The Cowboys - Chet Part 9

"But they're smarter than we are. They know best."

"I don't admit that any man's smarter than I am until he proves it. Even then, I wouldn't give up my right to have an opinion and have it listened to."

"You'll never catch a husband if you talk like that."

"I've already had three offers despite my talk."

"Accept one before they change their minds."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't love any one of them."

"It's a wife's duty to learn to love her husband."

"And if she can't?"

"Then she must endure."

"I could never do that. I've never had a real family. I've always been a guest in somebody else's home. I want to belong, to be loved. I will love my husband before I marry him, but he'll have to love me as well."

"You're asking for a great deal."

"I'd be offering a great deal. Myself. Did you love my father before you married him?" "Of course I did. Your father was a wonderful man."

"That's exactly what I want, and I don't mean to settle for less."

"But Lantz loves you. He"

"I'm not certain Lantz can love anybody but himself. Besides, I'm not sure I could be Blade's mother."

"He is a little wild, but he'll settle down."

"You can't know that. Now I've got to change Chet's bandage. I can't be sure that man cleaned his wound properly."

When they reentered the bedroom, Belle gave Chet a quick but careful inspection. "He'll probably heal anyway. He looks remarkably healthy."

Healthy didn't begin to describe Chet Attmore. Even unconscious, he set Melody on edge, body and mind. No man had ever affected her like this. When she first started discovering men, her friends related ecstatic experiences, times when they had trouble breathing, felt too weak to stand, unable to speak, think, or act. Nothing like that had ever happened to her, and she had finally put all of it down to wishful thinking.

Now she wasn't so sure.

Chet became aware of the incredible pain in his head before anything else. He felt as though someone had tried to split his skull with a dull ax. He didn't even try to open his eyes. He just lay there, perfectly still, hoping the pain would subside enough for him to think.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember what had happened to him. Images of his brother and two other men kept fading in and out. He must have been shot. He could tell he was in a bed, but where? He had been riding through open country far from any dwelling.

He opened his eyes. The stabbing pain was worse than he'd expected. He closed them for a few minutes more before opening them again. The pain had eased off enough so he could see, but he had no idea where he was. Even more confusing, he was in a woman's room.

His head was turned to one side. He lay still, looking at a window framed by what looked like blue silk and white lace. A velvet perfume box filled with cut gla.s.s and silver bottles, brushes, what looked like a lace handkerchief, and an oil lamp with an elaborate shade lay scattered about a dressing table next to the window. A large mirror with a gilt frame hung on the wall just above the table. The chair in front of the dressing table was an odd little thing with rolled arms and no back. A deep blue cloth decorated with large white flowers and a border of green vines entwined around golden trumpets and horns covered the table and hung to the floor.

Clearly not a man's room.

Then Chet became aware of the fragrance of gardenias. He couldn't tell if it came from the pillow beneath his head or whether it hung in the air of the room, but it was definitely there and it was definitely gardenias.

The only woman he'd ever known to smell of gardenias was Melody.

A rush of excitement sent the blood surging though his veins, making the pain in his head worse. He tried to will himself to be calm, to tell himself not to be foolish. Melody would have no way of knowing he'd been hurt. There must have been some other ranch close by. There must be another woman who smelled of gardenias.

He closed his eyes again. He was too old to be indulging in wishful thinking, too sensible to be thinking of Melody Jordan even if he did. Besides, he finally remembered what had happened. He'd been shot by either Lantz Royal's son or Billy Mason. His brother had found him.

Chet didn't know what Luke was doing in this part of Texas, but he was certain it had something to do with Lantz Royal. That shouldn't surprise him. Luke always hired out to the man who paid the most money. Luke had turned out just like their father.

Chet turned his head and an excruciating pain ricocheted inside his skull like buckshot in a barrel. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He'd worry about Luke later.

Neill opened the door, tiptoed in, and set the lamp on the table. Melody followed with a basin and bandages, which she set on the table next to the bed. She looked down at her patient.

"He's not dead, is he?" Neill asked in a nervous whisper.

"Just sleeping. Go tell Bernice I'll want his dinner as soon as I change the bandages."

Chet looked very different from the man who'd ridden into the ranch just yesterday. Even as a stranger, there had been so much that was attractive about himthe sensual quality of his looks, his incredibly blue eyes, his smile, his easy, open manner, his quiet but respectful att.i.tude toward her. Even though he preserved his privacy, he had never closed her out. His smile curved his lips, danced in his eyes, invited you to smile with him. Yet all the while she sensed the inflexibility of his will, the steel of his courage. Everything about him said here was a man who was a rock, an anchor, a protector who would never fail.

But now he lay asleep in her bed, stripped of his armor, vulnerable, so very human. She wanted to reach out and draw him close, to keep him safe. She smiled at such a ridiculous notion. This man might be wounded, but he was far from helpless. He'd awakened while the doctor checked him. He had lost blood and the pain was so great that it exhausted his strength, but he had been awake and alert. Chet was just as casual about his wound as he was about everything else.

But in his sleep he looked vulnerable. The muscle in his jaw had relaxed. His entire expression had softened; his body had lost its tension; the watchfulness was gone. He looked very much like a man she would like to get to know. After all, she wasn't likely to meet anyone else this handsome for a long time. And if she had to marry Lantz . . .

Melody pushed all thought of Lantz aside. She would concentrate on Chet. Once he was well and on his way, she would decide what to do about Lantz and her family.

She had to change the bandage, and it was impossible to do so without waking him. The wound extended from front to back, and the bandages were wrapped around his head like a turban. She brought a chair and placed it next to the bed.

