Lorraine Heath (11 page)

Loree took a moment to relish the feel of the grass beneath her soles, but it somehow paled in comparison to his warm thigh against her foot. He grabbed her shoes and unfolded his long, lanky body.

“I’ll put these in the carriage,” he offered.

She watched him walk to the carriage, wishing she didn’t have so many mixed emotions where he was concerned. Dreading the feelings his touch stirred within her, desperately wanting the easing of the loneliness that his presence caused. As often as DeWayne visited, he never managed to take the loneliness away.

Austin scooped Two-bits out of the box and set him on the ground, laughing as the dog scampered after a butterfly. She liked the rumble of his laughter, the glow in his eyes as he walked to her, the slight curving of his lips, and the warmth of his hand as he wrapped it around hers before they continued their journey into his past.

Night had fallen by the time Austin brought the buggy to a halt in front of Loree’s house. He set the box containing the sleeping puppy on the table, lit a lamp, and walked through the house as though he owned it, checking all the dark corners and closets.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said, his voice low, and Loree wondered why everyone always talked quieter at night.

Her gaze drifted toward the bedroom door, and she wondered what, if anything, he expected now. Once an intimacy had been shared, how did one establish boundaries?

“I appreciate that you went with me today.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” he asked, turning his hat in his hands.

She smiled softly. “Yes, I did.”

“Good.” He glanced quickly around the room. “I’d best get back to town, get the buggy and horses turned into the livery.”

With long strides he crossed the room and opened the door. Loree followed him onto the porch, the pale light from the lamp spilling through the doorway and across his face. Within the shadows, she saw his fingers working the brim of his hat.

“Loree …”

Her breath caught and held. She didn’t know where she’d find the strength to refuse him if he asked to come back inside. He took a step nearer and rubbed his knuckles across her cheek.

“Loree, I’m not courting you,” he said quietly.

“You told me that earlier today. I haven’t forgotten.”

“I just want to make sure that you understand that.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

His mouth swooped down to cover hers, his arm snaking around her waist, drawing her flush against his body. Hot, moist, and hungry, his lips taunted and teased. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor. She knew it was wrong. She had nothing of permanence to offer him.

When he finally drew away, Loree was surprised her legs were able to support her.

“Get inside before I do something we both regret,” he rasped in a ragged voice.

She nodded, slipped inside, and closed the door. She pressed her ear against it. It was long moments before she heard his boots hitting the porch, carrying him away, before she heard the buggy roll into the night.

She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands, but she couldn’t hide from the truth. Had he asked, she would have invited him to stay.

A
ustin stared at the five cards in his hand. The queen of hearts looked damned lonely with no other face cards to keep her company. He understood that feeling. Christ, loneliness had been his companion for most of his life. He loved his brothers, but hanging on to their shirttails, he’d found little affection and when it came, it had been little more than a quick nod of the head for a job well done. He didn’t resent that. A man’s world was decidedly different from a woman’s.

Amelia had taught him that affection deepened with a touch: slender fingers on a clenched fist, a hand rubbing a shoulder, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek. Small things that breached the mighty wall of lonesomeness. But Amelia had belonged first to Dallas, then to Houston, never to Austin. As much as she had eased his forlorn heart, she had also left him wanting. Until he’d first set eyes on Becky.

She had been his: to look at, to smile at, to laugh with—whenever he wanted. But he’d kept his hands and lips to himself, waiting until she was old enough. She had been nearly seventeen, the first time he’d kissed her. And nine months later, he was sitting in a cold barren cell with nothing but the memories. And the loneliness had increased because he had known what it was to live without it.

He told himself that it was loneliness that had him riding out to Loree Grant’s house late into the night. He’d simply sit astride Black Thunder and stare at the shadowed house. More than once he had to stop himself from dismounting and knocking on her door. He didn’t imagine she’d appreciate being disturbed from her slumber at two o’clock in the morning. And what could he have said?

I can’t sleep without holding you, smelling you, listening to your breath whispering into the night.

He’d gone so far as to pull bluebonnets from the fields and stuff them beneath his pillow at the hotel just so he could pretend she was near.

It had been a week since he’d taken her to the old homestead and his loneliness had increased with each passing day. He wasn’t in a position to court her, had nothing to offer her, and even though he’d told her that, he had seen a measure of hope reflected in her golden eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her, and he feared if he spent much more time with her, he might do just that.

“You in or out?”

Austin snapped his gaze up to the detective’s. Wylan had lifted a brow. Austin tossed down his cards. “I feel like we’re wasting our time. Or at least I am. I might as well be spitting in a high wind for all the good I’m doing here.”

Wylan gathered up the cards and began his infuriating silent shuffle. “I finished visiting the last of the brothels last night. Didn’t glean any information.”

“You’ve been visiting brothels?”

