"Morning," Travis called as he took the nearest chair, stretching his legs out in the cramped area.
Tucker glanced up and grinned. "Heard you were back. Did you get the ring?"
Travis sighed. "Yeah, well that's what I came to talk to you about. I brought the girl back."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, and Mother is treating this woman like she's a visiting princess," Travis said in disgust. "They wanted to come to town and let me bring them shopping. Mother was going to show her off to her friends in town."
"That's our mother." Tucker laughed, then glanced at his brother quizzically. "So why did you bring her back?"
"Because of the ring. I just thought that sooner or later she'd hand it over."
"You could have brought her back to the jail."
"I wanted to. But Mother told me that if I brought Desirée back to jail, she would just come and bail her out again," Travis said in disbelief.
"So where does Madame Desirée say the ring is?"
"She claims she's never seen it. I searched her belongings and still couldn't find the damn thing. It's almost as if that gold band vanished into thin air."
"And Mother graciously accepted this girl?" Tucker asked.
"Practically rolled out the red carpet in welcome. You'd have thought she was royalty visiting her subjects."
"I must say I'm a little surprised." Tucker's forehead drew together in concentration and he frowned. "Watch it, Travis. Mother's up to something. I don't know what just yet, but she's cooking up some kind of scheme."
"This woman stole her wedding band, and she wants to go shopping!"
"Maybe the two of them are planning on spending the cash?" Tucker joked.
Travis shot him a glare, knowing he was only kidding, but unwilling to laugh at this sore subject. "You know how Mother feels about her wedding ring. I expected her to bust the woman in the lip, rather than entice her with shopping."
"Come on, big brother, you know how Mother works. She's luring her into an unsuspecting trap, and then she'll pounce on her. I tell you, she's planning something."
Travis rubbed his chin. "So you think this is all a big guise to trap Desirée, then?"
"Certainly. Mother's almost as extreme as you are about obeying the laws. If she believes Desirée took her ring, the woman won't get away with it."
Travis sat there a few moments and studied his younger brother. Could he be right about their mother? Was she just pretending to be a good hostess, before she trapped Desirée?
Something didn't feel right. No matter how he twisted the image around in his mind, his gray-haired mother didn't seem the type. But then again, he'd been wrong about her on more than one occasion.
"So you don't think I should bring her to jail?"
"Please, no. She had my jail so stirred up, I thought I was going to have to isolate her." Tucker shook his head. "No, let her hang herself. Keep a close eye on her, and sooner or later, she'll slip up."
"That's easy for you to say," Travis said, uneasy at the thought of having Desirée so close underfoot
"Besides, from what I remember of Miss Severin, she wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. In fact, she was a pretty little piece that I would have been willing to try on for a ride."
Travis bristled at his brother's words. Tucker wasn't saying anything Travis hadn't heard repeated about other women, but somehow he didn't like the words his brother had chosen. Even more, Travis didn't like his own reaction.
The marshal gazed at him. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, a surprised expression on his face. "So that's the way it is."
"What do you mean?" Travis asked, hearing the defensiveness in his own voice.
Tucker laughed. "You've taken a fancy to this woman, haven't you?"
"Of course not, she's a thief."
"I'd wager she wasn't the most honest of women. But she's a hell of a looker."
Travis jumped up and began to pace, his boots rapping against the wooden floor. "I have to admit she's a handful. And I can hardly keep my hands off her." He threw up his arms, exasperated. "Mother put her across the hall from me. She's sleeping within ten feet."
"I've never seen you this rattled over a woman before," Tucker commented. "What's really bothering you, Travis?"
"I don't know. I guess I always thought that when a woman I was attracted to came along, she'd be— you know—an honest woman. Not some con artist who runs a séance scam."
"What do you really know about Miss Severin? Has she told you about her past or what her life was like before she got to Fort Worth?" Tucker questioned.
"No, all we've done is argue over every little thing. She's certainly a challenge. She's a saucy little thing that has me either fuming or laughing. I never know which one to expect."
As if realizing he'd said more than he intended, Travis sat back down in the chair. Silence filled the office. Finally, he sighed. "What am I going to do with her?"
"Why don't you hire a Pinkerton agent to get the real information on her. That way you'll know the truth and you keep her at the ranch, which makes Mother happy." The marshal smiled. "What happens between the two of you—well, that's up to you."
Travis frowned. "A Pinkerton agent?" He thought for a moment. "I could find out everything in her background. How many times she's stolen and where she comes from."
"It would buy you some time. You could use that same gentleman Mother used when she searched for Tanner. He was quick and affordable."
Travis thought for a moment. "You know, that's not a bad idea."
"His office is right up the street. Come on, let's drop in and pay him a visit on the way to grab a bite for lunch."
Travis picked up his hat and shoved it on his head.
"Miss Desirée Severin, voice of the dead, is about to be revealed."
***
After spending most of the day in town, Travis headed for home content with the things he had accomplished. After their meeting, the Pinkerton agent had agreed to check into Desirée's past and locate as much information as possible in the shortest amount of time. Travis didn't have weeks—in fact it was more like days—before he'd be forced to either let her go or carry out his threat of imprisonment.
