Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses Page 12

  “A pity you didn’t. There really isn’t the slightest purpose in my attending this party—I won’t be around long enough to develop a friendship with Luanne Porter or anyone else.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” He strode toward her, slow and easy, and Caitlin drew in her breath at the devastatingly handsome picture he made in his white shirt and black string tie, his tanned face clean-shaven, and that dark silky hair falling over his brow. No man had a right to be that handsome, she thought. He stopped right before her—almost, but not quite as close as they’d stood yesterday when he’d kissed her. The memory of it flooded back and she was certain he was remembering too because the corner of his mouth jerked up in a mirthless smile.

  “You don’t seem to have the knack of annoying me nearly as much as you’d like, princess.”

  She didn’t know how to take that. One delicate shoulder rose. “Then I suppose I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “As you always do?”

  It was a reference to the kiss, and she was certain he realized it. In the lamplit study his eyes gleamed coolly as he took her arm. “Let’s go—we don’t want to keep Luanne waiting.”

  There was silence between them during most of the ride to the Circle P Ranch. It was a lovely starlit night, warm, clear, and dazzling with a full moon that dangled low. It shimmered like a huge brilliant pearl in a breathtaking black satin sky. Lightning bugs darted here and there through the trees, adding a magical twinkle.

  But the evening’s loveliness could not soothe the unrest in Caitlin’s heart. Seated so close to Wade, she couldn’t think of anything but the way he’d kissed her.

  Why in the world had he kissed her? He didn’t even like her. And she didn’t like him—not one little bit. So why had she wanted to kiss him back?

  “Miguel took those corpses to town and wired the marshal in Laramie. He got here today. Thinks they’re the rustlers all right. At least, part of the gang. Both of ’em are wanted in Montana and North Dakota.”

  Corpses. She was thinking of moonlight and kisses, and he was thinking about corpses and rustlers. Caitlin felt as though she’d been whacked over the head with a shovel. She gave her head a tiny shake and reminded herself to be sensible, for once. The kiss had meant nothing to Wade—obviously it was as ordinary an occurrence in his eyes as . . . rustlers and corpses.

  She ignored the hollow feeling in her heart and smoothed her skirt. “So does that mean there’s only those three left—the ones who chased me?”

  “Could be, but doesn’t look that way. Looks a lot worse than we originally thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The marshal identified both of the men from wanted posters out of North Dakota. The first man you saw shot was Skeeter Biggs, cousin to Hurley Biggs.”

  “Who’s Hurley Biggs?”

  “Big-time rustler. They call him King of the Rustlers. He heads up a cattle-rustling outfit that shifts from territory to territory, and several different states. Never been caught. No one’s ever even seen his face close up. Except, now, for you.” Wade steered the horses onto a side trail, up a small rise. “Chances are Skeeter was part of that ring, but decided to double-cross Hurley and siphon off cattle to start his own herd. The red-haired man you saw do the shooting might even have been Hurley Biggs himself. Want to know who the other dead man was?” Wade’s mouth tightened. He quietened the horses as a squirrel whisked across the trail, perilously close to those flashing hooves. It made it to the safety of untrampled grass just in time. “Otter Jones.”

  “What?” Caitlin shot up straighter on the seat.

  “You heard me. Seems like Jones didn’t spend all his nights drinking. When he was sober enough, he worked with the Biggs gang rustling the same cattle he wanted us to pay him thirty dollars a day to round up.”

  Caitlin flushed. “I had no idea,” she muttered.

  Wade threw her a curt glance. “Neither did I. If we knew everyone involved in the rustling it would be a simple thing to catch them and lock ’em up. The thing is, the whole valley has been thinking they were a small, pesky band who’d get caught sooner or later. But if they’re part of Biggs’s ring—operating in all these territories—then they’re a lot more clever and organized than we thought. We’ll have to take a different tack.”

  “What will that be?”

  “I’m calling a town meeting to propose hiring a gunfighter. Someone to track Biggs down and bring him in, dead or alive. If that happens, the rest of the gang will fall apart—the marshal believes it’s Biggs’s cunning and leadership that’s allowed them to be so wide-ranging. And so successful.”

