When the Splendor Falls (87 page)

Noelle nodded understandingly. “One has to be very careful when handling Steward, Aunt Leigh,” she said in a serious little voice. “Mama has spoiled him far too much. She never scolds him or takes a switch to him, but then I suppose it is because he reminds her so much of Papa. She cannot bear to punish him,” she said, turning away.

“My cap, Auntie Leigh. Lost my cap,” he said tearfully. “Bestest, most favorite cap ever, Auntie Leigh,” he said, coming over to lean against her, burying his face in her leather riding skirt.

“Now, now, you haven’t lost it,” Leigh said, easily beguiled by him. “I’ll get it right back for you.”

“Should you really, Aunt Leigh?” Noelle cautioned. “The loft is quite high and that ladder doesn’t look very strong,” she said worriedly, sounding like her mother.

“Will so! Right now, Auntie Leigh!” Steward said, looking up at her brightly, for his Aunt Leigh could do anything. She was a lot more fun than his sister, he thought, making a face at Noelle, his dark head peeking around the slender curve of Leigh’s hip.

Leigh nodded, looking for the ladder into the loft.

“It’ll be all right, Noelle,” Leigh reassured her, handing her niece her jacket to hold and walking over to the ladder, for she was an accomplished tree climber. “You watch your brother,” she said over her shoulder as she began to climb the wooden slats that served as rungs. Halfway up, she had to admit that Noelle was right to have urged caution, for the loft was higher than most apple trees, and much higher than she’d thought when eyeing it from the safety of the ground.

With more haste than caution, Leigh quickly climbed the rest of the ladder to the top, standing on the top rung as she searched for Steward’s cap. At first she couldn’t find it, but eventually she spied it sitting atop one of the bales of hay stacked neatly along the edge of the loft. Sighing, Leigh left the ladder, crawling safely onto the floor covered thickly with loose straw.

“Where are you, Aunt Leigh?” Noelle called out worriedly, thinking her mother would never forgive her if she let anything happen to Aunt Leigh.

“Here I am. I found Steward’s cap,” she called down to her, having moved halfway along the edge of the loft.

“Cap! Steward’s cap. Auntie Leigh found it!” he squealed excitedly, racing toward the ladder. “Come up too!”

“Come back here, Steward!” Noelle cried out, dropping her doll and Leigh’s jacket as she ran after him, and catching him as he struggled to climb onto the first rung.

“Lemme go! Lemme go! Help Auntie Leigh! My cap!”

“You can’t go up the ladder, Steward! Do you want to fall and break your neck?” Noelle warned, then hollered when he bit her hard on the hand. “You little brat,” she said, slapping his hand, both beginning to cry.

Leigh heard the commotion, but had already climbed up on the second bale of hay, Steward’s cap within inches of her fingertips. Making a grab, she caught it, and was hurriedly backing down, when she suddenly heard the mewing and the warning meow. Looking over her shoulder just in time, Leigh avoided stepping on the mother cat and her kittens, nestled warm and snug on a long-forgotten horse blanket wadded up between two of the bales of hay.

But by trying to avoid them, Leigh gave little concern to her own safety, missing her step and falling against another bale, sending it tumbling over the edge of the upper story. As she rolled into thin air, arms flailing, she managed to grab hold of the loft’s rough-edged boards with her gloved hands, saving herself from falling all the way down to the ground, which suddenly loomed beneath her like a chasm.

Noelle’s and Steward’s screams from below nearly deafened her as she swung back and forth like a pendulum, her wrists beginning to ache as she hung on.

“Good Lord!” A deep voice came from somewhere far below, cutting through Steward’s bellowing and Noelle’s shrill cries for help and effectively silencing both.

Leigh managed to glance over her shoulder, then wished she hadn’t as the floor of the barn spun dizzily, along with the tall figure outlined against the opened doors.

“Let loose, Leigh, and I’ll catch you,” Neil told her calmly, having come to stand directly beneath her. “Leigh? I said to let loose and I’ll catch you,” he said quietly again. “I won’t drop you,” he promised, staring up at the booted feet surrounded by a white froth of ruffled petticoat.

“I-I can’t.” Leigh finally spoke, her voice sounding tremulous.

