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  She wondered if he'd done it intentionally, if he knew he'd ruined his life and that all he had left was to die courageously.

  But dying was a coward's way out. It took courage to live, to face problems. But her father had never faced the consequences of his actions. He'd often come home smelling of whiskey, sometimes so unsteady he could hardly--

  "It's not polite to ride off and leave a gentleman caller behind."

  His following her was so unexpected, she blurted out the first thought that came to her mind. "Stop making fun of me. I know I'm not pretty enough to have a gentleman caller."

  Suddenly she wanted to cry, and that made her madder than ever. She didn't cry. Ever. She'd faced the facts of her life long ago, had come to terms with them. No crying. No feeling sorry for herself and looking for someone to blame.

  She spurred her horse into a canter, but Owen stayed alongside. "I'm not rich enough to make men forget my plainness."

  "A good man looks for a great deal more in a woman than money and a pretty face."

  She turned to him. "Are you trying to tell me that you're a good man, that you can see beyond my lack of face and fortune?"

  "I've never been a good man, but I know that anyone attempting to judge you on face and fortune alone would be making a grave mistake."

  She couldn't believe what he was saying about her, but his opinion of himself stunned her. "Why do you say you aren't a good man?"

  He didn't answer her question.

  She wondered if he'd referred to something he'd done during the war. She didn't know much about wars, but she doubted that people followed rules too closely. Still, he didn't strike her as the kind of man to castigate himself for things he'd done in the past. She'd assumed that in his own way, Owen was as impervious to taking blame as her father had been.

  "What did you mean by saying people would be making a mistake if they only looked at my face and fortune?"

  She wasn't asking because she expected a compliment. He was an unusual man, and she was certain he'd say something unexpected.

  "Beauty fades, and war can destroy a fortune like that--" He snapped his fingers. "Any man looking for a wife should look for what will remain after all the trappings are stripped away."

  "Is that what you're doing?"

  "I'm not looking for a wife," he said, seeming to snap out of a dark mood. "I'm just looking to enjoy life, have a little fun, meet pretty women, dance, maybe sing a few new songs."

  "I figured looking for a ranch meant you wanted to settle down."

  "Money doesn't last unless you put it to work."

  Suddenly she realized Myrl wasn't with them. "What happened to Myrl?"

  "He said he was too old to be chasing after pretty girls. He's leaving that to young fools like me."

  Myrl hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, but nobody chased after her, not even young fools. And though she'd steadfastly denied it, she now realized she wanted to be courted and flattered and told she was wonderful. She wasn't greedy, but just once she wanted to experience the thrill of knowing that a man wanted her, would put himself out to please her.

  "Myrl is a broken-down old cowhand who can't think clearly even when he's sober," she said.

  "He knows when to make himself scarce."

  Owen was probably so used to spouting flattery, he wasn't aware of the words that came out of his mouth. He certainly didn't look like a young fool in love.

  "Are you going to tear your house down and start over again?"

  It was a fair assessment of the situation, but it wasn't what she was going to do.

  "It's my home," she snapped. "It may not be much by Virginia standards, but--"

  "I grew up in a log cabin."

  Hetta whipped around to face him, certain he was lying, but his expression was serious.

  "I'm a mountain boy. We did a little hunting to trade for the things we couldn't grow. There was nothing left when the war was over, so I came to Texas to work for my cousin."

  "But ..." She stopped before she could ask any of the questions that filled her head.

  "Where did I get enough money to buy a ranch?" He grinned. "Seven of us worked ourselves to exhaustion for eight months rounding up and branding cows. Then we spent four months on the trail to St. Louis fighting Indians, white men meaner than Indians, and farmers determined to drive us out of the state. But we got more than a thousand steers to St. Louis, where they sold for almost thirty-two dollars each."

  That meant he had over four thousand dollars! That made him rich by anybody's standards.

  "During the war I got to see how rich people lived, what they ate, how they dressed. I don't have a grand house, and I don't much care what I eat, but I like to dress well. It makes me feel good. Why do you disapprove?"

  "I don't." She thought he looked wonderful.

  "That's not the feeling I get."

  She didn't like being on the defensive. "Tell me what I did, and I'll try to stop it."

  "I think you disapprove because you think it makes me like your father."

  "I don't know you that well."

  "That's not what you said last evening, and you'd only met me a couple of hours earlier."

  It was hard to believe he'd been in Pinto Junction less than a day. What was it about him that made it seem as if she'd always known him? None of this made sense. She needed to get away from him, to have some time to think, to try to figure out what he was doing to her.

  "You do remind me of my father," she said. "I can forgive my father for many things, but not for the pain he caused my mother. I guess that's why I acted as I did. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

  "You don't have to apologize. You're probably right to make the comparison."

  "You don't mind?"

  "I didn't say that. Why did you decide to work for Ida Moody?"

  The question was unexpected, but she welcomed the change of subject. "She needed someone to live with her, and I needed a job and a place to stay. It's a perfect situation for both of us."

  "What will you do if she gets married?"

