Chapter Four

 

Cenora moaned, surprised by his tender actions. He really meant to give her pleasure. In spite of the wonderful sensations shooting through her, she remembered the sight of her husband unclothed and fear was upon her. His man part, his willie, was so large it would never go inside her small woman’s place. Mayhap that’s why there was blood the first time. No doubt, she’d split open and take a long time to heal. She shivered at the thought of the pain to come.

Why hadn’t Ma been more exact in her descriptions of what went on between man and woman? She’d only told Cenora to wear her best night rail and be prepared to raise it and do as her husband requested. Ma had promised it would be a bit rough the first time, but after that a pleasant enough thing. Oh, but the part about a rough first time had Cenora scared half to death.

She knew how men were built, of course. Hadn’t she helped Mrs. Murphy care for a string of Murphy boys? What a difference between a babe and this man, though. Nigh long as her arm, his willie poked against her side.

She shivered again, but then her man did something with his tongue on her nipple, and she forgot to be afraid. Warmth pooled in her belly, and she writhed about like one of the snakes good St. Paddy drove out of Ireland. Saints forgive her, she couldn’t help herself. Her husband’s pleasuring created yearnings she never dreamed existed.

She pulled him to her, crushing his head to her breast, but he skimmed his mouth lower across her. His tongue dipped into her belly button, and she fought to keep from throwing her legs around the man. No doubt he already thought her and her family wild, heathen people. What would he think of her if she gave in to her pagan impulses?

He moved back to her mouth, then trailed kisses along her shoulders. Though she vowed she’d let him tell her what to do in this coming together, her hand brushed his manhood, and she saw him close his eyes and gasp.

“Does that please you?” she asked and, though afraid he would think her too bold, moved her finger across the top of the shaft.

He closed his eyes again. “More than I can tell you.”

“Your willie is lovely and soft on top, not at all as it looked.” Though the length was hard and long, the velvet tip surprised her.

“My what?” He opened his eyes..

“Your willie. This,” she said and touched his man part again. She smoothed her finger around the top in a small circle.

He seemed to hold his breath, then he grasped her hand. “Lord have mercy, woman. You’d best stop before I get ahead of you. Let me pleasure you more.”

He suckled her breast, and his hand slid to her privates. Gently he pushed her legs apart and slid his finger inside her. When his thumb brushed against the nub of her womanhood, jolts of delectable joy radiated through her. She heard herself pant and moan, knew she thrashed her head to and fro, but lost the power to control herself. In and out he delved, and her hips kept time with him. Each movement increased her delight.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how could anything feel better than this?

Oh, no, now she’d taken the Lord’s name in vain, and under what libertine conditions? Sure and she’d have to do a penance, but she no longer cared. When she thought she would explode, he slid on top of her, and the tip of his shaft nudged against her.

“Slide your legs around me,” he commanded, sounding as breathless as she felt.

Now wasn’t that what she wanted to do anyway? She wound her legs around his waist, and he put a pillow at her back. He slipped into her, and the force of it crushed her against the pillow. Oh, it would never work, no matter what he said. He was too large.

She marveled when she stretched around him, felt him fill her. Surprised he could get that big thing inside her, she had a few moments to enjoy the feel of him. Then he pushed deeper into her, and she would have screamed for him to stop when pain tore at her, but his mouth covered hers.

Before she could break his kiss and demand he stop or she’d split in two, the pain lessened and a new sensation took over. Wave after wave of pleasure shot through her, and she met his thrusts with her own. No longer could she see or think, only float on the bursts of ecstasy building inside her.

When she thought she might expire from delight, fireworks burst in her head, and she almost shattered from pure pleasure. A final spiral of joy exploded in her, and she drifted back to earth as Dallas collapsed beside her. He cradled her, gasping and spent.

“Dang, you’re a fast learner.” He kissed her hair softly.

She wondered if he had this experience with other women. Certain he must have, she wished she knew how she compared. “Was I all right then?”

“More than all right.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have beguiled me beyond all measure.”

When their breathing had evened, he slid his hands along her and tugged the blanket over them.

“Make sure you clean yourself on the danged sheet for that stupid inspection,” he said and squirmed his willie against the bedding.

She raised herself to peek at her thighs now stained with her maidenhead blood and his seed. After doing as he said, she snuggled beside him, mindless of the wet spot on the sheet, and pulled the blanket over them.

