Lorraine Heath (7 page)

Rebecca climbed into bed, drawing the covers up over her. Then she threw them off and clambered out of bed. She marched across the tiny room until she was standing in front of Jake, hands on her hips.

“What do you mean by ‘Good night. Have sweet dreams’? For months now, I’ve been lying on the hard ground, my pallet beside yours, resting my head on your shoulder with your arm around me. Every night I’ve thought how nice it’d be when we could sleep in a soft bed again and now you’re telling me ‘Good night’ like you’re not planning on sharing that soft bed with me! Get yourself up off that sofa and get into that bed now!”

He stood up, giving her a big lopsided grin. “I just wanted to make sure that’s where you wanted me.” He touched her cheek. “You looked scared as hell when I closed that door behind us. I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me, Reb. I’d never hurt you, and I’d never do anything you didn’t want.”

“Then come to bed and hold me so I can get some sleep.”

She climbed into bed, and lay on her back with her eyes squeezed shut while he undressed. Then she felt the bed dip under his weight. She scooted over, placing her head on his shoulder while his arm came around her.

“This is as nice as I remembered it,” she said.

“I didn’t know you liked this.”

“Actually, Jake, there’s not a lot about you that I don’t like.”

“What is something you don’t like?” She drew her brows together in thought. “Well … do you promise not to get your feelings hurt if I tell you?” “I promise.”

“Well, then. I thought you should have given Carrie a great big hug and a kiss smack dab on the lips.”

Jake laughed. “She was something else, wasn’t she? Do you think she’s always like that?”

“Probably. I bet her husband is quiet.”

“Makes sense. You got a quiet husband. I have a loud wife.”

“I am not loud!”

“Shh. The men will hear you.”

“What are you going to have them do next?”

“Since we’ll have help with our barn, I’m going to have them start on the bunkhouse. The weather seems pretty mild here, but you never can tell, and I don’t want them shacking up with us if it gets cold.”

Rebecca snuggled against him.

“What was that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Be still,” he ordered. “Did you hear something?”

“No, thought I felt something. Was it the baby?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He rolled her over onto her back and came up on an elbow. They had slept in all their clothes every night, and since their first night Jake hadn’t been able to feel Reb’s body, let alone the tiny movements within her. He moved the covers off, gazing down at her.

“Oh, Jake, don’t look at it.”

“Why not? It’s beautiful. Can I put my hand on your stomach?” She nodded.

He placed his hand lightly on her stomach and waited. Through her cotton gown, he felt the baby kick. And waited.

“Will he move again?” he asked.

She heard the disappointment in his voice and wished she had the power to make the baby move. “I don’t know. He doesn’t move very often.” She took his hand and moved it to her left side. “He seems to like this side.” She placed her hand over his and pressed it against her side. And they waited.

And waited.

Then Jake felt the slightest tremor beneath his palm.

“Lord, how long has he been doing this?”

Rebecca smiled, surprised by the joy she felt at being able to share this moment with him. “About three weeks. At first I didn’t know what it was.”

“Does it hurt when he moves?”

“No. Actually, it’s the one part about being pregnant that makes me think all the rest is worth it.”

“What’s it feel like … inside, when he moves?”

She glanced down at her stomach. How could she explain it? It was really like nothing she had ever felt before.

“Have you ever cupped your hands around a butterfly?” she asked.

Jake nodded.

“That’s what it feels like.”

His hand roamed over her stomach. “I hope we meet the doctor tomorrow night.”

“You could deliver the baby.”

“If you were a horse.” “It’s the same principle.”

His eyes came back to hers. “If I have to, I will. But I’d prefer to have someone here who knows exactly what he’s doing.”

He lay back down, drawing her up against his side. She was too precious, too important to risk losing.

Slowly, Rebecca opened her eyes as the sunlight filtered in through the towels hung in the windows.

“Put the woman in a soft bed and she sleeps the day away,” Jake teased.

“I don’t see you up and about.”

Oh, he was up, and when she unconsciously moved her leg up his thigh, he rolled out of bed and into his pants.

