Will of Steel Read online

  “Sammy?” Jillian gasped. “She’s not eating beef!”

  “She?” he asked.

  “She’s a cow. Or she will be one day.”

  “A cow named Sammy.” He laughed. “Sounds like Cy Parks, down in Jacobsville, Texas. He’s got a girl dog named Bob.” Everyone laughed.

  “See?” Jillian said indignantly. “I’m not the only person who comes up with odd names for animals.”

  Sassy hugged her. “No, you aren’t. I’m going home. You let Rourke clean that shotgun.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” she added.

  “My pleasure,” Rourke said.

  Sassy grinned. “And don’t let him talk you into marrying him,” she added firmly. “Ted will never speak to us again.”

  “No danger of that,” Jillian sighed. “Sorry,” she added to Rourke.

  “Don’t be so hasty, now,” Rourke said. “I have many good qualities. I’ll elaborate on them tonight. See you at six.”

  He left with Sassy. Jillian stared after them, grateful but uneasy. What was Ted going to think?

  Rourke showed up promptly at six with a bag of groceries.

  He put his purchases out on the table. Expensive steaks, lettuce, all the ingredients for salad plus a variety of dressings, and a cherry pie and a pint of vanilla ice cream.

  “I know you cook pies and cakes very well,” he explained, “but I thought you might like a taste of someone else’s cooking. Mrs. Callister’s new cook produced that. It’s famous where she comes from, up in Billings, Montana.”

  “I’ll love it. Cherry pie is one of my favorites.”

  “Mine, too.”

  He started the steaks and then used her gourmet knives to do a fantastic chopping of vegetables for the salad.

  Jillian watched his mastery of knives with pure fascination. “It must have taken you a long time to learn to do that so effortlessly.”

  “It did. I practiced on many people.”

  She stared at him, uncertain how to react.

  He saw that and burst out laughing. “I was joking,” he explained. “Not that I’ve never used knives on people, when the occasion called for it.”

  “I suppose violence is a way of life to someone in your position.”

  He nodded. “I learned to handle an AK-47 when I was ten years old.”

  She gasped.

  “Where I grew up, in Africa, there were always regional wars,” he told her. “The musclemen tried to move in and take over what belonged to the local tribes. I didn’t have family at that time, was living in an orphanage, so I went to fight with them.” He laughed. “It was an introduction to mean living that I’ve never been able to get past. Violence is familiar.”

  “I suppose it would have to be.”

  “I learned tactics and strategy from a succession of local warlords,” he told her. “Some of them were handed down from the time of Shaka Zulu himself.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Shaka Zulu? The most famous of the Zulu warriors, a strategist of the finest kind. He revolutionized weaponry and fighting styles among his people and became a great warlord. He defeated the British, with their advanced weapons.”

  “Good grief! I never heard of him.”

  “There was a miniseries on television about his exploits,” he said while he chopped celery and cucumbers into strips. “I have it. I watch it a lot.”

  “I saw Out of Africa.”

  He smiled. “That’s a beaut.”

  “It is. I loved the scenery.” She laughed. “Imagine, playing Mozart for the local apes.”

  “Inventive.” He stopped chopping, and his eye became dreamy. “I think Africa is the most beautiful place on earth. It’s sad that the animals are losing habitat so quickly. Many of the larger ones will go extinct in my lifetime.”

  “There are lots of people trying to save them. They raise the little ones and then turn them back out onto the land.”

  “Where poachers are waiting to kill them,” he said laconically. “You can still find ivory, and elephant feet used for footstools, and rhinoceros horn in clandestine shops all over the world. They do catch some of the perps, but not all of them. It’s tragic to see a way of life going dead. Like the little Bushmen,” he added quietly. “Their culture was totally destroyed, denigrated, ridiculed as worthless by European invaders. The end result is that they became displaced people, living in cities, in slums. Many are alcoholics.”

  “I could tell you the same is true here, where Native Americans received similar treatment,” she told him.

