The Trailrider's Fortune (42 page)

Rafe got off the
bunk and backed away from her. "You're talkin' crazy now. Ain't natural
for a person to know things like that. I can accept that maybe you get these
inklin's or notions…but not like that. Not your own death."

"But I do know
when I'll die," she answered softly. "Shall I tell you where and how?
I've known for a long time."

Rafe vehemently shook
his head. "Put them away. They're just painted pictures on paper. I don't
want to know when you'll die or how…Why do you think I'm scared about marryin'
you? I don't want nothin' to do with it, and I'm terrified I'll be the damned
cause!"

Sparkle's voice was
barely above a whisper. "You won't have anything to do with it, because
you'll be gone yourself by then. I'll be sickly and frail, over seventy years
old. Ready, because I will have been widowed awhile by then, and I'll want so
badly to be reunited with you."

He blinked.
"Widowed
late
in your life?"

She glanced down.
"It seems so."

"And when you
go, you're over seventy? Then how'd I go? Was I—"

"I'm sorry,
this isn't your reading. It's mine. Shall I shuffle again and look? I remember
it's natural causes of some kind, but—"

"You're lyin',
Sparkle. Ain't no way I can live to be some wrinkled old coot, die from
apoplexy or a bout of consumption. I can't make it that long, not with
strangers gunnin' for me."

"Think back to
the first time I read your cards," she replied without rancor. "I
only see the future. I don't determine it. Whatever takes you, our children
will be grown and have children of their own by then. I'll be living in a big
house that sits on a hill or rise. The children and grandchildren bring me back
there after we lay you to rest…in a cemetery with a big tree in the middle of
it. I can actually see the graveyard from the house, and—"

He stopped her by
abruptly kissing her. "I want to believe all that. Truly, I do. I just
don't know if I can."

She scooped up the
cards and pulled him down onto the edge of the bunk, lacing their fingers
together. "My mother was beaten to death on her way back from town. The
Flowers lived outside Fire Thorn a few miles down a dirt road. She'd finished
her laundering and been paid by her customers that week. I started whining
because I wanted a dress made from some calico I'd seen at the mercantile.
White background with flowers that matched my eyes. She couldn't take the
pouting. She went back into town late that day, thinking she'd surprise
me."

"Christ. I'm
sorry. That must have—"

"So you see, I
understand some of what you're thinking and feeling now. For a long time, I
believed I'd killed her. With my selfishness. I've never liked my eye color or
my name since she died. I haven't worn anything turquoise or aqua…until you
bought me that beaded dress in Dodge."

He tilted up her
chin. "You could've told me. I would've bought you a different dress.
There were plenty in that shop."

"But you liked
that one."

"Aw, Sparkle."
Despite his grumble, he offered a slight grin. The first since he'd come back.

"It's like
your scar."

"You don't
like to talk about what happened, you mean?"

"No. From the
first time I saw your bare chest in my room that night, I thought you made yourself
be too concerned about it. I always thought you had a very fine body. The
scar's only part of it."

"You like my
body? Well, I can tell sometimes, but from the first you thought that?"
When she nodded, he actually colored slightly. "Thanks."

"But it dawned
on me that I'd spent most of my life being the same way over Mother's death.
Refusing to wear greenish-blue or hating my eyes can't bring her back. Being so
defensive and obsessive was only hurting me, just as feeling rejection over the
scar hurts you."

"Speaking of
that, I had a doc take a look at my scar when I went to Kansas City."

"You went back
to see Jace?"

"Had to
apologize for leavin' the way I did that day. Wanted to make peace if we're
goin' to be family. I was impressed that the surgeon got him up and walkin', so
I thought maybe—"

"Doctor
Kent
Barlow
? You went to see him, knowing…" Sparkle couldn't believe it. It
had never occurred to her that Rafe might do such a thing.

Rafe at least had
the grace to look chastised over the admission. "I had to know if you'd
told the truth about havin' a shot at marryin' him."

Her eyes flew wide.
"You actually
asked
him?" She was mortified.