  “You’re going to hire a gunfighter?” Caitlin stared at the flickering path of a lightning bug. How could she ever have even considered bringing Becky to Silver Valley, even for a moment? Sure there were beautiful mountains, a gorgeous blue sky, wide-open space, and pretty lightning bugs—but also gunfighters and rustlers and all manner of dangerous men.

  Including the one sitting next to her.

  “Actually,” Wade continued in his quiet, even way, “there’s a pretty famous gunfighter living not too far from us—Quinn Lassiter, over on Sage Creek Ranch.” He grinned. “But he’s retired now. A happy family man, so I reckon we’ll have to go with someone else.”

  “You sound like you have someone in mind.”

  He threw her a sideways glance. “You’re right. My brother.”

  “Clint?”

  “Nope, Clint’s a sheriff in Colorado. Nick, my baby brother, is the gunfighter in the family. I’ve already wired him—he should get the telegram within the next week, and soon as he’s finished whatever he’s working on, I reckon he’ll show up here.”

  “Lovely,” she muttered. Two of them. Two Barclay boys. Reese’s “sons.”

  He might have been reading her thoughts. “We’re not so bad once you get to know us,” he said, trying to suppress a smile.

  “I have gotten to know you and believe me . . .” She broke off.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found something lacking in my character, Miss Summers.”

  “More like a dozen things,” she informed him darkly.

  “Aw, that hurts. After I saved your life—”

  “Which is entirely beside the point. You had one good day, one decent moment. Other than that—”

  “Go ahead.” She could see his grin through the darkness. “Tell me just what you think. I can take it.”

  “I’m too ladylike to tell you what I really think.”

  “Or too chicken,” he drawled.

  Caitlin’s mouth dropped. “Chicken?”

  “You heard me.”

  The words flew out. “You’re a bully. And more stubborn than a mule. Not to mention the most close-minded, irritating, and domineering man I’ve ever met. Did I mention arrogant? You think you know everything and that no one else’s opinion matters. You can’t add or subtract—”

  “Anything else?”

  “And you wouldn’t know how to treat a lady if your life depended on it.”

  “That all? I thought maybe you didn’t like me.” Wade gave a low chuckle, and suddenly, after a moment of startled silence, Caitlin couldn’t help but laugh too.

  “You’re utterly impossible.”

  “Want to know what I think of you?”

  “No,” she said quickly, too quickly, then bit her lip as he chuckled again.

  “Chicken,” he pronounced gravely.

  Caitlin took a deep breath. “Go on—if you must.”

  “Never mind. I’m not sure you can take it.”

  “For your information, Mr. Barclay, I can take anything you care to dish out.”

  “You sure about that, Miss Summers?” His voice was low, deep, and full of a purely male challenge. She felt herself flushing.

  And thinking of the kiss they’d shared, of how it had affected her, she suddenly felt warm all over.

  “Try me.” She forced out the w
ords, hoping they sounded bolder than she felt.

  He glanced at her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Careful. I just might take you up on that.”

  The moment he said the words, Wade regretted them. What was wrong with him? Kissing Caitlin Summers had been the stupidest thing he’d ever done. And if he wasn’t careful, he just might find himself doing it again.

  It was a relief when they suddenly descended into a sweep of dark-shadowed valley studded with willows, a relief when he spotted the Circle P ranch house set amid stately trees. All night he’d been trying to focus on the rustlers so that he wouldn’t have to think about the gorgeous woman seated beside him—or about that big mistake he’d made the other day. But it hadn’t been working. She looked so pretty in that dress, he’d hardly been able to think about anything else.

  Caitlin Summers was his charge, his duty, he reminded himself. Taking care of her was a job he’d been given— same as chopping wood or line riding or mucking out the horse stalls.

  It should be just as ordinary and businesslike as all of those things. What the hell had he thought he was doing by kissing her?

  Sure, it was a lot more interesting than mucking out stalls, Wade admitted as he pulled up before the Circle P corral. But it wasn’t part of his job. Rescuing her was, thanks to his promise to Reese, but from this point on, she was strictly off-limits.

