Mary Connealy (20 page)

He was wrong to kiss her like that, and it wasn’t going to happen again! Not until he was sure Cassie wasn’t doing it out of a need to be submissive.

Red rode the buckskin to the spring, berating himself for his rough treatment of his sweet, kindhearted Cassie. He pegged Buck there and went back for Rosie, who was her usual cranky “you’re-late-milking-me” self. Rosie didn’t like not being milked until the afternoon on Sundays.

He tied Rosie so she could drink, led Buck home, and went back for Rosie.

Rosie was cranky about being dragged home. “I know I’m hurryin’ you, girl, but I’m afraid Cassie will forget her promise and start helping in some dangerous way or other.”

Rosie jerked her head and almost pulled Red over backward. He turned and thought he saw skepticism on her long face. “Okay, the truth is I just want to get back to her. I want to hold her again, gently this time, not like the ham-handed ox I was earlier.”

Rosie mooed loudly and Red realized what he’d said. “Well, I didn’t mean any offense to oxen, of course. That’s your family, I know. But I’m not supposed to act like one. And anyway, I can’t kiss her again.”

Red glanced back as if maybe Rosie could give him some advice. “I can’t. It’s too soon for her.”

He wanted a real marriage in every way with Cassie. Almost like watching a flower unfold from its bud, he could see Cassie blooming. It was as if she’d hidden her real self to be a perfect wife for Griff.

Cassie didn’t even realize how Griff had used her. Griff had abused his position of trust to marry her. Then he’d squandered her wealth and left her at the not-so-tender mercies of the men in Divide. The things she’d said about Griff calling her unclean and the money Griff had spent on foolishness made Red so mad he wished Lester Griffin were here so he could beat some sense into him.

But if Griff were here, then Red wouldn’t be married to Cassie. His breath caught on the delight of having her waiting for him in the house.

Red had even put aside his worry about Cassie’s faith. She bowed her head with him at every meal and she’d seemed content to attend services with him. Red had the sudden unsettling thought that maybe Cassie was trying to turn herself into a perfect wife for Red Dawson, just like she’d turned herself into a perfect china doll for Lester Griffin.

Red’s heart panged at the thought and he froze in mid-step. Rosie plowed into him and shoved him along until he was walking again.

Cassie had agreed so sweetly to wait for him to do the chores. Red had told her to sit in that chair, and suddenly he was sure that she wouldn’t even stand up the whole time he was gone. She’d said, “I’ll be proud to obey you, Red,” right out loud at the church service. He didn’t want Cassie to twist and turn herself around trying to become whatever Red wanted her to be. That made him no better than Lester Griffin. He wanted Cassie to feel safe enough to be herself.

She’d been living by someone else’s wishes since she was fifteen. No, since she was twelve, because that’s when Griff had first gotten charge over her.

Red remembered seeing Cassie sitting perfectly still in the carriage waiting for Griff. He thought of the times he’d seen her, her hands folded in her lap, the unnatural look of composure on her face. She had been out there because Griff had insisted she stay, like a trained dog, confined to that carriage as surely as the horses had been tied to the hitching post.

With a flash of insight, Red knew no one learned to be so submissive without a harsh taskmaster administering the lesson. He thought of the fear that flashed in Cassie’s eyes every time she thought she might have displeased him. Once she’d even flinched away from him.

Sickened by the direction of his thoughts, Red knew that there’d been more than scolding and insults involved in Griff’s discipline. It took a hard hand to wring that kind of fearful obedience out of anyone—man, woman, or child.

At that moment Lester Griffin was fortunate to be dead and beyond Red’s reach.

Red contrasted Cassie’s detached serenity in her Mrs. Griffin days with the girl who had pitched in and helped Muriel yesterday. Was that what Cassie wanted to do, or was she just following Red’s example?

Red knew then that teaching her all of the ranch chores would be easy, and he knew he could have the perfect little ranch wife, hurrying to do his bidding. And he could kiss her as often as he liked and have a dozen children if he wished. And he’d never know if any of it was what Cassie wanted.

He also realized he couldn’t know if Cassie’s faith was real. Red the husband could fumble around and do his best with Cassie, but Red the preacher couldn’t settle for letting Cassie’s soul be neglected.

Red decided to start out teaching her because she really did need to learn, but what he wanted was for her to defy him. He wanted Cassie to look him in the eye and say, “I’m doing enough around here. Do it yourself.”

He tied Rosie up in her stall and started for the house. He thought ruefully that at least he no longer wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless. She’d just go along with that, too.

As he reached his soddy, he realized that his mind had led him in a big circle that took him right back to where he started.

Until he was sure what her wishes were, he was never going to kiss her again.

Wade scuffed his foot against the bedding of pine needles as he waited impatiently for Dawson to go into the house. He was learning their schedule.

Morning chores. Ride out to check the cattle. Noon break. Ride out for slightly longer to check the cattle. Evening chores. Supper. Dawson always stayed inside after supper. Always hurrying, always working.

Wade knew better than to leave much sign of his passing. Although Dawson never scouted around the highlands behind his cave, he did move like a man who had lived in wild country. He would study the landscape. Take time to look at the sky. Pay attention to any ruckus set up by his horse or his stock. Wade wondered if that was how Dawson always acted or if he was suspicious for some reason.

Wade knew his pa was suspicious. Pa had never paid much attention to what Wade did. There were plenty of hands to take care of things. But Wade had taken to leaving before first light almost every day and riding for over an hour to set up his lookout of the Dawson ranch, and Pa had noticed. So far Wade had defied his father’s curt questions about Wade’s comings and goings. The defiance felt good and added to the visceral pleasure he got from watching the china doll.

