In the next two weeks, Glory had more than one disastrous reason to recall Riley’s words about firing the two new hands. Or not firing them, more accurately, since both of them still rode for the Lawless brand. Standing in her father’s office, her arms crossed under her bosom, she peered out at the blackened wall of the horse barn. A fire. The latest reason.
The gray day was no match for her mood or for the smoke rising from the hay the men pitchforked out into the barn’s service court. When heavy, booted footsteps announced someone’s approach, Glory turned from the window and toward the sound.
Bringing an acrid smell with him, Smiley turned into the room, his hat held in his hands, his face grim and soot-smeared. Without preamble, he launched into his report. “We were lucky. We caught it early and there wasn’t much damage to the barn itself that some nailed-up boards won’t repair.”
Glory nodded. “And the horses?”
He shrugged. “Skittish but none burned or lost. Thorne’s got some of the men turning them into the far corral while we clean up.”
Glory exhaled her breath in relief. “Thank God the horses were spared.” Then she stared down at her brown lace-up shoes, giving them undue consideration. Keeping her gaze lowered, she asked her foreman, “What’s your thinking on this, Smiley?”
He was quiet for so long that Glory finally looked up at him, taking in his dingy denims tucked into his muck-smeared boots and his unbuttoned coat. He wasn’t going to tell her a thing—not without being prodded. Glory eyed him levelly and encouraged, “I asked, so you may as well tell me.”
Frowning, obviously uncomfortable, Smiley ran a hand over his balding pate and voiced his opinion. “The fire was set, plain and simple, Miz Glory. Fires in three different parts of one structure just don’t start on their own. Somethin’ or someone has to spark ’em. And there sure-as-shootin’ wasn’t no lightning about to do the job.”
Glory pressed her lips together, which seemed to constrict her chest. “No, there wasn’t. And that fire in the cook shack last week—I’m not so sure anymore that was an accident. Or an oversight on Sourdough’s part, like we’ve been thinking.”
Smiley nodded and quirked up a corner of his mouth. “I never have knowed him to set his own kitchen on fire.”
“Me either.” Glory took a deep breath and let it out. Above the knotted bandanna tied around his neck, Smiley’s expression spoke volumes. Her spirits dragging, Glory prompted, “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Afraid so. A fight broke out last night in the bunkhouse.”
His words slumped her spirit. She needed to sit down. Circling the desk, she pulled out the leather chair and sank gratefully onto its padded seat. Rubbing her temples, she said, “Go on.”
“Carter Brown and Heck Thompson got into it over some missing money. Heck said he caught Carter going through his things and then found some money gone, money he’d set aside to send his folks. Carter said Heck’s saddlebags fell off his bunk, and he was just putting them back and didn’t know nothin’ about no money. I made both men turn out their belongings.”
Glory nodded. “What’d you find?”
Looking disgusted, Smiley made a gesture of helplessness. “Nothing. It’s one man’s word against the other.”
“Like every other incident in the past two weeks.”
Smiley sniffed, giving her a sidelong glance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Pretty sure she knew what he was thinking, and what he wouldn’t say, Glory pressed on. “All starting about the time Mr. Thorne hired Brown and Justice.”
Now Smiley stared at her straight-on. “Yes, ma’am.”
Glory waited, but Smiley didn’t offer more. So she urged, “Smiley, I know if Papa was here, you’d tell him everything you’re thinking, and you wouldn’t hold back. You’re going to have to treat me the same way, if we’re going to survive. I promise you, I won’t break.”
Smiley considered his hat a moment, scratched his stubbly jaw and then nodded. “I reckon yer right.” He met her gaze. “There’s no solid proof that either man had a guilty hand in these troubles. Not the sabotaged equipment or the downed fences and loose cattle we had to round up. Not even this here fire or the one in the cook shack. But I do know this—none of these things was happenin’ before those two came.”
Glory frowned as she sorted through everything Smiley told her. Then she admitted, “I’ve thought the same things. Still, I hate to fire just one of them. What if I don’t get the right one?”
“Then you fire the other one, too, Miz Glory. It’s that simple.”
A prick of temper flushed her cheeks and sharpened her voice. “It’s not that simple. Not for me. Yes, Brown and Justice always seem to be in the area when the troubles happen. But so are a lot of the other men. You want me to fire them all? Would that be fair to any of them with winter coming on?”
