Laura Drewry Read online

  She couldn’t stay—not in Porter Creek. It was too rough for the likes of her. She needed to live in a place where she could have regular milk baths, go to fancy dances, eat in those fine restaurants he’d heard so much about. She didn’t belong here in the middle of nowhere walking through acres of cattle crap and chicken slop. She didn’t need to be filthy bloody dirty from sunup to sundown, to sweat like a horse out in the blazing sun or freeze her behind off for months on end in the winter. She needed to be waited on, to be treated like the lady she was born to be. She needed to have servants bring whatever her heart desired, to never have to raise her voice to be heard over the wind or rain or braying of cattle.

  Gabe smirked. What she needed was a good whoopin’ to put her right. She was far too stubborn for his liking. Far too stubborn. It was a good thing the stage came every week because she’d never last longer than that. Maybe if she was lucky, Bart would arrive before then and take her back to Butte himself. Gabe’s easy smirk faded into a deep frown. He didn’t even know this girl, but of one thing he was certain—she deserved better than Bart Calloway, a lot better.

  He linked his hands behind his head, staring high up into the rafters, seeing nothing but the image of Tess Kinley floating above him. She was a vision all right; her thick, flowing hair tumbling over her shoulder in long graceful waves, her gold-flecked eyes snapping with determination. Yet there was something else that belied her steely resolve. Nobody fidgeted or rambled that much without being fearful of something. Or someone. But who? Bart?

  His dark brows drew together. His brother might not be completely virtuous, but he’d never lay a hand to a woman, that much Gabe knew. He might use her and then discard her like a worn-out shoe, but he would never cause her physical harm.

  “If she had any sense at all,” he mused aloud, “she’d be afraid of me.”

  Everyone was afraid of Gabe Calloway for one reason or another. His size alone instilled fear in most, his dark scowl and thunderous yell intimidated everyone else. But little Tess hadn’t even flinched when he stood over her, towering like one of the huge ponderosa pines so abundant in the Montana Territory. She had, in fact, brushed him aside as though he were nothing more than a spoiled child looking for attention.

  Gabe slept fitfully, fighting the haunted memories that plagued him almost nightly and woke him with such a jolt he was certain his heart had leapt from his chest. He wiped his hand slowly across his mouth, knowing the sweat he removed would be replaced just as quickly. The usual torment of his nightmares was even worse tonight. He was still a young boy watching it all happen; the baby, so terribly small, so ghostly blue, and Mama . . . struggling feebly against her own angel of death. She looked to Gabe, the light slowly fading from her gray eyes. Suddenly her eyes were no longer the steel gray of his mother’s; they were amber. . . .

  Tess tucked herself up into the huge, soft bed and sighed. She was finally home. Whether Gabriel Calloway liked it or not, this was where she belonged—safe at El Cielo with him.

  She had, in all honesty, fully expected him to follow her into the house. There was a second bedroom, after all, which he could very easily have slept in. But when she still didn’t hear the kitchen door open again, she went to the window and watched, hidden behind the sheer curtains, as Gabe strode purposefully toward the barn. She knew she was right about him; he was a good man. He would make a fine husband.

  For all her pomp and display, Tess was more nervous than she ever would have expected or admitted to. She was exactly where she wanted to be, everything was within her grasp, but all it would take was for Gabe to put her sorry behind back on the stage and everything would be ruined. She couldn’t let that happen. She belonged here; she was safe here. And best of all, Gabriel was here.

  For years Tess had practically devoured the dime novels her friend Charlotte gave her. They filled her with a sense of purpose, a knowledge that life was not meant to be spent drinking tea and playing croquet all day. And it certainly was not meant to be spent with a man you did not love.

  Love was something that could neither be helped nor avoided. It happened whether you wanted it to or not, and despite what Mr. Gabriel Calloway thought, it happened immediately. Some people took a little longer to realize it, was all.

  She knew she loved him, knew it the moment she opened her eyes and saw him standing in the doorway yelling at Rosa. She also knew nobody would believe her, they’d all think she was a silly little girl living in a dream world.

