McKettrick's Choice (10 page)

Holt consciously relaxed his jaw. “Are you through?
Because if you are, we've got a heifer to drag out of the mud.”

“No, Mr. McKettrick,” Templeton said, in a mild tone, “I am not through. Not by a long ways. But I'll leave our…negotiations for another day.”

“Save yourself the ride,” Holt replied.

“Holt,” John said, “shut your mouth.”

“Good advice,” Templeton put in. Then, calm as a nun in a chapel, he turned his horse around and rode off to rejoin his men.

Within a few minutes, they'd all vanished over the hilltop.

Rafe gave Holt a hard shove from behind. “Don't you ever get in my way like that again!” he rasped, when Holt whirled to face him.

“I wouldn't mind a fight, Rafe,” he said, clenching his fists. “Right now I really wouldn't mind a fight.”

Rafe beckoned with the fingers of both hands, his face hard with fury.

“Come on, then,” he answered. “I'd be glad to accommodate you.”

John stepped between them, standing sideways with one palm on Rafe's chest and one on Holt's. “Damn it,” he growled, “if either one of you throws a punch, I'll personally chuck you into that mud hole headfirst!”

Rafe and Holt glared at each other, both of them seething, their breath coming hard, but neither of them moved.

John waited them out.

“Why don't you just go back to the Triple M?” Holt snapped, heading back toward the cow and picking up the rope.

“Why don't you just go to hell?” Rafe retorted.

“I'll be goddamned,” John said.

All of a sudden, Rafe grinned. He was like that. Unpredictable. “Were you really a Buffalo Soldier?”

“I'm
still
a Buffalo Soldier,” John answered. “And right now, I'm giving the orders on this place.” He glowered at Holt. “Regardless of whose name is on the deed.”

Holt felt like he was sixteen again, learning to do as he was told, and he didn't like it one bit. Just the same, he got behind that no-account heifer and pushed.

Rafe put a shoulder to the other flank. “I'd like to meet this Lorelei woman,” he said. “I think Templeton was right about one thing. You're sweet on her.”

Holt flushed, and he hated that as much as he hated feeling like a kid and pushing on a cow's ass. “The hell I am,” he growled, putting all his strength into the task of separating the heifer and the mud hole. “The only thing Templeton got right was that she's a hellion.”

Out front, with the rope in both hands, John laughed. “She's a mighty pretty one,” he said. “Make you a fine wife.”

Holt cursed. The cow came loose with a sucking sound and an infuriated squall, and he and Rafe both tumbled into the mud. They sat there like a couple of fools, staring at each other, and then Rafe threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter.

Holt did his best to stay angry, but it was a wasted effort. He gave a delighted howl of his own.

John stood watching them, his hands on his hips, and shook his head.

“Must be somethin' about that Arizona sun,” he said.

“Bakes a man's brain.”

L
ORELEI HAD NEVER
had to deal with problems before—not practical ones, at least. Her father had provided food, shelter, clothing and a modicum of education, if little else. She had never had to do physical labor of any sort— Angelina, Raul and a variety of housemaids had done that. She didn't know one end of a cow from the other—much less how to buy, husband and sell the creatures—and she had never once ridden a horse. And now she had to sort through the brutal truth about her mother.

She was daunted, that steaming morning, as she watched the freight man at work. Now that the mud had dried up, he'd come back to reclaim his wagon, leading a team of sturdy-looking mules behind him.

She was also strangely exhilarated, as if she'd just been rehearsing all these years and now her life had truly begun.

That's what I need,
she thought, with resolution.
A mule.

Intending to ask Raul to approach the freight man and ask if he would sell one of the animals, she turned and scanned the property. Raul was on top of the roof, nailing
the tent tarp in place. Angelina was downstream, trying to catch fish for their supper.

If the mule was to be purchased, it was up to her to initiate the process.

The driver was a surly sort. He smelled, he cursed and he was constantly spitting a stream of disgusting tobacco into the grass.

After drawing a deep breath and holding it for a moment, Lorelei employed her exhalation to thrust her into motion.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said.

