Chapter Eleven

After that night, Rachel noticed a definite change in her husband. Gone was the Cole Elliot who treated her with deference and in his place was a new man who recognized her as his equal. Sometimes, she knew, he still found it difficult to believe his good fortune that she loved him, but she reminded him often, and sometimes he even said the words back to her.

With the cold weather, the rumors of Will Statler slowed to a trickle, and sometimes Cole did not think of his old enemy for days at a time. He was able to reflect on how good his life had become. He even learned not to mind when Colleen woke up and demanded a midnight snack right when her parents were in the middle of something far more interesting.

Most of the winter slipped by in this idyllic fashion, and then one night Cole reflected that it would soon be almost a year since he and Rachel had made their trip to Stillwater to tie the knot. At the moment the thought occurred to him, he was lying quite contentedly, holding his wife in his arms. They had just finished making love, without interruption for once, and had settled down to sleep.

“What are you thinking?” Rachel inquired sleepily.

“What makes you think I’m thinking anything?” he asked with great interest.

She sighed. “I can tell by the way you’re breathing.”

Cole smiled in the darkness. She surely was a caution. “I was just thinking you didn’t have much of a wedding.”

Rachel murmured her agreement. “But then, you didn’t have much of a honeymoon, either,” she added wickedly, tweaking his chest hair.

“Ouch!” He slapped her hand away affectionately. “Behave yourself or I won’t tell you my idea.”

She perked right up at that. “What idea?”

“Wellll,” he drawled slowly, to torment her. “I was figuring maybe we should have a party. You know, to celebrate our anniversary. We cheated folks out of one when we ran off, so maybe this could make up for it.”

Rachel was propped up on her elbow now. “What a wonderful idea! We could get some fiddlers and have dancing in the parlor and...” She paused, remembering one of the reasons she had originally thought it would not be a good idea to have a wedding celebration. “What about Statler?”

Cole caught his breath. “What about him?” he asked cautiously. Wanting to protect her, he had not told her about the rumors.

She knew about them, though. “What if he and his men show up at the party?”

Cole let his breath out in a long sigh. He should have known better than to think he could keep anything from her. “They wouldn’t dare show their faces around here. Besides, if they do, there’ll be more than a hundred men to stand up to them. You don’t need to worry about Statler anymore, honey.”

Rachel wasn’t too sure about that, but at least she believed what he had said about the party’s being safe. She began to plan.

Cole was soon sorry he had suggested the party. Rachel’s every waking hour for the next three weeks was devoted to preparations. First the whole house was turned upside down and cleaned within an inch of its life. Then Rachel and Lupe started cooking. Cole thought it was pure torture to come in every night to the delicious aromas only to be told he could not have even so much as a taste until the party.

He told Colleen all about his problems, and she sympathized very sweetly. To Cole’s great delight, she was learning to smile, and she practiced on him quite regularly. She even seemed to recognize him now, grinning and waving her hands whenever he appeared.

The day of the party dawned bright and clear and unseasonably warm. The first guests began to arrive along about noon, and by sundown the ranch house was crammed to the rafters. That was when the dancing started. All day Cole had been the perfect host, encouraging his company to enjoy themselves to the fullest. Now he simply stood back and watched his wife become the belle of the ball. He was reminded of the party her father had given for Rachel when she first came back from school, the party at which he had stood watching her just like this. That time he had been jealous as she danced and flirted with partner after partner. This time, he watched indulgently, knowing that although she might be smiling at this man or that, it was he whom she loved. Secure in his knowledge, he simply enjoyed the lovely picture she made as she swirled around the floor.

She was simply lovely. She was wearing the same dress she had worn to their wedding, the blue one with the lace on it. He hadn’t ever seen her wear it for any other occasion, and he had concluded she considered the dress very special. When she put it on earlier in the day, he’d even made a remark to that effect.

She had turned on him, saying, “This is my wedding dress! Of course it’s special!” Then she had grinned at him, flirting, and said, “Besides, it’s exactly the same color as my husband’s eyes, so that makes it my favorite.”