He kissed her softly on the temple, then tucked her under his chin. “This is not something either of us chose, but we’ll try and make the best of it.”

He pulled her closer, and soon she heard his breathing change and knew he slept. She thought about what had just happened, wondering when it would next occur. Would his seed take root inside her? Her hand slid to her belly. Would he be with her long enough to know?

****

Dallas woke with a numbed arm, and his wife curled into him. Light filtered in through the narrow slits of windows, and campfire smoke drifted in on the breeze. Too early in the day for cabbage, the odor of porridge drifted across him. Outside, birds chirped to welcome the new day.

He couldn’t have hurt more if he’d been dragged miles through the brush on a rope. The realization struck him that he’d slept through the night untroubled by the endless nightmare that assaulted him these last two years. Whether from the release of his body’s need for a woman, the fatigue of his long wedding day with him so weak, or the comfort Cenora’s body offered snuggled into him, he couldn’t say. But he welcomed the respite.

He slid his arm from her, and she nuzzled against him. In spite of himself, he smiled. Dang, though he hadn’t asked for this marriage, it had definite advantages.

And she’d been the virgin she claimed. No doubt about that in spite of the enthusiasm she showed in their coming together. Passion from one new to coupling left him grateful.

Cenora came awake slowly, then smiled up at him. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye.”

“Good morning, wife.”

Suddenly modest, she clutched the sheet up under her chin. “When someone greets you with ‘Top o’ the morning,’ you must say, ‘And the rest o’ the day to yourself’ to return the greeting.”

“All right, the rest of the day to yourself.” He kissed her soundly on the lips.

She giggled and reached for her nightdress. When she’d slid it over her head, she rose and poured water into a pan. Still wearing the gown, she washed herself thoroughly—or as completely as possible with only a pan of water for bathing.

“If I were able, I’d do that for you.” He watched her.

She blushed red as her hair. “In the light o’ day? You’d do no such of a thing. ‘Tis bad enough you watching me as you are.”

“When you’ve finished, come here and wash me as well.”

She pretended to be shocked, but he saw her smile. “I’ll never. You’re full growed and can do for yourself.”

He made a stab at cleaning his privates with the wet cloth she tossed him while she brushed her hair and plaited it into one long braid she wound into a figure eight at the base of her neck.

He found his clothes where her brothers had tossed them last night. Though the movement taxed him, he pulled on his drawers and stuck his legs into his pants.

She tied a green ribbon around her hair, then stared. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re oozing blood from your wounds. Leave off your shirt ‘til I change the bandage.”

She drew on her petticoats then slipped her arms from the nightclothes and pulled her chemise in under the thing. When she’d wriggled on her shift, she threw off the gown and reached for her dress. Not the one she’d worn for their wedding, but the more serviceable one of green with black braid trim he’d seen her carry from the wagon yesterday. Her slippers and stockings in hand, she sat with her back to him and put them on.

He’d like to remove them, but unsure he could move enough to pleasure her again or how sore she’d be, he restrained himself. Every inch of his body ached, especially his injured shoulder. The throbbing in his head had returned with a vengeance, and he wondered if he could stand. Bracing his arm on the edge of the berth, he eased himself up from the floor until he sat on the bunk, but he dared not try more.

Looking down, he saw the stains on the bed sheet. He raised his face and met Cenora’s gaze. Her luminous green eyes held question as she bit at her bottom lip. He supposed she thought back to their joining last night and wondered if he harbored regrets.

Hell, no. That experience almost made up for being shot. And for being treated like a prisoner as much as nursed by this bunch. If he had to be married, danged if she didn’t make a good choice, at least so far. He grinned.

She sighed, as if she’d been holding her breath, then sent him a tremulous smile. Blushing, she busied herself with emptying the pan of water. After she refilled it with fresh water, she gathered bandages and salve.

He’d never claimed to know much about women, and this one had him as bumfuzzled as a newborn. Much as he’d like to think he’d known what thoughts ran through her mind just now, he hadn’t a clue. She was nothing like his kin or any other woman he knew, and he had no idea what went on in Cenora’s mind.

A rap on the door preceded a call. “We’ve brought you fresh linens and something to break your fast.”

“Then enter,” his bride said and opened the door.

“Top o’ the morning’ to you,” Mrs. O’Neill called.

“And the rest o’ the day to yourself,” Dallas and Cenora said at the same time. A smile of pleasant surprise and unity passed between them.

