Rogues in Texas 03 - Never Marry a Cowboy Read online

  She slipped her hand into his and clambered out. “Practice?”

  He smiled warmly. “The first summer we were here, we began a tradition of having a jousting event on the eve before the cotton was to be picked. The only year we didn’t compete was the year we herded cattle. It was also the only year the Englishmen lost to the Texans.”

  “You don’t see yourself as a Texan?”

  “God, no, although I fear Harry and Gray are beginning to see themselves as more Texan than British. A true pity.”

  “Kit, I didn’t hear you arrive,” a man said as he strode toward them, the tiny boy still perched on his shoulders.

  “I didn’t want to distract the lad from his endeavors.” He reached up and tickled the youngest child. ” Colton , when are you going to start competing?”

  “He’s not yet four. Don’t give him ideas,” the man warned.

  Kit slipped his arm around her and tucked her against his side. “Miss Robertson, allow me to introduce you to Grayson Rhodes, son to the Duke of Harrington.”

  Ashton felt her heart trip. “Am I supposed to curtsy?”

  “No,” Grayson Rhodes said with a gracious grin that left no doubt in her mind that he, too, had wooed his fair share of ladies. “Here I am but a farmer.”

  The woman sidled up to him and smiled in welcome. “I’m Abbie.”

  “Gray’s wife,” Kit added.

  “I’m very happy to meet you,” Ashton said sincerely. “You have a lovely family.”

  “We’re proud of them.”

  Ashton turned at the whir of carriage wheels. A dark-haired man guided the buggy toward them. A woman with curling red hair held a young child in her arms while a small girl sat between her and the man. She remembered the man and woman from David’s party: Harrison Bainbridge and Jessye Kane, although now they were married. Ashton had been too ill to attend their wedding, although David and his family had come.

  After bringing the buggy to a halt, Harrison awkwardly got out and, with the aid of a cane, walked around the carriage to help his wife disembark.

  “You know, we could get in more practice if you people would get here on time,” Grayson said.

  “Bloody hell, Gray,” Harrison snapped. “It’s your land. Of course, you’ll be here promptly.”

  Jessye held up a hand. “It was my fault. I was bringin’ up my breakfast most of the morning.”

  Habit had Ashton shrinking back until she felt the sturdiness of Kit behind her. Her parents had raised her to fear anyone with a sniffle, much less the inability to keep their food in place.

  “You shouldn’t have come if you’re not well,” Abbie told her.

  “Oh, I’m not sick,” Jessye said, beaming as she settled one girl on her hip and took the hand of the other. “We got another baby coming. Ought to be here a month or so after yours, Abbie.”

  “Are you saying you both have children on the way?” Kit asked.

  The women blushed, and their husbands looked as though they might bust the buttons off their shirts. Ashton swallowed hard, trying not to think of all the things she would never experience. “Congratulations to you all,” she offered quietly.

  “You look familiar,” Jessye said, “but I can’t quite place—”

  “She’s Ashton Robertson,” Kit said. “David’s sister.”

  Jessye smiled brightly. “Ah, yes, I remember now. How is Mary Ellen?”

  “Growing. As a matter of fact, Madeline gave me a small portrait to give to you,” Ashton told her. David and Madeline had adopted Mary Ellen when she was an infant. She could now see a striking resemblance between Jessye and Mary Ellen, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that likeness had any bearing on the closeness that had developed between Madeline and Jessye.

  “I’ll pick it up on my way to the saloon this evening,” Harrison offered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bainbridge,” Ashton said. “I’ll let David know to expect you.”

  “We’re all friends here, so you must call us Jessye and Harry,” Jessye said.

  Ashton felt overwhelmed. Friends had never played a role in her life.

  “Actually, I saw David earlier,” Harry said, grinning. “He wanted to know where I thought a rake might take a lady. Seems you were supposed to keep her out for only an hour.”

