Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (27 page)

He drew a bolstering breath. "Just a minute."

He pulled a work shirt over his head and tucked the tail into his jeans, then slammed the trunk's lid to hide the disorderly pile of clothes and tossed the soiled towel under his bed. Combing his hair into place with his fingers, he finally opened the door.

Smiling wryly, Fancy offered him a glass. "I would have brought lemonade, but you looked like you could use something sweeter."

He accepted the iced tea and returned her smile weakly. "Are you calling me a sourpuss?"

"Well..." She arched a black eyebrow. "I've never known you to stomp or swear without reason."

He sighed, hanging his head for a moment. His seventeenth year had been one hell of an initiation into manhood. First Uncle Seth's death, leaving him to shoulder the responsibility of the ranch while Cord was off chasing outlaws; then he and Aunt Lally had been kidnapped by one of Cord's enemies. Despite the ill feelings Zack had had for Fancy at the time, she'd risked her life to rescue him and Aunt Lally, and he'd forged a deep, abiding friendship with her after that. Fancy was just about the smartest, most resourceful person he knew. And just then he wasn't feeling very smart or resourceful.

"Come in," he said quietly, stepping aside.

Out of respect for the conventions, he left the door wide open, although he knew Fancy was amused by such proprieties. Fortunately Cord trusted him with his wife, because Fancy didn't hesitate to take the only seat in the room: the bed.

"What's wrong, Zack? Is it Bailey?"

He winced. Was it that obvious?

"Yeah," he said, and gulped down some iced tea. Knowing Fancy wouldn't judge him wouldn't make his confession any easier. He'd rather walk naked through a hail of gunfire than discuss the mess he'd gotten himself into.

"What did she do this time?" Fancy sounded amused. Despite their nearly twelve-year age difference, Bailey was one of the few females in Bandera County whom Fancy had taken an instant liking to. And Bailey, in her forthright manner, had accepted Fancy as an equal, acknowledging her for the person she'd become rather than holding Fancy's outlaw past against her.

"It's not so much what Bailey did," Zack answered, setting the empty glass in his shaving basin. "But, rather, what I did. To her," he added bleakly.

Fancy's violet gaze remained steady, uncondemning, but he felt his face heat anyway. Gritting his teeth, he began to pace.

"We started drinking moonshine. And then the rain came, so we ran outside. We were both pretty roostered by then. She started dancing and shouting, and when she fell into the spring, I had to carry her up to her bedroom so she could dry off...."

His steps faltered before his boots, and he stared miserably at his belt buckle, glinting in a shaft of morning light like a glaring reminder of the night's misdeeds.

"God, Fancy," he groaned, "I don't know what came over me."

"The moonshine, most likely."

He shook his head. The alcohol had been only partly to blame. As much as he would have liked to deny it, he'd been itching to get his hands and mouth on Bailey and ride her sleek little body for the better part of... what? A year?

Maybe it wasn't just a matter of misunderstanding her confession when she'd confided she'd always wanted him to be "the one." Maybe deep down inside he hadn't wanted to understand.

When that revelation struck, he groaned, digging his fingers into his hair.

"She was an innocent," he blurted out, starting to pace again.

"What?" Fancy's eyes grew rounder than full moons. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Do you mean to tell me she let you bed her without one single protest about her reputation?" Fancy's brow furrowed. "I'm no expert, but I wouldn't say that sounds like virginal behavior."

"Well, maybe she didn't know any better," Zack said, then grimaced. He didn't know why he felt the need to defend Bailey after she'd clawed off his shirt and jeans like a wildcat in heat. Of course she'd known better, dammit. Nick Rotterdam had already harmed her reputation, so she'd probably figured she had nothing to lose by throwing away her virginity. She'd gone after exactly what she'd wanted: sex, not him.

For some reason, that was the hardest pill to swallow in the remedy she'd forced him to take.

"So now what?" Fancy asked quietly.

He shrugged in exasperation. "Who knows? I proposed, of course, but she turned me down flat. Absolutely refused to let me take her to a preacher." Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep the hurt from his voice. "Why do you think she'd do that, Fancy? I mean, I offered to make her respectable. Isn't that what women want?"

Her gaze was sympathetic. "Most women," she said. "But Bailey's not like most women, as far as I can tell."

"That's for damned sure," he muttered. "She told me in no uncertain terms: 'If I'm pregnant, I'll take care of it.' "

Fancy caught her breath, and he spun to face her.

"What?" he demanded, unsettled to see her face grow so pale. He hadn't seen Fancy looking this anxious since last year, when she'd received Rorie's letter announcing Wes was in dire danger and begging Cord to ride to Elodea to save Wes's ornery hide. "What are you thinking?"

She plucked nervously at her calico skirt. "What else did she say? Anything?"

"Well..." He frowned, trying to remember more of the words that had fueled his rage and confusion. "She said she wouldn't know if there was a child for at least three weeks. If there was one, she assured me I wouldn't be troubled by it. Can you believe that? Can you believe she's so stubborn, she would rather raise a baby on her own than hitch herself to me?"

Fancy bit her lip.

"There is one other possibility," she ventured to add, her gaze avoiding his. "She, er, may not be planning on raising any baby by herself."