The driver ignored her, but spat again, narrowly missing the hem of her ready-made calico dress.

Lorelei bristled and held her skirts aside. “Sir,” she repeated.

At last, the man stopped, studying her with amused contempt. Then he executed a mocking bow. “Yes, ma'am,” he drawled. “What is it?”

“I would like to buy one of these mules, if you have a mind to sell.”

He took a round tin from the pocket of his sweat-soaked shirt and grubbed out a pinch of snuff with one filthy fingertip. “That right?”

Lorelei cringed inwardly as he poked the tobacco into his mouth. Because she wanted to retreat, she forced herself to take one step forward. “How much?”

The freight man rubbed his stained and stubbled chin, chewing and spitting again before he answered, “These are fine mules. Hardworking. Stubborn, though. Right stubborn.” He ruminated, both on the snuff and his decision. “I reckon I could hand over old Seesaw here for, say, fifty dollars.” He laid one hand on the flank of a pitiful-looking beast with patches of his mud-brown coat missing.

“Fifty dollars seems excessive,” Lorelei said, peering at the animal.

“Whatever that means,” said the driver, with a desultory shrug.

“It means I think it's too much,” Lorelei replied, though in truth she had no idea what a mule—stubborn, mangy or otherwise—should cost. For all she knew, she was getting a bargain.

“All right,” came the reply, after more rumination and spitting. “Thirty-five dollars, and that's as low as I'm willing to go.”

Lorelei approached the mule, reached out a tentative hand to touch his rough, dusty coat. Seesaw turned his head and brayed, causing her to start. “Can he be ridden?” she inquired uncertainly.

“Yes,” said the freight man. “But he does have his own set of ideas about some things.”

“Then we ought to get along,” Lorelei decided.

“Thirty-five dollars,” reiterated the driver.

“Does that include a saddle and bridle?”

The freightman sighed. “I've got an old halter I can let you have,” he said. “But that's the best I can do for what you're payin' me.”

Lorelei considered the proposition again, then nodded. “I'll get your money,” she said, and made for the house.

Seesaw was waiting patiently under a nearby oak tree, his halter rope dangling, when she returned with the agreed-upon payment.

The driver counted the money, folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket, behind the round snoose can. “Thank you kindly,” he said, with a little smirk, tossing the shovel he'd used to dig out the wagon into the back and then turning his attention to the task of hitching two
of the remaining three mules to the rigging. He tied the third to the tailgate and set out for the road.

Raul, having cast several curious glances in Lorelei's direction over the course of the transaction, made his way down off the roof and came to stand beside her, watching as mules and man trundled up the slope and onto the trail, headed for San Antonio.

“You bought this mule,
señorita?
” Raul asked.

Lorelei, who'd been watching the team and wagon, turned to look at Raul, expecting disapproval. To her surprise, Angelina's husband was grinning broadly.

“Yes,” she said. “His name is Seesaw.”

Raul left her side to examine the mule, running practiced hands over Seesaw's legs, checking the animal's hooves and teeth. “He will be good for plowing,” he said, when his inspection was complete.

“Plowing? I intend to ride him,” Lorelei said.

Raul went still, as if he'd just run across a snake or a scorpion in the wood pile. “
Ride
him? But,
señorita,
you have never—”

“I've never done a lot of things, Raul,” Lorelei broke in. “That doesn't mean they're impossible.”

“But,
señorita,
he—”

Lorelei joined Raul beside the mule. “Help me onto his back,” she said. She was afraid, even terrified, but she knew that waiting would not lessen her fear.

Raul's eyes rounded, and he shook his head. “No,
señorit
a—I cannot.”

“Fine,” Lorelei said. “I'll stand on a box, then.”

“Señorita, please—”

Lorelei started for the house again. They'd chopped up most of the crates from the mercantile for firewood, but there were still one or two left.

“Wait!” Raul called, with a note of desperation that
made Lorelei stop and turn around to look at him. “I will ride him first.”

