The Rawhide Man. Diana Palmer
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climbed up on the fence and leaned her arms over the top rail. “Going to bounce around a little?” she asked. “Don’t fall off, now.”
“No, I’m not going to bounce around,” he said curtly. “I’m going to put her on a halter so Bandy can work her.”
She watched him approach the horse, talking softly and gently to it in a tone she’d never heard him use except, infrequently, with Katy. He moved closer inch by inch, soothing the horse, until he was near enough to ease the halter over the jet black muzzle and lock it in place. He continued to stroke the silky black mane while the horse trembled in the chill air, not from cold but from nervousness.
Bess didn’t speak. She didn’t dare. Jude would climb all over her if she spooked the horse. But he glanced at her warily when the little bowlegged cowboy named Bandy came out of the barn with a lunging rein to attach to the halter.
Jude said something to the cowboy and then climbed over the fence, perching himself on the top rail near Bess. He was wearing denims and the old battered gray Stetson he used on the rare occasions when he was around the ranch. He looked good in denim. He looked good in anything, that long, muscular body sheer elegance when he moved.
“Don’t trust her too far, Bandy,” Jude said as he lit a cigarette. He glanced at Bess. “She’s a lot like some women. All long legs and nerves.”
Her chin lifted. She’d put up her hair to keep it out of her face, and she looked chic and elegant even in his leather jacket.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, indicating the jacket.
“Aggie got it out for me,” she said defensively. “You wouldn’t let me pack,” she reminded him.
“It doesn’t do much for you,” he remarked derisively. “It keeps me warm,” she returned. “But if you want it back…”
“Oh, hell, stop playing Joan of Arc,” he growled, his green eyes glittering at her over a wisp of cigarette smoke. “It’s an old jacket. I had it when I was in Vietnam.”
And probably it brought back memories he’d rather not dredge up, she thought, feeling guilty. She averted her eyes to the cowboy working the young filly on the leading rein in a long, wide circle.
“You didn’t hit the floor screaming bloody murder this morning,” he remarked. “Does that mean you’ve stopped fighting the idea of marriage?”
She drew one long, polished fingernail across the top rail of the fence and watched it scar the old wood. “Katy was so excited,” she said quietly.
“Yes, I told you that.”
Her dark eyes pinned him. “I don’t like you very much, Judah Barnett Langston,” she said.
He took a long draw from the cigarette and pursed his chiseled lips. “What a disappointment,” he said after a minute, and his eyes were mocking. “I thought you might be harboring a secret passion for me.”
“Sorry to dash your dreams,” she replied. “I’d rather lust after a rattlesnake.”
He chuckled softly, and his cold green eyes wandered over her slimness slowly. “You’d have better luck there, all right,” he remarked. “Hell, you’re too fragile for sex.”
She gasped at the unexpectedly intimate remark and felt her face go hot.
His eyebrows lifted at her expression. “Well, my God, I do know what sex is,” he said.
“I didn’t say a word,” she chewed off.
“You were thinking it,” he said. He smiled tauntingly. “I didn’t find Katy under a cabbage leaf.”
Her eyes fell away from his. The discussion was getting far too intimate for her taste. She knew hardly anything about intimacy except for what she’d read. And the last person she wanted to learn that kind of lesson from was Jude Langston. She couldn’t picture him being either patient or tender with a woman.
“Is Katy matchmaking?” he asked after a minute. “She deserted you.”
“Her friend Deanne called,” she murmured.
He scowled. “Deanne is a city kid. Very sophisticated for her age. I don’t like Katy associating with her.”
“Why, because she wears dresses?” she asked. “Is Katy going to run the ranch for you when she grows up, bullwhip and all?”
He just stared at her until she dropped her eyes. She’d never been able to outglare him, not ever, and it rankled.
“I wish she’d been a boy sometimes,” he said, surprising her. “But that wasn’t her fault.”
“She’s going on ten,” she said quietly. “The age of parties and pretty dresses and boys is coming along down the road. It would be sad if she was excluded from all those things because she was too tough to fit in. Wouldn’t it?”
He glared at her and threw down his cigarette. “Why don’t you mind your own damned business? Go arrange some flowers or something. That’s all you’re good for!”
He got down off the fence, and tears stung her eyes as she did likewise. She turned on her heel and stomped back off toward the house.
A piercing whistle split the air and she stopped and whirled. “What!” she yelled.
“Go into town and get some clothes. I’ve opened an account for you at Joske’s.”
She caught her breath. Things were moving fast. Too fast. “I don’t want any, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” he said carelessly. “If you want to be married in your slip, it’s your business.” He turned back to Bandy.
“I’m not going to marry you!” she yelled at him.
“You are if I can’t find another way to get those shares!” At that, she almost scooped up a rock and threw it at him. But she knew Jude too well, so she didn’t.
* * *
By the end of the week, it was sadly apparent that there were no loopholes in Bess’s mother’s will. Jude came in Friday afternoon looking as if he’d like to tie her to a stake and roast her. Instead, he ordered her into the living room and closed the door behind them.
“There’s no way out except marriage,” he said without dressing it up. “We can’t break the will unless we can prove mental incompetence, and your family attorney assures me that we can’t.”
“No,” Bess said, “she was in her right mind up until the very end.”
He picked up a book on the table by the window and abruptly slammed it down on the highly polished surface. “Damn it, I don’t want marriage!” he cursed, glaring at Bess.
“Well, don’t blame me,” she shot back. “I didn’t drag you off out here and try to force you into it. I’d just as soon forget the whole thing!”
“So would I, but I’ve got to have those damned shares, and soon. It’s no use fighting me, Bess.” He rammed his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “I’ll talk to a minister about the ceremony. We can have it at San Jose, if you like.”
“At the mission?” she asked. Her eyes brightened a little. “That sounds nice.”
“Then you’ll agree to the marriage?” he asked quietly, and she knew he was in deadly earnest.
“I don’t seem to have much choice,” she replied. “And you’re right—Katy does need a woman’s touch. And I need her. I don’t have anyone else to love now that Mother’s…” She broke off, trying desperately to keep the tears from falling. “She was all the family I had in the world.”
He turned away, obviously uncomfortable at her show of emotion. “You’d better go to the printer and get some invitations sent out. I’ll have my