Ana Leigh Page 8

  Watching her try to appear nonchalant as she buttoned her gown and tucked strands of loose hair back in place, Zach felt himself get hard again. He had to be the biggest damn fool that ever walked on God’s good, green earth.

  Shifting her off his lap, he stood up. “How old are you, Rose?”

  “Twenty-one. What about you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” she asked seriously.

  “No. I never let myself. Love means being tied down, babies, working a ranch. I don’t like ropes—not even long ones.”

  “You mean you don’t like commitment.”

  “Call it what you want. I’m not interested in marriage.”

  “That’s why I decided I would marry a rich man. I don’t need love, either.”

  “I always heard you were supposed to be in love to marry.”

  “If I endured Wes Sturges, I can bear any man—as long as he’s rich.”

  “You’re not on the street anymore, Rose, so there’s no excuse to marry a man just for money. That’s not much better than prostitution.”

  He must have hit a nerve, because she came back at him with anger.

  “I’ve had to look out for myself since I was seven years old! I want someone to look after me—take care of me. You know what that would mean to me, Zach? Do you have any idea? No more fighting off sadistic lawmen or saddle tramps. No worrying where my next meal is coming from. No more taking orders from people who aren’t even half as smart as I am. And all I have to do is be someone’s wife. You can call it prostitution or any other name you want, but how can you believe for a moment that I wouldn’t grow to love the man who gave me this peace of mind?”

  He sympathized with her hardships, but her view made a mockery of his parents’ marriage, and his uncles’ and aunts’.

  “If security is all you want, any man who loved you would look after you. It wouldn’t have to be a rich man. But maybe you want more than love and security. Are you sure it’s not luxuries and the social status and approval that goes with that position that you want?”

  “I want respectability,” she lashed out. “Rich or poor, a man can lie, steal, or even abuse a woman, and he’s still a man—but one false move from a woman, and she’s a tramp or a whore. So a girl raised in a New Orleans slum isn’t worthy of a prestigous marriage, is she, MacKenzie? Even a saddle tramp like you thinks she’s got to settle for whatever she can get.”

  Rose felt betrayed. She’d thought that since he was down and out himself, he’d understand. For a few foolish moments she’d let her guard down, fooled herself into believing he was different. But he was just like all the other no-goods she’d encountered in her life: if they didn’t have it, they didn’t want anybody else to have it, either.

  She stood up and brushed herself off. “I’d like to go back now. It’s getting very late.”

  Once again, they rode back in silence. When they reached her boardinghouse, he jumped down and helped her off.

  She didn’t want to part with the quarrel between them, so she swallowed her anger and tried to show some graciousness.

  “Thank you, Zach. It was very thoughtful of you to suggest the ride.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose. Considering the life I lead, I’ve no right to criticize your choices. And I’m sorry how the guys messed up the restaurant tonight.”

  “What are you doing with those men, Zach? Deep down I feel there’s good in you, but if you keep running with that pack of jackals you’re going to end up at the wrong end of a rope.”

  “What does it matter to you if I die from hanging or old age?”

  She was glad the darkness hid her face. “I guess I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  He stepped closer and lifted a strand of her hair. Rolling it between his fingers, he stroked the silken strands with his thumb. His nearness was like an aphrodisiac, exciting her senses even as it lulled her into submission.

  “Is this red hair of yours the real thing, Rosie?” he asked.

  The awed huskiness in his voice made the question sound like a declaration of love. She chastised herself for allowing girlish fantasies to enter her mind.

  “The hair’s real, but I paint on the freckles.”

  Her attempt at flippancy failed miserably, because he released her hair and ran a finger across her nose. The tender touch unnerved her more. “I think they’re cute. They reveal the little girl who’s hiding behind the tough woman you try to appear.” His dark-eyed gaze conveyed more than his teasing words. He kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, Rose.”

  As Rose watched him drive away, she bit her lip to keep herself from calling him back.