He had grabbed her and kissed her soundly as a reward for her compliment, and he had wished very fervently they didn’t have over a hundred guests due any minute so he could carry her off and remove that very special dress. Still, he didn’t mind too much sharing her today, not when he so thoroughly enjoyed having all the other men seeing her and envying him.

“Cole?”

Startled from his reverie, Cole glanced up. It was Miles, but his expression showed he had not been enjoying himself.

“What is it?” Cole asked, coming instantly to attention. He suspected trouble. Perhaps some cowboy had had a little too much of the Elliots’ whiskey and started a fight.

“There’s somebody out here I think you need to talk to” was all he said. He motioned for Cole to follow him outside.

A brisk wind had picked up just after sunset, and the men had moved the whiskey barrel inside the bunkhouse. What had been until a few minutes earlier a lively group of cowboys were gathered there. Now they all stood silently, waiting for Cole to arrive.

Miles and Cole stepped inside, and Cole looked around, his sense of unease growing with every second. Miles gestured to one of the cowboys. “You know Pinto, don’t you?” he asked unnecessarily.

Cole looked at the small rider who went by the name Pinto, and nodded. The man had worked at a neighboring ranch. “Haven’t seen you around in awhile,” he remarked.

Pinto nodded in return. “I been working up north.” He glanced at Miles as if for approval, and then went on. “I seen Statler, Mr. Elliot.”

Cole felt himself go cold, as if all his blood had ceased to flow and retreated into some secret recess deep in his body. “You’re sure it was him?” he asked calmly.

Pinto shifted in his dusty boots. “Yes, sir. It was him, all right. I hardly knew him at first. He was awful gaunted up, like he’d maybe been real sick or something...” His voice trailed off as the men exchanged glances, remembering Cole had wounded him badly, maybe even fatally, or so they had then thought.

“It was in a saloon, up in Mason,” he went on, naming a town far north of Stillwater. “I might not of recognized him, but then I heard him talk and somebody with him called him ‘Will.’ It was him, Mr. Elliot, sure as I’m standing here.” Cole nodded, glancing at Miles. Miles obviously believed the story, too. Pinto had no loyalties to the Circle M, but he would have no reason to lie about such a thing, either. Cole gave Pinto a small grin. “I appreciate you coming here to tell me, Pinto. You looking for a job?”

Pinto shrugged. “I sure am. I been riding the grubline, drifting down this way so’s I could tell you the news before I head on south.”

“Well, you don’t have to head anywhere. You’ve got a job here as long as you want one. Miles,” he turned to his foreman, “put him to work. Tomorrow,” he added with what he hoped was a jovial laugh to break the tension. “Tonight we’re having a party. How about some of that whiskey?”

The other men responded slowly, but they did respond. One by one they each forced a smile and refilled their cups. Cole joined them in a toast, and by the time he left again, their festive mood had almost been restored.

Miles walked back with him to the house. “It’s nothing we didn’t already know,” he pointed out.

Cole slanted him a wry grin. “Yeah, but hearing rumors second and third hand that somebody thought he might of seen Statler is a little different than talking to somebody who’s actually seen him.”

“You think he’ll be back here?” Miles asked.

Cole lifted his eyebrows in surprise that Miles would even ask. “The only question is when he’ll be back. You heard Pinto. Statler looks like he’s been sick. I hurt him bad. He won’t forget. I’m just surprised he hasn’t come before this.”

“Maybe it’s like we figured, he’s waiting until he’s strong enough to beat us,” Miles suggested.

Cole nodded. “He probably found out we didn’t let any of our men go for the winter, so he’s biding his time.” Cole paused at the foot of the ranch house stairs. The sound of laughter spilled out the partially opened door. “I’ve had just about enough of Will Statler for tonight, though,” he declared. “Like I said, this is a party, and I for one am going in there and dance with my wife. Come on, Miles,” he said, slapping his friend on the back. “Let’s see if we can’t find you somebody to dance with, too.” The two men went inside.

At that moment, back in Canaan, two other people who had not attended the party were consoling each other. Or at least they had been.

