Angel Creek by Linda Howard
“Oh, you aren’t weak,” Dee explained, smiling a little. “It’s just that you’re too gentle to fight him when he needs to be fought. But cheer up. Maybe you’ll meet someone in San Francisco you really want to marry.”
“Mother’s canceled the trip. She didn’t think it would be smart to leave Lucas for such a long time while he’s showing so much interest. Of course, Lucas may not have any plans to marry at all, and I could be worrying over nothing.” The thought popped into her head that Dee would make Lucas a much better wife than she herself would, and she almost blurted it out but stopped herself in time. Dee would look at her as if she were crazy if she said such a thing.
But it was true. In both temperament and character Dee was a fair match for Lucas; both of them were so strong that they would completely overshadow anyone who wasn’t just as strong. The only thing was, Dee wasn’t the least interested in getting married.
Nevertheless, the idea lingered.
On the way home Olivia detoured by the bank to tell her father hello. Just as she stepped up on the sidewalk the door to the bank opened, and Kyle Bellamy came out, flanked by two of his men. He removed his hat as soon as he saw her.
“Miss Millican, how are you today?”
“Fine, thank you, Mr. Bellamy. And you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He looked down at her, giving her his self-confident smile. No doubt about it, Kyle Bellamy was a good-looking man, and he knew it. His dark hair was thick and curly, his eyes light brown beneath black brows, his smile white and straight. Moreover, he was tall and muscular, and his ranch, though nowhere near the size of the Double C, was prosperous and growing. For all that, something about the man made her uneasy.
He made no move to continue on his way, and Olivia’s innate good manners came to the fore. “I hope you’re making plans to attend the spring social. It won’t be long,” she said.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” He gave her his white, wolfish grin. “Especially if you’re going to be there.”
“Just about everyone in town will be there,” Olivia replied, neatly sidestepping his comment, which was personal enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
“I’ll look forward to claiming a dance with you.” He tipped his hat again and stepped past her, followed by both of his men.
As the second hired hand passed he, too, tipped his hat, surprising Olivia into darting a quick look at his face. She had only a fast impression of black hair, darkly tanned skin, and black eyes warm with admiration before he was past her, but the impact was strong enough to freeze her in her tracks, a little stunned.
Surely she had mistaken his expression. After all, her glance had been so quick. No, surely the man hadn’t looked at her with tenderness, the way Ezekiel looked at Beatrice. How could he, when he didn’t even know her? But the fact remained that his look, imagined or not, had made her heart beat a little faster and her skin feel a little warm.
She entered the bank, smiling politely and returning the greetings of those who spoke to her on her way into her father’s office. Wilson Millican rose on her entrance, beaming his welcome. “Your mother’s had you running another errand, at a guess,” he said, and he laughed as their gazes met in perfect understanding. “She’s enjoying this as much as if she were sixteen again and this was her first party.”
“She’ll swear she never wants to be involved in the planning again, but by the time next February rolls around she’ll be fretting to get started.”
They chatted for a few minutes, with Olivia telling him about her visit with Beatrice. She didn’t want to take up too much of his time, so she kept her visit short. She was rising to her feet when her curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “I stopped outside to talk with Mr. Bellamy for a few moments. Who were those two men with him?”
“Two of his cowhands, Pierce and Fronteras, though from the looks of them I’d say they were handier with a pistol than a rope.”
“Gunmen?” she asked, startled. “Why would he need gunmen?”
“Now, I didn’t say they were gunmen. I said they looked like they’d be handy with their pistols, and maybe they are, but then a good many men around here are good hands with a firearm. As far as I know, Bellamy’s cowhands are just that, cowhands.” He patted her arm in reassurance, though he wasn’t too certain of his own words, especially when they concerned the two men that had been with Bellamy. One thing was certain, though, and that was that he wouldn’t want either of those two men anywhere near Olivia. She was too fine a person to associate with that type of man. None of the ranch hands caused any trouble in town other than the normal drinking and fighting sometimes, but as a father he couldn’t be too careful of his daughter’s well-being.
“Which one was which?” Olivia asked, still driven by her curiosity.
“What?”
“Which man was Pierce, and which was Fronteras?”
“Pierce has been with Bellamy for a couple of years now. He’s a quiet man, never says much. The dark, Mexican-looking man is Fronteras. Guess he is Mexican at that, though he’s tall for one. Must be mostly Spanish.”
