Rogues in Texas 02 - Never Love a Cowboy Read online

  Harrison felt as though he’d been slapped. “She’s only twenty-one?”

  Jonah narrowed his rheumy eyes. “How old did you think she was?”

  “A bit older.” He’d never questioned her age, had always considered her closer to his own age of twenty-eight. He’d figured her to be a woman of experience, working in a saloon, surrounded by men all night, but if she were only twenty-one … good God, could her claims be true? Might she still be innocent? Perhaps her refusals had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her purity.

  “She’s young, but she don’t like to admit it,” Jonah said.

  Harrison was surprised to see tears shimmer in the old man’s eyes before he leaned forward with a steely glare. “She’s been hurt. Had her heart sliced up and tossed out as buzzard bait. I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

  “We have no intention of harming her. She is our investor in this undertaking and will have our utmost respect and consideration.”

  Jonah narrowed his eyes. “There’s a lot of long nights on a cattle drive. If she comes back with the smallest of bruises on her heart, I’ll cut off your cojones and feed ‘em to you.”

  Harrison cleared his throat. These Texans so often threw in Spanish words that he sometimes found it difficult to follow their conversations, but he had a gist of the meaning. “Will this action render me incapable of siring an heir?”

  “You’d better damn well know it.”

  “Then I’ll keep your threat foremost in my mind as we journey.”

  “I don’t care what you do with it, just don’t forget it.” Jonah stood and began stacking chairs onto tables.

  Harrison rubbed his fingers over his thick beard, wondering why, of all the things Jonah had just revealed, hearing that someone had broken Jessye’s heart bothered him more than the thought of being turned into a eunuch.

  He’d never suspected that her tough attitude was an act designed to shield herself. A pity. He had no interest in mending hearts that had once been broken. A shattered heart would forever be a mosaic of cracked pieces, more delicate and prone to break again with less force applied to it.

  Experience had taught him that lamentable truth.

  *

  Jessye Kane stood outside her father’s saloon and inhaled deeply, allowing the coolness of the autumn breeze to blow the stench of spilled liquor and lingering tobacco smoke away from her. She gazed at the twinkling stars that lay upon the midnight sky like diamonds on black velvet. For the next few months, she would sleep beneath them and use them to guide her journey.

  At the end of that time, if all went as anticipated, she would turn her modest savings into a considerable sum of money. Unlike Harry, who was motivated by ambition, she was inspired by fear, fear that no matter how strong she was, she would never be strong enough to protect her heart.

  And her heart was definitely at risk. The image of the brand was seared in her mind. Texas Lady. Named for her. She’d never in her life felt like a lady, not a true lady. She’d been forced to give herself a mental shake in order to remember with whom she was dealing: a man who knew well how to cheat, a man who let it be known he wanted to bed her.

  While working Abbie Westland’s cotton fields during summer harvest, Jessye had learned that Harry had a tendency to sit in the shade, eat watermelon, and entertain the children with card tricks. He only went into the fields when Grayson Rhodes brought him an empty sack. And when next she looked, there he was again, sitting in the shade.

  He was in for a rude awakening. He wouldn’t find much time to squander on a cattle drive.

  Turning slightly, she lifted her gaze to the windows on the second floor that looked into the rooms reserved for paying guests. Harry and Kit rented rooms that faced each other across the long, narrow hallway.

  She saw the pale lamplight spill out of a window—Harry’s window. She didn’t want to think about what Harry might be doing, but she seemed unable to stop herself.

  He’d take off those fancy clothes he wore, clothes that would make any other man look like a dandy. It aggravated her that whenever she joined him at a table, she felt like the east end of a westbound mule, while he possessed an abundance of charm and sophistication.

  Sauntering through the cotton fields had bronzed his skin. When he shuffled the deck, his deft fingers mesmerized her. He had such a light touch that the cards barely whispered when he sorted them, and she had to fight against imagining those hands skimming over her body with as much expertise as they handled the deck.

  She enjoyed their verbal sparring, was challenged by his ability to always win with the hand he dealt. Out of deference to her suspicions, he played with his sleeves rolled up so she knew he didn’t sport any extra pockets or devices that would give him the cards he needed. But she also knew his forearms weren’t puny and white like those of a man who’d spent his life pampered. The veins bulged beneath his skin, and his muscles appeared hardened even when his arms were at rest. Made no sense, but little about him did.

  Damn, but she wished she could figure out how he cheated. Maybe then she’d stop watching him with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Lord help her, she had almost every inch of him memorized, trying to catch him in the act of swindling her.

  He swore he never cheated when he played her, but she knew that was an outright lie—otherwise, she’d occasionally win a hand. She wasn’t that poor of a poker player.

  Now he needed her—or more accurately, he needed her money. She might have given it to him with no strings attached if he didn’t always call her “Jessye love.” She trusted the endearment as much as she trusted the man. She knew he didn’t love her, and using the word made a mockery of an emotion that had the power to wound unmercifully and heal unconditionally.

  The light from his window faded into darkness, and she realized he’d gone to bed. She dared not contemplate what he might not wear while he slept. Every time she changed the sheets on his bed, she wondered if they’d known the touch of his bare back … stomach … buttocks…

  Or did he sleep with nothing but the night air to caress his flesh?