“Auntie Leigh! Auntie Leigh! Doan drop Auntie Leigh!” Steward cried out lustily, his short legs carrying him to Neil’s side. “Help catch! Won’t drop!” he said, jumping up and down on top of the brown velvet cap that had floated harmlessly to the ground, his short arms held outstretched, his tears dried, his slapped hand forgotten as he giggled happily in the midst of this new excitement.

Neil glanced down at his little cousin. “Step aside, son,” Neil told him.

“No. Help Auntie Leigh. My auntie. Love Auntie Leigh! Help her. Go away!” he said, pushing futilely against Neil’s hard leg before stepping in front of Neil with audacious arrogance for one so young.

Neil eyed the velvet-clad figure more intently, wishing he had a switch handy. With little regard for the young man’s wishes, Neil scooped him up and walked quickly over to the coach waiting in regal splendor for just such a princely being, lifting him through the window and placing him firmly down on the leather seat.

“You lift your bottom from that seat, and you won’t sit for a week of Sundays, young man, because of the whipping I’m going to give you,” Neil told him in such a deadly voice that Steward Russell Braedon’s jaw would have fallen into his lap if it hadn’t been connected beneath his small, bright pink ears.

Neil was up the ladder in seconds, his moccasined feet carrying him quickly and easily across the loft.

“Neil?” Leigh asked, not hearing him any longer beneath her. “Neil? You haven’t left, have you?” she asked, her tone sharpening slightly, for she would have fallen into his arms eventually—she’d just needed a little more time to gather her courage. “Don’t leave me, please. I don’t think I can hold on any longer,” she said in rising panic as she managed to glance down, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“That’s all right.”

Looking up, Leigh was startled to see his bronzed face and shoulders directly overhead.

“Let go, Leigh,” he told her. “I have you now.”

And he was as good as his word, for his hands gripped her forearms and she felt herself being lifted, his arms and shoulders undulating with sinewy, taut muscle as he easily raised her upward until her knees touched the straw scattered across the hard boards of the loft.

Leigh’s arms reached for him as her knees buckled beneath her and she saw herself tumbling backward over the edge. Instead, however, with her arms wrapped around his neck, and his around her waist, they tumbled backward into the hay, Neil’s laughing face staring up at hers as she found herself lying safe against his chest.

“Seems like old times,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of her slender body against his. “You’re my favorite maid to tumble in the hay.”

Unable to pretend indignation where there was none, especially toward the husband who had just saved her from a nasty fall, a half smile curved Leigh’s lips. “Odd, I should always associate the smell of a barn with you,” she said innocently as she unlocked her arms from around his neck and placed them rather delicately against his shoulders, avoiding the patch of wiry golden hair covering his chest.

Neil’s chest shook beneath her as he laughed, then she felt herself lifted high as he drew a deep, contented breath into his lungs, as if prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon lying in the hayloft, his arm heavy around her waist as he kept her where she was on top of him.

“Did I forget to mention that I approve of your riding habit. Although rather different in style, I find it quite attractive,” he said, thinking of her long-legged graceful walk as she’d crossed the grounds in leather boots, short calf-length skirt split to form full-legged breeches, and a wide-brimmed hat tipped at a rakish angle, her long braid of hair moving sinuously with each step. He hadn’t had a chance to see her properly the night she and Gil had returned late to Royal Rivers. But the first time she’d come sauntering across the grounds in her outfit, he’d stopped work and just stood and stared, along with every other man who’d caught a glance of her. He’d been aware of the admiring, lustful faces and known that had he not been standing there among them—and known to them as her husband—they would have been very vulgarly vocal in their masculine approval. Although perhaps not, Neil speculated, for the
vaqueros
were completely loyal and devoted to Leigh, and had anyone said anything ungentlemanly about her, they might as well have insulted the proud blood of the
vaquero
himself and prepared to defend his life. The
vaquero
would have been quick to defend his and Leigh’s honor with the flashing blade of a stiletto. At first, that almost blind loyalty had raised his ire, until he’d realized that they respected her as a lady and even more as a horsewoman.

As it was, he’d received countless envious glances, some assessing, some speculative, some daydreaming, from the shearers, but when Leigh had ridden past astride Capitaine, handling the high-spirited stallion with ease, some of the glances had turned to pity as they’d shaken their heads—for it was one thing to dream about a beautiful woman, and quite another to be married to a headstrong one, no matter how beautiful she was.