He was a Mexican. She felt a little surprised at herself for not having realized that at a glance, though he was tall, as her father had noted. Then she was even more surprised by her own curiosity about a man whom she had never even met, because passing on the sidewalk certainly didn’t constitute an introduction. It wasn’t her usual behavior, but then she was upset by her increasing sensation of being caught in a trap. She didn’t know what she could do to escape, or even if she wanted to escape. All she knew was that she felt on the verge of panic.
“A man could do worse than marrying a banker’s daughter,” Kyle Bellamy mused. “Especially one who looks like Olivia Millican.”
Pierce grunted in reply. Luis Fronteras didn’t say anything.
“She’s his only child. When he dies she’ll get everything. Or rather her husband will.”
“I heard Cochran was courting her,” Fronteras murmured.
Kyle shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I can’t pay attention to the lady, too.”
He sipped his whiskey, thinking about Olivia Millican. Why not? He had as much chance with her as anyone else, maybe more. Women had always seemed to like him. He liked a bit more spunk in his women than Olivia seemed to have, but she was pretty and rich, and in Kyle’s experience money made up for a lot of shortcomings. He was doing all right with money right now, but he had learned the hard way not to count on everything staying all right. Having Wilson Millican’s money would make his life a whole lot more comfortable. He’d start his own courting of Olivia and give Cochran something to think about.
He was on his second whiskey, savoring both the biting, smoky taste of the liquor and his mental image of marrying Olivia Millican, when Tillie sauntered over to him. He leaned back against the bar and enjoyed the sight, because Tillie had a walk that could make a man’s privates stand at attention even if he had a lot more than two whiskeys in him.
Tillie was something, all right. He’d met her for the first time about ten years back, in New Orleans. She’d been all of fifteen then, he guessed, remembering how fresh and wild she’d looked. He grinned, thinking that he was probably the only person in town who knew that her name was Mathilde. He called her that sometimes, when they were in bed together, always earning a long warning look from those heavy-lidded eyes of hers. It was all right with him if she chose to be Tillie the saloon girl; he just didn’t want her to forget that he knew where she came from.
Of course, she knew more about him than anyone else, too, but he didn’t worry about it. Tillie had never tried to use the information to get money out of him. She was oddly accepting of her life in a two-bit saloon in a small town, her rich brown eyes full of a half-weary, half-accepting worldliness. A man never felt as if Tillie was judging him; she simply took him as he was and expected nothing else.
A lot of the men in Prosper, including the married ones, had found their way into Tillie’s embrace. She was ge
nerous even when her time was paid for, giving at least the appearance of affection and sometimes even her passion.
Kyle never expected anything less than full participation from her and never let her give less. Sometimes she wanted to hold back from him, but he’d known her a long time, knew exactly how to make her squirm and buck beneath him, and in the end she would always give him what he wanted.
She looked more like twenty than twenty-five, he thought, admiring her creamy skin and dark mahogany hair. She was still slim, still supple, her breasts full and upright.
She leaned against the bar, her mouth voluptuous with invitation. “Kyle,” she murmured in greeting.
He didn’t need much encouragement. His name in that soft drawl was enough. He set his glass down and took her arm. “Upstairs.”
She blinked at him in mocking surprise. “Well, hello to you, too. Nice day, isn’t it?”
He ignored her light sarcasm and continued propelling her toward the stairs. He gave an abrupt flick of his hand to Pierce and Fronteras, letting them know that he’d be a while and they could do whatever they wanted.
Luis Fronteras watched Bellamy disappear up the stairs with his arm around Tillie’s waist before returning his attention to the beer in front of him. Pierce sat down at a table with him, silently nursing his own beer. That was normal for Pierce, who seldom said more than three words in a row.
Luis was irritated by the small pang of jealousy he’d felt watching Bellamy and Tillie go upstairs together. Not because of Tillie, though God knows she was a head-turning woman, but just because of the simple fact there was a bond between the two of them, even if it was comprised mainly of plain sex. It had been a long time since he had felt kinship of any sort with anyone. Ten years, in fact. Ten years of drifting, of occasionally relieving his sexual urges with a willing woman but never giving her any more of himself than the use of his body. At first he had needed the mental and emotional solitude, then it had become habit, and now it felt impossible to change even though he sometimes wanted more. More . . . what?
