Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (45 page)

She blew a curl out of her eyes. The Curse of the Dress had claimed another hapless victim. "You really know how to turn a lady's head, Nat."

He chuckled, setting her free. "Nick taught me everything he knows."

She sighed. She couldn't tell if he was being ironic or not. Nat wasn't half as slow-witted as he pretended to be. In some ways, he was a whole lot smarter than Nick, especially when Nick was being his classically "icky" self.

She stepped aside to let a couple step up to the cider line. Inadvertently, her gaze lighted on Zack. Although he stood across the arena in a relatively unpopulated section near the bronco chutes, she could feel his eyes on her like brands. He seemed to be listening with only half an ear as Red Calloway's jaw flapped and his forefinger made menacing stabs in the air.

Nat's gaze followed hers. "Your sweetheart hasn't taken his eyes off you since you arrived a half hour back. Shoot, if you were mine, I wouldn't let you wander off too far in that dress either. Lots of wolves are prowling that dance floor."

She turned her shoulder on Zack. "Trust me, Nat. He's not my sweetheart."

"He's not, eh? Then how come you keep going around kissing him?"

She started, then scowled. "Are you spying on me, Nathan Rotterdam?"

"Heck, Bailey, there's no need to spy when you're out smacking lips in public."

"We fight in public too," she said dourly.

"Yep. Just like a regular married couple."

She winced. The last thing she wanted was a marriage like her parents'.

"Where's Nick?" she demanded, eager to change the subject.

"Trying to bury the hatchet with Amaryllis, I reckon."

Nat absently rubbed his cheek. "Damn, that girl packs a wallop."

"And why would Amaryllis be walloping you?"

Nat turned sheepish. "I reckon it's not much of a secret by now. But if I tell you, you're not going to take her side, are you?"

"Probably not."

"Good." He gave her a lopsided smile. "But if you're feeling so inclined, just remember: It was Nick's idea."

"What was Nick's idea?"

"Me pretending to be him."

Her eyes widened.

"Now, Bailey, you promised not to take her side," he reminded her in his signature whiny voice. "'Sides, I told him it was a stupid idea."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"But I did, Bailey, honest. I said, 'Nick, let me play out your poker game. You go spark Amaryllis.' "

Nat shoved his hands in his pockets as he recalled his crime. "Nick was supposed to have dinner with her and the judge, you see. But he was having a winning streak, and you know how ol' Nick gets when the cards are in his favor. He told me to go eat Mrs. Larabee's good vittles, and when he was through winning, he'd hide out in the back bushes 'til me and Amaryllis came out on the porch to swing. Then I was supposed to visit the privy so we could trade places."

Bailey shook her head in bemusement. She never dreamed she'd hear herself thinking this, but,
poor Amaryllis.

"So then what happened?"

"Well..." Squirming a little, Nat cleared his throat. "Amaryllis caught on a bit quicker than either of us expected."

Bailey arched an eyebrow. Good for Amaryllis. The Rotterdam twins had pulled the wool over her own eyes a couple of times when she was younger, before Mrs. Rotterdam had confided how to tell the two rounders apart—Nick had a crooked little finger, which he'd broken when he was four—and Bailey could still remember the sting of the humiliation.

Of course, she had never let one of the twins officially spark her. She figured the embarrassment for Amaryllis must have been a hundred times worse, trusting a sweetheart who'd hoodwinked her. For perhaps the first time in her life, Bailey sympathized with the girl.

Before she could grill Nat further about the details of the crime, Nick himself, the prince of all scapegraces, emerged from the crowd. Rubbing a bright red splotch on his cheek, he hurried toward them until he recognized Bailey. His strides faltered a bit.

"Tarnation." Halting, he stared bug-eyed at her, only slightly less dazed by her froufrous than his brother. "Did Rawlins put that rigging on you?"

She pursed her lips. "No, Ick, I put it on myself."

She'd effectively foiled his wisecrack. He made a face.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Serves you right. Serves you right that Amaryllis hit you too. 'Course, if it had been me, I would've done it a lot harder. And a lot lower."

Nick had the decency to redden, and he rounded on his brother. "You told her?"

Nat shrugged, the picture of innocence. "Sure. Why not? And it does serve you right, since I was the one collecting wallops last night. I told you trading places was never going to work."

"Well, things were going along just fine until you tried to kiss her!"

It was Bailey's turn to stare bug-eyed. When she turned her gaze on Nat, he stuck his jaw out.

"You told me to do what you would do, Nick."

"That's 'cause I thought you had enough sense not to spark my sweetheart!"

Bailey chuckled. She couldn't help herself. For a delightful change of pace, the twins had both gotten their just desserts.

"Boys, boys, boys," she crooned. "When are you going to grow up?"

Four blazing eyes glared back at her.

"Gee, Bailey," Nat grumbled, "it's not like you've never run off half-cocked in your life."

"Yeah," Nick chimed in. "You could be a little more understanding. This is serious! Ammie's spitting smoke. She said she doesn't ever want to see me again, and this time I think she meant it."

He looked so miserable, Bailey felt her humor ebb.

"Aw, she couldn't have meant it, Nick," Nat said loyally, patting his brother's shoulder. "She likes you too much."

"Not after last night." Nick gazed woefully at his sibling. "I'm plumb jawed out, and she's still not listening. Could you try talking some sense into her, Nat? Please?"

Nat started, retrieving his hand as if it had been burned. "Hell no. My face is still numb from the last time." He grimaced. "C'mon, Bailey. You want to go get some barbecue?"

"Naw," she said. "Nick here looks like he could use some company."

"You mean advice?" Nat snorted. "Good luck." Clearly disappointed by her refusal to join him, he started to turn, then hesitated in mid-stride. "Oh, and, Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe it's a good thing you are talking to Bailey. Pa's been looking for you."

