Robin Lee Hatcher (5 page)

There is no earthly reason why I should think of him. He’s nothing
to me.

Many a young man had called upon her since her coming out, but there’d never been anyone who caught her fancy, no one who made her heart race. And now, to have this taciturn cowboy infiltrate her thoughts . . . Oh, it wasn’t to be borne! He wasn’t even a believer.

God, help me stop thinking of him. I don’t care about my silly
wager.
She sighed.
Well, maybe I do just a little.

Rand whistled as he and Hawk rode toward Sweetwater. He couldn’t wait to see Ingrid again.

In all his twenty-five years, he hadn’t felt this way before. It seemed as if he’d been looking for her all along. He wasn’t about to let her get away now that he’d found her. He meant to sweet-talk that gal into marrying him. It didn’t matter that he owned little more than his clothes, tack, a couple of horses, and a piece of land. It was enough to make a start. He would build a house, warm and tight against the cold Montana winters. They would be happy there.

He grinned. If he and Ingrid were happy as man and wife, could be he’d build a bigger place than originally planned, just in case they were blessed with a baby before the first year was out.

“What’s got into you?” Hawk asked.

“Nothin’ in particular. Just glad I’m havin’ supper at the Silver-tons. You oughta join us. The reverend invited you too.”

“I don’t think Miss Silverton feels the same.”

“So what are you going to do? Head on back to the ranch after you check on those supplies you ordered?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Miss Silverton’s mighty pretty to look at across a supper table.”

This time Hawk replied with a grunt.

Rand chuckled. “Suit yourself.”

Hawk dismounted in front of the mercantile and watched his friend continue down Main Street toward the reverend’s house. No way would he admit that he’d like to see Bethany again. Ever since he’d left the Silverton home last week, he’d been haunted by the memory of her angry gaze following him out the door.

He turned away from the store and cut between two buildings, headed for Spring River, hoping a walk would clear his head. The trees were in glorious spring foliage, a stark contrast to the brownish- green grasslands. A welcome breeze rustled the leaves overhead as he followed the river’s edge.

He stopped when he saw Bethany, seated in the shade near the riverbank, knees pulled close to her chest. A vision to behold. Her hair fell in a mass of curls, touching the ground behind her. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were moving. Talking to herself or to God?

He stepped closer to a tree, melting into the shadows.

Bethany opened her eyes and released her legs, then stretched her arms high over her head. A smile played across her mouth. She pulled up the hem of her skirt and, with nimble fingers, untied her shoes and removed them. Then she rose and stepped to the river’s edge, testing the water with the toes of her right foot, drawing back with a gasp at the cold water. But she didn’t give up. She pressed her lips together in determination, lifted her skirt almost to her knees, and stepped into the river.

In the years since Hawk had left Chicago, he’d avoided women for the most part, except for the ones who worked in saloons from here to Texas. A man couldn’t compare those painted, hardened faces with Bethany’s fresh-faced beauty. Rand was right. It would be a pleasure to look at her across the supper table.

It would be better, of course, if he didn’t allow himself said enjoyment. There was no room in his life for a woman. Any woman. This one in particular. She was the daughter of a preacher. He didn’t have much use for church. She was a lady. He was no gentleman. She was used to the finer things that came with money and a place in society. That same society had no use for someone like him.

If he was smart, he would turn around and walk away, straight back to the mercantile. Better yet, he ought to mount up and ride his gelding back to the Circle Blue as fast as the horse could carry him. Instead, he stepped from the shadows and moved toward the river.

“Afternoon, Miss Silverton.”

She jerked as she looked up. Her foot must have slipped on the slick rocks that lined the riverbed. Eyes wide and arms flailing, she fell backward into the swift-flowing water.

SIX

Bethany felt Hawk Chandler’s hands grab her as the current drew her under. He pulled her to her feet, then scooped her into his arms, sodden gown and all. Coughing and sputtering, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight as he carried her out of the river.

She looked into his eyes, his face close to her own. His gaze was disconcerting to say the least, and in response her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.

“I’m getting your shirt wet,” she said softly.

“It will dry.”

“Hadn’t you best put me down?”

He complied.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “You made quite a splash for such a small thing.”

His words begged a sharp retort, yet she felt no irritation with him, made helpless by the magnetic pull of his grin. She couldn’t resist smiling in return. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“I’d better see you home. You should get out of those wet things.”

“You’ll want a change of clothes as well, Mr. Chandler. You’re nearly as wet as I am.”

“I’ll dry off on the ride back to the ranch.”

“Nonsense. You must stay for supper. Mr. Howard will be there.” Her heart was racing again. “Won’t you please stay?”

Hadn’t she been furious with him only a short while ago? She’d even sworn to get even. But those thoughts were forgotten now.

Please stay. Please don’t disapprove of what I do or say. Let me see
your smile again. Please.