Mrs. O’Neill’s eyes widened when she saw the bedding on the floor. Her companions stared at the soiled sheet and each muttered under her breath.

“He’s too long for the bunk, Ma,” Cenora explained.

Mrs. McDonald stared at the bed sheet. “Akh, yon bed sheet.”

Aoife O’Neill nodded and snatched up the stained linen. She spread another in its place, mindful of Dallas’s bare feet in her way. Mrs. Murphy set a tray of food on the narrow counter that served as a dining table in bad weather. Dallas had learned most of the time everyone dined outdoors. Mrs. McDonald set a pot of coffee beside the food.

Dallas hated the lack of privacy among this communal bunch. It irked him to have his bedding inspected, to have these women intrude on what should have been time alone for newlyweds. He tugged at his ear and glared at them but said nothing.

Had he tried to stand when women entered as he had been taught, he figured he would have fallen flat. In these close quarters, he’d have been certain to further injure himself and damage anyone in his path. And he knew it wasn’t proper to sit with bare chest in their presence, but he couldn’t reach his shirt. Aunt Kathryn would have his hide if she knew. Kathryn, and before her his mother, had taught him to show respect to all women.

Dang, the aunt who’d raised him as if he were her own son was bound to be upset about this. Self-conscious about every part of the situation, he crossed his arms and tucked a hand in each armpit while he waited for the three women to end this ordeal and depart. Clucking like a bunch of hens, they soon did just that.

Cenora thrust a chamber pot at him and picked up the water pail. “I’ll step out and get us fresh water, then I’ll change your bandage before we eat.”

Later in the morning, Finn and Mac returned to drive the wagon to rejoin the clan. Dallas, his wounds dressed, lay on the mattress on the floor and Cenora sat cross-legged on the bunk space at his side above him.

“If we were not pressed for time, we would have been given three days alone after the wedding.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked.

“Because o’ the men you shot, ‘tis thought to put more miles behind us before we stop at a town again. In case those two blackhearts had kin looking to seek revenge.”

“But it wasn’t your fault. Why should your people be afraid?” As soon as he spoke it, he thought how foolish his question sounded. How many times had he been judged at fault for no other reason than being half Cherokee? Any Comanche or Kiowa raid had people pointing their fingers at him, often accompanied by threats.

“We’re thought thieves by some.”

He remembered the chickens served as a wedding feast. “And are there thieves among you?”

A flush crept across her face, and she averted her gaze. “There might be a few who are, um, not so careful about the law as others.” Her head tilted up, and she met his eyes. “My parents are good people. They would never steal, nor would I.”

He noticed she hadn’t included her brothers, and he thought it deliberate rather than an oversight. “How is it your family came to be with this group?”

She slid down to sit beside him, and she chewed her lip, a sign he recognized as something she did when she worried. “When I was a wee girl, we lived on a little plot o’ land in County Killarney.” She hesitated, as if she feared he’d think this a bad thing. Perhaps she thought he wouldn’t care enough to hear more.

He smiled his encouragement. “That’s in Ireland?”

“Yes, it was the loveliest place in all the world, the greenest grass and the bluest sky. Though our cottage was tiny and we hadn’t much, we were happy. Through no fault o’ our own, the crops failed two years in a row. We had next to nothing to eat, and Da couldn’t pay the rent.”

Her expression grew solemn. “Oh, Da, he can charm the birds from the trees with his words, but the hateful landholder was havin’ none o’ it that last year. In truth, we think it pleased the landlord because he had other plans for our little plot, and we know he wanted to be rid of us for other reasons as well.”

“So you were turned off your land?” Dallas knew what that meant. His great grandfather, a learned man who had had a thriving business, hid his family in a Georgia mountain’s forest to evade transport to an Oklahoma reservation. That forest was where his grandfather lived now, where Dallas had lived until his folks were killed fourteen years ago.

She nodded, and he remembered he’d asked about their land.

“Only the clothes on our backs and a few possessions could we carry with us. It was fearful we were, for it was coming on winter, and we had nowhere to go but the road. We wandered for days carrying our few things and getting hungrier.”

He nodded. Reminded him of tales of the Trail Of Tears where people carried their possessions through the snow. Or died trying.

“That’s when we met up with this band o’ Travelers. Da talked his best until they took us in. At first, we all lived in tents or just camped in the open. Soon they went to living in wagons, and we had our own with the rest. Later Da used money we earned from our singing and playing to buy the second wagon at a bargain from a family setting off for Australia.”

