23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

H e'd been a slugabed all Sunday evening and night, and Junior still felt like something scraped out of the bottom of a trash barrel the next morning. He sat at the breakfast table with a shaving mirror propped against his coffee mug, hoping his shaking hand wouldn't slice his throat. His ears were stopped up from constantly blowing his nose, and he was stricken by recurring coughing fits. Therefore, he didn't notice the rider passing the kitchen window. He had just leaned over to run the trembling blade from throat to chin when the kitchen door slung open, and Isa Williams waltzed in without knocking.

The blade had no sooner clattered to the floor than his hand was on the .45 on the table. When he saw flashing gold-green eyes and a thick, waist-length braid, he released the gun's grip like it was a red-hot coal.

"Isa?" Junior gawked.

Shrewd hazel eyes took in his raw, red nose. "You are sick. Here I was thinking you were avoiding me." The forced humor in her voice belied her stiff posture.

Worry suddenly ate at him. Isa was angry. Damn it . "What're you doin' here?"

Smiling tightly, she set two jars down with twin clunks atop the little round breakfast table. "Lucy sent these."

He didn't look at the jars; his eyes didn't waver from hers. A dollop of thick, white soap dropped from his chin onto his lap. The silence stretched like saltwater taffy between them. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until she was standing right in front of him, fresh and lovely in a navy riding skirt and white blouse. The curls by her ears were lighter in color than the rest of her hair, bright against her tan skin and pale eyes. Junior's hands spasmed.

God, you're in love with her, aren't you?

It yanked the rug right out from under him.

"You look like a caricature of Santa Claus," she said, and her wide lips curled up reluctantly.

Junior stopped staring to peer at the little mirror on the table. Ivory foam coated him from jugular to cheekbones, his red lips vivid against it. While he and his reflection shared a flabbergasted look, Isa whirled to his cupboards. He knew how bare they were—not even a crumb graced their shelves. Shaking her head in disgust at the sink of dirty dishes, Isa reached for a clean pot from a hook over the oven and set it on the greasy stovetop.

"Didn't your mama ever teach you how to clean up after yourself? Mine would have switched me."

Junior was too busy reeling to answer. Out of all the women he could have fallen in love with, it was this one. This sharp-tongued, fiery-tempered female. Just looking at her busying herself at the stove made his throat seize up. What if she was his? What if, one day, he'd get to sit at this table and watch her with the knowledge that she belonged to him and he belonged to her?

"I'll heat these up for you," she said, returning to the jars on the table.

"You don't have to—"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Unwilling to sit there and ogle her like a scoundrel, Junior picked up his razor and resumed shaving his neck. His fingers trembled worse than ever. He loved her. God, but he loved her so much he could howl. Blissfully unaware of his turmoil, Isa kindled the stove's fire higher, fed its hungry blaze two logs, then closed one damper and opened another. She poured the contents of both jars into the pot and wiped her hands on a semi-clean dishcloth on a peg.

"It's a right state in here."

"So you've said." Junior sneezed and blew his nose with the damp kerchief in his pocket, wiping off half his soap in the process.

"You're going to cut your own throat." Isa propped her hands on her hips. Wouldn't it irk her to know how much she looked like her ma at that moment? "Here. Give me that." She strode over in a waft of fragrant skirts and took the straight razor from his hand.

Too exhausted to argue, Junior groaned and rubbed his eyes, praying the pressure his sneeze had caused would ease. He heard her drag the soap bowl and the shaving brush closer, and he made only the weakest attempt to dodge the horsehair brush when she began reapplying soap to his face. All struggles ceased when she grabbed a handful of his golden hair and held him still.

"Were you going somewhere today?" Isa asked over the sound of the blade scraping stubble.

Lips hardly moving, Junior said, "I'm supposed to take the books to Lufkin with Father Tuesday and Wednesday. I wanted to ride by Dogwood today and let you know before I left."

The grip on his hair loosened considerably. "Books? You read?"

"Ha ha," he deadpanned, eyes closed. The pressure in his head was slowly improving. "The Circle S books. The old man wants to take it to some banker he knows. Said he didn't trust his old one anymore. Hell, he won't even keep it at the big house."

Fingertips brushed his hair from his brow, smoothing over his forehead comfortingly. "Why didn't he just go himself? You're obviously in no state to travel."

"It's his way of getting me involved in the business. He still wants me to take over the ranch."

"And you don't want that."

Junior waited for her to finish shaving around his lips and under his sore nose before replying. "Never have. Ben would be better at it, but…"

"But your folks treat him like a stain that just won't wash out," Isa mused.

He opened his eyes to see her peering thoughtfully down at him. "Yeah."

"Instead of taking over your father's business, you want to…" Isa trailed off and resumed her shaving, waiting.

It took several rasps of the razor for him to formulate a response. "I don't know anymore. I haven't thought about the future since—well, in a while."