“Please,” she repeated aloud.

Something in his expression said he regretted his teasing comment, that he would much prefer his own company to hers. But he surprised her. “I guess I can’t refuse after causing you a dunking in the river.” There was no denying he acquiesced with great reluctance. It was clear in the less-than-pleased set of his mouth and the grudging tone of his voice.

“No, Mr. Chandler, you most certainly cannot. Having supper with us will be the only way to make up for giving me such a fright.” She didn’t care that his acceptance lacked enthusiasm. Given a little time, she could change his mind. She was sure of it.

“Then I guess I’ll stay, Miss Silverton.”

They walked side by side in silence back to the house. Once there — after a quick explanation for her wet appearance and disheveled hair — she excused herself and left Hawk in the parlor with the others while she flew up the stairs to her bedroom. The water-soaked skirt fell in a puddle of fabric on the floor, followed by her blouse. She was pulling on clean drawers when a soft tap sounded on her door.

“May I come in?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes.”

Bethany quickly donned a fresh chemise and ruffled muslin petticoat. “What dress should I wear, Ingrid? Help me decide.”

Her friend joined her at the wardrobe.

“Do you think he would like the rose sateen? Mother says it brings out the red in my hair. Or maybe I should wear the dark blue.”
It’s almost the same color as his eyes
.

“You look lovely in anything.”

Her hand stilled. “I’m acting like a fool, aren’t I?”

“Are you?” Her friend shook her head. “I think he is very handsome. I would want to look my prettiest too.”

“You are pretty,” Bethany insisted, grabbing Ingrid by the shoulders and turning her toward the mirror. “Mr. Howard can’t take his eyes off you. I saw that the moment I entered the parlor, even as wet as I was.”

This was a lie. She hadn’t been aware of anything or anyone except Hawk Chandler. But Ingrid needn’t know that, and it was only a small lie meant to give her friend some confidence. Surely that was forgivable.

Ingrid’s voice was whispery soft, breathless with hope. “Do you really think so?”

She nodded.

“Bethany?”

“Yes?”

“I am not sorry we came to Sweetwater any longer. Even if the saloons are noisy.”

Bethany smiled as she squeezed her friend’s arms. Then she turned away and withdrew the rose-colored gown from the wardrobe. Ingrid helped slip it over her head, fussing with the skirt while Bethany buttoned the bodice down to its pointed waist. Then Ingrid brought a towel and dried Bethany’s hair as best she could before coiling it into a chignon at the nape and capturing it in a rose-colored net to match the gown.

As Bethany cast a critical eye at her reflection, Ingrid said, “You do like him, don’t you?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” She worried her lower lip. “He’s so . . . so different from any man I’ve known before. He either makes me feel unsure of myself or angry when I’m with him. Usually both.”

“You did not bring him here today in order to win your wager?”

Bethany laughed as she rose from her dressing table, her uncertainty vanishing. “Oh, I intend to win the wager.
You
are going to owe me that five dollars yet.”

Hawk turned when he heard the muffled whispers of the two young women. They entered the room arm in arm, but it was only Bethany he noticed. A sharp longing shot through him. Had he ever seen a more delightful and beguiling —

The cold splash of reality hit him. A young lady of position and wealth was not for Hawk Chandler. Wasn’t even what he wanted. He liked things the way they were now. Women — especially of Bethany’s ilk — would bring nothing but misery into his life. He could count on it.

A gray-haired woman in a black dress and crisp white apron appeared in the parlor doorway. “Mrs. Silverton, ma’am. Everything is ready.”

“Thank you, Griselda.” Bethany’s mother turned toward her guests. “Gentlemen, shall we go in to supper?”

The reverend stepped forward to take his wife’s arm, and the older couple led the way to the dining room. Rand and Ingrid followed next, leaving Hawk and Bethany alone in the parlor. Left with no choice, he held out his arm to her. When she slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow, he felt her quivering.

He looked at her. Petite, delicate, and fragile. Too fragile for the hard land outside of a home like this one. He caught a whiff of her toilet water, something like wildflowers on a spring morning, and was tempted to lean down, press his face to her hair, and breathe in. She tipped her head to look at him, and their gazes met. Her eyes widened, as if she’d guessed his thoughts and was alarmed by them. Good. She ought to be afraid of him. It would be better for them both.

They sat down at the dining room table, Mr. and Mrs. Silver-ton at either end, Bethany and Ingrid on one side, Hawk and Rand opposite them. The reverend spoke a blessing over the meal, and then Griselda brought the food from the kitchen.

“I understand you raise cattle, Mr. Chandler.” Virginia Silver-ton passed him the platter of meat as she spoke.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is it a family ranch?”

“No, ma’am. My parents were never ranchers.”

“Do they live nearby?”

“My parents are both dead.”

Compassion filled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”