Chapter Three

The next morning Cole was up first, the habits of a lifetime waking him at dawn even though he had slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of Rachel. After what he had been doing to her all night, the prospect of meeting her at the breakfast table was a little disconcerting. Would she be able to guess what was going on in his mind? He briefly entertained thoughts of taking his morning meal with the men, but he didn’t relish seeing the knowing looks that were bound to be in their eyes any more than he looked forward to pretending indifference in front of Rachel. Besides, they would wonder why he wasn’t having breakfast with his bride. Finally, he chose the lesser of two evils and made his way to the ranch house dining room. Maybe she would sleep late.

But Rachel had been up almost as early as he. She, too, had had some difficulty sleeping. Nightmares of her father being murdered had haunted her, reminding her that she had problems much more serious than an uncooperative husband. The fact that that husband had appeared in some of those nightmares, and had repeatedly turned his back and walked away from her, had not improved her sleep.

To make up for her haggard appearance, Rachel spent more time than usual on her toilette. She dressed carefully in one of her favorite dresses, a pink water-floral print spangled with rosebuds. The color gave an artificial blush to her cheeks, something she sorely needed this morning. Then she patiently plaited her hair into an intricate coiffure. When she had held cold cloths to her eyes and reduced the puffiness her sleepless night had produced, she pronounced herself ready to face the day. And Cole Elliot.

She found him sipping coffee at the huge dining-room table, and to her dismay he did not look anything like the uncaring brute who had haunted her dreams. Instead he looked rugged and handsome and strong and ever so appealing. Rachel could have moaned in despair at the way her stomach fluttered and her knees grew weak at the very sight of him.

“Good morning,” she ventured, forcing herself to smile at him. There was no point in letting him know how he affected her, and she would never let him guess how hurt and angry she still was at his rejection. Her best course of action would be to treat him as nicely as she could manage and thereby make him regret that rejection. Carefully resisting the urge to empty the coffeepot over his head, she poured herself a cup and sat down at the place that had been set for her at his right, although she would have preferred to sit at the opposite end of the huge table.

“’Mornin’,” he mumbled. Morning wasn’t his best time of day, at least not until he’d had about three cups of coffee and this was only the second. Seeing her looking so fresh and cheerful wasn’t helping his mood, either. His tired eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the way her pink dress molded over her breasts, and even his sleep-deprived brain still had the energy to calculate how long it would take to undo all the buttons on her bodice. Cole drained his cup and got up to pour himself another.

Lupe came in then, slipping silently through the door and carrying two heaping plates. She set them down in front of Cole and Rachel, clucking and muttering in disapproval.

As he took his seat again, Cole ignored her, or pretended to. He didn’t have to understand the words to know what she was clucking about, and he certainly didn’t care about her disapproval.

Rachel glared up at the tiny old woman, her large brown eyes daring Lupe to say one word, just one word. Lupe glared back, her sunken black eyes replying that it had been all Rachel’s fault that nothing had happened last night and that Lupe was very disappointed in her.

Sighing in defeat, Rachel picked up her fork and began to toy halfheartedly with the pile of fluffy scrambled eggs on her plate.

Cole ate mechanically, chewing and swallowing without really tasting, because eating gave him an excuse not to look at Rachel. He had been right. Just seeing her brought back the dreams he had had the night before with crystal clarity. He had dreamed about her before, of course, lots of times. Even when he had forced himself not to think about her while he was awake, he hadn’t been able to control the dreams. None of them had been as bad as last night, though. He guessed that was because until yesterday he had never kissed her before. That cursed kiss had set off a whole string of explosive images in the back of his mind, all of which had blown up last night. Just remembering was making him feel hot all over. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

Rachel reluctantly swallowed a mouthful of eggs and stole a glance at her new husband. The awkwardness of their situation certainly hadn’t affected his appetite any, she noticed disgustedly. How on earth could she possibly keep up the pretense that she was as unaffected as he? And how on earth would she ever make him as aware of her as she was of him if she couldn’t?

But maybe there was another way. The thought teased at her, making her consider other possibilities. Maybe she should just talk to him, tell him how insulted she had been, tell him they had to have a real marriage. Of course he might just come right out and tell her he didn’t want a real marriage, didn’t want her. Suspecting it was one thing; hearing it from his own lips was quite another. No, she had already been humiliated enough. She wasn’t going to give him another crack at it. Viciously, she stabbed at another forkful of eggs.

The third or fourth time her gaze strayed over to him, Rachel noticed that he had shaved this morning. She was a little surprised. He usually only shaved once a week, on Saturday. She guessed that was so he would look nice when he went to town. Why, exactly, she had ever made note of the frequency of his shaves, she could not have said. Perhaps it was because she liked the way several days’ growth of whiskers gave him such a sinister air, especially when he had that huge, hog leg pistol of his tied down to his thigh. He always looked like a very dangerous man when he hadn’t shaved in a while.

Unfortunately, Rachel realized, even now when he was neatly groomed, he was very dangerous to her peace of mind. For just one second she allowed herself the luxury of glaring at him, and that was when she noticed he was wearing another new shirt, brown just like the one he had been married in, but a little different. He was dressed up. Rachel blinked and stared. Something warm stirred in her breast, something she quickly recognized as pleasure. He had gotten dressed up for her! She was beginning to feel very flattered and not quite as furious with him when he raised his eyes and met her gaze.

“I think we ought to go to town today,” he said.

Rachel blinked again. His tone surprised her. He wasn’t exactly giving her an order, but she didn’t think he was going to consider any discussion on the matter either. She knew a momentary urge to challenge him, but realized that if she started acting like a shrew, she would only make him glad they weren’t sharing a bed. No, she would be calm and cool and ever so poised. He would never guess her true feelings. She would make him regret rejecting her if it killed her. Still, since it was only Thursday and not the day one usually went to town, she thought she could at least inquire into his reasoning.

“Why are we going to town today?” she asked primly.

Cole wasn’t used to explaining his decisions, and his head came up in surprise. It took him a minute to put his reasons into words. “Because, I figure the sooner Will Statler finds out we’re married, the better. We can go to town and spread the word,” he said at last.

This was the very last thing she had expected him to say. Spreading the word about his marriage seemed like something Cole Elliot would have little inclination for, considering his behavior the night before. To her horror, Rachel found herself blushing furiously. “Of course,” she agreed with as much dignity as she could muster with her face on fire. Honestly, he was the most disturbing man. Then a fresh realization sent the color rushing to her face once more. His neat appearance was in honor of the trip to town and not for her at all. Disappointment overwhelmed her.

Cole watched her expression, unable to fathom the depths of those brown eyes. “I’ll go down and tell the men. We’ll want to take some of them with us in case there’s any trouble,” he said, knowing that he was only using this as a convenient excuse to end the conversation. He didn’t think he could sit here with her much longer and not at least touch her. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he rose, gave her a quick nod, and left.

Rachel watched him go and struggled with her chagrin. Now that he was gone, now that her traitorous body was no longer reacting to his physical presence, she found that she could think more clearly. What she thought gave her some little comfort. At least she hadn’t commented on the fact that he was so nicely dressed. At least she hadn’t let him know she thought he was trying to impress her. At least she hadn’t made a fool of herself.

And at least it was some comfort to know that if she had ever doubted Cole’s ability to handle Statler, she could put those doubts to rest. Her husband had obviously been making plans already, and as much as it galled her, she had to agree with his reasoning that announcing their marriage as soon as possible was a wise move.

Rachel stabbed her fork into her eggs and left it there.

“What happen?”

Rachel’s head jerked up in surprise to discover Lupe looming over her. There was no use pretending not to understand the question. She had understood Lupe’s disgruntled mumblings earlier even if Cole hadn’t, thank heaven. “I gave him his choice and he chose not to sleep with me, that’s what happened,” Rachel replied more than a little testily.

Lupe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You are sure you did not...”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” Rachel insisted, rising from her chair and tossing her head haughtily. “We are going to town today and will not be here for dinner,” she added, refusing to meet Lupe’s eyes again, knowing the disapproval she would see there. It was so difficult to be firm with a servant who had also been your mother since the time you had been two years old.

Rachel was all ready to go when Cole pulled the spring wagon up in front of the house. She had managed to regain her poise, and noted gratefully that since they would be using the open, flatbed vehicle to carry their supplies home from town, she would not have to suffer being cooped up with him in the confines of the closed buggy again. That should help.

What did not help was the fact that Cole still had to assist her up onto the wagon seat, and by the time he had stopped the wagon and came around to her, she was actually breathless with anticipation. Even though her coat and gloves protected her from any direct contact with his skin, she could still feel the heat of his hands where he touched her arm and briefly encircled her waist through all those layers of fabric. When she was at last settled on the seat, she had to gasp for every breath. Surely, she had laced her corset too tightly.

Cole circled the wagon and took his own seat with grim determination. He was going to have to get hold of himself, or he was liable to stop the wagon at some secluded spot, drag her over the seat and take her right there on the wooden boards. That would, he noted with ironic amusement, certainly shock their outriders, to say nothing of how it would affect Rachel. He slapped the team into motion.