Sooner or later she'd call his bluff and force his hand.
After he'd left the Pinkerton man, he'd gone over to the stage and checked on Desirée's luggage. With the two women joining forces against him, it'd been hard to walk out this morning and not take them to town. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from running out the dining room door. Sometimes it was better to retreat than admit defeat.
If the truth were known, he'd even missed them today. A fact he'd never admit to under penalty of death.
But off and on during the day, the image of Desirée had slipped through the conscious barriers he'd tried to erect. Memories of her sitting across the table at breakfast looking beautiful, the way she'd sparred with him, defending her position, the sight of her last night standing expectantly outside his bedroom door, the feel of her luscious curves pressed against him, had snuck past his guard. All these memories were more than he'd shared with any woman he'd ever courted.
She was maddening, beautiful, and heated his blood quicker than any flame he'd ever started. And if the truth were told, he admired her spunk, her courage, and the way she stood up to him. She was definitely not the mousy, quiet type and somehow he was beginning to get a nagging suspicion about why his mother had never liked any of the women he'd introduced her to before.
But Desirée kept him on edge. If she hadn't stepped out of his embrace last night, he didn't know if he could have ended it. And her questions had left him anxious.
As he turned his horse up the lane to the house, he couldn't help but wonder what she had been doing all day.
His Appaloosa trotted into the yard, and his dogs raced up barking, welcoming him home. Belle shook her head at the mutts, sending them scooting away from her hooves. Men working in the corral waved hello before turning back to the animals
they were training.
Bone-weary from the long ride, he pulled to a halt in front of the house. Swinging his leg over the saddle, he dropped down to the ground and then handed the reins to a wrangler waiting nearby. His men were good. He paid them well, and they showed their appreciation by doing a good job. Not that he neglected his ranch, but it wasn't necessary for him to stand over them every moment.
Climbing the steps, he walked across the porch, wondering why no one had greeted him from the house. He opened the door, stepped into the darkened house, and took a moment to let his eyes adjust from the bright sunshine. Usually his mother or the cook met him at the door. But this time he was alone.
Travis strolled into the parlor and found his mother sitting in her chair sewing on a shirt. She didn't glance up when he came into the room. A cold reception if ever he'd received one.
"Did you have a nice trip into town, son?" Her voice was distant.
"It was productive."
His mother gazed up at him, her look tinged with anger. "And what do you mean by that?"
"Relax, Mother, she's not going to jail."
She smiled with relief. "I'm glad to see you came to your senses. I knew you were, a good son."
"For now," he cautioned.
"For now?"
He glanced around. "Where is she? You didn't let her take off, did you?"
"Of course not. She's resting upstairs. Now explain yourself," Eugenia said, her tone snappy.
Part of Travis wanted to laugh. He'd never seen his mother act this way. But part of him was concerned. What was it about this young woman that seemed to have enslaved his mother?
"It means don't worry, Mother. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. But you're going to get your ring back."
"I'm sure I will, Travis," she said, laying her sewing aside. "It's almost time for dinner. Why don't you go wash up and then we'll eat."
"That sounds good. I am hungry. Should I knock on Desirée's door?"
"No, she's resting. I told her we'd eat not long after you came home."
He tromped up the stairs and went into his bedroom. After changing his shirt and washing his face and hands, he walked out the door of his bedroom. He couldn't help but glance at the closed door across the hall. All the while he dressed, he'd listened for the sound of Desirée's footsteps going down the stairs. Nothing. No sounds came from inside her room.
Hurrying, he went downstairs. He hadn't seen her since this morning, and then they'd not been on the best of terms. The urge to see her was strong.
"Has Desirée come down yet?"
"She's coming," his mother coolly replied.
Something in her voice alerted him. The sound of the bedroom door shutting caused him to turn toward the staircase. He glanced up the stairs, and the sight made him gasp.
Dear God, the woman was wearing his clothes, and somehow she'd altered them to fit her as though they'd been stitched to her very flesh.
Every curve was outlined, every limb defined by clothes that had once held his body, his skin. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
If Desirée didn't know how to sew, then only one person could have helped her. His mother. His shirt had been resized to fit her small frame, her breasts clearly outlined through the material. His pants had been cut down and reshaped to fit every delectable curve.
She came down the stairs, one beautifully curved leg at a time, her emerald eyes never faltering from his. Her waist was narrow, her hips were curvaceous, and her legs stretched into next week.
He tried to swallow and almost choked. She came to a halt in front of him and twirled around for his inspection.
"What do you think, cowboy?"
"I think I better lock you up before you harm some poor man. Mainly me."
Chapter Seven
Travis glanced at the ceiling, cleared his throat, and said a small prayer for patience before letting his gaze drift back to Desirée's face. As long as he kept his eyesight above her neck, he could resist her shapely legs. Couldn't he?
He lowered his eyes, his gaze wandering back to those long, statuesque legs. Oh, but the woman had a mean streak, to dress so provocatively when he was desperately trying to keep his hands to himself.