Smiley pinched his lips together. Whitened lines appeared at each corner of his mouth. “Miz Glory, you got to be hard-nosed about this—just like yer pa was. You got to think like a man. You cain’t worry yerself about every drifter that rides through. Now, I know yer no more’n a girl, and yer trying to do yer best. And I know you ain’t got no experience runnin’ this place. But I’ve been hirin’ and firin’ men since before you was alive. Yer pa trusted my judgment. And my gut tells me these two hands hired on by Riley Thorne are trouble.”
The foreman paused, as if allowing Glory to absorb that, and then added, “You can trust the men I’ve brought onto the place. We ain’t never had no trouble outta any of them.” Despite her best efforts, Glory felt the sting of hot tears at his rebuke. Perhaps Smiley saw them glitter in her eyes because he looked down at his hat, twisted it in his hands, and then jammed it back on his head.
From under its brim, he considered her in a sober fashion. “Well, I’ve had my say. Except to add that it ain’t helped none that you’ve placed Riley Thorne over me. The men don’t like it, but they respect you. And that puts ’em smack-dab in the middle betwixt me and Thorne. As a result, there ain’t much gettin’ done without first a heap of cussin’ and discussin’. Now, I don’t know what can be done about that, but just think long and hard on it, if you would.”
Lowering her gaze to the desktop, Glory swallowed a fistful of emotion. Smiley’s words sounded like they came straight from Papa’s mouth. And everything he said was true. Sitting there in her father’s too-big chair, feeling his absence like never before, Glory forced herself to meet her foreman’s eyes. “Are you telling me that you’re thinking of quitting?”
Smiley ducked his head. “No, ma’am.”
Glory exhaled, but the moment stretched out, became too long. She stood up. “Thank you for that. I know you have a lot to do. I won’t keep you.”
Smiley glanced up at her, surprising her with a whiskery smile. “Look, Miz Glory, it’ll take some time, and yer goin’ ta make mistakes. But you’ll find yer way. An’ we … all us men … we’re behind you. We ain’t a one of us leavin’ you.”
Tears sprang again to her eyes. He should’ve said he quit and was taking all the men with him. That’s what she deserved. Sniffling, clearing her throat, Glory all but whispered, “Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just go see to … the men now.” With that, he turned and strode out of the room.
The second his retreating footfalls no longer echoed across the hardwood floor, Glory relented on her earlier promise to Smiley. She broke. Falling limply back onto her father’s chair, she covered her face with her hands. And cried.
* * *
Riley backed away from the kitchen porch, making room for Smiley, who shoved open the door from inside and came stomping down the well-worn steps. Riley nodded his tight-lipped greeting to the foreman, who returned it and wordlessly stepped past him. Riley spared the man a glance and a hard thought as he entered the same way Smiley had just exited.
Inside the orderly kitchen, Riley stopped. Empty. He frowned. Hadn’t Smiley been in here speaking with Biddy about the fire? That’s where he’d said he was going. But the clean, dry counters and cold stove told another story. No one had disturbed this room since breakfast. He knew, because no one could talk to Biddy without getting fed or at least having a cup of coffee.
Not liking the feel of this, Riley reasoned where Biddy might be. Most likely, that sweet old lady sat in the parlor doing her mending—and looking out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Smiley. What she saw in the man, he’d never know. Well, it was none of his business. But what was his business, the way he saw it, was what Smiley must have been in here telling Glory about the fire today and the altercation last night in the bunkhouse.
Every story has two sides, and she needed to hear both. Cursing this state of affairs, Riley went in search of Glory. He checked the other rooms as he passed them, but he figured she’d be in J. C.’s office—the last place he wanted to be. That room, to him, still smelled of the former outlaw’s cigars and his greed. But if that’s where Glory was, then so be it. As he approached the open door of the office, Riley became aware of a sound inside. He stopped out in the hall and frowned. Was that somebody crying?
His mind flashed him an image of Smiley, showing him the man as he’d looked just now—stiff, grim, unspeaking. If he so much as—Not even taking the time to finish his thought, Riley crossed the threshold and stepped into the room. Greeting him were the oversized desk, two facing armchairs, a wall of books … and one curled-up and crying Lawless girl in a chair meant to hold a much larger man.
Dammit. Guilt over his part in her tears had Riley scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he lifted his Stetson off his head, flung it to a chair, and shed his coat, sending it the same way. Finally, with great tenderness welling up inside him, he went to Glory and picked her up in his arms. She clutched at his shirt, and clung tightly to him, turning her face against his neck. Careful of his fragile, precious burden, Riley turned, sat them both in J. C. Lawless’s chair, and held the man’s daughter next to his heart.
More undone by her tears than he’d ever thought possible, Riley remained still and stared at nothing across the room. Every now and then he’d kiss the top of Glory’s head and maybe rest his cheek there a moment. But for the most part, he let her cry it out. It’d do her good. She’d been holding in a lot lately.
