Texas Lonesome (4 page)

F
inally at the hotel, Sidney pulled open the door and almost bumped into Dustin McCutcheon on his way out.

Can my luck get any worse?

She felt duped. In the mercantile, the butterflies their brief conversation had created were like the first sunshine of spring after a long winter. She’d
liked
him. His gaze had pulled her in like a fish on the line.

Scowling at him, she said, “Why didn’t you say who you were when I saw you in the store?”

He removed his hat and held it in his hands. His dark wavy hair needed a trim, and black stubble covered his strong square jaw.

“You didn’t give me a chance. I was getting around to that when you hurried off like a scared little rabbit.”

She stiffened. The whalebone of her corset tightened around her, and she wished she hadn’t dressed in her snuggest and most proper Sunday gown to make a good impression on the judge. Fat lot of good that had done her.

“But now,” he continued, “since we’ve not been
properly
introduced, I say we fix that.”

“Properly introduced?” She couldn’t stop an indignant huff from passing through her lips. “Why would we be? Our families hate each other.”

She shouldn’t be so snappish. He was Noah’s guardian, after all.

His face darkened.

“Besides . . . ,” she went on, unable to stem her growing enmity. “I’m sure you have no desire to meet a
scared little rabbit
.”

She glanced around, wondering where Chaim—the friendlier-looking of the two—had gone. People milled around the lobby, but she was only aware of Dustin and his proximity.

Dustin’s smile faded, his mouth pulling into a straight, hard line. “Hate each other? I wouldn’t go that far, Miss Calhoun. Hard feelings exist, but they’re mostly one-sided. McCutcheons don’t hate Calhouns.”

He held out his hand, pressing the point.

She wished she had a rotten fish to oblige. “Of course,
you
don’t.
Your
father wasn’t beaten to within an inch of his life and then left to die, now—”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. His July-hot gaze cut off her sentence and almost nailed her to the wall behind, but he kept his hand outstretched.

She swallowed the rest of the words she was about to dish out and placed her palm in his, ignoring the disturbing warmth that seeped through her glove.

“That’s better,” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “First things first. Miss Calhoun, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Aggravated, she pulled back her hand, anxious to separate herself from his heat.

“Second, my pa had nothing to do with that age-old accusation. He’s tried on numerous occasions to talk sense into your pa, but he won’t listen. We’re sorry that misfortune fell onto Jock Calhoun, but no McCutcheon was responsible.”

He fiddled with his hat. “And with all due respect, I don’t take kindly that you’re throwing around your words now as if they’re fact. They’ve been a constant burr under my pa’s skin. I’d say he’s handled the situation pretty well for how much your family has gone out of their way to keep the falsehood alive.”

“Truths don’t lie.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and his left eye twitched. “Only in the minds of the Calhouns. If anything your pa had claimed were true, then my father would have been arrested years ago. But he hasn’t. And he won’t be. Time you let the past go.”

Anger flashed hot under Sidney’s skin. How
dare
he stand there and tell her what to do? She struggled for a retort, but his dark gaze that reminded her of warm chocolate kept distracting her.

Finally, he shrugged. “I think it best we change the subject, don’t you?” His expression softened. “I have to say you gave me quite the surprise in the courtroom today. I’ve been under the incorrect notion all these years that Sidney Calhoun was a man.”

A cocky grin grew across his face. “I’d totally forgotten the family had any female Calhouns besides your mother. I’ve only had the
pleasure
of meeting the men,” he said, relaying his message loud and clear. “And that still stings. Guess I was wrong.”

She’d like to slap that smug grin right off his face. And she could too, if she weren’t still trussed up in this air-constricting garment of torture.

“Guess you were,” she replied as genteel as a debutante at her coming-out party. She curled her lips into a pleasant smile. “I
am
the only female in my family. My mother passed on years ago.”

Raw-edged hurt made her breath hitch. Even after all these years, she still missed her mother deeply.

Dustin’s chuckle faded away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Let me offer my condolences.”

She waved off his sympathies and squared her shoulders. “Not your concern, Mr. McCutcheon.”

“Contrary to what I’m sure you’ve been told, I don’t bite, so you can put away your claws.”

She lifted her chin, thinking about her pa and the limited mobility that kept him homebound much of the time. How his head only turned partially to the right. How pain radiated through him when he mounted his horse. At times, she had to hide her tears, so not to bring him shame. His spirit was nearly as broken as his body.

“I don’t really care if you do bite, Mr. McCutcheon. I can see you were enjoying my brother’s misfortune inside the courthouse today more than you’d like to let on.”

“There’s not one shred of truth in that statement. I wish no ill will on Noah or any of your family, for that matter—not even your father.”

Sidney ignored how soft his eyes had gone. He acted as if he believed what he was saying, but she knew better. The McCutcheons hadn’t gotten where they were today without telling a few lies or walking on a few friends. Maybe Dustin was telling the truth; she didn’t know. But they wouldn’t dare try anything while she was around.

