Laura Drewry Read online

  It was Seth who answered this time. “I ain’t never seen Rosa sit. To the table or nowhere.”

  “Sit,” Rosa ordered, gently pushing Tess into the chair. “Eat.”

  Tess did as instructed, more than a little aware of Gabe’s empty chair.

  “Where Gabe Calloway?” asked Rosa, as if reading Tess’s thoughts.

  “He’s jist finishin’ up with that horse from hell. Should be here in a bit.”

  Rosa snorted, mumbled in Spanish, and began dishing up supper. It smelled wonderful—fried chicken, boiled potatoes and peas—and it was then Tess realized how hungry she was. She’d had no appetite at noon, what with the hands episode, but now her stomach was demanding to be sated.

  As Joby and Seth kept up an amiable conversation between mouthfuls, Tess couldn’t help but laugh. They spoke, unabashed, about their plans, which, being Saturday, included going into town and finding a good card game and a willing woman. She should have been shocked by such talk, or at least pretended to be, but the two were so comical, bantering back and forth about which one would lose out at the card table and which one would lose out with the “ladies.”

  All too soon they were gone and Rosa had cleared the table, bustling around the kitchen humming softly to herself. After Miguel excused himself, Rosa untied her flowered apron and hung it on its peg.

  Tess retrieved the dress and began to lay it out on the table when Rosa stopped her.

  “You do enough. I finish.”

  “But you’ve done so much already,” Tess argued. “Show me what to do next and I’ll finish it.”

  Rosa’s ebony eyes glanced out the window. “You talk Gabe Calloway. That be enough for you.”

  Tess sighed. “I don’t think Gabriel wants to talk to me. He’s very angry with me.”

  “No,” Rosa said, a little sadly. “Gabe Calloway not angry to you. Gabe Calloway angry to Gabe Calloway.”

  “Why?” she asked, but Rosa shook her head stubbornly.

  “Gabe Calloway tell you when he tell you. Buenas noches, Tess Kinley.”

  “Good night, Rosa.”

  She watched Rosa walk toward her own little cottage, to her life with Miguel and the love they shared, wondering if she and Gabriel would ever have that. Gabriel, who carried a deep ache inside his heart, who was terribly angry with her, and who was walking toward the house right at that moment.

  Chapter 7

  Tess watched him approach, his long stride as certain as ever, but there was a drawn, clenched look to him. She braced for another argument, all the while bustling around the kitchen readying him a plate of supper. It would be harder for him to argue with a mouth full of food.

  She poured a cup of Rosa’s strong black brew and left it on the table. He didn’t offer so much as a nod when he entered the room.

  “Hello, Gabriel,” she said, trying not to be offended at his mood.

  “Tess.” He walked past her to the living room, likely to bury himself in the ledgers and other such paperwork.

  “I thought you might be hungry.”

  He stopped in the doorway, opened his mouth, and then clamped it shut when his stomach growled loud enough to shake the window panes.

  Tess smirked and set the plate down with a thump. She returned to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee, which she loaded with sugar, and then slid gracefully into the chair opposite his. She had removed Rosa’s bandages but kept her hands in her lap where Gabe wouldn’t have to see them.

  Almost grudgingly, he returned to the kitchen and took his seat.

  “I rather thought you’d have gone to bed already.” He did not look at her or even bother to lift his eyes from his plate.

  “Why on earth would you think that?” she asked. “It’s still early.”

  Gabe pressed his lips together before answering. “Because you’ve had such a . . . trying . . . day.”

  Tess jerked to her feet, sending the straight-backed chair clattering to the floor.

  “You’ve got nerve, Gabriel Calloway! You gave me a job to do and I did it! And I did a damn fine job, I might add.” Her face flushed as the curse flew from her mouth, but she was too angry to stop. “I’m not complaining about it nor am I the one making such a production about a few little scratches. For the love of God, one would think you’d never seen blisters before! Let me see your hands!”