Raul was an accomplished horseman, so this approach made sense to her. “All right, then,” she said, and waited.

Raul threw the halter rope over the mule's neck, then sprang nimbly onto his back.

That was when they learned why the beast was called Seesaw.

He pitched forward, then back, while Raul clung valiantly with both hands and both legs. Seesaw brayed fit to raise the dead from their slumber, and kicked both hind feet straight out.

Raul flew over the animal's head, turning a perfect somersault in midair, then landed on his back in the deep grass. Seesaw returned to his grazing, as casually as if the whole incident had never happened.

Lorelei, momentarily paralyzed with shock, broke free and rushed toward Raul, who was muttering in Spanish between gasps.

“Are you hurt?” Lorelei cried, dropping to her knees beside him. At the periphery of her vision, she saw Angelina drop her catch of shiny trout, pick up her skirts and hurry in their direction.

“No,” Raul gasped. “Just let me—catch my breath—”

Angelina, arriving on the scene, helped her husband to sit up.

“Raul!” she cried.

“I think I've been taken,” Lorelei lamented, standing up.

“Madre de Dios,”
Angelina murmured.

 

D
AMNED IF SHE HADN'T
found herself a mule, Holt thought, as he and Rafe rode across the creek, with
Melina behind them on a little spotted pony borrowed from John. Lorelei teetered on top of an overturned box, just about to swing one leg over the critter's back.

“You didn't tell me we were going to see a rodeo,” Rafe said dryly.

Holt spurred the Appaloosa up the bank onto Lorelei's spread, his gut suddenly wedged up between his collarbones. She met his gaze with what looked, from that distance, like pure defiance, and mounted the mule.

For a moment, all of time seemed to stop.

The bees didn't buzz.

The creek, if it ran at all, ran silently.

Earth and Heaven waited and watched.

And the show wasn't long in coming.

The mule came unwrapped, splintering the box Lorelei had used as a mounting block with one thrust of its hind legs. Lorelei was hurled forward, clinging to the animal's neck with both arms.

Holt cursed and spurred Traveler to hurry.

The mule leaped in circles, moving so fast that Holt and the Appaloosa had a hell of a time drawing Traveler up alongside. When at long last he did, Holt leaned down, hooked an arm around Lorelei's waist and dragged her off the mule and onto the saddle in front of him. The Appaloosa damn near took a kick to the chest getting out of the way.

Once they were at a safe distance from the furious mule, who was still putting on quite an exhibition, Holt let Lorelei down to the ground and dismounted in one motion, planting himself square in front of her.

“What the—?” he rasped, and then found that everything else he wanted to say was log-jammed behind the knot of pure, terrified fury sticking in his throat.

Lorelei reddened, glaring up at him. “How dare you?” she sputtered. “How
dare
you?”

Somewhere nearby, Rafe gave a hoot of laughter.

Holt didn't spare his brother a glance. Couldn't look away from Lorelei. He wanted to shake her, wanted, conversely, to check her for broken bones, the way he would a horse after a bad fall. He jammed his face to within an inch of hers and spoke through his teeth.

“How dare I?”
he countered. “I probably just saved your life!”

She shook out her skirts, straightened her spine and touched one hand to her hair, which was tumbling in ebony loops around her neck and shoulders. This last was the only sign of hesitation she gave as she stood toe-to-toe with him. “I could have ridden that mule!” she yelled.

“Hallelujah,” said Rafe.

“Shut up,” Holt growled, without looking away from Lorelei's face. “Don't you
dare
use rude language with me!” Lorelei raged. Her eyes flashed with temper, her face was flushed and Holt felt the most contrary urge to kiss her.

So he did. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her even closer and covered her mouth with his.

Dazed and breathless, she slapped him, hard. But it was definitely an afterthought.

“W
HERE ARE
Raul and Angelina?” Holt asked, the first to break the thrumming silence, one hand to his slap-stung cheek.