Lately? Two whole weeks now. She’d avoided him except when it was impossible to do so, like at the evening meals. There’d been no more hungry kisses in the kitchen or lustful scenes on the leather couch. Only polite distance and sidelong glances. He could name about fifty reasons why they’d come to such an impasse, but probably the main one was that she blamed him for the troubles on Lawless land. And looking at things from her point of view—or even her foreman’s—Riley figured she had every right to.
Glory shifted her weight on his lap. He looked down at her. And smiled. Her cheek snuggled against his chest, her arms loosely encircled his waist. She sniffed and blinked and stared—like he’d been doing—at nothing across the room. A sudden shuddering breath escaped her and nearly shattered him. Tightening his grip around her, he gritted his teeth against the sudden bolt of protectiveness that shot through him. If Smiley had hurt her, he’d kill him. That’s all there was to it.
Edging a shoulder up to get her attention, Riley looked down into her splotchy face and grinned at her red and runny nose. “You want to tell me about it, sweetheart?”
She sniffed loudly, scrubbed a finger under her nose, and then curled her hand into a fist, which she buried in her skirt’s folds. “I’m nineteen and alone and it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Her hurt and watery voice, as much as her words, brought a frown to Riley’s face. “What wasn’t supposed to be like this?”
Without lifting her head from his chest, she waved her arm in a big arc that encompassed the entire room. “This. All of it. Mama and Papa. Jacey and Hannah. This ranch. The men. I can’t do it. I let everybody down. I don’t make good decisions. I don’t have anybody to talk to about it—”
“You can talk to me.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. You’re part of what’s wrong.”
Riley exhaled, knew the truth of her words, and said, “You think so?”
“Smiley does. Or says he does.”
“Smiley.” Riley snorted. “I could be a foot-deep solid vein of gold lying exposed on the ground and he’d find fault with me, Glory. You know that.”
She nodded against his chambray shirt. “I do. He also found fault with me. He said I need to think like a man—the same thing you said two weeks ago. I don’t know how to be a man, or think like one. I don’t even know what you mean by that.”
Riley quirked a grin. Well, you asked for this, now didn’t you, old son? he thought wryly. Then, sobering, thinking about what he wanted to say, he launched into his explanation. “I mean you make decisions with your head and your gut. Not your heart. Know what you want, decide, and stick with it. This isn’t a contest for likeability. It’s about being the boss. It’s hard. And you have to be, too.”
Glory didn’t say anything for a minute. Riley contented himself with the cozy feel of her on his lap, with her warmth snuggled against him. Then she raised her head and met his gaze. “Then I know what I’m going to do.”
He smiled down at her. “That fast, huh?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m going to replace Heck’s money that was stolen. And then, at first light, I’m going to fire Abel Justice and Carter Brown.”
Her words stunned Riley into a second’s stillness. He then slowly shook his head from side to side to emphasize his words. “You can’t do that, Glory.”
Her head cocked to one side, her face mirroring stubbornness and maybe a trace of suspicion, she asked, “Why can’t I? I’m the Lawless here. Not you.”
* * *
Standing out in the darkened hallway, right outside the closed door of Riley’s bedroom, and knowing he was in there, Glory clutched at her chemise nightshirt. Her own words from that afternoon came back to haunt her. I’m the Lawless here. Not you. Poor Riley. All evening he’d slouched on the leather sofa and stared at her so hard she hadn’t been able to keep her mind on the book she’d been reading. Even Biddy had noticed the tense quiet between them and had excused herself early.
Glory blinked back to the present, to the closed door, and put a finger to her mouth, thoughtfully biting the nail. She couldn’t just knock. She couldn’t. This was wrong. No matter what she told herself her real reason was for being here, her pounding, fluttering heart told her otherwise. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you. You want him to hold you in his arms and—
The door opened. Framed in the doorway, his hands moving to his lean waist, Riley didn’t appear the least bit surprised. But Glory—wide-eyed, barefooted, and trapped—couldn’t move. Or speak. Then Riley chuckled and shook his head, as if at some joke. “Glory.” That was all he said. Just Glory.
The man’s quietness irritated her. She never knew what he was thinking. Well, you’re caught now. Say something. “Umm, I thought you were asleep.”
Undressed down to his combination suit and denims, his feet bare, Riley raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not.”
