Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses Page 5

  “Not in this house. Not to me.”

  Caitlin tried to wrench free of his grip, but couldn’t. Wade smiled grimly. “Now do you want to hear the rest of the will’s terms or not?”

  “What I want is for you to let me go!”

  “My pleasure, Miss Summers.” He said it with contempt, but when she lifted her gaze, she saw something more than scorn in his eyes. There was a burning intensity that might have been part anger, part something else— something that was keen and dangerous and indefinable, but which sent a wave of heat through her, and for some inexplicable reason, her heart began to race.

  “Let me go now,” she whispered, all too aware of his strength, his anger, and the all-too-palpable heat pulsating between them. The glitter of his eyes seemed to cut her soul.

  Wade wanted to let her go. Hell, he meant to let her go. But he held on. For a moment he was lost in those stormy green eyes. Distracted by the perfect swell of her breasts beneath that pretty, tight-fitting gown. Caught in her scent of sweet, wild violets.

  But Caitlin Summers was hardly wild, he reminded himself, and she was certainly not sweet. A city girl used to every privilege, who only knew how to stamp her feet, give orders, and adorn herself. The girl who had broken Reese’s heart.

  He released her, his hands dropping to his sides. “Just remember what I said.”

  How could she forget? Every word he had said about her father, about the Barclay brothers, was branded into her mind.

  She walked quickly toward the fireplace, trying to gather her thoughts, to calm her thudding heart, and it was then that she saw the two photographs side by side atop the mantel.

  One was framed in bronze—a photograph of Caitlin as a little girl, seated upon her mother’s lap in a flowered chair. The other was of three young men in their teens, standing with a handsome, broad-shouldered man—all four of them straight-faced before the camera, holding cigars aloft between their fingers.

  Reese Summers and the Barclay boys.

  She whirled away from the photograph, wanting to stare at it, to study it, to study the man who had been her father and cared nothing for her, but she’d be damned if she did it with Wade Barclay in the room.

  “So we both own Cloud Ranch—no, four of us own Cloud Ranch,” she said, her eyes flashing angrily. “Fine. I’ll make it easy for you— and your brothers. I’ll sell you my share.”

  He leaned against the desk again, regarding her coolly.

  “No.”

  The downpour outside suddenly abated to a soft thrum. The wind faltered. Inside the firelit study where Reese Summers’s books and papers and whiskey decanters were lined up on shelves, where the faintest whisper of tobacco scent still mingled with the smell of worn leather, and where Wade Barclay leaned against her father’s desk as if he’d been doing it all his life—which he no doubt had— Caitlin’s eyes desperately beseeched his.

  “Why not? I don’t know anything about running a ranch, and I could care less. I—I have a life to lead back east.” It wasn’t totally a lie, though it wasn’t the glamorous life he no doubt thought awaited her.

  “Surely,” she plunged on, trying not to let him see how desperately important this was, “you don’t want me interfering with your decisions, telling you how to do this or that . . .” She searched for words. “Or generally interfering with your business.”

  “Reckon now it’s your business too.”

  “But you don’t want me as a partner!”

  “You got that straight, lady. Only it’s not what I want that matters, it’s what Reese wanted. And for some reason I don’t understand worth a damn, he wanted you on this ranch.”

  She flew toward him, wishing she could smack that smug, set-in-stone expression from his face. “He did this to me on purpose—he is trying to destroy my life. Don’t you see that? He was an angry, bitter man—angry because my mother left him, because she hated this place back then as much as I do now! He wants to punish me because she refused to stay on this wretched ranch in this barbaric land, so now he’s trying to force me to—”

  She broke off at the cold rage in his face as he came away from the desk and towered over her. She stepped back instinctively, bracing herself to feel those powerful hands on her once more. But he must have seen the flash of fear in her face and realized that if he touched her again in anger, he might not be able to control himself. He didn’t touch her, but his voice was full of soft, dangerous warning. “That’s enough.”

