Angel Creek Read online

  “I couldn’t tolerate it when I was a girl,” she said gently. “The rules, the restrictions, being treated like a brainless doll. I’ve been on my own a long time now, making my own decisions, good or bad. How could I go back, even if my father would allow me in the house, knowing that at best it would be just the same? At worst, he would keep me locked up so I couldn’t damage the family reputation any more than I already have.”

  “Does your family know where you are?”

  “No. They think I’m dead. I arranged it that way.”

  “Then your father could be dead by now, and you wouldn’t know about it.”

  “I occasionally get news from New Orleans. He was still alive six months ago. I don’t wish him dead,” she said, smiling at Kyle. “He’s my father. He isn’t a wicked man, just very strict, and I couldn’t live like that. It’s best this way. But why are we talking about me when we should be discussing your plans?”

  “I don’t have any. I tried, and I lost.”

  “It isn’t like you to give up,” she chided.

  “I’ve never wanted anything this much before. I can’t imagine working up any interest in anything else.”

  She touched his cheek in sympathy, her slim fingers cool on his skin. “It could rain tomorrow. Or the day after. And I have money. I can always stake you to get you going again.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll probably need it. If the ranches go under, so will this town. You’ll have to set yourself up somewhere else.”

  “Things haven’t gotten that bad yet. I always hope for the best.”

  “But prepare for the worst.” Over the years he had run into her in different places, and at varying degrees of prosperity. He had seen her ragged and hungry, but even then she had always been planning, never wasting what little money she had. They had even thrown in together for a while, living off his winnings at cards, always ready to dodge out of town if anyone spotted his light touch with the pasteboards. They had huddled together under one thin blanket on frigid nights during the worst of their luck and spent three whole days and nights making love in a soft hotel bed once when they had hit a lucky streak.

  Then they had gone their separate ways, for some reason he no longer remembered. Likely she had just had her own plans, and he had had his. He hadn’t seen her again until they had both wound up, by sheer coincidence, in Prosper. But maybe it wasn’t such a big coincidence, for they had both been looking for the same thing: a quiet, steady little town. They had both worked boomtowns and knew it was no way to live. Boomtowns were too violent. Security was better.

  “If you change your mind about the money,” she said, “all you have to do is ask.”

  “I know.”

  He felt a surge of desire for her. He never tired of making love to Tillie. They had known each other for so long, made love so often, that they were entirely comfortable together. He knew just how to touch her and did so, reaching out to fondle her breast with the exact degree of pressure that she liked. She inhaled sharply, her eyes darkening. “Well,” she said. “I see your spirits have revived.”

  He took her hand and placed it on the front of his pants. “That isn’t a spirit, but it sure has revived.”

  “Darling,” she purred, “it’s never been dead.”

  They undressed leisurely, pausing often for kisses and unhurried caresses. She started to go down on her knees and take him into her mouth, but he stopped her because, despite his slow pace, he felt that would be more than he could stand, and he wanted it to last longer than that. He put her on the bed and made love to her, using the advantage of his intimate knowledge of her to take her to the peak twice before he allowed himself release.

  Afterward, as they lay quietly together, he felt a small measure of contentment. He might lose the ranch, but after all, he still had Tillie. She had always been there when he needed her. He only hoped he had been as good a friend to her as she had been to him.

  14

  KYLE WAS DRUNK EVEN THOUGH IT WAS ONLY EARLY afternoon. He seldom allowed himself the excess because men who drank too much often said too much, and he wanted to keep his past life just that, in the past. But there were some occasions that seemed to call for drink, and watching his ranch die qualified as one of them.

  Besides, he didn’t have anything else to do, unless he wanted to ride out and look at the land drying up. If he wanted to see water, he’d have to ride all the way over to Angel Creek.

  Now that was an idea, he mused. Maybe if he offered the Swann woman even more than he had before, she’d accept this time. Not that he had the money, but she didn’t know that. All he needed was her signature on a bill of sale. He’d start moving his cattle in and worry about the money later. Like the old saying went, possession was nine tenths of the law.

  That was what he’d do. He’d offer her so much money she’d have to be stupid to turn it down.

  He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t ride, and soon he was on his horse. At least he was doing something, and that was a relief. It was the helpless waiting that drove him crazy, but patience never had been his long suit.

  Entering the Angel Creek valley was like traveling to a different part of the country. Where the ground was cracking with dryness on the Bar B and the pastures were turning brown, here the earth was softened by the underground moisture, and the meadow grasses grew tall. It even felt cooler. He reined in, thinking in confusion that it couldn’t actually be cooler, but then he decided that it really was. He frowned until the slight breeze on his face told the story. The valley acted like a funnel to the breezes coming down from the mountains, sweeping the cooler air downward. It was still hot, but not as hot as it was everywhere else.

  The Swann woman came out on the porch when she heard his horse, and she had that damn shotgun in her hands, just the way she had the other times he’d talked to her. She’d never threatened him with it, but he’d never been able to forget it was there, either.

  She stood as proud as any of the high-nosed New Orleans ladies of his youth, even though she worked the soil like a man and her clothes were plain and old. Hell, Tillie dressed better than she did. But her head was held high on her slender neck, and those witchgreen eyes were rock steady. “Mr. Bellamy,” was all she said in greeting.

  He didn’t dismount. He just leaned forward, resting his arms on his saddle horn. “I’ll double my last offer for this place.”

  She arched her brows, and he saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Your last offer was marriage. Are you saying you’ll marry me twice?”

  He wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. “I need this land. I need the water. My cattle are going to die if they don’t have water, and you have just about the only good creek for a hundred miles or more.”

  Dee sighed and looked at the cloudless blue sky. Why couldn’t it rain? “I’m sorry, Mr. Bellamy, but I won’t sell to you.” She did feel sorry for him; she felt sorry for every rancher, big and small, and every farmer. But she couldn’t take care of them all, couldn’t parcel out the water that ran through her land.

  Kyle reined his horse around and rode away without another word. He was so angry he couldn’t speak anyway. Damn her! She just wouldn’t listen to reason. She was using only a little more than an acre of the land and letting the rest of it go to waste, but still she hung on to every inch as if it would kill her to let it go. For the sake of her piss-ant vegetable garden his cattle were going to die.

  No, by God, they weren’t.

  He was almost sober by the time he got back home, but his anger hadn’t abated, and neither had his savage determination.

  One of the cowhands was coming out of the barn. “Get Pierce!” Kyle yelled. “And Fronteras!”

  The two men were out on the range, so it was late when they finally trudged up to the house where he waited. “We start rounding up the cattle tomorrow,” Kyle said. His voice was abrupt and still angry.

  Pierce slowly nodded, as if he had to consider the idea before giving it his approval.