  Coming around the buggy to help her down, he loosened his tie yet again. When he lifted her and set her carefully on the ground, he could feel her tremble. Wade stepped quickly back. “We’re late,” he said gruffly.

  At least tonight it would be easier to forget about Caitlin. Luanne would be here. He could just look at her, sweet and kind and pretty as she was, and everything would be fine.

  The small parlor of the Porter house brimmed with people in their Sunday best. Caitlin found herself warmly greeted by Edna Weaver, introduced to her husband, Seth, and then Winnifred Dale tapped her arm and began admiring her dress. As Wade and Seth Weaver started a discussion of the rustler situation and the price of beef, Luanne Porter hurried over to Caitlin. She was wearing a soft, cream-colored silk taffeta gown, and her eyes sparkled as she introduced Caitlin to her aunt and uncle, a handsome pair who hailed originally from Boston.

  “I’m so happy you could join us tonight, Miss Summers,” Luanne exclaimed. She smiled warmly at Caitlin, but her glance shifted almost immediately to Wade. She caught his eye as he was asking Seth a question, and he paused to wink at her. Luanne’s cheeks pinkened.

  A queasy feeling came over Caitlin. “It’s Caitlin, please,” she managed. “I’m delighted to be here.”

  How was it she could speak normally when she felt so icy cold inside. Even her lips felt frozen.

  Amelia Porter, Luanne’s aunt, gave a chirrupy laugh. “Well, yes, this is quite a nice-sized gathering, isn’t it? Perhaps it wouldn’t be considered so in Boston or Philadelphia, but for these parts, yes, indeed. Funny it began as a small family dinner, with only Wade included, since he’s almost like family,” she explained. “He and Luanne, you know . . .” She broke off as her niece blushed and threw her an exasperated glance.

  Caitlin’s heart squeezed tight—and dropped down to the pit of her stomach.

  “Really, Aunt Amelia,” Luanne protested, but she looked pleased as well as embarrassed.

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it, dear?” Her aunt beamed at Caitlin, then at Winnifred and Edna. “Anyway, the whole evening just grew into a splendid little party, which is an excellent thing because I believe Luanne truly misses the social life she had back east. You must also, Miss Summers.”

  Caitlin inclined her head, still painfully taking in the implications Luanne’s aunt had made about the schoolteacher and Wade. “Why . . . yes, of course,” she murmured. She wasn’t about to say that she missed nothing back east—no one. The events of the last weeks she’d spent in Philadelphia had revealed all too clearly the superficial nature of the people she’d known there. Only one or two of the young men and women she’d known had even bothered to offer her true condolences and sympathy when Lydia and Gillis had died—the others had merely uttered words that meant nothing while they gossiped and sniped and pitied her behind her back. The revelation of Gillis’s debts, owed to half the men he did business and socialized with, had turned the entire town upside down, and also turned its most prominent citizens against him.

  And it had made Caitlin an object of scandal and scorn.

  “Do you play the pianoforte?” Amelia Porter asked eagerly. “Luanne plays beautifully—and sings as well.”

  “I sing a little—very little,” Luanne corrected her with a laugh. “It suits the children at school well enough—they tend to admire any grown-up who pays the least bit of attention to them—but trust me, my skills are most undistinguished among adult company.”

  “And you, Miss Summers? Do you sing?” Frederick Porter, Luanne’s uncle, regarded her with interest.

  “A little, like Luanne.” Caitlin smiled in spite of herself. Luanne Porter and her aunt and uncle, like Winnifred and Edna, were warm and genuine and it was difficult to resist their kind interest. “But it’s my little sister, Becky, who possesses a really lovely voice. It’s most unusual— clear, strong, and yet exquisitely sweet. I wish you could hear her sometime . . .”

  She broke off. What was she saying? She wished no such thing—Becky would never set foot on a stagecoach traveling all the way to Hope! And even if she did, her timid little sister would never find the courage to sing before so many strangers.

  But they all took her up on the prospect immediately. “Perhaps she’ll come visit you,” Winnifred put in hopefully.

  “Well, if she does, Seth and I will give a dinner party and she can sing for all of us.” Edna nodded excitedly at the idea.