  Well, she huffed, they can all think whatever they like. Those dime novels she loved so much might not have been the great literature her mother forced on her, but they were just as—if not more—educational.

  She needed a plan, something to make her indispensable both to El Cielo and Gabriel, and something she would be able to put into action right away. After all, the next stage would be back in Porter Creek in one week, and if she didn’t prove herself by then, she was certain to be sent packing. And God knew what would happen if Bart happened to show up before then. Or worse . . .

  Tess shuddered past the thought, burying herself deeper under the thick, fluffy quilt. Surely it was a good sign Gabe had let her stay in the house. She drifted off into a sound sleep, her dreams a stark contrast to those of Gabe’s, save for the fact that he, too, danced through her subconscious.

  She was awakened early the next morning by the sound of boot heels—many boot heels—clomping against the hard kitchen floor. She threw back the blankets, taking but a moment to admire the first light of day from her window. With Gabe’s old jeans secured tightly around her again, she washed up in the wedgewood chamber set, pulled her hair into one long plait down her back, and hurried, barefoot, down the stairs. Maybe if she learned to be of some use to Rosa . . .

  Five pairs of eyes stared back at her, stopping her in her tracks. The two unfamiliar faces seated with Gabe and Miguel openly gaped at her. She must be a sight standing there dwarfed in Gabe’s clothes, a strange woman on their turf. Her gaze went immediately to Gabe, who seemed to scowl deeper with every passing second. An eternity passed before Miguel finally spoke.

  “Buenos dias.” He nodded to her, rising from his seat. “Please.” He motioned for her to take his now empty chair.

  “Good morning,” she answered brightly. “Thank you, Miguel, but you sit and finish your breakfast. I came to see if there was anything I could do to help Rosa.”

  Gabe returned to his coffee, his scowl staring down into the steaming black brew. When he made no motion to do it himself, Tess took it upon herself to make the introductions.

  “Hello,” she said to two other men at the table. “My name is Tess Kinley.”

  The two men—boys really—nearly fell over their chairs in the race to reach her outstretched hand first. They both stopped short, dipped their heads slightly, and spoke at once.

  “Joby Dunn.”

  “Seth Laughton.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you both,” she smiled, feeling the heat from Gabe’s glare. “Please, finish your breakfast.”

  The two men flushed profusely and returned to their chairs. Rosa stood with her back to the table, flipping pancakes over the piping hot griddle. The only one who saw her grin was Tess. It was a funny, strange little grin, one that couldn’t be easily defined. It had a knowing kind of smirk to it but at the same time seemed to say “be careful what you wish for, muchacha, you might just get it.”

  “Good morning, Rosa,” Tess said. “How can I help?”

  “You eat,” Rosa instructed. “Too skinny.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Tess began, even as Rosa pushed a full plate toward her.

  “Eat.” She turned from the stove and reached for Joby’s and Seth’s still full plates.

  “We ain’t done!” Joby cried, his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth.

  “Bup bup bup,” Rosa’s hands waved them off. “Shoo! La niña sit. Eat.”

  Tess did as she was instructed, enjoying for the moment being fussed over.
Once she had a good solid meal in her belly, she’d be ready to take on whatever El Cielo and Gabe threw at her.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t up earlier to help you, Rosa,” she offered.

  “S’okay,” Rosa said with a smile. Her black eyes twinkled cheekily. “You eat now. I find you work.”

  Tess smiled warmly at the older woman as she took Joby’s chair.

  “You feel better, senorita?” Miguel asked.

  “Yes, thank you. It’s amazing what a hot bath and a good night’s sleep can do for a person.” Ignoring the loud snort coming from Gabe’s direction, she finished, “Rosa took good care of me.”

  “Si,” he agreed, his smile widening. “Rosa take good care to me, too.”

  Tess’s heart pinched tightly. They loved each other so much, so openly. She longed desperately for that kind of love—the easy, no argument kind of love. She was more than ready to offer it, but by the look on Gabe’s face, he was neither ready to receive nor return it.