  He smiled. “It seems that the old cultures are so primitive that they’re considered without value. Our greatest modern civilizations are less than two thousand years old, yet those of primitive peoples can measure in the hundreds of thousands. Did you know that the mighty civilizations of Middle America were based on agriculture? Ours are based on industry.”

  “Agriculture. Farming.”

  He nodded. “Cities grew up around irrigated lands where crops were planted and grew even in conditions of great drought. The Hohokam in Arizona had canals. The Mayan civilization had astronomy.” He glanced at her. “The medical practitioners among the Incas knew how to do trepanning on skulls to relieve pressure in the brain. They used obsidian scalpels. It isn’t well-known, but they’re still in use today in scalpels for surgery.”

  “How did you learn all that?” she wondered.

  “Traveling. It’s one of the perks of my job. I get to see things and mix with people who are out in the vanguard of research and exploration. I once acted as bodyguard to one of the foremost archaeologists on earth in Egypt.”

  “Gosh!”

  “Have you ever traveled?” he asked.

  She thought about that. “Well, I did go to Oklahoma City, once,” she said. “It was a long drive.”

  He was holding the knife in midair. “To Oklahoma City.”

  She flushed. “It’s the only place outside Montana that I’ve ever been,” she explained.

  He was shocked. “Never to another country?”

  “Oh, no,” she replied. “There was never enough money for…” She stopped and glanced out the window. A pickup truck pulled up in the yard, very fast. The engine stopped, the door opened and was slammed with some fury.

  Rourke’s hand went involuntarily to the pistol under his arm.

  “Oh, dear,” Jillian said, biting her lip.

  “Harris?” he asked curtly.

  She sighed. “Worse. It’s Ted.”

  Nine

  There were quick, heavy footsteps coming up onto the porch. Jillian didn’t have to ask if Ted was mad. When he wasn’t, his tread was hardly audible at all, even in boots. Now, he was walking with a purpose, and she could hear it.

  He knocked on the door. She opened it and stepped back.

  His black eyes glittered at her. “I hear you have company,” he said shortly.

  Rourke came out of the kitchen. His jacket was off, so the .45 automatic he carried was plainly visible in its holster. “She does, indeed,” he replied. He moved forward with easy grace and extended a hand. “Rourke,” he introduced himself. “I’m on loan from the Callisters.”

  Ted shook the hand. “Theodore Graves. Chief of police,” he added.

  Rourke grinned. “I knew that. I came to town to try to see you the other day, but you were out on a case. Cash Grier said to tell you hello.”

  Ted seemed surprised. “You know him?”

  “We used to work together under, shall we say, unusual conditions, in Africa,” came the reply.

  Ted relaxed a little. “Rourke. I think he mentioned you.”

  He shrugged. “I get around. I really came over to clean her shotgun for her, but I’m cooking, too.” He gave Ted an appraisal that didn’t miss much, including the other man’s jealousy. “I’m impressing her with my culinary skills, in hopes that she might want to marry me after supper.”

  Ted gaped at him. “What?”

  “He’s just kidding,” Jillian said, flush
ing.

  “I am?” Rourke asked, and raised both eyebrows.

  Ted glared at the other man. “She’s engaged to me.”

  “I am not!” Jillian told him emphatically.

  Rourke backed up a step and held up a hand. “I think I’ll go back into the kitchen. I don’t like to get mixed up in family squabbles,” he added with a grin.

  “We are not a family, and we’re not squabbling!” Jillian raged.

  “We’re going to be a family, and yes, we are,” Ted said angrily.

  Rourke discreetly moved into the kitchen.

  “I could have cleaned the shotgun, if you’d just asked me,” he said angrily.

  “You stormed out of here in a snit and never said a word,” she returned. “How was I supposed to ask you, mail a letter?”

  “Email is quicker,” came a droll voice from the kitchen.

  “You can shut up, this is a private argument,” Ted called back.

  “Sorry,” Rourke murmured. “Don’t be too long now, cold steak is unappetizing.”

