Defiant (11 page)

“You said I needed a man.”

“I'm not a whole man anymore, lady. I haven't been for a long time, and I'm even less now with this arm. Hell, I can't even earn my keep. Can't chop wood. Can't hold a gun. I can't help anyone.”

“Not if you keep indulging in self-pity.”

“It's not self-pity, dammit, it's common sense.”

“You still have a mind, don't you?”

“So do you. At least I thought so. Now I wonder.”

“I have a mind, all right,” she said, suddenly furious herself. “But no man seems to think so. They won't take orders from me.”

“Lady, everyone who's ever relied on me is dead. I don't particularly care to add to that list.”

“I'll risk it.”

He rose and walked to the window. He still limped, and he wasn't all that steady, but at least he could cross the room without falling flat on his face.

“I won't,” he said, looking out over the ranch.

Mary Jo wasn't going to invoke the obvious: gratitude. It was clear he had none. He'd stated that from the beginning. But she did have something he wanted. “Not even for a horse?”

He turned, his one good hand clenched.

“You won't get far without one,” she added quickly. “You have no money. It would be difficult for you to steal one now.”

“Not yours,” he spat back. “You make things real easy.”

“But you won't, will you? Not because of me, but because of Jeff.”

“Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me,” he warned. “You don't know anything about me. Where I came from. What I've done. What I'm capable of doing.”

“Where
did
you come from?”

He shook his head in frustration.

“A horse,” she offered again. “Stay here three months. Hire some men for me, someone who can stay on as foreman. A horse is yours plus a hundred dollars.”

It was a generous offer. More than generous. She knew it. And the surprise that flitted in his eyes indicated he knew it, too.

“Why do you think any man would take orders from me?”

Why? Mary Jo couldn't explain it, but she knew he was the kind of man others respected. Maybe it was the toughness. The innate assurance that couldn't be bought or taught. Though torn and battered now, pride was there in his stance, in his reluctance to accept help. But she couldn't say any of that.

“You're my only option,” she said. “Without help, I'll lose the ranch. Without the ranch, I'll have to go back to the Ranger station, and Jeff—”

“There's worse things than being a lawman,” Wade Foster said. “That's your worry, isn't it?”

“I've already buried two. I won't make it three.”

“So you'll take up with the likes of me?”

“I won't be taking up with anyone. I'll be hiring you.”

“And what will your neighbors say?” He grinned wolfishly.

“I'll say you're Ty's brother come to help. They know about Ty and would understand that. It will also give you more authority than a hired foreman.”

“You have it all figured, don't you, lady?”

“No,” she said. “I just need help.”

“Any way you can get it?”

She nodded.

That magnetism that had flickered between them from the very beginning flared again, its flames licking at every nerve in her body. She felt heat all the way to the ends of her toes.

“I'm trouble, Mrs. Williams. How long do you think any hand would stay here if they knew I had an Indian wife?”

“They wouldn't know that.”

His mouth tightened. She knew he was going to say he wouldn't repudiate his wife and child, wouldn't hide them.

“It won't work unless the neighbors believe you're kin of some kind. I told the sheriff …” She hesitated.

“You told him what?” His voice was sharp.

“I was … expecting Ty's brother. That makes your presence here natural. They would never guess you were involved with the killing.”

He sent her a chilling look. “Blackmail, Mrs. Williams?”

“No. You can leave here anytime you want, and I won't say anything. But until I get help, I can't spare you a horse. It's simply a matter of helping each other.”

“And where would I stay?”

“The barn. There's a small room in back. I'll clean it up. As more men are hired, we'll need a bunk-house.”

“I think I prefer your bedroom.” There was a nasty tone in his voice, and she knew he was trying to frighten her again. She knew she should be frightened. He was dangerous; she'd recognized that from the beginning. But she wasn't afraid. At least not of him. Maybe … of her own feelings.

“That's not included in the bargain,” she said firmly.

“What if it's a condition?”

“What about your wife?”