“But if that was in Ireland, how did y’all come to be in Texas?”

She smiled at him with a hint of pride. “I said me Da could charm with his words, did I not? Weel, we were making a fair bit o’ money but still having no luck atall. Forced to move on, we were, no matter where we stopped. It was tired beyond measure we were o’ threats and people chasing us with no end in sight.”

With a brilliant smile on her rose petal lips, she paused. “Da likes his cup o’ ale. Two years ago he was in a pub with Mr. O’Leary. He was the father o’ the man you’ve met and the good man who led the Travelers before that awful Tom Williams. Poor Mr. O’Leary died last year, God rest his soul."

She made the sign of the cross. “And poor us, for that’s when Williams forced himself in as leader. Anyway, Da and Mr. O’Leary met a man from America and set in out talking one another.”

Her jewel eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward. She spread her hands like a master storyteller. “Oh, it was tremendous wealthy this man was, an in-dus-tree-a-list interested in studying what he called ‘the common man.’ Da and him kept jawin’, and before you could dance a jig”—she snapped her fingers—“that man agreed to pay for us all on a big ship to America.”

“All of you?” Dallas calculated the fares. “Plus your wagons? Why that must have cost a fortune.”

She nodded. “Akh, like as not. He hired the whole o’ the ship, and we brought our wagons and ponies and all.”

“Well, dang. How did that come about?”

“Oh, ‘tis good there’s no tax on talk. Da told him how oppressed the Travelers are in Ireland even though they descend from the ancient minstrels and poets who traveled the land. Saints preserve us, to hear Da talking you’d think they were near kings. O’ course, he says the O’Neills really were kings in Ireland long ago.”

“And this man bought your father’s story?” Nothing about the people he’d seen resembled royalty.

“Da explained Travelers’ special Sheldroo language, which is not the same as the Irish language or Gaelic. Sheldroo is older than written words in Ireland. Da said as how Travelers only needed a place where they’d not be harshly judged so they could live peacefully among their fellow man. And, o’ course, we’d need our wagons and ponies to ply our trades and make our way in the new land.”

Incredulous, Dallas shook his head. “And this man paid for all of you, just from talking to your father?”

“Aye, that he did. He said it was an ex-per-i-ment in what he called the social condition. And Da must write him each month and tell him how we’re getting on.”

She looked proud, then her expression sobered. “We docked in a big place called Charleston and then moved inland, but wherever we’ve been, still no one wanted us. The men talked it over and decided to go west, where they heard free land waited for anyone who wished it.”

Dallas couldn’t see Tom Williams as a farmer or rancher. “Do the men, other than your father, know anything about working land?”

She shook her head. “No, and I fear when they find their places, they won’t be able to, um, what do they call it, ‘prove’ it up? That’s what we were told has to be done to keep the land.”

He nodded. “Nothing in life is free, and homesteading is hard work. You have to build a house on the land and live there and improve the land in some way while you wait out the five years before it’s finally yours. Many folks have given up and moved on before they stayed long enough for their claim to be finalized.”

“Da says he’ll make it, but I don’t know. Sure and it preys on me mind, for I don’t know what’s to become of him and Ma. Da’s not that old and fit enough I suppose, but his strength has gone. Ma is ailing awful these past years and grows weaker by the day.”

“What about your brothers?”

She looked down at her hands. “Me brothers. No doubt Finn will do fine unless he lets Mac drag him down.” She heaved such a forlorn sigh it pained Dallas. “That Mac, he’s sparking with Mr. Williams’ niece, Vourneen McDonald. Oh, I tell you, Mac worries Ma and Da something fierce.”

Dallas figured he’d bitten off more than he could chew this time, but he vowed he wouldn’t let being saddled with a wife change his life. However much he enjoyed sharing Cenora’s passion, he didn’t want her family, too. Would she settle down while her parents went on with Williams’ threat hanging over their heads?

****

A week after his wedding, Dallas sat outside the wagon he and Cenora shared, his arm snuggled her to his side. Her brothers played cards with several other men near the fire. He’d just ended a long story-telling session relating Cherokee myths for the children, and several youngsters still played at his feet. While the adults might be suspicious of an outsider, apparently the children now counted him as a friend.

