A Wish to Build a Dream On Read online

  “Mind your own damned business.” Reese knew he was acting the fool. He had known it all the way across camp, known it when he confronted Lovejoy, and he knew it now. But he couldn’t help himself. And when he got in a mood like this, it was time to make himself scarce.

  Tossing the dregs of his coffee in the fire, he swished his cup in the wrecking pan and dried it off. Behind him the men were beginning to return to normal, what with Andie out of sight.

  Goosey tuned up his fiddle with a melody that was a favorite of many a cowboy, “Green Grow the Lilacs.” Which was all right, until Gimpy and Grumpy broke out in song.

  Green grow the lilacs, all sparkling with dew,

  I’m lonely my darling, since parting with you.

  Reese ignored them, or tried to; Dink and Monte joined to finish the verse:

  I used to have a sweetheart, but now I have none,

  For she loves another one better than me.

  Reese headed for his bedroll. But he hadn’t taken two steps when Jordan approached him from the wagon tongue, where he had been watching Pop braid a rawhide reata by the lantern light.

  “Say, Mister Catlin…” The kid’s innocent voice gave no hint of bedevilment. “I’ve been wonderin’ ’bout something.”

  “What’s that?” Reese noticed how Jordan glanced back to Pop, but still he didn’t suspect a trap.

  “That harness you’ve been mending, sir? I wonder now, is it a double?”

  Reese blanched. Behind him, Tom Lovejoy whooped. The rest of the cowboys chimed in. All except the musicians, whose rendition of “Green Grow the Lilacs,” gained momentum.

  I passed my love’s window both early and late,

  The look that she gave me, it made my heart ache.

  Reese grew hot under the collar. Time he put a stop to this nonsense. “Come on, Jordan. Let’s you an’ me go for a little walk down by the river.”

  When they were out of earshot, he began by asking, “What happened to your pa, Jordan?” In typical fashion, the boy was ready with a mature account.

  “Doc Wilson never did know exactly what it was. Ma called it the fever. Pa just got weaker an’ weaker, till he couldn’t even climb up in his saddle. Finally he couldn’t get out of bed. Then, after quite a spell, he died.”

  “An’ your ma’s looking for a new husband?”

  “Oh, no sir. Truth is, she don’t want anyone new. She jumped all over me for what me an’ Uncle Kipp did. Why, I doubt she’ll ever speak to Uncle Kipp again. Me bein’ her son an’ all, I got off a tad lighter.”

  Reese considered the boy’s claim. Could it be true? Was Andie innocent of the scheme? Or was Jordan a first-rate con artist?

  “So, what is it, then? You lookin’ for a new pa?”

  “No, sir. Well, not really. I mean, I’d be happy to have a man around the place, but I’m the one looking for a husband for my ma. Me an’ Uncle Kipp.”

  Reese hadn’t expected such an honest reply. He squinted through the darkness to read Jordan’s expression. The kid was dead-serious, or appeared to be. Off to the side, the river lapped gently against the bank. In the distance, a bullfrog karoomped. Deep inside Reese, warning bells sounded. Jordan continued.

  “Ranchin’s almighty hard work for a woman, sir. I reckon It’s lonely for anybody, bein’ so far from neighbors an’ all. Ma needs someone, Mister Catlin. Other’n me. I hate seein’ her lonely.”

  Reese cleared his throat of a sudden obstruction. “So you picked me?”

  “Me an’ Uncle Kipp, yes sir, we did.”

  “I see. Well, Jordan, I’ll have to admit I’m flattered. Your ma’s as handsome a woman as I’ve seen, and you’re a fine boy. Any man I know would be honored to have you for a son. But these things are generally left to a man and a woman. To be honest, I’m not in the market for a wife. I’ve got a ranch to put together. Leastways, I hope I will have, once we get back from Wichita.”

  “You figuring on buying that ranch?” Jordan asked.

  Deciding his little sermon had produced the desired effect, Reese turned them toward the campfire. His mouth fairly watered for some of Andie’s bear sign.

  Jordan grabbed at a firefly and missed. “You think you’re gonna like livin’ out there all by yourself?”