After a few minutes, when her breath was coming normally again, Rachel turned to him and remarked, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” There, that seemed like a safe enough topic, and Rachel desperately needed a safe topic to take her mind off other, far-from-safe topics.

“Yeah,” he replied, not really having noticed and certainly not caring.

Undaunted, she continued. “Maybe if this keeps up, we’ll have an early spring.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, not daring to look at her lest she guess his mind wasn’t on spring at all.

Rachel opened her mouth to say something else, some other, inconsequential remark, but then snapped it shut in annoyance, surrendering to his stubborn refusal to converse. So much for polite conversation, she reflected. She would just ignore him.

Still, as hard as she fought against it, she was excruciatingly aware of his nearness on the wagon seat, even though she had much more room in the open wagon than she had in the buggy. Quite against her will, she found her gaze straying over in his direction time and again. He really needed a new coat, she noticed after a time, eyeing the ragged sheepskin jacket he always wore. Recognizing that thought as suspiciously wifely, Rachel wrenched her gaze from him and stared off determinedly into the distance.

But she found the barren plains scant distraction. He did need a coat he could wear for special occasions, the voice of reason argued against her express permission. Maybe he would even be pleased if she gave him a gift. It wouldn’t exactly be a gift, of course, just something practical that a wife did for her husband. She smiled at the thought. She could take care of that easily enough while they were in town today. Hank was bound to have something at the Mercantile.

Hank! Rachel almost gasped aloud at the thought of him. In all that had happened during the past few days, she had completely forgotten about Hank. With a pang of guilt, she realized that Will Statler was not the only person who needed to hear of her marriage. Breaking the news to Hank was going to be unpleasant, to say the least, and he was bound to be hurt. She knew how he felt about her, even if he hadn’t actually come right out and said anything yet, and although she did not feel the same way, she was still very fond of him. He certainly did not deserve to be treated so shabbily, but unfortunately there was nothing she could do about that now. Sighing aloud, Rachel began to dread the inevitable encounter.

The town of Canaan, the town closest to the ranch, was a sleepy little collection of businesses and houses that marked a crossroads on the wide Texas prairie. Not many people actually lived there, but many relied upon its existence for supplies and entertainment, making the Mercantile and the Silver Dollar Saloon very successful enterprises. Several other businesses managed to thrive, too, giving the residents of the town an excuse for a rather excessive civic pride.

Rachel scanned the familiar row of buildings as they rode down the one and only street in Canaan, her gaze coming to rest on the Mercantile. Hank obviously hadn’t seen them yet because he hadn’t come out to greet her. Since it was a weekday and hardly anyone was around, Cole easily found a place right in front of the store to stop the wagon.

Because she was so preoccupied with trying to guess what Hank’s reaction was going to be, Rachel almost forgot to dread the moment when Cole would have to help her down from her seat. The sight of his strong, bronzed hands reaching for her quickly reminded her, though, and her breath once again lodged in her chest.

She tried to pretend it wasn’t exciting to have his hands at her waist as he lifted her down, and that it wasn’t unnerving to be held so close to him for however brief a time. But before she even had a chance to wonder if her act had fooled him, he pulled away. Obviously, he did not find the encounter as pleasant as she did.

He didn’t either. He found it sheer torture. He had been dreading it every single second since they had left the ranch, wondering how he would carry it off without giving himself away. Thank God, he had managed to, even though every nerve in his body was tingling as if he were about to be struck by lightning. Backing up a step, he cleared the huskiness out of his voice and said, “I’ll leave you here. I’ve got some business to attend to, and then I’ll come back for you.”

Rachel stared up at him, her brown eyes wide in disbelief. Surely he knew that she would have to tell Hank about her marriage. Cole was well aware that Hank had been her most attentive suitor for the past six months, and hadn’t Hank been the first one Cole thought of when Rachel told him her plans to marry? How could he desert her knowing all that?

Pride prevented her from asking him to stay, however. “You’re just going to leave me here?” she asked coldly, letting him see her displeasure.

Cole cast a quick glance at the store. Oliver was already looking out the window. He must have seen them drive up and was waiting to meet Rachel at the door. Fighting down a surge of irritation that he refused to call jealousy, he forced himself to look back at Rachel. “If it was me, I’d want to get the news alone, without the fellow who married you standing around gloating,” he explained tersely. He certainly didn’t want her to go in there alone. But he figured the poor fellow deserved a little privacy when he heard the news. But maybe not too much privacy. “Miles will stay with you,” he decided suddenly, catching Miles’s eye and acknowledging Miles’s nod of agreement.

Rachel’s gaze had followed Cole’s, and she had seen Hank standing at the window watching them. He looked awfully small and vulnerable from here. Grudgingly, she admitted that Cole was probably right, that it would be cruel to tell Hank with Cole standing right there, although she could not quite picture Cole gloating. “All right,” she reluctantly agreed, waiting until Miles had swung down from his horse before starting up the stairs.

Pausing halfway up, she turned back to find Cole still watching her, waiting until she was safely inside before going about his own business. “How long will you be?” she asked, hoping he could not guess how very much his answer mattered to her.

“Not long,” he promised. That’s for damn sure, he added mentally, seeing Oliver’s eager smile of greeting when he opened the door to welcome her. The storekeeper had a smile that looked like he’d gotten it off an ivory trader, Cole reflected bitterly.

Hank Oliver was, Rachel noted, everything that Cole Elliot was not. That Hank was handsome, she had long ago decided. He had the kind of face that is formed only from centuries of breeding between aristocratic families who marry for financial considerations. The tradition of financial considerations had long ago been broken in Hank’s case, but the bone structure remained, giving him a look of elegance quite at odds with the mundane surroundings of the Mercantile.

He wasn’t tall. He was much shorter than Cole but still tall enough to look down at Rachel’s five feet three inches. He stood slim and straight, giving the illusion of greater height than he possessed, and he chose his clothes to accentuate that slimness. Holding out his fine, well-tended hands to her, he smiled, showing teeth that were almost too white and too straight.

“Rachel,” he said, grasping her by the elbows when she failed to place her hands in his as he had expected. Drawing her inside, he looked down at her carefully, his brilliant smile fading just a bit. She didn’t look particularly happy to see him, but that was understandable under the circumstances, he concluded, schooling his face to gravity. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father’s accident. It must have been awful for you,” he said with genuine concern.

Rachel had been too busy wondering how she was going to break the news of her marriage to really listen very carefully to what he was saying, but his tone made an impression and then the word “accident” cut through her thoughts like a knife. “Accident? Is that people are saying?” she demanded, sudden fury making her forget everything else.

Hank gave her a puzzled look. Anger was the last emotion he had expected from her in her grief. “Yes, of course. We heard that your father fell from his horse and struck his head...”

“My father never fell off a horse in his life,” she informed him, brown eyes blazing, “and even if he had, he wouldn’t have landed on the top of his head or tied his hands together before he did it.”

Hank’s pale blue eyes softened in understanding. The poor thing, she was so upset that she wasn’t even being rational. “Where on earth did you get such wild ideas, Rachel dear? You make it sound like someone murdered your father.” His hands moved comfortingly on her arms, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

Suddenly aware of his hands on her and of the impropriety of it, Rachel shrugged away from him. “Someone did murder my father, Hank Oliver, and it’s not just a ‘wild idea.’”

Hank refused to be offended and his smile never wavered. “Rachel dear,” he began, but Miles cut him off.

“Anything wrong, Mrs. Elliot?” he asked. He had slipped in the door just behind her, and had stood by unnoticed until now. He was just about fed up with Oliver’s sympathy, and he figured Miss Rachel was, too.

Rachel glanced up in surprise, having forgotten that Miles was there. She had responded instinctively to her new name and felt a flush of pleasure at hearing it spoken, even if it was only Miles speaking it. He really was the strangest man. He always looked so grave and so, well, so almost haunted, and she had heard so many hints about his cold-bloodedness that she was a little startled now to see the warmth in his usually expressionless brown eyes. Cole had sent him along to take care of her, and he was doing just that. She flashed him a grateful smile. “No, thank you, Miles,” she assured him before turning back to Hank.

Oliver was glaring at the cowboy, irritated at the interruption and especially at the intimation that he had been causing her trouble. He had just turned back to her when something else Miles had said hit him. “What did he call you?” Hank demanded, certain that he must have misunderstood.

Rachel felt the heat crawling up her face. Thanks a lot, Miles, she thought to herself, feeling all her former gratitude evaporate. She had hoped to do this gently, but now that was impossible. “He called me ‘Mrs. Elliot,’” she said as calmly as she could.

This information was impossible for Hank to assimilate quickly, and he could only stare at her in confusion for a moment. “Why did he call you that?” he asked.

Rachel took a fortifying breath. “Because Cole Elliot and I were married yesterday in Stillwater.” There, that was it, the whole story in one brief sentence. She waited, watching the emotions play across his face.