He supposed his and Cenora’s commandeered wagon meant her parents were cramped with her brothers sharing their vehicle. Most nights all the unmarried men slept on the ground anyway so perhaps it wasn’t too great a hardship. So far, he’d had the terrifying nightmare only once. Maybe sleeping with Cenora beside him would cure him of that problem.

But Dallas couldn’t even drive the wagon he and Cenora shared, and her brothers took turns driving for most of each day. The group still avoided towns for fear of reprisal for the two men Dallas shot. At least they offered that story.

He suspected his new family feared he’d escape at the first chance if they entered a town. The pattern so far was to travel slowly for two days and camp the third day. Thankfully for his aching body, today was a day of rest.

About ten this morning, the men had gone off to trade with farmers and ranchers while many of the women begged door to door. It seemed a sad life to Dallas, but most of the people seemed happy enough. He noticed the Travelers included his in-laws for the most part but still shut them out in subtle ways. The O’Neills might have been with the group ten years, but apparently they were still thought of as outsiders and with a hint of suspicion.

None of the O’Neills went begging, though in Dallas’s opinion playing for coins wasn’t far removed. Finn and Mac went off with two mules to sell or trade. Aoife rested a lot and looked as if she needed it.

Brendan shrank each time his adored wife grew ill, but he appeared helpless to do more than sympathize and give her another dose of the laudanum, to which Dallas suspected she had an addiction. Murphy, the metal worker, offered limited medical advice as apparently was the way with Irish iron smiths, but none of it appeared beneficial. Damn, but Dallas’d be glad to be home and shed of this sorry life.

“Soon I’ll be able to ride again,” he voiced his thoughts before he realized he’d spoken.

Cenora stared at him. “Are you daft? Just because you can stand on your own two feet now doesn’t mean you’re fit. ‘Tis true the wounds heal more each day, but you still have fever each afternoon and evening.”

“Maybe if I could ride again, I’d feel less like a fish out of water.” And less like a prisoner. He doubted he’d feel at ease until back on his own ranch.

She shrugged away his comment. “You’re restless as a drop o’ oil on a hot skillet.”

He laughed. “Guess I am at that. Wondering if my family are searching for me or worried and how my ranch hands are doing.”

For now he could only conserve his strength and recuperate, but he marked the trail with a cairn of rocks at each campsite or stop. For good measure, in case anyone disturbed the rocks, he marked a tree now and then. When any of his family came upon the marks, they’d be sure to follow. His father and uncle had taught him their ways of trail blazing through forest or desert.

“You checked on your big horse, did you not? I fear brushing him down made you weary.”

“True. Had to rest afterward. But I enjoyed pampering him. He’s probably wondering what’s going on.”

Women had served an early supper, owing to the fact most folks were away at noon. One man had bought a ham, and each family bought a few slices. He and Cenora had theirs fried, but some cooked theirs in cabbage.

In a nearby tree, two blue jays argued. A soft breeze cooled the air, but not enough for a jacket. Rain clouds gathering in the distance looked to be moving north.

He patted her shoulder where his arm rested. “Seems peaceful tonight, doesn’t it?”

She turned and met his gaze, and he thought a look of understanding passed between them. Except for being weak as a pup, the past few days had passed by easily. If he weren’t worried out of his mind about his ranch and his kin, Dallas might enjoy this respite while he recovered.

Cenora pointed. “Oh, no. Look at that beautiful chestnut Tom Williams has in tow. He’s that mean to his animals as well as his wives.”

They watched Williams bring the horse into camp, a sleek and beautiful animal. The spirited mare obviously had not yet been trained. Dallas stiffened at the way Williams tugged on the animal’s bridle. Her mouth must already be sore from the misuse.

She fought Williams at every step, neighing and pawing the ground. Dallas admired her courage, and his anger with the leader increased. Williams tugged the frightened animal’s halter harder and tied her to a tree while Augie and Mort looked on and laughed. Others drifted over to watch. Williams tried to saddle the mare, but she kicked and pulled at her restraints.

Cenora hit her hands against her knees. “Akh, that man’s heavy hand makes me temper boil. I’ll soon have to go in, for I can’t watch him mistreat any animal, especially not such a beautiful mare.”

“He shouldn’t treat her so rough.” Dallas hated the man’s brutish ways, and Williams’ quick temper ill suited work with any living thing. Dallas’s own usually-level temper built up steam. When he saw Williams pull a whip into his hand, rage pumped through Dallas.

Stiff as he was after his earlier exertion, he rose and balled his fists as he called to Cenora, “Fetch some of my money.”