  “I’ll like it. I’ve lived on that ranch most of my life, Jordan. I know what I’m getting into.”

  “Maybe so, sir. Then, again, maybe you’re gonna be as lonesome and miserable as Ma. A big ranch like that, with no woman to cook you sweet things or make your house smell fresh or dance around under the stars with you or give you the sweetest goodnight kisses this side of heaven.”

  Reese stumbled, caught his balance, and realized without being told that the boy’s sights were still set dead ahead—on him. On his freedom, anyhow. But what about Andie’s sights? Reese wasn’t so sure anymore. He cursed himself for a fool.

  Dance under the stars, huh?

  “Look, Mister Catlin! Ma’s flowers.”

  Reese glanced down to see that he had stumbled over a bedroll. Hell, Andie had scattered the dang things several rods across the prairie. Well, maybe not that far, but…

  Then he saw the flower. One long-stemmed daisy, lying at the head of the bedroll. He glanced right and left, and sure enough. She had distributed Lovejoy’s flowers among the cowboys. A flower on each bedroll. A hell of a way to apologize.

  Reaching his own bedding, he knelt on the ground and picked up the daisy, smelled it. Was Jordan right? Was he destined for a life of loneliness and misery?

  And was Jordan further right? Could a warm and sweet thing like Andie Dushane cure those ills?

  If he could have one wish tonight, it would be that Andie Dushane was not involved in her son’s matchmaking scheme. But who was he to believe? How would he ever know for sure? And dang him! Why did he care? He wasn’t in the market for a wife.

  In the days that followed, Reese tried to ignore the suggestion Jordan had planted in his brain, but he wasn’t very successful. Every time he looked at Andie he thought about the ranch he had coveted since childhood and dang if he didn’t feel a twinge of loneliness.

  Loneliness. That’s what women were supposed to feel. Men were loners, according to Mister Matthews.

  In the following weeks Reese spent less time in camp and more time wishing he were there. Andie filled his thoughts and his dreams and had become his biggest concern. He should have kissed her when he had the chance, he argued. Then it would be over and done with, and he could get back to worrying about making it to Wichita ahead of the crowd.

  “Make a list of supplies you need,” he advised her a couple of weeks later. He had ridden into camp early, after he finally came up with a real reason for talking to her, rather than the excuses that grew like weeds in his fertile imagination.

  At least he thought he had a reason until he lost his train of thought somewhere in the depths of her green eyes. “We’ll reach Fort Worth in a few days,” he finally managed to explain.

  He had caught her kneading dough, which she continued to do, as though unaffected by his presence. “Then it’s time for our discussion, Reese.”

  That knocked him for a loop. “Discussion? About what?” Had he been that easy to read?

  “Whether you intend to keep me on as cook all the way to Wichita. If not, Jordan and I might as well leave the herd at Fort Worth. It’d be a lot safer than Red River Station.”

  “Leave you?” Reese’s mind spun. He remembered the conversation, but it had taken place so long ago. A lifetime ago.

  Trail drives had a way of doing that to a feller. After a few weeks, the drive took on a life of its own. The outside world ceased to exist. Every drive was different; every drive had an atmosphere of its own.

  He studied the black-haired woman who was on his mind day and night these days. She was the atmosphere of this drive. Sweet, yet firm. Gentle, but in control. Undemanding, yet commanding the respect of every drover in camp. And that was before you even got to the myriad ways she fascinat
ed and distracted him.

  “Dangit, Andie, we couldn’t make it to Wichita without you.”

  Her green eyes fired a slow burn inside him. “I hoped you would feel that way. This has been a rare experience. I feel, well, sort of responsible for the men.”

  He stroked one side of his mustache, watched her pinch off biscuits and put them in Dutch ovens. For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to reply that wouldn’t get him in a peck of trouble. Was she in on that damned scheme or not?

  He made a point of studying the campfire coals, hoping to conceal his rattled senses. “Closer to town, I want you to keep an eye out for some fellers who’ll likely come out to camp.”

  She mistook his meaning by a country mile. “You worry too much, Reese. We won’t fall prey to unsavory characters, especially not with Night Hawk along.”