  "I may get married first."

  She shouldn't have said that, but she was tired of everybody thinking she would be the last one to be asked.

  "I forgot William. He appears to be a dependable young man. Boring but dependable."

  "He didn't hesitate to stand up to you when he thought you had mistreated me. You may find that boring, but I think it's wonderful."

  "That's one lesson I never can remember."

  "What?"

  "It's stupid to criticize a man to the woman who's engaged to him."

  "I'm not ..." She'd almost said she wasn't engaged. "We haven't announced anything yet."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because not everybody goes around being an outrageous flirt and saying dozens of things they don't mean."

  "I've never told any woman I loved her, but you can be sure that if I did love someone and wanted to marry her, I'd keep her the hell away from men like me."

  "Are you so dangerous?"

  "Hell, yes."

  "You don't seem proud of it."

  "I'm not."

  She didn't understand him at all. "Why are you so angry at yourself?"

  "Who said I was?"

  "I did."

  "What do you know?"

  "Enough to tell you're very angry, but not at me."

  "I'm plenty mad at you."

  "No, you're not."

  He brought his horse alongside hers, appeared ready to reach out toward her.

  "Are you going to grab my wrists again? It won't change anything."

  "I hope William knows he's getting a nag for a wife."

  "I'm not nagging you."

  "Take it from me, you're nagging."

  "I'll stop if you tell me what has made you so angry."

  "What right do you have to know?"

  "None, but maybe you'll feel better if you tell somebody."

  "Somebody knows."

  "Then that somebody also th
inks you're guilty."

  His gaze bored into her like a drill. "What are you, some kind of witch?"

  She didn't understand why she seemed to have an intuitive feeling about him. She'd often worried because she didn't know what William was thinking, how he was going to react to something she said or did.

  "I've observed a lot of people. I can tell when someone is carrying a load of guilt."

  He remained silent.

  "If you're not going to talk, you might as well go back to looking at ranches and let me get on home."

  "I can't let you go by yourself."

  "I won't be by myself. That's William coming for me now."

  Chapter Six

  Owen didn't know whether to be angry or relieved that William's presence kept him from telling Hetta about Rachelle. Despite what he said, he had been on the verge of telling her. Of one thing he was certain. He couldn't understand why Hetta would want to marry William. The man might have courage, but he had the face of a bulldog and a personality to match.

  "He shouldn't have let you come out here by yourself," Owen said.

  "He works in his father's hardware store. He can't take off every time I want to come out to the ranch."

  "When was the last time you came?"

  "A little while ago."

  "How long ago?"

  "Since the last winter rain."

  "Your fiance can't take a couple of hours once a year to make sure you're safe? What the hell kind of fiance is that?"

  Hetta blushed furiously. "First, he hasn't asked me to marry him."

  "What's he waiting for?"

  "Secondly, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

  "If you were my woman, I'd damned well make sure you didn't have to."

  "Then it's a good thing I'm not your woman. Now stop arguing. I don't want William to get upset again."

  Owen was tempted to tell her that William ought to be the one worrying about her getting upset but decided to wait until he heard what William had to say. It amused Owen when William placed himself between Owen and Hetta.

  "You shouldn't have come out here alone," he said to Hetta, after casting an angry glance at Owen.

  "That's what I told her," Owen said, "but she insisted she was perfectly safe."

  "No woman is perfectly safe alone."

  "I told her that, too, but she said she could take care of herself."

  "I would have come with you if you'd asked."

  "I suggested that, but she said you were too busy."

  "Do you mind if I have a conversation without you interrupting?"

  "We've already covered that stuff. I was just trying to save time."

  "If you want to save time, you can go about your business. Miss Gwynne doesn't need your escort any longer."

  "I'm not escorting her. I'm going back to town."

  It was obvious that William wanted to get rid of him, so Owen decided to ride back with them.

  "You shouldn't be riding with a stranger," William said to Hetta.

  "He's not a stranger," Hetta said. "He's rooming at the house."

  "He's only been there one night, during which time he laid hands on you."

  "I've already explained that."

  "Even if it was exactly as you say, I don't approve."

  "What do you mean, even if it was exactly as you say?" Owen asked. "Don't you believe she's telling the truth?"

  "Of course I do."

  "Then say so."

  "Owen, go find Myrl, look at another ranch, do anything you like, just leave us alone," Hetta said.

  "This is the man you're planning to marry--"

  "Owen!" Hetta practically screeched.

  "--and he doesn't believe you're truthful."

  William looked from one to the other. "I do believe she's truthful.... We haven't talked about marriage.... If you would just leave.... That's a very big step."

  "It's more like leaping a chasm," Owen said. "But if you hesitate, you'll fall in."

  William looked perplexed. "What's he talking about?" he asked Hetta.

  "I think he means--"

  "I mean if you don't know what the hell you're doing, you'll make Hetta miserable."

  "He's too kind and thoughtful to make anyone miserable," Hetta said.

  "If that's what you think, you've got a lot to learn."