  “You’re feeding him steak?” Ted exclaimed. “What did he do, carve up Sammy?”

  “I don’t eat ugly calves!” Rourke quipped.

  “Sammy is not ugly, she’s beautiful!” Jillian retorted.

  “If you say so,” Rourke said under his breath.

  “There’s nothing wrong with black baldies,” she persisted.

  “Unless you’ve never seen a Brahma calf,” Rourke sighed. “Gorgeous little creatures.”

  “Brahmas are the ugliest cattle on earth,” Ted muttered.

  “They are not!” Rourke retorted. “I own some of them!”

  Ted stopped. “You run cattle around here?” he asked.

  Rourke came back into the room, holding a fork. “In Africa. My home is in Kenya.”

  Ted’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how Cash met you.”

  “Yes. I was, shall we say, gainfully employed in helping oust a local warlord who was slaughtering children in his rush to power.”

  “Good for you,” Ted replied.

  “Now you’re teaming up?” Jillian said, fuming.

  “Only as far as cattle are concerned,” Rourke assured her with a flash of white teeth. “I’m still a contender in the matrimonial sweepstakes,” he added. “I can cook and clean and make apple strudel.” He gave Ted a musing appraisal, as if to say, top that.

  Ted was outdone. It was well-known that he couldn’t boil water. He glared at the blond man. “I can knock pennies off bottles with my pistol,” he said, searching for a skill to compare.

  “I can do it with an Uzi,” Rourke replied.

  “Not in my town, you won’t—that’s an illegal weapon.”

  “Okay, but that’s a sad way to cop out of a competition.” He blinked. “I made a pun!”

  “I’m not a cop, I’m a police chief.”

  “Semantics,” Rourke said haughtily, borrowing Jillian’s favorite word, and walked back to the kitchen.

  Ted looked down at Jillian, who was struggling not to laugh. He was more worried than he wanted to admit about her assailant, who kept adding fuel to the fire in town with gossip about Jillian’s past. He knew better, but some people wouldn’t. He’d been irritable because he couldn’t find a way to make the little weasel leave town. Jillian was pale and nervous. He hadn’t helped by avoiding her. It was self-defense. She meant more to him than he’d realized. He didn’t want her hurt, even if she couldn’t deal with marrying him.

  He rested his hand on the butt of the automatic holstered on his belt. “I heard about what happened in the restaurant. You should listen to Sassy. It’s possible that Harris may try to get revenge on you here, where you’re alone.”

  “She’s not alone,” Rourke chimed in. “I’m here.”

  “Not usually, and he’ll know that,” Ted said irritably. He didn’t like the other man assuming what he thought of as his own responsibility.

  “Mrs. Callister already asked her to come stay at the ranch, but she won’t,” came the reply.

  Ted didn’t like the idea of Jillian being closer to Rourke, either. But he had to admit that it was the safest thing for her, if she wouldn’t marry him.

  “We could get married,” he told her, lowering his voice.

  “Can you cook?” Rourke asked. “Besides, I have all my own teeth.”

  Ted ignored him. He was worried, and it showed. He searched her eyes. “Harris bought a big Bowie at the hardward store yesterday.”

  “It’s not illegal to own a knife,” Rourke said.

  “Technically it’s not, although a Bowie certainly falls under the heading of an illegal weapon if he wears it in town. It has a blade longer than three-and-a-quarter inches. It’s the implication of the purchase that concerns me,” he added.

  Rourke quickly became more somber. “He’s making a statement of his intentions,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ted agreed. “And he knows there’s not a damned thing I can do about it, unless he carries the weapon blatantly. He’s not likely to do that.”

  Rourke didn’t mention that he’d been wearing his own Bowie knife in town. “You could turn your back and I could have a talk with him,” Rourke suggested, not completely facetiously.

  “He’d have me arrest you, and he’d call his lawyer,” was the reply.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Maybe I could visit somebody out of state,” Jillian said on a sigh.