Lettie glanced up from her pillow in irritation. She wished Hank Oliver would put out the light. It was bad enough that he was sitting there grumbling to himself. At least if he would put out the light, she could plug her ears and go on to sleep. She was beginning to regret her decision to let him spend the night.

She hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight, though. Everyone—or at least all the respectable people in town—had gone to the Elliots’ party, and the saloon had been nearly empty all evening. The tomblike silence had irked her, reminding her she was an outsider and would never be invited to parties. Cole Elliot had cheated her out of her chance to become respectable when he had married someone else.

Even the Kid had earned his share of her wrath when she remembered that he, too, would be at the party and would probably be dancing and flirting with all the young girls. The way her luck was running, he would decide to marry one of them, and then he’d dump Lettie, just like his pal Cole Elliot had done.

She had been a little surprised when Hank Oliver had come into the saloon earlier in the evening. She knew he would have been invited to the Elliots’, so he must have decided not to attend. Both of them had scrupulously avoided mentioning the party all evening, but they each knew the other had been thinking of little else. When Sam closed the saloon early, Hank walked her home.

They did not speak all the way to her house, but Hank followed her inside the way he always did when he walked with her. Lettie lighted a fire and then slipped behind the screen to undress. Hank was the only man she had ever known who didn’t like to watch the process, but she was more than willing to spare his delicate sensibilities. When she came out, clad in the wrapper which she would not remove until the room was completely dark, Hank was already in bed, safely under the covers.

Lettie blew out the light and joined him. He did not speak. He never spoke when they were in bed together. He simply moved over her and did it.

When he finished, something that rarely took very long and which took even less time tonight, he rolled off her. This time, though, instead of getting up and putting his clothes back on as he usually did, he lay there for awhile. Finally, he said, “Could I... I mean, would it be all right if... if I stayed... here... all night?”

Lettie could have laughed at his hesitancy. Any other man would have coaxed or teased or even demanded. But she didn’t laugh. Instead, she sighed. Her sigh had disturbed him.

“I’ll pay you extra,” he offered almost in desperation.

She might have thrown him out then, so annoyed was she by his offer, except that she, too, had no desire to be alone on this of all nights. “You don’t have to pay me at all, Hank,” she had said wearily. “Just stay.”

At that moment, her decision had seemed wise. Now, she was having second thoughts. First he had tossed and turned for awhile as if trying to get comfortable, and finally she had suggested he get himself a drink to help him sleep. He had, and now he was sitting on the edge of her bed with his back to her, muttering to himself. He was wearing his long johns—he never undressed completely in her presence—and puffing furiously on a cigar, something she had rarely seen him do.

“Hank, are you coming to bed or not? I can’t sleep with you making all that racket,” she said irritably.

He jumped guiltily and stubbed out the cigar in a plate sitting on the bedside table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still awake,” he said, turning to face her.

Lettie was surprised at the strange gleam in his eye. It was an expression she had never seen on him before. He looked almost excited. Lettie had discovered that nothing, not even sex excited him. She thought at first that he might be drunk.

“We’ll get even with him, Lettie. You’ll see. For what he did to her and what he did to you. We’ll fix him,” Hank said in a strangely agitated voice.

Lettie frowned. He was certainly talking crazy but he couldn’t be drunk. When she thought back, she remembered he had only had two drinks all evening. Counting the one he had just gotten from her bottle, that only made three. A man didn’t get this crazy on three drinks. “Get even with who?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

He seemed a little surprised at her question. “Why, Elliot, of course,” he said.

Lettie sighed wearily. Couldn’t he think about anything or anyone else? She was, however, a little touched that Hank wanted to get even on her behalf as well as to avenge poor little Rachel McKinsey. She smiled indulgently. “And just how do you plan to get even with him?”

Hank’s handsome face twisted into a smug grin, another expression Lettie had never seen. “I am not going to do anything,” he explained triumphantly, “but Will Statler is. He and I are partners now.”

Lettie gasped. “Is Statler still alive?” she asked, struggling to a sitting position.