  She straightened her shoulders. She hadn’t come this far to let a little thing like that get in her way. It might take a little work, but she’d have Gabe seeing things her way if it killed her. And judging by his scowl, that was exactly what it might take.

  Chapter 5

  Gabe pushed back from the table and stood up.

  “Rosa,” he barked, “Where are her clothes?”

  “On the line. They no dry yet.”

  “Come on.” He almost stomped his way to the door before turning to glare at Tess. “Are you coming?”

  “Me?” she asked through a mouthful of eggs.

  “Who else?”

  Miguel smirked over his coffee. Tess looked over to Rosa, who shrugged.

  “O-okay,” she fumbled, depositing her plate on the counter and hurrying after him, at the same time scrambling to pull on her shoes as she tripped out the door.

  The sun shone brilliantly, dancing in the early dew of the new day. Fresh new scents overwhelmed her, filling her with childlike wonder. Who knew dirt could smell so wonderful? So clean, so alive, so . . .

  “We don’t have time to stand around all day,” Gabe snapped.

  “Sorry,” she answered quickly. “I was . . . oh, never mind. I rather thought I would be helping Rosa today.”

  It took three of her steps to match Gabe’s long stride.

  “Rosa doesn’t need help; you’d only be in her way.” He pushed open the gate and led her through a throng of squawking chickens to the coop at the back of the pen. “If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to learn to do the work that needs doing.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed, following him eagerly inside. “This is amazing.”

  The coop was alive with the deafening clamor of even more chickens, all perched on nest-covered planks. Gabe snatched a huge wicker basket from a nail by the door and thrust it toward her.

  “Reach underneath them and pull out the eggs,” he instructed.

  Tess stepped up to the first chicken and gently slid her hand underneath.

  “There there, girl,” she cooed. “I’m going to relieve you of that little old . . . ouch!”

  The vexed bird was not pleased at having been disturbed and took her annoyance out on poor Tess’s hand—again and again. Tess freed her hand, regarded the injury with more than a little astonishment, and proceeded to push it right back in under the bird. The chicken continued to peck at her but only managed to make contact once or twice before Tess was able to grab the egg and pull it out.

  “There!” she said triumphantly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  Gabe didn’t know whether to yell or laugh. He knew the chickens would revolt against a strange hand invading their space and that was precisely why he made her do it. But instead of running from the coop like he expected, Tess plunged her injured hand back in—over and over again—until she had claimed every last egg from the nesting birds. After the first of many unexpected and certainly painful pecks, she hadn’t even stopped to examine her hands, but instead became more determined with every wound.

  If she knew Gabe was only trying to prove a point, she did not let on. She simply looked up at him with wide-eyed amazement and burst out laughing.

  “I did it! I got all the eggs! Isn’t that wonderful?” Her whole face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Can I do this again tomorrow?”

  Gabe fought to keep his own smile suppressed. No point in letting her think he was happy with her; it would only reinforce her will to stay.

  “Not only do you get to collect the eggs,” he said dryly, “you get to clean the coop as well. There’s fresh hay in the barn and there’s feed over in that bucket.” He pointed to a large gray pail at the far end of the coop. “When you’re done, come find me. There’s plenty of work to be done.”

  “Oh, thank you, Gabriel,” she gushed. “I knew I would love this and I do. This is what living is all about!”

  Gabe hadn’t heard a word she said since speaking his name. When had he been suddenly switched from “Mr. Calloway” to “Gabriel”? Nobody called him Gabriel, it just wasn’t done. He had always hated his name, always thought it was the furthest thing from a man’s name that could possibly be, yet when spoken by little Tess Kinley, with her silky soft voice, it sent a raging fire through his belly. He wanted to hear it again, exactly as she had just done, with joy that bubbled through her laughter and shone through her eyes. It was as though he had given her a precious gift instead of a hand full of peck marks and a coop full of chicken crap.

