Sandra Chastain (7 page)

“I made it,” Rusty said dazedly, “So did you.”

“Are you hurt?” Cade asked, gazing down at the woman he was holding.

Was she hurt? No. Was she feeling slightly foolish and disoriented? Yes. She blinked as she looked into his frowning eyes.

“No, I don’t think so. Looks like the plane is a little worse for wear, though.” She felt his arms tighten around her, and a flush of heat rushed to her face. She would have said more, but a knot seemed to be blocking her throat. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t come back, that she’d never see him again. But here he was, holding her as if he’d never let go. She wondered for an instant if she was dreaming.

“Next time, stay over.” His voice was snappish
and worried. The urge to claim those parted lips was winning. She was blushing, and that knowledge gave him a warm feeling.

Under the intensity of his gaze Rusty shook her head. He was doing it already, giving her orders, and they hadn’t been together ten minutes. “I’ll stay over if I think it’s the thing to do,” she snapped, marshaling her defenses. “Put me down, McCall. I can walk.”

“If I thought so, I’d have let you.”

Cade strode back to the Jeep and motioned to Doak, who nodded and started the Jeep to drive it back to the house. Cade continued to hold her in his lap, burying his chin in her hair. She was still, too still. Then she began to shiver. When the Jeep stopped, he strode through Letty’s empty kitchen, up the stairs, and into the family wing.

“Which room?”

“First door on the right,” she managed to say.

She should be struggling, opposing his take-charge attitude. Instead, her arms had found their way around his neck, and her fingertips were playing on the skin beneath the collar of the slicker. She liked the way his hair curled against his collar. She liked the way it felt, the way he smelled. She tried to pull herself together. “Where’s—your daughter?” she managed to ask.

“My daughter is where you’re about to be—in bed.”

“Bed? Why?”

“For a rest. She’s had a long trip.”

He tightened his grip for a moment, feeling the touch of her breast against his chest, the little warm breaths of air against his neck. Then, reluctantly,
he let Rusty down and flicked on the lamp beside her bed. “Take off those wet clothes.”

Take off her clothes? His words rattled around in her conscious mind until she could focus on the meaning. Rusty shook her head. This time he’d gone too far. Concern for her after she wrecked the plane was understandable, but ordering her to undress? She didn’t want to undress. A moment ago she’d been warm. Now she was cold, cold because he wasn’t holding her any longer. She felt like a television screen, fading from color to black and white, and back to color again.

Losing contact with his body gave her a respite from the barrage of emotions plummeting her body. She took a deep sensible breath. “Listen, McCall, I won’t be dictated to. This is my room, and these are my clothes. I’ll take them off when I’m ready.”

“Not this time, Redhead. You’ve had a shock, and you’re wet and cold. This time you take them off when I’m ready. Either you do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Shock? Yes. Emotional shock as a result of severe mental pressure. That must explain the strange sensations she was feeling. Her legs felt weak, her thoughts fuzzy. She couldn’t even lift her arms to unzip her parka.

Across the room Cade slid out of the damp slicker and let it fall to the floor. He looked around, spotted the bathroom door, and turned on the shower inside. Back at the bed he lifted Rusty and carried her into the bathroom, already filled with steam.

Before she could protest what was happening,
Cade had stripped off her jacket and shirt and was sliding her jeans down her legs.

“McCall? This wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“We haven’t signed an agreement yet, Redhead, and you don’t know what terms I may insist on. I have to do something to earn my keep. I’m no cowboy, you know. I think, however, that I could be a very good lady’s maid.”

“I don’t think that you have any experience at that either,” she said dreamily. “But you can learn.”

Maybe, but first Cade would have to learn control. As Rusty’s body came into view, he felt his insides contract. Her breasts spilled over the edge of a lacy red bra that had to have been designed to drive a man wild. The matching panties were heart-stopping. The lingerie looked new. He smiled. He liked a woman who wore silk beneath denim, especially when its color was hot red.

Cade swallowed hard and picked Rusty up, placing her inside the shower stall.

“Oh, no, McCall. If I have to get wet, so do you.” With an attempt at being stern, Rusty reached out and jerked a surprised Cade under the spray.

