by Denise Eagan
Nick’s eyes caught hers across the back of his mount. “Never occurred to me. I chose Belle for you because she’s sure-footed, which is a lot more useful in the mountains than spirit.” He spied her saddle and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No sidesaddle?”
“It seemed safer to ride astride, and Melinda assured me it was perfectly proper under the circumstances,” Star answered, lifting her chin in defiance.
“It surely is, ma’am,” Nick replied, grinning. For all her Eastern gentility, she possessed a deal of spunk, and her sporadic disdain for decorum touched a joyful, but deeply hidden, rebellious part of him. He relaxed a little. “You need a hand up?”
She shook her head and, with more grace than he’d have thought possible clothed as she was in long skirts and cape, swung into the saddle. Melinda, Nick reflected, always needed help into the saddle. Then again, she was several inches shorter than Star.
Nick mounted up while Miz Montgomery, expertly controlling her mare with her knees, adjusted her skirts. She turned to him. “Up the valley, then?”
“No, that trail’s too steep in winter. You sure you want to wear that?” He nodded to the top hat.
She arched one pretty eyebrow. “Why ever not?”
“It’ll be even colder in the mountains. I reckon you’ll want to use that hood instead, ’specially if it snows.”
Her eyes sparkled and she let out a small gurgle of laughter. “A hood? How terribly unfashionable of you, Nicholas. You must know that no woman of delicacy would ever forfeit fashion for comfort.”
As always, her laughter tickled his heart and created silly bubbles in his belly, bringing a grin to his face. Damn, but he couldn’t help it, he liked being with her. “No, ma’am, I’d never ask you to do that, but there aren’t too many fashionable people where we’re going.”
“Ah,” she said, removing her hat to reveal her dark hair swept back as usual, into a loose knot at the back of her head, only this time it covered her ears, no doubt to keep them warm. “And the wildlife won’t object? You’re certain, are you?”
“Sure enough. And I have a rifle,” he drawled, nodding to the Winchester in its scabbard, within easy reach, “if’n they object too much, so don’t you worry none. Won’t be any squirrels malignin’ your good name.”
She leaned over to hand the hat to a grinning Mack. “If you’d be so kind as to bring this to Mrs. McGraw, sir? Ever so obliging of you, Mr. McNamara. Thank you.” She kneed her horse and they started down the valley. “A rifle against a squirrel, Nicholas? Isn’t that far more firepower than necessary?”
“Maybe for one of your Eastern squirrels, but out here we grow ’em a mite bigger.”
“Why, I own that you do seem to grow everything a ‘mite bigger’ out here,” she said with a seductive gleam in her eye. “I find it remarkably intriguing.”
Nick’s jaw tightened as he guided his horse northwest. Yup, she was fun. And a whole slew of trouble.
***
He rides, Star thought, risking a sideways glance at Nicholas, as if he and the horse are one. Today he wore his customary blue jean pants, his tan Stetson hat, and shiny tan leather coat. He held his horse’s reins casually in one hand, while skillfully guiding the horse with his knees. A perfect specimen of a man.
And particularly difficult to seduce. It had not concerned her during the planning of the wedding, for she’d not been able to throw her full attention into the seduction. However, this past week she’d resumed the endeavor with singleness of purpose, to no avail. Amused though Nicholas appeared to be by her attempts, in all other ways he remained unmoved.
She, on the other hand, tensed at every meeting over the sparks fairly flying between them. At least she felt the sparks. Was it possible he did not? The thought disarmed her. Certainly in the past men had, from time to time, fought the lures she cast out, due to some misbegotten sense of morality, but she’d always before secured at least some interest. Perhaps she’d not been forward enough? Perhaps Western men, with their more relaxed view of sexual expression, required more blatant signals.
Perhaps she ought to concede defeat.