More women? He could have a woman anytime he wanted. Luis had a gift for pleasing women, and he knew it. Mainly it was that he liked everything about women, even their tempers and jealousies and plain contrariness, and what woman could resist being so frankly appreciated? To Luis it was simple: He was a man, therefore he loved the ladies. They were the most delicious creatures he could imagine. Women had flocked to him from the time his voice first began to deepen.
But he wasn’t interested in a multitude of women. Right now he was interested in one woman: the blonde Bellamy had spoken to outside the bank. Miss Millican, the banker’s daughter. Olivia. He had liked her quiet composure and pretty face as well as the shape of her bosom beneath the prim cut of her riding habit.
He hadn’t liked the idea of Bellamy courting her, using her just to get his hands on her father’s money. A woman deserved more than that, especially one who looked as sweet as Olivia. It wouldn’t bother Bellamy at all to use her, but Luis had unerring instincts when it came to women, and something told him that such callousness would destroy her.
There was already sadness in those pretty blue eyes. He had caught only a glimpse of it, but it had been there. Something was making her unhappy. Bellamy would only make her even more unhappy.
He’d like to kiss those sad shadows out of her eyes, hold her and pet her and tell her how very lovely she was. A woman always needed to know that she was appreciated.
He smiled cynically to himself. He was a drifter and a Mexican, too handy with a gun for his own good. She was the banker’s daughter, and it looked like she would have her choice between the two richest ranchers in the area. There wasn’t much chance Miss Olivia Millican would ever even know his name, let alone let him hold her.
4
SOMEHOW DEE WASN’T SURPRISED TO SEE LUCAS Cochran riding toward her three days later. It was still early in the morning; she was outside with a pan of chicken feed, scattering it to the clucking fowl grouped around her skirts. “Mr. Cochran,” she said in greeting when he was close enough to hear her.
He didn’t dismount but leaned down to prop his forearm on the saddle horn as he watched her strew the feed. “Good morning,” he said. “I was on my way into town and thought I’d ride over to check on you.”
Her eyes were bright in the strong morning sun, and greener than any he’d ever seen before. “I don’t remember saying anything that would give you the impression I needed to be checked on, Mr. Cochran,” she said with more than a little sharpness. She had painstakingly taught herself how to be independent and resented his implication that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.
“Call me Lucas,” he said. “Or Luke.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like for us to be friends.”
“Not likely.”
He grinned, enjoying her starchiness. It was refreshing to be around a woman who didn’t cater to him and defer to his every opinion. “Why not? Looks to me like we could both use a friend.”
“I like being alone,” she replied, tilting the pan upside down and slapping it lightly on the sides to knock loose the last few grains of feed. She crossed to the small back stoop and hung the pan on a nail driven into the wall. Lucas walked his horse behind her as she strode swiftly to the barn, her skirts kicking up with each step. She wore only one petticoat, he decided, eyeing the brisk sway of that blue skirt. And a thin one at that.
He ducked his head down to enter the barn, automatically closing his eyes for a second so they could adjust to the dimness, and watched as she efficiently ladled feed to the single horse and two cows.
She was damn good at ignoring him, he saw, and he began to get a little irate at her manner. Then he remembered that it was her farm, and she hadn’t invited him. His horse stamped a hoof restively as she fetched a stool and positioned a milk bucket under one of the cows. Lucas sighed and dismounted, looping his reins over a rail. The other cow needed milking, too. “Got another bucket?” he asked.
Streams of milk were already hissing into the bucket in time with the motions of her hands as she turned her head to him. Those green eyes had a dangerous look to them now. “I don’t need any help.”
“I can see that.” His irritation was growing, and it echoed in his voice. “But did you ever think about accepting an offer of help, not because you couldn’t handle it just fine yourself but because the chore would get done faster with two people working at it instead of just one?”
She considered that, then gave a brief nod. “All right. There’s another clean bucket in the tack room there, to the right. But I don’t have another stool. You’ll have to squat.”
He fetched the bucket and patted the cow on her fat sides, letting her know he was there before he slid the bucket under her. He squatted down and wrapped his strong fingers around the long teats, then pulled with the rhythmic motion that, once learned, was never forgotten. Hot milk splashed into the bucket. His mouth moved in a wry grin as he thought how glad he was none of his men could see him now.