  “An unrealistic expectation. From town, it takes two hours to get to this spot,” Kit explained.

  “I don’t suppose you mentioned that to him or told him where this spot was.”

  “Of course not. And you—”

  “Pled ignorance, naturally. I know you well enough to know if your goal is to ruin a lady’s reputation—”

  “No one’s reputation is gonna get tarnished today,” Jessye said as she shifted the daughter on her hip. “You’ll answer to me and my loaded pistol, Christian Montgomery, if that’s what you’ve got on your mind.”

  “If that were my intent, I certainly would not have brought her here.”

  Ashton wondered briefly where he would have taken her. David had thought she’d be without a chaperone, and she had more than she wanted, women and children studying her with watchful eyes.

  “It was a longer journey than Miss Robertson anticipated,” he continued. “I think she could use a bit of rest in the shade.”

  “I have quilts spread out near the creek,” Abbie said. “Along with plenty of food and lemonade.”

  Ashton glanced at Kit. His arm was still around her, and she wondered briefly if she’d be able to walk without his assistance. She was weary. As though reading her mind, he said, “I’ll escort you to the quilts, then leave you to the women’s tender mercies while I work with the lads.”

  *

  “I’m surprised David trusted you alone with his sister,” Harry said speculatively. “While he was in England , he must have heard about your reputation for beguiling women.”

  Kit tried to keep his attention on young Micah’s riding style instead of on the woman sitting on the quilt beneath the branches of a towering oak tree. “My reputation is the very reason he brought her. He wanted someone skilled at charming ladies, someone who could make her feel special, someone willing to marry her before she died. Micah, lean to the right a bit more!”

  He felt the silence descending around him, thick and heavy.

  “Before she died?” Grayson finally asked. “Has he been to a gypsy fortune teller?”

  “A physician. It seems she has consumption. Her time is limited and her one wish is to marry. David thought I would oblige.”

  “Surely, you’re joking,” Harry said quietly.

  “I wish I were, but he remembered me telling him how Clarisse had taken ill and died, and so he thought I would be more compassionate than most, willing to grant Ashton’s dying wish of being a bride.”

  “That seems a bit much to ask of a friend,” Grayson said.

  Kit nodded in agreement. “This day will be the extent of my compassion. A flower, a picnic, a bit of old English charm, and perhaps if I’m feeling generous by evening, a kiss. No more than that.” He sighed deeply. “God knows I have nothing else to give.”

  *

  Ashton had not meant to fall asleep. She despised the moments lost when she drifted into a shadowy world of dreams. Abbie had been telling her how Grayson, Kit, and Harry had worked her farm, picking cotton, when they had first arrived five years earlier. Ashton had wanted to hear the story every detail she could glean about Kit, but a heaviness had settled over her and Abbie’s gentle voice had lulled her into sleep.

  Something soft and velvety tickled her nose. She brushed it away, but it returned more insistent than before. She squinted and was greeted by the sight of silvery blue eyes and a yellow flower.

  “I came over here to get something to eat, but I’m half tempted to nibble on you,” Kit said in a low, seductive voice.

  She widened her eyes and pushed herself to a sitting position. He sat beside her, one arm draped over his raised knee, while he feathered the flower over her face with his other hand
. She was fully awake now, but her voice still seemed to be asleep.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I have so little appetite of late, although I’ve never really been a hearty eater.”

  “I suspected as much.” He reached across her, grabbed a wicker basket, and dragged it nearer. “Abbie always has something good to eat. Gray got the better end of the deal when he was selected to stay with her, although none of us thought so at the time.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He removed a piece of chicken from the basket, tore off a section of meat, and offered it to her. “Eat, and I shall explain.”

  Even though she wasn’t hungry, she nibbled on his offering, anything to hear the rich timbre of his voice.

