Scarlet Sunset, Silver Nights Page 2

  “Ma’am, no doubt your husband understands all these little gasps and spurts, but I haven’t had the pleasure of your company for more than a few minutes, and I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “How dare you curse around me?”

  “Surely you can’t mean to get worked up over a piddly little word like hell!”

  “I’m not accustomed to profanity.”

  “Poor thing,” Slade said sympathetically. “Don’t your husband ever take you anywhere?”

  “What my husband does and does not do—I mean would and would not do,” Pamela corrected herself in some confusion, “is none of your concern.”

  Pamela had taken enough from this low-down tramp, but before she could open her mouth to disabuse him of the notion he belonged to the human race, her cousin came ambling around the corner.

  “Thank goodness you got company,” he said in a lilting Southern inflection. “I was afraid you’d started talking to yourself. I told Uncle Josh this place was making you queer in the head, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” He cast a glance about him at a landscape which couldn’t have had anything in common with the state which gave birth to his accent. “All these rocks and cactus are enough to drive a body crazy.” He directed his glance at Slade. “What do you want?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to get him to tell me,” Pamela said, “but he seems curiously reluctant to come to the point.”

  “You should be used to that by now,” her cousin said with a smile. “I can’t remember when I saw a man who didn’t lose his tongue after just one look at you.”

  Slade grinned at a teenage boy as tall as a gate post and about as skinny. With his shirttail half out, his pants miraculously clinging to invisible hips, and his flat-brimmed hat squashed well back on his head, he was the antithesis this imperious female.

  Slade opened his mouth to make it plain they were both under a grievous misapprehension when Pamela took a step forward. The sunlight fell full on her face, and the sight took Slade’s breath away.

  He hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, but that didn’t keep him from realizing that the best looking woman he had ever seen stood right in front of him. Blessed with a body endowed with lush, womanly curves, she turned a practical, dark blue-ankle-length skirt and a simple, lace-trimmed blouse into the most elegant ensemble Slade had seen this side of New Orleans. But she had a tough quality which belied any feeling of frailty.

  Honey-brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. The streaks of gold that ran all through it gleamed brilliantly in the sun. Ordinary brown eyes seemed liquid and luminous. She kept her mouth tightly compressed, but Slade could imagine it full and relaxed and the thought stung him. Her skin looked so soft his hand ached to touch it.

  Damn, she sure was good-looking. She stood there waiting, almost as though she dared him to come a step closer. No, this particular brand of self-confidence had nothing to do with challenges. It came from a lifelong experience of being one of the most beautiful creatures around.

  Just like Trish.

  He didn’t know Josh White, but a woman like this one could cause a man to do all manner of things. If anybody knew that, Slade did. And the bitterness still remained. Not that she showed any inclination to try her wiles on him. From the look of her compressed mouth and tensed muscles, he’d be lucky if she didn’t sic the dogs on him.

  “She’s a fine looking woman,” Slade said to the slender youth, “but I’m more interested in a horse.”

  Shocked looks on two faces caused Slade to curse his tongue and try to hide his grin. If he didn’t get himself in trouble by saying things he shouldn’t, he made it worse by saying things he didn’t mean. “I mean to say I came here looking for a horse,” he explained, his irritation with himself making him forget his assumed drawl. “Mine broke a leg, and I had to put it down.” Neither spoke. “I’m not particular about how it looks, but I need a sure-footed animal long on stamina. I’m heading for California. Maybe I’ll drift on to Wyoming or Montana from there.”

  “And you expect us to just give you a horse?” Pamela asked, recovering her powers of speech at last.

  “I didn’t…”

  “And not just any horse, but one of the best.”

  Slade uttered a grunt of exasperation. “Ma’am, a man just naturally wants the best of everything.”

  “And how long do you think it’ll take you to earn the money to pay for that horse?”

  “Ma’am…”

  “We could use an extra hand,” the boy said. “Always need more hands during roundup. “He looked Slade over quickly. “From the looks of your boots, I take it you’re more used to riding than walking.”

  “Been around horses since I was knee-high to a fresh-dropped calf.”

  “Any good?” the boy asked.

  “Okay, I guess. I ain’t never fallen off.”

  “How about the one that broke its leg?” Pamela inquired.

  Slade allowed a ghost of a wry smile to tease his lips as he turned to look at her. “I guess you got me there, ma’am. I hadn’t figured on counting that one.”

  Now Pamela felt self-conscious. She hadn’t said it to embarrass him. It just popped out. Everything about this man irritated her. She suspected him of laughing at her, but she couldn’t tell since he was hiding behind that preposterous beard. Why did he wear it? He didn’t even trim it properly.

  The young man spoke up. “Take your pick. There’s half a dozen horses in the corral.”

  “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Slade asked, the wry smile curving across his lips once again. “I don’t have a job, and the lady has already made it clear she doesn’t cotton to drifters.”

  “Of course you got a job.” He glanced from Slade to Pamela, then unaccountably, he laughed. “Aw, Pamela don’t mean nothing. We’re so short-handed right now we’d hire just about anybody.”

  “Take him around to the kitchen and have Belva give him something to eat,” Pamela said to the young man. “And try to remember you’re neither the owner nor the foreman around here.”