“Have you always been such a hedgehog?” he asked in a tone of casual interest.
“I reckon,” she replied in the same manner, and he grinned again.
“Any particular reason for it?”
“Men.”
He snorted. “Yeah, we can be real bastards.”
He wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of disagreeing.”
“Those lovesick swains of yours must have been persistent,” he said, hazarding a guess.
“Some of them. But it wasn’t love they had on their minds, and we both know it. It seems like men just naturally see a woman alone as fair game.”
There wasn’t another woman in town who would have said that to him, but then he had already realized at their first meeting that Dee was blunt in her speech and frank in her opinions. He felt a slow burn of anger at the thought of other men trying to seduce her, or maybe even just catch her alone
when they wouldn’t bother with pretense of seduction. The knowledge that he was determined to seduce her himself didn’t moderate his temper. For one thing, he didn’t intend to dishonor her; no one but the two of them would ever know what went on between them. He wasn’t a raw kid who felt the need to boast about his women in order to impress others with his masculinity. For another thing, damn if he didn’t respect her for what she had accomplished out there. It had taken a lot of hard work, but she hadn’t flinched from it, rather had risen to the challenge and gloried in it. The pristine condition of the farm was a true measure of her fierce spirit.
His voice was tight with that possessive anger when he said, “If anyone else bothers you, let me know.”
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s something I have to take care of for myself. You might not always be around; they have to know I can defend myself, that I don’t need to rely on anyone else.”
Her logic was unassailable, but he didn’t like it. “I can make certain they never come back.”
“The shotgun tends to be persuasive,” she said with humor in her voice. “There’s nothing like buckshot in his backside to make a man reconsider an idea. Besides, I’m not sure I can afford to have you as a protector.”
He didn’t pause in his milking, but his brows drew together and his head came up. “Why not?” he demanded sharply.
“Folks would think we were sleeping together.” When he didn’t reply to that, Dee continued to explain. “The men around here pretty much leave me alone now because I’ve convinced them I don’t want any man. But if they thought I’d let one man in my bed, then they would think I was available, and they’d take even less kindly to being turned down than they did before. It would get nasty, and I’d probably have to kill some of them.”
His strong hands had emptied the cow’s udder, and he lifted the bucket away, rising to his feet just as Dee finished milking. Her cheeks were flushed with her exertions as she slid the bucket away and stood, stretching her back. Lucas leaned down, picked up the other bucket, and walked out of the barn toward the house, leaving her to follow. Her brows rose at the way he made himself so at home on her place. It was obvious he was used to being the boss. Then she shrugged; he was being helpful, so it would be petty of her to complain that he was too self-confident about it.
“Mother’s canceled the trip. She didn’t think it would be smart to leave Lucas for such a long time while he’s showing so much interest. Of course, Lucas may not have any plans to marry at all, and I could be worrying over nothing.” The thought popped into her head that Dee would make Lucas a much better wife than she herself would, and she almost blurted it out but stopped herself in time. Dee would look at her as if she were crazy if she said such a thing.
But it was true. In both temperament and character Dee was a fair match for Lucas; both of them were so strong that they would completely overshadow anyone who wasn’t just as strong. The only thing was, Dee wasn’t the least interested in getting married.
Nevertheless, the idea lingered.
On the way home Olivia detoured by the bank to tell her father hello. Just as she stepped up on the sidewalk the door to the bank opened, and Kyle Bellamy came out, flanked by two of his men. He removed his hat as soon as he saw her.
“Miss Millican, how are you today?”
“Fine, thank you, Mr. Bellamy. And you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He looked down at her, giving her his self-confident smile. No doubt about it, Kyle Bellamy was a good-looking man, and he knew it. His dark hair was thick and curly, his eyes light brown beneath black brows, his smile white and straight. Moreover, he was tall and muscular, and his ranch, though nowhere near the size of the Double C, was prosperous and growing. For all that, something about the man made her uneasy.
He made no move to continue on his way, and Olivia’s innate good manners came to the fore. “I hope you’re making plans to attend the spring social. It won’t be long,” she said.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” He gave her his white, wolfish grin. “Especially if you’re going to be there.”
“Just about everyone in town will be there,” Olivia replied, neatly sidestepping his comment, which was personal enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
“I’ll look forward to claiming a dance with you.” He tipped his hat again and stepped past her, followed by both of his men.
