Be My Texas Valentine (15 page)

Sitting on a chair, she pulled off her wet shoes and dried her feet with the towel. She stretched her icy toes toward the fire. When she got some feeling back in them, she knelt and mopped up the water from the floor.

She glanced around the small but tidy house. Logan had made a nice home for himself. Rue Ann wondered who had created the homey touches. Hooked rugs and curtains gave the room an inviting air. Tintype photos of his brother Matthew’s family were scattered around the room.

Celeste Wiggins?

No doubt the woman wielded quite a bit of influence. Rue Ann didn’t know why that particular thought sat on her chest like a wagonload of rocks. It didn’t bother her whom Logan courted. Or married, for that matter.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,”
a mischievous imp in her head chanted.

She guessed the deep sadness filling her came from the fact that what she had with Logan had ended a long time ago. And in a crazy way it was as if he’d died and she’d buried him.

Maybe he had died. And most certainly part of her had also.

Rue Ann rose and stood in the parlor doorway, listening to Logan in the kitchen. She could see his bedroom through an open door across a small hallway. Like the rest of the house, everything was in its place. No clothes littered the floor, and a framed painting of a Texas landscape portraying masses of bluebonnets in all their splendor hung on the wall. She smiled. He’d always loved the Hill Country with its gently rolling landscape, lush trees, and abundant wildlife. They had that in common.

Logan would truly appreciate the rare beauty of the parcel of land her father had given her in the lush valley. Logan wouldn’t scoff as Theodore had and refuse to live there.

The bed drew her gaze and a lump formed in her throat.

She recognized the beautiful quilt in the Lone Star design that covered it as one she’d given him. He’d lived in the boardinghouse back then and she’d wanted to make his sparse room more comfortable.

Panic swept through her. She shouldn’t be here.

What was she thinking?

Sheba raised her head and gave a pitiful whimper as though she was in pain.

“Join the crowd,” Rue Ann murmured.

She grabbed her shoes and strode to the door, her courage in tatters. She had to get away before Logan returned.

Chapter 7

“Where are you going, Rue Ann? You can’t leave after I made coffee.” Logan held out a cup to her, wishing he could draw her into his arms and hold her until she quit shivering. Wishing she’d come willingly. And wishing she didn’t have that look of distrust in her pretty green eyes.

He took a few more steps toward her. “Besides, the storm is still too fierce. Even if you want to risk your life, you can’t risk your horse’s.”

Rue Ann finally released the doorknob. “I realized I shouldn’t be here. It’s too much.”

“I won’t hurt you. Please trust me. You can’t go home in the middle of a raging storm. That lightning could kill you.”

“As well it might if I stay.”

Logan wondered what that meant as he covered the space between them. Once she’d reluctantly taken the cup of coffee, he urged her toward the fire. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. I should’ve insisted on that when I first got you safely inside.”

But he was having a hard time thinking straight. After all, he’d received quite a jolt when he found her on his premises with Sheba in tow.

Rue Ann quickly raised her hand to stop him. “Oh, no you don’t, mister. You’re not getting these clothes off me.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow. He found the wild pulse in her throat very intriguing. “Not even to keep you from catching your death? What I propose is perfectly innocent. I can find you something to wear while yours dry.”

He noticed her indecision. She still didn’t trust him enough to lower her defenses. Shoot, at this point he didn’t know if he trusted himself either.

To be frank, he wanted her. Every fiber of his being, every single part of him, cried out for her.

Yes, he most definitely wanted her.

On her terms or his. Didn’t matter. The love he had for her was all-encompassing. It was the kind that wouldn’t fade, the kind that weathered any storm and only got better with age like a fine French wine. Without her, he was nothing but a shell.

“I won’t wear any of Celeste’s,” she managed stiffly.

Logan took a sip of coffee before he troubled himself to reply. “I hate to break it to you, but Celeste has no clothes here.”

“I just assumed—”

“Then don’t. Celeste hates it out here. In fact, she’s only been here once.” And only for a few minutes at that, but he had a hard time admitting it even to himself.

