Never Love a Cowboy

For Carmel,
dearest friend and sister of my heart.
We shared the same dream.
When mine became reality,
you embraced my good fortune
and increased the joy of my achievement.
Know that when you eventually touch your dream—
and I truly believe you will—
that mine will at last be complete
.

August 1866

I
t was, beyond a doubt, the most beautiful
prison that he’d ever had the misfortune to occupy.

Harrison Bainbridge, second son to the Earl of Lambourne, allowed the pillow’s softness to envelop his head as he stared at the lilac canopy draped above him. During the day, a crystal chandelier captured tiny granules of sunlight, waltzing them across the walls. With the arrival of night, as now, the lit candles cast a pale glow that shimmered at the edge of the shadows.

A tiny figurine—a mother holding a child—graced the bedside table. He had never suspected that this particular woman possessed a fondness for lace and elegant adornments.

Not until he’d become a prisoner within her bed.

The wooden floor, polished to a sheen, reflected the furnishings throughout the room: a settee before the hearth, where once she may have kissed the man who betrayed her, a wardrobe that housed a green gown that he knew from experience was as silky as her skin.

With the whisper of the warm night wind, the white embroidered curtains billowed away from the window. Harrison tossed aside the sheet and allowed the breeze to caress his sweltering flesh as no woman had in months—as no woman ever would again.

Her faint fragrance—the tantalizing scent of lilies—wafted around him, offering comfort he did not know how to accept while bringing forth the demons that haunted him.

He had been a prisoner within her room for six weeks now, six interminable weeks filled with agony, regret, and time. Time to reflect upon what
had
been, upon what
might
have been. Six weeks to battle against accepting what
was
.

On the wall above her bureau she had hung a mirror, flowers intricately carved along its gilded edges. He caught a glimpse of his reflection—the horrifying sight of a crippled body that imprisoned him as much as this room.

Reaching out, he grabbed the figurine and hurled it with all his strength. It cracked the mirror, multiplying his reflection into a grotesque kaleidoscope of jagged shards of glass.

He heard the hurried footsteps echo along the hallway. She would be here soon, and though he prayed otherwise, he feared that as always with her arrival, his true misery would begin.

He closed his eyes, pretending for the barest of moments that he was as he had once been.

Remembering…remembering the fires of passion she had ignited within him. When he had been whole, strong, and healthy. When he had worn confidence
like a well-tailored cloak, and life had held the promise of dreams yet untouched.

When his obsessive ambitions had blinded him to the fact that he already possessed everything of importance….

Fortune, Texas
October 1865

H
aving been raised within the bowels of
hell, Harrison Bainbridge should have been inured to life’s disappointments.

It irritated the devil out of him that he was not.

With a jaundiced eye, he gazed around the interior of the dreary saloon. It in no way resembled the gentleman’s clubs he had frequented in London. But then nothing in this godforsaken town reminded him of England, and he readily welcomed the opportunity to leave.

Whether she realized it or not, the woman sitting across from him held the key to his salvation. Out of the corner of her mouth, Jessye Kane blew a quick burst of air, which sent into motion the radiant red curls that had escaped from her braid.

“Now don’t take this personal,” she said in a voice that reminded Harrison of wispy smoke curling over a log before the fire finally caught and consumed it.
“But I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you.”

Her words flayed his heart, but Harrison knew his face didn’t reflect the unexpected pain. As a lad, he’d drowned his emotions in a bottomless well, a maneuver that now gave him an edge when playing games of chance because no one—not even his trusted friends Christian Montgomery and Grayson Rhodes—could ever determine his exact thoughts.

“On the contrary,” he quipped, lifting his glass of whiskey in a silent salute. “I am indeed honored. You always struck me as a woman who was adept at throwing men great distances.”

He took no pleasure in the blush that flamed her cheeks, obliterating the smattering of freckles. But self-preservation was a vicious tutor, and he had learned the lessons well.

She darted a glance at Christian Montgomery, who sat beside him, before she settled her unwavering gaze on Harrison. Her eyes were the green of spring, when the first buds began to emerge. Her chin came up a notch. He knew her well enough to recognize that slight gesture as an ominous warning.

She unfolded a sheet of paper. “I’m interested in taking part in this cattle venture you two are making noise about. I’m willing to fund the whole thing just like we discussed, but the partnership will be between me and Kit. We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty. I’ve written up an agreement that I’ll need signed before I hand over any money.”

Her unwillingness to accept him as a partner was yet another stroke of the lash, but his admiration for her shrewd business sense increased. It seemed
she
had also learned well the lessons of survival.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Kit began.

Harrison held up a hand to silence his friend. He steepled his fingers and pressed them against his bearded chin. “Is there a particular reason you feel this action is warranted?”

