13

Justin didn’t give a lot of thought to what was proper in his life, but it was mighty hard to get rid of Angie the next morning, or he should say, get her home to the orphanage. And it all came down to propriety.

“A woman should never ride out alone with a man.” She spoke it as if it were a commandment straight out of the Good Book.

“I thought that was a rule for young women. Aren’t the rules for widows a little easier?” Honest, he’d never given it a bit of thought before, not until about one minute ago when he’d been stumped by her commandment.

He boosted her onto her horse, and she grabbed the saddle horn to keep herself from going right over the other side. He caught her and centered her on the saddle.

She glared at him until he felt like he might have burn marks on his face. It took him a minute to try to figure out why. “Uh . . . that is, I’m not saying you’re not young.”

She sniffed and faced forward as they rode, both hands clinging to the saddle horn with the reins twisted here and there between her fingers.

The woman needed riding lessons.

“And anyway, who’s gonna be upset? Sister Margaret? I’ve known her my whole life. She trusts me.”

“It’s still not proper.”

Sadie and Rosita were up to their elbows scrubbing Cole’s bedroom upstairs because Angie had stayed in the room for the days she’d been here, and Cole had declared he was moving back in. Then they had Ma and Pa’s room to clean. He should’ve made Sadie quit cleaning to ride along, but they both knew Rosita would do it all herself.

Justin found himself trapped into riding Angie to town. He needed to stay home and take action with his cowhands and root out the traitor. But for the same reason he didn’t feel like he could send Angie to town with one of his cowhands. Besides, that’d probably not be very proper either.

“It’s not like there’s any chance we would behave improperly—that’s a concern for courting couples. And we don’t even like each other.” He said it to reassure her, even though as he spoke he knew what he’d said wasn’t strictly true.

Turning the widest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen on him, Angie said, “You don’t like me?”

“Well, I like you some.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Let’s ride faster. The less time together, the less improper it is.”

“What exactly do you mean by improper anyway? Is this some high-society rule? I’ve ridden all over this country with Mel Blake. No one’s ever accused us of being improper. And Sadie rides to town with my cowhands as escort. She’s in good, safe hands with them.” Of course, he didn’t believe that anymore.

“It’s fine, Justin.” Now she just sounded snooty. “Let’s just make the best we can of this improper situation.”

It seemed whatever he said set her off one way or another. He wanted to apologize, say something to make it better, but every time he opened his mouth he made it worse. Justin found himself daydreaming about a longhorn bull he’d roped and thrown a while back. The bull had been limping, and he needed to check its leg. The slashing horns and churning hooves, combined with fifteen hundred pounds of gristle and murderous rage, was a whole lot easier to handle than one fussy woman.

It had never once in his life before bothered him to ride long distances in silence, but for some half-witted reason right now he couldn’t stand it. So he asked the question that was burning in his gut. “Tell me about your life back in Omaha. It must’ve been real bad. Was your husband a louse? How long’s he been dead?”

She stared at him, her hazel eyes wide and worried. There was such vulnerability there, for a moment he regretted asking. At the same time he was even more determined to know.

“M-my husband had been dead over a year when I left Omaha. When he died, I found we were deeply in debt. I had to turn everything over to our bill collectors, and there were some financial troubles at the bank my husband owned. If he hadn’t died, there is little doubt he was headed for ruin and possibly prison.” She fell silent.

There was no possible way he could help being curious. “So what did you do after he died?”

More silence, until finally she said, “I moved here to be with Aunt Margaret.”

Which he knew wasn’t a fraction of the story, but from the stubborn set of her chin, he didn’t think he could get more words out of her. Not now.

He noticed the high hill rising up on the west side of the trail and the heavy forest closing in from the east. The trail was still wide, but a skilled rifleman would make his shot count. It wasn’t a long stretch. Yesterday with Heath, he’d ridden hard past it, bent low over their horses. Of course, they’d ridden like that the whole way home.

That was beyond Miss City Girl’s riding skills.

“We walk on foot for a while now.” He pulled his horse to a stop, and she was just seconds behind him pulling up her mare. He was already on the ground. Rounding his horse, he reached up and helped her from the saddle so that they stood sandwiched between the horses. He had to pry her hands loose from the saddle and untangle the reins from between each finger.

