REMINDER: I write long stories. Many chapters don't have naughty bits, but those that do will be way more fun if you read the others, too! Also, although TT2 is a stand-alone novel, it takes place in the same family as Texas Trio, so you might want to read that one first!—Stefanie
—:—:—:—:—Chapter 30—:—:—:—:—
She was trying to be good, she really was, but the fates were fighting her every inch of the way.
While Yan and Nanny were helping with the labor-intensive job of canning peaches and making jam, Clancy was in the back teaching the children to rope goats. Becky should have been helping in the kitchen, too, but peaches gave her such a rash she couldn't even be in the room while they were cooking, never mind touching the slimy little things. She tried Clancy first, but she didn't know how to rope, and she could tell Clancy was having fun with the kids—human and caprine—and didn't want her interference.
Caleb was off hunting somewhere, two of the stable lads were occupied stepping and fetching for the ladies in the kitchen, one was missing, and Little Bob had a bucket and a half of nails to straighten, which would take him at least three hours, since Bobby was slower than a tortoise with a broken toe.
Becky couldn't wait three hours. She hadn't been out riding in a couple of weeks, and she needed the time to think. Riding always cleared her mind—as long as she wasn't shackled to a yappy stable lad. She frowned, thinking that Brody would probably be worse than Jem and Colt combined when it came to her riding out alone.
He was so darn controlling . . . .
Becky felt her body tensing up and wrenched her mind back to the task at hand.
Even though she didn't want a companion, Becky made an earnest effort to find one. She honestly tried everything she knew. She even rode to the grub shed to see if Sammie—the missing stable lad—was down there cadging biscuits from Salty Jim. He wasn't, but when she remarked on the delicious smells coming from his kitchen, Jim gave her a couple hunks of cornbread for "nooners," as cowhands called the midday meal.
Finally, she gave up on being good and carried her trousers down to the barn in a basket as though she were taking lunch to the lads. Once the trousers had been transferred to her saddlebag, she wrestled a saddle onto her favorite mare and led the horse out the far end of the barn, directly away from the house. She walked the horse through the trees and across the creek, riding out into the meadow at the base of the hills she loved.
People said rustlers lived in the caves and hollows of these hills, coming out at night to stampede herds as they crossed the Colorado on their way north to market, though the big trail drives were becoming less common as the railroads crept ever westward. The months-long drive up the Western Trail to the Kansas railhead had become a two-week jaunt to the depot in Albany, just a hundred miles away.
The drives were no less hazardous for their brevity. One of their regular ranch hands had been swept under at a crossing on the Brazos just last fall, leaving a young wife behind. She'd quickly remarried, but the sight of a baby swelling her widow's weeds was the last bit of impetus Becky's brothers needed to finally call it quits. This year the KCW had contracted with a trail boss, who would take the herds to market for them.
Though Becky had never seen rustlers in her hills, she was more cautious about the canyons than she'd been before losing her fish fossil and nearly drowning earlier in the year. But there'd been no word of storms anywhere this week, so she'd be safe following the creek bed south of the mesa trail. She should be able to make it to the dry spring by early afternoon, and be home in time for supper.
After a short gallop and a long canter, Becky slowed her horse to a walk, following a faint trail through the scrub oak and prairie grass, unhindered by the thickets which sometimes tore at her hips and feet in the canyons. The cool hours of morning long past, birds and animals had taken shelter in the shade, leaving mostly the buzzing of insects to accompany the soft rhythm of Pepper's shod hooves, lulling Becky into a reverie where her worries were dulled by the peace seeping through her veins.
At home, she'd been frantic to escape the ranch-house and what she'd perceived as the confines of her family, but wandering among the trees, the real cause of her misery was immediately clear.
She hadn't been out into the canyons to explore for at least two weeks, because her mind had been completely occupied with Brody Easton. Even while she was searching for a riding companion, she'd been thinking about Brody.
She was worried about how he'd taken her first rejection and even more worried about how he'd take her continuing refusals, but what she found most disturbing was the fact that she still hoped Brody would visit her tonight. Every day, her feelings brought her closer to being caught. His proposal only served to highlight Becky's chief problem: a desire to be with him which grew deeper and more powerful by the hour.
Scowling, she squared her shoulders, sitting taller in her saddle.
Brody was difficult to ignore, but Becky refused to sacrifice her dreams for any man.
—:—:—:—:—
It was just luck that he saw her.
Brody was rounding up strays on a hillside above the bunkhouse and saw a rider crossing between the creek and western hills. If he hadn't been on the lookout for whatever idiot was clipping fences, he might not have been paying attention, but a solitary rider in that area was outside the norm. Brody had also heard the rumors of rustlers in those hills, and even a fledgling cowhand took rustlers seriously.
Brody lifted his head and squinted. He couldn't tell who the rider was, but as the horse crossed in front of a stand of juniper on the hillside beyond he noted the lighter color of the tail and mane, and his eyes widened.
Leaving a dozen beeves grazing in place, he tore down the hillside, happy as hell he had Pretty Penny today instead of pokey, mope-along Bear. Penny had a peculiar lopsided gait, but it didn't slow her down too much.
If Brody hadn't known where Becky was headed, he probably would have lost her in the dips and hollows of the foothills, but she was still searching for whatever band of rock that damn fossil had fallen from, and he knew which trails she'd bypass. He caught up with her watering Pepper at the last trickle before she left the main track.
She heard him coming and had the rifle in her hand when he rounded the bend—and a pair of trousers draped over a boulder right behind her, he noted.
Becky thought she might need the rifle even after she saw who it was—he had the same dark look he'd had in the stable that day he caught her sneaking out. She ignored it, giving him a brilliant smile. "Brody! You couldn't wait until after supper to see me?"
That smile and that line would have worked on a hundred other men. Most of them would have kissed her hand and promptly agreed.
Not Brody. He didn't say a thing. He pulled his saddle-bags and slicker off the horse, who'd been under him since dawn, tossed them in the grass, piled the saddle on top, and nudged Pretty Penny in the direction of the mare at the stream, all without speaking a word.
He fetched up a foot from Becky's nose, still glaring, forcing her to tilt her head sharply to maintain eye contact, which irritated her because he'd done it on purpose.
