Chapter 13
Heaven help him. She was driving him crazier than a coyote caught in a trap.
Beckett swallowed hard and tried not to look at her on the seat across from him as she slipped open the second button on her blouse, which she was doing on purpose to taunt him.
He could admit the air was stuffy in the carriage they’d been riding in since disembarking from the train in Corpus Christi with the heat of the May day beating down on them.
From the corner of his eyes, he could see her work at the button, her long fingers taking their sweet old time. Once the button popped open, she traced a line up her chest to her throat. She stalled there, then finished by tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, again too slowly.
Or maybe he was just imagining she was going slowly to torture him. Maybe she was just sluggish because of the heat.
She reached for her fan, opened it, and began to pump air onto her flushed face—her beautiful face, so perfect with those intense green eyes framed by long dark lashes. The few freckles on her nose were endearing. The smoothness of her skin was exquisite. And the thickness of her hair was lush.
A strong wave of desire rippled through his gut. He wanted nothin’ more than to drag her over to the seat beside him—or maybe onto his lap—and kiss those freckles, caress that skin, and dig his fingers into her hair.
Why in the world had he ever decided it would be fun to make her beg for a kiss before he kissed her again? And why in the Sam Hill had he goaded her that early morning several days ago in the train car about who had more self-control?
Since then, she’d been enticing him every time he looked at her.
Maybe not every time. Shoot. Maybe not at all. Most likely he was just imagining she was provoking him because he was so attracted to her.
He expelled a soft breath and glanced out the window to the west. They’d passed onto Double T land soon after leaving Corpus Christi.
The endless miles of waving grass hadn’t yet been stunted by the heat, and the spring flowers were still in bloom—mostly daisies and bluebonnets.
The clusters of mesquite trees were flowering with their long yellow blooms, and meadowlarks were fluttering in and out of the thorny undergrowth.
The road was sandy along the coast, running past salt lagoons and streams. They would soon arrive in Turnersville—named after Sargeant, who’d founded the town when he’d first moved to the area. Sargeant and Sunshine had a house in town in addition to the one on the ranch.
Apparently Sunshine planned to live in town to allow Beckett the private use of the ranch house. At least, that’s what Cheno had told Beckett at the train station.
Beckett eyed the old vaquero with his worn sombrero and leather chaps.
The servant who had been with the ranch since its start hadn’t changed much in the years Beckett had been gone.
He had some silver now streaking his black hair and a few more weathered lines in his brown face.
But otherwise he was still as tough as a cowhide.
Cheno had brought the carriage to Corpus Christi as well as a small armed escort. Beckett recognized a few old-timers who’d been working the ranch long before he was born. Some were children who’d grown up and now had the privilege of joining their fathers as vaqueros.
Whatever the case, they were all well-armed and were probably the best shooters on the ranch.
Beckett would much rather be riding out in the open with the men instead of cooped up in the carriage. But Cheno hadn’t brought an extra horse for him to ride and had indicated Beckett would be safer in the carriage, especially because the Alvarado gang had been spotted in the area recently.
The group, led by Ignace Alvarado, had been terrorizing ranches along the southern border of Texas for the past decade. During the Peeler’s War, Alvarado had been one of the main horse and cattle thieves, claiming he was taking back what had been stolen from his people.
The fight with Alvarado had gotten ugly and brutal. The Double T men had done what they could to persuade Alvarado and his gang to put an end to the stealing. But such force usually never stopped anyone for long before they came back angrier than before.
Of course, the Alvarado gang was only one among many who might be out seeking revenge against Beckett for not only his part in the war but also his pa’s.
Beckett had kept his hand on his revolver for the past hour of riding. He wouldn’t rest until they arrived at the ranch, where he could make sure Hyacinth was safe and away from danger.
First, they were making a stop in Turnersville at Dickinson’s office. Beckett wanted to show his lawyer that he’d met the marriage condition so he could ride to the ranch with the entire title in his name.