Strange how he never noticed Celeste’s shortcomings except when Rue Ann was near.

And yet sometimes in the dark of night when only the sound of his beating heart broke the silence, when only God could hear his thoughts, he knew Celeste and he were very ill suited.

Rue Ann gripped the coffee cup with both hands. Probably so she wouldn’t wallop him, he surmised.

“Well ...” Her voice trailed off.

Would wonders never cease? He grinned. “Finish your coffee and you can change in the bedroom. Just don’t expect the clothes to fit. You’re much smaller than I am.” Not to mention having soft curves in all the right places.

“Your clothes?” she asked. “They’ll swallow me.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he growled.

While she sat in front of the fire and enjoyed the rest of her coffee, he rummaged through his belongings and came up with some things she could wear. Then he hurriedly exchanged his wet clothes for dry ones before he turned over his bedroom to Rue Ann.

Logan felt like a new man. That rain had near frozen him. He picked up his wet clothes and went to get Rue Ann. Leaving her to some privacy, he stretched his clothes before the fire to dry, leaving plenty of room for hers.

Rue Ann wasted no time in getting out of her limp dress, chemise, and petticoats. She dried herself off and looked at the pair of faded long johns, trousers, a shirt, and a length of rope to cinch it all with that Logan had laid out. They wouldn’t come close to fitting, but maybe she could make do.

At least they’d be dry. She thanked God for that.

She held up the long johns and thought about leaving them off. But considering the chill bumps that were almost as big as goose eggs on her skin, they’d feel mighty good.

“Pride can’t keep you warm, you silly girl,” she whispered.

Minutes later, she looked at herself in the mirror, feeling like she’d been swallowed whole. With Logan considerably taller than her, she’d had to roll up the legs of the long johns and trousers by more than a foot. Thank goodness for the rope that kept the pants from falling down around her ankles. And the shirt must’ve been sewn for a giant.

She bent to gather up her wet clothes, but as she did so, she knocked off a book that she’d noticed on a little table beside the bed.

It was
Treasure Island
by Robert Louis Stevenson. She found it a little odd that he’d chosen a book about pirates. But then he’d always loved escaping into his imagination. And he’d always been a ferocious reader when he could afford books.

The leather-bound book had come open when she’d knocked it off, and something had flown out.

Rue Ann picked everything up and her breath caught when she saw the valentine and silhouette of herself she’d given Logan several years ago. When they were still sweethearts.

Tears filled her eyes as she ran her fingers across the words she’d scrawled: “I’ll love you forever.”

Funny how forever lasted only until he’d traded a future with her for her father’s money.

That knowledge brought waves of pain that made it difficult to draw in air.

Angrily wiping away her tears, she wondered why Logan had kept the token of her love. Why hadn’t he gotten rid of the items since she evidently meant so little to him?

All of a sudden the dog’s cries of distress penetrated the closed door. After putting the valentine and silhouette carefully inside the book and replacing all on the small table, she clutched her wet clothes and returned to the parlor.

She found Logan sitting on the floor beside Sheba. He looked up when she entered. Was that a look of expectation on his face? Mirth danced in his smoky gray eyes. “I was about to knock on the door and ask if you needed my help.”

“You know better than that.” But the thought of his big hands touching her bare skin brought hotness to her cheeks. She had to stop this nonsense here and now. The safest thing was to change the subject. “I heard the dog.”

He gently caressed Sheba’s head while the dog looked up at him adoringly. “Her pups have decided they want to make an appearance and meet the mother who nurtures them.”

“The poor dear.” Rue Ann laid her clothes down and joined Logan at the dog’s side. “What can we do? I’ve had pets for years at Bent Tree but never assisted in any births.”

“Nothing much to do except make her comfortable and let nature take its course.”

“Seems like we should—”

“Make tea or tat some lace for her?” Logan chuckled and gave her a lopsided grin.

Rue Ann hit him lightly on the upper arm. “Don’t be silly. Of course I know better than that.”