“Yep. No telling what a man might say in the heat of passion.”

Austin knew too well the truth of that statement. “I could have saved you the trouble.”

Wylan smiled. “Oh, it was no trouble.”

The man’s easy attitude was beginning to wear thin. Austin planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Boyd McQueen had a preference for boys.”

The cards Wylan had been shuffling went flying out of his hands and disbelief swept over his face. “What?”

Austin rubbed his jaw wondering how much he could say without causing harm. He’d learned of Boyd’s perversions from Rawley. Furious over a past he’d been unable to change, Austin had shot a bullet over Boyd’s head in the saloon and announced that nothing would have brought him greater pleasure than to rid the ground of Boyd’s shadow. Those words had served to condemn him as much as Boyd writing “Austin” in the dirt. Austin sighed deeply. “Boyd took pleasure in hurting boys, among other things.”

“Your brother’s son?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. The boy has a haunted look in his eyes. I just couldn’t figure out what had put it there.” Wylan poured himself a whiskey and downed it in one swallow. “I gotta tell you, the more I learn about Boyd McQueen the more I hope I don’t find the man who killed him. But then there’s the matter of your innocence.”

Austin fingered his glass of whiskey. “I spent five years thinking someone had killed him and purposely put the blame on me. The thought of getting even burned inside me. Now, I’m beginning to think I just got unlucky. No one set out to hurt me. Someone murdered Boyd, and I got blamed for it. If it hadn’t destroyed my life, I’d be applauding whoever killed him.”

“Which is the reason I’ll keep looking, but this gives me a different angle: an irate father, a young boy McQueen might have hurt who finally grew to manhood … People will be less likely to share that sort of information, but I’ll keep that in mind as I’m digging.”

“I’m thinking of heading home. I can’t see that I’m doing any good here. Boyd stole five years of my life. I don’t want him taking any more.”

Wylan gathered up his scattered cards and began to play a game of solitaire. “I’m going to stay here a few more days, then head back to Kansas, see if this new information brings anything to the surface.”

The McQueens had moved to Texas from Kansas several years back. If Dee hadn’t brought such joy to Dallas’s life, Austin would have wished they’d never left Kansas.

“Mr. Leigh?”

Austin glanced up at the hesitant voice. Recognition dawned and he slowly came to his feet. “Dewayne, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. I was out visiting Loree today. She looks a might poorly. I have a feeling you’re the cause, but she said it ain’t my place to judge.”

Guilt cut through him like a rusty knife. He should have honored her request that he never return. “That was mighty generous of her.”

“She’s a generous sort—to a fault, if you want to know the truth. I don’t like to see her hurt.”

“I have no intention of hurting her.” It was that intention that had kept him away from her when everything inside him wanted to see her again.

“Well, see that you don’t ‘cuz you’d have to answer to me if you did.”

Dewayne spun on his heel. Austin dropped into his chair and met Wylan’s speculative gaze.

“What was all that about?”

“Personal,” Austin said just before he downed his whiskey, relishing the burning in his gut. Dewayne obviously had a soft spot for Loree. Hell, who wouldn’t?

“Nothing that might help me find Boyd’s killer?”

“No, but what would it cost me to have you search for another killer?”

“Not a cent. Your brother is paying me enough to find ten killers.”

“What information would you need?”

“Name helps. Description. Anything at all. What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He killed a family—”

“Mr. Leigh?”

Austin jerked his head around. Dewayne held out an envelope. “I forgot that Loree asked me to drop this off at the Driskill for you, but reckon I can just give it to you here.”

Austin took the envelope, studying the scrawl on the paper that looked as though it had been written with a trembling hand. “ ‘Preciate it.”

Dewayne gave him a slow nod before sauntering away.

“That from your Loree?”

“She’s not
my
Loree.” Austin tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter she’d written. The words had joy, fear, and dread weaving through him. He surged to his feet, knocking the chair over.

“What is it?”

“I was wrong. She is my Loree. Do whatever it takes to find Boyd’s killer. I’m headin’ back to Dallas’s ranch.”

His Loree. Austin stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her. She was too trusting, leaving the front door and the door to her bedroom open. And the dog wasn’t a damn bit of good. It had neither heard nor smelled his approach, but just continued to gnaw on one of Loree’s black shoes near the bed, growling at it as though it were a threat when the real threat was leaning against her doorjamb.

In her daisy colored dress, she sat on the floor, her legs tucked beneath her, her toes peering out from under her backside. Her thick braid was draped over her shoulder. She had opened a wooden chest and was slowly removing tiny pieces of clothing, spreading them over her lap, and pressing them flat with her fingers, as though each garment was precious—as precious as the child growing within her.

His child.

His knees felt like a couple of strawberries left too long on the vine, until they were soft and worthless. Her note had asked nothing of him. She expected nothing from him. She had simply wanted him to know that she was carrying his child.

