Texas Lucky (27 page)

Without batting an eye, Curt turned to another saguaro farther away and drew his guns in the same fashion to quickly shoot off its arms, as well. Then, expressionless, he asked, “You mean like that?”

“I should have known you’d do that,” She murmured.

“That’s how people get killed.” He holstered his guns. “They always think they can outdraw somebody else. I’d have shot you deader’n hell, and you know it.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I wasn’t aiming to shoot at you. I just wanted to prove I can handle my guns…that I don’t shoot my foot when I see a lizard.”

“I’m impressed,” he said…and meant it. “So tell me. Where’d you learn to shoot? And don’t tell me Buck Higgins taught you. He’s just a cowpoke.”

“No. It wasn’t Buck. It was a gentleman I met on the stage to Dallas. We became friends after I saved him from Apaches, and—”

“You?” He hooted, slapping his leg. “You saved him from Apaches? You’ve learned to tell tales, too, haven’t you?”

Tess squeezed her hands into angry fists. “I’m telling the truth, and I don’t care whether you believe me or not. His name was Ben Moseley, and—”

Curt was at once serious. “I know Ben Moseley. He owns the Bar M, south of here. He’s a damn fine man. Can’t say the same for his son, though. Where’d you say you met Ben?”

“I told you—on a stage to Dallas.” She recounted the meeting and subsequent events. “And,” she finished, “because I stayed with him to look after him, he was kind enough to take me to his ranch and teach me everything I needed to know to run my own place.”

“That remains to be seen,” he shot back, “and the next time I see Ben, I’m going to tell him what a stubborn little filly you are and how if he’d left you alone you might’ve gone home.”

“Ben’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Curt murmured.

“It was his heart. It happened at the beginning of spring roundup. He was watching me race Saber, and for a time I felt guilty, thinking maybe if not for that he’d still be alive. Eventually I realized it was just his time to go.

“I left the Bar M after he died,” she went on, “and Buck came with me, because he didn’t care any more for Tyler Moseley than you do.

“I had the money you so generously left me,” she said tartly. “But it wasn’t enough. Ben had given me Saber, and he’d already won races, so Buck came along to help me win the rest of what I needed.”

“And what would you have done if Ben hadn’t died?”

“He was looking for a small spread for me, something I could afford. Eventually I’d have had my place, but at the time he died I was getting ready to help drive the Bar M cattle to market.”

“A pity you didn’t get to go, because then you’d have seen what it’s like—working all day seven days a week, traveling hundreds and hundreds of miles with the only comfort a bedroll and a campfire.”

“I’ve learned to live without comfort.”

“What about your nerves? I’ve seen the constant moaning of prairie wind rub a man’s nerves raw. I’ve also seen the weather so infernally hot I’ve had to cool my horse’s bit in water to keep the hot metal from blistering his mouth.”

“I’d have survived.”

“And what about the men? You think they’d have traveled all that distance around a woman and not had a yen? Don’t you know you could’ve got somebody killed fighting over you?”

“That wouldn’t have happened, because they all respected me. Besides, Buck was the foreman then. He’d have kept things under control.”

With the saucy grin that had always captivated him, she gestured to herself. “And who’d have a yen for me, anyway? You said yourself that night in the saloon in Dallas that I dress like a man. They’d probably have thought of me that way.”

He doubted it. She might dress like a man, but he knew only too well what a woman she was. It was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms then and there.

To cover his spinning emotions, his voice came out stronger than intended. “You’re still a female, dammit, and you’ve no business living out here alone.”

“But I’m not alone. I have Buck. I can take care of myself, anyway, but he’s around should I need him.”

“So why didn’t he come running after all our shooting?”

“He’s gone to Dallas,” she replied a bit huffily.

“Well, have you thought how folks are going to talk about just you and him living on that ranch?”

“I don’t care. I know there’s nothing between us. And why am I even talking to you? You’re nothing to me but trouble.”

She turned to go, one hand wrapping about the saddle horn, the other on Saber’s rump as she tucked her foot in the stirrup and made ready to swing up into the saddle.

Finally yielding to what he had been trying so hard to resist, Curt reached out, caught her by her waist, and spun her around to wrap his arms around her and crush her against him.

“What—”

Her protest was quickly silenced by his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss.

Stunned, Tess did not move…at first.

Then, when his tongue forced her lips to open, his hands dropping to cup her buttocks and pull her against the swelling of his desire, she began to beat on his back with her fists, struggling to pull free.

He let her go so abruptly she would have fallen if not for the horse being directly behind her.

For an instant, he thought she was going to slap him. Instead, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and whispered, “How dare you—”

“I
dare
,” he said, eyes twinkling, “because I think you need reminding you
are
a woman, Tess.”

And, as she stood there, too mad to find her voice to unleash the indignant fury boiling within, he calmly went to his horse and mounted.

Taking the reins, he allowed the stallion to prance about a few times as he insolently stared down at her.

Finally, she was able to speak past the knot of rage to warn, “You stay away from me and stay away from my ranch. I know you for the murderer and thief you are, and you’d best keep your distance.”

“I’m neither. And you know it. And even though I still think you cheated me out of my land, I’ll help you if you ever need me, Tess. After all”—he winked—“like it or not, we’re neighbors.”

“I’d die before I asked for help from the likes of you.”

He pranced his horse around once more, then gave her a snappy salute. “Have a good winter, and should you need reminding you’re a woman, you know where to find me.”

“Go to hell.”