Hank averted his eyes until she had pulled the bedclothes up over her breasts. He didn't like to look at her naked body. When she was decently covered, he turned back to her and said, “Of course he’s still alive. Everybody’s been talking about it for months. Haven’t you heard?”

Of course she had heard, but she wanted proof. “Have you actually seen him?”

Hank nodded, that look of pious smugness again distorting his fine features. “I sent word I wanted to meet with him. We got together a little over a week ago, and I told him I’d do anything to help him get even with Elliot. We’re partners,” he repeated.

Lettie felt a chill. Will Statler didn’t need a partner. If he had agreed to anything, it would be because he saw a way to get something from Hank Oliver. What that might be, she had no idea and didn’t really care. What she did care about was what they planned to do to Cole. “Do you have a plan?’ she asked, hoping she sounded only curious and not desperate.

“Not yet. Statler has to work out a few things first. It won’t be long, though,” he said reassuringly, as if such information should bring her comfort. “Then you can spit on Elliot’s grave.”

Lettie shuddered, but Hank didn’t notice. He was blowing out the lamp. She sat stock-still while he climbed cautiously into the bed, being careful not to touch her.

“Good night, Lettie,” he said when he had settled himself with his back to her.

“Good night,” she murmured absently. Spit on Elliot’s grave! Was that what she wanted? Oh, she had been angry and hurt, but the anger had cooled and the hurt had settled down into a sort of plaguing bitterness. In truth, she hadn’t even wanted revenge way back when she really had been angry. Oliver had misjudged her there, but it was lucky he had. Now he would trust her, give her information about Statler’s plans.

Lettie lay down stiffly beside Oliver who had already begun to snore softly. She knew she didn’t owe Cole Elliot anything and certainly not her loyalty. She also knew he had that loyalty, whether he deserved it or not. It was a humbling thing to admit, but Lettie admitted it. She just wouldn’t examine her motives too closely. If she did, she might have to admit she was in love with the man.

Cole Elliot smiled in amusement as the latest dance ended and Rachel’s partner led her back to her chair where she was once more surrounded by eager potential partners. Cole did not intend for any of them to be victorious, so he elbowed his way through the crowd, tossing good-natured insults to anyone who complained.

“Mrs. Elliot will be dancing with her husband this time,” he announced to all and sundry when he had succeeded in reaching her side.

Rachel rewarded him with a dazzling smile, and she laid her hand willingly in his and rose gracefully to her feet. She looked him over from head to toe, her eyes glinting her approval. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn to their wedding. She would, she decided, be more than happy to marry him all over again.

Her smile never wavered while they walked out to the floor, but when she turned and stepped into his arms, he saw the mischievous glitter in her eyes. “Mrs. Elliot will indeed be dancing with her husband,” she remarked. “It’s a shame, however, that Mr. Elliot will not be dancing with his wife, since he still can’t dance!”

Cole rolled his eyes. She had nagged him and nagged him to let her teach him, but he knew it was hopeless and hadn’t even let her try. In retaliation, he hauled her into his arms and held her indecently close as the music began. “I didn’t really want to dance with you anyway,” he countered, grinning broadly. “I just wanted an excuse to hold you.”

Rachel made a disgusted noise, but she was still smiling. She didn’t mind being held as long as he didn’t step on her feet, and said so.

He laughed and promised to be careful. Then he pulled her head against his chest and laid his cheek on her temple. For a few blissful moments they stood like that, swaying in a gentle imitation of the dance. Then she heard him sigh with what she guessed was melodramatic intensity.

“You know, sometimes I just can’t quite believe you really love me,” he said, and sighed again.

Suddenly suspicious, Rachel tried to look up to read his expression, but he was holding her too tightly.

“You do love me, don’t you, darlin?” he asked, sounding remarkably insecure.

“Of course,” she said into his shirtfront, struggling to lift her head but failing because he was still hugging her face to his chest.

He leaned over slightly so his lips were level with her ear and whispered provocatively, “Would you like to go off somewhere with me and prove it?”