She put her hand on his arm to restrain him. “You’ll not make me a widow so soon?”

“No, that’s not my plan, but I’ll not see that fine mare mistreated. Get some of the money and bring it fast.”

Without further protest, she hurried into the wagon. Dallas clamped his jaw against the pain of hurrying and strode toward the horse and Williams. Dallas knew others viewed him as the outsider in spite of his marriage, and he dreaded an encounter with the bully. Would the rest of the Travelers take Williams’ side?

Dear Lord, give me strength for this.

He tried to saunter through the crowd and worked his way to stand near Williams. “Nice mare. Having a problem with her?”

“’Tis none of your affair, fool. I traded me best ponies to yon farmer for this wild mare. Go back to your wagon. Watch how it’s done, and I’ll soon teach this beast who’s boss.”

He cracked the whip, and the tip nipped a long, raw stripe on the mare’s rump. The wild-eyed, frightened animal screamed in pain and fought even more. Her tender mouth was torn where the bit dug deep, and bloody froth showed.

Before Williams could lay a second lash, Dallas grabbed the whip from Williams’ hand. “You’ll not gentle a horse by brutalizing her.” He spoke quietly, but he injected menace into his words.

The crowd circled them, keeping several yards’ distance as Dallas and Williams faced one another’s glare, yet onlookers remained close enough to hear every heated word.

Williams whirled on him, lip curled in a sneer. “You’re lucky you’ve your wounds to hide behind. No man tells me how to train a mare. I was breaking horses while you were at your mother’s tit.”

Dallas’s hands flexed into fists. He hadn’t the strength to fight this man, but how he would love to punch the smirk off that face. “How much do you want for this one?”

“Are you daft man? Traded me best ponies plus a gold piece for her.”

Dallas stepped closer. “How much?”

Williams named an absurd number, and Dallas said, “Done. The mare’s mine. You’re never to touch her again.”

Augie nudged Mort and both stepped nearer. The two burly men appeared ready for a brawl. Williams started to punch Dallas, but Will O’Leary caught his arm.

“Remember, this man’s barely able to stand. And wasn’t he sorely wounded saving one o’ our own lasses.”

Murphy said, “Aye, Tom, and he gave you your price. Sure and a big one it was, so you should be that happy.”

Williams shrugged off O’Leary’s grasp. “As if you were in any shape to break or ride a horse, anymore than you’re able to ride the woman you stole from me.”

Several in the crowd gasped at his coarse words.

“I don’t break horses, I train them. And I’ll train this one as I’ve done others, without a whip or brutality.” He threw the whip into the campfire and stepped toward Williams.

Dallas spoke quietly, but the steel in his voice left no doubt of his sincerity. “And don’t ever speak of my wife in such crude terms again. You’ll show her the respect she’s due, or you’ll answer to me.”

Cenora rushed up with a handful of money. Her flushed face and frantic expression made her look harried. She stopped at his side and looked from him to Williams as she thrust a handful of coins and bills at Dallas.

Thankful she hadn’t brought the money belt, but only a portion of the funds from it, Dallas counted out Williams’ price.

“Where’d you come by gilt like that?” Williams asked.

“From selling horses I bred and trained with kindness.”

Williams pocketed the money and stalked to his wagon. Augie and Mort trailed in his wake.

“Ah, lad, you’ve not heard the last o’ that,” Brendan O’Neill cautioned. “But ‘tis proud I am o’ you all the same. The man’s that rough with his horses.”

Murphy nodded and slapped him on his good shoulder. “Aye, ‘tis true. Williams may forget a kindness, but he never forgets a grudge.”

Brendan nodded. “Aye, that’s true. May the good saints protect you and bless you each day, and may trouble ignore you each step of the way.”

Dallas shrugged. Although he had always hated calling attention to himself, he addressed the crowd to explain and ease the tension, “I apologize for my temper, but I can’t see a woman spoken of unkindly nor an animal abused.”

To his surprise, murmurs of approval radiated from the crowd.

Cenora beamed at him, then turned and sashayed to the wagon, head high and a swing in her step. Several men congratulated him for his actions. One or two looked over his shoulder before speaking to see if Williams watched, but the man had shut himself in his wagon.

Dallas nodded to those clustered about him and walked toward his new mare, speaking softly as he approached. He figured he’d drawn a line in the sand with Williams the man would never forgive. Dallas had big decisions to make. First, though, he had a mare to rescue.

