“You aren’t going to wear it?” Freddy’s eyebrows rose and she stared. “Is that why you and John are fighting?”
“We aren’t fighting.” She should have known everyone in camp would notice that John no longer rode with her in the wagon, would feel the tension between them.
“Alex, for God’s sake. John loves you, and you love him. Put on that leg, and—”
“If you don’t step aside, so help me, Freddy, I’ll run over you. Tell everyone I appreciate what they tried to do, and I’m sorry their effort was wasted.” For a long moment she and Freddy stared at each other, then Freddy swore and walked away into the darkness.
Alex sagged in her chair and closed her eyes, rubbing her ring finger. Her wedding ring was gone, but she still felt it squeezing her finger and her spirit like a manacle tethered to Payton Mills and the obligation she owed him.
As Freddy had predicted, the Indians came every day. Frustrated and feeling helpless, Dal gave them a beeve, sometimes two, depending on the size of the begging party. It was never enough. They followed the herd, demanding tribute during daylight hours, coming like ghosts in the night to steal more cattle while the camp slept. He doubled the night watch, cut himself to two hours of sleep, and still the Indians slipped in and out, taking two or three steers every night.
“I don’t know how they do it,” he said wearily, clamping his hands around his coffee cup. The embers of the fire cast rusty shadows across the sober faces of the drovers.
“What’s our margin now?” Les asked anxiously, looking at him across the fire pit.
“Thirty-one.” A hissing sound went around the fire as everyone sucked in a breath. He felt Freddy’s eyes on his face and looked up to meet her gaze. “Here’s the problem. If we don’t give the Indians a beeve when they come begging, they might attack and steal half the herd.”
“They’re stealing us blind anyway,” Freddy said.
The drovers nodded. “If the Indians attack, we’ll drive ’em off,” Peach stated firmly.
Dal examined the faces around the campfire. “People get killed in Indian raids.”
Caleb Webster laid a hand on the butt of his six-shooter. “So do Indians, boss. I say we take our chances. Maybe one of the Indians will put an arrow in that card fanner’s chest.”
The animosity toward Caldwell had begun long before they’d reached the Indian Territory and had hardened during the last weeks. There wasn’t a man in the outfit who didn’t bitterly blame Jack Caldwell for shrinking the margin. Dal knew his men and he knew every one had rejected Caldwell’s offer of corruption and every one of them had come to admire the Roark sisters.
“All right,” he said, standing up. “We’re agreed. We won’t give away any more longhorns. We can’t stop the night raids, and we’ll lose a few more before we get out of the territory. So let’s pick up the pace and get this herd to Kansas as fast as we can. We’ll ride sunup to sundown.” He waited until the men nodded before he left the campfire.
A consisent twenty-mile-a-day pace would result in saddle-weary drovers and footsore longhorns and horses, but he had no real choice. Thirty-one. The number ran through his mind waking and asleep.
He knew when Freddy came up behind him. Without a word, she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back. Her presence wasn’t enough to end his frustration, but he felt himself relax against her.
“I thought you weren’t having anything to do with me,” he said gruffly. Her arms around him felt so damned good. He’d missed making love to her during the last two weeks, but more than that, he’d missed talking to her and just being with her.
“I wrecked your life, remember?” she murmured against his spine.
“Yeah, you have,” he said, covering her hands at his waist with his own.
“So of course I’ve been ignoring you. Why should I want to be with a man whose life is wrecked?” She pressed her breasts against his back and adjusted her cheek on his shoulder.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t. When I haven’t been worrying about Indians, I’ve been worrying about you. We can’t work this out, Freddy. There’s nothing longterm here, and short-term isn’t honorable.” She snuggled closer to him, and her warmth made the stars seem brighter and the night better. Damn, he’d missed her.
“One of your worst qualities is making decisions for other people,” she murmured. “I’ll decide what’s right for me. And I’ve decided to take what I want even if it is short-term.”