the tension.

"I daresay every man in the county who fancies himself a marksman will enter that contest. One hundred dollars is a generous prize."

"Let's just hope Creed remembers to keep his gun pointed at the bull's-eye," Ginevee muttered.

By the time Shae found a livery and argued the inflated boarding price down to an affordable one, he and Ethan were glaring daggers at each other. Ethan had wanted to pay the full price and get on with the day; Shae had refused to be fleeced.

Of course, Topher hadn't helped matters when he took Shae's side, calling Ethan "an old cooter who's just showing off with his money."

Ginevee had to drag Topher away by his ear, Shae stormed off to register for the shooting match, and the girls ran to the pie booth to sign Nita up for her first baking contest.

That left Rorie with a snoozing Po and a fuming Ethan. She was just thinking matters surely could only get better, when Wes rounded the corner with a laughing Lorelei on his arm.

In spite of every common-sense argument against it, Rorie felt the fierce hot stab of jealousy.

For one stomach-knotting moment, the couples just stared at each other. Then Lorelei, who probably didn't have a clue that her County Fair Queen banner and tiara made Rorie feel twice as unattractive as usual, flashed her perfect smile.

"Why, Mrs. Sinclair, how nice to see you! And Colonel Hawkins. I haven't seen the two of you since Bonnie Sue Harrigan's wedding."

Rorie winced at the word "wedding," tearing her gaze from Wes.

Ethan nodded a cool greeting to Wes. To Rorie's agitated mind, their silent interaction seemed like the prelude to war. Ethan had not been pleased with the way she'd allowed Wes's magnolia to touch her face, and he'd privately boomed his feelings to her in his own inimitable fashion.

Doing her best to forget that last tender moment she was ever likely to share with Wes, Rorie forced down the lump in her throat.

"Yes, Lorelei, it has been awhile, hasn't it? You're looking lovely today."

"Thank you, ma'am." She blushed prettily. "This heat is so dreadful, isn't it? Papa's been worrying folks will drink too much of that free whiskey Mr. Jackson—or should I say
Sheriff
Jackson—brought to thank all the voters. Frankly, I don't know who's been to the tap more often, Marshal Dukker or our county's new sheriff."

Rorie's gaze flickered uneasily to Wes. So Dukker had lost the election. Between his hurt pride and his pickled conscience, he could become even more of a menace.

"Well, if a man can't hold his whiskey, he's not much of a man," Ethan said flatly.

For some reason, Wes grew extraordinarily red above his neckerchief.

"Tell Mayor Faraday," Ethan went on, "that I'd be pleased to lend a hand if some of those hayseeds start popping off their guns."

"Much obliged, Hawk." Wes looked anything but grateful. "But until you're deputized, I suggest you leave the peace- keeping to the law."

Ethan snorted. "Hell, son, there's only one of you and two dozen or more rowdies on these streets."

"Well now, that's what bullets are for, Hawk."

Rorie and Lorelei exchanged anxious glances as the two men glared at each other. Fortunately, Preacher Jenkins chose that moment to stroll past them with a cup of lemonade.

Spying his opportunity, Ethan nodded curtly to Wes and Lorelei. "Well, it's your funeral, Ranger. And you're welcome to it. I've got a preacher to see on business of a much more pleasant nature. Good afternoon."

Wes's jaw dropped. So did Rorie's. She knew Ethan was referring to the christening of his granddaughter, but Wes couldn't possibly know that. Shock, anguish, outrage, betrayal—she recognized them all as they flashed across his face. For a heartbeat, she thought to correct his misinterpretation, but his eyes stabbed her with such potent fury, she lost her nerve.

She lost her moment too. Ethan's firm grip on her elbow was guiding her away.

As she forced her numb limbs to move in time with Ethan, a bitter sense of irony washed over her. She had planned to tell Wes her decision in the gentlest way possible, but he had leaped to a conclusion—the right conclusion.

What was left for her to say?

* * *

"Colonel Hawkins is taking Mrs. Sinclair to the preacher," Lorelei whispered, her features growing animated with delight. "Do you suppose this means he has asked her to marry him?"

Wes, still reeling from the encounter, could only nod his head. Rorie had chosen Hawkins. She'd chosen Hawkins over
him!

Pale and shaking, he felt a whirlwind of confusion batter his innards. He'd never dreamed she'd do this to him. Not after he'd told her he loved her. Not after she'd said she loved
him!

Lorelei's eager monologue permeated the maelstrom in his brain. "Wait until I tell Marshal Dukker that Mrs. Sinclair said yes to Colonel Hawkins. He'll just be livid."

"No!"

Wes rounded on the girl, and she shrank back a step. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into a quiet, unoccupied alley.

"Lorelei, so help me God, don't you dare breathe a word about her to Dukker."

"B-but don't you see? If I tell Marshal Dukker, he'll get upset that she passed him over, and he'll be more likely to let the truth slip about Gator. It's perfect for our plan."

"Your
plan, Lorelei." The blood was pounding so hard in Wes's temples, that she floated before him in a red haze. "I told you to stay out of my business. Pumping Creed about the still was dangerous enough. You've got about as much chance as a lamb in a wolf's den if you cross Hannibal Dukker."

Lorelei's pout was mutinous. "Well,
someone
has to enter the wolf's den to find poor Sheriff Gator's bones. Besides, I've gotten to know Creed a little better since I started helping you, and while I wouldn't necessarily let him
court
me, I don't think he's as bad as you and Shae want me to believe. I think you're just trying to scare me."

"You're damned right I'm trying to scare you! Detective work is not a schoolgirl's game! And you're talking about Pa Dukker now, not Creed. If Dukker killed his cousin, he won't have the slightest qualm about blowing off your silly little head. So if you've got half a brain rattling around beneath those curls, you'll stay out of my way. And out of Dukker's."

She snapped her parasol closed. "How dare you talk to me like that? Are you forgetting who my papa is?"

"I don't give a rat's fanny who your pa is. I don't get paid to entertain babes in bloomers when they've become bored chasing wedding bells."

She huffed, turning crimson. "I do not have to stand here and be insulted by the likes of you." She jabbed her parasol into the dirt for emphasis. "You could stand to learn a thing or two about manners—even from Creed. Good day, sir."

She flounced off with a swish of skirts and a glimpse of dainty ankle. Wes slammed a fist into his palm.

"Goddamned feather-headed
women!"

He didn't know whose brain he needed to shake more sense into: Lorelei's or Rorie's. At least Rorie wasn't foolish enough to put her life in danger simply for amusement.

No, she just threw it away, he reminded himself brutally.

He rubbed a rough hand over his face, hoping the harsh contact of flesh on flesh would stave off the dreaded prickle behind his eyelids. How could she do this? Didn't she understand
he
wanted her,
he
needed her? How could she take away her love, her children, the only family he had?

The questions kept echoing in the frozen chambers of his mind. He couldn't think, he could only feel, and anguish, raw and blistering, lashed him up one side and down the other.

"I won't let you marry him," he ground out through clenched teeth. "You're mine, Aurora Sinclair. So help me God, you'll fill the bed of some other man over my dead body."

* * *

Rorie walked numbly from booth to booth, seeing little and hearing less. Even Ethan's voice, booming at her side, registered as little more than a droning hum in her ears. Her entire being had retreated into the depths of her soul.