She’d told Rawley true. She did like Cole. She didn’t know if what she felt for him would lead her down the path toward love, but she’d never been afraid to see where trails might lead.
She’d worn the damn red gown.
Leaning against the papered wall of the spacious parlor that was serving as a ballroom, sipping his whiskey, Rawley fought not to notice how creamy and smooth her bared shoulders appeared or how the low cut of the bodice revealed the upper swells of her breasts. With her midnight hair pinned up, curling tendrils left to whisper across her neck, red was the perfect shade for her—and she damn well knew it. She’d first worn the flowing gown at Christmas, and it had been difficult enough then not to acknowledge how she had evolved from a girl into a woman. Little wonder the men were circling her, vying for her attention, one after another leading her onto the dance floor.
The band made up of mostly fiddle players—led by Austin Leigh, whom no one could match when it came to pulling a bow over a violin—alternated a lively tune with a slower one. It was obvious most of the gents were timing their arrival at Faith’s side so they were available for a waltz. In a way it was amusing to watch, but at the same time it irritated the devil out of him. None was good enough for her, but she flirted with them and gave them hope anyway.
Faith had taken after her mother in that regard. She found time for everyone: ranch hand, businessman, poor, wealthy—which was one of the reasons most of her dances were claimed. She had a way about her of making a man feel humbled by her attention.
He didn’t know why he was still here, tormenting himself, watching Faith dance with one fellow after another, Cole Berringer greedily making his way into the line every third or fourth dance. It was an unwritten rule among cowboys that a man limited himself to one twirl about the floor with a gal until everyone had a turn with her. In spite of all Dallas’s efforts to get women out to this western part of Texas, men still vastly outnumbered females. But Berringer didn’t pay attention to the rules, which in the end probably would take him far and ensure he kept the lady at his side happy. Rawley was pretty sure he intended for that lady to be Faith.
“Rawley Cooper. Just the man I was looking for,” Maggie said as she waved a red bandana in front of him.
“Hello, Brat,” he muttered with affection. “You’re not heifer branding me.” The term referred to the long-standing tradition of cowboys taking on the role of a female dance partner when women were scarce.
“But we have a lot more gents here than ladies. I need a few fellas to show their willingness to pretend to be the gal so more men have a chance to dance.”
Having a handkerchief tied around an upper arm provided the signal that a fellow was willing to partner up with another man for a dance or two. Cowboys enjoyed dancing. “Nope. Look elsewhere.”
She released a breath in irritation, then smiled at him. “You’re no fun. I didn’t even see you sneak in here.”
“I didn’t sneak.” But he had to admit he hadn’t drawn any attention, either. He’d never much liked being the center of anyone’s focus, preferred hovering off to the side. Being noticed when he was a boy had earned him nothing but pain and humiliation. Walking the edge, staying to the shadows brought him a measure of peace.
“Are you going to dance with her?”
They both knew to whom she was referring. Maggie was his best friend, but sometimes she was downright irritating, especially when she managed to work things out about him that he wanted to keep secret. “I think she has enough partners.”
“But you’re her brother.”
He grimaced as a tightness that would put any noose to shame seized his chest. “No, I’m not. I was raised by her parents, in their house, but that doesn’t make me her brother.”
“Exactly. So where’s the harm in dancing with her?”
The harm was that he wasn’t good enough for her, had done things that made him sick to his stomach if he recalled them with any measure of accuracy. Dallas Leigh knew the ugly details of his youth. Rawley would never forget the revulsion that had taken root on Dallas’s face the moment he’d learned the truth about what Rawley had done. The man’s expression had indicated he was on the verge of bringing up every meal he’d ever eaten. If Dallas ever learned Rawley had any tender regard for his daughter, the man who had given him a safe haven would send him packing—after he shot him dead. He took a slow sip of his whiskey. “You are the most aggravating female I know.”
“But you love me anyway.”
“I tolerate you, even if you’re as pesky as a gnat but not quite as big.”
She chuckled lightly. “I love you, Rawley.”
“Maggie—”
“Your problem is you don’t believe you’re deserving of love, not even the kind one friend showers on another. I don’t know what happened to you before you became part of this family, but I do recognize that you’re one of the finest men I know.”
Sadly, he looked at her. “You don’t know many men then.”
Her small fist made hard contact with his shoulder.
“Ouch!” He stepped back, cradling his whiskey. “You nearly made me spill the good stuff.”
“I went to the university. I know plenty of men. I can also say with certainty that none are as stubborn as you.”
“All your praise is going to my head, Maggie.” Finishing off the whiskey, he set the glass aside on a nearby table. “Come on, I’ll dance with you.”
Before she could protest, he took her arm and led her onto the polished dance floor where people were whooping it up. With her, it was the quickest and easiest way to change the subject because once she got a notion in her head, she chased it with dogged determination. Besides, she was wrong. He didn’tbelievehe was undeserving of love. He knew it as fact.
Chapter Six
