Her Prairie Knight, B. M. Bower [heaven official's blessing novel english .txt] 📗

“I think you might call me Keith,” he cut in. “You've got to begin some time, and now is as good a time as any.”

“You—you're taking a good deal for granted,” she said, wriggling unavailingly in his arms.

“A man's got to, with a girl like you. You're so used to turning a fellow down I believe you'd do it just from habit.”

“Indeed?” She was trying to be sarcastic and got kissed for her pains.

“Yes, 'indeed.'” He mimicked her tone. “I want you. I want you! I wanted you long before I ever saw you. And so I'm not taking any chances—I didn't dare, you see. I just had to take you first, and ask you afterward.”

Beatrice laughed a little, with tears very close to her lashes, and gave up. What was the use of trying to resist this masterful fellow, who would not even give her a chance to refuse him? She did not know quite how to say no to a man who did not ask her to say yes. But the queer part, to her, was the feeling that she would have hated to say no, anyway. It never occurred to her, till afterward, that she might have stood upon a pedestal of offended dignity and cried, “Unhand me, villain!”—and that, if she had, Keith would undoubtedly have complied instantly. As it was, she just laughed softly, and blushed a good deal.

“I believe mama is right about you, after all,” she said wickedly. “At heart, you're a bold highwayman.”

“Maybe. I know I'd not stand and see some other fellow walk off with my Heart's Desire, without putting up a fight. It did look pretty blue for me, though, and I was afraid—but it's all right now, isn't it? Possession is nine points in law, they say, and I've got you now! I'm going to keep you, too. When are you going to come over and take charge of the Cross ranch?”

“Dear me!” said Beatrice, snuggling against his shoulder, and finding it the best place in the world to be. “I never said I was going to take charge at all!” Then the impulse of confession seized her. “Will you hate me, if I tell you something?”

“I expect I will,” Keith assented, his eyes positively idolatrous. “What is it, girlie?”

“Well, I—it was Dick's fault; I never would have thought of such a thing if he hadn't goaded me into it—but—well, I was going to make you propose, on a wager—” The brown head of Beatrice went down out of sight, on his arm. “I was going to refuse you—and get Rex—”

“I know.” Keith held her closer than ever. “Dick rode over and told me that day. And I wasn't going to give you a chance, missy. If you hadn't started to cry, here— Oh! what's the use? You didn't refuse me—and you're not going to, either, are you, girlie?”

Beatrice intimated that there was no immediate danger of such a thing happening.

“You see, Dick and I felt that you belonged to me, by rights. I fell in love with a picture of you, that you sent him—that one taken in your graduation gown—and I told Dick I was going to take the next train East, and carry you off by force, if I couldn't get you any other way. But Dick thought I'd stand a better show to wait till he'd coaxed you out here. We had it all fixed, that you'd come and find a prairie knight that was ready to fight for you, and he'd make you like him, whether you wanted to or not; and then he'd keep you here, and we'd all be happy ever after. And Dick would pull out of the Northern Pool—and of course you would—and we'd have a company of our own. Oh! we had some great castles built out here on the prairie, let me tell you! And then, when you finally came here, you had milord tagging along—and you thinking you were in love with him! Maybe you think I wasn't shaky, girlie! The air castles got awfully wobbly, and it looked like they were going to cave in on us. But I was bound to stay in the game if I could, and Dick did all he could to get you to looking my way—and it's all right, isn't it, Trixie?” Keith kept recurring to the ecstatic realization that it was all right.

Beatrice meditated for a minute.

“I never dreamed—Dick never even mentioned you in any of his letters,” she said, in a rather dazed tone. “And when I came he made me believe you were a horrible flirt, and I never can resist the temptation to measure lances.”

“And take a fall out of a male flirt,” Keith supplemented. “Dick,” he went on sententiously and slangily, “was dead onto his job.” After that he helped her into the saddle, and they rode blissfully homeward.

Near the ranch they met Dick, who pulled up and eyed them anxiously at first, and then with a broad smile.

“Say, Trix,” he queried slyly, “who does Rex belong to?”

Keith came to the rescue promptly, just as a brave knight should. “You,” he retorted. “But I tell you right now, he won't very long. You're going to do the decent thing and give him to Trixie—for a wedding present.”

Dick looked as though Trix was welcome to any thing he possessed.