  Rose had no sooner entered her room than Kate tapped on her door and came in. “Rose, the Fourth of July celebration’s tomorrow. We need a schedule of when we have to work the Harvey booth.”

  “Mr. Billings has worked it all out. He said he’ll post it at the booth. I have the first shift.”

  “It sounds like it’s going to be fun,” Kate said.

  “I agree. But I was under the impression these Texans only celebrated their independence from Mexico,” Rose replied, tongue in cheek.

  “Not this time; Brimstone’s made big plans. There’ll be fireworks, and the Behling Brothers Circus will be here for the occasion.”

  “I don’t know which I’m looking forward to more,” Rose said. “The celebration itself, or having most of the day off.”

  Kate stretched out on the bed as Rose began to undress. “So what was so important that Mr. MacKenzie had to say tonight?” Kate asked.

  Rose shrugged. “I honestly don’t know; I fell asleep. He did apologize for the way his gang caused a disturbance in the restaurant. That must have been it.”

  But was it? Rose wondered. They hadn’t really discussed anything before their argument, and she doubted that was what he’d had in mind when he took her riding. Had he planned all along to make love to her? If so, she certainly hadn’t tried to stop him, so why had he broken it off?

  Zach MacKenzie was the most confusing man she’d ever met. Whenever she was convinced of his intentions, he’d do just the opposite. There was an innate honesty to him, so why was he riding with that gang? Even though he didn’t want to be tied down with a wife and children, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get an honest job.

  And why did he have to be so irresistible? Why did he have to have a grin that curled her toes; a warm chuckle that stroked her spine, and a touch that fired her blood? Rose sighed deeply. And a kiss that—

  “Hey, that was a pretty deep sigh, Rose,” Kate said.

  “I was thinking about Zach MacKenzie.”

  Kate giggled. “That would explain it, then. He’s enough to make any girl sigh.”

  Rose grimaced. “Trouble is, he knows it. But I’ve got other plans, and they don’t include a down-on-his-heels drifter like Zach MacKenzie.”

  Rose had hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt, but apparently not so.

  Grinning, Kate glanced at her. “Nice try, honey, but he’s the one you have to convince.”

  Rose knew she had to tell someone or she’d burst. “Kate, Zach and I had a big argument tonight over marriage.”

  Mouth agape, Kate sat up. “You mean he asked you to marry him and you refused?”

  “No, nothing like that. He’s adamant about not being tied down, no matter how long the rope. He as much as called me a whore when I told him I intended to marry for money.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose,” Kate said. Her brown eyes were warm with compassion. “But there’s more to it than him calling you a name, isn’t there?”

  Fraught with confusion, she turned to Kate, and the truth poured out of her like a pot boiling over. “Kate, I almost let him make love to me tonight. We went far beyond a kiss.”

  “At least you had the sense to stop.”

  “He stopped—I didn’t stop him. I wanted him to, Kate. I was willing to let him do anything that he wanted to me.” Her voice
trailed off in a sob. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Kate rushed over and hugged her. “Oh, Rose honey, I’m so sorry. Are you in love with him?”

  “I hardly know him, but each time I see him, I want to be with him more. Even arguing with him is exciting.” Tears slid down her cheeks as she looked at Kate. “But when we aren’t arguing, he makes me laugh, Kate. He warms my heart.”

  “He’s trouble, Rose.”

  “I know, Kate, but soon he’ll be out of my life. I intend to marry Stephen Rayburn.”

  “In the meantime you’re playing with fire, honey. You can get burned. Though maybe you should have an affair with him.”

  Rose gasped in surprise. “What are you saying?”

  “Maybe once he makes love to you, you’ll be able to get over him.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think it would just make me want him more, and my heart would break when he rode away. And someday he will ride away.” Rose squared her shoulders, and said resolutely, “It’s insanity! I’ve planned my future. Stephen Rayburn’s on the verge of asking me to marry him and fulfill my dream. I’m not going to let Zach MacKenzie spoil it when everything I’ve ever hoped for is within arm’s reach.”