Lorelei thrust her shoulders back and lifted her chin, putting Holt in mind of some beautiful bird, settling its feathers after a battle. He thought for sure she wouldn't answer, might slap him again or even spit in his face. But then she sagged a little. “Raul is in the house, lying down,” she admitted grudgingly. “Angelina is with him.”

At last, she took in Melina, watching with a slight smile from her spotted pony, and Rafe, grinning like a fool.

Rafe tugged at his hat brim, always mannerly with the ladies. “Howdy,” he said. “I'm Rafe McKettrick. Holt here is my brother, but I hope you won't hold that against me.”

Lorelei's struggle to keep a sober countenance was visible, but she finally lost the battle and spared Rafe a tenuous smile. Somehow, that made Holt half again as riled as the slap had.

“I guess you can't be blamed for an accident of birth,” she said.

Holt seethed. He'd lost his hat in the tussle, getting Lorelei off the back of that goddamned mule, and he stormed through the deep grass to recover it. He bent at the waist and snatched it up, slamming it onto his head. Serve that fool woman right if he'd let her finish the ride, he thought.

In the meantime, Rafe must have introduced Lorelei to Melina, because the two of them were shaking hands, Melina leaning down as best she could from the pony's back and smiling.

Lorelei was cordial as could be—until she turned to face Holt again. She looked like every storm that had ever broken, all compressed into one lightning-eyed woman. “If my mule has been injured in any way,” she said, “I shall expect you to pay for it. I have thirty-five dollars invested in that animal.”

Holt was mad enough to spit, and he would have, too, if his mouth hadn't gone dry as a dead seed pod, fallen to parched ground. “Your damned mule,” he drawled, measuring out each word, “is the least of my concerns right now!”

“Guess I'd better see if this Raul fella is all right,” Rafe said, swinging down from his horse.

Holt whistled to the Appaloosa, which was keeping its distance from the mule, now calmly nibbling grass under the oak tree. He checked the gelding over closely, and was relieved to find it sound. The blood was still roaring in his ears, and his heart was in a sprint, though he couldn't rightly have said whether it was the one-woman rodeo event or the kiss that had put him in this pitiful state.

“If you make friends with that mule,” Melina said to
Lorelei, stringing together more words than Holt had heard her say at one time since he'd known her, “he'll let you ride him.”

“You're not helping the situation, Melina,” Holt told her.

She merely smiled and got down awkwardly from the pony's back to survey the property. “Is this yours?” she asked.

Lorelei looked proud, which went to show how damned little she knew about ranching. It was hard, heartbreaking work, and a good man was as likely to go bust as break even, never mind a town-bred woman who didn't have the good sense to know when she was betting on the wrong hand of cards.

“Yes,” she said.

“It's a fine spread,” Melina replied. “Lots of grass. Plenty of water.” Lorelei nodded.

Holt muttered something he wouldn't have said in the presence of ladies if he hadn't been pushed to the last heel-digging inch of his patience, and they both ignored him.

“You need any hired help?” Melina asked.

Holt gaped at her.

Lorelei pressed her lips together and shook her head with what looked like genuine regret.

“I know a little about buying cattle,” Melina persisted.

About that time, Rafe came out of the house, if that shack could be called a house.

“Raul's in need of a doctor,” he told the general company. “I think he's fractured a couple of ribs. Angelina's fit to be tied, she's so worried.”

Lorelei reacted as though she'd been struck, hard. The
high color drained out of her face, and for a moment Holt thought she was going to swoon. Hell of a thing if he had to rescue her again, he reflected, even as he braced himself to catch her before she went down.

She pushed past Rafe and headed for the house at a lope.

“Better get that man to town,” Rafe said, with a thrust of one thumb to indicate the cabin and Raul. “If one of his ribs comes loose, it could stab right through his lung. I've seen it happen.”

Holt had plans for that day, and taking an injured man to town for medical care wasn't on the list, but the situation didn't leave much leeway. He noticed the buckboard under a stand of oak trees and looked around for the team. In the distance, he saw two bay horses, drinking from the creek.

“Hell,” he growled, and mounted Traveler to bring them in. “See if the rigging is in the wagon bed,” he told Rafe.