“Thought we’d take a ride over the land today,” he said to her over his shoulder.

“I’d love to, but what would I wear?” She splayed her fingers on her stomach. “I can’t get into my pants or my split skirts anymore, and I don’t ride sidesaddle.”

“Find your split skirt while I saddle our horses.”

He walked out before she could protest. A few minutes later, he returned with biscuits and grits. Then he took a knife and her skirt and ripped open the front seam. He poked two holes in her now open waistband and drew a thin rope through them. Rebecca watched with interest while she downed the breakfast. He held up his creation.

“That ought to do it.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “I’ll be poking out!”

“Exactly. You can wear one of my shirts over it and no one will be able to tell.”

She chewed the last of her biscuit, contemplating the idea. Then licking her fingers, she scrambled out of the bed and took the skirt from him, brushing him away to the other side of the quilt.

A few minutes later she came out from behind the quilt looking like a little girl with her hair braided and her face freshly scrubbed. She placed a hand on her tiny mound.

“Won’t you be embarrassed to have me beside you?” she asked.

His eyes were warm as he shook his head. Smiling, she shrugged. “All right. I’m ready if you are.”

She longed to break her horse into a run but understood the foolishness of the idea. They guided their horses around the outskirts of the ranch, now and then coming across the remains of an abandoned campfire.

“I think you’ve got people using your land,” she said as they stopped beside a site that showed evidence of recent habitation.

“Our land,” he corrected her. “And I’m sure of it. Until recently, most of Texas was open land. A lot of it still is. Many small ranchers own only the cattle. They use whatever land or water is available without worrying about who owns it.” He surveyed the land stretching out for miles before them. Then his gaze turned to her. “Partner, what do you think of fencing?”

Rebecca’s eyes held his honestly. “I don’t like what the barbed wire does to the cattle that are stupid enough to run into it. But I believe it’s the only way a man can effectively protect what’s his. I believe one day every ranch in this country will be fenced off.”

Jake nodded. “Several of the larger ranchers have already begun fencing in their land. I want to breed your Herefords—”

“Our Herefords,” she interjected with a pointed look.

Jake smiled. “Our Herefords. I want to breed them with the longhorns that are being raised here now. If I don’t fence in the land, I can’t control the breeding, and instead of getting better stock, we’ll end up with something nobody wants.”

“A lot of people are against closing off the ranges, Jake. It won’t make us popular people. It might bring a lot of anger our way.”

“I’ve considered that. In some parts of the state there’ve been outright wars fought. The Rangers are supposed to back the cattlemen who own the land, but out here, we have to be able to depend on ourselves. Whatever trouble comes is ours to handle. I won’t put up the fence if you’re against it.”

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about Texas.”

He grinned. “I know about the state. I just didn’t know about our land. I was worried sick when we passed through that stretch of tall pines that our land was going to be sitting in the middle of it. But it’s not. It’s wide and it’s open. Our cattle can roam it and so can anyone else’s. We’ll need more hands to keep the cattle from wandering. Come spring roundup or fall sorting time, we’ll have to invest a lot of time separating our cattle out from the others. In the long run, I think the fences will save us trouble. But in the beginning, it’s likely to bring it. We just have to decide if we want to sit in the present or step into the future.”

She lifted her face to the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun filtering down to her and she laughed, sending her voice out around her. Then she eyed Jake.

“A cowboy poet is what you are, Jake Burnett. When you want something, you ask for it with the prettiest words I have ever heard. Put up your fence, and I’ll shoot anyone who tries to take it down.”

Leaning over, he took her fingers and brought them to his lips. He couldn’t have chosen a better partner.

R
EBECCA WAS BEGINNING
to wonder if the six men sitting in the back of the creaking wagon had ever been to a dance before. They were cackling like a bunch of chickens going after the solitary rooster in the henhouse, and the thick fog created by the sweet-smelling water they had doused themselves with was making her nauseous. Jake pulled the wagon up beside one of a half-dozen others and helped Rebecca down. The men took off in search of easy prey. They had been too long on the trail. She pitied any woman, young or old, who happened to be there tonight—she would be danced to death.