He was doing nothing to make this easy, darn him. He just stood there looking all big and finely formed and … big and—a sigh escaped her—and handsome and sleepy-eyed. Glory’s guilt and agitation—and Riley’s suddenly hot-eyed stare—wriggled her toes on the hallway’s carpet runner. Say something. “I just came to … say good night.”
Making a slow, lazy circuit of her entire body from her head to her toes and then back again, Riley finally met her gaze and shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re not dressed for good night. You’re here to play with fire again.”
Glory sucked in a breath at his forwardness, but still felt her nipples harden, her womb stir. She folded her arms over her telltale bosom as best she could. “I’m doing no such thing.”
Riley grinned and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over the expanse of his hard chest, bent a knee—a picture of complete male ease—and stared down at her from under his lowered lids. “All right, you’re not. Then … good night, Glory.”
She swallowed and notched her chin up. “Good night, Riley. I hope you sleep well.” With that, she turned in the direction of her bedroom two doors down.
But that was as far as she got before Riley clutched at the back of her gown and pulled her stumbling to him. “Come here, you.”
Shocked, titillated, Glory gasped and found herself spun up against his unyielding body. And held there by arms strong enough to support the weight of her world. Momentarily robbed of speech, she stared up into his brown-eyed, handsome face. Her mouth open, her body shamelessly afire, she shook her head no.
“Don’t tell me no, Glory. It’s too late for that.” His husky voice slipped over her skin like whispering fingers, undressing her. “You come stand outside this door almost every night. I hear you. I know you’re there. This was one time too many. So tell me what you want. Tell me.”
Scared of what she wanted, Glory could say nothing. She could only cling to his warm, solid length and … want.
“Tell me, Glory, say it,” Riley urged, his darting gaze roving over her face. “Look at you barely covered up in your nightclothes. And your hair all undone like only a husband has a right to see it.” He ran his hands through her curls, bringing a fistful up to his nose and inhaling the fragrance. His eyes closed. His expression changed to intense pleasure.
Then he exhaled, opened his eyes. “Do you know I can feel when you walk into a room? I don’t even have to look to know you’re there. But when I look across the table at mealtime and see you, it’s you I smell … you I taste. You’re a cool spring day and a hot summer night all rolled into one.”
Glory’s mouth dried, her eyes drooped closed. These words of his. All day long Riley didn’t say two words. He kept a close guard on his thoughts and emotions. But when he was like this? She never could have dreamed he’d have such words. Like poems they were. So unexpected, so precious. This was what she wanted. She wanted his … words, his wanting her.
Weak-limbed, too warm for her chemise, when she should have been cold from the drafty hallway, Glory laid her head against his chest, felt a button under her cheek. Its round hardness didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way Riley’s body felt and the things he was saying … and doing.
He released her trailing hair and ran his long-fingered, questing hands over her nightshirt, down her ribs, her waist, her hips. It was too much, his touch. Glory shrank against him. Only his hands held her upright. If he let her go, she’d fall in a broken-doll heap to the floor. “You’re everything I want. I dream about you, about making you mine. I see you in my bed. My wife. I see our children—”
Stark, raving reality struck Glory cold, stiffened her in Riley’s arms. His words and his hands both stopped. Why, his dream was hers. Hers. But his wife? Their children? Her—a Thorne? No. That wasn’t her dream. In her dream, she saw herself with a husband and children, yes. She saw their home. The house was always this one, but … who was the husband? Whose face did she put in her dream? Was it Riley’s, dear God?
Afraid to look into her mind’s eye for the answer, or into his face for the living truth of it, Glory held tightly to Riley’s arms and turned her cheek to his chest. Underneath her ear, his heart beat slowly, steadily. But he said not a word. Not one. He didn’t even move a muscle. He waited for her, she knew it. Just like all the other decisions around here, this one was up to her.
Decision? Nightmare was a better word. How could it be Riley she wanted? How? It wasn’t fair. She tried to picture them wed … and greeting her sisters when they came home. Hannah would die of shock to find her married to the son of Papa’s enemy. And Jacey? She’d most likely shoot her. Glory shook her head. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Finally pulling away from Riley, she looked up into his square-jawed and serious face. “Riley, I—”
He held up a hand. “I know. You can’t. You can tease me. You can want me. But you can’t love me. Me—a Thorne.” He closed his eyes, his jaw jutted, and he mouthed, “Dammit.” Then, looking again at her, his brown eyes so dark and serious, his generous lips firmed to a thin line, he said, “Your father’s feuds don’t have to be yours. Think about it.” With that, he released her and stepped back into his room, closing the door in her face.