“Listen, you,” he began, “you’re wetting my boots, and I just bought them.”

“Oh? You bought a pair of boots?” She looked down at the shower floor. “So you did. You didn’t have to do that. I guess I ought to tell you as my husband-to-be that I intend to keep you barefoot and—no, that’s how you keep a woman, isn’t it? Well, no matter, we’ll improvise.”

Her improvising was reaching mercurial heights when Cade became aware of a pounding on the bathroom door.

“Are you in there, Rusty Wilder?” Letty’s voice was marine drill-sergeant intense.

“Of course,” Rusty said with a lilt in her voice. “Cade’s taking off my clothes.”

The door burst open. “He’s what?”

“I was trying to warm her up,” Cade explained. “She crashed the plane into the hangar, and I think she may be suffering from shock.”

“Nonsense, McCall. I’m suffering from frustration, and I’m doing something about it.”

“Not today you aren’t,” Letty said forcefully, giving Cade a jerk of her head that indicated he should vamoose.

“I think I’ll let you take over, Letty,” he agreed, and backed out of the bathroom before Rusty completely overpowered him. “Ah, Letty, where is my room?”

“Same place as this one, on the other wing of the house,” she answered. “And I’m thinking it’s a good thing. Out of here, now, before I decide to take off your clothes and turn the cold water on you full blast.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Red underwear!” she was grumbling in mock dismay. “Never worn red underwear in your life. What else did you do to get ready for a husband while you were in Salt Lake City, Willadean Wilder?”

Cade closed the bedroom door, a big foolish grin slashing his face. Sloshing down the hall, Cade decided that a cold shower wasn’t a bad idea. But he might want to wait for a while. Right now, all Letty would get if she doused him was steam.

Rusty opened her eyes, glanced over at the clock, and groaned. The sun was streaming through the
window. It took her a moment to realize where she was: In bed, covered with two quilts and a spread.

She groaned.

Surely she’d been dreaming. Surely she wasn’t remembering what had happened.

Everything from the night before had a surrealistic quality about it. Before she’d left Salt Lake City, she’d gone shopping for underwear—red, feminine underwear. She’d smoked her first and only cigarette. She’d even marched into the airport bar and ordered a Scotch and water. Then she’d flown home through the beginning of a storm and crashed the plane. Worse than that, she had more than a vague recollection that she’d made a fool out of herself with Cade. How could she ever face him?

“Hi. Are you going to be my new mommy?”

Rusty followed the sound of the voice until she found its source—a child, a dark-eyed child with masses of jet-black curly hair and a mouth that seemed to ask a permanent question.

“What?”

Rusty knew what the child had said. At least she thought she did. It was just that she and Cade had agreed that his daughter wouldn’t know about their plans. He didn’t want Pixie disappointed, he’d said.

“You look like Glenda, the good witch,” Pixie said solemnly. “I like Glenda. I like Dorothy too. Do you?”

“Oz! That’s where I am,” Rusty declared. “I took off from the Salt Lake City airport and landed, not in Kansas, but Oz. All I need is—”

“Pixie? Are you in here?”

“—the Scarecrow.”

The man sticking his long neck through the door qualified in every sense of the word. All he needed were strands of hay sticking out from beneath his neckline and his hat.

“Oh no,” Pixie said, climbing up on the side of Rusty’s bed. “That’s not the Scarecrow, that’s Eugene. He’s my friend. He’s probably brought you some Tundra Tonic. He makes it, you know, and it’s very good for what ails you.”

Rusty closed her eyes.

When she opened them, the door was wide open, and Letty was standing there, glaring at both the child and the odd-looking man. “And I’m the wicked Witch of the West,” she said with a snort. “If you two don’t get down to breakfast, I’m going to put a spell on you.”

Pixie giggled and slid down from the bed. She started toward the door, ran back, and gave Rusty a quick kiss on her cheek. “I think I’m going to like living in Oz. Thank you for hiring my daddy.”

“Pixie,” Rusty called out, pushing herself to a sitting position. “Who told you that I was going to be your mommy?”

“Oh, I heard Mr. Doak and another man down at the barn talking when I went down to see the bull. I like Pretty Boy too. He’s nice. He got very mad when my daddy made me leave.”

