He shrugged. A hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “Hadn’t you better finish your meal?”
“I want to hear every word.” She latched onto his arm and peered into his face.
He glanced at her hand on his sleeve. His eyes lit like coals, a slow, steady burn. The anger was gone. This was deeper, more welcoming, drawing her to him with the force of two magnets.
Heat streamed through her, sending a fit of fidgets and wobbles through her limbs. She dropped her hold. What was she doing touching him? It must be the leftover effects of walking around the yard on his arm. “You’d better tell me, or I’ll march up to Mr. Goodnight and ask.”
“He probably wouldn’t tell you.”
She glowered at him.
“I’m just having fun with you, Cora.” Ben’s smile broadened. “Why don’t you get your food, and we’ll sit in the front yard beneath the oak? I’ll fill you in while you finish eating.”
“All right.” She started to scurry, then slowed her step. No use acting like a child.
Skirts swishing, she grabbed her food and quickstepped back to Ben.
Charlie rose from his spot on the grass and headed toward them.
Ben pointed at the boy. “Stay there for now.”
Good. It’d be their private conversation. She walked up alongside the man, and he slipped her plate into his hands as they strolled away from the crowd. He led her around the side of the house to the front, past the roses, and down the lane. Near the tree, weathered acorn hulls crunched beneath their feet.
She sat down on the wooden barrel where Goodnight had rested earlier. “Tell me what happened.”
“It went well. Goodnight’s willing to help.” Ben handed her the plate and laid his empty one against the scaly ridges of the tree trunk. “He’s agreed to include any cattle we can muster on his drive and take them to market. We’d give him a thirty percent cut.”
“Thirty percent sounds like a lot.”
“You’ve got to consider that he’ll be using his hired men, and they’ll ride the horses he purchased and work to feed, water, andsafeguard our cattle. But he’s leaving the first of June, so we don’t have much time.”
“That’s less than two weeks.” Her voice faltered.
Ben took his hat off and ran his hand over his hair. Sweat dampened a couple of strands across his forehead. “I’ll make it work. We’ll be back to ou—”—he cleared his throat—“theranch tomorrow afternoon. Next morning, I’ll hit the trail looking for your mavericks. Goodnight told me about a couple of creeks where he’d noticed gatherings of renegade cattle. He’s even agreed to loan me one of his men. A young Mexican, not quite hardened to the trail yet, but he’s been around enough to know the county and beyond.”
She bit her lip. “The man’s generous.”
Ben shrugged. “He says folks have to help each other out here on the frontier if they’re going to survive. Plus, he stands to make a profit.” He fumbled with his hat, knuckling a shallow dent around the circumference of the crown. “All the same, he said it’s best not to get our hopes up about the number of your family’s cattle we might find.”
“Why not?”
A frown crept across his face. “There’s been a lot of rustling. Men collecting strays and mavericks, claiming the animals are part of their herd, putting their brand on them. There’s been others abusing the tally system.”
“What’s that?” She swallowed a bit of pork.
“A system set up by carpetbagger courts. His words, not mine. He gave me a dirty look when he mentioned the word.” Ben settled the hat on his lap.
“You are a Yankee.” Her voice softened the word.
“Yeah, but I reckon he’s willing to overlook it since I’m helping a Texas damsel in distress.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a damsel or in distress.”
“But even a fiery mistress of a ranch can use help from a knight now and then.”
Knight. Is that how Ben saw himself? She flickered a glance his way. The description fit. No armor, but his rugged, stubble-covered jaw, his strong hands covered in leather work gloves, the gun on his hip, and his whole demeanor said he’d protect her.
His hazel gaze met hers.