Pensive, she finished shaving him, cleaned the blade, and set the straight razor beside the basin of cooling water. Holding the little hand mirror up while he wiped his face clean with an ugly mustard dishtowel, she said, "Maybe it's time for you to start thinking of one."

AFTER JUNIOR CONSUMED the soup straight from the pot, he shuffled to his bedroom to begin packing, coughing all the way. Isa watched him disappear down the hall, worrying her lip with her teeth. If he traveled to Lufkin in this condition, his cough could turn into a serious respiratory illness.

Sol had told her at church that Junior and Ben were back, and she'd felt a cautious fear rise in her that he'd decided to turn taciturn toward her again. A quick visit with Lucy this morning had proved that he hadn't turned cold—he had a cold. Now she was worried all over again; the damned fool was going to ride himself into an early grave.

Feeling an uncomfortable dose of hopelessness, Isa found his galvanized steel tub and filled it with chilly well water while pots of water heated on the stovetop to a boil. When Junior returned to the kitchen with a bag of clothes and supplies, it was to a sweaty Isa smacking the side of a steaming tub.

"Get in."

"I don't need a b-bath." He was sneezing before he'd completed the sentence.

Face twisting doubtfully, Isa argued, "I beg to differ. Here." She handed him a washcloth and a bar of Ivory soap. His cheeks were chapped into twin spots of color, and his eyes were dull. Isa touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're feverish. You're in no condition to travel. Take your bath before the water gets cold, and I'll see to your bedding."

"I'll take your bath only because you went to the trouble." Junior dropped the rag and soap into the hot water and sluggishly began to peel himself out of his rumpled clothing. He paused. "What's wrong with my bedding?"

"Ben said you caught a cold on the trail. If I know men the way I do, you haven't changed your bedding since before you left, and your sheets are atrocious. There's nothing better than sliding between clean sheets after a bath."

He chuckled weakly. "Since when were you ever domestic?"

Glaring without heat, Isa said, "Just because I don't go about making a house a home doesn't mean I don't know how to make a cozy life. Or how to take care of a family."

As though the teasing had drained him, Junior ceased arguing and stepped, naked and unselfconscious, into the bath. He was so beautiful that her breath caught. Gooseflesh stood from his shoulders to his kneecaps, and she felt a pang of protectiveness. Sweat popped out on his forehead and upper lip, and his nose began to run.

"You're staying home," Isa said firmly, handing him her soft cotton handkerchief.

Junior blew his nose and shook his head weakly. "I can't, Izzy. I have to ride with my pa to get his books looked at, or he'll make my life hell. It isn't worth the fight."

Steam rising all around, she bent until she was at eye level. "It's always worth the fight. Just get the books looked at without riding to Lufkin."

His brow pinched. She didn't like his fever-bright eyes. "I told you, he doesn't trust—"

"No. I meant I can look at the books. Between the two of us, we can discover where the ranch is losing money."

While Junior considered this, she left him to his bath and stripped the sheets from his bed. The clean bedding from the linen closet smelled of cedar, and she aired them out as best she could. Isa took the clean clothing out of his packed bag and set the pile on the kitchen table, tutting at the way he dripped water onto the floor. Junior was a horrible patient and wanted to do everything himself. She wouldn't hear of it.

Within the next hour, he was tucked into bed wearing a fresh set of red underwear, and she was setting a glass of water and a stack of clean kerchiefs on the bedside table. Feeling the dry, chapped heat radiating off him, she ran back to the kitchen for a basin of water and a rag. Once the wet cloth was draped over his forehead, she turned to leave…and was stopped by a hard hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Wait." He didn't open his eyes, and she felt a pang at seeing the length of his lashes against his flushed cheekbones. "The ledger is on the parlor table. Help yourself to it. I trust you."

"Thank you," she said softly, stroking his damp hair back from the cloth.

He fell asleep within minutes.

Forehead creasing, Isa wondered how much trouble she'd be in if she stayed the night.

No, Lucy was understanding, but not to that extent. It was better to come back in the morning before John arrived. Frustrated that she didn't have the right to stay overnight with him while he lay on the bed, handsome and vulnerable, Isa grudgingly stepped into the hall, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Then she entered the parlor and settled herself on the settee in front of an enormous ledger with the Circle S brand on its leather cover. Isa opened its gilded pages and got to work.

JUNIOR'S FEVER brOKE the next morning, and he grumpily ate the breakfast Isa brought with her from Lucy and Ben's house.

"I don't need you babyin' me," he groused when she cleaned up his empty plate.

"Don't get used to it. I'm only doing this because Lucy asked me to. She didn't want to come herself and possibly bring something catching back to the children. There's too much work to be done for Thanksgiving."

"So you're the sacrificial lamb?"

"Precisely."

A smile cracked his face. "Did you figure anything out from looking at the books?"

Excitement rose in her chest, and Isa abandoned the dishes in the sink to sit next to Junior. "Yes. I found loads of errors. Whoever your bookkeeper is should be tarred and feathered."

