Cassandra Austin (9 page)

“I know what it means, Arlen.”

“But that’s silly!” Arlen took a deep breath and regained a measure of control. “I mean, women don’t need to vote. Men follow the events and decide what’s best for everyone. We always keep our women’s interests in mind.”

“I’m sure you do,” Lynnette said, sounding not at all as if she did. “But not all men do.”

“This whole issue has been debated time and again,” Arlen went on. “It was voted down in ‘67.”

“Of course, along with suffrage for the Negroes, because the people it would benefit weren’t allowed to vote.”

“You can vote in school board elections,” Arlen offered.

“And that’s supposed to placate us? Perhaps we should carefully elect school board members who will hire enlightened teachers who will teach the boys the value of women’s minds so in fifty years
they’ll
allow us full rights as citizens.”

Arlen was stunned into silence.

Christian watched him, trying not to smile. He had heard all the arguments against women’s suffrage, the primary one being the liquor lobby’s fear of prohibition. Most of the rest were just excuses. “If women voted,” Christian said, knowing he should keep his mouth shut, “married men would have two votes.”

Her eyes locked with his across the table. He knew he should turn away but it was too interesting watching
the wheels turn. Her eyes were sharply appraising, perhaps mildly angry.

Spit it out
, he silently urged.
Don’t swallow what you want to say.
The moment seemed to drag on for far too long. He couldn’t guess what the other three at the table thought of their behavior, but they didn’t speak. Or perhaps they did, and he simply didn’t hear them.

Finally Lynnette spoke. “I don’t believe very many men will be so strongly influenced by their wives.”

Christian heard Arlen clear his throat. He wanted to congratulate Lynnette on her remark but didn’t dare. He flashed her a grin, instead.

“I believe Christian’s concern was the other way around,” Arlen said gently. “Women would always—”

“I know what he meant,” Lynnette said.

Christian shook his head. Arlen didn’t give the woman credit for brains. He couldn’t watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a horse to break,” he said, rising from the table.

“I don’t see how you can think of riding so soon after eating,” Arlen said, as if glad for the change of subject.

“I tried to ride him a week ago. Haven’t gotten up the nerve since. I just go out every evening to discuss it with him.” He turned toward Emily and tugged on a loose curl. “Wait up for me,” he whispered. “I won’t be late.”

Outside, Christian stopped and took a few deep breaths of the cool evening air before heading for the barn. He needed to have a clear head when he worked
with the stallion. By the time he had slid open the door and lit a lantern he decided that wasn’t possible this evening.

He looked around the barn for some task that would keep him busy until Lynnette went to bed. He headed for the tack room; there were usually harnesses or halters that needed mending, but a careful perusal of all the gear turned up nothing. Perry had evidently found them a way to keep himself busy all winter while he nursed his broken leg. He wanted to curse the man’s efficiency.

He found a few tools that he returned to their proper place and even took a broom to the dirt on the floor. Too quickly he was finished. He carried the lantern back to its hook near the door. Perhaps keeping busy wasn’t the right idea anyway. Maybe he needed to sit down and think things through. After putting out the lantern, he left the barn, walking the short distance to the cottonwood tree just past the corrals. It was the only tree that grew in the yard and had been a favorite place to play when he and Arlen were young. He had built a small stone bench at the base of the tree, and he sat on it now, deep in the tree’s shadow.

He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned against the tree’s rough bark. He couldn’t be falling in love with Lynnette. He had known her less than two days. She was beautiful, yes, and he found her attractive. What man wouldn’t? He admired her intelligence and spunk. That should make him happy for Arlen. And it did, but…

But what? Christian gazed at the silhouette of the house against the graying sky and listened to the faint
rustle of the leaves above him. Was he jealous? Did he wish she was in love with him? That was ridiculous! What kind of a rancher’s wife would she make?

The thought, however brief, of Lynnette as his wife sent a warm current through his body. And
that
was the heart of the problem, he decided. His body wasn’t interested in what his mind had to say about the situation. Well, that didn’t matter. He could certainly control himself. Perhaps it was time he made more of an effort to find a suitable wife from among the neighboring families. He noticed a certain lack of enthusiasm for the project. He hated to think he was lazy.