“Yep. From what I can tell, Kit has done all the planning and made all the arrangements. The hardest work I’ve
ever
seen you do is to take a long squint at the sun and a short squat in the shade.”

The lash cut more deeply.

“This is ludicrous,” Kit said. “Harry carries his share—”

“And the paper?” Harrison interrupted.

“Spells out everything so we’ve got no misunderstandings at the end of the drive as to who gets what.”

In the three months since Harrison had first met Jessye, they had developed a tentative friendship. She served drinks in her father’s saloon, on occasion played poker with Harrison, and always made it well known that she had no interest whatsoever in accompanying him to a bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Not that he blamed her. Until recently, he had worked in a field like a common laborer. As he had picked the cotton, the sun had beaten him unmercifully, his hands had bled, and his back had ached in agony. Perhaps she would have admired his efforts to a greater degree if he had complained.

He and Kit had agreed that a simpler way to make their fortunes was at hand. Cattle. The northern states were desperate for the beef denied them during the war. Unfortunately, taking the cattle to market re
quired time and money. Time was not the problem. Harrison possessed it in abundance.

The obstacle was money—or more accurately, its absence. For reasons Kit would not divulge, very little of his remained available. Harrison had gambled away the money he’d earned working the cotton fields. Yet despite his folly, he was now determined to succeed where his father deemed he would fail.

But to succeed, he needed capital, and Jessye had it. Not a great deal, but enough. Dreamin’ money, she called it.

He’d played poker with her often enough to know she wasn’t bluffing. She was their last hope for an investor, and well she knew it. He gave a curt nod. “Kit, sign the paper.”

“But it says that you’ll get nothing—”

“He’ll get a hundred dollars at the end of the drive just like the other men we hire,” Jessye said.

“Unacceptable,” Kit said. “He is a full partner—”

“The conditions are acceptable to me,” Harrison stated quietly. “Sign the paper.”

“I bloody well will not.”

“Sign the damn paper,” Harrison ground out.

His gaze riveted on Jessye, Harrison heard Kit scratch the pen across the parchment. She squirmed slightly in her chair. Good. A bit of unease would serve her well and lessen the sting to his pride.

Kit shoved the paper toward her. “There, although I will split
my
earnings evenly with Harry.”

“You can do whatever you want with your share,” she told him.

“Thank God. I feared you intended to issue another mandate.”

“Nothing else, other than to remind you that I’m going with you.”

“I would think that contract would cancel your need to shadow our moves,” Kit said tersely.

“My money’s not going where I can’t see it.”

Harrison gave a sharp tug on the red brocade vest beneath his black jacket. “I give you my word that your money will be safe—”

“Harry, you scoundrel, I wouldn’t trust your word if the good Lord carved it in stone Himself.”

He didn’t care whether she trusted his word, but for reasons he could not comprehend he desperately wanted her to trust
him
. From the first moment he had seen her in a faded dress serving drinks in this saloon, she had intrigued him. If she possessed any innocence at all, it was but a solitary thread woven through a tapestry that he longed to unravel. If he could personally place the money in her hands, he would definitely gain an advantage…and possibly a walk together up those stairs.

“Jessye love, we’re not completely ignorant,” he said. “We’ve talked with men who herded cattle before the war. I’m not certain it’s wise for you to go on this journey.”

Crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward, she steadily held his gaze. “Who taught you and Kit how to shoot a gun and a rifle?”

Sighing, he cursed every valid point he knew she was going to throw in his face. “You.”

“What did I teach you about a remuda?”

“That it’s a group of horses, and we’ll have more horses than men,” he recited as though reading from a boring book.

She smiled smugly. “What’s an Armitas?”

“That silly leather apron that is split down the middle and ties at our waist and knees. It looks ridiculous, and I’m not wearing it.”

“You will, and you’ll be grateful you’ve got it. I doubt either of you knows which end of a cow quits the ground first. Whether you two greenhorns want to admit it or not, you need more than my money. You need what I
know
.” She scraped back her chair. “I’ve got to help Pa—”

“Before you leave, I need your approval regarding an important matter,” Kit said as he reached beneath the table and withdrew an iron rod. One end had a flattened triangle through which a man could slip a gloved hand. The other supported an L that rested on top of a T.

“Our brand was designed to represent our venture: Texas Lady. The name was Harry’s idea, chosen to honor our investor. Of course, the decision was made before we realized he would not have an equal say—”

“Kit,” Harrison warned, despising righteous indignation.

Kit cast him a scathing look before continuing. “If you don’t like the name or the design, we can change it, but I’d like to know tonight, as I want a few more made before we leave tomorrow.”

Harrison watched her tentatively touch the letters as though they were fine gems instead of iron to be heated and laid against some beast’s backside. He’d forbidden Kit to mention the brand because he’d wanted to surprise her. Judging by the awe on her face, he’d succeeded.