It was an agonizing blow, but they were striking out at each other now, both fully aware of doing so, yet unable to hold back.

His lips pressed together. “Don't even mention her, Mrs. Williams.”

“Why? You seem ready to forget her. How long has it been? A few weeks?” She wanted to wound as he was wounding her by suggesting that she would sell herself.

“Ten months,” he said flatly.

Ten months? He'd been hunting her killers for that long? She understood hot-blooded revenge, but nearly a year … that spoke of cold-blooded, planned murder.

“Changing your mind, Mrs. Williams?”

She ignored his latest challenge and the fact that he could easily read her mind. “Yes or no, Mr. Foster? And no, my bedroom is not included in any arrangement,” she reiterated.

She saw him hesitate a moment, and it surprised her. He was considering her offer at least, and that was a major victory.

“I'll think about it,” he finally said.

Mary Jo nodded. She knew she couldn't push any further; she was lucky to have won that much.

Or was she?

Mary Jo waited two days for an answer, and then she couldn't wait any longer.

Wade Foster was walking around, and she saw all the telltale signs of restlessness. She had seen them in her husband when he'd been idle for a few days. She had to find out now what Wade Foster intended to do. And she wondered about her own intentions, whether she could go through with her plan, whether she wanted to convince Wade Foster to stay.

She'd never reacted to a man the way she reacted to Wade Foster. She'd loved her husband. She'd admired him ever since he rode up to her father's ranch, hunting down an outlaw, when she was fifteen. He'd been a hero to her then and had become a friend over the next few years. They'd married when she was eighteen, after her father and mother died within months of each other. But Jeff had never made her senses tingle, never made her face flush or her blood run hot just with a glance.

It should scare the devil out of her. But the devil seemed determined to remain. The fear, however, wasn't enough to dissuade her. If she didn't get help, and get it soon, she might have to sell the ranch, and either return, defeated, to the Ranger station or travel to a new city and start all over again in a place she didn't know or understand.

She could marry again, but that was just as sorry a solution to her troubles. Loneliness was better than that life-draining fear she'd endured with Jeff and Ty. Independence better than reliance on a man who might die the next day.

But, dear God, she ached for a gentle touch, for sweet words. She wanted to be brave, but not forever brave alone. Sometimes, she wished …

But wishes were for fools. Reality was something else.

A lock of hair fell across her face, and she brushed it back, feeling the roughness of her palm against her skin. She glanced down at her hands. They were brown from the sun, and callused by hard work.

She was thirty-two and felt, at this moment, fifty. She must have imagined that flash of desire in Wade Foster's eyes, conjured that soul-deep attraction between them.

Wade Foster was disturbing. But he was her only hope.

He had been prowling around the house, stopping occasionally to rest, obviously testing his strength. He'd said little, and his face revealed even less, but she felt the storm brewing inside him, and she didn't know what to do about it.

She waited until after dinner. For the first time, he sat with them, and it hurt to watch him struggle to eat with his left hand. She had made stew with chicken, cutting it into small pieces before putting it into the pot. She did not want to give him anything that had to be cut, realizing he would hate to be reminded of his handicap.

She kept a steady conversation going with Jeff, hoping that their taciturn dinner guest would eventually join in rather than glower.

Jake was sitting between Jeff and Wade Foster. Mary Jo saw Jeff's hand creep down occasionally, and she knew he was sneaking bits to the dog. Wade Foster was conspicuously ignoring the dubious activity.

After a particularly loud gulp from Jake, her son glanced around innocently. “Didn't I tell you that Ma's the best cook in the world?”

Jeff had just uttered the last word when Jake emitted what sounded suspiciously like a burp. Jeff flushed.

Wade Foster smiled. It was the first smile Mary Jo had seen touch his face, and it was wondrous. The harsh lines seemed to fade, and the tanned skin around his eyes crinkled. And then those same eyes focused on Mary Jo, watching, waiting, glinting with a hint of amusement.