She risked another glance in his direction, her eyes coasting over his tall, straight figure and drinking in the easy confidence of his one-handed hold on the reins: strong calloused hands, hidden under tan leather gloves. She had never before marked a man’s hands, but Nicholas’s had caught her interest as surely as if he’d reached for it. She remembered with perfect clarity the sight of his long, lean fingers wrapped around a glass of brandy—and his hard lips wrapping around the rim.
Ah, but that mouth had seized her attention as well, and then bedeviled her with dreams of warm, wet kisses, followed by a slow, practiced touch, demanding a response. Oh yes, Nicholas most assuredly would wish for a responsive woman in bed. A man as comfortable in his own skin as he was would not require a docile female to prove his male superiority. He would seek out an enthusiastic participant. Like her.
The trail opened up, allowing them to ride side by side. Shoving aside erotic thoughts, Star searched for a topic of conversation. “And so, Nicholas,” she started, “you never have given me your position on women’s suffrage. I believe I asked you at Lee’s wedding, but my parents interrupted us. What do you think of the women’s rights movement?” Then she wanted to kick herself. What an idiotic choice of topics for a woman resolved upon seduction!
He shrugged. “Not much, I reckon.”
“You don’t consider it, or you don’t endorse it?”
“Reckon it doesn’t apply much to folk out here. That kinda thing is for all the big heads back East to deliberate, not us Westerners.”
Star tilted her head. “Is the plight of women so different in the West than it is back East? I should have thought women are much the same everywhere.”
“Don’t know about that either. I’m just a rancher.”
“Why, you must know something,” she said raising an eyebrow. “You live here, after all.”
He frowned, his eyes focused ahead as if contemplating an answer. After a moment, he shrugged and answered, “‘What is the interpretation of this riddle? For I know that I have no wisdom, small or great.’ Plato.”
“Plato?”
“Yeah. From his Defense of Socrates. Figured you’re all cultured and such, I’d answer with something you’d better understand.”
“Why, Nicholas, you’ve shocked me. I shouldn’t have pegged you as a Plato man, although now that I reflect on it, philosophy does suit you. Yet you stray from my point, which is to discuss the movement.” Another stupid move! Even Plato was more conducive to seduction than women’s rights. She could not seem to resist, however, for she’d come to appreciate that under Nicholas’s rough cowboy exterior hid quick wit and diamond hard intelligence, the sort of intelligence with which she could spend many happy hours sharpening her arguments.
Were she not interested in spending many hours in more novel activities.
“Not straying, ma’am, just already said my piece.”
“In point of fact, Nicholas, you’ve said nothing at all.”
He turned to her, shaking his head as his eyes gleamed with reluctant admiration. “Stickin’ to this like death on a dead cat, aren’t you? I swear, underneath all your sophistication and feminine wiles, you’re the most cussedly stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
Star’s stomach flipped. No man had ever admired her for her stubbornness. In fact, they despised it. . . . “Am I truly? I suspect I have learned that from Father. ”
He chuckled. “As did Monty. I’ll give you credit on that—for all your charm, every last one of you Montgomerys is a straight shooter. We aren’t used to that out here. Out here a body’s either direct and rough, or smooth as silk and tryin’ to get something from you, gen’rally something you don’t wanna give.”
“I suppose we’ve discovered that it is—let us call it convenient—to dance around the truth with people who are dim-witted. With those of greater intelligence, howev
er, plain speaking is the best tack, as they recognize the truth regardless of how prettily we dress it up.”
“Yes’m, I can see that. But me, I’m jist an ol’ cowpuncher with a grade school edjucation. You might wanna dress it up for me.”
Amusement bubbled up inside Star and she chuckled. “Oh, yes, Nicholas, uneducated men always quote Plato. No, sir, I shan’t dress the truth up for you. It would be a waste of my time.”
“I only know the one quote.”
“A fairly obscure one; I have never heard it. You’ve read quite a bit of Plato I apprehend, and you shall not fool me with that humble-pie façade of yours, so you might as well drop it.”
He shook his head ruefully. “It ain’t no fa-cade, ma’am. It’s jist me, humble and modest.”