  Caitlin’s breath eased out. “Let me sell you my share.” Her voice throbbed. “Then you’ll be rid of me for good! You can run this place into the ground for all I’ll care.”

  Brilliant green eyes implored him. Eyes that were almost impossible to resist. And all that blond angel hair pinned up so tight—Wade found himself dry-mouthed suddenly, wondering what it would look like if she ever let it all tumble down.

  Hell. She was so beautiful, and so shallow. He wanted to throttle her.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. I’ll never let you do anything that would run Cloud Ranch into the ground. I call the shots around here; I run the ranch.”

  “Not if you force me to keep my share, if you refuse to buy it.” Sudden hope lit her face. The solution was so clear, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. “I’ll just sell to someone else,” she breathed. She nearly laughed with relief. “When that lawyer gets here I’ll have him make all the arrangements. He can find the highest bidder—and then you and your brothers can own Cloud Ranch and deal with some stranger as a new partner, instead of having it all to yourselves.”

  He strode to the mantel and leaned a shoulder against it.

  “You don’t understand the terms of the will, Miss Summers, so let me explain them to you. You can’t sell the ranch to an outsider without approval from me and both of my brothers. And that’s something you’ll never get. Your only hope is to sell to one of us. And none of us will buy your share—not for a year.”

  “A year? But why . . .” Dazedly she tried to understand.

  “Reese wanted you to live here for a year. Don’t ask me why, but that’s what he said, right here in black and white. After the year’s up, if you want to sell, me or Nick or Clint—or all three of us—can buy you out.”

  “I can’t stay here for a year . . . I won’t . . .”

  “I forgot to mention,” he said coolly, “there’s a nice little stipend for you for each month you stay. It’s damn generous. Not that you seem to be wanting for anything,” he added, taking in her necklace, earbobs, and the elegant dark blue silk of her gown. “Looks to me like you’ve probably got all the fancy duds and doodads you could possibly need, but I reckon a woman like you always wants more.”

  The way he said it was an insult. A woman like you.

  He had no idea who she really was, what she’d been through. And he must never find out.

  People only pitied you or took advantage of you if they knew your vulnerabilities—that was one of the lessons Caitlin had learned in Philadelphia. And she’d learned it the hard way.

  She considered what Wade had said about a monthly stipend. If she stayed on at the ranch, she’d receive money each month. A generous sum. Caitlin felt as if a noose were slowly tightening around her throat, choking her. She needed money, and she needed it immediately. She owed the last semester of Becky’s tuition and room and board at the Davenport Academy; she owed back wages to servants at her Philadelphia home who’d been turned out without the money due them after Gillis Tamarlane’s other debts had been paid first by the bank. She needed to purchase train tickets for her and for Becky so they could leave Philadelphia, and then there was their living expenses until she could find some sort of salaried position—perhaps a governess or a shop clerk—in a new city . . .

  But now Wade was telling her that in order to receive any money at all, she’d have to remain at Cloud Ranch!

  “How much is this—this monthly stipend?” She tried to sound calm. Let him think it was for bonnets
and bows.

  “Enough. More than enough, even for you, I reckon.”

  “I want to see the will—I want to read it for myself.”

  “Fine with me.” He came away from the mantel, hunkered down, and retrieved the will from where it had fallen under the desk when he’d grabbed her and sent the documents flying. Just as he handed it to her, Francesca appeared in the doorway.

  “La comida, Senor Wade, it is ready.”

  “Be right there, Francesca. Gracias.” He raked a hand through his hair and threw Caitlin a taut glance. “Our grub is ready. Coming?”

  She spread open the papers, peering intently down at the long rows of even black print. “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “McCain will be here tomorrow. He can explain it all to you.”

  “I prefer to read it myself.”

  For a moment Wade thought he heard a thread of panic in her voice. What the hell did she have to be so worried about? Upset, yes. Angry, yes. That he could understand. She had wanted the ranch and the fortune it would bring—he’d already pegged her as the type who worshiped money and all it could buy. And finding out she’d have to wait to sell would have put a crimp in her high-falutin’ plans.