“Why are we walking? I’ve never had to walk on this trail before.”

“Haven’t you been on it only once before?”

Her only answer was to sniff.

“The reason I want to walk is because someone might be gunning for us from the highlands. Walking between the horses is safer.”

They continued on quietly, Justin carefully studying the land, his eyes eagle-sharp as he watched for any unexplained movement, his ears listening for any sounds that didn’t belong. He kept his nose busy too, knowing you could often smell a man before you could see him.

“The trail widens soon. Then we can ride again.”

Angie glanced sideways at him, her expression one of sadness.

“What’s the matter, Angie?” Without thinking whether it was wise, he reached for her hand and held it as they walked, wanting to give her comfort. Hoping she could feel his strength and his willingness to protect her from this harsh world.

A tiny shrug of one shoulder wasn’t an answer, and then her lips turned down even further. Justin thought they could ride the horses again, but he hoped if they walked just a bit more, maybe she’d tell him her troubles. He might be able to fix them.

Speaking just above a whisper, she asked, “Do you really not like me?”

He stopped in his tracks. Her horse stuck with Justin’s and stopped. Facing her, Justin tried not to be such a complete lunkhead. What does a man say to a woman to cheer her up? At the rate he was going, he’d probably make things worse.

He prided himself on being an honest man. But that usually amounted to yelling orders while he and his men herded cattle. Still, he didn’t know any other way to be than straightforward. Surely there was a way to be honest without being a half-wit.

“I like you real well, Angie.”

She lifted her chin, and there was a spark of hope now in her eyes, peeking out from behind the sadness.

He tugged his leather gloves off and tucked them behind his belt. Without really thinking what he was doing, he touched her cheek with his index finger. He had a cattleman’s hands—rough, scarred, and callused—made that way from long hours working in a rugged land. The moment he touched her, he knew he shouldn’t have.

Because he found out how soft she was. Instantly a longing awakened within him to touch her again. “When you came to town and collapsed and I caught you, held you in my arms, I thought I held the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“But my face was covered with soot. My dress was filthy, and I’m sure I smelled terrible.”

“I admit I looked forward to seeing you all cleaned up.”

That got a smile out of her.

“You looked so fragile that day, and then when I heard what you’d done for that mother and her three children, giving them all your money so they could eat, going without yourself—”

“Any decent person would go without to feed hungry children. You certainly would.”

He brushed aside her protest. “The sad truth is, many people wouldn’t. But you did, and I knew that along with being beautiful, you were generous and kindhearted, too.”

A tiny smile trembled on her lips. “That’s a lot to figure out about one unconscious woman you’ve never spoken to.”

He wished he could turn that smile into a big one. A smile with no hurt, no fear behind it. He wanted to know what had happened to her, and yet he understood completely that a body wanted to keep dark times to themselves.

But the little smile was an encouraging sign. Justin tilted his head. “That’s what I saw. Then I took you to the orphanage and saw how much Sister Margaret loved you. I knew you had to be a good woman through and through.”

“Aunt Margaret loves everyone. I think that’s part of the job when you’re a nun.”

That gave Justin a moment of concern. “Are . . . are you considering becoming a nun?” He admired and respected Sister Margaret, but the thought of Angie taking the veil was upsetting for some reason.

“Honestly, the idea appeals to me, but there are a couple of things stopping me.”

He waited, not wanting to appear too eager to hear what those things were. Because he was all too ready to encourage her in her doubts, which was most likely a sin. He asked for forgiveness even as he braced himself to argue with her. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m not Catholic.”

That set his smile loose. “I think they insist on that.”

“Beyond that, they ask for poverty, chastity, obedience. I am obedient to a fault, and while I would always do my best to obey God no matter what I do with my life, I think I need to learn to obey people much less. I need to trust my own ideas of how to go on and stop letting people rule me. I’m all too ready to do as I’m told. Aunt Margaret would never abuse that, but many people would.”

Like her husband. Had the man insisted on obedience to the point of being a tyrant?

