turned his back on her.
Her anger at him spiked again and she retaliated in kind. “I told you, I don’t need you here. Besides that, you don’t matter enough for me to go out of my way to teach you a lesson. Particularly one you’ll never learn.”
“You certainly seem to need someone. Look at ya. That stupid calf hurt you.”
She dabbed at the cut with the bandanna Yates had given her. “I don’t need you,” she lied. She did the same work as the smaller men, but she couldn’t say she loved it. She’d rather spend her days riding for pleasure or doing embroidery or tatting, a lace-making skill she was still learning from Julia Hampton.
“I didn’t say it had to be me. Hire another hand. You aren’t suited to this kind of work.”
He couldn’t have said anything to anger her more. Who was he to judge her or her abilities? “For your information, this happened because of you. You scared the calf and he caught me where his horns will be in about a month. It could have been a lot worse if he were older. You might have even killed me then.”
“Don’t put that on me. After you got hurt, you went ahead and put yourself in danger again by helpin’ take that calf away from its mother. Suppose she’d turned on you, gored you?”
Helena let out a hefty sigh. “Longhorns are, for the most part, placid and gentle. Big long horns and all. If she wasn’t good-natured, she’d have gone to market long ago. I’d never let her breed a nasty disposition into my herd. The first thing I learned about longhorns was that if you can’t turn your back on one, it belongs on your table for dinner. Even longhorn bulls aren’t by nature mean.” That seemed to silence Brendan for a half hour or so.
“I’m sorry I scared it,” he said as they approached the home place. “I truly am sorry I got you hurt. I didn’t realize I’d startled it. Here.” He reached out to hand her a clean handkerchief, then he leaned down and opened the pasture gate.
She thanked him and rode ahead, the cow trailing behind her. Once he’d shut the gate after the lowing mama, Helena stepped out of the saddle, then pulled the calf down. She stumbled under his weight but managed to set him on his feet. Seeing him run to his mama and contentedly nurse made her smile. Then Brendan had to go and spoil the moment.
“Don’t put yourself in danger to spite me again. And get that cut looked at. It’s still bleeding.”
She brushed aside his concern. “I’ll be fine. Do you really think worse hasn’t happened to me in three years of ranching? As for why I left town, I had work to do out here and you said you had a stack of posters to get through. I didn’t have time to waste. This place doesn’t run itself. Spiting you was the last thought in my head. I told you, you don’t matter enough to influence my decisions.”
His lips tightened. “Fine. Just remember, town’s off-limits without an escort until we stop these raids.”
“You gave up the right to give me orders. You don’t tell me where and when I can do anything. You’re here at my sufferance, Ranger Kane. Try to remember that, and we might get through this without all these senseless arguments.”
Chapter Three
Brendan sat deep in his saddle as he and Harry stood atop the hill overlooking Shamrock’s ranch buildings. Helena’s home place was a neat package. He’d expected the main house would be a shining white edifice with columns soaring several stories high. But no. Not for Helena Conwell. Helena Conwell Kane, he amended, the last name almost, but not quite, an afterthought. He was at all times aware that she remained his wife.
Why the hell hadn’t he looked into divorce laws in Texas? Each time he’d stopped in to check with Major Jones he’d expected a packet of ominous-looking legal papers. Now he knew why they’d never appeared. And unless he broke his vows—which he had no intention of doing—it would be another three years before she’d be free to file for divorce.
It was infuriating that the thought of three more years of estranged marriage to Helena settled his contrary heart.
He forced his mind off that confusing thought and back onto Helena’s house. It wasn’t a palace. Not even a particularly large house. The long, low building formed a U, with a Spanish-style courtyard in the middle. Overlapping clay tiles covered the peaked roof. The walls were whitewashed adobe, with deep windows, and a homey porch ran the whole length, along the front and on both sides.
Helena had ordered him off that porch the day of the Varga raid. That was when he’d realized he’d never get another wink of sleep, worrying about her safety if—make that when—the raiders attacked Shamrock.
They’d been merciless with the wives of the shepherds at Belleza, more animals than men. While Brendan mourned the loss of all those women, at least they hadn’t had to live with the memories of what had been done to them. He’d never get that sight out of his head. The thought of Helena being next on the list had scared him right to her front door.
To a place he’d sworn never to set foot.
To protect a woman he couldn’t stop caring for.
A woman he couldn’t even talk to without a battle breaking out.
He squinted against the glare of the sun and stared at the white house with the red tile roof. She lived there, his Helena did. Slept there. Slept there alone, dammit. And she tempted him.
She’d been alone all the time he’d been gone.
Visions of her asleep in his arms haunted him, and had since the day he’d left her standing outside the land office. He’d assumed memories of their lovemaking would plague him. Those specters of the past did visit his dreams, disturbing his sleep. More often than not, he’d wake with an unmerciful hard-on, and memories of her fresh in his mind. He’d force himself to roll over, and hope to keep on dreaming.
But surprisingly, it was memories of her beautiful face as she’d slept, secure in his arms, that often rose unbidden to stalk even his waking moments. They were thoughts only constant danger kept at bay. Which, he supposed, was how he’d gotten his reputation for going into situations even other Texas Rangers shied away from.
Dealing with memories of Helena now led to one he tried to block, but never seemed to manage to for very long. His mind rolled back to the day it all went to hell....
* * *
“I have a surprise,” Helena said when she rushed out the door of their tiny shack of a house on the outskirts of Tierra del Verde. He’d been gone for two weeks, helping drive supplies. He’d picked up the job when one of the regular freight drivers got hurt in a brawl in the Golden Garter.
Since they’d arrived in the sweet little town of Tierra del Verde, Brendan had been putting in hours at the livery and anywhere else he could make a dollar to support them. If he had a bit left over at the end of the month, he put it aside to save for a small ranch. He longed to be his own boss. Then how hard he worked would have a direct effect on how much money he made. It was a small dream, but it was the Holy Grail to someone raised in Wheatonburg, Pennsylvania, in the shadow of Harlan Wheaton’s big house, his mining operation and the town he owned lock, stock and people.
Brendan was bone-tired and not sure he was up to a surprise. Still, he followed her inside, where she led him to the small settee that defined their parlor space. He forced a smile for Helena’s
