Angel Creek (22 page)

The saloon was blessedly cool after the harsh glare of the sun. The bartender didn't pay them any mind as they started up the stairs. Verna watched them go with a hint of envy in her expression.

When they were in her room Tillie sat down before her mirrored vanity and slowly began removing hat pins from the delicate froth of velvet and veiling that had been perched on her head. She never visited any of the shops while dressed in the immodest, brightly colored dresses she wore in the saloon. The dress she had on was as demure as any of the dresses the good wives of the town wore to church, but it had probably cost considerably more. Tillie's taste in clothes ran toward the expensive. The bronze fabric was wonderfully flattering to her complexion. He reached out and fingered her sleeve, thinking that her love of good clothes was probably the last remnant of her former life.

“Open that hatbox for me,” she said. Her rich brown eyes held a mixture of excitement and satisfaction. Tillie adored hats.

Kyle obeyed, taking the top off and lifting out a small bit of fur and velvet. The hat was a dark burgundy color, the fur was black, and a dashing little black plume curled around the edge. The half veil was attached to the hat with twin cascades of dark red rhinestones. It looked ridiculous in his big hand, but Tillie set it on her head and angled it over one eye, and it was immediately transformed into a masterpiece.

“Miss Wesner does such good work,” she purred, turning her head from side to side in sublime satisfaction.
“I designed the hat, and she made it exactly as I described it.”

“And now you have to have a gown made to match it.”

“Of course.” She met his eyes in the mirror and gave him a slow smile. She must have seen something in his face, because the smile faded and she briskly removed the hat, swiveling to face him. “What's wrong?”

“The drought,” he said simply. “I'm losing the ranch.”

She was silent. She knew what drought meant, knew that nature was both fickle and merciless.

“I only have one creek still running, and it's low,” he said. “When it dries up the cattle will start dying. I tried, but I've lost.”

“You've started over before. Do it again.”

“Why bother? I'm beginning to think I should have stayed with the cards. At least then I could do something about a run of bad luck.”

Tillie shook her head. “You'd have gotten killed. You're a good cheat, but you aren't that good. I could always spot you.”

He pinched her chin. “Only because you're so damn good at it yourself, darlin'.”

Tillie shrugged, saying nothing. Kyle examined her exquisite face, searching for some sign of the life she had led in either her skin or her expression, but she looked as serene as a nun. She hadn't changed much at all from the days of her girlhood in New Orleans. “Why don't you go back?” he asked suddenly. “You could do it. No one would have to know.”

She didn't move but subtly withdrew anyway, her
expression going blank. “Why would I want to go back?”

“Your family is one of the richest in Louisiana. Why would you want to live like this, in one room over a saloon, when you can have a mansion?”

“I couldn't tolerate it when I was a girl,” she said gently. “The rules, the restrictions, being treated like a brainless doll. I've been on my own a long time now, making my own decisions, good or bad. How could I go back, even if my father would allow me in the house, knowing that at best it would be just the same? At worst, he would keep me locked up so I couldn't damage the family reputation any more than I already have.”

“Does your family know where you are?”

“No. They think I'm dead. I arranged it that way.”

“Then your father could be dead by now, and you wouldn't know about it.”

“I occasionally get news from New Orleans. He was still alive six months ago. I don't wish him dead,” she said, smiling at Kyle. “He's my father. He isn't a wicked man, just very strict, and I couldn't live like that. It's best this way. But why are we talking about me when we should be discussing your plans?”

“I don't have any. I tried, and I lost.”

“It isn't like you to give up,” she chided.

“I've never wanted anything this much before. I can't imagine working up any interest in anything else.”

She touched his cheek in sympathy, her slim fingers cool on his skin. “It could rain tomorrow. Or the day after. And I have money. I can always stake you to get you going again.”

He shook his head. “You'll probably need it. If the ranches go under, so will this town. You'll have to set yourself up somewhere else.”