But then, here he was, sitting under a tree mooning over his brother’s girl. Maybe he
was
lazy. He needed a woman, and Lynnette was around. That was all there was to it. It had nothing to do with her personally. When he found his own woman, all these feelings for Lynnette would be gone.

And he could welcome her as a sister. When had his earlier concerns about her possible motives disappeared? In fact, after the dinner conversation tonight, it was clear that she would be good for Arlen. She wasn’t easily swayed by his condescending remarks. She could teach him a lot…if he would let her.

And whether he did or not, of course, was none of his business. That was between Arlen and Lynnette. He should put them both out of his mind and work with the stallion.

As he was about to rise, he saw light filter through the curtains in the corner room. Lynnette had gone upstairs. He found himself unwilling to move. An occasional shadow crossed the pale square of light, and
he watched transfixed. Finally, the curtains parted, spilling light across the balcony, and Christian discovered he had been holding his breath.

He let it out in a soundless whistle as she stepped through the doors. She had removed the pins from her hair, and it swirled around her shoulders as the breeze lifted it. Her burgundy dress looked black in silhouette, and he realized he had been hoping to see her in the gown she had worn the night before.

Last night, she had put out her light before she stepped onto the balcony, probably thinking he couldn’t see her. Tonight, she left the light at her back. She stood at the rail for a few minutes, raising her hand once to toss a thick strand of hair over her shoulder, then turned back into her room.

She pulled the curtains, but left the doors open. Christian watched the wind tease the fabric as her image teased his mind. Did that one glimpse of her undo all his careful logic? Or did it simply prove what he had decided? He hoped it was the latter.

He should go in now and braid Emily’s hair. It was a treasured ritual that went back to her first summer on the ranch without a mother to do the task. He knew she would be waiting, though he doubted she was anywhere near ready to retire. Still, he found himself watching for the light to go out. When it finally did he stayed another moment. Did he hope she would step out onto the darkened balcony one more time? He thrust himself to his feet, disgusted, and strode to the house.

Inside he found Emily and their father involved in a game of checkers. “She’s going to beat me again,”
Hugh said. “Can I count on one of my boys to get revenge for me?”

“Christian will play,” Emily said, jumping another of Hugh’s men.

Hugh shook his head. “The hot bath before dinner took some of the kinks out of this old body, but it’ll take sleep to ease the rest.” He rose slowly and headed for the stairs. Emily was already setting up the checkers for another game.

Christian sighed, missing the peace of the cottonwood. He brushed it off; Emily would be gone again much too soon. “Hey, Arlen,” he called to the opened newspaper across the room. “Come play with your sister while I braid her hair.”

The paper barely rustled. “No thanks. I’m checking the papers for any mention of fairs or dances to be held in the county.”

Christian scowled down at his sister and discovered Arlen had caught her attention. “Can I come?”

“I’ll be working,” the voice behind the paper replied.

Emily wrinkled her nose. “Will you take Lynnette?”

“No.” The paper started to go limp, then was snapped into shape. “I mean…perhaps later in the summer.”

Christian eyed the paper for a moment before he took the seat across from Emily. The girl leaned toward him and whispered, “If Lynnette gets to go, will you help me talk
her
into taking me?”

“I heard that,” Arlen said.

Christian winked at his sister. “Who’s first?”

“Me.”

Christian wondered at his brother’s reaction. It seemed odd when he had already mentioned what a campaign asset Lynnette would be. Emily jumped three of his men, and he tried to concentrate on the game. He was only partially successful. It didn’t take long for her to beat him.

“Again?” she asked, setting up the board.

Christian shook his head. “Let me braid your hair. I still have work to do.” He rose and came around behind her.

“But it’s too late to work,” Emily protested.

“If it’s so late you should be thinking about going to bed.”

She turned in the chair so he could reach her hair and pouted. “You work too hard. I won’t hardly see you all summer.”

“Hey, I spent the afternoon with you, didn’t I?” Christian asked, trying not to feel guilty. “How about if I take you to town in a couple days? We can get supplies for Martha and stop at Blainey’s on the way home. You and Rose can decide when she will come and stay.”

“I’m going into town tomorrow,” Arlen said. “I can get any supplies Martha needs.”

Emily spun toward the newspaper, and Christian had to move quickly to keep from pulling her hair. “Can I go with you?” she asked.

“I won’t have time to stop at Blainey’s.”

