Scarlet Sunset, Silver Nights Page 9

Slade saw the apprehension that lurked in Belva’s eyes, and winked. She was startled at first, but some of the tension seemed to drain away.

  “It wasn’t me this time,” Slade said.

  “I did it,” Pamela called over her shoulder as she turned and strode swiftly back to the ranch house. She had noticed the wink, and it only served to irritate her more.

  “But what on earth for?” Belva asked as she hurried after her.

  “Mongo came by.”

  “That never caused you to go shooting off rifles before. What happened?”

  “He pressed me to marry him and used the burned barn as an excuse.”

  “What did you tell him?” Belva’s anxiety was plain to see.

  “I told him I didn’t love him and was planning to go back East.”

  “Thank God for that. Well, for the first part of it at least,” Belva added. “I don’t think I could stay here if you married that man.”

  “Did you ever mean to marry him?” Slade asked, aware the minute the words were out of his mouth that this was none of his business.

  Pamela seemed annoyed that he would ask such a personal question, but she didn’t hesitate to answer him. “I did at first, when I thought I might have to spend the rest of my life here,” Pamela admitted a trifle self-consciously. “He can be quite charming when he wants to.”

  “He’s overbearing and hard-hearted as a stone,” declared Belva.

  “And dangerous,” added Slade.

  “Mongo’s not the least bit dangerous,” Pamela replied, rather impatiently Slade thought. “He’s just used to having his own way. I guess he has something of a temper, most rich men do, but he’s really quite nice.”

  “Then why did you shoot him?”

  “I didn’t shoot him,” Pamela snapped. She stopped in her tracks and spun around to face them. “I shot the heel off his boot.”

  Slade said nothing, but Pamela got the definite feeling he wasn’t satisfied with her answer.

  “You got shot at because of me,” she added speaking a little less stridently. “The fight was my fault, too. I couldn’t let him keep hitting you.”

  Slade had been probing, trying to find a weak spot, but now that he had found it, he hesitated to probe deeper. Hearing the undertone of warmth in Pamela’s voice gave him the same feeling of euphoria as unearthing an unexpected vein of gold. Only he valued this far more.

  “Where’s your horse?” Belva asked in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

  “In the corral, saddled and ready to go,” Slade said without taking his gaze off Pamela.

  “You go on in and let Miss White fix you up,” Belva said quickly. “I’ll go take care of him.”

  Slade started to object, but Pamela stopped him.

  “You can’t leave now.”

  She turned back toward the house before he could see the expression in her eyes, but Slade could tell she had herself under control again. She had closed the window to her emotions. Shrugging off a feeling of disappointment, Slade followed her inside and sat down in his usual chair while she collected all the things she needed.

  “I don’t know why I bother putting anything away as long as you’re here,” she commented. “This is the third time in less than twenty-four hours I’ve had to patch you up.”

  “I guess I’ll have to learn to be more careful.”

  “What made you fight Mongo?” Pamela looked him full in the eyes. There was uncertainty and bewilderment in her expression. “Common sense should have told you not to drop your guns. It should have also told you not to get into a fight, especially not with two sore feet and a useless shoulder.”

  Slade didn’t feel up to any deep discussion, especially with Pamela asking the questions. Weariness racked his whole body, his shoulder throbbed so badly he could hardly keep his mind on what she was saying, and he cursed himself for a meddling fool. Now she wanted to know why he had done it. Hell, he didn’t know himself.

  “Chalk it up to a misplaced sense of chivalry if you want to. Maybe I listened too much to what they said in church. My dad told me a man would always defend a woman, at least the kind of person he called a man.”

  He was getting in too deep. If he didn’t stop now, the dam would break and then all the stuff he’d been storing in the basement of his soul would come pouring out.

  “If I’d known you were that good with a rifle, I’d have just sat back and watched you take care of him.”

  “I don’t think you would,” Pamela said as she carefully removed the bandage she had put on his shoulder only a few hours earlier. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “Well you’re wrong,” Slade lied, “about the first part,” he added when he saw disbelief flare in Pamela’s eyes. “I never could stand to see a woman mistreated. Can’t see it done to animals either. That’s what got me in trouble the first time. But you’re right. There is another reason.”

  Why explain all this? What would it do but cause more trouble? He should just stick with his first story and light a shuck to California the first chance he got. But he looked into Pamela’s eyes and lost all chance to move an inch until he had to. He didn’t know what he saw there, but it was the closest thing to liking he had seen in anybody’s eyes since Trish. To a man starving for friendship, it was a chance he couldn’t waste. It might last only for a short time, but it promised more than he had when he walked in here.

  “I never had anybody do anything for me, not since I was a boy,” Slade began haltingly. “From the moment I stepped up to your porch, you made it clear you wanted my hide on the other side of that ridge. Still you invited me to eat at your table, sleep in your bed, and share your company. You also fixed up my feet and shoulder. Ma’am, nobody ever did anything like that for me before, not even those that had cause to be grateful to me. I don’t forget things like that.”

  “My name is Pamela.” She kept her head down as she cleaned away the blood that had drained down his arm when she removed the last of the bandages. “I don’t forget my debts either. You’re going to stay here until this shoulder is better.”