  “Hell, Andie! If I didn’t think that, I’d be drivin’ this rig myself.” She went about covering up the biscuits as though she hadn’t turned his world upside down. He tried to concentrate on business. “I’m talking about a man by the name of Edwin Howell. Matthews was supposed to write and ask him to meet with me, somethin’ about investin’ in the ranch.”

  “That’s wonderful!” The smile she turned on him was genuine and earth-shattering. “Then it wouldn’t matter whether we got to Wichita first.”

  He was standing way too close to her, but when he tried to move away, his feet refused to oblige. “It’ll matter. First herd in brings the best prices. I want to use as much of my own money as I can to buy that ranch. I don’t like bein’ beholden.”

  A wistful look touched her eyes, making her, if that were possible, even more tempting. “Samuel felt that way, too.”

  “Samuel?”

  “My husband.”

  “Oh.” Reese didn’t know what to say. For some fool reason, he felt uncomfortable, hearing her talk about a husband, dead or otherwise. “Jordan said he took his own time dyin’,” he offered, “that it was hard on you.”

  “It was harder on him. But then death is always hard.”

  “How long’s it been?”

  “Two years.”

  Two years. Reese turned away, lest she see the relief—stupid though it was—that flooded him. Two years was time enough to grieve and get on with one’s life.

  Wiping her hands on a damp towel, Andie studied him covertly. His jaw bulged with the grim set of his teeth. Uneasiness splotched his sun-bronzed cheeks. He had been away from camp more often than not lately, and she realized quite suddenly that she had missed him.

  Missed the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t aware of it; missed her heart quickening when he quirked his eyebrow in response to something she did that surprised him.

  She had missed him, and she felt guilty for every minute of it, for she should have been missing Samuel. Two years.

  “You must have loved him.” He spoke with his back to her.

  “I still do.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, capturing her gaze. She wanted to look away, but unspoken questions held her.

  “He was a lucky man,” he said at length, striking the very heart of her guilt.

  “Lucky? He died! A cruel and horrible death.”

  “But he still has your love.”

  Her breath caught. She tore her gaze away, confused. She picked up a cuptowel, folded it, pressed the creases against the top of the lid with her fingers. Of course Samuel still had her love. He was her husband.

  But he had died. He left her. Alone.

  And lonely.

  And it had been two years. Two years. She glanced up. Reese had turned and was watching her. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Moments passed.

  He recovered first. “So, is this the first time Jordan’s tried to pair you up?”

  “Pair me…” Abashed, she caught her cheeks in her hands.

  “Don’t let it bother you.” Fighting the compulsion to take her in his arms, he strove to sound flippant. “I’m not.”

  “You’re not the merchandise being offered, either.”

  Without a thought, he pulled her hands away from her face and held them. “Dangit, Andie, you’re not merchandise.”

  Their gazes held. Spread by the warmth of their clasped hands, the yearning became physical. Reason fled; his body trembled with anticipation, too long held in check. He dipped his head.

  His lips barely grazed hers, before Andie came to her senses. She ducked, swirled away, but when she would have fled across the campsite, her feet failed her.

  Reese caught her arm.

  “I’m not out to catch a husband, Reese Catlin,” she whispered in a tight voice.

  Long moments passed in silence, while he retained a death-grip on her arm and her heart raced out of control.

  When finally he spoke, his voice was low and equally strained. “I don’t care if you are.”

  He might as well have dunked her in an icy cold spring. Any heat she felt now was fury. Jerking free, she spun to face him. At the last minute she restrained herself from slapping his bewildered face. “Get out of my sight, Reese Catlin. Just get out of my sight.”

  They arrived outside Fort Worth three days later. Reese had made himself scarce after their altercation at the chuck wagon, and Andie thought, good riddance! Or she tried to think it. How could she lose her heart to a pigheaded man who thought she was stupid enough to want to drag him to the altar?

