The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (24 page)

“You all right?” Tyler questioned. As she glanced in
his direction, she saw his concern and
a fierceness
in
his eyes. “Maybe she
shouldn’ta
come here. Maybe you
should tell her to leave.”

She shook her head. “This is her home, too. I’d never
ask her to leave.”

“But she—”

“We have our differences, our disagreements. Siblings
do that from time to time.” She went back to wiping down the saddle with
linseed oil. “I imagine your father and your uncle don’t always get along.” Still,
it was nice to have someone on her side, even if it was unnecessary.

He shrugged his slender shoulders. “Reckon that’s
true, but I don’t hardly ever recall them arguing. Pa just got upset with
Grampa
.”

He sighed and hugged the skunk. “Pa didn’t like her
sniping at you.” Wise eyes had picked up more. “He didn’t like your sniping at
her either.”

She looked at the saddle not wanting Tyler to see the
heat that had crept up her cheeks. Morgan hadn’t liked the undercurrents at the
table. He’d squeezed her knee in a warning to mind what she said, in a warning
to behave. The look in his eyes had been full with a promise of something
unpleasant if she didn’t stop picking at her sister. But she’d also sensed that
he didn’t approve of Brandy making her feel bad. He didn’t understand what was
going on between them, but maybe he did some of it. She’d heard him get jealous
of Ace. And then when he’d learned that both of them had feelings about Ace…
Well, he had gotten testy.

So had she. She’d seen him looking at Brandy, her
always perfectly dressed, always pretty sister. Whenever she was around Brandy,
she felt…less than perfect. And she’d remembered him talking to Taos about
marrying Brandy instead of her. Not that she wanted to marry him. Yet that
memory and the way he looked at Brandy…

Not wanting to think about that any more, she forced
down her hurt feelings and changed the subject. “Do you want to go fishing?
There’s a really nice spot along the river not too far from here.” She hadn’t
been fishing in a couple of years but she’d always liked it. And she was of the
mood to put some distance between her and Brandy…and Morgan.

His eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, setting the
skunk down. “Uncle Chase used to take me fishing a lot. We liked to get away
from
Grampa
.”

He glanced at his feet as if he’d said something bad.
“Sometimes he could be
kinda
mean
.
It was best to steer well out of his way when he got like that.”

Morgan had just walked into the doorway and his shadow
stretched partly into the center of the barn. Both of them looked his way. She
sensed that he’d heard Tyler’s comment about his father. His jaw was tight; his
hands fisted at his sides. He hadn’t liked what he’d heard, but he shouldn’t,
she thought.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of just the two of you
going off alone right now,” he said, and she knew he was worried.
About Rafe?

“You could come with us,” she offered,
then
wanted to take the words back. What had she been
thinking? Hadn’t she’d just decided to put distance between them?

“It doesn’t seem right for me to go off playing
somewhere when the men are out fixing fences. There’re plenty of other chores
to be done as well.” He watched his son, who appeared both hopeful and resigned
to be disappointed.

Whiskey gathered up her rag and oil and headed for the
tack room. “There are
always
chores
to be done. But Tyler and I’ll go either way.”

“I don’t think you should—”

“We. Are. Going.” She faced him, noted the irritation
flashing in his expression at her defiance. She’d probably pay for it later,
but right now doing something with the far too sad little boy mattered more.

She focused on Tyler, forced a smile. “There are some
fishing poles out in the woodshed. Go grab us a couple. I’ll get a pail from
the tack room and a shovel for digging up worms.”

Tyler took a final look at his scowling father and
raced out of the barn, making sure he stayed well away from Morgan as he ran by
him.

A flock of butterflies fluttered in her stomach but
she refused to back down. “He needs this, Morgan. He needs you, too, but I can
see that you aren’t coming with us.”

“Like I said, there’s chores to be done.” He continued
to frown in disapproval, but she could see in his eyes that he wanted to go
with them. He just felt a duty to work with his men.

“Like I said, there are
always
chores to be done.” It disappointed her that he didn’t feel
a stronger duty to be with his son. Then men would get the fence work done with
or without him.

“God, you’re a stubborn woman.” His nostrils flared.

“You’re a hardheaded man, too, Marshal Rydell.” She
held his gaze, deciding to get to the real problem, although she should
probably stay out of the matter. “Being a father scares you, doesn’t it?”

He blinked in clear surprise, and then avoided her
gaze. “Haven’t had much practice at it is all.”

She snorted. “And whose fault is that?”

“You don’t know anything about me, not really,” he
said bitterly. “You would never understand why I did what I did. So leave it
alone.”

She flinched at the anger in his tone. But she refused
to back down now. “All right, I won’t go into the past. Your mistakes are
your
mistakes.” Ignoring the grinding of
his jaw, she added, “You’re going to get lots of practice now.”

He looked like a man with the weight of the world on
his shoulders.
 
As he started to
turn toward the doorway, he said firmly, “You don’t go far, and you take a shotgun
with you. You can shoot. I already know that. Taos taught you.”

She stood stiffly for a second. He
was
worried about their safety. Maybe
they shouldn’t go. No! They would be fine, and he was right. She could shoot
almost as well as her brothers. She would never let harm come to Tyler. Never.

* * *

They’d been gone too long. The sun was dropping in the
sky, hours yet from sunset, but getting late enough. Morgan had kept busy doing
this and that around the barn after Whiskey and Tyler first rode off. Then he’d
done some repairs on a couple of the rails around the corral. He’d even taken a
few minutes to check on her mule and the blasted camel that had tried to steal
his hat. He’d considered more than once riding to the river to find them, but
he’d resisted.
Until now.

They’d been gone too damn long.