He stopped a few feet from her, his voice soothing and constant. The frightened animal rolled her eyes and stamped the ground, tugging at her tether. He spoke softly to her, promised sweet pastures and oats, gentle rides and good companions. How long he stood to pacify her he didn’t know, probably most of an hour, but he waited until her bunched muscles eased one by one.

Dallas inched closer and continued to cajole until the mare quieted. When she stood motionless, he held his hand up to her muzzle for her to sniff. She tried to back away at first, then stopped and eventually edged her nose forward. He kept his voice soft while he wooed her.

“You’re a true beauty, aren’t you? What shall we call you, eh?” He moved slowly, talking calmly all the while. “You’re a regal lady. Shall we let my own new lady give you a royal name?” His offer surprised him, but once spoken, sounded right.

The mare nodded her head.

“Ha, I thought you’d like that. You’ll like my lady as well. She’s light as a feather, and you’ll hardly feel her weight upon your back.” The horse could be a wedding gift. He only hoped the money spent didn’t run him short until he could sell another of his horses and that the foal due any day arrived safe and sound.

He touched the mare, brushing his fingers down her nose. She trembled but didn’t shake off his hand, so he repeated the gesture then moved to her neck. He peeked at the lash mark, thankful it didn’t appear to warrant salve. No doubt she would have resisted had he tried to touch the area anyway.

When she turned her head and followed his movement then nudged his arm, he thought she’d finally accepted him. “Come along now, lass, and we’ll put you with Red and let you two get acquainted.”

Still talking softly to her, Dallas led the horse to where he’d left his big roan. The newly acquired mare followed with hardly an objection. As if sensing his wishes, she sidled up in line with Red and munched grass as if she did so in that spot every evening.

The sun painted glorious reds and pinks on the western horizon and turned the distant rain clouds purple. Surprised, he reckoned he’d been longer calming the mare than he’d thought, for night neared. Dallas secured the mare and then, with a pat to reassure her and one for Red, he turned to go back to the wagon and ready himself for bed.

A surprise waited when he turned around. The crowd had not dispersed as he supposed, but all eyes watched him. He smiled and called, “Good night,” as he threaded through them. Their awed stares bore into him as he passed.

They might be impressed by his ability with horses, but he figured they’d side with their leader in a showdown. What was he to do? He couldn’t leave the O’Neills to bear the burden for this after he left but, dammitall, he refused to be saddled with a bunch of his unwanted wife’s even more unwanted family.

Even as he thought it, he knew he’d have to ask them to come to his ranch. He hated the idea, but his rescuing the horse caused further split between the O’Neill’s and their leader. Dallas always accepted responsibility for his actions, which is what had put the current strain on his finances. He hoped that could all be accomplished without bloodshed—his—or loss of property—anyone’s.

When he stepped into the wagon, Cenora threw herself at him.

“Whoa, wife.” He near fell out the door again before he caught his balance.

“You did a fine brave thing. Thank you for saving the pretty mare from that mean-spirited devil.”

He tried to look solemn to tease her but couldn’t prevent a grin. “What will you name her?”

“You can’t mean it? Me name her?” she asked, her emerald eyes round as plates.

“She’s to be yours as a wedding present if you’ll have her, so I figured you’d want to choose her name.” She launched herself at him again. He staggered to plant himself firmly then sank to their bed and pulled her with him. As he laid down on their floor bed, she sat beside him.

“Oh, I’ve never had me own horse. Other than our ponies and mules, I’ve hardly ever ridden.” She sat lost in thought. “Let me see, what name should it be?”

It occurred to him she’d been like the mare, proud and beautiful when they met. She’d been mistreated by those kidnappers and barely missed out on Williams’ abuse. Plus, she’d faced losses, hardships, and discrimination. Dallas tugged at his ear and figured he’d have to be careful to treat her as gently as the mare.

After a dozen tries, Cenora settled on Queenie.

He laughed. “That’s the first name you mentioned. Are you sure now?” He examined this new sensation, pleasing his wife, reveling in the glow of her approval. Felt damn good.

She nodded. “Aye, Queenie it is, for that’s how I’ll feel sitting on her back. Imagine, me own horse. I’m that grateful to you.” She flashed him a saucy look that fired his blood.

Heat shot through him and, at least for now, erased his worries. He tugged her down beside him. “Come here, wife, and show me how grateful you can be.”