Rachel gasped and finally succeeded in breaking loose and rearing back in his arms. “Cole!” she chastened, her cheeks burning. Then she looked around to see if anyone had heard his outrageous suggestion. Satisfied that no one had, she raised her eyes to his, only to blush all over again at his expression. Anyone looking at him would have known exactly what was on his mind. “Behave yourself,” she admonished primly, even though those deliciously familiar shivers were dancing up her legs. She couldn’t help but remember that this was exactly what he had told her he had wanted to do the very first time they had danced together.

“We’re married. There’s nothing wrong with it,” he complained comically. He was still moving as if they were dancing although she had stopped stock-still at his suggestion. He gave her a little nudge to set her in motion again, and then pulled her back into his arms.

“Cole, there’s a time and a place...” she whispered.

“I know just the place...” he whispered back.

“We have guests! We can’t just...”

“They won’t miss us,” he predicted. “Besides, it won’t take very long.” He pressed himself against her so she could feel the truth of his statement.

“Cole!” Rachel glanced around once again, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.

It just wasn’t fair. How could she feel this excited from just talking about it? “Where could we go?” Rachel asked reluctantly, not looking up so she would not have to see the gloating smile she knew would be on his lips.

Rachel knew she had him with that question, though. The truth was there was no place on the entire ranch that wasn’t swarming with people. Their bedroom was where the older ladies had gathered to gossip, and Colleen and the other babies were all sleeping in the other bedroom. The rest of the guests were either dancing in the parlor or eating in the dining room where all the food had been spread, and people would be bustling back and forth in the kitchen. It was too cold to go outside.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said mysteriously. Pulling her by the hand, he led her from the room, into the dining room where they spoke to several people briefly before hurrying on past into the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark, but when they entered, they heard a startled cry and saw the silhouettes of two people breaking from an embrace. “Don’t mind us,” Cole informed them cheerfully, heading straight for the storeroom. He went on in, pulling Rachel in behind him and closing the door.

“Cole!” Rachel cried in an urgent whisper. “We can’t! Not in here! Those people, whoever they were, saw us come in here. They’ll know!”

But Cole wasn’t concerned. He had already taken her in his arms and begun kissing her throat. “They won’t care. They’re probably mad because they didn’t think of it first,” he said against her skin. “I’ll bet you a gold eagle they’ll be in here as soon as we’re gone.”

“Cole!” she tried again, but he wasn’t paying much attention. “What if Colleen wakes up and wants to be fed?” she argued, even though his lips were already working their magic and melting her resistance.

“Lupe’ll take care of her. Now shut up,” he commanded, claiming her lips with his own to insure she did. One large hand closed over the mound of her breast while the other urged her hips into closer contact with his.

When he lowered her to the floor, she did not resist. Her legs had turned to jelly and would no longer have supported her anyway. “My dress,” she mumbled, remembering her fancy attire and the dirty floor.

But it was all right. He was going to be on the bottom. He pulled her down on top of him.

Rachel delved her fingers into his hair, holding his head captive while she devoured his willing mouth. He tasted of tobacco and whiskey and Cole, a delicious combination she consumed greedily.

He accepted her kisses with a deceptive passivity. Just when she began to wonder why he wasn’t even hugging her, she realized he had been busy with her skirts and now was tugging on her pantalettes. They gave with a slither of the drawstring, and Rachel gasped as the cool air struck her warm center.

“Cole! This is wicked!” she complained, but she was already much too breathless to expect him to take her seriously.

“I know,” he agreed, equally breathless as he struggled with the buttons of his pants. Then he grasped her hips and lifted her to him.

Rachel sheathed him, moaning softly as she settled herself around him. “Oh, Cole,” she whispered, marveling anew at his strength.

“Oh, Rachel,” he groaned back in tender mockery, and she could hear the joyous smile in his voice.

She rocked gently, teasing him and herself, sending little shivers of pleasure careening through her body. But he was much too impatient for such nonsense, and urged her with hands and hips, bucking against her like an eager stallion. She responded with equal urgency, riding him harder and harder still. The storeroom muffled the sounds of their impassioned gasps and the rustle of their clothing, closing them into a secret world where sight and sound ceased and only sensation remained.