  “Shortly after the war, we came here to work in the cotton fields. There were seven men altogether, and seven merry widows each agreed to take in one boarder. Abbie got Gray. Harry and I spent one evening looking the area over and decided we wanted to return to Galveston , where our ship from Liverpool had originally docked.” He slipped another piece of chicken into her mouth before shrugging. “But Gray wanted to stay so stay, we did, and soon learned that picking cotton is a harsh undertaking.”

  She glanced toward the older boy who was galloping along the track, gathering rings. “So the three older children must be from Abbie’s first marriage. How did the jousting get started?”

  She wanted to protest that she was full when he teased her lips with another strip of chicken. Instead, she chewed because she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that without her acquiescence, he would not continue the story.

  “Have you ever read Ivanhoe?”

  “Yes—” He slipped another piece of chicken into her open mouth. The rascal. She nodded, his warm smile dousing any anger she might have felt at being manipulated.

  “Gray had brought the book with him, and he read to the children every night. They were enthralled with the notion of knights and jousting, and he was enthralled with them, so we made poles, rings, and lances, and taught them what we knew of our ancestors’ penchant for games.”

  “I think it’s—” Another piece of chicken which she spoke around. “Wonderful.” She swallowed and held up a hand. “I really can’t eat anymore.”

  “Blackberries, then.” He reached behind his back and brought forth a bowl filled with the tiny fruit. “Picked them myself especially for you.”

  “It’s a good thing we’re leaving tomorrow,” she said as she plucked one from the bowl and popped it into her mouth.

  “And why is that?”

  “I think you could easily break my heart.”

  He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Breaking hearts is not what I do.”

  “Do you deny that you charm women?”

  “I don’t deny that, but a woman’s heart is like delicate hand-blown glass, and I treat it so.”

  She plucked another blackberry from the bowl, not wishing to know about all the women’s hearts he had handled. “Tell me about Galveston .”

  “Have you never been?”

  She shook her head. “I was hoping we might make it to the coast, but David is anxious to get back to Dallas . Madeline is expecting a child in the next month or so. So he not only misses her, he’s worried.”

  “But he left her to bring you here.”

  “I could have saved him the trip if he’d told me his plans.” She placed her hand over his. “I’m so sorry he put you in such an awkward position. He never should have asked of you what he did.”

  “I’m sorry I could not have obliged him and given you your wish.”

  “Uncle Kit, Pa says you need to git yourself over here,” the oldest boy said.

  “All right, Johnny, I’ll be there in a moment.” He held her gaze. “Actually, I didn’t come over here to make you eat, but to gain a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “Your hair ribbon.”

  She touched the black silk that held her hair in place. What could he possibly want with it?

  Then it dawned on her so clearly that she was almost giddy with delight. A joust, knights, a favor from a damsel. She removed the ribbon and handed it to him. “Sir knight, you honor me.”

  With devilment reflected in his eyes, he brought it to his lips. “The honor is mine, sweet lady.” He tapped the bowl. “Finish these off so my efforts weren’t wasted.”

  She watched with interest as he unfolded his body and strode toward the buggy. Sleek and powerful. She could not imagine why he didn’t already have a wife of his own. Any woman would be a fool not to want him as a husband. David could not have selected a more enticing groom for her. A shame his idea held so little merit.

  Her breath caught as Kit removed his cravat, jacket, and shirt, placing them carefully in the buggy. “Magnificent” was the only word to enter her head. Her heart thundered as though to announce the arrival of a storm.

  He swung into the saddle, and the horse pranced around as confident as his master. The other two men had also removed their shirts, but they didn’t hold her attention as Kit did. Bronzed flesh stretched taut across his chest and back. His hardened muscles rippled as he took the lance from the boy, tied her ribbon around one end, and tucked the long, thin pole beneath his arm.

  With a brusque nod, he kicked his horse’s flanks and barreled along the track, the lance snatching ring after ring from the poles. Six in all.