“So much for secrets,” Letty observed with an I-told-you-so click of her teeth as Pixie danced out the door. “Though I don’t know why I should expect the hands to keep their mouths shut when you two are up here in the shower taking off each other’s clothes as openly as a bare-bottomed lady at the Coyote Springs Saloon.”

“Then it’s true? Cade did carry me up here and—and put me in the shower?”

“Who knows? When I came in, you were both in the stall, and you were tearing at his clothes. It was not exactly—” Letty sighed dramatically—“ladylike behavior. Though if I were twenty-five years younger, I might wrestle you for him.”

Rusty threw her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. It was obvious that Cade had been right. She’d suffered a mild case of shock that had made her behave … strangely. Surely Cade understood that, even if Letty was having great fun with what had happened.

“Letty,” she began, “I thought that I explained to you what my plans for Mr. McCall are. He’s on a trial basis here. If at the end of six months I am—” she blushed, and forced herself to go on, “pregnant, we will get married.”

“Humph! Trial for what?”

Rusty swayed for a moment, feeling an unexpected light-headedness. Shock might have been a reasonable excuse for her behavior last night, but even she had difficulty making any such claims this morning. She squared her shoulders, glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “Ten o’clock! Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

“Well, after all the excitement, Cade said to let you sleep.”

“Cade doesn’t make the decisions around here.”

“Oh? Try telling the hands that.”

Rusty came to an abrupt stop and whirled around. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your bull broke out of the pasture about an hour ago, and Cade’s organized a roundup.”

“A roundup? I didn’t know Cade even knew how to ride.”

“Can’t say,” Letty mumbled airily. “But I guess your trial period will tell you lots of—things. Coffee’s on the stove.”

“Ohhhhh!” Rusty groaned. She dressed quickly, brushed her teeth, and ran a comb through her hair. “Organized a roundup. Ohhhhh!” What would an oil field drifter know about rounding up a bull? Why would Doak allow him to assume the responsibility anyway? Doak was the foreman. Well, he wasn’t exactly the foreman. She had never bestowed the official title on him. She could never bring herself to go that far. It was one of the ways she made certain that she maintained authority. But Cade?

Before Letty got down the stairs and poured the coffee, Rusty was charging out the back door. At the barn the men were already mounted and gathered around Cade, who was standing in the Jeep.

“You know the land,” he was saying.

Rusty pushed through the riders. “What’s going on?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilder.” Cade gave her a quick smile, then replaced it with a serious expression and a businesslike nod. “We’re about ready to go here.”

“Why didn’t you let me know what happened?”

“Because we don’t know what happened. Only Pretty Boy can tell us when we find him, and we need to get to it before he gets any farther away. Doak, I’ll let you give the boys their directions.”

Cade stepped down and held out his hand to Rusty, who found herself offering her own before
she realized that she was following his orders too. “But—” she started.

“No!” Cade said under his breath, and shook his head.

After a brief moment of surprise Doak cleared his throat and began assigning sections of land for each group to cover. “If you find him, fire two shots, wait, and fire two more. If there is a problem, fire rapidly in bursts. The truck will get as close to you as possible. Understood?”

The men nodded, glanced back at Rusty, and began to disperse. Rusty, unable to hold her tongue any longer, turned to Cade.

“How dare you make decisions around here! You have no right. No right to stop me either, McCall!”

Cade sat down and started the engine on the Jeep. “Sit down, Willadean.”

“Don’t call me that! And I won’t sit if I don’t want to.”

“Suit yourself.” He put the Jeep in gear and gave it gas, biting back the ripple of a smile in the corners of his mouth when Rusty fell back with a jolt. “Why don’t you have two-way radios, at least for Doak and yourself?”

“Because—because we don’t need them.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, we never have before. Where are we going?”

“To find your bull.”

“What makes you think you know where he is?”

Cade drove rapidly across the pasture and up the slope of the ridge that curved around the lower bottleneck of land through which her plane had dropped the night before. Rusty closed her eyes and winced as they passed the plane, its wing
digging in the ground, its tail wedged into the side of the hangar wall.

“I don’t know where he is, but I thought we’d find the highest spot around and wait.”

“I can’t sit here and wait while my men look.”