She lifted her gaze to his. “Texas Lady?”

Harrison shrugged as though the name were of little consequence. “It seemed appropriate. We’d considered the Triple E for the three Englishmen, but since Gray made the unfortunate decision to get married and has turned his endeavors toward farming, the Double E just didn’t have the same ring to it.”

“I’m not much of a lady.” She jerked her fingers back as though the iron had scalded her. “It’ll do just fine. I gotta close up.”

Harrison watched her walk away without so much as a thank you. Refreshingly honest and disturbingly forthright with her opinions, she was without a doubt the most aggravating woman he’d ever known.

And his gift had touched her…deeply, if the tears that had surfaced within her eyes before she’d leapt to her feet were any indication.

“Correct me if I am wrong—”

“Is that not my usual habit?” Harrison cut in, turning his attention away from Jessye.

Kit narrowed his pale blue eyes. Damn, but Harrison hated his friend’s scrutiny.

“I was under the impression that you and she were friends, perhaps lovers—”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Then why in God’s name did you suggest we come to her?”

“Because she has money.”

“We could have found it elsewhere.”

“Where? The war left most of the people in this state pitifully poor. As for the conquerors streaming in, I don’t trust them. Must be my Saxon heritage.”

Kit scowled. “We could have sought out a banker.”

“Where, pray tell, would we get a letter of refer
ence? Our reputations are hardly pristine. We should count ourselves fortunate that Jessye trusts us as much as she does.”

“She doesn’t trust us at all.”

“We don’t need her trust. We only need her money, which we now have, and her knowledge regarding this state and cattle, which she is willing to share.”

Kit shook his head. “I don’t like this, Harry. I don’t like it one bit.”

“Why the worry? You have everything planned out.”

“On paper. Putting it into practice is something else entirely.” Kit rubbed his thumb along the scar beneath his chin.

Harrison had always thought it a shame that the Earl of Ravenleigh had applied a flaming hot poker to his second son so no one would mistake him for his twin brother—the heir apparent.

“I wish you could convince her not to go. I have a bad feeling about this journey,” Kit said.

“Tell me where we can acquire the funds for supplies, and I’ll happily cancel our arrangement with her.”

“David Robertson might finance our venture.”

“That Texan that visited Ravenleigh a few years back?” Harry asked.

“Yes. He was quite well-off.”

“Before the war. He could be a beggar now for all you know.”

“I could make discreet inquiries, determine his interest—”

“It’s a moot issue. You signed a contract with Jessye.” Besides, Harrison wanted more from Jessye
than her money or her knowledge of cattle. He wanted her climbing those bloody damned stairs with him.

“But you just said if I were able to find another source for the funds—”

“Because I didn’t think you would! Look around at these drab surroundings. An opportunity like this happens but once in a lifetime. I’d rather share the chance for prosperity with a woman who has never known wealth than a man who takes it for granted.”

“It’s a gamble, Harry. We could return with nothing.”

“She knows that. She’s risking her dreaming money, Kit. How do I tell her now that we’ve decided another investor would better suit us?”

“You care for her,” Kit said somberly. “You might not have bedded her, but you do have some feelings for her.”

“I understand her plight. Make no more of it than that.”

“I’ll make as much of it as I bloody well want to and pray that I don’t live to regret it.” Sighing deeply, Kit stood, grabbed the branding iron, and sliced it through the air as though it were a rapier. “I shall finish the preparations.”

“Good. And cheer up, for God’s sake. How much work can be involved in prodding a few cattle north?”

“It’s not the work that concerns me, but the unknown. I don’t know how to plan for it.”

“You strive too hard to account for everything. An element of risk makes life worthwhile.”

“I should imagine it depends upon the nature of the risk.”

As Kit headed toward the stairs, Harrison heard
Jessye’s throaty laughter echo over the saloon as she herded the remaining customers through the swinging doors into the night. He wondered what they had said to make her laugh so freely. The laughter she released in his presence usually carried an undercurrent of distrust.

He watched as she shared a moment with her father, smiling at him as they spoke. He couldn’t recall ever smiling at his father—or his father smiling at him.

She affectionately patted her father’s slightly stooped shoulder before striding through a door that led to what he knew was a back room. She’d return with a bucket of water to clean the place until it shone. His favorite moments of the night came when she got on her knees to scrub some mess. Her hips followed the circular motion of her hand, and all he could think about was how much he’d like to be beneath her.

Countless times she’d rejected
that
proposition. She’d told him that she wasn’t one of
those
women, but he doubted her claims, for he had yet to meet a serving wench who wasn’t.

Her father’s movements caught his attention as the wiry fellow trudged across the saloon. Tufts of hair, a lighter shade of red than his daughter’s, stood at various angles of attention over his head. His green eyes carried a hardened glint. “I need a word with you.”