Oh but she did enjoy sparring with him, and from the sparkle in his eyes, he liked it as well. It warmed her heart and drew her to him more surely than the myriad of compliments she’d received from other men over the years. “You cannot sell me on that, either. And you may stop calling me ma’am, for I am living at your home and the least you might do to put me at my ease is employ my given name.”
“No, ma’am, that wouldn’t be respectful. You’re a lady, and my parents taught me to address ladies as miss or ma’am.”
“And yet you call my mother by her first name. How am I so different that I don’t warrant the same treatment?”
“You ain’t married.”
“That’s ridiculous. I deserve no deference because of my sex or marital status. For the first, I have no responsibility, and as for the second, such a choice one way or another is hardly cause for respect. A person earns respect for accomplishments, not marriage.”
“I dunno about that. I reckon for some women, marriage is an accomplishment.”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “That is a dreadful, shameful thing to say, and you won’t make me laugh, either. Marriage is not an accomplishment. It is a chain around a woman’s neck—”
“Or a man’s.”
Arching one eyebrow, she responded smoothly, “Is that why you never married?”
“Could be,” he answered, cautiously.
“Could be? Oh, no, now I must insist that you expand upon that! Perhaps you never found the right woman? I believe that’s the reason a bachelor generally provides for his unmarried state.”
Because, Nick thought gauging Miz Montgomery’s face, lit up with amusement and curiosity, because he’d never really looked. In that respect, he and Miz Montgomery were the same; marriage had never interested him by much. For the better part of fifteen years, he’d been responsible for a whole slew of people and their happiness, from Jim to his employees. He pretty much figured that was a man’s primary responsibility in marriage, too, to keep his wife happy. He’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
Star Montgomery, though, was already happy.
He shook off the thought.
“Reckon I already have everything a man could want from marriage. Got my nieces and nephew underfoot, and Melinda to look after the house and nag me just enough to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“And your women in town to attend your other needs.”
So she knew about that, did she? But in her usual style, she didn’t display the general modesty to keep it to herself. Well two could play that game. “And more variety than a wife, to boot.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk. It was about damn time she showed some shock.
“Variety in bed?” she asked. “That’s important to a man, then?”
Shocked, but not into shame. It irritated the hell out of him; it also, damn it, excited him. If he had any degree of decency, he’d jump subjects, because nothing seemed to shame her into silence. “Some men, I reckon.” Nope, no decency. None. Nada.
“Do you know, I’d never considered that before,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s quite a logical conclusion when one ponders the existence of so many brothels and the amount of married men who frequent them. One might expect it to be due to their wives’ disinterest in the marriage bed, but perhaps brothels also provide variety.”
Unbidden came a kaleidoscope of carnal recollections, some with Eve, some with May, a couple with both simultaneously. Then his god-forsaken brain imposed Miz Montgomery’s pretty face and tall body on the images: flushed, velvet skin, the lush curves of her bottom and breasts, soft moans. Heat rushed through his veins.
Sonuvabitch!
“I suppose variety is something a woman might enjoy as well,” Miz Montgomery postulated aloud.
And the heat in Nick’s veins settled between his legs. Damn, damn, damn!
“Is that why you never married, Miz Montgomery?” he asked by way of self-defense. “Heard you’ve been engaged a few times. Six if Monty wasn’t exaggerating.”
For a moment, she looked chagrined. “Why, so I have,” she said cautiously. “I confess I’ve found engagement to be . . . entertaining.”
She toys with them, Nick heard Monty saying again. Rather like a cat with a mouse right before it goes in for the kill.
“But marriage,” Star continued, turning to him. “That is a different story altogether. I am entirely committed to the cause. I shan’t marry until women are granted the right to vote.”
Women’s rights, back on safe ground. Or at least ground that wouldn’t turn into a volcano and trigger an embarrassing eruption. Tornadoes, though, and earthquakes and hurricanes, were still a possibility. “How is your remaining a spinster going to further women’s suffrage?”