Wade waited hungrily for a sight of her. She came out and helped with chores a lot, and Wade could hardly keep himself from charging down to that pitiful ranch and grabbing her. Oh, she’d fight him. She was a respectable woman, after all, and she was married. But inside she’d be glad he took her. She’d even be glad if her husband was dead so she’d no longer be bound to him.

Wade remembered how he used to watch the Griffin place until her fool husband rode off to town. As soon as Griffin was gone, he’d ride up to the house. He’d come up on the porch and hammer on the door until she opened it. Then he’d deliberately stand too close to her. He thought of her fear. Because his love for her was hopeless, he’d been furious. He’d wanted her to be afraid. But now he understood. She wasn’t afraid of Wade. She was afraid of what he made her feel.

The anger surged upward again, and he grabbed for his whiskey flask to wash the anger back down before it choked him. He thought about Dawson inside that house with the china doll for the night, and suddenly something snapped inside him. He wanted to kill Dawson, then drag the china doll off and marry her before his father knew anything about it. And if his father objected, Wade would kill him, too. Wade’s hand itched to pull his revolver and go down to that house and have it out once and for all.

Wade’s eyes traveled over the Dawson place, and he noticed the cattle moving slowly toward a water hole Dawson had dammed up across his creek. Wade’s eyes narrowed as he thought of how he’d always pulled back from killing. He took a long pull on his whiskey, let the burn stoke the fire of his rage, and thought of a way to strike a blow against Dawson.

This he did have the guts to do, and maybe it would make the next time, the time Dawson died, easier. Wade drank until his conscience was silenced then he planned. Soon he left his lookout and rode home to get what he needed to strike before morning.

B
elle rode out before first light.

She’d told the girls she was going, and they were already hard at work before dawn anyway. The three of them would stay outside until breakfast time. Anthony would be awake by then…maybe.

The weather looked fair, and she pushed her mount hard to eat up the ground.

Still, it was midmorning before the Dawson place came into sight. She’d never been here before and she noticed the way the soddy was built up against the canyon wall. Smart. She wished she’d have thought of that. She had a lot of skills but she’d never had the knack for building a sound structure, and there was no one to teach her. Her house and barn showed it.

She rode straight up to the soddy, noting the solid barn and the tight corrals. Even the sod house was square and solid looking. She tied her horse to the hitching post and strode to the front door, pounding on it.

It took a long time, but finally the heavy door, hinged with leather straps, scraped open and Cassie looked outside.

Belle thought she looked about the same age as Lindsay, and it made her mother’s heart turn over to think of this woman on her second marriage, having a baby she had probably never asked for. It made Belle want to go to war to protect her.

“Uh…you’re…Belle? Right? Belle Santoni?”

“Most folks call me Belle Tanner. They can’t keep up with the different husbands.” Belle nodded. “Just stopping in to visit if that’s okay.”

Cassie nodded and swung the door wide. “I’ve got coffee on. Red usually comes in for a cup about now. There’s plenty and I’ve fried some doughnuts.”

Belle could smell the grease and sugar and the savory hot coffee. The house smelled wonderful and Cassie smiled as she let Belle pass.

Belle felt awkward. She’d expected to find the girl in terrible straits. And perhaps she was. But it was hard to tell from the smile on her face.

Looking around, Belle noticed the cave entrance. “He built this in front of a cave?”

“Come and look. The cave is our bedroom, and over there”—Cassie pointed to a circle of buffalo hide hanging on the wall—“is a cave with a cold spring running through it we call the cooler.”

Instead of rescuing the girl, Belle was struck dumb with envy. She got a full tour then settled in at the table with coffee and sweets.

“When’s your baby due?” Cassie laid her hand on her stomach.

“Spring or thereabouts.”

Cassie’s eyes grew round. “Don’t you know for sure either?”

“Either?”
Feeling her brow furrow, Belle tried to answer in a way that would keep Cassie talking. Didn’t the woman know when her child was coming? “Well, it’s never exact. But I can guess pretty close. When is yours?”

Cassie began talking like a woman who was starved for another woman. Belle knew she’d be half mad with loneliness if her girls weren’t always at hand.

“Muriel told you what?” Belle gasped at the amazing amount of detail Muriel had dumped on Cassie. Belle considered setting the poor thing straight but worried she’d just upset Cassie more with conflicting information.

“And then her mother-in-law had her bite on a stick so …”

Belle had never considered biting on a stick. The idea had merit. Belle listened more closely. When the girl ran down, Belle said, “I’ve had my young’uns pretty much by myself, without knowing overly much about what to expect. They just go ahead and be born no matter what you do. Not much sense learning a bunch of rules about ’em ’cuz my three were all different.”

Cassie’s eyes grew wide. “They’re different? What do you mean?”

“Well, different lengths of time that the laboring goes on. Different feeling to each time, one’ll be harder, the next easier. Not much rhyme or reason to it.”

“Leota Pickett has five, and she said hers were all mostly the very same.”

Shrugging, Belle changed the subject. “So, how do you like married life?”

“It’s wonderful but kind of sad, too.”

“What’s sad about it?” Belle knew good and well what was sad about married life. The list was so long…well, there wasn’t enough paper and ink in the world.

Blushing, Cassie leaned close and whispered, “Red won’t kiss me.”

Belle jerked upright in her chair. “He won’t?” Belle never had that problem.

Cassie shook her head, her cheeks blazing pink. “You’ve been married three times. Could you get any of them to kiss you?”

Because she couldn’t collect an intelligent thought in her head, Belle poured her coffee down her throat even though it was still nearly burning hot and held out her cup. “Can I have some more?”

Cassie hurried to get the pot and pour while Belle tried to gather her thoughts.

By the time Cassie settled in, Belle said, “So you must like having a husband, then?”

Cassie nodded.