Blinking in shock, her cheeks heating up, Glory covered her mouth with her hands. She just didn’t understand any of this. What was she doing outside Riley’s room in her nightclothes, for heaven’s sake? It was as if her body had taken over her mind, was telling it what to do, was forcing her to seek him out. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and say those pretty words to her. But Riley wanted something more. A lot more. He wanted all of her.
A heavy aching between her legs told her she wanted him to have all of her. Defeated, feeling like a traitor to her family, Glory closed her eyes and heaved out a sigh laden with unfulfilled edginess. Opening her eyes, she bit at her lip and stared at his door. She had to get away from here before he opened it again. Or before she did.
Feeling anything but sleepy, Glory knew she couldn’t go to her room, to her bed. She’d just toss and turn and cry and be miserable. No, what she needed was a good stiff dose of cold air. Mind-clearing air. Body-chilling air. Now. She took off at a sprinting, skipping pace down the hall and then down the stairs, clinging to the bannister for support, as if a pack of wolves were chasing her and she wouldn’t be safe until she was outside.
Actually fleeing by the time she crossed the moon-silvered great room and raced for the door, her arms outstretched, Glory firmly believed that real wolves, their eyes red, their fangs bared, did nip at her heels. She pulled the bolt back on the heavy lock and twisted the brass knob. Wrenching the door open, she sucked in a mouthful of cold, cold late October air. In only three steps she crossed the wooden verandah and stood gasping, clinging to its low railing. Her thin gown billowed like a laundered sheet hung out to dry.
Instantly sober, alert, and over her ache of desire, Glory hugged herself, hunkering down to a shivering posture. She concentrated on the nightscape revealed for her by the starlit, full-moon night sky. Beautiful, she called it, turning in a slow semicircle, her bare toes curling against the hard wood under her feet. Not a thing moved in the yard. Or up on the hills. All around was quiet. Still. Calming.
Still hugging herself, still shivery, Glory made herself a promise. She’d do this more often. She’d get out of the house more. She’d ride Daisy more. Surely the little chestnut mare was getting fat and lazy without the exercise she was used to. Paying the invoices could wait. The hard decisions that required her to think like a man, when she was barely used to thinking like a woman, could just go hang themselves.
Because no one—not Mama, not Papa, not Hannah, not Jacey—expected her to lose her mind trying to hold this place together. Glory smiled. She’d have a little fun, that’s what she’d do. But right now, she was going to go inside before she froze to death. A smile for her own silliness in coming out here lifted her spirits as she started to turn toward the open front door.
But then … from behind her, and as if conjured from the night, a hand clamped over Glory’s mouth, a viselike arm gripped her around the waist. Jerking in shocked and fearful reaction, falling back against her captor’s thickly padded, fully clothed body, she could only suck in air through her pinched nostrils and scream inside her head.
Stunned by the unexpectedness of the attack and stiff with horror, every nerve-ending alive, Glory clawed at the hand over her mouth. She kicked barefooted at her abductor as he began dragging her back and over to the wraparound verandah’s dark side. Out of the moon’s light. Out of eyesight of the guards posted at the gate. The guards! Where are they?
In the next instant Glory realized that, for some reason, the guards weren’t at the gate. Had they been, they would’ve seen this man long before he got to her. And no one in the house knew she was out here. So her life rested in her own hands. And if the man dragging her got her into the shadows, he’d kill her. Glory twisted and wrenched in his grasp.
Her attacker tightened his hold around her waist, nearly cutting off her air. She had to stop him. But how? Think, Glory. She needed a weapon. She had none. Then she realized that she did—and right under the hand clamped over her mouth and cutting off her air.
Instead of tearing ineffectually at the grunting man’s claw-like fingers, Glory jerked her head from side to side, finally forcing him to shift his position the slightest bit. That was all she needed. She opened her mouth, pressed his palm against her teeth … and bit down hard. A yelp of shocked pain preceded her being let go and shoved forward.
Stumbling, she fell to her knees, but instantly was on her feet and running for safety. Crying out in sharp little gasps of terror, her heart pounding against her ribs, Glory expected at any second to be grabbed again.
But by some miracle, she made it inside and got the door closed and locked without the groping hands seizing her again. Outside noises captured her heightened attention. Bootsteps running across the verandah. Glory jumped away from the door, backing farther and farther into the great room.
The clumpy, distorted shadow of a man, like a great winged raven, passed suddenly in front of the casement window. Glory flicked her unblinking gaze to the matching window on the door’s other side. No shadow passed. She focused on the door itself. Her breathing stilled. Just then, the door shook in its hinges, the lock rattled, and the knob turned.
Glory pulled her hands away from her mouth and screamed.