Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

" I 'm going to marry her." Oscar pulled himself away from the window, where he'd been standing for the last twenty minutes, his focus on the garden, and wandered over to the table in the middle of the room.

Jake knew what he'd been staring at. Miss Evie Miller. And he knew that because he'd been watching her, too—when Oscar's big head wasn't in the way. From his bunk, if he positioned himself exactly right, he had a clear view of the garden. She'd come outside to clip roses and arrange them in a crystal vase, then took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs on the patio, her gaze on the last glow of light as the sun set in the horizon. She seemed wistful, dreamy. He couldn't see her expression from here, but he could certainly see the way she sat. From years of watching people across a poker table, he could tell a lot about them. And her posture definitely told him she was deep in thought.

What was she thinking about? The kiss they shared in the kitchen doorway? He had been just as surprised as she had apparently been, but the taste of her, the feel of her soft lips pressed to his, the warmth of her body seeping into him lingered.

He glanced down at the sketch pad he'd found among the collection of dime novels and classic literature on the bookshelf and the picture he was drawing of Evie clipping the roses. This was the latest sketch and he flipped through the pages before it, not completely pleased with the images.

He paused on one of her hanging laundry on the clothesline to dry. Her movements that afternoon were so graceful that he'd had to try to capture them. He flipped through a few more pages before stopping on the one he'd drawn of her playing with the children. Her laughter had alerted him to the scene, and he couldn't resist recreating it on paper. He closed the sketch pad, his favorite still the one he'd done of her brushing Spitfire the night of the thunderstorm. It probably had nothing to do with the quality of his work and more to do with the memory.

He slipped the sketch book under his pillow and glanced at the table in the bunkhouse. Oscar had finally taken his seat, joining his bunkmates who were gathered around for their after-supper coffee and a piece of Hilde's lemon cake before hitting the sack. Morning came quickly on a ranch.

"I don't think so, Oscar. Miss Evie ain't innerested in getting' hitched. Heard her say so m'self. ‘Sides, you're too young." That came from Marcus Bryant, whom everyone called Mayhem.

Oscar puffed out his chest. "Am not."

"What makes you think she'd marry a cocky sumbitch like you? Miss Evie's a lady." That came from Slick. No one knew his real name. And no one seemed to care. He was a good ranch hand and had a fine sense of humor and that's all that mattered.

Face turning red, Oscar boasted, "I got a letter. That's what."

Jake sat up, his interest fully captured. Oscar must have responded to her niece's advertisement. He wondered how many other men got letters.

He told himself it didn't matter how many men showed up. Then the old familiar feeling of being "not good enough" for a respectable woman such as Evie Miller surged through him, especially considering his past life and how she felt about gamblers in general.

Still, what would she say when she learned of his past? More than likely she would ask him to leave.

The thought depressed him more than he cared to admit. In all honesty, he liked it on the ranch—the slow rhythm of the days and the camaraderie of these men—with the exception of Oscar, whose arrogance annoyed him—so different than those he'd known in his other life. And then, there was the opportunity to gaze upon Evie…and the prospect of kissing her again. That, more than anything, made him want to stay and wonder what could be.

Besides, he had nothing to go back to San Francisco for. His home was gone, burned all the way to the ground, nothing left but ashes and memories. The life he'd known was gone, too, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. And Erik King was probably still looking for him—the man never gave up—but the odds of him looking here were minimal.

"A letter?" Cesar stuck his pipe in his mouth and spoke around the stem to the other men gathered around the table. "Oh, I heard ‘bout that. Miss Lucy placed an advertisement in a couple o' newspapers, lookin' for a husband for Miss Evie. I heard she ain't real happy ‘bout that." He struck a match against the table and brought the flame to the bowl. In moments, the fragrant aroma of tobacco wafted toward the ceiling. "So why ain't ya out there courtin' her? From what I seen, you just stand at the window and stare at her."

"I'm waiting for the right time."

"Uh huh." Cesar grunted. "Yer chicken, that's why."

One of the other men began making clucking noises, very low, but still quite audible. Someone else hummed the Wedding March. Jake thought it was Mayhem, but he couldn't be sure. Still, it made him smile. Oscar was in for a good old-fashioned razzing by his fellow bunkmates. He couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more.

"Am not!" The man bounded up from his seat so quickly, the chair toppled over. His hands were drawn into fists and his eyes narrowed. It wasn't the first time Oscar had shown his temper and it wouldn't be the last. The man had a problem in that regard, in addition to his usual attitude of superiority. Jake knew it was only a matter of time before a fight broke out.