That was the answer! She would go to Rio Wells too and would protect Noah, if she could.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “There’s been way too much bad blood between our families for us to be anything but adversaries—we’re like fire and ice. We certainly can’t be friends. I’ll get through this debacle the best I can, but I won’t enjoy a minute of it. You’d best know that right off.”

His smile vanished. “You? Get through what? Your brother is the one coming out to the Rim Rock. Judge didn’t say a word about his sister.”

“You don’t think I’d send Noah into the enemy camp alone, do you? He’s only seventeen years old. Just a baby. What kind of people are you McCutcheons, anyway? Did you really think I’d just go home, leaving his welfare to you—so you couldn’t be held accountable if anything happened to him?”

Dustin straightened.

She thought him as tall as Jock Jr. and maybe even taller. His scowl almost made her turn and run.

“Well?” she persisted.

“The McCutcheons are good people, despite what you’ve been told. But I’ll be patient and understand your concern since you’re Noah’s sister.” He gave her a pointed look. Any trace of friendliness that had been in his tone was now gone. “Sounds like he makes a habit of getting into trouble. I don’t want him causing problems with my men.”

She glared at his slight to her brother, ignoring the rich timbre of his voice that almost made her shiver. She forgot her response.

He chuckled and dismissively shook his head. “I do question your intellect, though, by you calling him a baby. He’s a man, and he should start acting like one. In turn, people will begin treating him accordingly, not traipse after him to fix his messes. He has two feet. Let him stand on them.”

“He already does.”
Sometimes. When he concentrates on what he should be doing.

The tall, dark, and a bit intimidating McCutcheon just stared.

“Sounded different today. Like I told the judge,” he went on, “Chaim and I have some time here in San Antonio before we head back to Rio Wells.”

Dustin dragged a brief, indifferent gaze up and down her length. “The wagon we brought from the ranch has already returned to Rio Wells, along with the extra men. If you plan on riding with us, get yourself a horse and clothes. Get a mount for your brother as well. I’m not responsible for that. We won’t be waiting for a wagon to keep up. We’ll be traveling light and fast.”

Frowning, he added, “If you’re short on money, you can borrow what you need from me. I wouldn’t want you running out because of an unexpected bump in the road.”

Dustin took a tiny step back as the color of Sidney Calhoun’s face deepened to a profound shade of pink, and her lashes blinked at what he’d said. Seemed she didn’t like his offer.

Maybe he’d gone too far, but he wasn’t ready to completely forget the accusations Jock Calhoun had leveled on the Rim Rock for all these years. For now, to keep the peace, and to make this easier for his own father when the time came, he’d play nice. Try to win her trust. With a tinderbox like her, though, he could tell the task wasn’t going to be easy.

“Those are my exact intentions, as soon as I’m finished here. Outfit myself and acquire two horses.” She laughed, but the expression didn’t travel to her eyes. “A Calhoun taking money from a McCutcheon!
That
will never happen.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “As a loan.”

“As anything. I’ve plenty of money, thank you very much. I won’t be a millstone around your neck, to be sure, and neither will my brother.”

Millstone? No, she certainly wouldn’t be that. A few other choice descriptions flashed through his mind as he took in her fiery blue eyes and those finely chiseled lips that seemed in desperate need of a kiss. Not that he’d noticed.

She’s right. McCutcheons and Calhouns don’t mix. Period!

He snapped away his gaze, pulled on his hat, and touched the brim with a forefinger.

“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Calhoun. If you’re through berating me, I’ll let you go about your business. You have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time.”

Six o’clock rolled around all too quickly. Chaim had left an hour ago, intending to walk the gardens in the center of town with Emmeline before they went to a private supper to say their good-byes. Seemed they’d been doing that for days now.

That left Dustin on his own. He had a meeting with a San Antonio rancher they often did business with in the saloon in ten minutes, so he pulled on his boots and headed out the hotel door.

He’d tossed around the idea of sending a note to Miss Calhoun’s room. Invite her to supper.
Wouldn’t that be interesting.
That had been his thought in the mercantile, before he’d known who she was.

But after seeing the way she’d acted, he was sure she’d turn him down.

His meeting wouldn’t take but a few minutes, and then he’d be faced with another long, lonesome night, pretending to have a good time. Gambling and tossing back whiskey, oh joy. Tonight his twenty-nine years was feeling pretty damn old.

He started down the squeaky stairs, taking note of the men in the lobby. One couldn’t be too complacent in San Antonio if you wanted to stay alive.

At the bottom, he stopped. Did he dare? Miss Calhoun had to eat. If he could win her over, even a little, the ride back to Rio Wells would be more pleasant. An invitation was worth a try, for everyone’s sake.