"If you'd like me to help"

"I don't need any help from you," Sydney said.

Melody hoped Sydney's continued rudeness stemmed from embarra.s.sment at having been caught in the wrong, but she didn't count on it. He was determined to prove his manhood. She was the only one who made any attempt to convince him he was going about it in the wrong way.

"I wasn't aiming for the can when I shot you," Sydney said. "I was angry because I'd missed it."

"Never shoot in anger. If you do, it'll kill you one day."

"n.o.body's going to kill me," Sydney said. "I'm going to be the best shot in Texas."

"If you stay alive long enough."

But Sydney had turned and marched off toward the house. Chet turned to Melody.

"I've tried, but I can't do anything with him," she said before he spoke. "I told you we were having some trouble. Well, Sydney thinks being able to shoot fast is the only solution. I've tried to tell him there are lots of other choices, but I haven't met a single man since I came to Texas who can see anything but fighting and guns. Sorry," she said, when she realized he probably thought her remarks referred to him as well. "I'm not used to this, and I don't understand it. Let me see about your wound."

"It's nothing. Barely a scratch."

"Even scratches can become infected. Let me look at it."

She could tell he didn't want to, but he was too polite to refuse her offer of help. Or maybe he just thought it was easier that way.

She hadn't realized just how tall or how big he was until she reached up to touch his neck. She was of medium height for a woman, but he must have been at least a foot taller. He seemed much bigger now that she was close to himhis arms, his chest, even his neck, all thick and broad and well-muscled. "It seems to have done little more than take the skin off," she said.

"I told you it was nothing."

"I'll have to clean it."

Melody found it hard to concentrate on his wound. An aura of sensuality seemed to surround him, to envelope her as she stood next to him. When he looked down at her with those incredibly blue eyes, she felt herself sinking in a pool of mesmerizing warmth. It seemed to draw her in, to promise something unique. It was so strong that, despite her dislike of guns, it made her regret he couldn't stay.

Melody had had her share of admirers. In a Richmond devastated by the Civil War, the daughter of a well-to-do Texas rancher was energetically pursued. She had made her debut at sixteen, had been a veteran of the courting ritual by seventeen, almost an old maid by the time she was eighteen and her aunt's death caused her to move to Texas. But not once during those years had any man so powerfully affected her.

Yet Chet wasn't doing anything. He simply was.

She didn't know how long she might have remained standing there, virtually immobilized, if Tom Neland hadn't ridden in.

"What's going on?" Tom asked as he dismounted.

"This man stopped by to ask about buying a horse," Melody said as she fought free of the lethargy that gripped her. "Before he'd had time to drop his bedroll in the bunkhouse, Sydney shot him."

"It's just a scratch," Chet said.

"What were you doing to make Sydney take a shot at you?" Tom asked, his suspicions aroused. "I came around the corner of the bunkhouse just as Sydney was taking a shot in frustration," Chet explained.

"Chet took his gun away," Melody said. "When he got it back, he went inside in a huff."

"I should think he would," Tom said. "n.o.body takes another man's gun away."

"A fourteen-year-old boy who fires random shots in a fit of temper in the vicinity of ranch buildings is still a child and should be treated like one," Chet said.

"I'd like to see you try," Tom snapped.

"He's not my responsibility."

It wasn't hard to see that the two men weren't going to be friends. Only Tom showed overt signs of dislike, but it was clear Chet wasn't impressed with the Spring Water foreman. That shouldn't have come as a surprise. Melody had been in continual disagreement with Tom Neland from the moment she'd arrived.

"He's not my responsibility, either," Tom Neland said.

"Miss Jordan just said you were her foreman," Chet said.

"What of it?"

"It could have been one of your men coming around that corner."

"What goes on around here is none of your business."

"That's where you're wrong," Melody said. "I just hired him."

What was wrong with her? She'd just decided he had to leave and here she was telling Tom she'd hired him.

"Hiring's my job," Tom said.

"You weren't here." "How do we know he can do the work?" Tom asked, glaring at Chet. "Just because he looks like a grub line rider doesn't mean he's any good with cattle."

"He used to be a foreman on a cattle ranch," Melody said.

Melody could see Tom bristle immediately. "That doesn't mean anything," he said. "If he were any good, he wouldn't be at loose ends now."