As the second hired hand passed he, too, tipped his hat, surprising Olivia into darting a quick look at his face. She had only a fast impression of black hair, darkly tanned skin, and black eyes warm with admiration before he was past her, but the impact was strong enough to freeze her in her tracks, a little stunned.
Surely she had mistaken his expression. After all, her glance had been so quick. No, surely the man hadn’t looked at her with tenderness, the way Ezekiel looked at Beatrice. How could he, when he didn’t even know her? But the fact remained that his look, imagined or not, had made her heart beat a little faster and her skin feel a little warm.
She entered the bank, smiling politely and returning the greetings of those who spoke to her on her way into her father’s office. Wilson Millican rose on her entrance, beaming his welcome. “Your mother’s had you running another errand, at a guess,” he said, and he laughed as their gazes met in perfect understanding. “She’s enjoying this as much as if she were sixteen again and this was her first party.”
“She’ll swear she never wants to be involved in the planning again, but by the time next February rolls around she’ll be fretting to get started.”
They chatted for a few minutes, with Olivia telling him about her visit with Beatrice. She didn’t want to take up too much of his time, so she kept her visit short. She was rising to her feet when her curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “I stopped outside to talk with Mr. Bellamy for a few moments. Who were those two men with him?”
“Two of his cowhands, Pierce and Fronteras, though from the looks of them I’d say they were handier with a pistol than a rope.”
“Gunmen?” she asked, startled. “Why would he need gunmen?”
“Now, I didn’t say they were gunmen. I said they looked like they’d be handy with their pistols, and maybe they are, but then a good many men around here are good hands with a firearm. As far as I know, Bellamy’s cowhands are just that, cowhands.” He patted her arm in reassurance, though he wasn’t too certain of his own words, especially when they concerned the two men that had been with Bellamy. One thing was certain, though, and that was that he wouldn’t want either of those two men anywhere near Olivia. She was too fine a person to associate with that type of man. None of the ranch hands caused any trouble in town other than the normal drinking and fighting sometimes, but as a father he couldn’t be too careful of his daughter’s well-being.
“Which one was which?” Olivia asked, still driven by her curiosity.
“What?”
“Which man was Pierce, and which was Fronteras?”
“Pierce has been with Bellamy for a couple of years now. He’s a quiet man, never says much. The dark, Mexican-looking man is Fronteras. Guess he is Mexican at that, though he’s tall for one. Must be mostly Spanish.”
He was a Mexican. She felt a little surprised at herself for not having realized that at a glance, though he was tall, as her father had noted. Then she was even more surprised by her own curiosity about a man whom she had never even met, because passing on the sidewalk certainly didn’t constitute an introduction. It wasn’t her usual behavior, but then she was upset by her increasing sensation of being caught in a trap. She didn’t know what she could do to escape, or even if she wanted to escape. All she knew was that she felt on the verge of panic.
“A man could do worse than marrying a banker’s daughter,” Kyle Bellamy mused. “Especially one who looks like Olivia Millican.”
Pierce grunted in reply. Luis Fronteras didn’t say anything.
“She’s his only child. When he dies she’ll get everything. Or rather her husband will.”
“I heard Cochran was courting her,” Fronteras murmured.
Kyle shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I can’t pay attention to the lady, too.”
He sipped his whiskey, thinking about Olivia Millican. Why not? He had as much chance with her as anyone else, maybe more. Women had always seemed to like him. He liked a bit more spunk in his women than Olivia seemed to have, but she was pretty and rich, and in Kyle’s experience money made up for a lot of shortcomings. He was doing all right with money right now, but he had learned the hard way not to count on everything staying all right. Having Wilson Millican’s money would make his life a whole lot more comfortable. He’d start his own courting of Olivia and give Cochran something to think about.
He was on his second whiskey, savoring both the biting, smoky taste of the liquor and his mental image of marrying Olivia Millican, when Tillie sauntered over to him. He leaned back against the bar and enjoyed the sight, because Tillie had a walk that could make a man’s privates stand at attention even if he had a lot more than two whiskeys in him.
Tillie was something, all right. He’d met her for the first time about ten years back, in New Orleans. She’d been all of fifteen then, he guessed, remembering how fresh and wild she’d looked. He grinned, thinking that he was probably the only person in town who knew that her name was Mathilde. He called her that sometimes, when they were in bed together, always earning a long warning look from those heavy-lidded eyes of hers. It was all right with him if she chose to be Tillie the saloon girl; he just didn’t want her to forget that he knew where she came from.