Simply hearing the words did not immediately make the truth plain to Hank, and he continued to stare at her, first in puzzlement and then in incredulity and then in growing fury. “You... you married that... that killer?” His handsome face twisted in disgust.

Rachel felt her own fury rising. “Cole is not a killer,” she said, instinctively defending her husband without bothering to ask herself why she felt such loyalty. “The men who murdered my father are killers.”

Hank wasn’t really listening, though. He was too busy thinking of all the implications of her act, and his disgust was rapidly turning to horror. “You gave yourself to... to him?” he asked. Images of his beautiful, delicate Rachel submitting to Cole Elliot danced obscenely across his mind, and he barely suppressed a shudder. Looking at her now, he marveled that she still looked so pure, so untouched, after that man had...

Rachel did not like being reminded of her as-yet unfulfilled marital obligations, but with a great effort, she took control of her temper and tried to consider how Hank must be feeling. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Hank, but in all fairness, you didn’t have any claims on me. We weren’t engaged or anything like that,” she pointed out, hoping to make him feel some responsibility for this whole thing. If he had wanted her so badly himself, he should have said so, long ago.

Hank’s gentle blue eyes fogged with pain. He was hurting, and for more reasons than just his broken heart. In losing Rachel he had lost more than just a lovely girl. He had lost everything he had been working toward ever since he had first met her. “You knew how I felt,” he defended himself. “I’ve been calling on you almost since the day I first met you. That should have made my intentions clear.”

Rachel sniffed disdainfully, recalling only too clearly the countless times Hank had come to call, and had sat in her parlor making small talk without even so much as trying to hold her hand. Still, in spite of his reticence, she knew that he genuinely cared about her, perhaps even loved her, in his own way. Unfortunately, she would never love him back, no matter if he courted her every day for the rest of their natural lives. “A lady never takes anything like that for granted, Hank,” she informed him.

Hank’s impulse was to argue, and he had to remind himself that it was already too late for that. She was married now, married to that... that gunfighter, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t help wanting to defend himself, though. “If I’d known about the competition, I would have...” he began bitterly, but Rachel had had enough of his whining.

“Please, Hank, what’s done is done. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“But Rachel...”

“Don’t you have a list of things you want to get, Mrs. Elliot?” Miles asked blandly from his post by the door.

Rachel glanced up in mild surprise, suddenly remembering his presence again and grateful for it once more. “Yes, yes, I do,” she recalled, and began to dig in her reticule for it.

Hank glared at him, but Miles never even blinked. The cowboy must have heard everything they had said, and Hank did not like the idea one bit, but he had completely forgotten about him in the shock of hearing Rachel’s news. The fellow was obviously guarding Rachel, too, probably on Elliot’s orders, and that knowledge did not sit well at all with Hank.

“Here it is,” Rachel said, producing the crumpled piece of paper. “Would you fill this order for me, please, and charge it to the ranch account? Our wagon is outside.”

Hank automatically took the offered list, but his gaze had drifted back to her face. How could she be so cold and businesslike? he wondered sadly. They had been so close for so long. Didn’t she even regret her decision a little bit?

“I’ll just look around the store while you’re getting my order ready,” she added when he made no move to do so.

Hank nodded and reluctantly turned away, casting one last glare in Miles's direction before stalking off toward the storeroom.

After leaving the buggy and their horses at the livery, Cole and the Kid and the other men made their way to the Silver Dollar Saloon. It was a little early in the day for drinking, but Cole figured there’d be somebody hanging around who could pass the word along to Statler’s crew as soon as he made his big announcement.

The front doors of the saloon were closed against the cold, and the Kid made a small show of opening them for Cole to pass on through. Feeling slightly conspicuous, Cole stepped inside and glanced around quickly.

It was even better than he’d hoped. Two men who worked for Statler were sitting at a far table, nursing a couple of beers. Statler would have the word before the day was out.

“Hey, Sam, you got any champagne? We’re here to celebrate!” the Kid called out to the bartender. Any qualms Cole might have had about announcing his own marriage had been wasted. He should have known the Kid would do it for him and do a much better job of it than anyone else could.

“Where do you think you are, Paris, France?” the bartender inquired with a good-natured growl. “What in the hell’s so important that you got to have champagne for, anyways?”

As Cole and his men strolled over to the bar, Sam called out toward the back room, “Hey Lettie, come see who’s here!”

Lettie. Cole winced at the sound of her name. How could he have forgotten her? Forgotten her so completely that until this very moment, he had not even considered how the news of his marriage would affect her. All the time he had been so concerned about Hank Oliver, he hadn’t once thought of Lettie.

A woman appeared in the doorway of the tiny, backroom office, an inquisitive look on her face. That look instantly became a smile when she saw Cole standing at the bar, and she moved toward him immediately. She wasn’t exactly a pretty woman, but she was attractive enough to liven up the Silver Dollar Saloon, which was her job. Although her hair had once been blond, it had now faded to a mousy brown, but she kept it styled and curled around her face and some thought it her best feature. She was wearing a flashy dress that barely concealed her plump curves and revealed a goodly length of well-turned ankle. Long pale eyelashes flirted around her large hazel eyes as she moved sinuously across the room and took Cole’s arm in a possessive grasp.

Before Cole could even think to pull away, the Kid stepped in. “Oh no you don’t, Lettie,” he cautioned, pulling her clasping hands from Cole’s arm. “You can’t mess with Cole now.”

Lettie laughed good-naturedly. She was used to the Kid’s teasing. “Why is that?” she asked, playing along. “And what’s this about champagne and celebrating?’

The Kid’s smile never wavered, but he glanced at Cole, knowing this was his secret to tell. The boy’s bright blue eyes asked a question, but Cole couldn’t let him do this job.

Hating the flush he knew was crawling up his neck, Cole said, “I got married yesterday.”

Lettie’s smile wobbled and then died. “Married?’ she echoed, unbelieving. She knew Cole Elliot very well, better than almost anyone, and married was the last thing she had ever expected him to be. She tried a nervous little laugh. “This is a joke, right?” she asked hopefully.

The bartender forced a laugh, too. “It must be. Who’d have an ugly plug like Cole?” he inquired.

The Kid was still grinning, but no one else was, and Lettie’s small hope died.

“It’s no joke,” Cole confirmed, his eyes saying how sorry he was to be telling her like this.

No one spoke for a long minute until the silence grew oppressive. All the men felt Lettie’s humiliation. Until now she had been Cole’s girl, or as much his girl as a woman who worked in a saloon could be. Not that she was a whore. No, Lettie did not sell her favors. She did not need to. She made a good living by selling drinks and earning tips by laughing it up with the cowboy customers and singing occasionally when there was a good crowd. Her favors were reserved for the men whom she personally chose, and lately that man had been Cole Elliot.

That choice had made Cole the object of many men’s envy, but even they could not know how serious the relationship had become to Lettie. While Cole was good to her, he held much more important attraction for her in that she sensed his need to settle down, to put an end to the wild, reckless life he had been living. Lettie had the same need, and she had seen Cole as her ticket out of the Silver Dollar Saloon. Now those hopes had been dashed. What she could not figure out for the life of her, however, was whom he could have married.

Sam saved her the trouble of inquiring. “Who’d you marry, Cole?” the bartender asked, breaking the tense silence.

Cole hesitated. An unwritten rule said that you did not mention a lady’s name in a place where men were drinking, and he certainly didn’t want to call out Rachel’s name in a saloon.

The Kid saved him. “He married his boss,” he reported with that same triumphant smile he continued to wear.

Sam couldn’t have been more shocked if he had said, “The Queen of England.” “Miss McKinsey?” he gasped incredulously.

“The very same,” the Kid cheerfully confirmed. Putting his arm around an equally stunned Lettie, he added, “Now how about that champagne? You’ll join us in a toast, won’t you, Lettie?’

Lettie was just about to refuse, but the Kid’s arm tightened around her, and he gave her a warning glance which she read easily. He was telling her to be a good sport and not to let anyone know how much this news hurt her. People would feel sorry enough for her as it was, and if she wanted to salvage any pride at all, she’d have to pretend it didn’t matter.

“Sure, I’ll join you,” she agreed with a forced smile, “but from the look on Sam’s face, I think we’ll have to settle for whiskey.”

“Whiskey all around, then,” the Kid ordered. The other men concurred, joining in the artificial merriment now that the awkward moment had passed.

Cole, however, simply nodded, his clear blue eyes still watching Lettie closely. She wasn’t looking at him now, wouldn’t meet his eyes no matter how hard he tried to get her attention. She was flirting with the Kid just as if she didn’t care a fig for Cole, and maybe, he thought with a slight shock, maybe she didn’t. It was something to consider, and he’d certainly consider it, but not right now. Right now he was too concerned with the fact that Statler’s men had just left the bar and were moving very quickly to where their horses had been tied. That much, at least, had been taken care of. Now all he had to worry about was Rachel back at the store with Oliver.

They toasted to Cole’s long and happy marriage, and then Cole bought a round of beer chasers. By then everyone had loosened up and was pretending that Lettie had every reason to be just as happy as everyone else was about the wedding.