Half an hour later, the buckboard was hitched up and ready to roll, and Holt and Rafe had managed to get Raul settled on the floorboards, cushioned by a pile of blankets. No matter what they did, though, the Mexican was in for a long, rough ride to town.

“Go along with him,” Lorelei told Angelina, giving her a gentle push toward the wagon.

“I'll stay here and look after the lady,” Melina told the older woman quietly in Spanish.

Holt frowned. He'd been planning on taking Lorelei back to her father's place, where she belonged, figuring she'd have seen reason at last and learned her lesson, with Raul getting hurt and all.

“I thought you were dead set on finding work in town so you could be close to Gabe,” he said.

Melina lined up alongside Lorelei—an unlikely pair of ranchers if Holt had ever seen one. “This is close enough,” she said, switching to English. “I'm staying.” She hooked her arm through Lorelei's. “Isn't that right,
señorita?
”

Lorelei, her gaze fixed on the wagon, and Angelina, now being helped into the back by Rafe, nodded. Holt thought he saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes, but he was probably imagining it.

“That's right,” Lorelei said.

Rafe tied his gelding to the back of the wagon and climbed up into the box. He tipped his hat to Lorelei and Melina but was not so affable with Holt.

“Get on your horse, Brother,” he said. “We're burning daylight.”

Holt looked from Melina to Lorelei, then shook his head, stuck one foot in the stirrup and swung up onto the Appaloosa's back.

One of these days, he thought with disgust, something was going to go right, and he'd probably pass out from sheer surprise.

 

L
ORELEI WATCHED
the wagon go, waving halfheartedly to Angelina, who gazed at her sadly over the tailgate. It was her own fault Raul had been hurt, and no one else's. She should never have allowed him to ride that accursed mule.

“He kissed me,” she said, and stunned herself. Holt hadn't entered her mind. She'd been thinking of Raul—hadn't she?

“He surely did,” Melina replied gently. “You wouldn't happen to have any tea leaves around, would you? I've got a powerful yearning for a cup of tea.”

Turning to look at Melina, Lorelei managed a smile. “Me, too,” she said.

They went inside the house, now as tidy as Lorelei and Angelina had been able to make it, and Lorelei took a precious tin of orange pekoe down from the cupboards Raul had fashioned from supply crates. The weather was sweltering, but Lorelei found comfort in the ordinary work of stoking up the fire, and Melina carried the kettle to the stream for water. When she returned, she was carrying Angelina's discarded fish, six of them, lined up on a stick.

“I couldn't see leaving them for the critters,” Melina said. “They'll make a fine supper.”

Lorelei nodded and put the kettle on the stove to boil. Melina laid the fish in a basin and sat down on one of the upturned crates reserved for chairs.

“That was something,” Melina said, resting tender hands on her protruding belly. She was obviously expecting, and Lorelei wondered idly who the father was.

“The way you rode that mule. I think you would have gentled him, if Holt hadn't gotten in the way like he did.” Wearing a brown homespun skirt and a man's shirt, she nevertheless had a delicate look, with wide, dark eyes and glossy black hair. There was no wedding band on her finger, Lorelei noted, and blushed slightly.

“Thank you,” she said, and fixed her gaze on the kettle, willing it to boil.

“I guess you're still thinking about the kiss,” Melina deduced, in an offhand tone of voice.

Lorelei felt her face heat up again, and it had nothing to do with the temperature, high as it was. “I shouldn't have let him do that,” she confided, almost whispering, and fanned herself ineffectually with one hand.

Melina's soft laugh cheered her mightily. “It didn't
look to me like Holt gave you much of a choice,” she said. “And you did slap him.”

The tea kettle made a surging sound, and Lorelei got up, measured tea leaves into the plain china pot she'd purchased at the mercantile. The task offered a welcome distraction.

“If Raul is badly hurt, I will never forgive myself,” she said.

“Things like that happen on ranches.”

Lorelei paused in her fussing and lowered her head. “I know,” she said. “But Raul didn't want to come out here in the first place. Angelina didn't, either. Now, thanks to me, they've lost their employment in my father's house.”