“What was your husband’s name?” As soon as he asked, he realized they hadn’t spoken one word about her husband while they discussed her putting on a habit. His question really had nothing to do with this, except Justin suspected it had a lot to do with it. And he wanted to put a name to the man for when he daydreamed about punching him.

He had to clench his jaw to hide his anger and stop his demand to know if he’d ever put his hands on her in anger.

Angie gave Justin a startled look, then replied, “It was Edward. Edward DuPree.” Then she kept on talking quickly. “And poverty is certainly no problem. I’ve managed to be poor with no effort on my part whatsoever.”

“So poverty and obedience, but—”

“But I’ve been married. So chastity isn’t possible, and I think it’s a very strong requirement.”

Was it? What if a woman was widowed? Justin didn’t ask because he didn’t want to consider the idea, and he didn’t want to send her hunting for information. And mighty sudden he knew exactly why.

They stood face-to-face between the shields of the two horses, the critters waiting patiently. Justin was less than a foot away from her. Then it was inches . . .

“I think those are mighty good reasons, Angie. I’ve got one more mighty good reason you shouldn’t become a nun.”

Her eyebrows quirked. “You do? What’s that?”

Justin lowered his head and kissed her. His right palm settled on her cheek. He’d never kissed a woman before, but he showed a surprising talent for it. He pulled away before the kiss could deepen, scolding himself about being improper.

He stood looking into her eyes on the cold December day. They were, for the moment, out of anyone’s gun range, and they didn’t have a horde of family and cowhands and nuns close around them. When had that ever happened before?

“Justin.” His name was more breath than a word. Her hands rested on his chest as she pushed him away.

It was a rejection, and the thought of it slashed through him like an ax. The pounding of hooves then broke them apart.

They both whirled around. Someone was coming around a bend in the trail. Justin’s brain came out of its daze. They had no business lingering out here, in a place so exposed. Although he was having a hard time regretting the talk and especially the kiss.

“Let’s mount up,” he told her.

As Angie reached for the saddle horn, Justin saw her hands were shaking. He was all too happy to take her by the slender waist and lift her onto the horse. He made sure she was balanced, then quickly mounted his bay and they began walking forward, all without speaking. Justin had his hand on his Colt the entire time.

A few minutes later, Doc Garner rounded the curve and drew up in front of them. The man looked exhausted.

“If you’re headed out to our place, Doc,” Justin said, “I don’t think you need to bother. Cole’s up and doing well now. He’s gonna make it, Doc. We owe you our thanks. You pulled him through, and we all appreciate your help.”

A genuine smile of pure relief lightened the doctor’s face. “I’m glad to hear he’s on the mend.”

“I think we’re done dragging you out there so often.” Justin wondered if that was too optimistic. Pa had been bad hurt in the avalanche, Heath was shot not that long ago, then Cole. Maybe the doctor oughta drop by every few days from now on, just in case.

Angie said, “He’s still moving slow, but other than that, it looks like he’ll be back to his old self real soon.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, if you’re sure he’s all right, I think I’ll go on back to town and not take the long ride out. My wife is beginning to wonder what I look like.”

“Head on back with our thanks, Doc.”

The doctor gave Angie a curious look. “Is that why you’re riding to town? Because your work is done out at the Boden place?”

“Yes, it’s time for me to get back to the orphanage.”

“Then I can save you some riding, too, Justin. I can ride in with Angie, and you can head right back home.”

Justin still had a lot to say to Angie and he wouldn’t mind seeing if she’d kiss him again. In fact, he wanted more time alone with her so bad he knew he needed to get away from her. He glanced at her, and she looked right back, a light pink blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you, Dr. Garner,” she said with utter politeness. “I’m happy for your company.”

The two rode off for town while Justin turned back to pass through the gauntlet again. He bent low over the saddle and galloped like mad. Trying to pound away his frustration and his wide-awake desire to keep Angie, a woman who looked to be the worst possible choice for a rancher’s wife, for himself and not let the doctor or an orphanage, and especially not a pair of kindhearted nuns, steal her away from him.

There was another thought pestering him just as bad as he raced for home.

Those snooty society types who’d made the rule about a man and woman riding alone together being improper knew exactly what they were talking about.