The carriage jolted, and Hyacinth swayed forward, slipping off her seat.
He caught her, his hands landing on her slender waist. His mind immediately brought back the image and sensations of holding her that night on the train car floor when their bodies had touched. The impression of all her curves, her softness, her warmth—it all was branded on him.
The same wave of desire washed through him, but this time stronger.
Their faces were only inches apart, her lips close enough that their breaths were mingling.
He’d wanted to kiss her full on the mouth in the train car, had almost given in to the longing to do so when they’d been lying there. The need had been pulsing through him with such power that he’d known if he gave in to kissing her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He hadn’t wanted to pressure her into intimacy before she was ready then, and he still didn’t. The only way he’d been able to put an end to the raging desire inside him was to tease her and make her mad.
She’d gotten irritated at him, and they’d exchanged words.
But thankfully she hadn’t stayed angry and had seemed to put the incident behind her.
The rest of the past few days of traveling had been uneventful, and they’d gotten along.
They’d both acted like nothin’ had happened and continued on the way they’d related previously—talking, taking walks, playing games, and reading.
He’d liked being with her a whole heap more than he’d expected during the long days of traveling. She hadn’t complained or worried or grown weary of the journey. Instead, she’d seemed to enjoy seeing new sights, learning new things, and being in new places.
He didn’t want to ruin the peace. That meant he couldn’t get all physical again and cause tension in their relationship.
“You all right, darlin’?” he asked as he gently situated her back on her bench.
She broke free of him and stiffened her back against the seat. “I’m just fine. If it’s already this hot in the spring, I can’t imagine how people survive here in the summer.”
“Reckon that’s why we take siestas at midday.” He sat back, a trickle of sweat rolling down between his shoulder blades. He’d once thought nothin’ of the heat, but after the cool mountain summers, he was glad he’d never have to live in Texas again.
At a piercing whistle from outside the carriage, Beckett had his revolver out before he could even assess what was going on. Cheno had his out too, and was calling out orders in Spanish to the other men.
Beckett understood the language and could speak it decently enough to know that Cheno had spotted movement in the huisache trees off to the east. It was probably just a white-tailed deer that had bedded down under the uplifted branches.
But the old servant wasn’t taking chances and was ready for anything.
As they passed by the area, Beckett didn’t take his eyes from the trees until they were well beyond them.
Less than ten minutes later, they reached town and were riding down the main thoroughfare with saloons interspersed every few buildings—although there were more respectable establishments than Beckett remembered.
He allowed himself to breathe out his relief that they’d made the most dangerous part of the journey without any peril. Once they left Turnersville, they had only a five-mile ride to the ranch.
The carriage halted in front of a neat one-story building with a sign hanging in front that read “J.D. Dickinson Law Office.” The front door of the law office opened, and a stoic middle-aged man with a bald head but a bushy beard and thick sideburns stepped outside.
He was attired in a pin-striped suit that was too tight on his burly frame.
Dickinson had always looked like a sausage overflowing from his casing, and he hadn’t gotten any slimmer over the years.
Beckett had telegrammed him after the wedding, letting him know he was married and on his way to Texas. Beckett had also telegrammed Dickinson a couple of times during the train ride, even yesterday, to ask for the escort from Corpus Christi.
As Beckett opened the carriage door, he took Hyacinth’s hand.
With a sniff, she started to pull back, but he held on to her firmly.
“Listen, darlin’,” he whispered. “I should’ve warned you.
But we gotta make everyone here, particularly my lawyer, believe we’re happily married.
We can’t have him—or anyone else—finding out that we have an arrangement with each other. ”
She glanced outside to where Dickinson was waiting near the office door. “So we have to pretend to like each other?”
“Course, that won’t be too hard for you to do with me—”
“It will be extremely difficult.” She gave him a playful nudge. “But I suppose I can manage for a few days.”
The tension eased from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
Her lips curved into a full smile, a showy one. Then she held out her hand to him. “Let’s start the performance, shall we?”