Texas Passion (4 page)

“Yeah, well,
women are known for not doing what their told.” Her brother’s heavy footfalls
sounded behind her on the way into the barn. “Because everyone in the household
knows you snuck out last night.”

Not caring
what anyone thought of her spending the night with Trent, she guided her horse
into the first stall. “And not a one of them will say a word.”

“Want a bet?”
Joel walked to the barrel at the end of the stall and removed the lid.

She scanned
his lean, whip-cord body as he scooped a few handfuls of feed into a bucket.
Not much taller than she, he looked almost like her twin with the same auburn
hair and green eyes. They also shared the same determined Irish attitude.

He’d unknowingly
helped her capture Trent’s attention. Through the years, he commented on what
he found attractive in women. How he liked them to wear silky clothing and
thought women should tell men exactly what they wanted. But her time at the
theatre had given Catherine a real education of pleasing a man. Joel, however,
didn’t know about her cleaning job or how she’d acquired the corset hidden
inside her saddlebag.

“Nothing to
bet on.” She rested a hip against the stall gate. “Dad and Mom both understand
what’s at stake here. They want me married and settled so they can move to the
city.”

Joel handed
her the bucket and waited until she dumped the feed into the trough before he
said, “Yes, but what happens if Trent decides not to marry you. Just because a
man is willing to accept,” he ran the toe of his boot through the hay scattered
across the dirt floor, “a woman’s favors, doesn’t mean he’ll sign up for a
lifetime commitment.”

“Trent’s not
like that.” He’d even tried to talk her out of making love last night. And he
didn’t know she had secured their future with a lease on her father’s land. Hell,
she didn’t want him to know. He had to want to marry
her
and not what
she could bring to their marriage. She placed the bucket outside the stall and
met the concern in her brother’s gaze. “He’s a man of honor.”

After staring
at her for a moment, he asked, “Then he’s asked you to marry him?”

Telling a
bold face lie stuck in Catherine’s craw. She wanted to bend the truth to ease
his mind but couldn’t. “Not in so many words. But when he comes over tonight, I
have no doubt he’ll offer marriage.”

“Then you
gave away the milk before securing a promise first.” He shook his head. “I hope
you’re right. Because no other man will marry you after he learns you slept
with Trent McCall. You’ll be shunned by every woman in town and the men will
only come around for one thing.” He turned and walked away.

Her horse
lifted its tail and dumped a load of manure. The pungent scent tickled her
nose. She laughed and patted her horse’s rear. “You’re right, Gus. Joel is full
of shit. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Trent won’t marry me. Not
with everything I have to offer. Not after last night.”

****

The soft moan
of a calf drew Trent’s attention from his thoughts. He stared at the cattle
feeding in the pasture and automatically calculated the number in his
head—twenty.

Was that all
the cattle Pat Turnberry had left?

More than a
hundred had accompanied his family’s herd on the drive to Abilene.

“He can’t
have many more, not with the small size of his spread,” he muttered and
fingered the check in his breast pocket. The meeting he’d set up today with Mr.
Turnberry before leaving for Kansas with his herd now had a more important
purpose.

His father
assured him a union with Catherine would serve him well. Why? What did Mr.
Turnberry have planned? A dowry of money? Or property?

Trent shook
his head. Did he really need either?

Beautiful and
sexy, Catherine tempted him in a way few women could—innocent and naïve one
moment, hungry and wild with passion the next. He tightened his hands on the
reins and recalled the silky softness of her skin, the musky scent of her sex,
and the creamy sweetness of cunt. God, he wanted to slide into her tight pussy
again.

And he would
have if she hadn’t snuck out on him this morning.

He stood in
the stirrup to ease the tight pressure in his balls and studied the homestead
in the distance. The scrub oaks on the western and northern side of the house
would help hold back the wind. Good planning for those cold, bitter mornings—the
walk to the barn and corral wouldn’t cut so deep. Chipped paint spotted the
fence that sectioned off a small yard in front. Both the two-story house and
the fence needed a new coat of paint.

Trent drew
closer and noticed Mr. Turnberry sitting in a rocker on the porch. He nodded
his greeting and led his horse to the hitching post by the front gate. After
swinging out of his saddle, he wrapped the reins around the metal ring.

Mr. Turnberry
shifted forward in the rocker and worked his legs under his round body before
lifting himself to his feet. He laid a hand on his back and stretched. His
stiff movement and sparse gray hair pointed out the man’s age. A rancher for
years, he’d not taken a wife or had a family until after he turned forty.

“Evening,
Trent. Just about to head out to the barn to check on a mare.” He strolled down
the stone path leading to the front gate. “Care to join me?”

The question
didn’t sound like a request.

“Sure, I
brought your check, minus the fee for driving your cattle to market.” Trent
passed through the gate, pulled out the slip of paper, and handed it to Mr.
Turnberry. “Should be enough to get you through a few more years.”

Mr. Turnberry’s
eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the amount of the check before slipping it
into his pocket. A worried frown marred the old man’s brow as he turned and
strolled toward the barn. “That’s part of what I want to talk to you about,
boy.”

Trent fell
into step beside him. “And you also want to know if I plan on marrying your
daughter.”

The man stopped,
and light green eyes, so different from his daughter’s emerald ones, sank into
Trent’s. The knowledge of what had happened in his hunting cabin the night
before was there.

Trent opened
his mouth to reassure Mr. Turnberry of his intentions, but the old man raised a
hand and continued across the rough ground to the barn. Trent didn’t budge. He
couldn’t read the man. Was he angry? Disappointed? Or ready for a shotgun
wedding?

Trent
straightened his shoulders. What every happened, they’d hash it out.

The cooler
temperature of the barn greeted Trent when he crossed the threshold and glanced
around for Mr. Turnberry.