"Ain't no fightin' in the bunkhouse." That reminder came from Emilio, who sat back in his chair and raised a coffee cup to his lips. After he took a sip, he stared at Oscar. "If you wanna fight, ya gotta go outside. Them's the rules. ‘Sides, we're just teasin'. You ain't the first man to fall in love with Miss Evie." He grabbed an empty cup and poured coffee, then slid the cup across the table toward Oscar with a nod. "At one time or ‘nother, we all fell in love with her. Hell, I did. Hard." The calmness of his tone and his understanding words seemed to be enough to still Oscar's temper. The man's fists uncurled. He picked up his chair and sat then stared at Emilio.

"You? You fell in love with her?"

"Yes, sir." Emilio smiled, but his eyes took on a faraway quality. "Fell in love with her the very first time I saw her. Love her still, but not in that romantic kinda way."

"Why not?"

The man shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. "She never looked at me that way an' you know how I mean."

Though the comment wasn't directed at him, Jake knew exactly the look Emilio meant. He'd seen it before, most recently when Felicity smiled at Charley. There was love in that look.

"She was too busy trying to raise Miss Regina's kids and running Monta?a del Trueno." Emilio paused then let out a sigh. "An' then there was Marshal Tom."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about Marshal Tom, but Slick saved him from speaking.

"Marshal Tom?"

"Hmm, Marshal Tom Gray. Good man. The kinda man you'd trust with your life." Emilio glanced at Slick then turned his attention back to Oscar. "You know that look I was talkin' ‘bout?"

The young man nodded.

"She had that look for Marshal Tom. This was way back. ‘Bout three years after she came here. She was in love with him and he her. They were goin' to get married."

"So how come they didn't?"

"Marshal Tom died ‘bout a week before the wedding. Killed by the same gambler that took Miss Regina and Mr. Javier. Miss Evie weren't the same after he died. That's why we ain't allowed to gamble in the bunkhouse."

Jake sucked in his breath upon hearing how Marshal Tom had died. Losing him to the same gambler's gun that had taken her sister must have been devastating and his sympathy for Evie rose. It also made him feel even less worthy of her than before. Did he even have the barest whisper of a chance with her? Considering what he now knew, he doubted it. And yet, there was something about her that drew him, something he couldn't deny, something that made him want to try.

"An' it's jes a damn shame," Cesar remarked, as he shook his head.

Emilio nodded in agreement, and it was obvious to Jake that he did, indeed, still love Miss Evie. "She's a fine-lookin' woman, especially when her hair is down and blowin' in the wind an' her eyes are smilin'."

Jake had to agree, though he didn't say so out loud. That was the image he had of her in his mind and the one he should try to sketch. He slipped out of his bunk and headed toward the door.

Cesar watched his progress, a smile hiding beneath the mustache on his face. "Where you goin'?"

Jake could almost hear ‘city boy' after the question, even though the words were not said. He'd heard them before, mostly from Oscar, but chose to ignore them. After all, he did come from a city. He knew the unspoken words were meant as an insult. If that's the worst they could come up with, he'd take it. "Take a piss."

"Sure you are." Cesar scoffed and grinned. "So what's your story, Jake? You been here almost two weeks, showin' up just before Oscar here," he gave a nod toward the other man, "and we don't know nothin' ‘bout you, ‘ceptin' you don't ride. Hell, you don't even own a horse or a saddle." He narrowed his eyes as his gaze rested on Jake. "You get a letter, too?"

"No, sir," he lied, not willing to let these men know he did. He wasn't in the mood for a razzing. "And my story is that I gotta go take a piss."

He left the bunkhouse, though that didn't stop the sound of laughter his departure brought nor the comments he could clearly hear.

Evie was still sitting on the patio. She'd lit a lantern against the growing darkness. The warm glow settled on her skin and reflected off her hair.

He walked toward her. "May I join you?"

She glanced up at him. In the light cast by the lantern, he could see color blossoming on her face. "Oh, Mr. Hannigan, of course."

He took a seat then leaned back against the cushion and crossed his legs at the ankle. From inside the house, he heard quiet conversation coming through the open windows, as supper dishes were washed. Apparently, that was a chore the older two children participated in, as he could clearly hear their young voices and the gentle encouragement from an older woman. There were other voices, too. He recognized Antonio's deep tone as well as Heath's. "It's a lovely evening," he finally said.

"Yes, yes, it is." She didn't look at him, her gaze trained on her lap. "I'm sorry," she blurted out.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For asking you to kiss me." She glanced at him, then returned her focus to her hands folded in her lap. "I shouldn't have."

