This wasn’t his home; it never would be. It was Megan’s. For the hundredth time since morning, he wondered why she’d married him, and what he was going to do when his year was up.
“There’s a large guest suite just off the stairs,” she said softly.
He glanced at her. She was staring intently at her hands as if the task of removing her gloves required her full attention. There was little light in the hallway, no flicker of a candle to catch the gold-blond color of her hair. He could see her profile, the straight line of her nose, her full lips. He knew that mouth in exquisitely intimate detail, yet he ached to know it, to know her, again.
A large guest suite, with an equally large bed. If they shared that bed, he would touch her and claim her long into the night; he would never grow tired of being with her.
His throat tightened against the pressure of emotion. If he shared that bed with her, in time her belly would swell with his child. And when his year was up, he would be forced to stay. He could never abandon a child.
He glanced at her bare shoulders, at the tendril of hair brushing against her spine. He remembered the feel of her skin against his fingers and the warmth of her body pressed against his as she slept. If he stayed, she would destroy him. Living with her and knowing she wouldn’t love him would slowly eat away at his soul. He’d only ever wanted to love and be loved by Megan Bartlett. Like most men, he yearned for the one thing he would never have. He could claim her body, but as he held her, he would know she neither trusted him nor thought him good enough. That she had married him to save herself from the scandal.
He picked up his valise. “I’ll take the room next to Bonnie’s” he said, ignoring Megan’s start of surprise. He didn’t meet her eyes as he walked past her toward the stairs. “It’s better if I’m close. Sometimes she has nightmares.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Megan told herself she wasn’t going to cry. She blinked several times, then sniffed and stamped her foot. Crying didn’t accomplish anything. Besides, it would make her nose red and her eyes puffy. Not that Justin would care one way or the other; he didn’t even want to share her bed.
The burning behind her eyes increased, but she ignored it. What had happened? How had she angered him, or upset him so much? Last night had been so...so—she clutched her hands together in front of her waist and exhaled slowly—wonderful. She leaned against the wooden cabinet and sighed. She hadn’t known such sensations existed. That her body could feel that kind of tingling magic. She hadn’t known it was possible to want and ache and need with an intensity that had left her breathless. She was quite annoyed that no one had ever explained about the exquisite pleasure.
But she must have done something wrong. Had she offended Justin, or had her untutored enthusiasm embarrassed him? There had to be a reason he didn’t want to share her bed. She wouldn’t know what it was without asking him and she would rather be publicly flogged than expose herself to that kind of torment.
She stared moodily at the large hamper that had been delivered a few minutes before. One of the boys from town had run over, practically dragging the straw container behind him. Inside she’d found a cold supper, a bottle of French champagne and a note from Mrs. Dobson wishing she and Justin happiness as they started their married life together.
“Married, but not together,” Megan said softly, running her finger down the side of the bottle. It was still cold and drops of water coated the outside. She’d never had champagne. Her father hadn’t approved of drinking spirits. She wondered if it tasted better than the brandy Justin had given her the night before.
“Don’t think about it,” she ordered herself, then shook her head. How was she not to? She and Justin were married, sharing the same roof. Her body still ached pleasurably from his attentions last evening. She didn’t even have to close her eyes to see him looming over her, his face taut with passion, his bare, broad chest so close, so warm, so—
A pounding on the back door brought her out of her reverie. Before she could cross the few steps to answer it, the door was flung open and Gene stepped inside.
He was properly dressed in a shirt, vest and jacket, but the jacket hung open and his hat was askew. Dark red stained his cheeks and his eyes burned as if lit with the fires of hell. Instinctively, she took a step backward, bumping her hip against the hamper.
“Gene, this is a surprise.”
“For us, as well, Megan.” His voice was low and controlled. She could hear the effort it took him to keep it so. That frightened her more.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see for myself,” he said, advancing farther into the room. His censorious gaze raked over her, making her realize she still wore the Worth gown. She wanted to tug the bodice higher and wished she still had her shawl for protection.
“You look like a whore,” he said, removing his hat.
She caught her breath. “How dare you?”
“How dare I? Madam, you have disgraced this family more than once. I have often considered you a specific test from our Lord and have borne your wildness gladly. But this time—” he motioned toward her chest “—you have gone too far.”