  “She’s quite shy, I’m afraid,” Caitlin said quickly, but Edna dismissed that with a wave of her hand.

  “We’ll let her know right quick enough that she’s among friends. That’s all she’ll need. How old is she?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet she’d love meeting the Morgensen twins!” Luanne exclaimed. “Two of the sweetest, brightest girls I’ve ever met—Katie and Bridget Morgensen. They’re eleven too. Oh, you really must invite her soon,” she added enthusiastically.

  Caitlin found herself swept up in the spell of friendliness and warmth. The bright, simple parlor, the kind, boisterous, happy people, the aroma of tantalizing fried chicken and dumplings and corn muffins and apple pie wafting through the house filled her with a strange sense of peace and belonging. As the older women moved into the kitchen to see to dinner, she found herself seated beside Luanne on a plush gold sofa, discussing the Hope Sewing Circle.

  “I was invited to join only a month ago. It’s a lovely group of women . . . perhaps you would care to come to a meeting sometime—”

  Luanne paused as someone knocked loudly at the door.

  “Oh, that must be Mr. Raleigh. Excuse me.” With a quick smile, she hurried to the door.

  “Do come in, Mr. Raleigh. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  The man who entered, sweeping off his derby, was tall, broad-shouldered, and polished as brass. Caitlin recognized the way his gaze swept the room—she had seen many such appraising glances in Philadelphia parlors and ballrooms—a self-important man taking swift account of his fellow guests, deciding which of them might be useful or amusing to him. There was something familiar about him as well, something that stirred an ember of unease within her, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him or under what circumstances.

  “Dear friends—allow me to introduce Mr. Drew Raleigh,” Luanne announced just as Winnifred, Edna, and Amelia Porter returned. She beamed at the handsome stranger in the well-cut eastern suit. “Mr. Raleigh is visiting on business from New York City. Edna introduced him to me yesterday afternoon.”

  “Yes,” the newcomer added with a grin. “Luckily for me, Miss Porter took pity on me. I know few people
in town and she kindly invited me to meet some of her friends.” Raleigh had a smooth soothing kind of voice, deep and slow as fresh-poured honey, at odds with his sharp, attractive features and keen hazel eyes. His sandy hair was neatly combed, his ruddy skin tinged with a touch of bronze as if he’d been out riding the Wyoming plains for the past weeks.

  As the men shook hands and the women murmured, “How do you do?” Caitlin rose from the sofa, and her gaze shifted from the newcomer to settle for a moment upon Wade. She had noticed Luanne stealing glances at him too while they talked and felt with certainty there was much more between him and the red-haired schoolteacher than merely friendship. Especially considering Mrs. Porter’s remarks.

  Her heart twisted. What kind of a man was involved with one woman and kissed another?

  The wrong kind.

  She remembered Mrs. Casper’s warning, and her stomach tightened. She knew that a man like Dominic Trent would do something so low—in fact, he’d tried to do much worse, but she hadn’t thought of Wade Barclay as reprehensible. Until now.

  When Wade glanced up to find her staring at him, she averted her eyes and turned away, angry with herself. Fool that she was, she’d been hoping that deep down, for all his irritating arrogance and stubbornness, he was as steady and honorable as he seemed. Now she knew differently.

  She resisted the urge to scrub at her lips, wishing it were possible to also wipe away the memory of that kiss.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Luanne’s friendly voice as she and Drew Raleigh approached. “And this is Miss Summers,” Luanne said.

  “Caitlin, please.”

  “Caitlin, then. She’s a newcomer in Hope also,” Luanne explained. “She’s part owner, along with Wade Barclay, of the Cloud Ranch.”

  “Ah, Cloud Ranch.” Drew Raleigh smiled warmly. “Now that’s a magnificent piece of property. I’ve heard a great deal about Cloud Ranch.”

  “Forget it.” Wade spoke so suddenly over Caitlin’s shoulder that she jumped. Raleigh’s sandy brows shot up.

  “Cloud Ranch isn’t for sale. Not now, not ever.” He met Raleigh’s glance squarely.