  Kate walked to the door. “If you’re certain that’s what you really want, Rose, then I hope for your sake you get it. Good night.”

  Rose gave Kate a quizzical glance. Had she been mistaken, or did Kate’s words sound more ominous than supportive?

  Troubled, she undressed and went to bed. There was no relief from the heat and she would have loved to remove her nightgown and lie naked, but that would mean closing the window, thus eliminating any hope of a breeze. Finally, after a couple of hours of tossing and turning, she managed to doze off.

  Chapter 9

  A more pleasant day couldn’t have dawned for Brimstone’s Fourth of July. Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across a bright blue sky as a light breeze stirred the air.

  The ladies’ church auxiliary had been preparing food and wares for weeks. Tables displayed crocheted doilies, needlepoint samplers, and knitted afghans for sale. There were booths offering roasted ears of corn dripping with butter, slices of decorated cakes, and mouth-watering pies. The aromas of popping corn, beef roasting on a spit, and baking rolls whetted the appetite.

  Normally the town rarely attracted visitors from neighboring communities, but people had been arriving since early morning from as far as fifty miles.

  The main attraction was the Behling Brothers Circus. In the wee hours of the morning, their colorful, ornate wagons and carts had rolled into town and they’d raised their big tent. Now the blare of the brass band, wearing bright red-and-gold uniforms, rose above the shouts of excited children, the occasional trumpet of an elephant, or the roar from a lion or tiger during the performances offered every two hours.

  The Harvey booth was having phenomenal success selling strawberry-filled crêpes. These tasty French pancakes were a rarity to most of the crowd. Andre and Colette Chevalier had risen at dawn, fried and stacked several hundred of the basic crêpes, and with smiling Harvey Girls manning the booth in shifts, Colette filled and rolled them, and Andre popped them into an outside oven until they were lightly brown, then topped them off with a dusting of confectioners’ sugar.

  Having just been relieved from booth duty by Aubrey, Rose went in search of Kate and found her watching a baseball game between Brimstone and the neighboring town of Scottsville.

  “Who’s winning?” Rose asked, taking a seat beside her.

  “We are,” Kate replied, absorbed by the activity on the field.

  “Speak for yourself.” Rose felt no loyalty toward the accursed town. Seeing horses among the players, she asked, “What are those horses for?”

  “If a player gets a hit, he climbs on the horse and rides to the base.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Rose declared. “Whoever heard of playing baseball on horseback?”

  “They only get on horseback when they have to run the bases.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. The players are supposed to run the bases—not horses.”

  “I don’t think cowboys can run,” Kate said consideringly. “I’ve never seen one run. Must be those boots they wear. Anyway, the batter hits the ball, climbs on a horse, and rides around the bases. If the ball reaches the base before the player does, he’s out.”

  “Who’s dumb enough to stand on a base to catch a ball while a horse is bearing down on him?”

  “They aren’t quite bases as we think of them. First base is that big oak tree, second is that elm out there, and third base is the pine tree. An outline for the home plate is drawn in the mud. Other than that, the rules are the same as any baseball game.”

  “How do you know so much about baseball, Kate?”

  “I’ve got two brothers. We played it often on the farm—without horses, of course. Right now we’ve got a man on second base.”

  “You mean a horse and a horse’s ass,” Rose commented with a droll look at her excited friend.

  “Uh-oh, he struck out.” Kate sighed. “One more out and the game’s over.” Kate suddenly poked her in the arm. “Look, Rose. Zach’s up to bat.”

  Rose looked up to see Zach approaching home plate, carrying a bat in one hand and leading his horse by the reins with the other.

  Kate put two fingers in her mouth and let out a loud whistle. Amazed, Rose looked at her. “Kate McDermott, wherever did you learn to do that?”