  She seized his huge left hand in hers and turned it over to examine the palm. Breath caught in her throat the second she touched him. A fiery jolt shot up her arm and lodged itself firmly into her heart. His fingers and palm were covered in age-old calluses and healed over cuts. There was a strength to his hand, even as it lay there, huge against her smaller ones. Something passed between them in that instant, something Tess could not describe, but whatever it was, Gabe had obviously felt it too.

  He jerked his hand away and wrapped it around his mug. When Tess spoke again, her voice was much lower.

  “It would seem you’ve had your own fair share of blisters and scratches, Gabriel.”

  “I’m a man, it’s different.”

  “What does being a man have to do with this? Certainly your mother must have sustained a number of injuries, didn’t she?”

  Gabe dropped his fork to his plate and pushed back from the table. He did not stand, but his jaw clenched once, twice, before he spoke.

  “My mother had no business living out here in the middle of nowhere and neither do you.”

  Tess studied the barely controlled storm raging in his eyes, her arms aching to wrap themselves around him.

  “What happened to your mother?” It was as though someone else spoke, for Tess certainly had no intention of asking that question.

  Gabe was silent for a long moment until Tess wondered if he’d even heard her. When he did speak, his voice teetered on the edge of breaking.

  “She was a tiny little thing, my mother.” Like me, Tess thought. “But my father insisted on dragging her halfway across the country so he could start this damn-fool ranch. Mama never did like it, but she surely did love the old man.” Gabe was a million miles and a lifetime away. “She was always sick, always hurt from one thing or another—herding cattle, fending off the Sioux and Cheyenne, birthing babies.”

  Tess straightened her chair and lowered herself into it, her eyes never leaving Gabriel’s face. His pain was so fresh, so real, Tess thought she might be able to reach out and touch it. Her own tears swelled and flowed in tiny rivulets down her cheeks.

  “She was never the same after Bart was born, never regained the little strength she had to start with; lost two babies after that. Then she got . . . in a family way . . . again. She never . . . Pa tried . . .” He stopped, took several breaths. “She died trying to birth that little baby girl. Her and the baby.”

  “Oh, Gabriel,” Tess whispered. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

  “Seven.” His voice caught on the word before he could clear his throat past it.

  “Dear God. You were so young.” Her hands reached to cover his. He stiffened beneath her touch but did not pull away.

  Gabe remained silent, his eyes locked on hers as Tess struggled to determine what she was seeing there. It was a horrible mix of anguish, accusation, and anger. He lifted one of his huge hands and gently rubbed his rough thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears.

  Unable to break the contact, Gabe’s whole hand cupped the side of Tess’s face, marveling at its velvety smoothness. Damn it all to hell but he wanted to kiss her. Right there in the kitchen, right there at the table—and he could see in her eyes she wanted it, too.

  He dropped his hand slowly, feeling the disappointment in her eyes.

  “Gabriel . . .”

  “I best leave.” He left his plate, still half-full, and stood, as did Tess, blocking his way.

  “I was raised in a house where ladies kept their opinions to themselves and were forced to live by a set of rules I still don’t understand.” Her amber eyes burned—not with fire but with a deep, all-encompass
ing warmth—just for him. “We were not permitted to express how we felt, and even my mother and father kept their feelings to themselves. I do not cotton to that way of thinking, Gabriel. I believe people should tell each other how they feel instead of playing silly little games. I . . .”

  “Don’t.” His right index finger pressed against her impossibly soft lips. “You can’t stay here, Tess, no matter how much you want to or how you think you feel. You’re not built for this kind of life. Women don’t belong on a ranch.”

  “What about Rosa?”

  “Rosa’s different. Her life here is a damn sight easier than it was in New Mexico. She’s used to hard work and hard living. You’re not.”

  “I’m strong.” Another tear slipped down her cheek.

  A sad smile found Gabe’s lips. “Tess.”

  “I can’t go back, Gabriel.” She swallowed back more tears, straightened her spine, and lifted her delicate chin defiantly. “I won’t.”

  “Tess . . .”

  “No! Don’t patronize me, Gabriel. I know in my heart and soul I belong here with you on this ranch.”

