Beckett's Birthright. Bronwyn Williams

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      Chapter Two

      Eli dismissed the men with orders to hitch up a cart and haul a load of locust fence posts out to the south pasture. Only then did he turn back to the woman who stood boldly in the open doorway, hands firmly planted on her generous hips.

      “Demon? What about one of the geldings?” he suggested. Demon was a stallion some sixteen hands high, reported to be part Barb. On his best behavior, he was no ladies’ mount.

      Delilah Jackson continued to look at him as if she were trying to determine his breeding. It was nothing particularly impressive, he could have told her. Run-of-the-range stock.

      Eli had been accused a time or two of lacking judgment, something he’d never denied. One thing no one could accuse him of, however, was backing down from a challenge. Which, come to think of it, might have something to do with his questionable judgment. The gauntlet had been flung. It was tan kid and smelled faintly of roses.

      Nodding to Streak, who had just come inside, he spoke quietly. “Saddle Demon for Miss Jackson, please.” He expected an argument, but the lanky cattleman turned to the woman and smiled, setting his prominent Adam’s apple to bobbing.

      “Glad to have you home, Miss Lilah.”

      “Thank you, Streak. This time I’m home to stay.”

      Streak left to saddle her horse, and Eli shrugged. If she got into trouble, it wouldn’t be his responsibility.

      The lady was large, but obviously not too bright. About half a foot under his own six foot three and hatless, she wore her rust-red hair swept up in a mound on top of her head. Her features, he had to admit, were in perfect proportion to her body, from the proud nose to the wide mouth and the big whiskey-colored eyes.

      His exploration lingered momentarily on a small dark mole just above the right corner of her lips, then moved on to the generous bosom fighting to break through the small covered buttons on her pin-tucked white blouse.

      “Would you care to examine my teeth, too?” Her voice was as lush as her body, but dry.

      “Sorry. Nothing personal.” The hell it wasn’t personal. He couldn’t recall ever having been so acutely aware of a woman before.

      Well…maybe once, but that was different.

      What the devil was Jackson thinking of, letting his daughter parade around in front of the men wearing pants? Did he have any idea of the way they talked about her? Didn’t the damn fool even care? Whatever else she was, she was his daughter—his own flesh and blood, for God’s sake!

      Streak brought the saddled stallion around, and the lady turned to smile at him. “Oh, Streak, thank you. You didn’t have to do that, I could have saddled him.”

      Then why hadn’t she, Eli wondered. Because it might spoil her imperial princess act?

      The big bay snorted and tried to bite the hand that led him. The Jackson woman calmly reached for the reins, murmuring softly to the fractious animal. She swung up with no effort at all, and both men stood in the open doorway, watching as she set off down the back lane.

      Lilah, barely managing to cool her seething anger, rode farther and faster then she’d planned. It had been months since she’d been on a horse. No suitable mounts were available at school. Or rather, no suitable saddles. The first time she’d tried to position herself properly on a sidesaddle she had slid off, landing on her hands and knees in front of a group of smirking classmates. That had also been the last time she’d tried to sit on one of the miserable things. She’d been riding astride all her life. Her father knew it. He didn’t approve, but then, Burke Jackson had never approved of a single thing she had ever done.

      Lilah had tried for years to understand why he couldn’t love her. True, her mother had died giving birth to her, and everyone said he’d worshipped the ground Achsah Jackson had walked on. People said he’d cried for five days after she died, then he’d cursed for five more days. Since then he’d been a changed man.

      Lilah wouldn’t know about that. For as long as she could remember her father had ignored her, leaving Shem and Pearly May to look after her. It had been Shem who had arranged for her to go to the school in the nearby town of Hillsborough once she was old enough. Her father had never showed any interest in whether or not she could read or write.

      Shem had even given her a name. He’d asked if Burke Jackson wanted her named after her mother, and Burke had fired him on the spot. Naturally, Shem hadn’t left. By then he was used to being fired. Neither man ever took it seriously. Even Lilah had come to realize that her father didn’t always mean what he said.

      So Shem had picked out her name and registered it with the same deliberation he would have given the offspring of one of their prize bulls, although with a different set of authorities.

      Delilah Burke Jackson. She’d been named for her father, even though he’d shown no more interest in her than he did the least of his seasonal hires. By the time she’d cut her first permanent tooth, she had accepted the fact that if a father couldn’t love his only child, there was no point in hoping anyone else could. Since the day she’d first reached that conclusion, she had made her own rules.

      “And to hell with everyone else,” she muttered now as she jumped Demon over a low fence. “To hell with you, too, Elias Chandler,” she added for good measure.

      She had known who he was before she’d СКАЧАТЬ