  The wretched incident had served one purpose, bittersweet, though it was. Andie came to a realization about her own life. Two years was enough time to grieve. For Jordan’s sake, she must try to put the past behind her. Day by day now, seeing him with the cowboys, she was aware how much he needed a man in his life. Not to take the place of his pa, but as a companion and role model. And Reese was so good with him. But there she always stopped in panic—pigheaded Reese Catlin, a role model for her son?

  By midday the cattle were settled down, leaving the cowboys freer than usual for much of the afternoon. Monte was the first to come into camp to seek her medical attention.

  “Caught my thumb in a rope, Cookie. Figured you could dab it with some of that liniment you keep up yonder.” He nodded toward the chuck box, where a bottle of whiskey intended for medicinal use had remained unopened since the drive began.

  She struggled to keep a straight face. “Whiskey won’t do much for a rope burn, Monte. How ’bout a little bacon grease, instead?”

  Woody was the next to arrive; he hedged until Monte was out of earshot, then admitted, “Figured we might have a chance to mail letters, bein’ so close to Fort Worth.”

  Andie guessed the source of his uneasiness. “I used to write letters for my husband. Could I help?”

  “Why, ma’am, that’d be mighty handy. My penmanship, well, it ain’t…what I mean is, I’d like to impress the lady with my intelligence an’ not the lack of it.”

  Those chores taken care of, Monte and Woody rode off together, only to return a short time later in the company of a couple of men wearing store suits.

  “Run into these drummers, Cookie.” Woody winked. “Give ’em that supply list I asked you to draw up.”

  By now Andie was well acquainted with pranks pulled on a trail drive. Lordy, was she ever! From shortening someone’s rope to putting sand or even snake skins in a bedroll, nothing was off limits when it came to joshing a fellow drover. Each man competed to see who could outwit, outfox, or generally get the best of his compadres.

  So she wasn’t surprised when Woody pretended to be the trail boss. And since Reese had ridden back down the trail with Night Hawk to check on the location of the Sutton herd, she didn’t see any harm in going along with the prank.

  She handed over the list, then promptly forgot it. Not long after that two other gentlemen, emissaries of Edwin Howell, arrived with a dinner invitation for Reese.

  Andie went about preparing supper, paying little attention. The drummers left for town, followed shortly by Mister Howell’s men. By the time Reese rode into
camp later that afternoon, however, the drummers were back. Andie invited them to supper and went on with her chores. Then just before she called the crew to eat, Reese approached her with a package wrapped in brown paper. His open grin was unexpected and did things to her insides that she strove to conceal.

  “From the boys,” he explained.

  Her hands trembled when she dried them on her apron. What mischief were the cowboys up to this time? Taking the package, she tore back one edge. Yellow muslin. And lace.

  “Seems they put their money where their mouths have been all this time. They’ve joined Jordan’s campaign.”

  As though it were a poker straight from the fire, she shoved the package back to Reese.

  “Open it, Andie. The boys expect you to.”

  She scanned the cowboys who watched her with expectant expressions and faces as flushed as the sky at sunset—exactly the way she felt inside. Her hands were still trembling when she tore open the package and pulled out a yellow frock. “What—?” Her eyes found Reese’s.

  “You’re to wear it to Howell’s dinner.”

  “Howell’s dinner?” she echoed.

  “You’re to come with me. Whether Woody ferreted the invitation, or whether, as he says, Howell’s men took one look at you and invited you on their own, doesn’t really matter.”

  “It certainly does.” Indignation vied with confusion. She scanned the cowboys, whose eyes were riveted on her and Reese. “Where did…? How did they—?”

  “Charged it to my account and told me to deduct it from their wages in Wichita. That’s why the drummers came back.”

  “Their wages?” Stunned, she didn’t know what to say. She fingered the soft fabric. She couldn’t go, but oh my…

  “It’s not unusual.” Reese quirked that distracting eyebrow and her pulse rate doubled. “I mean chargin’ expenses to the drive and deducting ’em from wages at the end. Buyin’ a dress, now, that’s a horse of a different color.”

  “I can’t go, Reese. It’s a business dinner. It’s too important to you.”

  “You think I could concentrate on business, knowin’ I’d left the prettiest gal in Texas home with those cowpokes?”