  “You can’t possibly know any such thing,” he sighed. “You’ve only been here for one day; you don’t even know me.”

  “Yes, I do. And you know me, too.” She closed the distance between them, holding his gaze. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel the same way I do? You know there’s something between us, Gabriel. Something undeniable, something strong.”

  “It’s called lust, Tess.” Gabe’s heart hammered against his chest.

  “No, it isn’t.” She smiled softly. “But if it makes you feel better to tell yourself that, then you go right ahead. I know how I feel, Gabriel Calloway. I lo—”

  “Stop it! It’s lust, pure and simple, and as long as we don’t act on it, we’ll be fine. So you stay here the week if that’s what makes you happy, but come Friday, you’ll be back on the stage headed east. That’s what I know.”

  He’d almost made it to the door before she caught her breath.

  “Gabriel?”

  “Yes?” he sighed.

  “Will you take me to church in the morning?” She remained with her back to him, speaking as though he were right in front of her still.

  “Will I . . .?” Gabe shook his head slowly but couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face. She was such an odd little thing. “Yes, Tess, if you feel you must go to church, I will take you. God knows I couldn’t bear another tongue-lashing from Rosa.”

  She turned and smiled too, even as he left her in the empty house.

  He was going to church. Heaven help him not to get struck down by lightning before the opening hymn.

  Rosa held up the dress for Tess’s inspection. The basic seams Tess completed the day before were now hidden behind dainty white eyelets, and the neckline had been adjusted ever so slightly to reveal a respectable amount of skin without being scandalous. She stepped into the wonderful garment feeling as Cinderella must have, even though Tess had spent her life wearing much finer dresses.

  “Oh, Rosa,” she breathed, throwing her arms around the grinning woman. “It’s beautiful—thank you!”

  “Come, I do hair.” She steered Tess toward the small stool in the corner of the bedroom. “I leave it down in back.”

  “But . . .”

  “No but, Tess Kinley. Gabe Calloway like hair long, no all tied up.”

  Tess laughed softly. “But shouldn’t it be up for church? What will people think?”

  “Bup bup bup—who care?” Rosa went to work combing out the long single braid.

  “Yes.” Tess smiled. “You’re right. Who cares what people think? It’s going to get their tongues wagging enough seeing a strange woman with Gabriel, isn’t it?”

  “It get their tongue to wag to see Gabe Calloway to church,” Rosa answered with a decisive nod. “That shock enough to make some dead.”

  The two women laughed together. Rosa’s affection for the younger woman showed in her shimmering eyes and easy smiles. Tess was sure if it had been left to Rosa, Gabe and Tess would be married already. A sudden lump formed in Tess’s throat.

  “You are very kind, Rosa,” she choked. “I am so very grateful—”

  “Bup bup bup,” Rosa interrupted, waving Tess’s words away with the back of her hand. “Estas una buena niña, Tess Kinley. Gabe Calloway need una buena niña. He need strong girl. You take good care to my Gabe Calloway.”

  “I will, Rosa,” she promised solemnly. “If only he’ll let me.”

  Rosa smiled back knowingly. “Gabe Calloway have hard head but soft heart. You no worry of his head, you love to his heart. His head go soft soon enough.”

  Tess laughed until her sides ached, but try as she may, she could not explain the humor to Rosa. Rosa laughed because Tess did. She finished Tess’s hair and held up a mirror for her to see. She had left a fringe of bangs to lay delicately across Tess’s forehead while two exquisite mother-of-pearl combs held her hair up on the sides. The rest cascaded down her back in shimmering waves. Tess’s cheeks pinked.

  “I feel so . . .”

  “Muy bonita,” Rosa finished for her. She kissed Tess’s cheek and took her by the hand. “Come. Gabe Calloway wait.”

  Tess slid her feet into her tiny, worn slippers, which would be hidden—thank goodness—under the hem of her skirts, and followed Rosa down the stairs. The house was empty since Joby and Seth had the day off and were, in all likelihood, sleeping off hangovers, and Gabe was out hitching up the horses.