The Kid was hanging on to her pretty close, which was to be expected, now that Cole thought of it. The boy had always liked Lettie more than a little, and the only reason he hadn’t done something about it before now was because Cole had been there first.

Cole watched the way Lettie leaned against the Kid, letting her full, round bosom brush against his arm in that provocative way she had. Then she looked up and laughed at something the Kid said, and Cole had to turn his face away. He knew her well enough to know that she was pretending, but she was doing a good job of it, and he doubted that anyone else could tell. He felt bad watching her, and so he pretended to himself that that was the reason he wanted to hurry back to the store. The truth was that as badly as he felt watching Lettie and the Kid, he felt positively murderous when he thought about Rachel and Oliver alone together over at the Mercantile.

When Cole walked into the store, he found Miles still at his post by the door. His friend gave him a nod of greeting, but Miles’s expression betrayed nothing of what had taken place earlier. Cole’s anxious glance scanned the store, but he saw no one. When he turned back to Miles, more than a little worried, Miles pointed toward the back of the store. “She’s down there,” he remarked.

Cole found her at the end of a long aisle. Alone, thank God. And looking as calm and serene as if nothing in the world had happened. He fought down an urge to kiss that placid look off her face as he closed the distance between them.

Rachel was holding up a man’s jacket, wondering if it would fit Cole when he suddenly stomped into view. The sight of his rugged features brought an involuntary smile to her lips, but it froze there when she saw his set expression. “Did you finish your business?” she inquired, wondering what had happened to displease him.

“Yeah,” he said absently, dismissing his business with a small wave of his hand. “What happened with Oliver?’That was all he really wanted to know.

Rachel’s smile widened. Was he a little jealous? He was certainly acting like it, and wouldn’t that be nice? She shrugged noncommittally. “I told him,” she said offhandedly. Then she held up the jacket. “Do you think this will fit you?’

Cole cast an irritated glance at the jacket and then looked back at Rachel’s complacent smile. “What did he say?” he asked, knowing that by doing so he was revealing how much it mattered to him but unable to stop himself.

Rachel pretended to consider. “Well, he didn’t like it much,” she allowed, and then held the jacket to measure it against his shoulders. “It looks like it will fit.”

She was playing with him and the knowledge infuriated him. Angrily snatching the jacket from her grasp, he held it away from her and asked as calmly as he could through gritted teeth, “What, exactly, did he say?”

Expelling a long-suffering sigh, Rachel gave him a disapproving look. “He said something to the effect of, ‘Oh, Rachel, I thought we had an understanding,’ and ‘How could you?’ That sort of thing,” she told him, mimicking Oliver’s injured tone of voice almost perfectly.

“Did you?” Cole demanded, his anger stirred afresh by this new bit of information.

“Did I what?” she asked, puzzled.

“Did you have an understanding?”

Rachel almost laughed with delight. He was furious! He really must be jealous, a little bit, anyway, but she knew instinctively she had pushed him as far as she dared. “Of course not,” she assured him with just the right amount of outrage in her voice. “If we’d had an understanding, do you think I would have married you?”

Cole thought it over while managing to get control of his temper. “No, I guess not,” he admitted at last. She wasn’t that kind of woman, or at least he didn’t think she was. Now that he thought about it, though, he really had no way of knowing for sure.

“Do you like that jacket?” she asked in an attempt to divert his attention and lighten his mood. She kept a straight face but her eyes were dancing impishly.

Cole looked at the jacket in his hand as if he had never seen it before, having completely forgotten about it. Did he like it? How ridiculous. It was identical to the one he was wearing except that it was new and clean. “Yeah, it’s all right,” he said absently.

“Good, then I’ll buy it for you,” she said, trying a flirtatious smile on him.

It bounced right off. His expression had suddenly turned to stone. “You’ll buy it for me?” he echoed, obviously displeased. His blue eyes narrowed down to suspicious slits. “I’ve already got a coat.”

“Yes, but...” Rachel began but caught herself. She had intended to point out that the one he was wearing was rather disreputable-looking, but something in his eyes warned her not to. For some reason he did not like the idea of her buying him a new coat.

Cole glowered at her. He should have known. They hadn’t even been married twenty-four hours yet, and here she was, letting him know that he wasn’t quite good enough, that he was a “hired husband,” the same way he’d always been a “hired gun.” “I’ll buy it for you,” she had said, reminding him that he now lived off her largess. “I don’t need it,” he said tightly.

From the way his eyes glittered, Rachel knew the subject was closed. “Fine,” she agreed a little apprehensively, wondering what on earth had so offended him. She had only wanted to do something nice for him. Obviously, he was a man you couldn’t be nice to.

“Rachel, your order is ready,” Hank called from the front of the store.

Cole stiffened at the sound of that voice, his anger at Rachel forgotten momentarily as his protective instincts took over. “Let’s go,” he said to her, laying the jacket back on the shelf and stepping aside to allow her to precede him.

Rachel was feeling pretty stiff herself as she marched up the aisle toward where Hank stood, and Hank was looking pretty much like a ramrod by the time he had noticed Cole’s presence in the store.

“Oliver,” Cole muttered by way of greeting, the expression on his face betraying no emotion whatsoever.

“Elliot,” Hank replied, his distaste evident in his tone. He’d be damned before he’d congratulate the man, and so he simply stood waiting.

Cole reached inside his coat and drew a crumpled piece of paper from his vest pocket. “Here’s some things I’ll be needing,” he told the storekeeper.

Hank took the paper grudgingly and scanned it with a practiced eye. “That’s an awful lot of ammunition,” he commented caustically. “Are you planning to start a war?”

Cole grinned a mirthless grin. So the fellow was itching for a fight, was he? “No, I’m planning to finish one.”

Hank’s pale face turned scarlet. “Have you thought about what will happen to Rachel while you’re out shooting up the countryside?”

Cole’s grin never wavered. “I’ve thought about what’ll happen to her if she doesn’t have a man to protect her.”

The implication was clear that Cole felt Hank was not man enough for the job, and the storekeeper’s well-formed lips thinned in fury as his body tensed for attack. For one awful moment, Rachel thought he might actually come over the counter after Cole, but he thought better of it in time to stop himself. Instead he just stood there, quivering with rage, Cole’s list crackling as Hank’s fist closed over it.

Only when she was sure Hank had control of himself did Rachel dare a glance at Cole. He was still smiling, or at least his lips were pulled back from his teeth in a sort of wolfish grin, but his hands had clenched into fists. He was waiting, every muscle poised, for the attack that would not come.

“Cole?” she said, hoping to avert any further unpleasantness. She placed one hand tentatively on his arm, and even through his heavy coat, she could feel his tension. “We’ll come back later for our stuff,” she suggested.

For the space of several heartbeats, she thought that maybe he hadn’t heard her, but then she felt him relax beneath her touch. “Yeah,” he agreed at last. “We’ll be back later.”

“Yes, later,” Hank repeated, as if the phrase had been a challenge that he accepted.

Rachel could only stare in amazement. They reminded her of two stallions circling each other, getting ready to fight it out over a mare. As the mare in question, she wasn’t sure if she were pleased or angry or simply frightened. When Cole made no move to leave, she gave a little tug at his sleeve. “Cole?” she asked again, and this time he glanced down at her.

He read the uncertainty in her eyes and understood her natural distaste for such a display of male aggression. He wouldn’t expect a lady like Rachel to like the idea of two men fighting over her. He didn’t regret putting Oliver in his place, though. He only wished he’d had to use a little physical force to do it. The damn little pansy had given in much too easily for Cole’s taste. “Let’s go,” he said a little gruffly.

Rachel only too willingly headed for the door once she was satisfied that Cole was right behind her. Miles slanted her a grin as he held the door open for her, but she shot him a black look that wiped it clean off his face. Honestly, she thought as she paused outside on the wooden sidewalk to rebutton her coat, men were impossible. Or at least Cole Elliot was. One minute he was acting like a jealous lover, and the next he was furious because she wanted to give him a gift. Then he’d almost come to blows over her with a rival when he wasn’t even interested enough in her to take her to bed.

Grateful for the chilling wind that would provide excuse for her reddened cheeks, Rachel started down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, her heels clicking a staccato beat on the wood beneath her feet. She wasn’t even going to try to understand him. Nothing he did made any sense at all. Besides, she didn’t care what he did or why he did it. If he didn’t love her, she wouldn’t love him either. She wouldn’t try to figure him out, she wouldn’t try to please him, and she wouldn’t let his indifference bother her in the least. In fact, she was quite relieved that he didn’t want to share her bed.

“Rachel, where are you going?” Cole demanded when he had finally caught up with her. Honestly, women were impossible. He knew she was upset because he’d almost gotten into a fight with Oliver, but what did she want him to do, pretend he didn’t mind that Oliver had insulted him? And her, too, when it came right down to it.

Rachel’s step faltered at his question. Come to think of it, she didn’t know where she was going, only that she wanted to get away from that little scene in the Mercantile. “No place special,” she replied, looking up at him. Irritation crackled in her large brown eyes, but he needn’t know she was as irritated with herself as she was with him. “Was there someplace you wanted to go?”