  The boy didn’t look the least bit abashed.

  “Good day, Mr….” Pamela said as she turned back to Slade. “I don’t believe I know your name. You do have one, don’t you?”

  “I’ve had several,” Slade replied, a mocking sparkle in his eyes. “Which one would you like?”

  “The real one,” Pamela shot back, her composure apparently only slightly shaken.

  “In that case you’d better call me Slade, ma’am. Slade Morgan.”

  “My foreman’s out on the range with the crew,” Pamela told him. “I’ll tell him about you when he comes in. You can stay in the bunkhouse tonight. Do you have a change of clothes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A saddle, too, somewhere out in the desert, but it’s probably too far to go back for. I guess I’ll need one of them too.”

  “That’s only the beginning of what you need,” Pamela said turning toward the house.

  “Ma’am…”

  Pamela was tempted not to answer. She didn’t want to waste any more time on Slade Morgan, but his voice was hard to ignore. Against her will she found herself turning to face him.

  “I don’t know your name either.”

  Pamela flushed. “I’m Pamela White, and this young rascal is my cousin, Gaddy Pemberton.” She started to tell him she wasn’t married but changed her mind.

  “Whew!” Slade said as the door closed rather too loudly behind Pamela, “I’ve never been made to feel so much like a desert rat. That’s some high-stepping woman.”

  Gaddy laughed easily. “She’s okay, but you’d better wash up and get around to the kitchen before Belva starts fixing dinner. She don’t let anybody in the kitchen when she’s cooking. You look like you could use some fattening up.”

  “No more than you,” Slade replied, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He found himself wishing Pamela White was unmarried, and that made him wary of staying a minute more than absolutely necessary to
get a horse, saddle, and something to eat. The undeniable feeling of excitement he felt building inside unsettled him. It was the same kind of reckless excitement he felt before his most difficult stunts, the same kind of exhilaration that filled him when he faced a challenge.

  Don’t let your good sense fail you now, he told himself. Your luck’s run out. There’s no place for you in a setup like this.

  “Looks like you’re not in very good standing with your cousin,” Slade said somewhat absently as he and Gaddy walked toward the bunkhouse. “Maybe she’ll turn us both out on our ears. You got a hankering to see California?”

  Gaddy laughed again. “I’m kin, so Pamela’s stuck with me whether she likes it or not. She used to be a great gal before her Ma sent her back East to school. Ain’t never been the same since. She’d light a shuck to Baltimore right now if she could. Has to if she wants to find a husband.”

  “Isn’t she married to Josh White?”

  Gaddy laughed merrily. “Not likely. Josh is her father. He’s my uncle.”

  “Then what’s stopping her from going to Baltimore?” Slade asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to cover his confusion. They had reached the trough behind the barn. He bent down to get a slow drink from the pump.

  “No cash. Uncle Josh has a fortune in cattle, but he’s got to round them up before he can sell them. That’s why we need hands. Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll need to wash up and change your clothes before you go up to the house. You can borrow some from one of the boys if you don’t have any. You look to be about Cade’s size.”

  “What’s all this worry about clothes?”

  “Cousin Pamela sets a lot of store by a man’s appearance. She don’t like people to be dirty. She won’t let you in that house if you don’t clean up. Her ma did that, her and that school back East. Never did see why females should be so particular about things that don’t mean nothing, especially out here.”

  “Most women are like that. Seems they can’t rightly help themselves.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Don’t tell me the rest until after I get something to eat. I’m so weak from hunger I don’t know if I’ll make it to the house.”

  But Gaddy noticed that in spite of his devitalized condition, Slade Morgan had no difficulty making it to the kitchen.

  Chapter 2

  Pamela let the leather-bound copy of Jane Austen’s Emma fall to her lap. She couldn’t concentrate with all that laughter coming from the kitchen. This had never happened before. It had to be because of Slade Morgan.

  She told herself she ought to be thankful the arrival of this wandering vagabond had taken her mind off her father, even if only for a few minutes. She couldn’t help him by worrying. The best thing she could do was make sure the ranch ran smoothly until he got back from Santa Fe.

  But she worried anyway. She hadn’t felt comfortable since the other ranchers started running cattle on Bar Double-B range. Her father had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any encroachment on his grazing land, but Pamela hadn’t expected the trouble to go away that easily. When her father told her he intended to go to Santa Fe to buy barbed wire and hire extra hands, she knew it hadn’t.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about while I’m gone,” Josh White had assured his daughter. “There hasn’t been any real trouble. Some barbed wire and a few extra hands ought to nip things in the bud.”

  “But won’t they take that to mean you’ll fight?” Pamela had asked. Her mother had told her terrifying stories of her first years in Arizona.

  They already know that,” Josh had replied. “This is just to convince them they can’t run me out.”

  Pamela couldn’t make up her mind what she thought her father should do. On the one hand, she didn’t see why he should give up a ranch he’d worked so hard to build because of somebody else’s greed. She might not want to live in Arizona, but it went against the grain to allow anything to be taken from him. This ranch was a measure of the man who created it, and she couldn’t look out over the valley without taking pride in her father’s accomplishment.