“Do you ride Capitaine astride all of the time?” he asked. When she nodded, he said, “I don’t know why I should be surprised, since I first saw you riding bareback in your wet chemise and lacy drawers,” he reminded her.

“Then you don’t mind that your wife’s behavior would be considered very unladylike back in Virginia?” Leigh asked curiously.

Neil grinned. “We’re not in Virginia, and there is a time and place for ladylike airs, which you have in abundance, my dear, but there is also a time for a lady to show some practicality, which you have. I’d rather have you causing a scandal than breaking your lovely neck,” he drawled, his hand lightly clasping the slender column, his words echoing Leigh’s to Jolie when she’d complained about her appearance.

Leigh sighed in relief, then she sniffed with ladylike disdain, causing Neil to laugh deeply as he realized his bare chest was sweaty and the odor of sheep clung to him like a second skin, and apparently to Leigh also, because she touched the linen of her blouse curiously. It was slightly dampened from the sweat coating his broad chest and the material was now sticking to her flesh.

“Forgive me, ma’am, but I hadn’t planned on rescuing a fair damsel in distress, or I would certainly have put back on my shirt.”

“Just returning the compliment,” Leigh said mockingly, remembering his odious expression when she and Gil had returned to Royal Rivers with the lamb.

“That is what I like about you, Leigh, I can always expect you to even the score,” he said, his pale eyes no longer cold, but glowing warmly with humor.

“Thank you. I do try,” she said. “You don’t suppose there is a pitchfork lying around here anywhere?”

Neil grinned with remembrance of their first roll in the hay, his hand moving slightly, almost caressingly, over her lower back.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Leigh suddenly said nervously.

“Yes?”

“You don’t mind, do you, that I’m riding Capitaine. I don’t always ride him, sometimes I ride my mare, but when I leave the
rancho
, I—”

“He is your horse. He has always been your horse.”

Leigh met his pale eyes for a long moment, noticing for the first time in a long time the little flecks of gold in the crystalline depths. “Mine?”

“Yes. I took him from you under circumstances I am not proud of. He is yours, Leigh. He has never belonged to anyone else.”

Leigh closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’m glad your little mare made it. I hardly recognized her in the stables. She looks quite different from the broken-down horse I saw at Travers Hill.”

Leigh smiled. “She’s showing her bloodlines,” she said, thankful that Damascena now bore few of the scars of her ordeal.

“Aunt Leigh! Aunt Leigh? Are you all right?” Noelle’s pitiful voice drifted up to them.

“Yes, dear. I’m fine. I’ll be right there,” she called back. “We’d better go,” she suggested to Neil, glancing down at him.

“You haven’t thanked me yet for saving you,” he said, pulling gently on the long braid of chestnut hair. “You know by now I’m a man who always demands payment for services rendered, or for debts owed me,” he said, raising his mouth slowly to hers, giving her time to draw back if she wished.

Leigh slowly lowered her mouth to his, meeting him halfway.

Their lips touched. Softly. Almost tentatively, as if it were their first kiss. His hand slid up the long braid to cup the back of her neck, his fingers caressing the fine, silky hairs as he gradually increased the pressure, bringing their mouths closer together, parting them. His arm left her waist, his hand moving along her hip, then coming to rest on her buttocks, where he lightly fondled the soft curves beneath the leather of her skirt.

Still holding herself slightly away, Leigh now moved her hand to touch his cheek, allowing the swell of her breasts to come in contact with his bare chest. She felt him shudder beneath her, his hand leaving the nape of her neck to find the buttons of her blouse. His tongue lightly touched her lips, licking them, his teeth nibbling against the soft inner flesh, and she opened them wider, allowing him to touch her tongue, the kiss deepening as his tongue slid against hers, joining them together with the intimate contact.

“Aunt Leigh!” the plaintive voice sounded again. “Gil’s bringing some people toward the barn. It’s
that
Spanish woman and her brother, lil’ Louie Angel,” Noelle said, quoting her mother and uncle in both words and tone. “And that other man’s with them. I don’t like him, Aunt Leigh. He’s always winking at me and tickling me beneath the chin. And his breath always smells like whiskey, but without the mint in it,” she said, remembering the mint juleps of home. “Please come down,” Noelle called out again.