Melina surprised her by laying a small, light hand on her shoulder. “What will you do, then? Go back to town?”

Lorelei turned, wondering how much Holt had guessed about her life in San Antonio and how much he'd told Melina. “I've thought of it once or twice,” she admitted. “But there would be nothing left of my self-respect if I did. Besides, my father wouldn't let me step over his threshold. He made that very clear.”

“Then I guess you have to make this place pay,” Melina said. “Or marry somebody.”

The kettle came to a boil, much like Lorelei's feelings, spilling water from the spout onto the hot surface of the stove, making it sizzle. “I have no intention of marrying Holt McKettrick,” she blurted.

There was a brief and eloquent silence.

“I didn't say it had to be him,” Melina pointed out, with a touch of satisfaction.

Lorelei reached for Angelina's discarded apron and
used it for a pot holder. Poured hot water over the fragrant tea leaves. “No,” she said weakly. “You didn't.”

“Let's sit in the doorway to have our tea,” Melina suggested, carefully taking the kettle of boiling water from Lorelei's unsteady hands and setting it on the back of the stove. “Maybe there will be a breeze coming up off the creek.”

There was no breeze. The air was dense, like a blanket of steam. Still, the two women sat side by side on the step, holding their sensible crockery mugs gingerly and waiting for their tea to cool.

“Tell me about yourself, Melina,” Lorelei said presently. She truly wanted to listen, although they both knew the change of the subject had another purpose: Lorelei wished to distance herself from talk of Holt McKettrick, the mule ride and the kiss.

Melina sighed, staring sadly at the sparkling water as it tumbled past. “There isn't much to say,” she said, in her own good time. “My father and mother died of yellow fever when I was ten, and I lived at a mission outside of Laredo until I was old enough to be on my own. I got a job on one of the ranches, cooking and doing wash. Then…” She paused, looked down at her rounded stomach. “Then I met Gabe Navarro.”

Lorelei rested her teacup on one knee and laid her free hand to her heart. “The man my—the man they're going to hang…?”

“Yes,” Melina said. “The man your father sentenced to hang.”

So, Holt had told her about that. Lorelei's throat ached. She remembered watching Navarro in the courtroom, during the trial. He'd been stoic the whole time, and when he testified on his own behalf, he didn't waste a single
word. When the judge pronounced sentence, he hadn't looked surprised, nor had he flinched.

“Do you think he's…?”

“Innocent?” Melina finished for her. “Yes.”

“What will you do if—if he hangs?”

“Same thing I would do if he didn't,” Melina answered quietly, after considering the question at length. “Cry myself to sleep a lot of nights and keep working, so my baby and I won't go hungry.”

“And if he's set free?” That, Lorelei knew, would be a miracle. Men her father sentenced to death were never set free. They went to the gallows, were hanged and then buried.

Melina sighed. “I would still cry myself to sleep and work,” she said.

“You wouldn't marry Mr. Navarro?”

“No,” Melina said, and shook her head slightly for emphasis.

“Do you love him?” It was a bold question, but Lorelei had to ask it.

“More than my life,” Melina confided. “But Gabe is— Well, he's one to roam. Not from woman to woman—he loves me as much as I love him. But from place to place. Me, I just want to settle down in one spot, raise my baby and not be beholden to anyone.”

An unspeakable sadness swept over Lorelei. “You can stay here as long as you like,” she said, though it would be crowded quarters if Angelina and Raul came back.

If.

For the first time since Mr. Rafe McKettrick had driven Angelina and Raul away in that wagon, Lorelei let herself face the possibility that they might not return. Raul couldn't convalesce on a pallet on the floor of a ranch house, especially one as rustic as hers, and
Angelina, devoted to Lorelei as she was, would naturally put her husband's welfare first.

“I can teach you to ride that mule,” Melina said, with some pride.

Lorelei looked at her new friend in horror. “Of course you can't!” she protested. “Look at you! You're—well, expecting.”