Emily’s shoulders sagged.

Christian leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “We’ll go even if Arlen gets the supplies.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I doubt it. Now hold still.” When he finished the braid, he tickled her nose with the end of it. She slapped his hand away. “Tomorrow,” he suggested, “you can help Martha in the garden.”

Emily groaned in disgust but still hugged and kissed Christian good-night. Back outside, Christian headed once again for the barn. This time he saddled the green-broke mare. What she needed was a lot of time under the saddle, but he couldn’t trust her on working excursions like this afternoon’s. A trip into town and back would be good for her, he told himself.

But he wasn’t going into town to break the horse. The decision had come to him when he entered his home and found himself surrounded by the family he loved. He had too many things on his mind to want to spend the evening with any of them.

Yet it wasn’t exactly solitude he sought in town.

A
movement on the bed nudged Christian toward consciousness. His brain resisted. Light burned his eyelids, and he threw his arm up to shield them. The motion and the pain between his eyes woke him completely. With a start that brought him to a sitting position, he looked toward the light and the muffled noises in the room.

“Arlen.” He fell back against the bed with extreme relief. For one awful moment he had forgotten that he shared his bed with his brother.

“You came in late,” Arlen said softly.

Christian’s answer was a low groan as he returned his arm to its former position across his eyes.

“Emily heard you ride out and was worried. Father told her you were probably working with one of the half-broke horses.”

That was near enough to the truth.

Arlen kept talking as he moved around the room. “I don’t think the horse is the reason you’re in the shape you’re in this morning, though.”

Arlen was quiet for a few minutes, and Christian
hoped he had left. As he started to drift back to sleep, Arlen spoke from beside the bed. “I suppose I should thank you for bathing before you came to bed. I’d hate to go into town smelling like cheap perfume.”

Christian couldn’t resist a grin. He had bathed last night for his own benefit, not Arlen’s. And he wasn’t near as hungover as his brother evidently thought “You’re welcome,” he said, peeking out from under his arm. The room was nearly dark, lit only by the barest flame in the lamp. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Not yet five. I want to get an early start to Cottonwood Falls. There’s a church bake sale and quilt auction in Bazaar at noon. It ought to bring in a lot of people.”

“Happy campaigning,” Christian said, covering his eyes again. In a minute he heard the door close. Lynnette would be gone more than just all morning; she would be gone all day. He knew that wasn’t what he should be thinking about. But assuming he could forget her in someone else’s arms was the reason for the headache this morning. A few drinks should have made the willing little tart look inviting. When he had realized if he drank
that
much he wouldn’t be able to make it home, he had left.

And it wasn’t as if the girl was unattractive—she just wasn’t Lynnette.

“No,” he murmured, forcing himself to sit up. “That’s not it at all.” The problem with the tart was that she wasn’t the woman he wanted to spend his life with. He had been mistaken when he thought all he needed was one night’s pleasure. He needed to find
his woman, the woman who was meant for him.
Then
he would forget Lynnette.

He held his head in his hands for a moment. The headache was no more than a mild but persistent reminder of last night’s foolishness. The real pain was centered somewhere else.

He threw himself back onto the bed. He needed sleep. Besides, he didn’t want to walk into the dining room to find Arlen and Lynnette eating breakfast. None of this was their fault, of course. He just felt too raw at the moment to deal with them.

Morning light filtered through the curtains when Lynnette woke. Her room was cold, and she snuggled deeper into the covers for a few minutes. She was to go to town today with Arlen. They would have a chance to talk without any of the rest of the family around. The country between the ranch and Cottonwood Station was beautiful, and it would be her chance to explore the town of Cottonwood Falls across the river.

She tossed aside the covers and swung her legs off the bed. If she kept this up the entire time it took to get dressed, she might succeed in convincing herself. Throwing on her robe, she moved to close the patio door she had left open the night before. She looked longingly at her notebook on the desk.

A small stirring on her bed made her spin around. Black and white fur slowly dislodged itself from the tangle of blankets and leaped to the floor. Tyrant shook himself before sitting down to glare at Lynnette.

Lynnette laughed. “You again. If you’re looking for Arlen, I’m afraid he’s one door down.”

Tyrant merely glared.

