belongs to me. What the hell did you do? You’ve mutilated the hat until I barely recognized it as wearing apparel.”
Spite in her eyes told him the place he could go and he’d recognize it by the fire and brimstone.
“Why are you snooping in my house in the first place? You violated the privacy of my belongings and now dare come into my home, my place of refuge, to raise your voice, accusing me of all manner of things. You were merely to set the bag inside. I didn’t tell you to barge in and make yourself comfortable. I should’ve known better than trust a smooth-talking rawhider.”
“I’m a sight better than someone who stomps the guts out of something and treats it like a bad haircut.”
At least she had the grace to color. But nothing excused her. In his estimation she didn’t have a leg to stand on to explain the deliberate destruction of a piece of him. The treasured piece of felt was like family. No, it was better than family because it never nagged, gave reproach or grief. The Stetson had been with him through thick and thin, rain and shine, hay and grass.
“Maybe it used to be yours. Don’t think you’ll waltz in here and take it back. The hat’s mine now.”
“The hell you say.”
From the corner of Payton’s eye he saw Fraser mark a course for the mangled hat. The dog took a bite of carrots then looked up with a satisfied gleam as though gloating that he’d staked his claim and he’d not budge. Payton cringed at the rank dog-breath odorizing the felt circle. He took a step, intending to rectify the situation. But Fraser growled and bared his teeth, ending those grand ideas.
“If you wanted the bonnet so bad why didn’t you glue the darn thing to your head?”
Payton jammed his hands in his pockets and shifted his glare from the bandit dog to Amanda. “It figures you’d try to shift the blame. And don’t belittle my Stetson more than you have. It’s a hat, not a bonnet. The thing blew off while I had my hands full with a few thousand pounds of snortin’ cowhide. I’ve searched the Panhandle over for it.”
Anyone with half sense knew how blessed tiresome the wind on the Panhandle got. Old-timers claimed barbed wire was the only divider between this stretch of land and hell. He wasn’t about to apologize for something beyond his control.
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “Guess not hard enough. I didn’t have any trouble finding it.”
Payton struggled with desire to strangle someone. “A dog dish? You thrashed me in town and made sure to finish the job out here.” His gaze narrowed dangerously toward Fraser, who responded with spiked bristles. “What did I ever do to you? As far as I know we’ve never met before today.”
“We haven’t.”
“Then would you care to enlighten me? I think you owe it.”
Her tongue took a slow turn around her lips. “For the record, I didn’t plan a personal attack.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
“I meant to aim the hat, the shackles, and the name-smearing at the faceless author of some love letters. I was positive, whoever the anonymous man was, he intended to use the notes as some sort of vendetta. I finally got tired of the slurs, the laughter, and everyone trying to force me into leaving. So I decided to fight back.” Amanda caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn’t know you were an innocent bystander caught up in Joe Long’s prank.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
A wry grin tugged the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps.”
“What did you think I planned to do? If I had written the letters, of course.”
Amanda shrugged. “The usual. I thought you’d stand up in the middle of the hotel and chide me for believing anyone could love a mutton puncher. Then, the whole blamed town would have a huge laugh. They already shun me as it is. I wouldn’t have been able to trade there after that, to sell my wool or any excess sheep.”
He caught the slight tremble of her chin before she clenched her jaw. The woman carried deep hurt. Would she love as desperately as she fought to keep what was hers? He’d bet his life on it.
“I’ve never publicly ridiculed anyone.”
“Oh, but you did.” Her voice lowered barely louder than a whisper. “Sometimes silence speaks with a clear voice.”
Yep, he guessed it certainly did. He’d participated without being aware of it. To his credit, shock in the hotel kept words from forming, not disgust for who she was. The facts coming out the way they did spun his head like a top and it hadn’t stopped yet. Still, Amanda was right. He should’ve set Joe and the whole Frying Pan bunch straight.
“I don’t know a man who doesn’t have a passel of regrets. To clear the record, Joe didn’t mean the love letter joke for you. He wrote those to get back at me.” Payton told her about their jokes and Lucy and the saloon girl.
She folded her arms. “I don’t blame his wife. You both need strung up.”
Fire in Amanda’s gaze that had threatened to burn him to a crisp seemed to lose a bit of its spark, although he knew it still smoldered beneath the surface ready to leap into a bonfire at the least provocation. After all, his mama didn’t raise a fool. Heifers and steers were unpredictable. Each led you to believe one thing and did the opposite.
Look at how soft and seductive she’d been in town before she turned into Chief Sitting Bull on the warpath. A trick.
Not that she wasn’t appealing now. The plain russet dress she’d changed into had been patched so many times it bore similarity to a quilt. But, it added toughness to her. He admired a woman with grit and sass. Miss Amanda Lemmons had plenty of both and she earned it the hard way from the looks of things. Whatever had happened to form the granite layers must’ve destroyed her softer side. The desire to hold and protect her from ill swept past the ache in his bones.
Payton shifted his feet, lowering his gaze. “The sun’s winding down. Guess I’d best get back or Joe’ll send out a search party.”
“You’ve likely missed supper. I could offer you a spot at my table to help make up for what I did. Will you stay?”
The thought of sharing a meal with her made his blood rush. However maddening, she was the most desirable woman he’d ever met. He didn’t have far to go from that to thoughts of taming some of the wildness from her and kissing her until neither had breath or willfulness left.
But, she had said “could offer” as if it was something she felt obliged to do instead of coming from true sincerity.
He shook his head. “Appreciate it, but keeping company with you won’t do either of our reputations any good. We’re on opposite sides of the fence. It’s best if I don’t.”
Amanda bristled. “Then don’t let me keep you.”
He gave the new dog dish a long scowl before he turned, colliding with the solid weight of Navajo fury.
“Need help with this
“He’s just leaving, John.” The door probably would bear the imprint of her grasp. She didn’t seem to understand he’d turned down the supper invite to save her.
“Hmph! Scared of my knife, huh?”
Amanda followed Payton to his horse. “I admit you got the short end of a pitchfork today. And I apologize for the hat.”
Despite the words, the Mutton Madam’s somber expression wrapped in axle grease said she didn’t regret the shambles she’d left him in for a minute.
“You must really despise cattlemen.”
“Don’t know the half of it. Do you blame me?”
“Can’t say that I do. I’d likely feel the same if someone had it in for me.” He put a foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over the saddle. “You’re a strong woman, Amanda Lemmons.”
The dark-eyed shepherdess had a will of iron and the disposition of a riled bull that had his manly parts cut off.
Taking the long way back to the ranch seemed a good notion. He was in no hurry to take the derision he’d get. Besides, he had a bit of thinking to do that required peace and quiet. Amanda had wiggled under his skin and he didn’t think he’d ever be the same.
