did.”
“What did you do when you were in Boston?”
“I worked with my father,” Tom said.
“What happened? Did you have a falling-out or something?”
“No, not exactly. I just decided that I needed to do something else for a while.”
“I can’t help but wonder why you left,” Rebecca said, pointedly.
“I’m not running away from the law, if that is why you are asking,” he added.
“I’m not asking that,” Rebecca said, then she amended her comment. “I suppose I am asking it,” she added. “Even though it is none of my business, and I have no right to be prying into your private affairs.”
He put his fingers on her cheek, and they seemed to have the amazing capability of being both cold and hot at the same time. She could feel a tingling excitement in her body, an exact duplication of the sensations her imagination had generated that night after the dance. The feelings, though, were generated by nothing more than imagination. This time the vibrations in her body were real. She waited, expectantly.
As she knew he would, as she wanted him to, he kissed her, not hard and demanding, but unexpectedly gentle. She was surprised by her reaction to it. The pleasure she felt in her lips spread throughout her body, warming her blood. When he pulled away from her, she reached up to touch her lips and held her fingers there for a long moment as she stared deep into his eyes.
Then Tom kissed her again, but this kiss was not at all like the first kiss—the soft brush of a butterfly wing. This was hard, demanding, almost, but not quite, a bruising kiss. Rebecca was shocked, not by the kiss itself, but by her intense reaction to it. He deepened the kiss, and pulled her against him. As she felt his hard body pressed against hers, Rebecca realized that, though she had been kissed before, they had been the kisses of immature boys, tentative and hesitant. In every previous kiss, Rebecca had been completely in charge.
She wasn’t in charge this time, not of him, not even of her own emotions. As her resistance faded she had felt a warmth spreading throughout her body, and she grew limp in his embrace. She lost herself in it as she gave herself into its depths, into him, totally pliant in his hands, subservient to his will, feeling herself spinning into a bottomless vortex. She felt her head spinning and her knees trembling.
Rebecca knew that if he wanted to, he could have his way with her, right now, right here on the banks of the Wahite, in the open, where any cowboy on the ranch, or even her father, could come riding up. And she wouldn’t care. She wanted to give herself to him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and she waited for him to make the first move, prayed, that he would make the first move.
Tom had tightened his fingers in the silky spill of her auburn hair, then did what Rebecca could not do. He found the strength to gently tug her head back to break the kiss. She stared up at him with eyes that were filled with wonder, and as deep as her soul.
“Tom, I ... ,” she started to say, but she found herself utterly unable to speak. And her knees grew so weak that she could barely stand.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I had no right to take advantage of you like that. Clay, or Dusty, or Mo, or any one of the others could have come by,” Tom said. “I don’t wish to put you in a compromising position. I think it would be better if you continued your ride.”
“I—uh—yes, I’m sure you are right,” Rebecca said. She walked back to her horse and reached up to grab the saddlehorn. “Tom?”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t toying with me, are you? I ask, because I am not an experienced woman. I don’t know how to judge these things.”
“I am not toying with you,” Tom said. “I would never do anything like that, Rebecca. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
With a warm smile, Rebecca swung into her saddle, then rode away.
Tom cursed himself as he watched her leave. He had no right to intrude upon this innocent young woman’s life. Not after what he had done back in Boston. After losing Martha, he didn’t think he could or would ever be interested in another woman, nor would he be worthy of another woman’s interest.
If he had possessed one ounce of character, he would have left the first moment he realized that he was attracted to Rebecca. No, if he had left the first moment he felt attracted to her, he would have gotten right back onto the train the same night he arrived in Fort Worth.
In the Big House at that exact moment, Clay Ramsey was visiting with Big Ben. Ranching came easily to Clay Ramsey. He could ride and rope with the best of them, and he could bulldog a calf better than most. He also had a sense of leadership that stood him well with the other cowboys. One would think he had been born and raised on a ranch, but nothing could be further from the truth. His parents had come to Texas even before it was a state, believing it would offer great opportunities for the ambitious and industrious. His father opened a store in Marshall, and though he never realized his goal of being a wealthy merchant, he was able to make a decent living.
Clay had gone to work for his father when he was ten years old, working after school and in the summers. Clay had nothing but respect for his father, but he knew, early in his life, that he had no desire to ever work in a store. When he was sixteen he signed on with a cattle company taking a herd to market in Dodge City. From that day forward he was hooked, and he laid his future out. He wanted to be a cowboy, then trail boss, then the foreman of a great ranch. He had achieved that and was perfectly happy with his life.
He was also happily married, though there were many who had told him that being married wasn’t that good of an idea for a cowboy.
“Four dollars and seventy cents a head? Are you sure?” Big Ben said, responding to what Clay had just told him.
“Yes, sir, that was the quote they gave me when I went to Fort Worth this morning,” Clay replied.
“That’s only a dollar a head more than it costs me to raise them,” Big Ben said. “And figuring seventy-five cents a head to drive them up to Dodge City, that means I’d be making a profit of twenty-five cents a head.”
“Yes, sir,” Clay said. “Well, the plain truth is, Mr. Conyers, folks just don’t want Longhorn beef anymore.”
“What’s wrong with Longhorn beef? I’ve been eating it for fifty years.”
“They say it’s tough and stringy.”
“It’s always been tough and stringy,” Big Ben countered.
“Hereford beef isn’t tough or stringy,” Clay said.
“Yeah, I know,” Big Ben said. “Just as a matter of curiosity, what are Herefords bringing?”
“Twelve dollars a head.”
“Walter Hannah is running Herefords and has been for the last five years,” Big Ben said. “He tried to get me to switch over when he did, but I didn’t listen to him. If I were to switch now, it would be the same as admitting that he was right and I was wrong. And if I know Walter, that is something he would never let me live down.”
“It isn’t my place to say, Mr. Conyers,” Clay said. “But is hanging on to your pride worth twenty-five cents a head?”
“You have a point,” Big Ben said. “But right now I have to decide what to do about the five thousand head of Longhorn I have. It is barely worth mounting a drive to take them to market, but I don’t see as I have any alternative.”
“Would you like a suggestion?”
“Yes, by all means.”
“I know that Mr. Hurley at the Union Stockyard in Fort Worth is looking to buy cattle.”
“Yes, but I understand he is paying a dollar less than they are paying at Kansas City,” Big Ben said.
“But consider this,” Clay said. “You won’t have the expense of driving the herd to Dodge City, and the rail cost of taking them to Kansas City. And, you won’t have the risk of losing any of your cattle.”
Big Ben stroked his chin. “You may have a point,” he said. “I won’t make any money, but I won’t lose any, either. And if I get rid of this herd, that will leave me the freedom to decide what I need to do next. All right, Clay, I’ll ride into town tomorrow and meet with Mr. Hurley. If we can come to some sort of an arrangement, we’ll deliver the herd to him at the stockyards.”
