She trailed her fingertips over the sheer silk, noting the exquisite workmanship. The part of her that appreciated the luxuries of life marveled at the beauty of it, and at how well the pale, shimmering pink would complement her coloring, but the practical part of her was furious with him for depriving her of something she had needed, and trying to replace it with this highly impractical gown. Of course there was no mistaking his intention—that she would wear the gown for him.
He would have made her less angry, she thought, if he had bought two gowns, one to replace the gown he had destroyed and this bit of froth for his own amusement. Let him think what he liked, but she truly needed another warm nightgown.
She said as much to him the next day, starchily adding that she might as well continue wearing his shirts, which at least had sleeves. He grinned at her, a devilish glint in his blue eyes. “I like you in either one,” he said.
It was two more days before she was well enough to dress herself completely and do the chores, albeit with much less dexterity and speed than normal. The last day, having made a deliberate effort to be up and about early, she was already milking one of the cows when Lucas arrived. He said nothing, merely helped her finish with the milking, then carried the milk inside for her. Both of his shirts had been washed and neatly ironed and were folded on the table for him.
He went outside and came back in with another package. “Just to keep you warm when I can’t,” he said, grinning as he tossed it to her.
She opened the package, half afraid this choice would be even more inappropriate than the other. But the soft white cotton gown was all she could have asked for, long-sleeved and high-necked. The bosom was set with tiny tucks, and the buttons extended down almost to the waist. She would be able to step into it, she realized, and she gave him a truly warm smile for his consideration. Her shoulders and arms still protested if she pulled anything on over her head.
“I wonder what Mrs. Worley thinks about you buying so many nightgowns,” she mused, trying to picture that stern lady’s face when Lucas purchased the silk confection. Come to think of it, where had he bought the silk nightgown? She couldn’t think of any merchant in Prosper who carried such goods. He would have had to special order it from the East, or from San Francisco, and certainly he hadn’t had enough time for that.
“Mrs. Worley doesn’t think anything about it,” he replied maddeningly. “The cotton gown was my mother’s.”
He didn’t say where he had gotten the silk, she noticed.
He had been ignoring his own work to attend to her, and now that she was on her feet again he would have to spend the next several days seeing to business. “I won’t be able to check on you for a while,” he warned. “For God’s sake, be careful.”
“I am careful. After all, that’s the first accident I’ve had.”
“And it could have been your last, if it had broken your neck.”
“What? And deprive you of a reason to complain?” she said sweetly. “I’d never do that.”
“The spring picnic and dance is next week,” he said, thinking ahead and ignoring her jab. It was such a busy time at the ranch, with all the spring branding and castrating to be done, that the picnic would probably be the next time he’d see her. “If I don’t get by before then, I’ll see you there.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “I don’t go to the spring dances.”
He stopped and gave her one of those grim looks of his. “Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“To socialize with your neighbors.”
“If I did that, someone”—meaning some man—“would assume that I wanted to be friendlier than I have been in the past. It seems easier not to encourage anyone.”
“You could spend your time with the women.”
She laughed out loud at that. “What poor woman wants me to monopolize her time? People go to have fun with their friends, or to flirt, and I don’t qualify for either. Besides, this is a busy time for me, and I really can’t afford to waste an entire day doing nothing, especially since I’ve lost so much time this past week.”
He scowled down at her, angered that she allowed herself so little in life. He had been looking forward to dancing with her, to feeling her long, strong legs brushing against his. In the hurlyburly of the day, no one would be paying any attention to them. “I want you to go,” he said. “Put on your best dress and for once forget about the damn farm.”
“No,” she said. No more excuses, no reasons, just no.
Lucas didn’t take rejection well. “If you aren’t at the picnic,” he said, “I’ll come looking for you.”
7
THE DAY OF THE PICNIC DAWNED WITH PERFECT WEATHER, the sun rising in a glorious display of cream and gold on the snow-capped peaks of the far mountains. Olivia was awake to see it, for it seemed there were a hundred last-minute details that needed to be seen to. That was always the case, but in the past she had enjoyed the excitement of preparation; this year it was all she could do to present a serene face to her parents and friends. She dreaded the day, without having any one solid reason for doing so. Perhaps, she thought, it was that she had given up hope. Always before the future had loomed before her with its great golden promise, but in the past months she had lost her faith in that promise.
It wasn’t that a proposal from Lucas seemed imminent; in fact, in the last few weeks she had begun to wonder if she had only been imagining his intentions. In some indefinable way she no longer felt that intense will focused on her. It was silly, because when they had met, which was seldom, he had been exactly the same: courteous, protective, occasionally even flirting a little, but taking care not to overwhelm her.
Though she couldn’t help feeling relieved, she was saddened almost beyond bearing at the very real possibility that she would never have her own family. She could just picture herself ten, even twenty years in the future, quietly sitting beside Honora with their heads bent over tiny embroidery stitches, while her hair grayed and wrinkles appeared at her eyes and throat, and her body lost its firmness. Her parents would be sad, too, because there would be no grandchildren for them to cherish.