  Before he opened his mouth and embarrassed himself, which he was sure to do, he turned on his heel and stomped toward the barn where Zeus stood saddled and waiting to go. A good, long ride out to the herd would clear his head of this nonsense.

  Tess practically skipped into the house, so happy she was with her collection of dirty eggs.

  “Rosa!” she called. “Look what I did! Eggs—and a whole lot of them, too!”

  Rosa peered down into the basket and then up at Tess’s shining face.

  “You do eggs?” she asked, clearly in disbelief. “Gabe Calloway no help?”

  Tess shook her head vigorously with more than a little pride.

  “No, I did it all by myself.”

  “Show hands.” Rosa demanded, pulling the basket from her tightened grasp. Tess held out her hands, almost apologetically, and waited for the scolding.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never done it before and I guess the chickens didn’t like having me there.”

  Rosa clicked her tongue in disgust. “Where Gabe Calloway?”

  Tess’s heart sank. Rosa was upset with her for disturbing the chickens. Now her only ally would surely convince Gabe to send her away.

  “He was walking toward the barn the last I saw of him,” she finally answered. “I’m terribly sorry, Rosa, I had no idea . . .”

  Rosa wasn’t even listening. She pushed past Tess and stormed toward the barn, ranting in her native tongue the entire way. Frantic, Tess ran to catch up.

  “Please, Rosa, I’ll try to be more gentle tomorrow, don’t be angry.”

  “Where Gabe Calloway?” Rosa yelled as she threw open the barn door.

  “He ain’t here,” Joby answered from the stall he was cleaning. With his blond curls and freckles, he didn’t look any older than sixteen. “Took that horse from hell . . . oh, pardon me, Miz Kinley. . . .” He straightened as soon as he saw her. “He’s ridin’ out to the herd. Looked like he was in a bit of a mood.”

  “I give him mood,” Rosa snapped as Miguel rounded the corner.

  “What is wrong?”

  Rosa flew into a Spanish tirade, her arms flailing around her head, speaking faster than Tess had ever heard another human speak. Rosa grabbed Tess’s hands and thrust them under Miguel’s nose, yelling all the while. Miguel spoke soothingly to her, pried Tess’s hands from his wife’s and turned her back toward the house. Tess stood where they had left her, wanting very much to cry but refusing to do so in front of Joby.

/>   “Whoo-ey!” Joby whistled. “I’d sure hate to be the boss right now. Rosa’s some mad.”

  “Yes,” Tess croaked. “I’m afraid I upset the chickens when I was collecting the eggs. When I told her about it she became quite angry. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

  “You?” Joby repeated. “Miz Kinley, ma’am, you don’t know Spanish real well, do ya?” When Tess shook her head, he grinned broadly. “I reckon Rosa’s ’bout mad enough to swallow a horn toad backwards, but she ain’t mad at you, ma’am. She’s lookin’ to peel the hide from the boss.”

  “But I thought . . .” Tess stopped, glancing from Joby to the house and then back. “But she’s so angry at me. She took one look at my hands and flew into a tirade.”

  “Yeah,” the boy chuckled. “’Cuz the boss went ’n’ let you collect the eggs knowin’ full well they’d try to have you for breakfast.”

  “What?”

  “Them chickens’re crazy. They don’t let no one but the boss at their eggs. Rosa don’t even try, and she ain’t sceered of nothin’. ’Cept the boss’s horse.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “Yup.” Joby nodded, still grinning. “The boss’ll be in fer more ’n an earful when he gets back. I best go warn him or sure as hell I’ll be gettin’ the brunt of his mood when Rosa’s done with ’im.”

  He threw down his pitchfork and closed the stall door.

  “’Scuse me, ma’am.”

  “Joby!” she called after him. “I’m supposed to clean out the coop. Could you please tell me where I’m to put the old straw?”

  “The old straw, ma’am?”

  “Yes. It’s awfully smelly in there, and I mean to replace all the straw with a fresh batch. But where should I put the smelly bunch?”