Zack's jaw hardened. "You mean you think she'll put the baby in an orphanage?" The very idea made his bile rise. "Or marry someone else, like McTavish?" His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Er... maybe." Fancy cleared her throat. "Actually, I was thinking along the lines of a more permanent solution. Like... mistletoe tea. Or a drink made from the cotton plant."

A full second passed before the awful meaning of her words registered on Zack's brain. He choked, his heart slamming so hard into his ribs that for a moment he felt winded.

"No! She wouldn't. I mean, she
couldn't
! Not to our baby..."

But he remembered the dread on Bailey's face when Wes had offered to let her hold his child. He remembered how she'd backed away, as if the baby had cholera, and how she'd awkwardly blustered to divert Wes's and Rorie's surprise by claiming she knew nothing about bairns, just lambs and kids.

Dear God, was it true? Did Bailey hate children that much? No wonder she wasn't yet married...

A floorboard creaked, and Zack whirled to find his two brothers climbing the final attic stair.

"Couldn't help but overhear," Cord said tersely, stepping through the doorway. "What's this about a baby?"

Six inches taller than the Rawlins patriarch, Wes halted behind Cord as if to bar Zack's escape, his arms crossed and his features more somber than Zack could ever remember seeing them.

"Cord," Fancy interceded quickly, "were you looking for me?"

"No, darlin'." His pine-needle-green stare softened when it flickered to his wife. "Wes and I got to thinking something must be wrong, the way Zack blew in here like a black blizzard."

Zack stiffened, feeling as if the world were crashing down around him. He was having a hard enough time holding up his head under the onslaught, and the last thing he needed was a browbeating from his brothers.

Fancy rose to stand beside him, her dark head not quite reaching his shoulder. "There's no baby yet," she firmly told her husband. "Zack's worried because Bailey won't marry him, and he's leaping to the worst possible conclusion."

Cord swore softly.

Wes frowned, his emerald gaze more sympathetic than Cord's. "What the hell do you mean, she won't marry you? I never figured that woman to be dim-witted."

Zack wished he could acknowledge his kid brother's loyalty, but he felt too sick inside.

"She said I don't love her," he answered thickly.

"Is that true, son?"

Cord's tone was more gentle now that his worst fears had been alleviated, but Zack still couldn't meet the eyes of the brother who had been like a father to him.

Reflecting on Cord's question, he fidgeted, remembering how he'd nearly broken his back to bury Boo because he thought it would save Bailey some suffering. He remembered how his world had gone cold and black when he thought she'd broken her neck in the stream. He remembered holding her, loving her, drowning in the indigo depths of her eyes.

But he remembered, too, how she twisted everything he did and said; how they couldn't seem to spend ten minutes together without fighting like cats and dogs. Worst of all, he remembered how she'd used him and sent him away, offering him breakfast like a whore's payment.

He swallowed hard.

"It's true," he answered harshly. "I don't love her."

Wes and Cord exchanged uneasy looks.

"Well, maybe it's for the best, then," Wes said uncertainly. "Her not marrying you, I mean."

Cord nodded slowly, as if he weren't quite sure of his own feelings on the subject. "You did the right thing by her. If she won't marry you, there's nothing you can do about it. I'd hate to see you get hitched to a woman you resented, since marriage is a lifelong deal. As for the baby, I reckon we'll just have to wait and see, and pray for the best if there is one."

If there is one.
Zack flinched. Losing his election suddenly didn't seem important when compared with losing his flesh-and-blood child.

Turning away from Fancy, he picked up his boots and hastened to finish dressing.

"I reckon we'll see you at lunch, eh, Zack?" Cord said, making a concerted effort to lighten his tone. He extended his arm to his wife. "I left the baby in Merrilee's care, 'cause I figured Megan would try to dress her little sister up like a doll."

Fancy chuckled, joining her husband. "Well, I suppose that's better than the boys trying to tie her up to play cowboys and Indians."

Wes stepped aside, letting the couple move past him and descend the stairs.

"Zack?"

"Yeah."

Zack was busy with his belt and his thoughts as Wes lingered on the doorstep.

"I just want you to know, whatever you decide, I'll stand behind you."

Zack glanced up sharply, meeting his kid brother's worried gaze. Wes had always been partial to ladies and their defense. It was kind of nice, knowing Wes was on his side for a change.

Zack smiled mirthlessly. "Thanks."

Wes nodded a terse goodbye and followed his eldest brother down the stairs.

Zack hardened his jaw. Throwing back the lid of his trunk, he dug out a tattered old Bible. It was the only memento he had left of his mama, who had been murdered, along with his pa, during a stagecoach robbery when Zack had been four years old.

He tucked the good book under his arm and strode purposefully down the stairs.

Come hell or high water, Bailey McShane was not going to harm his baby.

Chapter 11

Thank God a rancher always had a new set of problems to worry about.

That's what Bailey told herself early that afternoon, when the Coles' cougar-hunting party discovered one of her line shacks had been torched and more of her fences had been vandalized sometime before or during the storm.

Snorting, Sassy stomped beneath her, and Bailey winced, forcing a brittle smile as she remembered the wild ride she and Zack had had the night before. The palomino was impatient for a run, but Bailey kept a tight rein, her thighs too tender for a gallop.

Of course, she would rather have cut out her tongue and fed it to One Toe himself than admit such a thing to the five sheepherders who had accompanied her to the site of the sabotage. Now the men were hotly debating whether to delay their hunt long enough to track down the cowpoking bastards who'd all but declared war.