It was as if her life had slipped by while she wasn’t looking, and now she was left with empty hands. And empty arms, she thought, mourning the tiny babies she had wanted but seemed destined never to have.
So she went through the motions, sheer determination keeping a smile pasted on her face, and by midmorning the Millican carriage had joined a parade of buggies, wagons, carts, people on horseback, and a great many even walking, all making their way to the large meadow just outside of town where the picnic was always held.
It was a truly perfect spot, with enough trees to provide shade for those who sought it, yet plenty of open space for the youngsters to play. A good many people were already there, and by lunch all but a few people from within a fifty-mile radius would be wandering over the meadow, with nothing more serious on their minds than seeing friends and enjoying the picnic, an entire day with nothing to do.
Except the women always had plenty to do, Olivia thought. There was the food to be seen to, the children to be watched, games to be organized. The men, of course, stood about in groups talking and laughing or perhaps organizing their own contests of strength or skill. An impromptu horse race wasn’t unknown. The women soothed the normal array of wounds and tempers from both children and men, until sometimes Olivia wondered if there was much difference between the two groups.
Practically the first person she saw was Lucas, his tall, powerful form easily spotted in the crowd. He was wearing brown pants and a white silk shirt, his brown hat shading his eyes from the bright morning sun, and he caught her attention more easily than those men who had dressed in their best suits. As he approached she noticed how his dark hair curled down over his collar. He reached them with a murmured greeting and began helping to unload the small mountain of food they had brought in the carriage.
She wondered uncertainly if she had been wrong about his intenti
ons after all and thought she would go mad with this seesawing back and forth. All of it was in her own mind, of course, so she had no one but herself to blame. Was he interested or not? If he was, did she want him to be, or not? If he asked, which would be worse, to accept or to refuse?
When all of the food was safely arranged on a quilt spread beneath one of the trees Lucas tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Do you want to walk around and see everyone?” he asked.
She could scarcely refuse with her mother beaming at them, and she tried to make herself relax as they strolled slowly about.
When he returned her to the same spot an hour later it was without anything personal having been said between them. To her relief, he had treated her as an undemanding friend.
Lucas truly liked Olivia, but during the long walk his attention had kept slipping to the knots of people they passed, and he’d been aware that he was looking for a small, queenly head with a wealth of black hair, or a woman who moved with a long, free-swinging stride that made her skirts kick up in a way that definitely wasn’t ladylike. He was sure all of those excuses she had given for not attending had been just that—excuses—and he fully expected her to be there. What woman could resist the chance to flirt and have fun?
“Have you seen Dee Swann?” he asked Olivia absently, still surveying the constantly moving throng of people.
Olivia lifted her brows a little at the casual way he said Dee’s name, and her eyes sparkled with quickly veiled interest. “No, I haven’t. I doubt she’ll be here. She never comes.”
“I told her to come. I mean, I think she needs to get away from that farm. . . . I heard she fell out of the loft and hurt herself week before last.”
“Oh, no,” Olivia cried. “How bad was she hurt?”
Lucas didn’t stop to think that Olivia sounded more distressed than such news would merit from a casual acquaintance. “Heard she was bruised up pretty bad. But she’s back in fighting form now.”
Olivia’s interest heightened. Even though she was worried about Dee, she realized how uncomfortable Lucas was, as if he’d accidentally said more than he should have. Indeed, from whom would he have heard that Dee was injured? Olivia knew perfectly well how isolated Dee was. It was obvious to her that if Lucas knew her friend was injured, it was because he had seen her himself, visited her, maybe even tended to her. She remembered the stray thought she had had about how well Lucas and Dee would suit. Perhaps . . .
“She should be here,” he said again, and he was scowling.
Lucas didn’t accept that Dee really wasn’t going to show up until lunchtime. He kept expecting to spot her in the mingling crowd until finally he realized that she wouldn’t be with a crowd of people even if she did attend the picnic; she would be on the outskirts watching, her deep green eyes as enigmatic as a cat’s. He couldn’t imagine her enjoying a cozy gossip or giggling with a group of girls.
On the other hand, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if she had come sauntering up at the last minute, knowing he’d been getting angrier and angrier with every passing second, wearing her most arrogant expression and daring him to say anything.
But finally he realized that she wouldn’t be there, and his anger continued to build in him. He kept it tightly controlled and forced himself to act as if he enjoyed the food he ate, when in truth he hardly knew what he put in his mouth. Damn her, why hadn’t she come? He knew now that she wouldn’t attend the dance either.
He also knew he wasn’t going to let her ignore him.
Dee was nearby, for she had broken the hoe handle and had driven the wagon into town to purchase a new one, only to find the general store closed for the day.
She felt like a fool. Of course the Winches family, like everyone else, was at the picnic.
She shouldn’t have expected anything else. The streets were deserted. Everyone in town seized the opportunity to relax and enjoy the day.
It would mean another trip to town to replace the hoe handle, but there was no help for it, and she was too practical to stand around fretting. Weeds could be pulled up by hand as well as chopped down by hoe. So she turned the wagon around and headed back home. The only other people in town, she noticed, were the two saloon girls, who of course weren’t welcome at the town’s social events. Both of the women sat outside on the sidewalk, something they would never have done if the town hadn’t been temporarily deserted.