The sensation was enough, swirling around them and through them, binding them closer and closer still into the sacred unity, until with one searing flash they melded into one.

Rachel collapsed onto his chest, sobbing in the breath that her corset was restricting and vowing never again to try making love while she was trussed up like this. She listened to Cole’s breathing slow to normal, too, and savored the way his hands lovingly caressed her. A small smile curved her lips.

“Now do you believe I love you?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He considered a long moment. “I’m starting to,” he allowed, and then yelped as Rachel pinched him in an unmentionable spot. “Be careful,” he warned, capturing her hands, “or I’ll never ask you to do this again.”

Rachel chose not to dignify such a remark with a reply and contented herself with biting the tip of his nose before scrambling to her feet. “You’re a wicked man, Cole Elliot,” she decreed. “Now what did you do with my drawers?”

Cole fished in his pocket for a match so they could have some light by which to put themselves back together again. The process took several matches and quite a bit of doing. Rachel discovered that Cole hadn't bothered to untie the drawstring before removing her drawers, which meant she had to tie it together where he had broken it. Then she had to fight Cole off when he wanted to help her put the drawers back on.

“Watch that match!” she cautioned once. “You’ll catch us both on fire!”

He shook his head regretfully. “I think you’ve put out all my fires for the time being,” he complained in comic distress, making her laugh.

At last Rachel thought she might be presentable, and she proceeded to brush the dust off Cole’s back so he would be, too. Even when she was finished, though, she had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone would still be able to tell what they had just done simply by looking at them. One glance at Cole’s face when they finally reached the lamp-lit dining room confirmed her suspicions.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” she whispered urgently.

Cole choked down his laughter and managed to strike a fairly respectable pose. “How’s this?” he asked innocently.

Rachel glared at him.

He grinned again. “You’d better get that glint out of your eye, or I’m going to carry you back off to the storeroom again,” he warned, making her blush furiously, but before she could reply, a baby’s wail distracted her.

They both looked up to see tiny Lupe pushing her way through the crowd toward them holding a squalling baby in her arms. “Where you going?” she demanded when she reached them, allowing Rachel to take the baby from her.

Rachel, conscious of the way her cheeks were still burning, did not even dare meet the old woman’s eyes, but Cole said, “We were checking out the storeroom, to see if we’re going to have enough food to feed this crowd breakfast.”

Lupe scowled up at him a moment, trying to make sense but of what he had just said. Then she noticed something about the relaxed way he was standing and let her tiny dark eyes skim first over him and then over Rachel. All of a sudden Rachel’s blush began to make sense. Lupe grinned her toothless grin and nodded sagely. “Do we?” she teased.

Cole looked mildly astonished. “You know, we couldn’t tell. It’s mighty dark in there.”

“Cole!” Rachel gasped and scurried off with the baby. Lupe’s knowing laugh followed her.

As Rachel sat nursing Colleen in the privacy of the spare bedroom, surrounded by the other sleeping infants, she considered the many ways in which her husband had changed. A bare year ago, he had consented to sleep in a different room because he thought that was what she wanted. Now he was dragging her off to make love in a closet when they had a houseful of guests. The change was incredible, and wonderful, and for some reason Rachel could not stop smiling.

Later, Cole saw her come out of the bedroom when she had put Colleen back down to sleep. She was, he readily admitted, the most beautiful woman in the room and quite possibly the most beautiful woman alive. He still felt warm and loose from their encounter in the kitchen, and he could tell from the smile she flashed him before she was surrounded by would-be dance partners, that she was remembering, too.

Yes, he thought to himself, his life was just about perfect. Or it would be if Will Statler were out of the way. The worst part was in not knowing what Statler had up his sleeve, not knowing when and where he was going to strike. Cole would, he decided, get the Kid to ask Lettie to keep her ears open. She had been good about that so far, and Cole had no reason to doubt that she would let them know anything she heard. He never asked himself why he could feel so certain.