“Thought you were having a pretty fair sort of a time,” said Carrigan, absently.
His eyes were traveling over her head. She caught a glimpse of bright-haired Dolly Maxwell as they whirled. He was drifting away from her—that was plain.
“I’ve just been stringin’ ’em along,” said Jac. “But you’re different, Carrigan!”
And here her eyes rose slowly to his. Far away she sensed the somber face of Ben Craig. She had not much time. Carrigan was looking down at her now.
“Look here,” he said bluntly, “you can’t tie every steer in the corral to one rope, Miss Silvestre. Keep the brandin’ iron away from me. The fire ain’t hot enough to hurt me yet. The iron won’t make no mark.”
Jac thought of Maude Merriam at the great moment when her husband tells her that he loves another woman. She caught her breath. She made her eyes grow wide. “Do you really think that I would—”
“Damn it, Jac, ain’t Maurie and Carey enough for you? And there’s Ben Craig lookin’ at you like a wolf at a calf.”
“Carrigan!”
The timbre of her voice made him start. She knew that he would not forget her to look after Dolly Maxwell for some time.
“Well?”