  But she sounded almost . . . scared.

  He looked at her more closely. She appeared calm.

  Then he saw it. Her lower lip was quivering. He stared at it. Yep. Definitely quivering.

  “Maybe you’d like that shot of whiskey I mentioned earlier.”

  “I told you before.” Her eyes were still fixed on the paper. “I don’t drink whiskey.”

  “Right. So you did.”

  He gave her one last glance as she moved around the desk and slipped into Reese’s deep maroon leather chair, her gaze lowering once more to the papers she spread before her.

  She was so intent upon them he was certain she never even noticed him leave.

  The long handsomely carved oak table in the dining room had been set for two. But as Francesca served up platters of thick steak in hearty brown gravy, mashed potatoes, corn bread, and buttered green beans, he felt glad that Miss Caitlin Summers wasn’t joining him for dinner after all. It would be much more peaceful without her.

  Not that he especially enjoyed eating by himself in the dining room. Since Reese had died, he’d either had Nick or Clint here to share his meals, or after they left, he’d often eaten in the bunkhouse with the men or at the homes of friends and neighbors. Silver Valley’s new schoolmarm, Luanne Porter, had invited him most often. Sitting in this room, at this table, reminded him too much of Reese, of countless family dinners together when they’d talked, argued, joked, and made plans for the ranch. The big house seemed empty enough without the man who had built it—but this room seemed even emptier.

  Francesca’s cooking was delicious as always. He finished off the dinner with hot coffee and apple pie. When all was said and done, Caitlin never even put in an appearance. Wade knew she must be half-starved after her journey. But she was obviously more stubborn than sensible. He frowned, remembering her determination to read the will for herself. If she thought she could find a way to sell the ranch without fulfilling Reese’s terms, she’d be disappointed. Wade had gone over everything with Reese, line by line, and promised him things would be done exactly according to his wishes. No way was he going to buy her share—or let her sell it to Nick or Clint—until the year was up.

  After scraping the last bits of pie from his plate, he pushed back his chair and wandered into the study. He found her still at Reese’s desk, bent over the will, staring intently at the page before her.

  “If you’re hungry, you’ll find what’s left of supper in the kitchen.”

  “I’m not.” She rose as he entered, and he saw the fatigue in her eyes, the weary droop of her slender frame, and he saw something else too. Defeat.

  “I’m going to my room.”

  Her fingers were clenched around the papers as she swept past him. How many times did she plan to read the damn thing, looking for a way out?

  “This place isn’t so bad,” he remarked, and saw her shoulders tense.

  “Sunrises are mighty pretty—sunsets too. Winter’s hard, but hell, it’s only spring. You don’t have to worry about the cold weather for a long time yet.”

  She stared at him wordlessly. His words had been meant to ease the pain he saw in her eyes, but it had only intensified. Wade’s gut clenched. There was nothing of Reese in her after all. She only cared for a cultured, privileged life, for the world she’d always known. If Reese had thought to touch something in her, to bring out the part in her that was his, the part that loved the land, the open range, the sky and wind and sheer raw beauty of this valley, he had failed. He would fail. When the year was up, she’d sell. If not sooner.

  Unless she was really greedy, she might not even stick it out through tomorrow, he thought suddenly. She’d forfeit her forty percent share, the stipend, everything—and run back to her rich friends and fancy home back east.

  “I wish to see Mr. McCain the moment he arrives tomorrow,” she said in a low tone. Her eyes were full of an unutterable sadness that made him feel uncomfortable for some reason.

  “Suit yourself. Good night.”

  She left him alone, only the faint scent of violets lingering in her wake.

  In her room, Caitlin blinked back her tears. The rain had ended and she opened the window, breathing in great draughts of mountain air, trying to calm herself. She wanted to read the will again, but she was too exhausted. It would have to wait until morning.

  Tomorrow, she thought, rubbing her aching eyes. Tomorrow I’ll figure something out. Find a way. She couldn’t stay in Wyoming for a year. She couldn’t. She needed the money—all of it—now.