She’d noticed the solid feel of his muscled arm. And the way the firelight played with his hair, which was the color of dark, rich earth. If only ...

He grabbed his arm and feigned an injury. “You wound me.”

“I will for real if you don’t quit making fun of me.” She hoped the scowl hid the traitorous efforts of her mouth to smile. “I was about to say that we should make a warm nest, get her comfortable.”

“I think I have a box in the barn.” He got to his feet. “And I have plenty of old flannel to line it with. I’ll be right back.”

The storm chose that moment to intensify. Sheets of rain pounded on the tin roof, drowning out the sound of the kitchen door closing.

While she waited for him to return, Rue Ann stood and spread out her clothes to dry in front of the fire. The faster they dried, the faster she’d be able to leave when the storm moved out. She certainly wouldn’t dawdle. Her parents would be worried about her. If they—or Theodore—caught her here, it would be disastrous.

The dry clothes Logan had just put on were plastered to him by the time he hurried back in with the box. His breath came hard. He must’ve run every step of the way. He put the box down, then went into the bedroom and came back with a length of an old soft flannel blanket. After arranging it inside the box to suit him, he carefully lifted Sheba into the warm bed. The dog chuffed softly as though to thank him.

Unshed tears stung Rue Ann’s eyes.

He’d braved the storm for a scared dog that no one else wanted. His unselfish caring touched something deep inside her.

“I’ll get more coffee,” she said, blinking hard. “You need some dry clothes before you get lung fever.”

Shivering, he handed his empty cup to her. “Sounds good.”

She padded to the kitchen. The bedroom door was still shut when she returned with two cups of Arbuckle.

At the rate they were going, he’d soon run out of clothes.

The clock on the mantel ticked off the minutes until he emerged. He thanked her, taking the hot brew she offered. Their hands touched and it was as though a bolt of lightning from outside ran up her arm.

Rue Ann jerked back and took a chair, as did Logan. He sipped on the coffee, his smoldering eyes never once leaving her face.

She fidgeted when he set his cup down and rose. He moved slowly toward her.

When he reached her, he placed a hand on either side of her and bent over until he was inches from her face. He’d trapped her. The panic that had been present from the moment she’d set foot in his house blossomed into full-fledged alarm. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Now that I have you where you can’t escape, lady, we need to talk.” Logan’s voice was as soft as velvet.

Chapter 8

Theodore Greely looked at the note in his hand. He was at a loss to explain why Celeste Wiggins had sent it.

Please come to my house immediately. We have things to talk about It’s quite urgent.

The note had arrived in the hands of a small boy a few minutes ago. Theodore had asked no questions.

Though he’d long admired the lovely Miss Wiggins, he’d never done more than exchange pleasantries. Now he found his pulse quickening in anticipation. Celeste was the most vivacious, most exciting woman he’d ever seen.

And she’d requested that he come to her home.

It was quite urgent, she said.

If he could steal her from under Cutter’s nose, he would in a heartbeat. It would serve the arrogant man right. To be able to shake Cutter’s confidence would bring him a great measure of satisfaction.

Theodore closed his eyes for a moment, imagining holding Celeste in his arms, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down her long slender throat and across her generous bosom.

Oh, the joy!

Anticipation tingled in his stomach.

Sunday had never been his favorite day of the week ... until now.

He stopped in front of the watchmaker’s window to take stock of his appearance. His lip was still cut and a bit swollen from the uppercut Logan had given him the day that mangy cur had blocked his path. He wiggled his nose. It was sore. He didn’t suppose that would matter to Celeste, though, since she’d requested his company.

All of a sudden dark clouds blocked the sun and drew his attention to the skies. The air was thick with the smell of rain.

Theodore decided he’d better hurry before the deluge hit.

He lengthened his steps, attempting to whistle a jaunty tune. Except the notes came out all garbled because of his split lip.

“We have something else to settle between us, Cutter.”

Rue Ann moistened her dry lips. Logan was much too close. Her heart pounded like a thundering herd of spooked longhorn. “We have nothing at all to discuss, Cutter.”