“Things haven't gotten that bad yet. I always hope for the best.”

“But prepare for the worst.” Over the years he had run into her in different places, and at varying degrees of prosperity. He had seen her ragged and hungry, but even then she had always been planning, never wasting what little money she had. They had even thrown in together for a while, living off his winnings at cards, always ready to dodge out of town if anyone spotted his light touch with the pasteboards. They had huddled together under one thin blanket on frigid nights during the worst of their luck and spent three whole days and nights making love in a soft hotel bed once when they had hit a lucky streak.

Then they had gone their separate ways, for some reason he no longer remembered. Likely she had just had her own plans, and he had had his. He hadn't seen her again until they had both wound up, by sheer coincidence, in Prosper. But maybe it wasn't such a big coincidence, for they had both been looking for the same thing: a quiet, steady little town. They had both worked boomtowns and knew it was no way to live. Boomtowns were too violent. Security was better.

“If you change your mind about the money,” she said, “all you have to do is ask.”

“I know.”

He felt a surge of desire for her. He never tired of making love to Tillie. They had known each other for so long, made love so often, that they were entirely comfortable together. He knew just how to touch her
and did so, reaching out to fondle her breast with the exact degree of pressure that she liked. She inhaled sharply, her eyes darkening. “Well,” she said. “I see your spirits have revived.”

He took her hand and placed it on the front of his pants. “That isn't a spirit, but it sure has revived.”

“Darling,” she purred, “it's never been dead.”

They undressed leisurely, pausing often for kisses and unhurried caresses. She started to go down on her knees and take him into her mouth, but he stopped her because, despite his slow pace, he felt that would be more than he could stand, and he wanted it to last longer than that. He put her on the bed and made love to her, using the advantage of his intimate knowledge of her to take her to the peak twice before he allowed himself release.

Afterward, as they lay quietly together, he felt a small measure of contentment. He might lose the ranch, but after all, he still had Tillie. She had always been there when he needed her. He only hoped he had been as good a friend to her as she had been to him.

K
YLE WAS DRUNK EVEN THOUGH IT WAS ONLY EARLY
afternoon. He seldom allowed himself the excess because men who drank too much often said too much, and he wanted to keep his past life just that, in the past. But there were some occasions that seemed to call for drink, and watching his ranch die qualified as one of them.

Besides, he didn't have anything else to do, unless he wanted to ride out and look at the land drying up. If he wanted to see water, he'd have to ride all the way over to Angel Creek.

Now that was an idea, he mused. Maybe if he offered the Swann woman even more than he had before, she'd accept this time. Not that he had the money, but she didn't know that. All he needed was her signature on a bill of sale. He'd start moving his cattle in and worry about the money later. Like the old saying went, possession was nine tenths of the law.

That was what he'd do. He'd offer her so much money she'd have to be stupid to turn it down.

He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't ride, and soon he was on his horse. At least he was doing something, and that was a relief. It was the helpless waiting that drove him crazy, but patience never had been his long suit.

Entering the Angel Creek valley was like traveling to a different part of the country. Where the ground was cracking with dryness on the Bar B and the pastures were turning brown, here the earth was softened by the underground moisture, and the meadow grasses grew tall. It even felt cooler. He reined in, thinking in confusion that it couldn't
actually
be cooler, but then he decided that it really was. He frowned until the slight breeze on his face told the story. The valley acted like a funnel to the breezes coming down from the mountains, sweeping the cooler air downward. It was still hot, but not as hot as it was everywhere else.

The Swann woman came out on the porch when she heard his horse, and she had that damn shotgun in her hands, just the way she had the other times he'd talked to her. She'd never threatened him with it, but he'd never been able to forget it was there, either.

She stood as proud as any of the high-nosed New Orleans ladies of his youth, even though she worked the soil like a man and her clothes were plain and old. Hell, Tillie dressed better than she did. But her head was held high on her slender neck, and those witchgreen eyes were rock steady. “Mr. Bellamy,” was all she said in greeting.

