She’d known the moment he entered the ballroom. Like her father, he had a resounding presence about him. Even with his quiet ways, when he strode into a room, people knew. It was as though the very air they breathed came alive, the atmosphere charged. He rolled in like a welcome rainstorm.
“How did you get Rawley to dance with you?” Faith asked Maggie when she was able to catch a minute with her cousin later, after dancing with too many cowboys to count. The one she hadn’t danced with, however, was the one she wanted to more than anything, but he had allowed his boot heels to brush over the dance floor for only a solitary tune. She’d waited her entire life to grow up enough that Rawley would stop treating her like a child. She figured nineteen meant she was on the threshold of womanhood. Maybe she’d even crossed over it after taking on the responsibility of expanding the Leigh enterprises into oil.
“I made him mad,” Maggie said, handing Faith a glass of champagne.
Faith laughed with a measure of fondness edged with a bit of jealousy. “I’ve never understood y’all’s relationship. You squabble more than any two people I know and yet you always remain friends.”
Maggie sipped her champagne, curiosity keeping her gaze wandering over the people dancing and milling about. As a recently hired reporter for theLeighton Leader, the town’s only newspaper, she was always looking for an interesting angle that might make a worthy story. “We’ve been getting on each other’s last nerve for close to twenty years now, I reckon. There’s never been any rancor between us. Just a tendency to try to out-irritate the other.”
“Do you love him?”
That question had Maggie jerking her head around so quickly Faith was surprised she didn’t make herself dizzy. “As a friend, nothing more. Besides, he’s been madly in love with someone else for the longest and I can’t compete with that.”
Faith couldn’t have been more surprised if her cousin had suddenly announced a cattle stampede inside the house. Any woman would be fortunate to hold Rawley’s affections, but he’d never hinted that he had an ounce of interest in courting. “Who?”
Maggie simply shook her head and turned her attention back to the guests.
“Maggie, you can’t just drop something like that on me and not give me the details.” She glanced around. “Miss Tate, the schoolmarm?” She’d moved to town three years ago, was fairly young and pretty in a porcelain doll sort of way.
Maggie didn’t react at all.
“How about Lydia Helmsley?” The butcher’s daughter. She was short and stocky, gave a man plenty to hold on to, unlike Faith, who had always been too skinny as far as she was concerned. In school, boys had teased her that a good wind would blow her away. More than once, her mother had been forced to scold her about her unladylike behavior of throwing punches when someone said something she didn’t like.
Maggie sighed. “If you’d pay any attention at all, you could probably figure it out.”
She always paid attention to Rawley, especially lately. Everyone in town thought of him as her brother, even sometimes referred to him that way, but she’d never viewed him in those terms. He’d just always been Rawley, her friend, her protector, her aggravator. “Does she love him?”
“Not like he loves her.”
“She’s a fool then.” Although even as she said it, she was struck in the area of her heart with a twinge that resembled jealousy. The notion of seeing him courting some spinster, of watching him holding her hand, sharing conversations with her, giving her half of his sarsaparilla stick, brought with it a physical ache. If he married, she’d see less of him. He might even move off the ranch, move into town. She couldn’t imagine not sitting across from him during meals. It had been hard enough when he’d decided to live in a small cabin in the middle of a copse of mesquite trees a fair distance from the house. But he continued to join them for most meals.
“I have to agree with you there,” Maggie said. “A foolandblind not to see she rules his heart.”
“I’ve never even noticed him flirting with a gal.”
“That’s not Rawley’s way. He’s subtler than that.”
Which couldn’t be said for Cole. He’d been showering attention and compliments on her since he arrived, and she was struggling not to let it all go to her head. She’d never had a gentleman express interest in stepping out with her, mostly because men feared the wrath of her father.
Faith took a sip of the champagne. People had been bringing her glasses of it all night, and with each one she became more and more relaxed. Most of the town had been invited. Food was being served in the dining room while people wandered through the various parlors, visiting, and coming to the largest one to dance. Cards were being played in one room, billiards in another. If Rawley wouldn’t dance with her, maybe he’d at least challenge her to a round of billiards. They were pretty evenly matched when it came to the game.
Then he was walking toward her with a loose-jointed swagger that had her mouth going dry. Or maybe it was the champagne. It didn’t exactly quench her thirst. He’d donned his Sunday-go-to-meeting jacket over his crisp white shirt with a thinly knotted tie. His face was clean shaven, his thick hair—the shade of midnight—combed back. Once he was near enough to touch, he smiled. “Hey, birthday girl.”
Girl. Why couldn’t he have used the wordwoman?
He placed his hand on the small of her back, leaned in, and bussed a quick kiss over her cheek. She caught a whiff of the sandalwood cologne she’d given him last Christmas, but underneath it was the beloved fragrance of leather and horses and the wide-open plains. He’d always smelled of hard work and the freedom to do as he pleased. Her parents had put far fewer restrictions on his activities than they had on hers. Partly because he was older, but also because he was male, so they didn’t worry about him as much. That difference had always annoyed her. A time would come when he’d be running the ranch—and it was something she could manage with equal success if given the chance. But she had her oil and knew she could make a name for herself with it. She had too much of her mother in her to fail.
“It took you long enough to get over here,” she scolded.
“I didn’t figure you’d notice with all the fellas buzzing around you.”
Oh, she’d noticed.
“Think I’m going to call it a night,” he added.
He might as well have smacked her upside the head. “The party’s not over until midnight. We have a couple of hours to go.”
“You’re not wanting for attention, and killing that rattler today plumb tuckered me out.”