He paced across the back porch where he’d finally
decided to enjoy some shade and drink a glass of lemonade that Brandy had given
him. He stopped at the far end and looked off toward the river. He couldn’t see
a lot from here, but he knew it was the direction she and Tyler had gone.

Nearly crushing the glass in his tightened hand, he
grumbled, “I’m not ever letting the two of them go off like this again. Not
ever.”

From where she sat in a rocking chair at the other end
of the porch, Brandy gave a quiet laugh. “I wish you luck with that. But we
both know Whiskey
will
go off
on her own
again. Or take Tyler with her. She is quite
independent.”

“Hell of an understatement.” He frowned at her in
annoyance. It was still unnerving to see a woman who looked so much like his
Whiskey and yet was so different. What they did seem to have in common was an
independent nature and a look of mischief that came to their green eyes so
easily.
Like now.
Brandy sat there doing some fancy
needlework and appeared amused.

“My advice would be that if you can’t accept her ways,
love her in spite of them, that you not marry her.” She sounded defensive and
the look she gave him was serious.

“We
are
getting married.” He met her eyes in challenge; saw her thread a needle back
and forth through a piece of cloth. Her stitches were tiny, expertly done. He
couldn’t imagine Whiskey ever being able to do that. But he had seen her stitch
up a cut on one of the horses’ legs. Truthfully, he found that skill a lot more
useful than stitching something fancy.

“So you say.” She held his gaze. “Can you truly live
with butting heads with her the rest of your life? Because it will happen, a
lot.”

She narrowed her eyes and asked pointedly, “Do you
love my sister? Or do you just want all of this ranch badly enough to take her
for wife to get her share of it?”

He avoided answering the “love” question, but he was
pretty sure he did love Whiskey. She aggravated him at times, but he couldn’t
imagine his life without her in it. “I can deal with her.”

Brandy raised one eyebrow in a knowing manner.
Evidently she understood without him actually having to say that he’d burn
Whiskey’s butt when she got too defiant or when she sassed him too much. What
he couldn’t deal with was worrying so much he appeared a damn fool for pacing
around like this. But he couldn’t stop worrying that Rafe could pop up any
moment and take her from him. Or take his son. Or take them both.

“I shouldn’t have let them go off like this. I’m going
after…”

He stopped talking as they both noted a dust plume
drifting up down the road. He squinted into the lowering sun and breathed
fully, freely for the first time since they’d ridden out of his sight. Whiskey
and Tyler were riding side by side at a casual trot, as if they didn’t have a
care in the world.

“I guess we’re having fish for supper,” Brandy said as
she spotted the line of fish dangling down the side of Tyler’s horse. She set
her stitching down and joined Morgan to watch her sister and his son return.

* * *

Whiskey would never admit it to Tyler, but she was
relieved to be headed back to the house again. Almost from the minute they’d
ridden away from the main part of the ranch she’d felt uneasy. She hadn’t
spotted anyone as she she’d scanned the area as they’d gone to her favorite
place alongside the Arkansas River. It hadn’t mattered; she couldn’t stop
feeling like they were being watched.
 
She probably should have turned back at the first tickle of unease, but
Tyler’s bubbling enthusiasm for going fishing had stopped her. With effort, she’d
kept her discomfort hidden—she hoped—for the several hours she’d
allowed him to fish, allowed him to be a happy-go-lucky boy again. But she was
almost ecstatic to see the house once more.

As they rode closer, she started grinding her teeth.
Morgan was watching them from the back porch. Brandy stood right next to him.
Too damn close to him, with her hand resting on his arm casual as you damn
please. What was that about? Had they gotten all chummy while she and Tyler had
been gone?

Tyler’s excitement faded when he glanced over at her
and then looked to his father and Brandy. “
If’n
he
likes her better than you, he’s a dadblamed fool.”

“Don’t talk about your father that way,” she
corrected, stomach knotting. She hated feeling jealous, again. Every boy she’d
ever liked had been more interested in her sister than in her. Brandy was
always the pretty one, the one dressed like a delicate lady. Whiskey was always
the one with the dirty dress because she’d done something or other that she
shouldn’t have. Sometimes she’d worn her brother’s jeans. Her hair always—like
now—seemed to be straggling free from a braid…never swept up in perfect
curls like Brandy’s hair was now.

“She’s not eating any of my fish,” Tyler grumbled. He
sounded determined to make her know that he supported her however he could.

She couldn’t help loving the little imp, even if she
shouldn’t let him think poorly of Brandy. “She wouldn’t anyway. Brandy doesn’t
like fish.”

“Figures.”

The instant they were within a hundred feet of the
house Morgan called out, “It’s about damn time you two got back. I was getting
ready to go looking for you.”

“Now Morgan.” Brandy patted his arm. “They’re back
safely. That’s enough.”

He shrugged off her hand and went to walk down the
steps. As he strode closer he said, “There are evening chores to be done,
Tyler.”

Tyler flinched at the harshness in his tone, and then
raised his chin. “I got fish to clean for supper.”

“Chores.” Morgan moved next to Tyler’s horse and began
untying the string of catfish. “I’ll clean these.”

“There is no call for acting mean,” Whiskey snapped.
“Your son had a great time. He caught all of those fish himself. He was feeling
proud to bring them back and show you. Then you go and…” She closed her mouth
at the sharp look he gave her.

Morgan had seen the hurt expression in Tyler’s eyes
and knew he was responsible for it. He felt lower than a snake. But his pride
didn’t like been trampled on either. He didn’t like being upbraided by Whiskey
in front of his son and Brandy…even if he deserved it.

To everyone’s surprise, Brandy walked up and took the
string of fish. She looked pointedly from him to Whiskey to him again. “The two
of you need to talk, to settle things. Tyler and I will clean the fish and have
Manuel cook them up for supper. You and Whiskey can handle the chores.”