"That would be my mother," he said wryly.

Isa winced. "I apologize."

He laughed. "You ain't sorry for shit."

"You're right." Isa pulled a sheet of notes out of her hidden skirt pocket. "She's truly horrid at arithmetic. I would suggest that your father hire someone else immediately. I do, however, have a few questions. Let's go over the facts.

"Your father sells beef for up to seventy-five dollars a head in San Francisco, and, as he's a sound businessman, he doesn't sell them for a penny less. After paying the hands and the remaining men on the ranch, your father makes a profit of about sixty-nine thousand a year. Divide that by twelve months, and he has a comfortable six thousand monthly. But it's expensive running a ranch, so he only pockets a fraction of that."

Junior whistled. "Did you stay up all night reading that?"

She wrinkled her nose. "If only. I had to reach Lucy's house by sunset, or they'd send someone over." Turning the page over, she showed Junior her notes. "Typically, Circle S expenditures lower after trail drives. This year, there has been no change in expenses, which I find odd, even with the depression. If you compare it to last year's bank deposits, there has been a thousand-dollar monthly discrepancy since May. It's balanced, but I bet half my savings that the answer is in that ledger. I simply don't know enough about the particulars to get a clear picture."

Sobering, Junior pulled the paper to him. A thousand dollars missing a month was a helluva loss in this economy. "What do you need to know?"

"Even with the books, it can be difficult to narrow it down. I've worked at a bank long enough to identify certain patterns. Businesses are always bringing their books in, suffering from the same things the Circle S Ranch is—mysteriously disappearing money. Often, they're making a series of unsound investments. But it could be any number of things, embezzlement being the most common. Payroll fraud is always worth looking at—the bookkeeper will keep employees' names on the payroll despite having fired them and will just pocket the money. I'm sure it's not that, considering your mother does the books."

Junior stiffened visibly at the latter, but instead of lashing out at her as she'd expected, he quickly stood from his chair and stomped toward the parlor. Half-afraid, half-curious, Isa followed. In the parlor, Junior sat in the space she'd occupied the day before and rifled through the ledger's gilded pages.

"Where the hell is spring of this year?" he muttered.

"Here." Isa sat beside him, their thighs snug, shoulders brushing. Reaching past his large, clumsy hands, she found the place she had bookmarked with a scrap of paper. "I noticed nothing wrong with the balance at first, as everything was the same since January: payroll, feed, everything. But according to this"—she pointed at the bank deposits—"your father is pocketing less profit between May and October of this year."

Junior licked a thumb and flipped the pages until he reached April's payroll. He combed through them, lips moving as he read, then repeated the process with May, June, July, and so on. Patiently, sensing he knew something she didn't, Isa said nothing and waited.

Finally, he cursed and sat up. "When I visited the ranch a few weeks back, I was told five ranch hands had been let go. But on here—"

"Everyone is all accounted for." Isa bent over the book to furiously flip back and forth. "According to this, no one was let go since the cattle drive's cook was fired."

Junior slowly shook his head. "I figured it was because Father was visiting the whorehouse every weekend."

Isa glanced back at him. "He's not."

"What? How do you know?"

Why did she have to open her big mouth? Isa slid her eyes back to the ledger. "Lucy may have mentioned it."

"Who the hell is he spending weekends with?" When she didn't say right away, Junior wrapped his fingers around the tail of her braid and tweaked it. "Tell me, Izzy."

Her mouth twisted at this unpleasant turn of events. Slowly, Isa said, "He's keeping a mistress in town. Lucy said the woman is my age."

Junior made an explosive noise of disgust. "I wonder if Mama knows."

"Do you suspect that's why she's embezzling a thousand dollars a month out from under your father's nose?"

"I reckon that's as good a reason as any. But—if I'm bein' honest, it doesn't feel right. She wouldn't leave the ranch, her friends. She'd pretend everything is fine and expect everyone else to do the same." Junior absently stroked her braid.

Isa tried to not let the glide of his hand over her hair hypnotize her, but she was a snake in a basket, and he waved the pungi, charming her against her will. Junior's introspection shifted incrementally. He was watching her expression, his eyes dark, the lids sleepy. His fist ran down her braid from root to tip, this time pulling the tie off at the end.

"Junior—"

"I can't kiss you, but I can touch you," he said and proceeded to unravel her thick plait into endless skeins of honey-colored waves. "You don't know how bad I've wanted to do this again."

Isa pretended stoicism, but her face and body felt hot. Docilely, she let him run his fingers through her long, loose tresses. Junior's eyes glittered as he untangled every knot until her hair flowed through his fingers like water. The sensation was so pleasant and arousing that she closed her eyes and clenched her thighs together. She was tempted to kiss him even though he was sick, damn the consequences.

She had just slid her hand from his large, square knee to his groin when they heard it.

The rattle of a buggy just outside.