Now she was mad. Whatever was going on inside that pretty little head was sure a mystery to him. “Well, yeah,” he said, determined not to let on how much her anger disturbed him. “It’s a little early yet, but I thought we might as well eat dinner and then head on back,” he told her, ignoring the way those dark eyes were glaring up at him.

“That sounds fine to me,” she agreed testily, continuing her march down the sidewalk.

“Uh... Rachel?” he called after her.

“Yes?’ she asked.

“You’re going the wrong way,” he told her blandly.

Rachel blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re going the wrong way. Ma’s place is down there,” he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction from which they were heading.

“Oh,” she whispered in embarrassment, looking around to get her bearings. “Oh, yes,” she decided, turning on her heel and setting out in the proper direction. Her cheeks were burning, but she would die before she'd give him the satisfaction of seeing her chagrin. Romance, indeed. All he cared about was his stomach.

Things might not have been too bad if they hadn’t run into Widow Johnson and her sister, Mrs. Siddons. The two old busybodies were on their way somewhere when they had spotted Rachel and made a point of crossing the street to accost her.

“Rachel, dear, we were so sorry to hear about your father’s accident,” Mrs. Siddons began while Widow Johnson was muttering something about how awful of her not to have a big funeral and invite everyone.

“It was not an accident,” Rachel said, not for the first time today and with renewed irritation. Perhaps she had been wrong not to invite the neighbors for a big funeral. She had been ashamed for people to see her father all broken like that, but if they had, she would not now be listening to all this talk about “accidents.”

“What on earth do you mean, not an accident,” Mrs. Siddons chided. “We all heard...”

“I don’t care what you heard,” Rachel interrupted, not really caring that she was being inexcusably rude to the older woman. “My father was murdered.”

The two sisters exchanged knowing glances. “Of course, dear,” Widow Johnson agreed insincerely. They thought she was upset and were humoring her. “Have you made any plans yet?” the widow inquired.

“Plans?” Rachel echoed, her angry eyes darting from one woman to the other. She really didn’t know what they meant by “plans.”

“About what you’re going to do now, dear,” Mrs. Siddons explained patiently.

“Yes,” Widow Johnson added, “we were just talking about it this morning, saying how we both thought you’d go back East now. You’ve got some family back there, don’t you?” Rachel glared at the two women. Of all the snoopy-nosed, gossipy... They didn’t care about her father and they really didn’t care what she was going to do. They just wanted to be the first ones to hear about it. Well, she’d give them a bee to put in their bonnets.

Smiling with saccharine sweetness, Rachel gave a false little laugh. “Well, I doubt that I’ll be going back East. My husband certainly wouldn’t like that one little bit, now would he?”

Cole had been hanging back from the encounter, obviously unwilling to tangle with these two old biddies, but Rachel reached out and clamped onto his arm and dragged him into the little group.

“Husband?” the two women murmured in unison, looking askance at the addition to their gathering.

“Yes, my husband. You ladies know Cole Elliot, don’t you?” Rachel asked wickedly, knowing full well the good ladies would never have met such a man, although they more than likely knew plenty about him.

Well, Cole thought, they had come to town to announce their wedding, and he couldn’t think of a more efficient way of spreading the news than to tell these two chatterboxes. With a grim smile, he reached up and tipped his hat. “Howdy do, ladies,” he said.

“Oh my,” said Widow Johnson.

“Rachel, dear,” protested Mrs. Siddons.

But Rachel wasn’t interested. “I know you’ll excuse us now. We were just on our way to dinner. Good day, ladies.” Without waiting for their reply, Rachel brushed by them, dragging Cole in her wake.

She was muttering something that sounded like “damn busybodies,” but Cole was pretty sure he must have misunderstood. Rachel would never talk like that, although the condemnation certainly fit. He allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder to savor the ladies’ pop-eyed expressions before letting Rachel drag him on down the street.

Rachel was more than a little annoyed. How dare those women presume to judge her on her choice of a husband? Hank Oliver’s opinion had infuriated her, but at the time she had not realized that most of the respectable people in town would share it. They were bound to be surprised at her choice, of course. As far as anyone knew, Cole had never courted her at all. Fortunately, only Rachel knew how very true that was and how much she had compromised her pride by proposing marriage to him in the first place.

She supposed, now that she considered the matter, that people would assume Cole had taken advantage of her situation. Those two old biddies had looked at her with pity, as if she had been victimized by someone clever and ruthless. Rachel couldn’t help wondering how they would react to the news that Cole Elliot was the one who had been victimized. By the time she reached the restaurant, she was almost smiling at the thought.

The restaurant was a small building adorned with a sign that said simply, EATS. Canaan’s answer to the Stillwater Hotel’s restaurant was run by a buxom widow whom everyone called “Ma,” and whose real name had been lost to memory. What the place lacked in style, it made up for in good cooking.

The place was empty now, since, as Cole had said, it was a little early yet, but Ma bustled out of the kitchen to greet them. She promised their food would be ready in two shakes and promptly disappeared again.

They took a seat at an empty table away from the door, Cole being careful to take the chair against the wall from which he commanded a view of the entire room. Rachel noticed, but she pretended that it didn’t disturb her.

Her anger at the two women had faded now, and even though she remembered that she still had a few things to be angry at Cole Elliot for, she hated the idea that he didn’t dare sit with his back to the door. “Did you see anyone at the saloon?” she asked, suddenly recalling that he might be aware of some very real danger.

Cole was surprised. Now how in the blue blazes had she known that’s where he had been? Recovering quickly, he shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly and replied, “Two of Statler’s men were there. They sneaked out as soon as they heard the news.”

Rachel nodded with slight enthusiasm. “That’s good,” she supposed, wondering if it really were. She had known immediately that Cole had been at the saloon because she had smelled it on his breath. That was also the logical place for him to go to spread the word, although she couldn’t help feeling a little strange at being talked about in a saloon. Not that it would do her any good to complain about it, though, she guessed.

They sat there in silence for quite a while until Ma brought out their meal. As usual, Cole didn’t talk while he ate, and Rachel couldn’t think of anything to say either. She was just starting to wonder what they would do when they had finished eating when the front door flew open with a bang that brought her head up.

People had started coming in just after they had arrived. The place was about half full with townsfolk, and Miles and the other men had come in a few moments before. The man who came in now was no casual diner, however. After taking a quick look around the room, he strode purposefully toward Cole and Rachel’s table.

The noise of Cole’s chair scraping across the floor as he rose was loud in the suddenly silent room. No one had missed the angry set of Will Statler’s face. Statler paused a few feet from where Rachel sat and looked down at her with sneering contempt.

“It won’t do you no good, missy,” he told her.

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. Staring up into his slate-gray eyes, she communicated easily with him. He was telling her that her marriage made no difference to his plans. Glaring down at her, he would see that she disagreed completely.

For a moment, Rachel concentrated on not letting the fear she felt show. She was not afraid for herself, of course, although maybe there was a little of that mixed in. She was afraid for Cole. Statler was furious and there was no telling what he might do.

“You got something to say, you say it to me.”

It was Cole’s voice, but it was a tone she had never heard, never dreamed of hearing from him. When her startled eyes found him, looming over the table with a kind of subdued menace, she could only stare in wonder at the change in him. Gone was the silent man who had married her in Stillwater. Gone was the indifferent man who had left her last night. Gone even was the territorial stallion who had tried to goad Hank Oliver into a fight. In his place was someone else entirely.

The long, lean body stood poised and ready, arms loosely hanging so that the fingers of one hand almost brushed the polished wood grip of his Colt. His eyes, those blue eyes she had so often admired, were narrowed down to dangerous slits, the color that glinted out reminding her now not so much of blue skies but of icicles glittering in the winter sun.

Statler’s sneer curled into a parody of a smile. “I got nothing to say to you, Elliot,” he assured Cole. “I ain’t no gunfighter, and I sure don’t like the odds,” he added with a meaningful look at the Circle M men seated at a nearby table. “I ain’t in no hurry to meet my maker, not yet. I got things I want to do first.” He glanced at Rachel a moment, and then back to Cole. “I don’t plan on giving you an excuse to gun me down, and if your fingers start to get itchy, just remember your little lady is right here in the line of fire.”

That, Rachel saw, was the perfect argument. Cole’s lips whitened with the strain of holding his temper in check, but she knew however he might feel about her on a personal level, he would never draw his gun with her sitting there. Statler knew it, too, and his stocky body straightened with the knowledge.

“I got other ways to deal with you, Elliot,” the rancher bragged, and then shifted his gaze to Rachel. “Your little trick won’t even slow me down, missy. You’ll see.”

At Cole’s outraged growl, Statler smiled, displaying a brace of yellowed teeth. “Congratulations to you both,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll understand if I don’t wish you a long and happy life, too.”

With that, he turned abruptly and strolled to the door, nodding pleasantly to the rest of the still-silent customers who had heard every word.