Megan opened her mouth to answer him, but she couldn’t think of any words. He dared to accuse her of going too far when just yesterday he’d been in her store talking about ministering to her needs? “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said at last.
“Oh, Megan, don’t add lying to your list of sins.” He shook his head slowly. “Are you denying you spent the night with that man? In his hotel room?”
Megan reached behind her and grabbed the edge of the counter. She could feel the flush spreading up her face. No, she couldn’t deny that. “I’m a married woman.”
Gene’s gaze narrowed. “You married Kincaid? That no-account bastard?”
“Don’t you say that about my husband. Like it or not, Gene, he’s your new brother-in-law. I suggest you get used to the fact.”
“Never.” Gene moved closer. Before she could back away, he grabbed her arm. “You’re a stranger to me, Megan. To your sister, as well. Her shame is so great, she couldn’t rise from her bed this morning.”
If I had to be intimate with Gene every night, I wouldn’t want to face a new day, either, Megan thought spitefully. She tried to pull herself free of him, but his grip was surprisingly strong. She glared at him. “I don’t care about Colleen and her shame. She’s threatened me for the last time. I won’t be cowed anymore, Gene. Not by her, or by you. I have my own life, and it now includes a husband and a child.”
“Child?” His eyes bulged with the word. “A child? You plan to house that spawn of Satan under this roof? I won’t allow it.”
Megan jerked her arm free, then rubbed the red marks he’d left. Tomorrow she would carry a bruise. “May I remind you, sir, this is not your house? It’s mine.”
He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at her. “May I remind you, madam, that I am a man of God. The Lord is on my side.”
“I don’t think so, Gene. Not this time.”
She was starting to shake, but it was from anger, not fear. The words came easily to her and she was pleased to realize that she meant them. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She wondered why she had ever been.
“Justin is my husband,” she said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Bonnie is as much my child as if I had borne her myself. I expect them both to be treated with respect and courtesy. If you won’t accept that, then you are no family to me.”
He reached his hand up toward her. She stood her ground, sure he wouldn’t hit her. He didn’t. He placed his hand over her throat. Not pressing hard, just holding his fingers against her skin. She shuddered, but didn’t move back. There was something odd about his expression. Something feral. But she couldn’t believe he would really hurt her.
“Don’t you dare defy me. I’ll destroy you,” he threatened.
She swallowed, ignoring the first tendril of fear that coiled through her belly. “Now
you sound like Colleen.”
The fingers around her throat tightened. Without thinking, she grabbed his wrist with both hands and pulled hard. His fingers jerked free.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she said, the rage giving her strength and courage.
“I will do as I please, Megan,” Gene said. He glanced at the deep vee of her bodice and smiled lasciviously. “Who will tell me otherwise? I will order the members of my congregation to boycott your store. I will brand you as a whore, as a lover of a whore’s bastard.”
His voice didn’t change from its low monotone. A shiver rippled down her spine. Raising her chin slightly, she stared at him. “Do what you must. I’m not afraid. I have the only general store in Landing. Some will stay away because of you, but most won’t. I’ve always been honest in my dealings with the people of this town, and I’m fair with my prices. You can rant at me all you want, but that doesn’t change the truth.”
“The truth?” Gene leaned closer. “The truth is you bedded that bastard.”
“After you offered to take care of my needs yourself, you hypocrite,” she retorted hotly. “You’re married to my sister. Don’t speak to me of sinning in the eyes of God.”
“Never!” His eyes widened and all color fled his face. “Never. Liar. Whore. You must be stopped! You must be punished!”
Megan stared at him. She’d never seen Gene like this. Her heart thundered in her chest and she started inching sideways along the counter. He was crazy.
Before she could duck away, he grabbed her arm. “It is the will of God. You must be punished.” He raised his hand high. She twisted, but he didn’t release her. She steeled herself for the blow.
It never came. Suddenly, Gene was wrenched away from her. He flew across the kitchen and hit the back door before sliding into a heap on the floor.
“If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll kill you,” Justin said through clenched teeth. He towered over the fallen man. “Get up, you worthless piece of—”
“Justin?”