  "If you insist upon riding back to town with us," William said to Owen, "I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from talking to Miss Gwynne. It's not good for her character to be associated with a man like you."

  "What makes you so wonderful, other than the prospect of inheriting your father's hardware store?"

  "Don't answer that," Hetta said. "He's just baiting you."

  "I don't mind answering him," William said to Hetta in what Owen thought was a patronizing manner. "It might even be instructive to him."

  "I'm sure he doesn't want to be instructed," Hetta said.

  "But I do. I want to know how to be--"

  "Did any of the ranches you saw today interest you?" Hetta interrupted.

  William looked puzzled. "Don't you know the ranches he saw?"

  "I didn't ask."

  "But I thought--"

  "Maybe someone told him we rode out together," Owen said, "or warned him we might meet."

  "They were right to warn me," William said.

  Hetta turned on William. "Do you mean you came because you thought I might be with Owen, not because you thought I might be in danger?"

  Owen was amused to realize the young fool didn't see the approaching thunderclouds.

  "Ida said I ought to make sure you were safe. I said I couldn't leave when Ma and Pa were depending on me, but when I learned Ida hadn't thrown him out after all, I couldn't take a chance he might find you alone."

  "Myrl was with him," Hetta said.

  "Where is he now?" William asked.

  "I expect he went back to a saloon," Owen said. "You don't approve of saloons?" he asked when William scowled.

  "They encourage drunkenness, gambling, and low company," William said.

  "But Myrl likes drinking, gambling, and low company. I do, myself, from time to time."

  "That's what makes you unfit to accompany Miss Gwynne."

  "What makes you fit company for Hetta?"

  "Please refer to her as Miss Gwynne."

  Owen flashed his imp-of-mischief grin at her. "Hetta," he said, "you all right with me referring to you as Miss Gwynne?"

  The look on her face was thunderous.

  "Address her as Miss Gwynne, too," William said.

  "Oh, you didn't say--"

  "I don't care what anybody calls me," Hetta said.

  "That's not very thoughtful," Owen said. "You can see it matters a great deal to William."

  "Well, it's my name, so I will decide how it's used. Call me Hetta. Everyone does. It would be stupid for you to go about addressing me as Miss Gwynne."

  "I don't think that fits William's notion of the respect due the woman who will some day be his wife."

  "Owen Wheeler, it you say that one more time, I'm going to--"

  "I forgot. It's a private matter, but it seems everybody in town is talking about it. Maybe you'd better consider getting the private part over with."

  "Thank you," Hetta said, really angry now. "You can't know how much I appreciate your taking the time to give us your advice."

  "I expect I do," he replied. "I'll drop back a bit, give you a little privacy."

  He slowed his horse until they were about a half dozen lengths in front of him. He could hear enough of their conversation to know that William was lecturing Hetta on the impropriety of being in the company of men like Owen. The man had to be a fool not to know that independent women didn't like to be lectured, especially when they were wrong. But Owen suspected that William really didn't understand that Hetta was an independent woman. Circumstances had forced her into a subservient position, but she wouldn't be treated as subservient by any man, especially her husband.

&nb
sp; He considered for a moment abandoning her to her fate, but he couldn't let her get tied up with Tidwell. There were times when he flat out didn't like Hetta, but he'd have to be completely hardhearted not to feel some sympathy for her. She had endured the same kind of profligate parents he had. They'd come through the experience in different ways--he didn't trust any woman enough to marry her, and she was determined to marry a man as different as possible from her father--but he still felt a bond with her.

  He realized that if he wanted to get rid of William, he would have to be more subtle.

  "I hope you're through exchanging confidences," he called out. "I'm tired of talking to myself. I already know what I'm going to say."

  William's displeasure at Owen rejoining them was obvious, but Owen thought he detected a trace of relief in Hetta's expression.

  "Tell me about the ranch business around here," Owen said to William. "You ought to be in a position to know how people are faring."

  William didn't appear happy at Owen's interruption, but he was pleased to be asked for his opinion. "Everybody would be a lot better off if we could stop the rustling."

  "I thought Laveau--Mr. diViere--was supposed to get the army to do that."

  "He said he'd try, but all he could promise was to keep the Reconstruction people away from Pinto Junction."

  "Do you have any idea who's behind the rustling?"

  "No. The cows just seem to disappear."

  "Got many new cowhands about?"

  "A lot have drifted in since the end of the war."

  "Who're they working for?"

  "Everybody. Several of them are employed on Hetta's ranch."

  "I hear her cows aren't being rustled."

  "I'm not surprised. The place isn't worth bothering with. I can't wait for her to sell it. Do you want to buy it?"

  Owen decided he wouldn't have to convince Hetta to dump William. The fool was going to manage that all by himself.

  "I knew that man would find some way to meet up with you," Ida said after William and Owen had left. "I'm glad I sent William to get you."

  Hetta's nerves were rubbed raw and her temper was in shreds. She was furious at Owen for baiting William and at William for being so wrapped up in his own good opinion of himself, he couldn't see what Owen was doing.