And maybe he had no business changing his ways now. A confirmed bachelor didn’t suddenly wish to wed any more than a cowpuncher developed a craving for dumb sheep. He was a single man, a cow man, and that was that.
Love and marriage…who needed that cluttering up things? Those notions were for young pups with stardust in their eyes and enough courage to wrestle a pack of mangy wolves.
Payton was too old for pretending he had what it took. An achy back and bum knee tended to remind him whenever he let his thoughts get too frisky.
In light of today’s events he could see the disaster a wife made of a man’s life. He should probably count his blessings. Though too often, when he rode the range with the cattle, he imagined being able to wrap his arms around a woman who belonged only to him and hold her until dawn’s faint light whispered “I do, I forever will” in his ear.
Those things weren’t for him. He’d accepted that.
Dear Uncle Henry swore the love of a good woman could cure a man of bachelorhood, sin, and sanctimony. Payton had no doubt he needed saving, but didn’t harbor any fervent desire for it.
“Come here, Lucy.” He folded his arms around the woman and let her blubber and sling snot on his clean shirt. “Joe worships the ground you walk on. Always has. Always will.”
“You’d defend him no matter what.”
“I know he has eyes for no other woman in the world.”
Lucinda dabbed at the tears. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Although he wasn’t privy to such things, he took her wobbly smile as a good sign.
“Do you think you can find it in your heart to take Joe back?” He handed her a handkerchief. He’d always heard a woman liked a man to pay attention to tears and snot.
“You always were the only one brave enough to call me Lucy.” She blew her nose. “Joe can come home…in time.”
Visions of the uncomfortable sort swept through Payton’s head. Each one brought to mind a swarm of angry bees after someone knocked down their hive and stole their honey.
“Exactly how does a man measure ‘in time’?”
“When he’s learned his lesson good and proper.”
Which meant what? Female riddles-who could understand them? He’d rather have things spoken straight out. That way a man knew where he stood. Looked as if Joe sat astraddle a fence and Payton couldn’t advise him where to light.
Nodding as though it made perfect sense, he backed out the screen door and returned to the barn in time to catch Joe scribbling on a piece of paper. His friend hurriedly pushed the writing tools under the britches he’d retrieved from the yard, his foot tapping out a rhythm on the dirt floor.
“Well? What did Lucinda say?”
“Hell if I know what a woman means.” Heavy silence followed after Payton relayed the message.
“Damn it!” Joe yelled at last. “No telling when her disposition will sweeten. I guess you did your best to make amends. You know, this forces me into your company. Can you try not to raise the roof with your snores?”
“You should talk. It’s me that has to put up with your sorry hide. What were you writing?” Payton glanced at the edge of the paper peeking from the worn, blue denim. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Joe trying to hide his handiwork. Maybe letters posed the best way back into Lucy’s good graces. And it stood to reason Joe would want to avoid the ribbing the ranch hands would give him.
“Me?” Joe tucked the pencil above his ear and grinned. “Nothing. Nope, wasn’t writing a goldarned thing.”
“Reckon I’ll get my gear ready for branding then.”
“I forgot to tell you…Mr. Sanborn wants you to meet James Wyness in Amarillo first thing tomorrow. Cattle Raisers Association business. He can’t go himself.”
Meeting with Wyness midweek seemed rather peculiar. Especially at the start of branding season.
Payton smelled something afoot, and it wasn’t manure either.
Chapter 3
Payton eased his sore bones onto a comfortable settee in the lobby of the recently completed Amarillo Hotel and stretched his long legs. His aching knee thanked him for taking off the weight.
All right, he was here. Where was James Wyness?
An ornate grandfather clock struck eight. He searched the room, hoping to spy the boss of the LX Ranch. No luck. Again, Payton wished Mr. Sanborn had elaborated on the all-fired urgency in getting to Amarillo by morning.
The door abruptly opened and he swung an anxious glance toward it.
A ragged breath filled his lungs. The slight beauty who strode through bore little resemblance to Wyness’s craggy features. High cheekbones sculptured her face into a rare work of art that belonged on some artist’s canvas.
Though he really couldn’t say she was the most beautiful woman in the world, given his limited knowledge of such things, she was easily the most memorable. The hotel guest could put any heifer in the pasture to shame in nothing flat. He inspected her through a narrowed gaze.
Despite her small build, the way she carried herself seemed to suggest legs clear up to Sunday.
And she had big…
He swallowed hard.
…eyes, he finished lamely. He dragged attention from the rounded curves. Yep, they were sure big.
Somewhere among the cobwebs in his brain he recalled that a gentleman shouldn’t notice a woman’s figure. Especially the top half-unless of course he already had before he could help himself.
A polite nod wouldn’t hurt though, which he managed weakly before she sat down and propped a valise at her feet.
She’d not only captured his attention, but every last man, woman, and child’s in the hotel. Whispers circled. Pointed stares flew her direction. Her presence appeared to engulf the lobby. He couldn’t say he blamed the onlookers. She was a rare sight for the newly platted town.
Payton snatched up the weekly edition of the
The pretty lady must’ve arrived on the Fort Worth and Denver City Railway that had pulled into the station fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps she came in on one of the many excursion trains bringing prospective buyers for town lots. Beyond the hotel doors, Amarillo whirred with comings and goings. Way too noisy. One reason he stayed well removed unless necessary. Give him peace and quiet of the ranch any day. Except the Frying Pan had become littered with too many pots, pans, and prickles of late. Thinking of Lucy and Joe, he felt another rush of guilt.
Rosewater drifted around him in a lazy swirl.
Payton tried to ignore both the fragrance and the faint rustle of fabric, but his senses had stood up and taken too much notice. A hard blow couldn’t slap every nerve ending back down that had popped to the surface and saluted.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” The rich tones, wrapped in layers of female softness, slid over his skin like satin on silk.
So much for the expected bumper crop of odoriferous mushmelons. Payton lowered the newspaper and found himself face to face with the slight beauty who probably had to stuff rocks in her pockets to weigh a hundred pounds. She’d scooted beside him and was damn near in his lap.
“Yes?” He tried to sound unruffled, as if conversing with eye-boggling women was an every day occurrence.
“You’re reading the paper upside down.”
“Oh.” Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he hurriedly switched it around. “Anything else?”
“I don’t believe so.”