One of them, the redhead named Tillie, waved to her, and Dee waved back. “Good day,” she said.
What must their lives be like? Dee wondered. They had to be painfully lonely, though they were almost never alone. Her own situation was the opposite, for she was often alone and enjoyed it.
“May I walk with you?”
An air of heavy content had settled over the crowd as the huge quantities of food mingled with the afternoon heat to make everyone drowsy. More than a few were actually dozing on the quilts brought from home. Olivia had been strolling aimlessly about, smiling at friends but not stopping to talk. Lucas had left soon after eating, and since then Kyle Bellamy seemed to have been everywhere she turned. He had been very polite, but she just couldn’t warm to the man. His eyes were too bold, and he was too persistent. She had finally been driven to keep walking, for if she stopped he soon appeared at her side.
She was startled by the soft, deep voice behind her and turned to find the Mexican, Fronteras, watching her with a smile in his black eyes.
She hesitated, remembering that he worked for Bellamy, and that she didn’t know him.
“Of course, if you don’t want to, I understand,” he said.
She was stricken as she realized he expected his invitation to be refused because he was a Mexican. Her sympathetic heart squeezed a little, and she found herself saying, “Of course I’ll walk with you.” At least Kyle wasn’t likely to catch her as long as she kept moving.
He fell into step with her. For once her impeccable manners seemed to desert her, and she could find nothing to say. They had walked for perhaps a minute when he said, “My name is Luis Fronteras.”
“I’m Olivia Millican.” Silence fell again. Finally in desperation she blurted, “Are you Mexican?” Immediately color flooded her face. Of all the things she could have said, why had she said that? She wanted to bite her own tongue.
“I was born in Mexico,” he said with a lazy smile, not the least bothered by the question. “I suppose that makes me Mexican, though I haven’t been there since I was a child.”
Indeed, he spoke just like everyone else she knew, without a trace of an accent. “Have you lived in the area for long?” She wouldn’t necessarily have met him even if he had, for the banker’s daughter didn’t move in the same social circles as a cowhand.
“Do you mean in Colorado itself, or here around Prosper?”
“Both,” she said, interested. It sounded as if he had traveled a great deal, and she had always wondered about how it would be to live a nomadic life.
“I’ve wandered through Colorado several times over the years. I spent several years down in New Mexico Territory, and some time up in Montana and further west, around the Snake River.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ve been to California a time or two, so with all the crisscrossing I guess I’ve been in about every part of the country west of the Missouri.”
“You can’t have spent very long in any one place.” He was tall, as tall as Lucas, she noted. It made her feel small to walk beside him, and protected. She darted a look at the big revolver in the holster tied down to his right thigh. He wore the weapon casually, as if he was never without it. Was he more of a gunman after all, rather than a cowhand?
“I’ve drifted a bit.” For a while he had thought New Mexico would be his home, but that dream had died under a stallion’s murderous hooves. He had been so empty after burying Celia, as if part of him had gone into the grave with her. After a long time he had realized that he still lived, but it wasn’t the same. Life had a way of going on regardless; he didn’t know when the mour
ning had ceased, only that it had. He remembered Celia now as a bright smile and almost piercing sweetness, but he couldn’t quite form her features in his mind. Ten years had passed, and in those ten years he had traveled a lot of ground, held a lot of other women in his arms.
“I’ve often thought I’d like to travel,” Olivia said, looking up at the sun through the shifting pattern of leaves overhead as light breezes stirred the limbs. “To not see the sun set in the same place two days in a row.”
She could scarcely have said anything more unexpected. Luis looked down at the delicate oval face and tried to imagine her going days, weeks without bathing, with a thick layer of dirt and grime coating that white skin, and found it utterly ridiculous. And who would ever expect her to sleep rolled in a blanket on the ground?
“You wouldn’t like it,” he stated positively. “Insects, dirt, bad food, not enough water, and never able to get a sound sleep. That’s what it’s like to live on the trail.”
Her lips moved into a smile. “Ah, but there are other ways to travel. Imagine going by train from city to city, letting the rails rock you to sleep at night. Perhaps I wouldn’t want to do it forever, but I would like to try it.”
There was a little of the adventuress in that ladylike soul, he thought with appreciation. He’d like to travel the country by train with her. They would have a sleeping compartment, and at night he would enter her and let the train rock them to completion, rather than to sleep.
Some children were chasing a ball, shrieking with laughter as they shoved and slipped across the field. Luis stopped, his hand on her arm, until the children tumbled safely by, then slowly they resumed their walk.
Olivia felt oddly at ease with him, and she couldn’t really say why, because they had only just met and hadn’t really talked of anything, but there was something about him that made her relax. Perhaps it was the small things, the way he adjusted his long stride to match hers, or the care he had taken not to let the children collide with her, but she felt safe. Of course, most men were courteous in those ways, but with this man it felt like more than mere courtesy, as if it were his very nature to protect her.