Tess jumped on Saber’s back, snatched up the reins, and, giving him a hard nudge on both sides with her knees, set him into a fierce gallop.

Curt watched her ride away.

Sooner or later he figured she would want to sell out. Winter was coming on, and brutal weather had wiped out many a herd. She could not stand much of a loss.

But then, neither could he.

He threw another salute at the cloud of dust that was swallowing her up and murmured, “See you in the spring.”

And he turned back to his own land, dreading all the cold and lonely nights ahead…and remembering warm nights with Tess in the past.

Chapter Twenty

March winds howled relentlessly, sending frigid air creeping around the windows.

Tess gathered her shawl tighter about her shoulders as she sat huddled before the fire.

Next winter she vowed to have shutters at the windows, because there had been too many times in the past months when she worried about freezing to death…like most of her cattle had already done.

It made her want to cry to think about how many had died in January’s terrible blizzard. Cattle, she had painfully learned, had a stubborn, mindless tendency to stand, hungry and shivering, in deep snow rather than attempt to find food.

She and Buck had tried to save as many as possible. Wrapped in bulky buffalo coats, they doggedly rode their horses to tramp out trails to hillsides where wind had swept snow off the grass. Then they would drive the cattle to the cleared spots to feed.

They also chopped through snow and ice so the animals could drink, because cows lacked the instinct to eat snow for moisture.

But during the blizzard, they did not dare go out for fear of becoming lost and freezing, themselves. They could do nothing but try to keep warm.

Buck bedded down near the fireplace so he could keep the fire going with the wood he had diligently stacked nearby, while Tess slept in the tiny room off the back and dared anyone, like Curt, to make something of it.

They had gone out as soon as they were able, to see how many of her herd she had lost. Tess knew as long as she lived she would never forget the horror of finding cows crusted heavily with snow, their eyes frozen shut and muzzles dripping icicles.

Worse, at least in the beginning before she was forced to get used to it, Buck showed her how they could salvage a small part of the animal’s value—the hide. Only they had to work quickly and could only skin the ones still alive. The ones that had been dead for some time were frozen too hard.

The cattle, still breathing, were already down and could not get up. Buck would cut their throats and Tess would help slice the skin off while they were still warm.

It made her sick to think about it, but it had to be done.

To survive.

God, how she had come to hate the word, for it reminded her of so many events in her life that were loathsome to think about.

A log collapsed in the flames in an explosion of sparks.

Tess got up from her chair and added more wood. With Buck away and likely not to return for another day or so, she was not taking a chance on the fire going out.

She envied him going to Dallas and would have liked to go along, but stayed behind because of the wolves. They had been bold in stalking the cattle during the cold months when pickings were lean among natural game on the range. Moving in packs, they would disable a cow by snapping the hamstrings in its hind legs, then move in to finish the animal off.

Tess had shot several wolves she had found stalking the barn. Buck said hunger would make them attack the horses, as well, so she had learned to listen for their howls in the night.

She had learned many other things, as well, like how to use other parts of a slaughtered cow. Suet for tallow, which could be used in lamps and to roll biscuits in before baking for extra flavor.

She had learned to cut firewood, too.

With ropes made fast to their saddle horns, she and Buck had dragged tree trunks from distant woods. When Buck was busy on the range, she had endeavored to chop wood, except hitting dead cottonwood with her ax was like trying to cut into sponge—the ax bounced right back at her.

But she was determined to do her part, not expecting Buck to do everything. Wrapping rags around her hands when the blisters came, she was relentless—until the ax flew back, gashing her forehead. Fortunately, Buck had come in from the range not too long after that to stitch the wound closed with boiled horsehair.

He had marveled at how she had withstood the pain, yet he didn’t know how her jaw ached from having gritted her teeth so hard to keep from screaming.

She pressed her fingertips to the scar. It hardly showed, so it hadn’t been too bad, after all. And she had kept on chopping wood when the need arose…but carefully.

Thinking she heard something, she went to the door and slid back the bolt to open it and peer out.

Not seeing anything, she closed and locked it and returned to her vigil by the fire.

There was no snow left on the ground. The sun had melted it, though the air was still cold. So Buck had felt it was time for the first spring ride into Dallas. They needed supplies, but Tess knew his real reason was hoping there would be a letter waiting from Katie, his fiancée.

Tess felt as though she knew the other woman because hardly a night had passed during the long winter that Buck had not talked about her.

But Tess had not minded. She was pleased he was in love with someone and looking forward to the time when he would bring her to live at the ranch as his bride.

Secretly, however, Buck going on about how happy he was sometimes made Tess wistful for someone in her life, as well. She told herself that one day the right man might come along. Until then, she would concentrate on making the ranch successful.

One evening after she had spent the day taking her turn gathering dried cow manure to use in the fire in order to save wood, she was pleasantly surprised to open the cabin door and smell hot food cooking.

“It’s a specialty I learned from Andy,” Buck had proudly announced. “And I treasure the recipe, ’cause that cantankerous old coot wasn’t one to give up his secrets.”

Even now Tess had to laugh out loud to recall her reaction when he had told her what it was called—sonofabitch stew.

And she was very grateful he had waited till after she had eaten her fill to tell her the ingredients—beef, calf heart, calf liver, brains, sweetbreads, and marrow gut.

They did have some good times, and Tess treasured Buck’s company, as well as his friendship.

There were times, however, when she did not treasure certain little tidbits of information he picked up from Curt’s hired hands when weather permitted them to travel to gather at Gilley’s saloon on Saturday nights.