“Why, to be sure, I doubt it will help at all other than to insure my voice stays with the cause. You must know that once a woman marries, she is legally required to obey her husband, even if he demands her silence. I’ve no wish to obey anyone.”
A dry chuckle slid from Nick’s throat. “Yeah, that much I know.”
She grinned. “Am I so transparent, then?”
“Were you tryin’ to hide it?”
“No,” she answered. “It would be impossible, at all events. Regardless, if I married, should I ever be permitted to vote—I could, you know, move to Wyoming where women have the right—I should be obliged to obey my husband’s orders to vote for a certain candidate. I could not abide that.”
“Which,” Nick pointed out, “is one argument against female suffrage. If a woman’s bound to obey her husband, allowing her the vote only gives a married man two votes instead of one. Where’s the fairness in that?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that argument, but you must acknowledge how it discounts the many unmarried women who are not legally obligated to obey anyone. Like me.”
“Then,” Nick said, “maybe you oughta be fighting not to give all women suffrage, but just the unmarried ones.”
“And,” Star answered, “once again women are penalized for marrying. Moreover, women are often compelled to marry, for how else are we to support ourselves when we are not permitted to earn a living wage?”
“All I’m sayin’ is that when a woman marries, she and her husband become one—one mind, one voice. I’ve seen what it’s like when the babies come along. The wife is working all the time. She doesn’t have time to read newspapers or follow politics, so it only stands to reason that the vote is in her husband’s hand.”
“I hate to delude you, Nicholas, but a woman can—and does!—think and diaper a baby at the same time. Moreover, these are not regulations that men must follow, so why should a woman submit to them? Our country puts no limitations on men for voting; he may be a drunkard, illiterate or just plain stupid, but still he may vote. He may never have read a newspaper in his life, and may even be one of those despicable kinds who would actually sell his vote, and yet he retains the right.”
“Ah, now we’ve hit bedrock. This isn’t about voting rights, but bribin’ rights.”
“No—I—” She stopped and let out a small laugh. “Why I suppose there is something to that, for we do deserve equality in all matters, including bribery!”
“Practical, ma’am, if not honorable. We turn right, here, down this trail. Single file for some distance. We’ll have to argue later.”
“We are conversing,” she said primly, raising her head in mock disdain. “Not arguing.”
“O.K., but admit I’m winning the conversation,” he answered flashing her a smile.
Star’s eyes rested on his mouth for a moment, before she raised them to catch his gaze. Her face flushed and something hot galloped through her eyes. Lust. It shot him in the chest, then spread through his blood like wildfire across the prairie. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her, and he was no longer convinced that her advances were just teasing. She might be in earnest. . . Damn, but if he didn’t somehow rein in that lust, Ward and Morgan and the whole damned Montgomery family would be coming after him with tar and feathers.
After a moment, she nodded.
He swallowed and fought for levity. “Well now, there’s somethin’ I thought I’d never see, you agreeing with me!”
“Only,” she said with an embarrassed laugh, “for now. We shall take up this conversation later, and I assure you, I’ll change your mind.”
He shrugged as he took the lead, and his horse started to climb. “You’re sure welcome to try, ma’am,” he threw over his shoulder.
***
They rested mid-day in a small clearing beside a pond. The pond was frozen, but the brook that fed it babbled merrily, unaware of the breathtaking beauty of the snow-covered expanse, surrounded by pines and leaf-bare aspens, all framed by the white peaks beyond. For a short spell, Star stood and stared. The jagged peaks of southern Colorado were so different from the rounded mountains of her native New England. Harsh, yet magnificent in their harshness, much like the men who resided among them.
She turned to Nicholas. He’d taken the reins of their horses and was leading them to drink from the brook. His pants hugged his rear end as he moved, which was far more distracting than the scenery. In truth, it was indecent the way her eyes followed him, but she couldn’t stop herself to save her life.
He dropped the reins, pulled his rifle from its scabbard, and turned to her. He held the weapon casually, with no more regard for it than she would accord a fan.