As soon as she and Jake entered the barn, she found herself pressed against a soft bosom. Carrie could strike from anywhere. Her roundness muffled the sound of her approach, but her voice gave her away.

“I was beginning to think y’all wouldn’t come!” She turned to Jake. “Now don’t you be shy with me tonight, boy! I expect at least one dance.”

Jake nodded and smiled. For all her bossing, he liked Carrie. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carrie held up a finger. “Now you two wait right here.”

Rebecca laughed as she watched Carrie tromp off, hands set into loose fists, arms swinging. The band began to strike up a tune and she stopped them. Couples had already started to dance, but Carrie couldn’t have cared less.

“My family—get yourselves to the front of the barn right now!”

She gave the band of odd players a curt nod and the men once again began playing. A host of people started gathering beside Jake and Rebecca as Carrie bounced back over.

“Line up!” she ordered.

“Oh, Ma!” A dark-haired young man looked imploringly at the rotund woman. “Somebody’s asking Mary to dance.”

“As long as you get the last dance, it don’t matter. Now get in line or I’ll swat that hide of yours.”

Begrudgingly, he stepped back. Standing a good head taller than the first young man, he took his place as the second in the stair-step line that consisted of an assortment of boys and one girl.

“Now, then. These are our new neighbors, Rebecca and Jake Burnett, mister and missus to you unless they tell you otherwise. You are to make them feel welcome.”

She turned with evident pride on her face. “These are my children.” She stuck out a pudgy finger, going down the line, “Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Ruth, James, Ezekiel, Micah.”

“The books of the Bible?” Rebecca asked softly.

“That’s right.” She reached around behind her, pulling forward a short dark-haired man. “And this here is my man Michael.”

To Jake, Michael Reading held out a weathered hand that matched his weathered face. But set within the creases created by sun and wind were the kindest pair of blue eyes Rebecca had ever seen. They twinkled like the stars overhead and when he nodded at Jake they gleamed in welcome.

Jake firmly shook his hand. “We appreciate your inviting us.”

Michael nodded and smiled before releasing Jake’s hand.

“He can’t talk,” Carrie explained. “Got wounded during the War Between the States, shot in the throat. So I talk for both of us, don’t I, darling?”

Michael rolled his eyes, and Rebecca knew the man might not talk but he could communicate.

Carrie nudged her arm. “See what I mean about the quiet
ones? And I enjoyed making every one of them.” “Oh, Ma!” Ruth wailed. “Can we go now? Please!” “Go on, get out of here.”

In less than a second, the only thing visible where the children had been was a cloud of dust settling back to the ground.

Carrie and Michael walked off when the band started up another tune. Rebecca stood tapping her foot, waiting for Jake to ask her to dance. He didn’t get the chance.

A man with startling green eyes and blond hair introduced himself with confidence. As a young girl Rebecca had envisioned the gods of Greek mythology looking very much as he did. His name was William Long, and he said he was a cattle baron. When he asked Jake’s permission to escort his wife out onto the dance floor, Jake could do no more than nod and step back. He couldn’t help thinking William Long was the kind of man Rebecca Anderson should have married.

Feeling out of place, Jake wandered outside. The sounds of banjos, fiddles, and guitars filtered into the darkness of the night. He stood watching the horses prance around each other, his elbows resting on the wooden corral. Jake rubbed the uneven bridge of his nose, knowing if he smiled, it would be an uneven smile that matched his uneven skin. He would never be polished, he would never be flawless, and if he were ever in a position to call himself a cattle baron, he would still look like an old cowhand.

It wasn’t long before he felt Rebecca come stand beside him. He didn’t turn to face her. He hated himself for being jealous, and he didn’t want her to see what he was feeling.

“Looks like they got some good horses. We might consider breeding ours with theirs,” he said, his eyes never leaving the animals playing before him.

She set her arms on the top rail of the fence, gazing out. “The last dance we had, it took you most of the night to gather up the courage to ask me to dance.” She looked at his profile. “Will it take you that long tonight?” she asked softly.