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she spun around. She’d sworn never again to become involved with a man until she was a woman of independence, although Harry had a disconcerting way of making her regret that vow.

  She’d lost count of the number of times he’d invited her to join him beneath the blankets. His voice carried a teasing lilt, but his eyes, Lord, his emerald eyes held a vulnerability that intrigued and frightened her. He wasn’t nearly as simplistic as he appeared.

  A high-risk gambler, he manipulated cards, enjoyed strong words, and indulged in strong liquor. Yet there was another facet to him, like turning a diamond and seeing it sparkle from a different angle. A haughtiness in the way he said his name. He was the second son of an earl, sent here to make his way in the world.

  With cattle, she thought he had a good chance of succeeding. She knew a lot about cattle. Before the war, she’d known a man who herded longhorns to California . Gerald Milton. He had loved to talk, and she had loved to listen.

  He hadn’t looked at her the way most men did—like whiskey that was to be enjoyed during the evening and forgotten come the light of day.

  She had learned too late that his innocent eyes shielded an abundance of faults.

  “Jessye?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled warmly. “Hey, Pa. “

  Her father strolled through the door that led to the rooms they lived in at the rear of the saloon.

  “Don’t guess I can talk you out of goin’,” he said. Turning her gaze back to the stars, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Nope.”

  “Gonna be a lot of men—”

  “I can handle myself around men. Besides, I’ll be dressed like them. After a few days, they’ll forget I’m a woman.”

  “Long stretch of miles between towns. Men ain’t likely to forget anything.”

  “I’ll be fine, Pa. “

  She heard his
sigh travel on the wind. “You’re like your ma, you know. Strong-willed, determined. I can’t help but believe things woulda worked out different if she hadn’t died on us when you was seven.”

  She pivoted slightly so she could face him. “Things didn’t turn out so bad.”

  He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have had you working in a saloon.”

  “I like working in a saloon. I’m thinking if I make enough money on this cattle drive, we can add that stage you’ve always talked about—with the red velvet curtains that open and close. We could get some shows in here. A singer or two. That would draw a crowd and increase profits.”

  In the moonlight, she saw her father’s wrinkles shift until he looked much older, so much older. “Is that why you’re doing this crazy thing … on account of my dreams?”

  “No, Pa, I’m doing it for me.”

  She heard him sniff. “You just take care then, girl, ‘cuz if somethin’ was to happen to you … wouldn’t be no reason for me to live.”

  She slung her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

  His thin arms circled her. Once upon a time, she’d thought all men loved as unconditionally, as fiercely as he did.

  He patted her back and stepped out of her embrace. “Just so you’ll know, I told Bainbridge I’d castrate him if he hurt you.”

  She laughed lightly. “He won’t hurt me, Pa. “

  No man ever would because she wouldn’t let any man get close enough to do so.

  He sniffed again and rubbed his eyes. “I’m gonna go talk to your ma for a spell. She might have some words of wisdom for me to share with you before you go.”

  She watched him walk into the night shadows, toward the church at the far end of town and the small cemetery behind it. She wondered if her mother had truly known how much her father had loved her.

  Jessye had once dreamed of giving and receiving that kind of powerful love. But not any longer.

  At seventeen, she’d had her heart ripped from her chest. She’d vowed then that she’d never again be dependent on either a man or money. This arrangement with Harry and Kit would ensure that she kept that promise.

  “He’s right, you know,” a deep voice rumbled into the night. “You should stay here.”

  Jessye spun around, her heart thundering. Harry stood at the edge of the shadows, a silhouette guarded by darkness. His jacket and vest were gone. Several buttons on his white shirt were loosened as though he’d been undressing and changed his mind. His black hair and beard framed his face, accentuating his emerald eyes, holding her captive. She swallowed hard. “Figured you’d gone to bed.”

  “I thought as much, since I saw you watching my window.”

  “I wasn’t watching your window. I was just looking around, and your window happens to be there. Besides, it’s going to be a long while before you sleep in a bed again. You ought to be up there enjoying the comforts of a mattress.”

  A lazy grin spread across his face. “I never enjoy being in a bed when I’m in it alone.”

  She chuckled low. “And the next words you speak are going to be an invite to join you. I’ve served drinks long enough that I’ve heard it all, and I know that the sweet talkin’ stops as soon as the whiskey wears off.”

  “Mine wouldn’t.”

  She laughed. “You’re smoother than most, Harry. I have to give you credit for that, and if I had a dollar for every time you invited me to climb those stairs with you, I wouldn’t have to go on this cattle drive.”

  He took a step toward her, effectively closing the distance between them until she felt the warmth of his body battling the cool night air. “Why are you going, Jessye? You must realize that traveling alone with men is bound to ruin your reputation.”

  “I’ve worked in a saloon all my life. I’ve got no reputation to ruin.”

  “From what I hear, the nights on a cattle drive are not only long, but lonely.”

  “Nights in a saloon are just as lonely.”

  He slowly trailed his finger along the column of her throat. The intense heat surged through her like flames igniting with the promise to consume.