"Time to eat, I hope."

She jumped. He hadn't opened his eyes before he spoke. Now he did. It was hard to believe that their intense blueness could still startle her, but it did. His eyes seemed to glow.

"I didn't know you were awake," she said. "I heard the door open. I recognized your tread."

That surprised and pleased her. It seemed so intimate.

"It could have been Belle or Bernice."

She thought she saw a hint of a smile. "Belle doesn't want me here. There's an irritated thump to her footsteps. Bernice is so small, she has to take half again as many steps as you."

Melody sat down next to the bed. "Do you a.n.a.lyze everything like this?" she asked.

"In my business, you have to know everything you can about your enemy, or you die."

She began to unpin the bandage. "But you said you weren't a gunslinger anymore."

"Old habits die hard."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to lift your head."

"It might be easier on both of us if I sit up."

"The doctor said"

"If I did everything the doctors told me, I'd have been dead years ago. Just put these pillows behind me when I lean forward."

The covers fell back to reveal a broad, powerfully muscled chest. When he pulled himself up into a sitting position, the muscles in his biceps and shoulders tensed and bulged. Their size and movement mesmerized Melody. She decided she probably wasn't a very good nurse. Surely a proper nurse wouldn't let her concern for her patient's wound be overcome by a fascination with his body.

She'd never seen a man's chest. The mere sight was a far greater intimacy than she'd ever experienced with any man. The intimacy of their being alone, of his body exposed to her gaze, suddenly overwhelmed her. It nearly caused her to miss the onset of some strange feeling deep inside her, something that affected her very much like a fever. What else could have caused the sudden flush of heat in her face, the unaccountable trembling of her hands?

She didn't like this feeling of being out of control, of being at the mercy of something unknown. She averted her gaze, fighting the powerful urge to look at Chet once more, to reach out and touch him.

Merciful heavens! If Aunt Emmaline could know the thoughts pa.s.sing through Melody's mind, she'd rise straight up out of her grave.

Marshaling all her willpower, Melody forced herself to concentrate on Chet's wound. She could tell it took great effort to endure the pain, but it showed only in the compression of his lips. Sympathy would be wasted on this man. She quickly unwound the bandage. The bullet had burrowed under the skin at the back side of his head, traveled around the curve of his skull, and exited at the front. She could only a.s.sume he had a skull of extraordinary thickness, for which she was grateful. It was impossible to imagine him dead. A pa.s.sion for life burned fiercely in this man. He appeared to take everything so lightly, but he fought his pain and weakness with grim determination. Such unyielding resolve hid a great desire for something, only she didn't know what it was.

"How does it look?" he asked.

"Almost like you weren't hurt at all. Tomorrow I may leave the bandages off."

"Good. Then I can give you back your bedroom." Her shock at the thought of his leaving surprised her. How could he have become so important to her so quickly?

"You probably have a concussion," she said, sounding breathless. "You must be careful for the next few days."

"I couldn't stay in bed if I were out on the trail."

"Then be thankful you're not. Now hold still while I try to get this pin in the bandage. I don't want to stick you. Or myself."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Melody called.

Neill entered, carrying a pitcher and a gla.s.s, followed by Bernice bearing a bowl. Neill set the pitcher and gla.s.s down on the dressing table.

The presence of others in the room did little to ease the tension in Melody's body.

"Can I see where you were shot?" Neill asked eagerly.

"I've already bandaged it up," Melody said, relieved to see her brother was completely unaware of her strained state.

"But I've never seen a real wound."

"If your sister will undo the bandage, it's all right with me," Chet said.

"This is ridiculous," Melody said.

"Come on, Mel," Neill pleaded. "I brought the milk and I didn't spill a drop."

"He was very careful on the stairs," Bernice said.

Chet looked up at Melody. "Let him see."

When he looked at her like thatwith the smile transforming his face and laughter dancing in his eyesshe couldn't refuse him anything.

"Only if he promises to go away immediately."

"Sure," Neill said. He waited eagerly while Melody unwrapped the bandage. "Is that all?" he asked, visibly disappointed.

"Gunshot or rifle wounds are usually small and neat," Chet said. "If you want to see some real gore, shoot somebody with a shotgun."

"Is it really nasty?" Neill asked, excitement wreathing his face.

"I've seen strong men faint."

"Did you faint?"

"No."

"I wouldn't either."

"Then neither one of you has any sensibilities at all," Melody said.

"Men aren't supposed to," Neill said.

"Certainly not at eleven," Bernice added.

"Not ever, if some men I know are an example." Melody started to replace the bandage. "Now run along. Mr. Attmore has to eat his dinner."

"Come along," Bernice said. "You can bring his dessert later."

"Why?" Neill asked. "I've already seen the wound."

"Why do men always have to be bribed?" Melody asked when the door had closed behind them. "Why can't they do things out of the goodness of their hearts?"

"It's very hard for a man out here to be good as well as respected. Most of us settle for trying to stay alive."

"What do you mean by out here?"

"Back East you have the rules of society to protect you. You have laws and courts when they fail. Out here you often don't have anybody but yourself. You do what you have to, and you learn to live with it." Melody had never heard it stated quite so straightforwardly before.

"I can see you want to argue with me," Chet said. "But I wish you'd wait until tomorrow. The delicious smell coming from that bowl Bernice brought has made me hungry. While I eat, you can tell me how you came to be living in Central Texas."

Melody was tempted to argue with him anyway, but a sudden smile disarmed her. "You sure you don't want me to feed you?"

"Quite sure."