Of course, she knew more about him than anyone else, too, but he didn’t worry about it. Tillie had never tried to use the information to get money out of him. She was oddly accepting of her life in a two-bit saloon in a small town, her rich brown eyes full of a half-weary, half-accepting worldliness. A man never felt as if Tillie was judging him; she simply took him as he was and expected nothing else.
A lot of the men in Prosper, including the married ones, had found their way into Tillie’s embrace. She was ge
Kyle never expected anything less than full participation from her and never let her give less. Sometimes she wanted to hold back from him, but he’d known her a long time, knew exactly how to make her squirm and buck beneath him, and in the end she would always give him what he wanted.
She looked more like twenty than twenty-five, he thought, admiring her creamy skin and dark mahogany hair. She was still slim, still supple, her breasts full and upright.
She leaned against the bar, her mouth voluptuous with invitation. “Kyle,” she murmured in greeting.
He didn’t need much encouragement. His name in that soft drawl was enough. He set his glass down and took her arm. “Upstairs.”
She blinked at him in mocking surprise. “Well, hello to you, too. Nice day, isn’t it?”
He ignored her light sarcasm and continued propelling her toward the stairs. He gave an abrupt flick of his hand to Pierce and Fronteras, letting them know that he’d be a while and they could do whatever they wanted.
Luis Fronteras watched Bellamy disappear up the stairs with his arm around Tillie’s waist before returning his attention to the beer in front of him. Pierce sat down at a table with him, silently nursing his own beer. That was normal for Pierce, who seldom said more than three words in a row.
Luis was irritated by the small pang of jealousy he’d felt watching Bellamy and Tillie go upstairs together. Not because of Tillie, though God knows she was a head-turning woman, but just because of the simple fact there was a bond between the two of them, even if it was comprised mainly of plain sex. It had been a long time since he had felt kinship of any sort with anyone. Ten years, in fact. Ten years of drifting, of occasionally relieving his sexual urges with a willing woman but never giving her any more of himself than the use of his body. At first he had needed the mental and emotional solitude, then it had become habit, and now it felt impossible to change even though he sometimes wanted more. More . . . what?
More women? He could have a woman anytime he wanted. Luis had a gift for pleasing women, and he knew it. Mainly it was that he liked everything about women, even their tempers and jealousies and plain contrariness, and what woman could resist being so frankly appreciated? To Luis it was simple: He was a man, therefore he loved the ladies. They were the most delicious creatures he could imagine. Women had flocked to him from the time his voice first began to deepen.
But he wasn’t interested in a multitude of women. Right now he was interested in one woman: the blonde Bellamy had spoken to outside the bank. Miss Millican, the banker’s daughter. Olivia. He had liked her quiet composure and pretty face as well as the shape of her bosom beneath the prim cut of her riding habit.
He hadn’t liked the idea of Bellamy courting her, using her just to get his hands on her father’s money. A woman deserved more than that, especially one who looked as sweet as Olivia. It wouldn’t bother Bellamy at all to use her, but Luis had unerring instincts when it came to women, and something told him that such callousness would destroy her.
There was already sadness in those pretty blue eyes. He had caught only a glimpse of it, but it had been there. Something was making her unhappy. Bellamy would only make her even more unhappy.
He’d like to kiss those sad shadows out of her eyes, hold her and pet her and tell her how very lovely she was. A woman always needed to know that she was appreciated.
He smiled cynically to himself. He was a drifter and a Mexican, too handy with a gun for his own good. She was the banker’s daughter, and it looked like she would have her choice between the two richest ranchers in the area. There wasn’t much chance Miss Olivia Millican would ever even know his name, let alone let him hold her.
4
SOMEHOW DEE WASN’T SURPRISED TO SEE LUCAS Cochran riding toward her three days later. It was still early in the morning; she was outside with a pan of chicken feed, scattering it to the clucking fowl grouped around her skirts. “Mr. Cochran,” she said in greeting when he was close enough to hear her.
He didn’t dismount but leaned down to prop his forearm on the saddle horn as he watched her strew the feed. “Good morning,” he said. “I was on my way into town and thought I’d ride over to check on you.”