  “Only if that job is still open.”

  “But you said you wouldn’t work for anyone else.”

  “I can’t stay here doing nothing. Kindness only goes so far. Besides, people might talk.”

  Pamela wondered if he might be laughing at her again. Why does he have to have a beard she asked herself for the hundredth time. His eyes can be totally empty when he wants them to be.

  “This may change your mind about my kindness,” Pamela said as she poured whiskey directly into his open wound. A hiss of pain escaped Slade’s clenched teeth, but nothing more.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Refuse to show that anything can hurt you. I’ve seen you endure pain that would have caused half the men I know to faint. All you do is sit there, staring back at me.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you afraid to let anybody know you can be vulnerable?”

  Hell, where did this woman get off digging into him like an ice pick, and without any warning either. If he wanted to go around pretending to be a hard case and tough as buffalo leather, nobody had the right to ask him why. Besides, why should he let people know they could hurt him? They’d only take advantage of it.

  “Can’t see any sense in it. Only gives people the idea they can take something from you. Sometimes it can be a real bother to convince them otherwise.”

  “I can’t imagine anybody trying to take advantage of you.”

  “I haven’t always been what I am now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I was brought up to live by the Golden Rule. Only I found out people don’t respect you for it. They’re just interested in what they can get out of you.”

  “I can’t believe everybody’s like that.”

  “Why not? You’re a hard case yourself.”

  “Me?” Pamela could hardly have been more
shocked if he had struck her.

  “Sure. There’s not a particle of give in you. You know exactly what you think of everybody and everything, and nobody can tell you different. And once you make up your mind to do something, there’s nothing can change it.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about you.”

  “Not really. Maybe you don’t object to me quite as much as you did yesterday, but you’re still opposed to everything I am. And that won’t change. You can’t make it change.”

  “That’s not true,” Pamela protested. “Of course I have my own ideas about things, and I stick with them—everybody does—but they’re not written in stone.”

  “Would you agree to stay here in Arizona if I could show you it’s just as beautiful as Baltimore, that most people out here can be as fine and honest as anybody in a city?”

  “I don’t like the desert, even if it is beautiful,” Pamela stated emphatically.

  “Would you marry a cowpoke if you fell in love with him? I mean go live in a cabin with him, bear his children, cook his meals?”

  Pamela looked at him, speechless. “How could I fall in love with a cowboy?” she managed to say at last. “We’d have absolutely nothing in common.”

  “See, you’re just as prejudiced as I am. We’re just prejudiced about different things.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t fall in love with a cowboy,” Pamela replied angrily. “I merely asked how?”

  “What would you do if you did? Would you take him back to Baltimore with you?”

  A hiss of exasperation escaped Pamela. “I don’t know what I’d do. I never considered it before, but I suppose it would depend on what the cowboy wanted.”

  “Would you give up living in this house?”

  “Would you give up looking like a vagabond and move to Baltimore?”

  “You saying you’ve fallen in love with me and want to make a gentleman out of me?”

  “No more than you’re saying you’ve fallen in love with me and want to run off and live in some line cabin in the hills.”

  “Would you go if I asked?”

  “Certainly not, but then you wouldn’t ask, not if you thought I might go.”

  Slade felt like he had been hit with a fence post. He should have known better than to try to get around her. Pamela had shown too much cleverness for that, but something about her wouldn’t let him quit. She saw too much, felt too much. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

  “Your misplaced sense of chivalry. You’re rather sour on the world. I might even say bitter. You don’t think much of other people, but you expect an enormous amount from yourself. You’re exactly the kind of man who would tell himself he couldn’t marry a woman unless she would give up everything in the world for him. But the moment she decided she wanted to give it up, you wouldn’t let her because you’d feel you didn’t have enough to give her in return. You’d end up making both of you miserable because your sense of what is right is just as inflexible as my idea of what I want.”

  Slade felt himself becoming angry again. He disliked it when people tried to probe inside his mind. “When did you start being able to see into people’s souls?”

  “I never could. I usually make the most awful mistakes about people. It’s different with you, though I don’t understand why. I didn’t even like you at first.”

  “And now?” Hadn’t he learned with Trish not to ask for trouble? Besides what difference would it make if she did like him? He would still have to ride out of here soon, and he would have to ride out alone.

  “A woman can’t help but think more kindly of a man who’s willing to fight for her.”

  “Even if she disapproves of violence.”

  Pamela laughed in spite of herself. “Maybe especially because she disapproves of violence.”

  “And you accused me of having twisted motives.”

  “I’m not sure I can explain.”

  “Don’t try,” Slade said, inspecting Pamela’s work before getting to his feet. “The last time I tried to understand a female, I ended up in jail.”

  “I promise I won’t call the sheriff, at least not until that shoulder is well. Now let me see your feet.”

  “They’re doing just fine.”

  “They didn’t look too fine when you were hopping around trying to get away from Mongo.”

  “I was not trying to get away from him.”

  Being careful not to let Slade see the amused smile on her lips, Pamela bent her head as she poured some hot water into a basin and then diluted it with cold water. “Okay, trying to stay out of his reach,” she corrected herself.

