“Sure is. Mac and Amelia made chicken and dumplings. It was pretty good, too.” He drew out a chair and straddled it.
“Better than mine?”
Was she flirting with him? He still hadn’t recovered from waking up with his arms wrapped around her warm, soft body, nestled against his. His hand had ached with the desire to cup her full breast and mold its softness. Her rounded bottom had sat on top of his erection. If Will hadn’t burst into the room, they might have done something that he would be feeling regret for right now. Or maybe not.
“No one’s chicken and dumplings is better than yours.” He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the sheriff?”
She shook her head. “Nothing will come of it, except to upset Will. Just let it go.”
Rusty stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Every time I think of their filthy hands on you, I want to track them down and finish what I started.”
“No.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I want to forget it ever happened. Please? Let’s just forget . . .” Her voice faded, her eyes filling with tears.
He knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. “You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known.”
“No, not at all. I’m just a woman who wants to put this behind her, and raise my son.” She swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and gave him a smile. “Now I would like to eat my supper.”
He climbed to his feet and kissed her forehead. “While you’re eating, I’ll run over to my place and get more of the pain powder. It will also help you to sleep better.”
What he would like to do to help her sleep would get him a slap in the face if he suggested it. Even with the bruised eye and split lip, she still caused his blood to boil and gather in the wrong spot.
Chapter Seven
Rusty stepped out his front door with the packet of pain powder in his hand. Full darkness had arrived, with a bright new moon casting the area in an eerie glow. His attention was drawn to giggling behind his house. Then the sound of a male voice. More giggling, more male voice.
Shoving the packet into his pants, he rounded the corner of the house. Not more than ten feet away stood his daughter in the arms of a cowboy. The man was just bending his head to her lips when Rusty strode up to the couple and yanked the cowboy back by his shirt collar, and tossed him on the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He stood over the surprised young man, his hands fisted at his side. “Answer me, boy. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The cowboy glanced back and forth between Amelia and Rusty. “Ah, we were just . . .”
“Just what?” Rusty moved closer, causing the cowboy to skitter backward like a crab.
“No!” Amelia grabbed Rusty’s arm and pulled. “Stop. Don’t hit him.” Her eyes were round, her face pale in the moonlight. She chewed her lower lip and her breaths came in shot spurts.
Rusty rounded on her. “You, young lady go into the house right now, while I deal with this.” He turned his attention to the young man still sitting on the ground. “Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you on the ranch.”
“No, sir. I don’t work here. My name is Thomas Richardson. I’m from Kansas. I’m visiting my Aunt Mabel and Uncle Bob.”
Damnation, the boy was Richardson’s nephew. As much as he’d like to pound the kid into the dirt, it wouldn’t do to beat up the boss’s relatives. “Stand up, boy.” He reached out to take the kid’s hand. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen, sir.”
He turned to Amelia. “Go into the house. I will deal with you in a minute.”
Amelia glowered at him, but hurried to Rachel’s house, slamming the door. Rusty turned back to Thomas. “Are you aware that my daughter is only fourteen years old?”
Thomas blanched and shook his head. “No, sir. She told me she was sixteen.”
“Did she, now? Well, she’s only fourteen, and I suggest you find other ways to occupy your time while you’re visiting.”
The boy wiped his brow. “Yes, sir.”
“Go on, get out of here.”
Thomas hurried away. A grin started forming on Rusty’s face, then quickly faded. She told the boy she was sixteen?
With a deep breath, Rusty headed to Rachel’s house. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.