  For a fleeting instant, she wasn’t in Texas . She was in England , surrounded by pageantry and gallantry. Little wonder David had chosen Christian Montgomery. In one afternoon, he had her heart beating as though it had never beaten before.

  He trotted the horse toward her, victory emanating from him. To have such strength, such confidence.

  “Impressed?” he asked.

  She smiled brightly. “Very.”

  “Want to give it a go?”

  The air backed up in her lungs. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Would you like to try your hand at some tournament play?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I were to fall, David would have a fit.” She stared at him as comprehension dawned. “That’s why you didn’t let him come.”

  “I’m sure he means well, but he’s suffocating you as much as your illness.” He dismounted. “The horse is gentle and trained. I’ll ride behind you to hold the lance steady.”

  She set the bowl aside and slowly rose to her feet. “I’m not properly dressed. If I sit astride, my skirt will hike up.”

  “You’re among friends. They won’t care. Or if you’d rather, I can send them on their way.”

  “No!” It was the craziest thing, but she wanted an audience. She wanted people to see her taking a chance when she’d never taken a chance for fear it would shorten her life.

  She barely noticed her shawl falling from her shoulders as she swiped her damp palms over her skirt, trying not to focus on the sweat glistening over his chest. Surely he would put his shirt back on before he climbed on the horse behind her. “I’m willing to give it a try.”

  “Good.” He removed the rings from the lance. “Johnny!” The boy loped over. “Put these back into place, will you, lad?”

  Johnny grinned broadly. “She gonna do it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Uncle Harry said you could talk an angel into sinnin’.”

  “He spoke out of turn.”

  “Maybe so, but he still won the wager.” He grabbed the rings and ran off.

  “What wager?” she asked.

  “Who knows?” he mumbled as he took her hand and pulled her toward the gelding. “Harry would make a wager on whether or not the sun would come up if he could find a taker.”

  He hoisted her into the saddle as though she weighed no more than a petal on the flower he’d given her. Her skirt and petticoats rose to an indecent height. She was jerking them down when he wrapped his roughened palm around
her calf. She froze.

  “You have lovely legs, Miss Robertson.” He eased her foot out of the stirrup. “But I need the stirrup.”

  He vaulted up behind her. She thought if she didn’t fall from the saddle, she might expire from a heart that pounded with too much force. Her mouth went dry when his arms came around her.

  “Grab the lance,” he ordered, his breath skimming along her ear, sending delicious shivers cascading over her body.

  She did as he’d ordered, tucking the lance in close to her body. His hand covered hers, his arm brushing against hers, his chest pressing against her back. His bare chest. The warmth was enough to make her wonder how he survived the summers.

  “Hold onto the pommel with your free hand, and I’ll take charge of the reins and the horse. With my arms around you, I promise you won’t fall. We’ll lope, not gallop.”

  Nodding, she took a deep breath. His tanned hand was so much larger than hers, his fingers longer than hers. Her paleness stood out in stark contrast.

  He guided the horse around and her body instinctively nestled against his.

  “What’s the horse’s name?” she asked as they neared the start of the track.

  “Lancelot. Relax, Miss Robertson, or the horse will shy away from his task.”

  “I am relaxed.”

  “Liar.”

  Before she could respond, he urged the horse into a trot. She tightened her fingers around the lance as though that insignificant action could hold her in place.

  Kit’s body curled around her in a protective gesture that caused all her fears to recede. The wind caressed her cheeks. With her ribbon dangling at the end of the lance, her loosened hair flew around her face with wild abandon. Her heart thundered in rhythm to the horse’s pounding hooves.

  She felt the lurch and heard the ping as the lance hit the first ring. Amazingly it spun toward her hand. She wanted to laugh. Instead she focused on the next ring. As it sang its way down the lance, she realized victory held a sweetness she’d never experienced. Until this moment, her only victories had been waking up to welcome the arrival of the dawn.

  They missed the third ring, but she didn’t care. The remaining rings found their way home.