Her horse snorted. Rawley stilled his actions, glanced over his shoulder, and straightened.
“What are you doing out here? Checking up on me?” he asked as he released his hold on the wire, dropped his hammer, and wandered over to the post where his shirt stirred in the slight wind. He grabbed his shirt and shrugged into it with a smooth motion that rivaled poetry in its simple beauty. It took everything within her not to shout at him to leave his clothing where it was, to let her feast a little longer on something that never should have been served up for her enjoyment.
At least he didn’t bother fastening the buttons before snatching his canteen dangling from the post and taking several swallows of water, his throat muscles working, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down with his efforts, causing an unusual fluttering in her stomach that traveled clear down to the seat of her saddle. What the hell was the matter with her? She’d seen plenty of men drink. It was necessary if one wanted to survive out here.
Frustrated with the unruly awareness bubbling to the surface, she abruptly dismounted and ambled over to him. “I wanted to thank you for the way you handled the situation with the men this morning, supporting me, not trying to take over.”
“You earned it, stepping in when Dallas needed to let everything go.”
“If you’d been here, he’d have handed everything off to you. Or you’d have just naturally filled his boots. He always saw you as eventually running things.”
“But I wasn’t here. And one day the ranch will be yours. The men might as well get used to you being in charge. Besides, I didn’t want to have to explain another black eye.” His voice carried a hint of teasing that had a good bit of the tension easing out of her.
“I didn’t blacken your eye. Just bruised your cheek a little. Does it hurt?”
“Only when I smile.”
Which he did at that moment, bestowing on her the type of inviting grin that had no doubt stolen a thousand hearts. “Rawley, with the family gathering tonight, I want to make sure everything is right between us.”
He watched her a full minute before reaching into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a sarsaparilla stick, breaking it in half, and holding a piece toward her. For a man such as he, of few words, his actions spoke volumes. With a smile, she took his offering and slipped it between her lips, aware of his gaze riveted to her actions. Drawing some comfort from that, she nodded toward the spool of wire. “Poachers?”
“Maybe,” he said around his sarsaparilla stick. “Hard to tell. You might want to have the men do a head count on the herd. It could just be someone opposed to fencing. They cut close to a half mile of it.”
“Why didn’t you find some men to help fix it? As much as I appreciate what you did this morning, you don’t need my permission to order the men about if you see something that needs to be addressed. Truth is, you have as much right to issue orders as I do.”
He gave her a familiar grin that usually had her smiling back, but now it made her realize how masculine and confident he was. He knew himself, knew what he wanted. “I like the hard work of pitting myself against the wire.”
Which she supposed was his acknowledgment he’d issue orders if he needed to. “You won’t be finished before company arrives. Why don’t you stretch it and I’ll hammer it into the posts?”
They worked well together, but then they always had. He stretched the wire taut, wrapped it around a post, and held it tight, watching as she secured it with a few strategically placed U-shaped nails. Although she wanted things right between them, he wanted answers and figured the direction of the questions was likely to put her back up but was willing to risk it.
“I rode by that area you had set aside for drilling.” He was aware of the hammer hitting the nail with a little more force, causing the post to vibrate. “It looks like someone set fire to those derricks they were building.”
Stepping back, she met his gaze. “Like I said, I lost interest.”
It seemed a drastic measure to take for a mere lack of enthusiasm. “Berringer have anything to do with that decision?”
“Yep.”
“Is he Callie’s father?”
Her mouth flattened, but she didn’t look away, as though she was weighing how much to trust him. Finally, she nodded.
“I thought you liked him.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I thought I did, too.”
She strode over to the next post. Following her, frustration at the man for hurting her and letting her down getting to him, he yanked on the wire so hard he was surprised he didn’t jerk the previous post out of the ground. “What happened?” he asked.
With a shrug, she positioned the nail and gave it a whack. “We just didn’t work out.”
He wanted the specific reasons but knew from the tone of her voice that they weren’t coming anytime soon. “Does he know about Callie?”
Another nail positioned, another whack that nearly upended the post. “Things were over between us before I knew I was with child. He was long gone. If he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have wanted to be saddled with him, so it was just as well he wasn’t around.”
He couldn’t help but think the man had a right to know. Hell, he’d want to know if he had a young’un about, which he might mention once their relationship moved from tentative to sturdier. “It had to be hard, Faith, having a baby, not being married.”
She smiled, the wistful beauty of it nearly breaking his heart. “When I started increasing, I stopped going into town. Ranch hands figured it out, of course. I’m sure some of them didn’t keep it to themselves; rumors circulated through the area. A few days after Callie was born, when I was strong enough to get out of bed, Pa took us into town, introduced his granddaughter to every banker, shopkeeper, lawyer, newspaperman, widow, man, and woman around. So much love and pride were reflected in his voice. Rawley, I have never loved that man more than I did that day.”