"Have you ever heard of the Randolph family's Circle Seven Ranch or Jake Maxwell of the Broken Circle?" Chet asked.

"Sure. Everybody's heard of them, especially the Randolphs."

"I worked three drives to Abilene with Monty and Hen Randolph. Jake Maxwell is my father. I was his foreman until I was twenty-two."

Melody was careful not to smile at Tom's look of chagrin. From being a nameless, drifting gunslinger, Chet Attmore had turned out to be a cowman with better credentials than Tom. Maybe he wasn't a gunslinger after all. Maybe her instincts had been right.

"Then what the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" Tom asked, his mood not improved by being proved wrong.

"I told you, he needs a horse," Melody said. "I talked him into working to pay for it."

"If he really is Jake Maxwell's son, he can buy a whole herd of horses," Tom said. "That man owns a half dozen valleys in the Hill Country."

"Jake owns two," Chet said. "Various members of the family own the others. And yes, I can buy a horse. But I only wanted to trade until my horse has time to recover."

Melody stared at Chet. That accounted for the quality of his horse. It didn't account for his down-at-the-heels appearance.

"Then I can't see why you'd want to hang around here," Tom said. "We're not nearly as grand as you're used to."

"I'm only an adopted son," Chet said. "Jake doesn't owe me a dime."

He said it dispa.s.sionately, as if it didn't bother him one way or the other. Melody felt a bond of sympathy. She wasn't an orphan, but she'd lost her mother at birth. Aunt Emmaline had done the best she could, but no one could take the place of a girl's own mother. And though her father had sent money regularly, she'd always felt that if he really loved her, he'd have wanted her with him in Texas.

"I still don't think you'd be happy here," Tom said.

"In that case it's a good thing I'm not planning to stay," Chet said.

"I thought Melody said"

"She offered me the job. I agreed to think about it. It's clear you don't like me. I'd be a fool to stay under those conditions."

He certainly didn't mince words, Melody thought. "But you will stay for dinner," she said. "After being shot, that's the least we can do." She regretted he was leaving, but it was probably better this way. She already had two men to deal with she couldn't understand. She didn't need a third.

"You could trade me a horse," Chet said, a faint smile on his lips.

"You can have any horse you want," Melody said, "on condition you stay until tomorrow morning and let me take care of your wound." Chet looked at Tom.

"Of course you'll stay the night," Tom said. "There's plenty of room in the bunkhouse. Bernice feeds the hands in the kitchen at five o'clock."

"He'll eat with the family," Melody said.

"A place in the kitchen is all I'm used to," Chet said. "I'm not dressed for anything else."

Melody had every intention of arguing with him, but she was distracted by the sound of a rider approaching. She looked up to see the very impressive figure of Lantz Royal.

Lantz was thirty-eight, big, handsome, and the richest cattleman in the area. He was used to getting everything he wanted. When people called him greedy, he laughed and said he didn't want much, just all the land that bordered his. Her father had stood up to him, but Royal had run most of the ranchers out of the area. Now that Bob Jordan was dead, Royal had made it plain he meant to have the Spring Water.

He wanted Melody as well. She sometimes got the feeling that if she didn't agree to marry him, he'd take the ranch and leave her and her brothers nothing. So far, he'd been patient, willing to get what he wanted by guile rather than force, but she didn't know how long that would last.

Not long if he was as impatient as his son. Blade Royal was wild and willful, and fancied himself a gun hand. He was not above doing something rash or downright foolish, but Lantz was always around to see that Blade didn't have to suffer the consequences of the trouble he stirred up.

Blade had wanted to marry Melody, too. She didn't know which man would be more dangerous if they ever squared off against each other. She did know that at eighteen, Blade Royal was too young to be thinking of becoming anybody's husband.

Chet was irritated with himself for bandying words with Melody's foreman. He had been toying with the idea of staying at the Spring Water for a short time, but Tom Neland obviously didn't like him and didn't want him there.

It was just as well. He'd been thinking too much about Melody, and that wouldn't do anybody any good. A woman like her would see him as a curiosity at best, at worst somebody to avoid at all costs. He'd seen the way she reacted when he admitted to being a gunslinger. After all these years, he still couldn't get used to it. He kept making the mistake of thinking he was as good as anybody else.