"Pa can go to hell."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Nat shrugged, nodding a grudging good-bye.

As the younger twin ambled off, Bailey turned to Nick. "What was that all about?"

Nick scowled. "Pa's on the rampage again."

"Any particular reason?"

"You, mostly. Say, you want to go outside?" Nick asked, artfully changing the subject. "It's mighty hot in here."

Wary of Nick's penchant for mischief, Bailey nevertheless accepted his arm, her curiosity getting the better of her. It wasn't every day she was the focus of a Rotterdam squabble. At least, she hoped that was the case.

As she strolled beside Nick, Zack scowled at her across the arena, but she ignored him. Let him scowl all he wanted, she thought petulantly. She hoped he sprained a muscle frowning so hard.

The August night was hot and dry, but Nick was right. The temperature outside the arena, without its horde of sweltering bodies, was far more comfortable. Quieter too. Bailey breathed deeply, smelling hay and spilled cider on the breeze that wafted past her on its way toward the smoking pits of brisket, roast pig, and corn. The candy-apple vendor caught her attention, hawking his wares to Cord, Fancy, and their eager children from a booth to her right. To her left was another cider wagon and its assemblage of thirsty dancers. The line there wasn't quite as long as the one inside, and Bailey spied Rorie, Wes, and their children waiting for their turn at the tap.

Nick guided her away from the food seekers. They walked idly toward a cluster of empty barrels that waited to be loaded onto the first available cider wagon. Bailey hopped up on one of these convenient seats. Nick propped himself on the barrel beside her.

"So, you want to tell me why Hank's upset?" she asked, loath to let him evade the topic any longer.

He pressed his lips together. "Usual reason. Wants me to get married. Wants it to be you."

Bailey sighed.
Oh, that.
She should have known. Would Hank never give up?

"So that's why you told him to ask me to the hoe-down, eh?"

Nick's grin was fleeting. "Sure. I figured if he wants your land so bad, he could just marry you himself."

"Thanks, Nick," she said dryly.

"Aw, c'mon, Bailey. Pa's not so bad. Just old and ornery."

Now, there's an irresistible combination.

Her expression must have communicated her distaste, because Nick chuckled. "Don't you worry, hon. I'd marry you to Nat before I'd let my pa get his hands on you."

A small consolation.

They lapsed into a companionable silence. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to pass ten minutes in Nick's company without wanting to punch out his lights. Despite his latest scam, maybe he was growing up after all.

Or maybe she was just distracted.

"Nick," she ventured to say, "what do you know of this contract Zack drew up between the sheepherders and the cattlemen?"

He started, as if roused from a deep well of thought. "You mean the cease-fire? Just about everybody signed it—except Pa, of course. Nat and me thought it was a good idea, so we went ahead and put our names to it Thursday night at the Bullwhip."

"You did?" Bailey couldn't believe she was hearing him right. The twins never did anything without Hank's approval. "Does Hank know?"

"I reckon he does."

Nick's jaw hardened. His understated reply said a whole lot more about Hank's explosion and the resulting confrontation with his sons than Nick probably wanted her to know.

"Why did you go against him?" she asked gently.

"'Cause he's being stubborn. Stupid too." Guilt warred with the flush of anger on his face. "All he seems to care about these days is that damned election and getting more votes than Rawlins. I mean, really. Firing cannons to make rain?" He snorted in disgust.

Bailey shrugged, but she had to admit, Hank's rain-making idea did sound far-fetched—at first anyway. Then she remembered how he used to be an artilleryman during the War of Secession. Some of her earliest recollections of the Rotterdams' kitchen included Hank's boasts about his war exploits and his complaints about hauling Old Reb, his regiment's cannon, through the rain and the mud after every battle. Maybe he'd found some legitimate correlation between the cannon blasts and the downpours. If he had, and if he persuaded his brother-in-law to ship him a cannon from Fort Mason, Hank just might become Texas's newest hero.

"Well," she said, "I'm glad to see your father is trying to make water rather than, er"—she paused delicately—"borrow it. Red Calloway seems to think there's some merit in Hank's idea."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Red Calloway also tried to cut a toe off a cougar pelt to cheat you out of your five hundred dollars."

Bailey's jaw dropped. "He did? But I never heard anything—"

"'Course not. Me and Nat overheard him plotting down at the Bullwhip, and we mopped the floor with him. I don't know why he thought he could get away with a scam like that, when One Toe strikes a new homestead every other week. Hell, the bastard took down one of our own yearling bulls this morning."

Bailey winced at this news. The Rotterdams had lost so much stock already. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"Yeah, well, I wish Pa was. You know, if he'd only care half as much about business as he does about politics, our spread wouldn't be going up in smoke. Literally."

He folded his arms in a mutinous pose. For a moment, she was looking back in time, gazing on the towheaded rascal she used to know, a little boy who'd idolized his father and whose big azure eyes had been blind to Hank's every wrong. Nick had fought scores of brawls with his schoolmates whenever they so much as hinted that his father was a poker cheat, a bully, or a crooked politician.

Nat hadn't been quite as deceived by his father's real nature, but Nat had worshipped Nick. Whatever Nick did, Nat was sure to do too.

"Do you think Hank will come around?"

"Who knows?" Nick answered irritably. "But I'm tired of taking orders from him. He's my pa, not my boss."

Despite this declaration of independence, Nick's shoulders slumped. "'Sides," he continued gloomily, "Judge Larabee thought the contract was a good idea. And I couldn't go crossing him."

"Nick!"
Bailey exclaimed. She was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. "You sided with Zack and Larabee just to win over Amaryllis?"

He sighed. "Reckon so."

Her amusement faded as her heart twisted. The old Nick would have launched into a blustery defense. The new Nick looked downright pitiful.