  Of course the first month’s stipend would help, but it wasn’t nearly enough. And what would she do about Becky? She couldn’t drag her sister to this huge, awful, lonely place, miles and miles from even that speck of a town.

  Hopelessness descended upon her when she at last sank into bed. She expected not to be able to fall asleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept deeply and well—every night she tossed and turned, haunted by her worries and the uncertain future. But instead, that night, lulled by the song of a thousand crickets and the rush of damp, sweet-smelling mountain air blowing in her window, and the great, heady silence of the Wyoming wilderness, she fell asleep in a twinkling and didn’t stir until the morn.

  Chapter 4

  Caitlin didn’t know where she was.

  She lay upon soft pillows and stared at the ceiling, breathing in sweet pine-fragrant air and enjoying the caress of cool sheets against her skin. Faint sounds reached her ears. Horses neighing. The melody of birds. Men shouting to one another. A door slamming, and the happy bark of a dog.

  Cloud Ranch.

  She sat up, smoothing back her hair.

  Pale gold sunlight spilled across the floor, gilding the white-painted bureau and the silver-framed mirror above it, shining across the fringed rose and blue rug that covered much of the wood floor, and sending slender beams of light across the bed.

  Yellow and white curtains fluttered in the breeze as she sprang up and scurried barefoot to the window.

  The view stunned her. Yesterday she had seen the ranch through the gray of a downpour, today she saw it in full light, the view beyond her window shimmering and resplendent.

  It took her breath away. Gray-blue mountains in the distance, cut by waterfalls, their towering peaks magnificently gowned in shawls of pine and crested with snow that shone and glittered in the morning light. Amethyst foothills, studded with flowers, a valley long and deep and green, the land rolling and graceful and seemingly endless.

  Caitlin’s senses tingled. She took in a great gulp of the pine-scented air, watched the huge black dog bounding from the corral toward the plains, and felt something squeeze around her heart.

  This place was beautiful, she could not deny that. More than beautiful, it was magnificent. For the fi
rst time in her life, she felt something akin to a bond with the father she’d not seen since she was a child. Oh, yes, it was easy to see why Reese Summers had loved this wide, majestic, sun-sparkling country.

  But not why he had favored it over her mother and her.

  Giving herself a tiny shake, Caitlin drew back from the window. Perhaps this land was seductive, with its wildflowers and antelope, its mountains and sparkling waterfalls and endless green-gold prairies that beckoned in the wind and sunshine, but she would not be seduced.

  She was here on business, and she would leave by the end of this day, she vowed, having arranged one way or another for the sale of her share of Cloud Ranch.

  Just as she started to turn away from the window, however, she caught sight of Wade Barclay coming out of the barn. He strode to the corral, where a tall roan stallion frisked, and called orders to a small group of ranch hands riding past.

  He looked more handsome than ever in a work shirt of dark blue, dark pants and boots, that somber-looking holster and pair of guns he wore low on his hips, and a black Stetson.

  She felt her heartbeat quickening.

  He looked so comfortable, so completely at home in these rough, noisy, bustling surroundings.

  And why shouldn’t he feel comfortable, she asked herself angrily as she whirled away from the window to begin her toilette. He’d grown up here—the son of Reese Summers. To him, this place was home.

  She reminded herself that she and Becky no longer had a home—any home—as she readied herself to leave her room and face the day ahead. That steeled her resolve. After breakfast she’d continue to scour the will.

  The house was cool and quiet, with no sign of anyone around. Downstairs, she found the dining room empty, the long table polished and bare. Francesca was in the kitchen, her hands full of bread dough.

  “Senor Wade and the men finished breakfast hours ago,” she sniffed in greeting. She dumped the dough into a metal pan and wiped her hands on her apron. “I will fix more for you now.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Caitlin replied coolly. Her stomach was growling its hunger but she hoped the woman couldn’t hear. “I’ll wait until lunch.”