Men like him had a place, and it wasn't anywhere near women like her. He might as well get her out of his mind right now. She was just another good-looking woman. He'd forgotten at least a dozen. He'd forget her, too.

Yet he had been thinking about changing his plans because of her. That was a dangerous sign. A smart man wouldn't have needed Tom's dislike to know it was best to leave. Chet had lived through too much danger to start making foolish decisions now.

The arrival of the arrogant newcomer wouldn't normally have concerned Chet. He had started to turn away until he noticed Melody's reaction. Her body seemed to stiffen; the expression on her face become set. But it was the glance she threw in Chet's direction that caused him to pause, the fear at the back of her eyes that caused him to take a closer look at this man.

Chet had seen his type beforebig, handsome, strong, richa man who seemed to think success gave him the right to do anything he wanted. His overbearing att.i.tude, even the way he sat forward in the saddle, told Chet he was probably worse than most.

It bothered him that Tom Neland reacted in much the same way as Melody. If her foreman was uneasy around this man, how could he be depended upon to stand up to him? Chet decided to stay right where he was for a few more minutes.

"Good afternoon, Miss Jordan," the man said. "You're looking as beautiful as ever."

Chet disliked him at once. It wasn't that Melody wasn't beautiful or that she didn't deserve the compliment, but coming from this man's lips it sounded like a slur.

"I'm feeling hot and dusty," Melody said. "You're going to have to excuse me. I've got to see to Chet's wound."

"Has another one of your hands been hurt?"

He showed no concern. In fact, Chet thought he looked pleased.

"It's just a scratch," Chet said, facing the man who was rude enough to have remained in the saddle.

The visitor ignored Chet. "I don't recognize him," he said to Melody. "He's not one of your hands. What's he doing here?"

Chet knew it was foolish to rile this man, but he wouldn't be dismissed by anybody's oversized ego. "I don't recognize you either," he said. "You're certainly not a hand. What are you doing here?"

"My name's Lantz Royal." The man's angry irritation communicated itself to his mount, making the animal restless. "I'm Miss Jordan's neighbor. I've come to make sure she's doing all right."

"My name's Chet Attmore. I'm just pa.s.sing through. I'm sure Miss Jordan would welcome any gentleman concerned about her."

"I" Melody began.

"But you are not a gentleman."

Royal reached for his gun. He stopped, his hand in the process of closing around the handle. Chet's gun was pointed directly at his heart.

"I was about to say no gentleman would stay in the saddle while talking to a lady." Chet intentionally spoke in a soft, unhurried voice. "Nor would he attempt to shoot down a man he didn't know in front of her."

"You insulted me," Royal said, his color high.

"I just wanted to say you weren't treating Miss Jordan with the respect she deserves," Chet said. "I'm sure it was an oversight. You were so anxious to know she was okay, you forgot all about your manners."

Chet eased his gun back into its holster, but he didn't take his eyes off Royal. Nor had he made any attempt to keep a slight sneer from his voice.

"I wasn't going to kill you," Royal snapped. "I was just going to teach you a lesson."

"How? By giving me a scratch on the other cheek?"

Royal muttered something under his breath and turned to Melody. "I'm sure you know I meant no disrespect," he said as he swung out of the saddle. "I'd never be rude to the woman I hope to make my bride."

Chet hoped his face didn't show the shock he felt. He hoped she hadn't given any serious consideration to this proposal. He couldn't read her thoughts, but he did know she wasn't comfortable around Lantz Royal.

"I'm perfectly fine," Melody said to Royal in a flat, controlled voice. "It was kind but unnecessary for you to check on me three days in a row."

"I had to come," Royal said. "I heard another one of your hands had been attacked. What happened?"

"We don't know," Tom Neland said. "They shot from ambush. Speers's partner was more interested in seeing he got help than in going after the coyote who tried to drygulch him."

"I've been telling you this country is too dangerous for an unmarried woman," Royal said to Melody. "If you would just agree to marry me, I'd have my men all over those hills. Wouldn't a rustler dare come within a hundred miles of the place."

"What makes you think it was rustlers?" Chet asked. "I haven't heard of any around here."