“Would you like to be friends?” Lynnette took cautious steps toward the cat. “You’ve shared my bed. We ought to introduce ourselves.” She giggled at the way that sounded aloud.

The cat cocked his head but remained relaxed. Lynnette bent cautiously and stroked the soft head, then pulled the cat onto her lap as she sat on the floor. “See? We can be friends.”

Tyrant allowed the attention for a moment, then tensed, and Lynnette let him go. He walked sedately toward the door and turned to give her a haughty glare. “Well, if you feel it’s time to leave.” She rose to let him out. “Be sure to visit again soon.”

She laughed as the cat took his leave in the most dignified manner. As she closed the door she noticed an envelope lying on her carpet; it had evidently been slid under the door. Picking it up, she found her name scrawled across the front. She tore it open and read the note quickly, then again more slowly. She felt a flood of relief, followed by little prickles of guilt. Arlen had left without her.

With new energy, she dressed in a comfortable day dress. After making the bed she spread a sturdy shawl on it and placed her notebook, tightly closed ink bottle and her pens on the shawl and wrapped them up. She carried the bundle downstairs with her. Immediately after breakfast, she would seek out that inviting bench she had seen the day before.

* * *

Christian wondered if he was the last one up. He couldn’t remember when he had slept this late. He wasn’t going to have an easy time explaining this to his father—if the old man even gave him an opportunity to explain. It would be more like Hugh to come to his own conclusions and let Christian wonder what he thought. “Well, Pa,” he mumbled as he buttoned his shirt, “I went into town to see if a tumble with a trollop would get my future sister-in-law out of my head.”

He pulled pants over his legs, and as he tucked in his shirt he continued just above a whisper. “You’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t follow through. I paid the girl just to show I’m a gentleman, got mildly drunk and came home. So,” he concluded, stomping into his boots, “I’m just as bad off as ever.” He groaned as he left his room and headed down the stairs.

The dining room was deserted, but that didn’t surprise him. Martha turned to fix his breakfast as soon as he entered the kitchen. He got himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the plank table. He carefully sipped the strong brew, hoping it would dispel the last of the headache.

“The old man been down?” he asked as Martha placed a plate of biscuits and gravy in front of him.

“Hours ago,” she said with a grin. “He’s in his office, I think.”

“Hours?” Christian took a bite while Martha went to fill her own coffee cup.

“Well, one or two. I had about given you up for dead.” Martha slid onto the bench across from him.

“Old man that mad, huh?”

She laughed. “Hugh never gives you much trouble.”

“Shows what you know,” he said between bites. “He gives me this whole…disappointed…routine. It can go on for days.” He grinned when he said it; she knew it was an exaggeration, anyway. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that Jake did the chores without me.”

“He started them, at least.”

Christian scraped up the last of the gravy. “Thanks for the breakfast. I better get to work and start my penance.” Downing the last of the coffee, he rose from the bench. He stacked his dishes and took them to the sink on his way out the door.

He was halfway to the barn when he noticed her. She sat on his stone bench under the cottonwood tree, hunched over something on her lap. Whatever it was had her undivided attention.

And she had his. He shouldn’t go speak to her. He had work to do. He was late already. None of the excuses seemed to make it from his brain to his feet They had already turned in her direction. What exactly did he think he would say to her? There was still time to turn and head straight for the barn.

In the next moment there wasn’t. Lynnette looked up and smiled.

“Good morning,” he said. “I thought you were going with Arlen.” He reached the cottonwood and crouched on the ground beside her. Her lap contained a writing notebook, the facing page fairly covered with hasty scribbles.

“He left without me.” She didn’t sound hurt. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”

“Yes, it is.” It came out a whisper. She was looking at the landscape; he couldn’t see beyond her lovely face.

“Oh!” She seemed to recall herself suddenly, and he tried to do the same. “I didn’t mean to suggest that Arlen simply rode out without a word. He left me a note. It seems his trip has turned into a longer one, and he was afraid it would tire me.”

He should wish her happy writing and leave her alone. “What are you working on?” he asked, nodding toward her notebook.

She gave a nervous little laugh and set it beside her on the bench, corked her ink bottle and placed it and the pen on top. “It’s just a story I’ve started.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?”

She hesitated a long moment. Lord, he liked watching the emotions play across her face. She usually gave away so little. He had caught her at a vulnerable time, he realized. All the more reason to leave. He shifted to sit cross-legged on the ground, relieving a cramping ankle.