“I’m down
here, boy. I’ll be out in a minute.” The voice rang from the other end of the
barn.

Trent
strolled past several stalls and stopped at a small pen near the back wall. A
dark brown mare stood in the center of the enclosure. Fresh straw scattered
across the floor. Mr. Turnberry stroked the horse’s round belly. He spoke
softly to the mare and slid his hand over the dark teats and squeezed a small
stream of milk from the end.

A spurt of
yellow liquid landed on the ground and then Mr. Turnberry straightened. A low
neigh rumbled from the mare, and she swung her head back over her shoulder.

“It’s okay,
girl. I’ll be here when the time comes.” Mr. Turnberry opened the door and
stepped out of the enclosure. He pointed to the mare. “How long do you think
she has?”

Trent glanced
again at the liquid on the ground and the dull black tip of the horse’s teats. “At
least another day or two.”

Mr. Turnberry
nodded, locked the gate leading into the pen, and turned. His gaze ran from one
end of the barn to the other. A slight frown wrinkled his worn face, and he
leaned back on the wooden post behind him. “I should have known better than to
marry a woman from the city.”

His father
had made the same mistake and had come out on the raw end of the deal when
Trent’s mother disappeared. Confused, and a little wary about what Mr.
Turnberry might say, Trent waited for the old wrangler to explain. What did
this have to do with him and Catherine? Was her father warning him she might
want to return to Boston?

Finally, the
man’s gaze met his, and the pain in the depths punched a hole through Trent’s
gut. He stiffened and held his tongue for the news to come.

“You, boy, won’t
have the same problem. Catherine loves this place.” Mr. Turnberry surveyed the
barn again. “She worked for the last four years and invested her money wisely
so she could lease the ranch from me.”

What?
Catherine couldn’t run a ranch by herself.

Again, Mr.
Turnberry’s gaze lit on him. “You’re getting a good woman, boy.”

Trent
blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

A toothy grin
split the old man’s face. “Well, you’re here to ask for my daughter’s hand in
marriage, ain’t ya?”

“Yes, but…”
The vague conversation with his father about settling down suddenly became
clear. If Catherine held the lease on Turnberry’s ranch—hell every man in the
territory would be courting her. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t want
you to.” Turnberry strolled away from the stall and slapped Trent’s shoulder. “Catherine
planned for you two to be hitched before word leaked out about her mother and I
leaving town. But I thought you should know before you officially asked her.
The girl is rather determined when she sets her mind on something.” A small
chuckle bubbled in the old man’s throat, and he eased back. “And she’s got her
sights on you.”

Trent
blinked. “Yeah, but what about your son? Doesn’t Joel want to run the ranch?”

Turnberry
shook his head and pursed his lips. “No, he wants to go off and fight in the
war. The dad-burn idiot is just going to end up getting himself killed.”

The rough
tone of the old man’s voice spoke of both pride and concern. Deep wrinkles
scarred his face, and the strong width of his shoulders slumped with the weight
placed on them over the years. His hands trembled.

“And what are
you planning to do?” Trent couldn’t imagine the old wrangler being happy
anywhere else but at the ranch where he’d worked most of his life.

Turnberry
groaned. “If I’m lucky, I’ll get to smoke a few cigars while I escort my wife
around town.” He stepped forward. “Mary Ellen always wanted to live near a big
city so we’re looking at buying a house somewhere near Ft. Worth.” He strolled
to the barn door, grumbling on the way, “Guess she deserves it after putting up
with this place for so many years.”

Trent
marveled at Turnberry’s sacrifice for his wife and laid his hand on the old man’s
shoulder to draw him to a halt. “And you don’t have any problem with me
marrying Catherine and running the place?”

A wicked grin
settled over the man’s face, and he rubbed his hand along his neck. “No, you
won’t have any problem with the ranch.” He eased back his shoulders as if to
release some built up tension. “But Catherine isn’t an easy woman. Loyal and
faithful to a fault, she’ll raise holy hell if she makes up her mind she wants
something and doesn’t get it.”

“And she
thinks she wants me?” Trent struggled to understand why.

“Has since
she was fourteen.”

Shock rippled
through Trent. “What?”

“Said you
were the only man in the territory worth marrying.” Mr. Turnberry glanced at
the sun sinking lower on the horizon. “That’s part of the reason we sent her to
Boston. But it didn’t help. She just became more determined as the years
passed.”

Trent tugged
off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “But what if I’d married
someone else while she was away?”

“Never seemed
to bother her.” The old man wandered toward the house. “I guess we better get
inside before Catherine decides to come looking for us.”

Trent, struggling
with what he’d just learned, didn’t register the trip to the front door until
he stepped over the threshold.

“Welcome,
Trent. We’re so glad you could come by for an after-dinner drink this evening.”
Mrs. Turnberry’s skirt swished softly around her, and the noise drew Trent’s
focus back to the present.

He cupped his
hand around his hat, slid it from his head, and nodded at Catherine’s mother.
Decked out in her finest dress, she wore a cameo necklace and had her dark,
brown hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her neck. Her dark eyes and thin
lips didn’t resemble Catherine’s. He scanned her face for similarity and
recognized the straight line of her nose and the round shape of her face. “Thank
you, Madam. It’s a pleasure to be invited into your home.”

She took his
hat and placed it on the entry table then led him into the parlor. “Pat will
probably have bourbon. What would you like?”

“I…”

An elegantly
dressed woman stood on the other side of the room. The rich fabric of her blue
satin gown spoke of a refined city woman, but the demure curves matched
Catherine’s. Pleasure, quickly followed by doubt, sped through his thoughts. He
wanted a woman who could charm his guests and looked elegant, but she also had
to work hard and enjoy the rough lifestyle of ranching. Could Catherine be that
woman?