As Rachel watched his retreating back, she tried to decide what it was about him that made her skin crawl, that had made her dislike him from the very beginning, back when she had only suspected his part in the missing Circle M cattle. He wasn’t really that bad looking. Neither tall nor short, he was a powerfully built man who might run to fat if he led a more sedentary life. His face was plain, but not ugly enough to inspire the revulsion she had always felt. Maybe it was his hair, which was dark, almost black, and always seemed a little greasy. No, she mentally corrected, if wasn’t only his hair that was greasy. It was his whole personality.

And those eyes, those cold, gray eyes. Shuddering slightly, she turned back to where Cole still stood, watching Statler the way he might have watched a retreating rattler which could yet turn and strike without warning. Only when the man was gone, the door slammed behind him and the echo of his bootheels on the wooden sidewalk no longer audible, did Cole relax his vigil. After another moment, he stiffly sat back down.

“Are you all right?” he inquired, the concern on his face a little startling to Rachel. Once again he had changed into a completely different person. This time he was the kind friend who had comforted her after her father’s death. She really was having a hard time dealing with his lightning changes of mood.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him faintly. Now he was acting as if he really cared about her well-being. She stared at him a long moment trying to read the expression in the depths of those blue eyes. It almost looked like... But it couldn’t be, she reminded herself sternly. He didn’t care for her. If he did, he wouldn’t have left her alone last night. If he was willing to fight Statler, he was doing it for the ranch and not for her.

For one awful moment, Rachel was afraid she might do something totally foolish, like burst into tears. She was so lonely. She missed her father so much, needed him so much, and the man she had chosen to take his place was an unfeeling ... But she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She would never let him know how vulnerable she was.

Setting her jaw, she glared at him across the table. “Let’s get out of this town,” she snapped, rising abruptly from her chair.

Cole had to stay a minute to pay the bill, so he could only watch her stalk out the door. Now what was eating her? He could have understood it if she had burst into tears. He wouldn’t have liked it, but at least it would have made sense. She had every right to be mad, of course, but why was she taking it out on him? Swearing under his breath, he left some coins on the table and hurried to catch up with her.

Miles paused in the doorway and gave a silent sigh. From where he stood, he could see Mr. and Mrs. Elliot eating their breakfast in the ranch house dining room. Or rather, he could see Cole sipping his coffee and Miss Rachel pushing her food around her plate. They weren’t even looking at each other. He sighed again.

Five days had passed since their wedding, and at least things outside the house had been going well. It had taken a little time, but the men were coming around. At first they had been wary of Cole, but when they saw that his new station in life had not changed him or his way of dealing with them, they had relaxed. They were much more likely to call him “Boss” than “Cole,” now, but other than that, things were pretty much back to normal.

If they had known what was going on inside the house, though, they might not have been so content. Miles had puzzled over it more than once, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

As he entered the room, Miles had the funniest feeling that he would have to be very careful about what he said and did around this pair. It was almost as if the very air around them were charged. He had the strangest notion that if he so much as lit a match, the whole place would go up in a puff of smoke.

“Good morning,” he said with forced cheerfulness, the tension in the room making it almost hard to breathe.

Rachel glanced up with what could only have been described as irritation, and Cole grunted some sort of greeting. Apparently, it wasn’t a good morning as far as they were concerned.

Miles waited until Cole had drained his cup. “Hardy and Stevens are at it again,” Miles announced blandly.

Cole scowled up at him. The two men had been quarreling since the day they had met in the Circle M bunkhouse, and although they had never actually come to blows, the possibility was always there. “Did you straighten them out?” he asked.

Miles lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. “You’re still top screw around here, aren’t you?” he asked. “Besides, you’re about the only one who can break them up without getting himself killed.”

That was true enough, and with a smothered oath, Cole got up from the table and headed out the door. Without so much as a by-your-leave to his wife, either, Miles noticed. Weren’t they even speaking? Good God, what could have happened?

Fighting back an overwhelming urge to inquire into what was clearly none of his business, Miles made a move to follow Cole. Rachel’s voice stopped him.

“I never got a chance to thank you for helping me deal with Mr. Oliver the other day, Miles,” she said, laying down her fork and rising gracefully to her feet. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but she was looking far more pleasant than she had when Cole had been in the room.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, ma’am,” he assured her. “I was just doing what Cole would have if he’d been there,” he added, hoping to put in a good word for his friend.

Rachel’s instant frown told him that he had wasted his time. She was certainly mad at Cole about something. Suddenly, Miles recalled what Cole had discussed with him yesterday. It was a hair-brained scheme if he’d ever heard one. Could Cole have told her about it? No wonder she was mad. Maybe he could smooth things over a little, though.

“It’s just like that idea he had about selling off all the cattle,” he began, plunging in with both feet. “He’s only looking out for your best interests.”

“Selling off all the cattle?” Rachel echoed incredulously. This was the first she’d heard about any such plan. “What’s this about selling off all the cattle?” she demanded, coming around the table toward him.

Miles could have groaned. He’d guessed wrong, and from the look in her eye, he’d gotten Cole into even more trouble. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Elliot,” he tried, but she was having none of it.

“Tell me,” she ordered, advancing on him menacingly, her dark eyes blazing.

He wasn’t worried about himself. He knew she wasn’t mad at him, but he still cringed a little under her fury. “Cole was thinking that if we round up all the cattle and drive it north and sell it, there won’t be anything left for Statler to steal.”

“All the cattle? We must have ten thousand head out there,” she pointed out in utter amazement. “You couldn’t drive them all at once.” She planted her hands on her hips in silent challenge.

“We’d have to divide it up into three, maybe four herds,” he explained weakly, knowing only too well how ridiculous it sounded. The logistics of such an undertaking were horrendous.

Rachel was too mad to speak for a minute, which gave Miles just the opportunity he needed to escape. “Well, I’ll see you later, Mrs. Elliot,” he said, backing out the door.

Rachel couldn’t have cared less that he was leaving. Making an exasperated noise, she stormed out of the room by the opposite door and stomped into the kitchen.

“Do you know what he’s doing now?” she demanded of a very startled Lupe.

The old woman went back to kneading her bread dough. “Not what he should be,” she guessed with a lascivious cackle.

Rachel ignored the cackle. “He’s going to sell off all my cattle. My cattle! Without asking me! Without even consulting me!”

Lupe continued to knead her bread as Rachel swished around the kitchen, waving her hands in agitation as she raved about Cole’s treachery. When she had finally run down and plopped into a chair, Lupe looked up again, eyeing her carefully.

“How long you let him sleep alone?” Lupe inquired.

Rachel’s outraged gasp was ignored. “Until hell freezes over,” she finally vowed, when Lupe’s silence insisted on a reply.

Lupe shook her head, making a disapproving sound. “You get no babies, you sleep alone.”

“Babies!” Babies were the least of Rachel’s worries at the moment, and since it was obvious she was not going to get any sympathy from her foster mother, she stalked back out of the kitchen in much the same way as she had stormed into it.

That day was one of the longest that Rachel had ever lived through. The thaw had caused a lot of problems for the cattle, and the men were quite busy pulling cows out of bog holes. They did not return to the ranch for their noon meal that day, and it was late when they finally came back for supper.

Cole was tired and hungry and as grouchy as a bear with a sore paw when he sat down to eat that evening. One look at Rachel told him that no matter how good she might look, she was still just about as disagreeable as she’d been ever since they’d come back from town the other day. He’d thought that after they’d been married for a few days, they’d start to get along easier, get to know each other better. When that happened, it would be natural to suggest that he move into her bedroom.

It hadn’t worked out that way, though. Instead of things getting better, they had somehow gotten worse, and Cole didn’t have any earthly idea why or how. For some reason Rachel always acted as if she had some kind of a burr under her saddle, sort of prickly-like. Cole had a feeling that approaching her would be like trying to snuggle up to a cactus.

Not that he would have minded a few needles. The truth was, he would have wrestled a grizzly bear single-handed for the chance to snuggle up to Rachel. Every time he saw her, she got prettier, almost like she was doing it for spite. Even with her clothes so neat and her hair so perfect, she was the most delicious little piece he had ever seen. He couldn’t help wanting to mess her up a little just to see what she’d do. And after he’d messed her up, he’d start in to tasting her to see if she was as delicious as she looked.

Evenings were the worst times, he decided, glancing up at her from across the dining-room table. At least in the morning he could leave, but once he came back to the house, he was stuck with her all evening. They didn’t really have anything to talk about, and with one forbidden exception, nothing to do, either. Tonight promised to be pure hell, too, because underneath that plain white shirt, she wasn’t wearing a corset. He would have all he could do to keep from staring at the way her body moved under her clothes, and he couldn’t keep from imagining how those soft, round curves would feel pressed up against him.

Unfortunately, he was also very aware of the fact that she shared none of his feelings. She had made it abundantly clear that she’d already let him come just about as close as she ever wanted him to be. When he was lying alone in his bed at night, sweating from the strain of staying where he was, he could almost forget why he had decided to give her time to adjust to him. He couldn’t forget now, though, sitting across from her and seeing that cool, haughty expression which he knew would change in a second to mortal fear if he so much as touched her.