  “I told you, I have two brothers. Come on, Zach, hit a homer,” Kate shouted.

  Rose glared in disgust at Jess Tait and Bull, who hooted loudly when Zach let two strikes get past him.

  “Aren’t those two animals supposed to cheer on a teammate?”

  Kate snorted. “Why would you expect anything better from that pair? Both of them have struck out every time they’ve been at bat.”

  On the third pitch, Zach connected with the ball and it sailed far out to left field. Kate jumped to her feet. “Whoopee! Ride ’im, cowboy.”

  Zach leaped onto his horse and galloped down the would-be baseline, circled the oak, and raced toward the elm tree as his teammate crossed home plate. He headed for the pine tree and appeared to reach it at the same time as the ball did.

  The umpire called him out.

  Rose jumped to her feet in indignation. “He was safe by a mile,” she shouted angrily. “Get yourself a pair of glasses so you can see what you’re doing.”

  The umpire turned around and to her dismay it was the Reverend Downing, the local pastor. Shamefully, she sank back down on the bench.

  The game ended with the visiting team winning by a run. Desolate, Rose sat with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Too bad it wasn’t robbing a bank instead of baseball; the Brimstone team could probably have won hands down.”

  “Come on, Rose. Let’s go and get something to eat.”

  After having sandwiches, the two women ventured to order small mugs of cold beer. Giggling like mischievous children, they sat down in the shade of a tree and sipped the beer, enjoying the restful moment as they watched the people passing by.

  “I can’t say I like beer,” Kate said. “Do you?”

  “I think it stinks—literally. I feel like holding my nose before I bring the mug up to my mouth. It’s just another nothing that men make a big to-do over.”

  “Cheers,” Kate declared as they clanged their mugs together and broke into giggles again.

  Suddenly two women in flashy dresses paused before them. Their flamboyant clothing and overly made-up faces marked them as members of the oldest profession.

  “Look at that, Flora, two of them high-falutin’ Harvey gals drinkin’ beer. Disgustin’, ain’t it,” the blonde said.

  Raised on the streets, Rose had encountered many prostitutes and had found most of them likable and easy to get along with. But these two women clearly had an axe to grind.

  “Yeah, Rita, that oughta get ’em booted
out of their sainted girl union,” the other said.

  Rose glanced up with curiosity at the blonde. So this was Rita—the woman whom Stephen Rayburn visited when he came to town. Whatever beauty she possessed was marred by the cynical draw at the corners of her mouth.

  “Was there something you wanted, ladies?” Kate asked with bored tolerance.

  Rita snickered. “Yeah, for you Harvey bitches to get out of town. Come on, Flora, we’re wastin’ time here.”

  “That’s right, Miss Rita,” Rose said. “Some of those fellows are spending their money so fast you two could end up out of business.”

  “Bitch!” Rita snarled as they moved on.

  “Enjoy the holiday,” Rose countered. Eyes brimming with merriment, she looked at Kate.

  “Another nothing that men make a big to-do over,” Kate murmured. They broke into peals of laughter.

  As they returned the mugs, Zach was getting a sandwich from the booth nearby. “Hey, Rosie, are you game to be my partner?” he called out to her.

  “If you mean through life, the answer is a definite no, MacKenzie,” she yelled back, which brought laughs from those in earshot.

  He came over. “The games are about to begin. There are four events, and the rules say each team has to consist of a male and female, no younger than sixteen years old. The winners get front-row tickets to the circus. What about it?”

  “I’ll tell you after I hear what we have to do in those events.”

  Zach read from a printed flyer. “The first is a mule race, which begins at one o’clock; the next one’s a shooting competition at two.”

  “I have no idea how to shoot a gun.”

  “Just point it at the target and pull the trigger, Rosie. The third event’s at three o’clock and involves the team’s female member only. It has something to do with greased pigs.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “Since it involves women only, it’s probably something to do with cooking or roasting pigs.”