  “He’d just follow you, and pose a threat to anybody you stayed with,” Ted said. “Besides that, you don’t know anybody out of state.”

  “I was only joking,” Jillian replied. “I’m not running,” she added firmly.

  The men looked at her with smiling admiration.

  “Foolhardy,” Rourke commented.

  “Sensible,” Ted replied. “Nobody’s getting past me in my own town to do her harm.”

  “I’m not needed at the ranch at night,” Rourke said. “I could stay over here.”

  Ted and Jillian both glared at him.

  He threw up his hands. “You people have some in credible hang-ups for twenty-first century human beings!”

  “We live in a small town,” Jillian pointed out. “I don’t want to be talked about. Any more than I already am, I mean,” she said miserably. “I guess Harris has convinced half the people here that I’m a heartless flirt who had him arrested because he wanted to marry me.”

  “Good luck to anybody brain-damaged enough to believe a story like that,” Rourke said. “Especially anybody who knows you at all.”

  “Thanks, Rourke,” Jillian replied.

  Ted shook his head. “There are people who will believe anything. I’d give real money if I could find a law on the books that I could use to make him leave town.”

  “Vagrancy would have been a good one until he got that job.”

  “I agree,” Ted said.

  “It’s not right,” Jillian blurted out. “I mean, that somebody can come here, harass me, make my life miserable and just get away with it.”

  Ted’s expression was eloquent. His high cheekbones flushed with impotent bad temper.

  “I’m not blaming you,” Jillian said at once. “I’m not, Ted. I know there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Oh, for the wild old days in Africa,” Rourke sighed. “Where we made up the laws as we went along.”

  “Law is the foundation of any civilization,” Ted said firmly.

  “True. But law, like anything else, can be abused.” Rourke pursed his lips. “Are you staying for supper? I actually brought three steaks.”

  Jillian frowned. “Three?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s say I anticipated that we might have company,” he said with a wry glance at Ted.

  Ted seemed to relax. He gave Jillian an appraising look. “After supper, we might sit on the front porch and do a little target shooting.”

  She glared at him.

  “We could practice with her shotgun,” Rourke agreed, adding fuel
to the fire.

  “I only have two shells,” Jillian said curtly.

  Rourke reached into a bag he’d placed on a nearby shelf. “I anticipated that, too.” He handed the shells to Ted with a grin.

  “Double ought buckshot,” Ted mused. “We use that in our riot shotguns.”

  “I know.”

  “What does that mean?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “It’s a heavy load, used by law enforcement officers to ensure that criminals who fire on them pay dearly for the privilege,” Ted said enigmatically.

  “Tears big holes in things, love,” Rourke translated.

  Ted didn’t like the endearment, and his black eyes glittered.

  Rourke laughed. “I’ll just go turn those steaks.”

  “Might be safer,” Ted agreed.

  Rourke left and Ted took Jillian’s hand and led her into the living room. He closed the door.

  “I don’t like him being over here with you alone,” he said flatly.

  She gave him a hunted look. “Well, I wasn’t exactly overflowing with people trying to protect me from Davy!”

  He averted his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Why did you get so angry?”

  “You were making excuses for him,” he said, his voice curt. “Letting him convince you that it was all a mistake. I got access to the court records, Jillian.”

  She realized what he was saying, and flushed to her hairline.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

  “He said I wore suggestive things…”

  “You never wore suggestive things in your life, and you were fifteen,” he muttered. “How would you feel, at your age now, if a fifteen-year-old boy actually flirted with you?”

  “I’d tell his mama,” she returned.

  “Exactly.” He waited for that to register.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You mean, I didn’t have the judgment to involve myself with a man, even one just six years older than me.”

  “You didn’t. And you never wore suggestive things.”

  “I wasn’t allowed, even if I’d wanted to. My uncle was very conservative.”

  “Harris was a predator. He still is. But in his own mind, he didn’t do anything wrong. That’s why he’s giving you the business. He really feels that he had every right to pursue you. He can’t understand why he was arrested for it.”