Cole sighed inwardly. How had he ever gotten himself into such a mess?

Rachel gave him every chance to tell her about the cattle. She waited patiently through supper, chafing over the fact that he barely glanced at her but trying not to let it bother her. She also tried not to let his physical presence affect her as it usually did, but she found it impossible to ignore his scent, which seemed to permeate the room. Even though he’d washed up and changed clothes when he’d come in from the range, he still smelled of outdoors and tobacco and leather and something else that was him alone. She found it very difficult to maintain her fury over his treachery when her breath was growing shallow and her heart was doing strange things inside her chest. This time she could not even blame her corset because she wasn’t wearing one.

After supper, they moved into the parlor and sat down in front of the fire, he in an easy chair and she on the settee. She waited while he smoked two cigarettes, but when he got up to leave, she stopped him. For the last several evenings, he had locked himself in the office with the ranch ledgers, and she didn’t intend to let him get away from her tonight.

“Isn’t there something you want to tell me?” she asked, unable to keep the sharp edge completely from her voice.

More than a little surprised, Cole thought this over, sitting back down in his chair by the fire. Now what was all this about? Had she figured out a new way to drive him crazy? It wasn’t bad enough that the whole place smelled like roses and that she looked good enough to eat. Oh, no. Now she was going to torture him mentally as well as physically. What on earth could she want him to tell her? He’d already casually mentioned the few, uninteresting things he had done that day, and nothing else came immediately to mind. “I don’t think so,” he said cautiously.

Rachel stretched her eyes wide in mock amazement. “Then you aren’t even going to tell me before you sell off all my cattle?” she inquired acidly.

Cole frowned. Now where in the hell had she heard a thing like that? He’d thought about it, sure. He’d even mentioned it to Miles... Miles! Damn him, he must have been the one who’d told her. Cole’s frown became a scowl. Why on earth would he have told her that? It was such a rotten idea. It had sounded pretty good inside his head, but as soon as he’d told Miles, he’d known the whole thing was impossible. He’d known even before he’d seen the look on Miles’s face.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your look-out,” he said, hoping to soothe her. No wonder she was so upset.

“It most certainly is my ‘look-out,’” she informed him, springing to her feet and planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Or have you forgotten that this is my ranch?”

For a minute the only thing Cole could remember for sure was how much he liked the way Rachel’s breasts jutted out when she stood like that. Then the true meaning of her words hit him, and he, too, came surging to his feet. “You aren’t likely to let me forget it, are you?” he accused.

Rachel flew at him then, knowing even as she did so that her reaction was way out of proportion but yet unable to stop herself. In a wild flurry, she swung at him and missed or he ducked and caught her hands or she clawed at him and he warded her off or she stumbled and he caught her or she knocked him off balance and fell with him. However it happened, in the next instant they were both on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, first struggling and then clinging.

This was it, she knew. This was what she had been craving for days, this overpowering, overwhelming physical contact. She had literally thrown herself at him to achieve it without even understanding why until now, this very instant. His lips found hers with a devouring hunger that was nothing like the gentleness of his first kiss, and she answered him with equal greed. Her mouth opened under his demand, surrendering her honeyed depths to his ravishment.

At first the sensation was strange, foreign, and she resisted the invasion, using her own tongue to force his out. The moist duel had barely begun before she yielded, marveling at the unique sensations, savoring the mixed flavor of tobacco and his essence. She sighed with pleasure when he, sensing her acquiescence, tightened his embrace, crushing her against his solid strength.

Her own hands moved, having somehow snaked around him, and roved over his back and shoulders, exploring him, learning him. She reveled in her discoveries, how the muscles corded his body, how they tensed and rippled beneath the soft material of his shirt.

Meanwhile his own hands were busy, sliding over her curves, molding her to him in a grip that was at once both fierce and tender. The first time his fingers brushed her breast, she gasped and he withdrew, but a few moments later, when it happened again, she thrust herself willingly into his palm, her heightening senses screaming for the contact. How such gentle, tentative kneading could produce such searing pleasure, she had no idea, but she shifted restlessly, freeing his other hand so that he could capture both globes in his tantalizing embrace.

And the kisses just went on and on. Even when they broke to breathe, the air rasping in their throats, their lips still clung moistly, both of them unwilling to break the sweet j contact.

Rachel earned his moan of pleasure when her roaming hand found the spot where his shirttail had come loose and her fingers stroked bare flesh. Emboldened, she delved in i with her other hand, too, discovering the odd combination of silk and steel that made a man. At first she was so busy that she did not notice what he was doing, but when his mouth left hers to trail down her throat, she suddenly realized that his hands had worked loose the buttons of her shirtwaist.

A small protest died on her lips as his marauding mouth warmed the opening, covering the satiny skin of her exposed bosom with a myriad of tiny kisses. She made no protest at all when he moved aside the silk of her chemise and could only moan with pleasure when his mouth caught one taut nipple.

Cole thought he must be dreaming, except that this was better, far better, then any dream could be. She was here, right here, in his arms, all warm and soft and willing. More than willing. Dear Lord, she was kissing him back, and her soft little hands were doing wicked little things up under his shirt.

And her skin. Had anything ever felt so good? Or tasted so sweet? He could not seem to get enough of the feel or the taste of her, and he muttered a curse at the clothes that barred his access.

Their legs were tangled in her skirts, but he worked one thigh in between her legs, seeking her heat, stroking against it. Instinctively, she answered his rhythm, moving her hips in time to the ancient cadence. She was ready. He knew she was.

It felt so good, Rachel thought. It all felt wonderful, just like Lupe had said. And there was more, too, so much more. She strained to get closer, closer to his warmth, his strength. They’d have to stop soon, she knew. They couldn’t do much more than just this luscious kissing and touching out here in the parlor. Soon they would have to move into the bedroom to have the privacy they would need.

For now, though, this was fine, and more than fine. She shivered at the delicious tingles that his hand was sending up her leg, up under her skirt and up and up...

She cried out when he cupped her center. So great was the shock, so shocking was the violation, she could not help it. “No, wait!” she gasped, recoiling instinctively from his sudden invasion. It was too soon, too quick.

She had only wanted him to slow down a little, but he jerked away as if she'd burned him.

Cole stared down at her startled face. She looked absolutely terrified. Good God, what had gotten into him? he wondered as he struggled free of the tangle her clothes had created and lurched to his feet. Was he going to tumble her right here on the floor like some two-bit whore?

He released her. She looked so helpless, lying there on the floor with her hair all tousled and her clothes all mussed and her breasts... Forcing himself to look away from her exposed bosom, he turned and headed for the front door. If he didn’t get away, and quick, he would tumble her, right there on the floor, willing or not.

Rachel scrambled up to a sitting position. “Where are you going?” she demanded breathlessly, only remembering at the last moment to clutch the edges of her shirtwaist together over her nakedness.

“Out. I’ll be back in a little while,” he called over his shoulder, almost forgetting to grab his jacket in his haste to get out the door.

“Cole, wait!” she called, but it was too late. He was gone. She sat staring stupidly at the closed door for a long time, until she heard a horse clattering out of the ranch yard. The sound mobilized her, and she raced to the window in time to see him ride past on his way out to the road.

Shame and outrage burned her face, and she stamped her foot in frustration while she damned Cole Elliot to the fires I of perdition. What in the world was wrong with the man, anyway? She’d literally thrown herself at him, and then she’d wallowed on the floor with him like a bitch in heat, and at the last minute he’d gotten up and walked out.

Suddenly aware of the cool air on her heated skin, she angrily began to do up the buttons of her shirtwaist, trying not to remember how they had happened to become undone. Then she began to wonder if there might not be something wrong with her.

For a minute there, she’d been so sure that he wanted her. He’d done a very good imitation, anyway, before he’d suddenly changed his mind. What was it about her that repulsed him so much that he could not bring himself to do what Lupe had assured her was virtually second nature to all men?

Plunking herself down in the easy chair in which he had sat earlier, she stared into the fire. Well, she had known from the beginning that he did not like her. Her father and even Lupe had told her that it was her imagination, but she had had proof of it long before tonight. She had known ever since that night at the dance.

Just a few weeks after she had arrived home, her father had thrown a party to celebrate her return. Folks had come from miles around. They had barbecued two steers and the festivities had lasted all day and most of the night. After supper the dancing had started, and Rachel had, of course, been the belle of the ball.

Every man there had vied for a dance with her, and she had danced until her feet were more than numb. Every man had danced with her. Every man except one.

Cole Elliot had stood on the fringes of the crowd, watching and watching, with that funny, hard look on his face, his blue eyes narrowed disapprovingly. He was being subtle about it, but she had known that he was watching her and not liking what he saw. Resenting his judgment, she feigned even more gaiety than she felt, smiling and laughing and flirting until her face actually ached from the effort.

Finally, near dawn, in a fit of perversity, she marched right up and challenged him. “Mr. Elliot,” she chastened, “you haven’t asked me to dance.”