  “Then come upstairs with me,” he murmured in a low, seductive voice. “Physical pleasure can ease the loneliness without involving the heart.”

  She felt her body and resolve melting, but bittersweet memories kept her from reaching for him and allowed her to speak in a calm voice that hid the turbulence swirling within her. “Not for me, Harry. I’ve told you before that I’m not one of those women. I can’t be persuaded by a silver-tongued scoundrel. Besides, I’ve already marked you as a man who can’t afford me.”

  “Name your price.”

  “Love.”

  A heavy silence permeated the air, and she knew she’d named the one thing he’d never give her. His touch retreated, and the coldness swept in like a blue north wind.

  He bowed slightly. “I bid you goodnight.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and watched him walk up the stairs, knowing both he and her father were right. She should stay behind.

  Because if she were truly honest with herself, Harrison Bainbridge had the power to destroy the fragmented remains of her broken heart.

  *

  CHAPTER 2

  « ^ »

  W ith Kit and Grayson Rhodes flanking him, Harrison strolled through the fields where cottons bolls had once quivered in the wind. He thought Grayson had done rather well for himself when he’d taken Abigail Westland as his wife. In addition to the land, he’d gained three children from her first marriage and her fierce, undying love.

  “Abbie says it’s bad luck to have a woman on a cattle drive,” Gray murmured speculatively.

  Harrison stopped walking and faced his friend squarely. “Without Jessye’s money, we would have no hope of pursuing a cattle drive.”

  “I cannot fathom why she would risk ruining her reputation by going with you.”

  “Did Abbie not risk her reputation when she allowed you to live here without the benefit of marriage?” Harrison asked, finding it odd to defend a stance he did not support.

  “I slept in the barn.”

  “Jessye will sleep on her own pallet,” Harrison assured him.

  Gray narrowed his blue eyes. “For two or three nights perhaps—”

  “For the entire duration of this venture.” Harrison glanced toward the front porch, where Jessye was talking with Gray’s wife. Jessye wore clothes similar to his: plain flannel shirt, simple vest, boots, red bandanna, woolen trousers. Dear Lord, but he already missed his finer garments. Once this drive ended, he would never go another day dressed as a commoner. “She has no interest in men.”

  “But they will no doubt have an interest in her,” Gray assured him.

  Harrison feared that would be the case. Since she’d stepped out of the saloon and he’d seen the perfect outline of her hips and legs previously kept hidden by a skirt, he’d been unable to take his eyes off her. “She thinks dressed as she is that the men won’t notice she’s a woman.”

  “That’s not bloody likely,” Kit said. “I’m thinking all women should wear trousers. I like the way the garment shows off their rounded bottoms.”

  Harrison had an irrational desire to gouge his friend’s eyes. “She’s your partner,” he snapped.

  Kit jerked his head around. “Yes, and she should be yours as well.”

  “What’s this?” Gray asked.

  “It’s unimportant. Will you let it go?” Harrison demanded, glaring at Kit.

  “It makes no sense not to accept you as a partner, and your willingness to blithely accept the terms of that agreement aggravates the devil out of me. It’s not like you to surrender without a fight—”

  “I have not surrendered.”

  Interest gleamed within Kit’s pale blue eyes. “I should have known. By God, why didn’t you argue your case last night?”

  “Because when we play poker, I absolutely adore the expression of disbelief that cr
osses her face when she calls my bluff … only to discover I wasn’t bluffing. She has deemed me a laggardly jackanapes. But I have no doubt, a moment will come when she realizes that I hold a true winning hand. And then, watching the truth dawn in her eyes will be a balm to the”—he searched for a word that would not reveal the true extent of what he’d felt: humiliation, anger, resentment—“sting to my pride and will make the gamble worthwhile.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take long,” Kit said. “Even with your acceptance of the deal, I’m not happy with it.”

  “But you will strive to protect her,” Harrison insisted.

  “I should think with that gun strapped to her thigh she can protect herself.”

  “Since she taught me how to handle a gun, I can assure you she knows well how to use it,” Gray said.

  Harrison touched the butt of the gun housed against his own hip. “She taught us as well.” It had unnerved him to see the ease with which she managed the weapon.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a gun, Kit?” Gray asked.

  “I prefer the Henry rifle. It’s more accurate and holds fifteen shells for repeated firing. Besides, I don’t like the weight of the pistol on my person. Makes me feel lopsided.”

  “You could wear one on either side,” Harrison suggested, grinning.

  “Other than hunting for game, I can’t imagine we’re going to use the blasted things anyway. So uncivilized.”

  “I agree,” Gray said quietly. “The day when I faced Abbie’s husband, I realized no honor is found in using the damn things. I swore then to never wear one again.”

  “You should come with us,” Harrison said, wanting to steer the subject away from the past.

  Gray shook his head. “I was forced to leave Abbie before. Only death will take me from her now.”

  “How maudlin,” Harrison muttered.

  “It’s the truth,” Gray assured him.

  Harrison didn’t doubt the words, but he found he envied his friend’s vehement defense. He nudged a blackened cotton stalk with the rounded toe of his boot. “You’re not going to plant cotton, are you?”