  Tess watched him from the window, almost afraid to breathe. He was so beautiful in his black suit and string tie with the silver clasp. His dark hair was still damp from his creek bath, and even though a wall and a hundred feet separated them, the scent that was Gabe Calloway filled Tess’s senses. Leather, soap, and sunshine.

  Rosa smiled wordlessly and left the house, giving Gabe a sly nod as she passed.

  He glanced toward the house and caught a glimpse of Tess through the window. If he knew his mouth was hanging open, he made no move to close it but remained rooted, not blinking, not swallowing, not even breathing.

  He never would have believed she could be more beautiful, yet there she was, a vision in his window. A vision in his life and in his heart.

  An eternity seemed to stretch between them before Tess finally walked outside. Gabe was at her side in less than a heartbeat, offering his hand to assist her down the steps.

  “Thank you,” she said, her cheeks flushing the softest of pinks.

  Gabe cleared his throat and lifted her gently into the wagon. God, how he wished for one of those fancy buggies with the folding top like Widow Dauphin drove instead of this clunky old buckboard with its rough-hewn seats and no protection from the elements. Tess didn’t seem to mind one little bit; in fact, from the look on her face, you’d think she was sitting on a cloud.

  Gabe climbed up beside her, released the brake, and gave the reins a quick flick, sending the two brown Morgans trotting down the road.

  “Might I say, Gabriel,” Tess began, smiling gently, “you look very handsome this morning.”

  Lord Almighty, she was direct, wasn’t she? Gabe couldn’t help but smile. He hated to admit how refreshing that was in a woman.

  “Thank you, Miss Kinley. You don’t look half bad yourself. I’m sure you’ll give the boys in town something to think about.”

  “I have no interest in the ‘boys in town.’”

  “Well, they’ll most definitely be interested in you.” He glanced over, taking her all in, inch by inch.

  “Yes, well, be that as it may,” she said, a tiny smile lingering on her lips, “I imagine there’ll be more than one single lady shooting daggers my way this morning.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Gabe snorted. “I’m not exactly the kind of man the ladies in town look for.”

  Tess straightened her shoulders, her hands smoothing the ample fabric of her skirts.

  “I beg to differ, Gabriel. You are preci
sely the kind of man a lady looks for. This lady, anyway.”

  Heat seared up Gabe’s neck and right through his scalp. How the hell was he supposed to respond? He knew exactly how he’d like to respond to it—how he’d like to respond to her, period—but unless he wanted to find himself married by the day’s end, he’d best keep his mouth shut and his responses to himself.

  Married. A tiny light flickered deep in his heart.

  Chapter 8

  The morning could not have been more perfect. Gabe sat beside her in the wagon, his handsome face turning to glance her way when she pretended to look elsewhere. Tess sat as straight as she could considering the fact her bones turned to mush from the heat of his every glance. His thigh brushed hers as the wagon bounced and jerked its way down the road.

  Meadowlarks sang brightly from the high pine branches while squirrels scolded them from below. The sky had never been bluer, the air never more fragrant. Tess could not imagine it being any more glorious.

  “Oh, Gabriel,” she breathed. “Do we have time to stop for a moment? Those wild flowers are too beautiful for words.”

  She’d never felt life embrace her as it did by the creek. The waters of Porter Creek sparkled brighter than diamonds, and all around them life bloomed. Gabe reined the horses in, set the brake, and moved around the wagon to help Tess down. His huge hands spanned her waist, making her dizzy with their touch. He held her gaze, looking right down into the depths of her very soul, holding her there until he fought his way out and pulled back.

  “We only have a minute,” he said gruffly. He turned from her and strode to the creek, his fingers clenched at his sides, his face rigid as stone.

  Tess inhaled deeply and tried to focus. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself literally throwing herself at him. She smiled—maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  She wandered through the wild flowers, picking one, inhaling its sweet fragrance, tucking it through the teeth of her hair comb and moving on to the next. Gabe stood with his back to her, his trancelike stare fixed on the toe of his boots.

  “Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.”