His gaze roamed over her face, settling on her rosy cheeks and a dark curl that fell over her shoulder. He was struck by the urge to reach out and caress that curl. Actually, he wanted to pull the pins from the loose bun at the back of her head and let the rest of her hair flow free, like it was the night of the storm, when it looked like she had just rolled out of bed. "I didn't mind. Honestly."

"I'm glad you didn't mind, but still, I shouldn't have." She gave a rueful laugh. "I don't know what possessed me. I've never done anything like that before."

"What? Kissed someone?"

She laughed again as she shook her head, that curl bouncing against her shoulder. "Be that bold."

"Why not? I'm a firm believer in asking for what you want."

"And what do you want, Mr. Hannigan?"

"For starters, I wish you would call me Jake. I thought we agreed you would."

She tilted her head to the side, and it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. "I'll try to remember that."

That cocking of her head made her too irresistible. He stood then and walked around to her side of the table. He hid his smile as she watched his every move, her brow furrowed in puzzlement, her eyes full of curiosity. He stopped in front of her, placed his hands on the chair's armrests on either side of her, his gaze roaming her face, seeing the anticipation in her expression. "For another thing," he whispered just before he lowered his head. He captured her mouth in the sweetest of kisses, molding his lips to hers.

Her surprised intake of breath was followed by a sigh as she responded to his kiss. Her hands rose to rest upon his on the arms of the chair, then moved to his upper arms and finally around his neck. He'd only intended to have a taste, but realized in an instant, one taste was not enough. She was intoxicating. Innocent, yet knowing, making him want more. Without taking his lips from hers, he slowly brought her to her feet.

She came willingly, pressing her body close to his, sharing her warmth as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer still. He deepened the kiss as he slid his tongue between her lips and explored the warm recesses of her mouth. He tasted mint mixed with her sweetness.

As much as he wanted to kiss her until dawn streaked the sky with its brilliant colors, he couldn't. Ending the kiss, he took a step back. "Good night, Miss Evie."

He walked away, while he still could, knowing that if he stayed there, holding her, tasting her mouth, he'd never be able to stop. Not that he wanted to stop. He didn't. There was something more, something he couldn't explain even if he tried. He'd noticed it earlier. This only confirmed the notion.

He let himself into the bunkhouse and headed straight to his bunk, aware that Emilio and Cesar watched him intently. The other men were asleep or on their way to dreamland, Grub's mumbling in competition with Oscar's. He waited for one of them to say something, but neither did as he stretched out on his bunk, folded his hands behind his head and purposely closed his eyes. As soon as he did, a kaleidoscope of images flashed before his eyelids: Evie riding out to the summer pasture, looking magnificent on horseback; Evie gardening, a big floppy hat protecting her from the sun; Evie walking toward him, a beautiful smile on her face.

The images weren't going to stop, and he accepted the inevitable. He smiled to himself and let the visions in his head lull him into sleep.

Evie stood right where Jake left her and watched him walk away until the door to the bunkhouse closed. Well, he didn't actually walk. He swaggered. Yes, that's the only word she could think of. Swagger. She admitted, as he disappeared from view, that he had the nicest backside of any man she knew.

She brought her fingertips to her lips. That kiss, so tender, so gentle, was more devastating than the one earlier today. She could still feel the touch of his lips as well as the heat of his embrace, his strong arms surrounding her, pulling her against the hard muscles of his chest, the clean scent of soap in her nostrils.

A light went out in the bunkhouse, then another, until nothing but darkness spilled from the windows, and still, she didn't move. She pictured him stretched out on his bunk, his hands folded behind his head, long legs crossed at the ankles. Or maybe his arms were crossed over his chest. "Oh, I am in trouble," she whispered to the empty garden.

"Are you all right, liebchen ?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Hilde."

"Why are you in trouble?"

"I'm not."

The older woman grunted then tugged on her earlobe. "Then my hearing must be going because I distinctly heard you say you were in trouble." She chuckled as she moved a little closer. "It's that Jake Hannigan, isn't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I saw him kiss you and then I saw you just standing here, not moving, staring at the bunkhouse. If looks could burn a house down, this whole ranch would go up in flames."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Embarrassed, her face on fire, Evie denied the truth, the second or third time she lied when it came to Jake Hannigan, which wasn't like her at all. She never lied and here, she'd done it again.

"You can lie to yourself all you want, liebchen , but I have eyes in my head, and I know what I see. You're attracted to him. You can admit it."

Evie shook her head. "I will admit no such thing." She stared at her companion. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course you don't want to talk about it, but in my opinion?—"

"For once, Hilde, I can do without your opinion. Good night." She let herself into the kitchen before Hilde could respond and closed the door firmly, though she didn't slam it. She headed up to her lonely bed with the thought that it didn't need to be lonely.