Her boldness was rewarded. He looked remarkably uncomfortable, knowing that everyone was watching and listening to the exchange. “I can’t dance,” he said.

A lame excuse if she had ever heard one. “Why, Mr. Elliot,” she said coyly, batting her eyes furiously, “there isn’t a man here who can dance. That hasn’t stopped any one of them from dragging me around to the music, however.” She sidled up closer to him, enjoying his discomfiture. “I’ll think you don’t like me,” she coaxed.

Just then the band struck up a waltz, and she tipped her head expectantly.

He cleared his throat and asked, “May I have this dance?” She had left him with no alternative.

With a small, triumphant smile, she led him back to the dance floor and allowed him to take her in his arms. The stiff way he held her, as if afraid to get too close, was almost insulting, but she smiled as if nothing in the world 'were amiss.

At least he hadn’t been lying. He really couldn’t dance, not a step. She thought it strange that a man with such natural grace should be unable to do a simple thing like dance, but she hadn’t said anything about it. In fact, she hadn’t said anything much at all. She’d been too busy trying to follow him as he walked her around the floor. And too breathless. She hadn’t wanted to talk, anyway. Simply being in his arms had been enough. Enough for what, she could not have said at the time, but looking back, she wondered if her attraction to him had not begun even then.

Because, as little as she liked admitting it, she was very attracted to Cole Elliot. If she were completely honest, she was more than attracted to him, but she didn’t care to be completely honest, not even with herself, not yet. All she was willing to admit was that she liked his kisses and the other things that went with them. She thought she might even like the rest of it, if she ever got the chance to find out what that was.

Sighing, she remembered Lupe’s careful instructions, and winced at the thought of what Lupe would say if she had seen the little scene that had just been played out here in the parlor. No doubt the old woman would insist that it was all Rachel's fault, that she had driven her husband away somehow. Rachel felt the weight of some nameless emotion settle on her as she stared into the dying fire, and her chin firmed in determination.

Lupe was not going to find out. Not only that, but not one more day was going to go by before she and Cole Elliot set a few things straight, number one being their marriage and all that that implied.

Reaching for the Indian blanket that adorned the back of the settee, she spread it across her lap and snuggled down under it to ward off the growing chill. He couldn’t stay away forever. He’d have to come back sooner or later, and when he did, they were going to have things out, once and for all.

Cole was well away from the ranch before he stopped to think things over. He just couldn’t seem to come to grips with the fact that he had almost raped Rachel right there on the parlor floor.

In one more minute, he would have had her drawers off, and it would have been all over but the shouting. If she hadn’t hollered when she did...

The only thing he didn’t know was how she would ever be able to trust him again. He’d behaved like an animal, throwing her down on the floor and attacking her. All those days of being a gentleman, not demanding anything of her, holding all his own feelings on a short rein, were wasted now.

Now she’d be scared to death of him, of the very sight of him, and rightly so. He was a little scared himself. He'd never felt that way before, so out-of-control, so wild. Then again, he’d never been with anybody like Rachel, either.

He’d even thought at first that she was enjoying it. She must have been so scared that she hadn’t even been able to fight him off or tell him to get away from her. He must have been pretty far gone to imagine that she’d wanted it. A lady would never act like that. Now that the cold night air had cleared his head and he could think clearly, he remembered that.

He should have known that things would get out of hand if he ever touched her, though. That one time he’d danced with her should have been proof enough.

It had been one hell of a wingding, a whole day of partying and carrying on, and then a dance to top things off. Of course, Cole never danced. It was one thing he’d never learned to do. The other men liked to go to the dance houses and pay to dance with the pretty girls as sort of a warm up for what came later. Cole had never felt that he needed a warm up, and he couldn’t see any point in wasting time and money on holding a girl in your arms when you couldn’t do anything more about it than just jog around to some Godawful music.

So dancing had never held much attraction for him. Until he’d met Rachel, that is. That night at the dance, watching her with man after man, Cole had known a bitter envy. Not that he couldn’t have done as good a job as any of them of pushing her around the floor, but his pride rebelled at such a thing. If he couldn’t do it right, he wasn’t about to get out there and make a fool of himself in front of her.

Still, he hadn’t been able to stop watching her, no matter how much it galled him. He guessed that she had known he was watching, too, even though he’d tried not to be too obvious. That was probably why she had come up to him and shamed him into dancing with her.

Even then, he hadn’t dared to hold her close. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, of course. He’d wanted to do a lot more than hold her, too, and he had needed all his iron control to keep from carrying her off somewhere and doing it. By the time that dance was over, he’d actually been sweating from the strain.

The way he was sweating right now just from thinking about her.

Without really planning to, without even being consciously aware of where he was going or why, Cole found himself, after a long, cold ride, in front of Lettie’s cabin. He told himself that he shouldn’t be there, that he was a married man, that Lettie wouldn’t want him there. Still, he climbed down and tied the gelding in the shelter of the lean-to beside her house and went up and knocked on the door.

The house was dark. It wasn’t really late, but late enough that the town had closed down for the night, and Lettie, having been on her feet all day, had gone to bed.

Cole heard a scuffling inside and then a light flared as she struck a match and lighted a lamp.

“Who’s there?” her muffled voice asked through the door.

He was starting to feel a little foolish. He’d never come to her place like this before. Always they’d come together, after she got off work. He’d never had to stand at the door and announce himself.

“It’s Cole,” he finally said.

The door immediately swung open, and Lettie stood there silhouetted against the lamp that sat on a center table. Cole could see the outline of her body through her thin nightdress. It should have been a welcome sight.

Wordlessly, she stepped back from the door, allowing him to enter. No sooner was he in the room than he knew he had made a mistake in coming here. This was not where he should have come to find comfort after the scene with Rachel. The fact that until very recently, this house had been a sort of haven for him was what had drawn him, but now he knew that those days were gone for good.

“Well, now, if it isn’t the bridegroom,” Lettie was saying, sarcasm thick in her voice. “It sure didn’t take long for your fancy lady to get tired of spreading her legs for you, did it?”

His hand was raised, fingers spread, half a breath away from striking her when he caught himself. Lettie had raised her arm and cringed away instinctively to ward off the blow, and for a moment they both stood poised like that, unable to move. Cole stared in horror at his hand and then looked back at Lettie who had finally moved. She was stepping away from him, her face white, her body trembling. That was when he realized the truth. He had almost hit her. At last he drew his hand back, staring at it in amazement and unable to believe that he could have done such a thing. He had never struck a woman in his life, and here he had almost struck Lettie for no reason at all. Or almost no reason. This business with Rachel was making him crazy.

“Lettie, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, reaching out instinctively to comfort her. Appalled at the way she shrank from him, he dropped his hands to his sides and shook his head to clear it. No doubt about it, Rachel had driven him over the edge. “I never meant to hit you, Lettie. It’s just... you shouldn’t have said anything about her.”

Lettie knew that much, and behind her shocked face, her mind was clicking away over that fact. Cole, gentle as he had always been with her, had threatened her physically. Now that she had had a chance to watch him for a moment, she saw that he was truly upset, upset enough that he could do something so completely out of character that he had horrified even himself.

That woman had driven him to it. Lettie was sure of it. For days Lettie had been eaten with jealousy, had been obsessed with wondering how a fine lady like Miss McKinsey had managed to trap Cole. That Cole was ready to settle down, Lettie had suspected for a long time. She had played on it, too, making herself and her home as comfortable for him as she could. She hadn’t dared mention marriage, not yet, anyway, knowing how that would scare him off, but she had j been confident that with just a little more time, she could have planted the idea in his mind.

That little bitch had beaten her to it, though. For days, and just now, Lettie had let her bitterness get in the way of her usually good judgment. Now that she thought about it, now that she studied Cole and read his mood, she knew that she was being given a second chance. He might have struck out at Lettie, but she would have bet money that it was really his little wife that he wanted to hit. They had had a fight.

They must have or why would he be here, with her?

Cole was apologizing again. “I shouldn’t have come here, Lettie. I’m sorry. I’ll leave now,” he offered, heading for the still-opened door.

“No, wait,” Lettie said, quickly moving to close the door and stand in his way. She even managed a small smile, “There’s no need for you to go, not yet.”

Cole couldn’t believe that she had forgiven him so quickly or so easily, and he stared at her suspiciously. He was starting to feel more than a little disgusted with himself. This was the second woman he had had to apologize to tonight, and it was a very unpleasant experience.

Seeing his uncertainty, Lettie played on it. “I know why you came, and it’s all right. I’ve missed you, too,” she assured him. She reached over and began to release the buttons of his coat. He did not resist, and when the jacket hung open, she slipped inside it, molding herself to him. “We’ll do all the things you like,” she promised.

Cole felt his blood stir. After what had happened earlier, he needed a woman, needed one badly. His arms went around her. She wasn’t as pretty as Rachel, but she’d do. He buried his face in the curve of her neck. The cloying scent of her cheap perfume almost gagged him. It wasn’t like the fresh smell of roses at all. In desperation, he lifted his head and ground his mouth against hers.