"Nope, and I
didn't ask how well he knew you. Just said you'd referred me for medical
advice. But I could tell he's still sweet on you. When a man flinches at the
mere mention of a gal's name, he's got it bad. I should know. Wouldn't let
Travis say your name when I thought we'd busted apart for good."

He squeezed her
fingers and looked up into her eyes. "You're sure I got a long time? Sure
life with me, however long we got, is what you want?"

"Oh, yes,
"she breathed, bending in to kiss him. "We'll have wedding
anniversaries and children together. You like children; I saw that with Kayla.
I only hope you don't have your heart set on a brood of ten or twelve."

"Naw, three or
four would be plenty," he chuckled, letting his hands cup her breasts as
he continued to kiss and nibble. Then he suddenly stopped. "Christ, we're
a pair, ain't we? Me thinkin' I'm ugly cause of my big scar, which the doc says
can't be fixed up any better. The whole time I've known you, I reckoned I
didn't deserve a beauty with your incredible eyes. You hatin' the fact you got
'em. Prob'ly wish you were plain and ordinary."

Now she felt the
prick of her own tears. He shook his head, using a thumb to trace her cheek.
"Sparkle, you listen to me now. Don't you ever apologize for bein' so
pretty. Fact you are  makes you all the more precious to me, and come Thursday
mornin', you'll see exactly how much."

"Thursday?"
she repeated, trying to read the shift in his eyes. The clouds in them seemed
to have parted. Suddenly they were warm again.

"Our weddin'
day. Preacher's comin' out here at eleven."

"Eleven on
Thursday? But you haven't promised to hang up your gun. You know I want that,
and after all that's happened—"

"I know. But
it was chasin' rewards you fretted over, right? Me bein' a bounty hunter. You
ain't figurin' I'll never use a gun again? Because I can't walk around unarmed.
Could trade the peacemaker for a little derringer. I found somethin' not so
dangerous to do, out in Denver. Consultin' work."

"Consulting,
and no peacemaker. You'll hang that up and stop hiring out to catch
outlaws?"

He lifted his right
palm. "I swear I won't be trailridin' no more. That's best I can do."

She thought for all
of half a second. "Fine, as long as you're not constantly risking your
life deliberately…then, I agree. Thursday. But I need to go into town without
you before then."

"Oh…right.
Tell Travis to send Randy or Josh Abbott along, and keep that money I sent you.
Just have the merchants put whatever you need on the Conley account. I'll
settle up later."

"No, you
won't. Because what I want is to buy a special wedding present for you."

He flushed.
"Thought maybe you wanted to pick out a different weddin' dress. I asked
you to wear that fancy cream gown with the beads we got in Dodge, but I didn't
know then how you felt about clothes matchin' your eyes. You can pick out
somethin' else. I'll pay for it."

She leaned close.
"That dress doesn't remind me of my mother. Just you…and the panel
crib."

Just then they
heard riders approaching. Travis and the Abbotts bade Rafe good night and drew
Sparkle with them through the back door into the main house. Rafe retreated to
his cabin. Within an hour or so, the ranch fell quiet. Sparkle had brushed out
her hair and donned her nightgown.

It had been quite
an evening. Filled with revelations, like the first time she'd lain with Rafe.
He'd opened up the world of sensual delights to her. Tonight she'd returned the
favor, opening up a world of future possibilities to him.

Her conscience wouldn't
let sleep come easily. While most of what she'd told him was true, she'd
deliberately embellished a bit. More than a bit. She'd had to, she told herself
firmly. Just like the showdown he'd described, he'd maneuvered her to where she
had no choice. She'd almost lost Rafe so many times. To a horrible
misunderstanding. To an assassin's bullet that left him feverish and weak. To
his own bitter recriminations. And yet he loved her. She'd always been able to
see the love in his eyes. She returned it just as intensely.

Majesta was right,
Sparkle reflected. Every woman needed certain qualities in her mate. Sparkle
needed Rafe, maybe all the more for having been raised in a maelstrom of
violence. She'd wanted to hide from it, just as she'd hated her eye color.
Maybe all these years she'd been looking at that wrong, too.