She had followed his orders, but she'd done it in such a way that she'd gotten her revenge and then some. Why hadn't he taken her into town to buy a damn dress? It would have been so much simpler.
No matter how much he tried, he was invariably drawn to the sight of her narrow waist, long legs, and thighs a man only dreamed about having wrapped around him.
Eugenia shuffled restlessly, drawing his attention. It appeared his own mother had joined in the fight against him, and he wondered at her defection. He was her son, for God's sake! And yet she had helped Desirée, the woman who had stolen her prized possession, carry out this show of defiance.
She cleared her throat nervously. "Excuse me, children, but I just remembered I promised Cook I would help serve the men in the bunkhouse tonight. I'll see you two later."
Travis watched his mother as she backed out of the doorway, her eyes shifting between him and Desirée. No doubt about it, she'd helped the little con artist, and now she was retreating, leaving the two of them all alone.
He realized the women expected him to react in anger. They expected him to respond like any normal man confronted with mutiny. His mother was anxious. Desirée was spoiling for a fight, but she was going to be disappointed. For he wasn't about to give her the gratification of knowing just how much the sight of her tightly clad legs and snug shirt affected him. And, Lord, they were affecting him!
It could be the death of him, but he was not going to give the women the satisfaction of a reaction. Calmly he called, "Good night, Mother."
Eugenia was out of sight before he finished speaking. He turned and saw Desirée staring in disbelief, a surprised look on her face. "Eugenia, wait . . ."
The door slammed shut.
They were alone. The tick of the grandfather clock in the parlor resounded like a gong in the silence.
"You've just been deserted," he said quietly.
"It appears that way," she replied, stunned.
He let his eyes roam over her womanly curves, until they came to rest on her face. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile. He was going to be gracious if it killed him, and it very well could. He might even have a little fun with the situation. "I've never escorted a woman wearing pants before. May I accompany you to the table?"
Desirée swallowed. "Of course."
He took her arm and pushed open the door to the dining room with his free hand. Travis glanced at the table and felt as though he'd been kicked in the chest. What kind of game were his mother and Desirée playing now? Crystal goblets gleamed in the candlelight; the shadow from the flames danced seductively on the wall.
"Your Mother and I wanted to surprise you tonight," Desirée said, stepping into the room.
"With what? The candlelight or the pants?"
She laughed, her voice a light, lilting sound that sent shivers down his back. "The pants, silly. I had nothing to do with all this."
"Well, you definitely shocked me. I can't remember the last time I admired a woman wearing pants."
"You don't think they're too tight, do you?" she asked.
Desirée was baiting him, but this time he was not going to be caught. This time he was throwing the hook, line, and sinker back to her. This time she could be the sucker for a change.
"Well..." He held her out at arm's length, then knelt down beside her and ran his hands along the outside seams, checking the troublesome garment.
She tried to step back, but his hands gripped her legs.
"Uh, what are you doing?" she gasped.
"Checking the seams," he murmured, enjoying the rough texture of the fabric as he smoothed it down her long legs. They were snug against her legs and outlined her cute little rear. Fearing he'd carried the game one step too far, he released her and glanced up into her green eyes.
They were wide with astonishment and maybe a dose of healthy fear, which surprised him. He watched as she swallowed nervously.
She hadn't been prepared for his close inspection.
He rose from the ground and glanced down at her. "You know, if you boil these in hot water, you might get them to shrink even more."
She blushed, and for a moment the sight of her rosy cheeks in the dim light caught him off guard, causing his breath to quicken. How could a woman so devious have such an innocent air about her? If he didn't know better, he'd think she was pure and sinless. But a virtuous con? That was impossible.
He pulled a chair away from the table and held it out for her.
"I didn't have anything else to wear," she said, taking the offered chair. She eased down into it and folded her hands in her lap.
"You proved your point," he acknowledged.
Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed with determination. "After your comment this morning about all women sewing, I wanted you to see that not everyone does."
He shrugged. "So, I guess my mother helped you out with the alterations?"
He couldn't help but notice how the light glinted off the darkness of her hair. He couldn't have cared less that she didn't know how to sew. He didn't care that his comment that morning had caused such a commotion. All he could think about was that here before him was a woman who had his blood hotter than the cook's chili and tasted sweeter than honey.
And she'd stolen his mother's wedding ring!
"Yes, I convinced her to help me. She did most of the stitching."
"I bet she didn't take much persuasion, did she?" Travis was surprised that he only felt annoyance at his mother. Desirée, he was beginning to realize, could run around half naked and he wouldn't mind.
"No." Desirée picked up a fork and twirled it between her fingers. "We were pretty much in agreement that we had to do something."
"You couldn't just alter one of my mother's dresses?" he asked, knowing the answer beforehand.
She met his gaze head on. "There would be a lot of work. It would take several days. I needed clothes now!"
He ran his hand through his hair, brushing back the wayward locks. He'd never met a more stubborn, pain-in-the-ass woman, and all he wanted to do was take her upstairs to his room, peel those tight-fitting pants from her body, and show her just how her act of defiance affected him.