Mary Jo found herself holding her breath. She should scold Jeff, but she was too charmed by Wade Foster's indulgence of her son's disobedience.

“If you're going to feed Jake at the table,” she finally said with pretend exasperation, “you had better teach him some manners.”

“Does that mean that I can—”

Mary Jo cut off his eager words. “No, it doesn't. But I think it's time you started teaching that animal to behave.”

Jeff's face fell. “But I don't know how—”

“Like a horse,” Wade Foster said unexpectedly. “Patience and firmness. He's a smart dog. He'll learn quick. He just needs to know what's expected.”

Jeff looked at him. “Will you help me?”

Wade Foster's smile faded, replaced by caution, then something like resignation. He nodded, and Mary Jo knew she had her answer. He would stay. For a little while, at least.

He turned his gaze on Mary Jo, and she was careful to keep her expression neutral. One flash of victory on her face, and he might change his mind. They had struck a bargain. An impersonal exchange of services for goods. Nothing more. Yet her heart thumped so loudly she was afraid he could hear it.

“When?” Jeff asked enthusiastically.

“We'll start tomorrow,” Wade Foster answered.

Jeff grinned happily. “You're staying then?”

Wade Foster hesitated. “Maybe a few days. I don't want to take your mother's room any longer.”

“Can we go fishing?”

Mary Jo nearly winced at the longing in her son's voice. She knew he'd missed the Ranger station, the occasional fishing expeditions with Jeff and then once with Ty. Ty had even offered to teach her son to swim after Mary Jo had expressed fear about Jeff going fishing alone, but he'd never had the chance. Jeff wanted badly to learn, and Mary Jo couldn't help. She didn't know how to swim; neither her father nor Jeff had approved of women swimming. Indecent, her father had called it, though he hadn't hesitated to teach her how to shoot.

Tensely, she waited for Wade Foster's answer to Jeff's question. He had glanced at his bad arm, and she knew he was thinking he wouldn't be much good at fishing. She prayed silently that he wouldn't dash her son's hope.

“Let's just concentrate on Jake now,” Wade Foster said.

Jake whined at the sound of his name, his tail thumping up and down on the floor like a military drum tattoo.

Jeff looked slightly discouraged. But the response wasn't exactly a no, and Mary Jo relaxed.

After she finished the dishes, Mary Jo took a lantern and went out to the room in the barn. She had cleaned it thoroughly when they first moved here. It was small, more fit for a hired hand than a foreman.

She'd discovered that the previous owners had farmed rather than run cattle, but disaster after disaster had befallen them, the worst having been the death of their only child from snakebite. Three bad years of drought, and then an infestation of grasshoppers the following year had stolen the last of their stamina.

Mary Jo soon realized the future lay in running cattle, but she needed cowhands for that. This was open range; ranchers branded their cattle and then set them loose. She and Jeff didn't have the combined strength to rope, hogtie, and brand angry half-wild animals.

She'd started so optimistically, only to hear, time after time, that sometimes apologetic, sometimes rude snort when prospective hands learned they would be working for her. Only Tom Raylor had agreed, and later she discovered everyone else had fired him because he was shiftless and careless.

How long would Wade Foster stay?

She opened the one window in the small room, to air it out. Tomorrow morning she would sweep and put fresh sheets on the bed. She couldn't help thinking how small the room was for someone like Wade Foster. He dominated space; everything seemed to shrink around him.

She finally left, hoping that the object of her thoughts had retreated back into the bedroom for the night. She couldn't think clearly when he was around; she had to avoid him as much as possible if she was going to make her plan work.

Mary Jo had brought a carrot with her. She broke it in fourths and fed a portion to each of the horses, ending with her own mare. Her husband had bought Fancy for her on her twenty-fifth birthday, and he had taken pride in the gift. He hadn't been much for presents, so Fancy was special. She was surprisingly fast for her small size, mannerly, and sturdier than she looked.

The horse liked attention, caresses, and Mary Jo needed that at the moment.