She needed Rafe. She
wasn't going to lose him. Not now, not ever. She'd lie, steal, cheat…even kill to
keep him safe and part of her life. She'd do whatever she had to. Just ask Ned
Slocumb.

* * *

Tuesday afternoon
the Donaldsons burst into the ranch house, filling the parlor with excited
chatter. Sparkle had just returned from town less than an hour before, after
purchasing Rafe's wedding present. Kayla trotted over and wrapped chubby arms
around Sparkle's thighs, lifting a cherubic, smiling face. "Mama says I
should call you Auntie now, cause you're marryin' my Uncle Rafe."

"That's right,
sweetie. The day after tomorrow. Then you'll be my niece, too. I'm so happy
you're here."

"Sparkle,"
Miranda called, beckoning to her. "You've never met my husband, Zachary.
Zach, this is Sparkle LaFleur, the young woman who's finally turned my
profligate brother's life around."

"I can see
why," Zach responded with a wink. "I must say, you've caused quite a
stir in this family, Miss LaFleur. Rafe's an uncommonly fortunate fellow."

"Your daughter
looks just like you," Sparkle noted, glancing back down at Kayla, who
still hadn't completely relinquished her hold on Sparkle's skirts. "Kayla,
who is that Uncle Travis has over there? A new baby boy? Why, you're a big
sister now, aren't you? How nice."

Kayla glanced at
the bundle of blue in Travis' arms and sent her head up, then sharply back down
in the emphatic nod of a three-year-old.

"Skylar's a
miniature of Travis," Miranda observed. "I remember Ma saying he and
Rafe both looked like our grandfather. I don't remember Grandpa, but there's
both Wilmont and Conley blood in Sky. I see our mother around his eyes. I'm not
sure what Zach threw into the mix."

"A sizeable
endowment, madam," Zach replied with a straight face. "All us
Donaldson men have large endowments."

Sparkle laughed as
Miranda rolled her eyes. "And modesty. If only my son grows up with better
manners than the uncouth menfolk around here…Speaking of which, where's
Rafe?"

"Staying in a
hotel room in town." Everyone looked at Sparkle as if she'd just announced
a new War Between the States. Then she realized they all knew
why
Rafe
had taken a hotel room and found herself blushing. It had to be some sort of
record, blushing after doing absolutely nothing with Rafe.

"Well, er…I
think we better get you folks situated," Travis said. "Zach, you and
Miranda can take the Abbotts' room."

"I don't want
to displace your foreman, Travis," Zach argued mildly. " Don't mind
if Rannie misplaces a mare, though. What do you think, honey, want to try out
sleeping in a stall on some hay?" He waggled his brows at her suggestively.

Travis barked out a
laugh. "Naw. You and Rannie take the Abbotts' bed. They'll use Rafe's
cabin temporarily. Now that Miz Abbott spent two days scrubbin' out the place,
it's habitable. Expect you'll bunk Sky out there with you. Sparkle's stayin' in
the guest bedroom. Maybe Kayla can sleep with her…" His voice trailed off
as Zach carried the luggage down the hall behind his wife and brother-in-law.

Sparkle told Kayla
an elaborate bedtime story, then settled down for the night early herself. She
was the first one dressed and into the kitchen the next morning. She rolled up
her sleeves and borrowed Mrs. Abbott's apron from its peg, smiling as she set
to firing up the stove and making coffee.

She'd learned a
good deal about cooking and running a home in the weeks Rafe had been gone, but
this was the first time she attempted preparation of an entire meal alone. She
usually baked biscuits or helped with some of the dishes, but felt she was up
to tackling a full breakfast.

When Travis came
through the back door—Sparkle suspected he'd already awakened and gone out to
check his spread—she had a fresh pot of coffee ready. A tower of hotcakes with
syrup and platter of fried bacon already graced the table. Mrs. Abbott had
taken trays of food out to the bunkhouse for the men. Travis looked pleasantly
surprised.