  Yet she couldn’t forget her mother’s warnings. She had never seen a range war, but she knew they could be brutal, horribly cruel to everyone involved. No ranch was worth her father’s life. Even if she loved every foot of ground, she wouldn’t want the Bar Double-B at that price.

  “I ought to be back in a couple of weeks,” her father had said,” but don’t worry if I’m late. It may take a little while to find the kind of hands I want. I thought I’d look for one or two married men. I never realized until Belva came out here how badly you must want for female company.”

  Pamela hadn’t bothered to tell him the only kind of company she wanted, male or female, was back East. It had been three years since she returned home after graduating from Garrison Normal, an exclusive boarding school in Baltimore, yet she still felt like an outsider. She couldn’t wait to get back to Maryland. Now that her mother was dead, nothing tied her to Arizona except the father she loved so dearly.

  But now she had a stranger in her kitchen, and although she doubted he would hold her interest for very long, she had to admit his presence had cut into her peace. After a shout of laughter shattered another attempt to become interested in her book, she laid it aside and got to her feet. She had to know what they were doing.

  But when she reached the kitchen, everyone had fallen silent. Gaddy had disappeared, and Slade had almost finished a small slice of pie and a cup of coffee. Belva Bag-shot, six months pregnant and barely able to reach the back of the stove, was beginning her preparations for dinner.

  “That’s not enough food for a child,” Pamela said to Belva. “I thought he was hungry.”

  “You can’t make a man eat what he don’t want,” Belva said without taking her eyes off the bowl of beans she had simmering on the heavy iron stove. “That’s what he asked for, and that’s what I gave him.”

  Pamela pretended not to notice when Slade looked up and blinked. She had changed into a white gown with a high neck, full sleeves, a tight waist, and a full skirt that reached the floor. She had also pinned her hair up under a frivolous lace cap. It pleased her to know her appearance had momentarily silenced him, but it angered her that she even noticed. She didn’t care what this disgraceful cowboy thought about her or anything else.

  “I haven’t had much to eat in three days, ma’am,” Slade said with his infuriatingly slow, mocking drawl. “If I was to eat more than a few bites right now, my stomach wouldn’t know what to do. I plan to make amends at dinner.” The twinkle was back in his eye.

  Pamela was uncertain of what to do next, and that irritated her. She had never felt ill-at-ease in her own house, but this stranger seemed more at home than she did, and that irritated her too. In fact, nearly everything about him irritated her.

  “Do you have any experience as a cowhand?”

  “Some.”

  “Are you any good at it?”

  “Enough.”

  “What kind of job do you expect?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I don’t expect a job.”

  “But you need one.”

  Slade shrugged.

  “What do you do best?”

  “Whatever you want done.”

  She wondered what he had been saying to make Belva and Gaddy laugh so. He was about as talkative as a hermit and as funny as a saddle sore now.

  “You can sit down, ma’am. I don’t bite.”

  “I never supposed you did.” Pamela had been about to sit, but perversely she decided to remain standing.

  “Just thought you might not want to give me a crick in my neck.”

  “A gentleman would have risen when I entered the room.” But no gentleman she’d ever known filled out a shirt the way Slade did.

  “A woman would know not to interrupt a man when he’s eating.”

  Pamela bit back a stinging retort. She refused to argue with a saddle t
ramp.

  “You better sit down, Miss White,” Belva said, an unmistakable chuckle in her voice. She placed a second cup of coffee on the well-scrubbed table. “You know your father doesn’t like to be talked to while he’s eating.”

  Pamela didn’t want to sit down, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do without looking foolish, so she settled into a ladder-backed chair opposite Slade. She sipped her coffee and studied him more closely.

  “You don’t seem like the type to come in here begging for a horse and a job.”

  “I didn’t…” Slade started to say then changed his mind. “I’m just a man like anybody else.”

  You sure are a man, but you’re not like anybody I ever met, Pamela thought to herself. But aloud she said, “I’m waiting, Mr. Morgan. If you want me to give you a job, the least you can do is tell me something of your background.”

  “It’s not where a man comes from that counts, ma’am. It’s what he does.”

  “A person’s roots are important, too.”

  “Ma’am, I’m from Texas. Folks there don’t have many roots, leastways not in Texas. I shouldn’t suppose folks in Arizona have half as many. Now if you will excuse me, I got to go pick me out a horse.”

  Pamela’s presence distracted Slade so badly he stood up without thinking. The agonizing pain in his feet made him falter.

  Pamela didn’t miss that, or the grimace of suffering that flitted across his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, starting to her feet.

  Slade recovered quickly, but the smile on his lips wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Nothing, ma’am. Just took a misstep. Comes from sitting in a chair too long. Not much like setting a horse. Makes a man careless.”

  But Pamela knew something wasn’t right.

  “There’s something wrong with your foot.”

  “It’s nothing much. Must have a cramp in my leg. I walked a mighty long way.”

  “You may have taken a misstep when you got up and you may have a cramp in your leg, but there is something wrong with your foot,” Pamela insisted. “Sit down and take off your boot.”

  “Now, ma’am, there’s no need to …”