  “I was doing that,” Slade admitted, and the smile returned to his eyes.

  Once again Pamela cursed his beard. It kept her from getting to know the man behind. She was sure it was cheating her out of something wonderful. She wondered if she would ever find the courage to ask him to shave it off?

  Slade’s socks showed red when he took off his boots.

  “Just as I thought,” Pamela said and poured some more whiskey into the water. She tried to keep the sympathy out of her voice, but the pitiful condition of his feet brought a lump to her throat.

  “Ma’am, your father is going to be mighty unhappy when he comes home and finds out you’ve poured all his whiskey over my feet.”

  “I’m going to pour it over your head if you ever call me Ma’am again,” Pamela said, smiling threateningly at him.

  “It’s right hard to call you Pamela when you’re ordering me about like a schoolmarm.”

  “How can I do otherwise when you act like a little boy?”

  “Does that mean you’re expecting me to yelp when I put my feet into that water? I warn you, I’ve got a pretty loud holler. It’s liable to bring people running, and then you’ll have to explain what you’re doing. Might be better if I just sat here quiet like.”

  Pamela stifled an urge to empty the kettle over his feet. That would give him something to yell about. It might also make him forget to use his drawl to get under her skin.

  “I want you to stay off your feet. And I want you here in the house where I can watch you. Judging from your present rate, I’ve got about twelve hours before you get hurt again.”

  “I don’t ordinarily make such a habit of it.”

  “What will it be next time? Maybe I should plan ahead.”

  “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never been in such a place for shooting and burning and fighting. If you were to pour a little of that whiskey down my throat, I could imagine it was Saturday night and I was in a St. Louis saloon. Who do you think will come after me next?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, we didn’t have any of this trouble until you got here.”

  “Doesn’t sound like we’re very good for each other. Maybe you’d better tell Belva to bring that hammerhead up to the door. I can still hobble that far.”

  “Stop talking foolishness. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She patted his feet dry and put more salve on them. “Now go lie down, in the bedroom. You’ve lost a lot of blood. If you don’t get some rest, you’re going to come down with a fever.”

  Pamela started toward the door before him. “I can find my way,” Slade said, “but I’d appreciate it if you would warn me when you see your father coining up the canyon. I have a feeling I might not recover from that wound.”

  “Do you always joke about everything?”

  “Not always, but I find it saves a lot of trouble if I don’t take things too seriously.”

  But Slade didn’t feel the least bit like joking when he lay down on the bed. He didn’t need to have drowned to know he was going under for the third time. And it looked like nothing could pull him out this time.

  He had lived rough all his life. When he was growing up, his mother had always been careful to turn him out neat and clean, but his life had been cold and harsh. There never seemed to be a good reason to do things, only the threat of bad things that would happen if he didn’t.

  In
the years since, he had traveled over much of the West, at times with little more than his horse and saddle. He spent his nights in the open despite rain, snow, and marauding Indians. Food was what he could shoot or carry in his saddlebags and fix over a camp fire. There never really had been anyone to make his life a pleasure.

  Then he stumbled into Pamela’s valley.

  Staying at the Bar Double-B ranch was like living a dream. Set in a lush valley surrounded by hogback ridges to protect it from weather and intrusion, it provided a man with a quiet oasis separated from the rest of the world, a place where he could set aside everything harsh and cunning and replenish his soul. A man could get in touch with himself here, find out whether he could grow into something more than a fast gun and a tough reputation. He could find out whether he was worthy enough to earn the love of a woman like Pamela.

  On a more practical level, a man could fight for a place like this. This solid and spacious house would comfort a man without seducing his senses or sapping his strength. The scent of cedar, pine, and some herb he couldn’t identify gave it the smell of a more natural cleanliness he had never experienced before. The thick walls guaranteed cool, dark comfort in summer and warm, dry security in winter, a life-giving refuge from the brutal Arizona climate.

  But it was Pamela herself who made the difference. Her softness excited his every sense. Even though his wound throbbed painfully, he could feel his body responding to his thoughts about her. Lord, he hadn’t been this randy since he first discovered girls!

  Slade realized now that he had never understood softness or femininity before. He had thought of his mother and Trish in that way, but their elegant clothes and polished manners merely camouflaged natures harder and more unbending than dry leather. With them softness was only an illusion; with Pamela it was a life-giving force.

  It wasn’t just her beauty; it was the way she was beautiful. Something about her manner warned him to keep his distance, but an underlying, intimate layer of femininity lured him on. It was rather like a fence around a fire to keep him from being burned. But he could leap over that fence.

  If only he could find the courage.

  Her contradictions intrigued him. Even though she groomed her hair meticulously, she allowed her long, brown tresses to fall freely over her shoulders, glinting with the sparkle of gold strands of hair bleached by the sun until they gleamed like something alive. Many would consider her complexion flawless, but sun and wind had given her skin a touch of golden brown. Slade even thought he might be able to make out a freckle or two. But her lips were perfect, smooth, moist, and incredibly inviting, and Slade felt his body tense at the thought.