Her eyes were bright in the strong morning sun, and greener than any he’d ever seen before. “I don’t remember saying anything that would give you the impression I needed to be checked on, Mr. Cochran,” she said with more than a little sharpness. She had painstakingly taught herself how to be independent and resented his implication that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.
“Call me Lucas,” he said. “Or Luke.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like for us to be friends.”
“Not likely.”
He grinned, enjoying her starchiness. It was refreshing to be around a woman who didn’t cater to him and defer to his every opinion. “Why not? Looks to me like we could both use a friend.”
“I like being alone,” she replied, tilting the pan upside down and slapping it lightly on the sides to knock loose the last few grains of feed. She crossed to the small back stoop and hung the pan on a nail driven into the wall. Lucas walked his horse behind her as she strode swiftly to the barn, her skirts kicking up with each step. She wore only one petticoat, he decided, eyeing the brisk sway of that blue skirt. And a thin one at that.
He ducked his head down to enter the barn, automatically closing his eyes for a second so they could adjust to the dimness, and watched as she efficiently ladled feed to the single horse and two cows.
She was damn good at ignoring him, he saw, and he began to get a little irate at her manner. Then he remembered that it was her farm, and she hadn’t invited him. His horse stamped a hoof restively as she fetched a stool and positioned a milk bucket under one of the cows. Lucas sighed and dismounted, looping his reins over a rail. The other cow needed milking, too. “Got another bucket?” he asked.
Streams of milk were already hissing into the bucket in time with the motions of her hands as she turned her head to him. Those green eyes had a dangerous look to them now. “I don’t need any help.”
“I can see that.” His irritation was growing, and it echoed in his voice. “But did you ever think about accepting an offer of help, not because you couldn’t handle it just fine yourself but because the chore would get done faster with two people working at it instead of just one?”
She considered that, then gave a brief nod. “All right. There’s another clean bucket in the tack room there, to the right. But I don’t have another stool. You’ll have to squat.”
He fetched the bucket and patted the cow on her fat sides, letting her know he was there before he slid the bucket under her. He squatted down and wrapped his strong fingers around the long teats, then pulled with the rhythmic motion that, once learned, was never forgotten. Hot milk splashed into the bucket. His mouth moved in a wry grin as he thought how glad he was none of his men could see him now.
“Have you always been such a hedgehog?” he asked in a tone of casual interest.
“I reckon,” she replied in the same manner, and he grinned again.
“Any particular reason for it?”
“Men.”
He snorted. “Yeah, we can be real bastards.”
He wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of disagreeing.”
“Those lovesick swains of yours must have been persistent,” he said, hazarding a guess.
“Some of them. But it wasn’t love they had on their minds, and we both know it. It seems like men just naturally see a woman alone as fair game.”
There wasn’t another woman in town who would have said that to him, but then he had already realized at their first meeting that Dee was blunt in her speech and frank in her opinions. He felt a slow burn of anger at the thought of other men trying to seduce her, or maybe even just catch her alone
His voice was tight with that possessive anger when he said, “If anyone else bothers you, let me know.”
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s something I have to take care of for myself. You might not always be around; they have to know I can defend myself, that I don’t need to rely on anyone else.”
Her logic was unassailable, but he didn’t like it. “I can make certain they never come back.”
“The shotgun tends to be persuasive,” she said with humor in her voice. “There’s nothing like buckshot in his backside to make a man reconsider an idea. Besides, I’m not sure I can afford to have you as a protector.”
He didn’t pause in his milking, but his brows drew together and his head came up. “Why not?” he demanded sharply.
“Folks would think we were sleeping together.” When he didn’t reply to that, Dee continued to explain. “The men around here pretty much leave me alone now because I’ve convinced them I don’t want any man. But if they thought I’d let one man in my bed, then they would think I was available, and they’d take even less kindly to being turned down than they did before. It would get nasty, and I’d probably have to kill some of them.”
His strong hands had emptied the cow’s udder, and he lifted the bucket away, rising to his feet just as Dee finished milking. Her cheeks were flushed with her exertions as she slid the bucket away and stood, stretching her back. Lucas leaned down, picked up the other bucket, and walked out of the barn toward the house, leaving her to follow. Her brows rose at the way he made himself so at home on her place. It was obvious he was used to being the boss. Then she shrugged; he was being helpful, so it would be petty of her to complain that he was too self-confident about it.