Part 6 (1/2)

Clint was convinced she was teasing. ”Rachel, honey, everyone eats meat.”

”Not everyone. I certainly don't. And if I'm to be the cook in this house, none of you shall, either.”

Stunned silence. Clint gave each of his brothers a meaningful look. Clearing his throat, he said, ”Maybe we should discuss this later.”

”There's nothing to discuss,” she said sweetly. ”Unless, of course, someone else is volunteering to cook.” She looked around the table. ”You all don't mind, do you? Eating meatless meals, I mean?”

Clint could scarcely believe his eyes and ears when every last one of his brothers shook their heads and said, ”No, we don't mind!” almost simultaneously. He scowled his displeasure at each of them. ”All of you know very well that you like meat. How can you sit there and say you won't mind doing without it?”

Josh said, ”Well, maybe a couple of times a week, one of us can cook, and on those nights, we can have meat.”

”Do we get to eat eggs?” Cody asked glumly.

”Yes, of course,” Rachel a.s.sured him. ”And there's no meat in cake or cookies.”

Cody brightened at that news. ”We don't gotta have meat, Clint. Not if it makes Rachel sad to cook it.”

Jeremiah looked as if he were about to bust with laughter. ”We wouldn't want to be cruel to animals. I guess eating them qualifies.”

Clint didn't see the humor. ”Might I remind you that we're operating a cattle ranch here? We raise and sell beef.”

Rachel looked appalled. ”Oh, my, I never thought about it like that. I suppose the cows are killed once they're sold, aren't they?”

”That's how folks who live in town get their hands on steak, Rachel. They buy cows raised on cattle ranches and butcher them.” Clint set his teeth at the distress he read in her expression. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, ”A lot of cows aren't butchered, though.” He groped for another lie, anything to make her feel better about what he did for a living. ”Dairies, for instance. Lots and lots of cows are sold to dairies.”

”And a bunch are sold for breeding purposes!” Cole inserted.

”That's right,” Daniel agreed. ”Without plenty of bulls and cows left to reproduce, we'd nave no newborn calves each spring.”

Cody beamed a smile. ”And they're used to make shoes and boots, too! So, see, Rachel? Not all of 'em get sold for steak.”

Rachel touched a hand to her throat. ”Oh, my...You know, I never stopped to think about it, but my opera pumps and high-b.u.t.ton shoes are made out of leather.”

Afraid she might try to convince them they should all go barefoot next, Clint broke in with, ”This really is good stew, Rachel. What's that spice I taste?”

”Salt,” Jeremiah supplied.

Clint reached for his gla.s.s of water to wash down the taste. ”Mmm-mmm.”

8.

Shortly after the supper dishes were washed, Clint hustled the boys off to bed and maneuvered Rachel into the downstairs bedroom, which adjoined the parlor. With no lamp lit and only a few feeble moonbeams streaming through the double-hung window, he figured it was dark enough to undress without embarra.s.sing her.

Rachel said nothing when he took off his s.h.i.+rt. But as he removed his gun belt and reached for his belt buckle, she let out a shrill squeak. ”What're you doing?”

Clint froze. ”Undressing?”

”Why?”

He circled that carefully, not at all sure he knew how to reply. ”Well...” He sent a loaded look at the bed. ”I usually do before I go to sleep.” Not that he had any intention of sleeping. ”Don't you?”

”But where is your nights.h.i.+rt?”

”My what?”

”Your nights.h.i.+rt. Surely you don't-” She broke off and swallowed. Even in the dimness, he saw her throat convulse. ”Surely you don't sleep in your altogether.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. It didn't take a genius to realize she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers. He abandoned his intention to undress and stepped slowly across the room to her, taking care not to make any sudden moves. Judging by her pallor, which made her look sort of luminous in the moonlight, she was already scared half to death.

”I don't have a nights.h.i.+rt,” he informed her cautiously.

She looked scandalized to hear that. ”You don't? Well...until you can purchase one, I suppose you'll have to sleep in your...in your unmentionables.”

”My what?”

”Your”-she lowered her voice-”your underwear.”

In the summer, Clint wore knee-length cotton underdrawers. Somehow he didn't think that was what she had in mind. ”Rachel, honey, I'm not going to hurt you.” He smoothed a tendril of dark hair away from her cheek. ”In fact, I'm hopin' to make you feel real nice.”

Her gaze skittered from his. ”That's fine. I mean-well, I know about-well, you know.” She airily waved one hand and then leaned slightly toward him, gave a little laugh, and whispered conspiratorially, ”It's just that I'd rather not do it naked.”

An ache of tenderness swelled in Clint's chest. He traced the hollow of her jaw with his thumb. ”How are we going to manage, then?”

”With a minimum of fuss?”

He nearly chuckled. But gazing into her eyes, he read her fear and realized it wasn't all that funny. With a minimum of fuss? He had a feeling the slower he went and the fussier he was, the better it would be for her. Of course, she didn't know that.

She toyed nervously with the top b.u.t.ton of her s.h.i.+rtwaist. ”I also absolutely must insist that you buy a nights.h.i.+rt, posthaste.”

Clint imagined how his brothers would tease him if they saw him wearing one.

”We'll see. For now...” He caught her chin on the edge of his hand and tipped her face up for his kiss, confident that he could stir her to pa.s.sion if only she would relax. Instead, she went as stiff as a twice-starched collar.

”Rachel,” he scolded huskily, ”don't be afraid.”

”I'm not.” She whispered the denial against his lips.

Settling a hand at her waist, Clint knew the instant he touched her that she was lying. Her body was rigid. Pressed close to her as he was, he could feel the rapidity of her breathing and imagined he could hear her heart pounding. He only hoped he could make her forget her girlish fears by kissing her.

He was about to try when a thump came from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. The next instant, an eerie wail echoed throughout the house. Then someone yelled, ”Clint! Hurry! Somethin's wrong with Useless!”

By the time Rachel and Clint arrived in the kitchen, the dog had worked himself up to a full-fledged cacophony, his howls resounding. Instantly aware that the canine's belly was abnormally distended, Clint dropped to his knees.

”Oh, s.h.i.+t! The yeast dough! The poor b.u.g.g.e.r ate too much, and it wasn't done rising.”

Cody gasped. ”Is he gonna die?” he asked in a quavery voice.