He’d gathered up his belongings at the hotel, saddled Black Thunder, and ridden hard, every word of her letter emblazoned on his mind, echoing through his heart. He wished he could offer her more than an uncertain future and broken dreams.

He shoved himself away from the doorjamb. His boot heels echoed through the room as he walked toward her, his stomach knotted as though someone had lassoed it and given the rope a hard tug. She jerked her head around, the wariness in her golden eyes remaining as he neared. Sweeping his hat from his head, he hunkered down beside her. “Howdy.”

She gave him a tentative smile, her fingers wrinkling the tiny gown she’d just smoothed across her lap. “Hello.”

“Dewayne gave me your letter.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

A shaft of deep sadness pierced his soul. “You don’t know me at all, Loree, if you believe that.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she dropped her gaze to the delicate clothing in her lap. Reaching out with his thumb, he captured a teardrop that slowly rolled from the corner of her eye. “I’m going home, Loree.”

She snapped her gaze up to his. “You found the man you were looking for?”

“No, but I think it’s unlikely that I ever will, after all this time. I spent the past five years dying. I want to start living again.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t even know where your home is.”

“West Texas. My brother has a ranch. For as long as I can remember, I’ve helped him work his spread, herd his cattle.”

Her smile grew. “I guessed that you were a cowboy.”

Not by choice. He’d always hated ranching, had always dreamed of leaving, but the places life had taken him weren’t exactly what he’d had in mind. His gaze drifted to her stomach, flat as a board. He was about to travel another trail he hadn’t knowingly chosen, but oddly, he had a feeling this one would leave him with no regrets.

“I’d be real honored if you’d marry me,” he said, his voice low.

More tears filled her eyes just before she averted her gaze. He wished the blue flowers hadn’t disappeared from the hills. He would have liked to have brought her some. Maybe he should have settled for the red and yellow flowers that remained. Or maybe he should have brought her a bright yellow ribbon for her hair, anything to accompany the words that sounded as cold as a river in January. He watched helplessly as she swiped the tears from her eyes, knowing he was the cause.

She peered at him and gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “No.”

He felt as though she’d just hit him in the chest with an iron skillet. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean I don’t want to get married.”

“Then why did you send me the note?”

“I just thought you had a right to know about the child.”

“I have more than the right to know. I have the responsibility to care for it. I’m not gonna have him labeled a bastard.”

She flinched and angled her chin. “Her.”

“What?”

“I think it’s a girl.”

That made sense to him since it seemed the Leigh men were only capable of producing girls. “All right, fine. It’s a girl. You want her whispered about ‘cuz that’s what’ll happen.” He softened his voice. “And they’ll whisper about you, too, and don’t tell me that there’s nobody around to notice. You can’t live like a hermit with a child. You can’t deny her the world just because you’ve seen the ugliest side of it. Marry me, Loree.”

“Do you love me?”

Her quietly spoken question was like a fist closing around his heart. “I like you well enough,” he answered honestly. “Don’t you like me?”

“I like what I know of you, but what do I really know? Until a few minutes ago, your home could have been on the moon as far as I knew.”

“Well, I
don’t
live on the moon. I live in West Texas, and I have the means to provide for you—not in as grand a fashion as I’d like, but I think it’d be tolerable.”

“Tolerable?”

“Dammit, Loree! I wronged you and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“How does convincing me to marry a man who doesn’t love me make it right?”

“Maybe it doesn’t make it right for us, but it’ll make it right for the baby. We have to put her first.”

“Do you still love Becky?”

His stomach tightened, and he clenched his jaw.

Wylan had certainly been right about words spoken in the heat of passion. He’d uttered one word, and this woman was going to hold it against him for the rest of his life. He surged to his feet and stormed from the house. He headed for the woodpile, worked the ax out of the stump, lifted a log, and slammed the ax into it.

He tried to put himself in Loree’s place, remembering the relief he’d felt when she’d confessed there was no Jake. Only for her, there would always be a Becky. His first love.

“What are you doing?” she asked from behind him.

He tossed the split wood onto the pile and hefted another log to the stump. “Chopping you twenty years worth of wood. I’m gonna repair your house, paint it, and do anything else around here that needs to be done. You don’t want to marry me? Fine. But I’ll be damned before a child of mine is gonna suffer because of mistakes I made.”

I’ll be damned before a child of mine is gonna suffer because of mistakes I made.

Those words echoed through Loree’s mind as she lay in her bed unable to sleep. They told her a lot about the man. He accepted responsibility for his actions.

But then, if she were honest with herself, she’d already known that, had learned that fact about him the first night when he’d chopped wood for a bowl of stew.

She didn’t know the little things about him: his favorite foods, preferred colors. She didn’t know if he danced or sang.