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Reid poked a finger in Gideon’s chest. “Nice try with the milk cow. But I’m wise to your schemes, and so is Evelyn. Don’t think you can charm your way into keeping what doesn’t belong to you.”
Gideon’s head reared back. His icy gaze slammed into her, silently accusing. “My motivation had nothing to do with the dispute.”
Was he speaking the truth? Or was he just a clever actor?
Aware of the ratcheting tension, Evelyn tugged on her brother’s forearm. “Reid, please. Let it go.”
“Steer clear of my sister and nephew, you filthy cur.”
Color climbed up Gideon’s neck. His massive hands curling into fists, he stuck his face close to Reid’s. “Or what?”
Oh, no. Gideon’s legendary temper was about to be unleashed.
“Oh, you’ll find out what,” Reid sneered.
“I don’t cotton to threats, especially from a man who’s trespassing on my land.”
“Why, you—”
“Don’t do this.” Evelyn hauled on Reid’s arm with all her might but couldn’t budge him. “Think of Walt.”
Beneath her fingertips, she felt his thick muscle quiver, and she thought Reid would shake her off again. He surprised her, however. With a parting promise that this conversation wasn’t finished, he guided her to the corral. A sigh gusted from her lungs. Crisis averted.
This time. What will happen the next time your brothers come to check on you? What if she couldn’t talk them down? Theo, Brett and Reid loathed the Thornton brothers. Now that Gideon stood in the way of her inheritance, the state of affairs would only deteriorate.
Someone was likely to get hurt, which would only serve to traumatize Walt further.
No matter what, she couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter Four
“I want a word with you.”
Gideon gritted his teeth as he walked along the stream. Why couldn’t the Montgomery woman leave him alone? Didn’t she have the common sense to know not to provoke a riled beast? The rage coursing through his body made him feel more beast than human. This lightning-quick temper was a curse that had originated in childhood, about the time his father dumped him and his brothers at Cousin Obadiah’s, went off to fight for the North and never returned. With God’s help he’d learned to control it. There’d been exceptions, of course, like the time he broke Theo Chaucer’s nose.
Lately, that control was slipping more often. Despite his antipathy toward the Lord, he recognized he wasn’t strong enough to master it by relying on his own strength.
He glided his hat along the surface of the water, scooping a fair amount into the crown. Then he upturned it over his head, the cool liquid shocking the anger out of his system. Slowly rising, he turned and climbed the gently sloping bank to where she stood waiting beneath the cottonwood branches, her black boot tapping out an impatient rhythm. Her molten-molasses gaze accused him of all sorts of ills. May as well get this over with.
“I’m listening.”
“You almost lost it just now, didn’t you? I could tell you wanted to plant your fist in my brother’s face. Well, I’m warning you right now I won’t stand for violence. Not in front of my son.”
Shame flooded him. Not once had he lost his temper in front of a woman. Not even his wife. Whenever he and Susannah had quarreled, he’d gone off alone to sort through his feelings. He wouldn’t dream of doing so in front of a child.
“I won’t do anything to worry Walt. You have my word.”
One thick brow arched in disbelief. “According to my brothers, that’s not worth much.”
The nerve of her. Spine rigid, Gideon turned his back on her as his ire stirred anew. He’d taken quite enough from this mouthy female. She’d questioned his honor at every turn.
Like a dog worrying a bone, she darted around him, forcing him to hear her out. “Until our case goes to court, my brothers will be coming out here regularly to check on us. How can I trust you won’t resort to violence?”
“Maybe you should revisit what just happened here. It’s your brother you should be lecturing, not me.”
She batted at a stray curl that had escaped the pins holding her shiny locks in place. She wasn’t wearing mourning black, he noted. The pure white blouse lit her skin with a healthy glow, accentuating her waist where it tucked into her billowing navy skirt.
“Look, I know you don’t give a fig about me or my family. I know that we’re on opposite sides of a feud that began many, many years ago, and when it comes to this land, we both want it for ourselves. But I’m begging you—” her husky voice wavered as she flung a hand toward the field where her son played “—have compassion on that little boy out there. He’s been through a lot in his short lifetime, more than any child should have to endure. All I want is for him to be happy and free of worry.”
The sheen of tears in her expressive eyes startled him. This was the first sign of vulnerable emotion he’d glimpsed in the fierce widow. Walt had recently lost his father. To what else was she referring?
He opened his mouth to question her, recalling in the nick of time that it wasn’t his concern. Their past was their business, not his. Soon they would be out of his hair. An unfortunate reminder of a troublesome time.
Anxiety pinched her features.
As a father, he had no trouble identifying with what she was feeling. Good parents desired the best for their children, instinctively strove to protect and nurture.
Attempting to soothe her unease, he spoke quietly and surely, injected confidence in his stance. “The boy has nothing to do with our troubles. I won’t do anything to traumatize him.”
Lips compressing, she studied him, gauging his sincerity. Finally, she nodded.
“I will warn you, however. I won’t stand idly by if provoked beyond reason. I will defend myself. I suggest you make sure your brothers understand that.”
Spinning on his heel, he left her there with her mouth hanging open. He mentally shrugged. Wasn’t his fault if she caught a fly.
* * *
Gideon stirred awake to the sound of the stream trickling past on its course to the Cimarron River. The tent stretching above him was washed in orangey-pink, evidence of dawn’s arrival. Woodpeckers scouted for breakfast in the elms stationed midway between his tent and the stable, and a frog chirruped a throaty greeting.
Easing to a sitting position, he leaned forward and parted the tent flaps to soak in the prairie’s serene beauty. Buttery light gilded each individual blade of grass, every wildflower tilting its face eastward, every glossy leaf dangling from the trees, so that it seemed to him a vista of pure golden goodness. He’d grown accustomed to this. The thought of leaving it—and the dreams it nursed like a greedy infant—made his insides seize up something terrible.
There was nothing else to do but continue his work and, when the time came, present his case and attempt to convince the judge of his rightful ownership.
Dressing quickly in denims and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, he straightened his pallet and pillow and retrieved the bulging laundry sack from the corner. These were his last pair of clean trousers, which meant he couldn’t put off a trip into town any longer. He tried to space them out as much as possible. In general, people drained the life out of him. Their nosiness and frivolous chatter gave him a headache. He was an oddity, he knew. A lone wolf who craved solitude and space to think. Does not get along with others, his teacher had once observed to his