“Well,” she said finally, “it’s set on a ranch.”

Arlen, he thought. Well, why not? He waited to see if she would say more.

“Oh, I almost forget. You can help me.” Her smile was infectious. He found himself nodding agreeably. “What color do you call that horse you were riding yesterday?”

“Liver chestnut.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Liver? You really call it that? Why not just chestnut?”

“That’s a different color.”

She laughed. “One of the great things about writing is I can change a horse’s color just like that.” She snapped her ink-stained fingers.

The delight on her face made her more beautiful. “You love it, don’t you?”

“I can’t imagine not writing. Sometimes it seems like there are characters in my head clamoring for me to give them life. How can I ignore them?” A touch of pain crossed her face for a second and was gone. He was more intrigued than ever.

“You didn’t get a chance to answer the other night. Have you had anything published?”

She bit her lip and looked off into the distance. He had hurt her feelings. “I didn’t mean to sound like that was all that mattered,” he said hastily. “I’m sure it’s hard to—”

“That’s not it.” She turned back, giving him a searching look. God, he felt as though he might melt right into the ground. Finally she came to a decision. “I haven’t even told Arlen this, but yes, I’ve had one novel published.”

She looked as though she didn’t want to say more. Now he had to know. “You want to swear me to secrecy?”

She laughed, breaking a little of the tension. “That would be nice.”

He sat up straighter, placing his hand on his heart, then smiled encouragingly. He had made her smile, at least. “Why haven’t you told Arlen?”

“I’m not sure how he’ll react.” She had lifted her pen from the pile beside her and toyed with it.

“Test it out on me. If I survive, you can tell Arlen.”

She laughed again. He wanted to take the pen out of her fingers and twine his own in its place. He waited as patiently as he could for her to decide if she would tell him.

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “It’s called
Passion’s Secret
and it did very well. It’s still selling a little, I understand. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.
No one
knows. My friends would be scandalized.”

He faked a quizzical look. “Passion’s what now?” He had made her laugh again. He was absolutely delighted.

“I didn’t pick the name. But even without it most people would consider it trash, I guess.”

“Do you consider it trash?”

“Not really. It’s just a love story. I made it a little more sensational than it needed to be in order to get it published. My father…” Her voice cracked, and he wanted more than ever to take hold of her hand. “My father had a lot of bills, and nothing else would sell.”

Christian didn’t like the way the conversation had changed her mood. He wanted her laughing again. From where he sat, he could look up into her soft eyes even when she lowered them. He ignored the feeling that this was getting dangerous.

“So, what you’re writing now? Is it as scandalous?”

A smile touched her lips. She looked at her lap,
seeming to consider her answer. “It didn’t start out that way.”

She was flustered and he found it appealing. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to explain what that means.”

She hesitated a moment. “Well, I want my lonely rancher to find the perfect woman and of course when they do…well…”

“Say no more,” he said coming to his feet. “I’ll wait till I can buy it. Is there a pen name I should be looking for?”

She shook her head even as she answered. “Silver Nightingale, but don’t look for it.”

She craned her pretty neck to look up at him. “I should tell Arlen, shouldn’t I?”

“You should tell Arlen, and I should get back to work.” He turned to go.

“Christian?”

The sound of his name from her lips made his heart lurch. She had never called him by name. It shouldn’t matter. It
didn’t
matter. He had his reaction in tight control when he turned around. “Yes?”

“Thanks for helping with the horse. Would you mind if I have other questions, about horses and ranching, I mean?”

“My pleasure,” he said. He hoped it sounded sincere. The more he tried to convince himself there was nothing to his infatuation beyond loneliness, the more strongly he reacted. He hurried toward the barn and the normality of chores.

After a few minutes he sent Jake off to exercise the horses and finished cleaning the stalls alone. He wasn’t
fit company for the boy, and he knew it. Lynnette was driving him crazy. He had no willpower where she was concerned. He told himself to stay away from her, then sat at her feet like a disciple and listened to her secrets. His own poor judgment astounded him.

As he walked away from her, Lynnette closed her eyes. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t tell her fiancé, but she could tell his brother? The idea, shameful as it was, of keeping it a secret forever had come to her more than once. That was ruined now. Christian knew.