He didn't dismount. He just leaned forward, resting
his arms on his saddle horn. “I'll double my last offer for this place.”

She arched her brows, and he saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Your last offer was marriage. Are you saying you'll marry me twice?”

He wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. “I need this land. I need the water. My cattle are going to die if they don't have water, and you have just about the only good creek for a hundred miles or more.”

Dee sighed and looked at the cloudless blue sky. Why couldn't it rain? “I'm sorry, Mr. Bellamy, but I won't sell to you.” She did feel sorry for him; she felt sorry for every rancher, big and small, and every farmer. But she couldn't take care of them all, couldn't parcel out the water that ran through her land.

Kyle reined his horse around and rode away without another word. He was so angry he couldn't speak anyway. Damn her! She just wouldn't listen to reason. She was using only a little more than an acre of the land and letting the rest of it go to waste, but still she hung on to every inch as if it would kill her to let it go. For the sake of her piss-ant vegetable garden his cattle were going to die.

No, by God, they weren't.

He was
almost sober
by the time he got back home, but his
anger hadn't
abated, and neither had his savage determination.

One of the cowhands was coming out of the barn. “Get Pierce!” Kyle yelled. “And Fronteras!”

The two men were out on the range, so it was late when they finally trudged up to the house where he
waited. “We start rounding up the cattle tomorrow,” Kyle said. His voice was abrupt and still angry.

Pierce slowly nodded, as if he had to consider the idea before giving it his approval.

Luis was curious. “Where are we taking them?”

“Into the Angel Creek valley.”

Pierce said, “That Swann woman's place?”

“I talked to her today,” Kyle replied, knowing that they would assume she had given him permission to graze his cattle on her land.

Pierce nodded again. “Valley's small. You want all of the cattle?”

“Yes.” The cattle would quickly overgraze, but at least they would have water. His mind was made up. No matter what Dee Swann said or did, his cattle were going into that valley.

Rounding up the cattle wasn't easy. They didn't want to leave what little water they had and tended to stray every chance they got. Everyone on the Bar B worked all the daylight hours the next day and got up before dawn on the second day to start again. The men felt as if they'd grown to their saddles.

It was late morning of the third day before they began moving the herd, and they reached the mouth of the little valley in the middle of the afternoon.

Dee had gotten up early that morning to weed the garden before the heat got bad. She couldn't remember it ever being so hot before, and the plants were beginning to show it. They were growing, but she was afraid the crops were going to be stunted, burned by the sun.

The ranchers had to be in bad shape. She hadn't
been into town for the past few weeks, but the last time she had gone everyone had been talking about how dry it was, and how it was hurting the grazing. Kyle Bellamy had been desperate when he'd ridden out to try to buy her land, and sympathy stirred in her as she remembered his face.

She wondered how Lucas was doing. She had seen him only once since the time he had tried to talk her into selling out; it had been just after the vote to ratify the constitution, and he had been jubilant over that, but tired from work and worried about the lack of water. She had wanted to assure him that everything would be all right, but the words would have been useless. How could she assure rain?

If the drought continued and his cattle died, would he ever forgive her?

She straightened and looked at the sun, already feeling its heat though it was still early in the morning. Her chest felt tight. She had no control over the weather, but she did have Angel Creek.

Lucas wanted her land. Like Kyle Bellamy, he had even offered marriage in an effort to obtain it. Every day since then she had lived with the knowledge that he hadn't wanted her for herself, but for the land. It lay cold and heavy in her breast, and time only seemed to make it grow heavier. It didn't help that she had realized the basis of his attraction to her right from the beginning, because like a fool she had fallen in love with him anyway. She couldn't even let herself attach any importance to their lovemaking, for Lucas was undeniably lusty by nature, and she thought any willing woman would have sufficed for his needs.