He turned toward her. Fire burned in his dark eyes. Not the fire of passion, but something darker and more deadly. She didn’t recognize this man at all. Even so, she trusted him. She ran to his side.
“Hush, Megan. It’s all right.”
Gene rose slowly to his feet. “This isn’t finished,” he said.
Justin stiffened but didn’t move. “I’ve warned you. Your being a man of God doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me.”
The minister glared at him, then stumbled out the back door. When he was gone, Megan gave in to the trembling and clung to Justin. He held her tightly against him. His hands felt warm and sure as they moved up and down her back.
“Dammit it all to hell, Megan, why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Stop swearing at me.” She shifted her face against his chest and inhaled the scent of him. He’d come to her rescue. Despite the mistakes she might have made last night, he cared enough to defend her. The thought left her giddy with relief.
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“Megan.” He took a step back and glanced down at her. “Are you sure?”
One of his hands closed over her upper arm. Before she could fight back the sound, she whimpered. Justin turned her so she was facing the lamp on the kitchen table and studied the darkening red marks. They were large and the exact shape of a man’s fingers, standing out garishly on her pale skin.
He cursed low and long, using words she hadn’t heard before. “I should have killed him,” he muttered.
“It’s nothing. Besides, you’re the sheriff. You can’t go around killing people just because you want to.”
“A lot of good being sheriff does me, if I can’t even protect my wife.”
Gene had scared her with his physical violence, and worried her with his threats of turning the town against her. But none of that mattered. She glanced up at Justin’s familiar face, noting the intensity in his stare and the straight set of his mouth. His large body vibrated with the need for revenge. The burning behind her eyes returned, but this time it wasn’t from sadness or confusion. It was from happiness.
He looked down at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” She sniffed.
“Like I’m responsible for the sun coming up in the morning.”
She smiled and could feel her mouth trembling. “You defended me.”
“You’re my wife, Megan. What would you have me do?”
“No one’s ever defended me before.”
His stare intensified and she had to look down as she realized how close they were standing and how silent it was in the kitchen. She could hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway and the echoing beating of her own heart.
A few minutes ago, she’d run to Justin without thinking about what she was doing. Now, with less than a foot separating them, she wanted to hold him again. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, to inhale his scent and steal his heat. He’d defended her because she was his wife. If only he knew how willing she was to take on every part of that role. Or did he already know and not care?
She stood there in front of him, her head bowed, her heart praying. But he didn’t touch her. The moments ticked along. At last, he moved to one side and glanced into the hamper.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Mrs. Dobson sent a cold supper.”
“It looks good. I’ll go get Bonnie.”
She watched him leave the room and listened for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Tonight she would be alone in her narrow bed with only her memories to keep her warm. A single tear slipped down her cheek.
It wasn’t only that Justin didn’t want her to share his nights, it was the fact that this marriage was a farce from beginning to end. For now, they shared a roof, but what would happen when his year was up? Would he still be leaving? What would they do about Bonnie? Would they separate? Get a divorce? It was unthinkable. Megan turned back to the hamper and started unpacking food. She wasn’t worried about the scandal his leaving would create. Instead, she wondered how she would survive losing Justin for the second time in her life.
* * *
“You let me know if you want my special recipe.” Mrs. Brown winked, then tapped the side of her nose. “It sure keeps men coming back. Not that a pretty thing like you will have any trouble keeping your husband happy.”
Megan smiled. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
The farmer’s wife picked up her basket of supplies and left the general store. Megan stared after her, then glanced around at the crowded aisles. It had been three weeks since she’d married Justin, three weeks since that night they’d spent together at the hotel and three weeks since Gene had threatened her.
Megan picked up a bolt of fabric from the others that were scattered on the counter. Mrs. Brown had been choosing cloth to make her eldest daughter a dress. The weather had been fine this year, and crops were growing well. If the grasshoppers didn’t come back, if the prairie fires kept west and north of them, if it didn’t hail in July, then this would be the best harvest in almost ten years. Everyone seemed happy and optimistic. Even friendly. Gene had threatened her with ruin, but so far nothing had happened.
She climbed up her short ladder so that she could push the bolt of fabric in place. Since her first day back at the store, people had been stopping by to congratulate her on her marriage. She’d been afraid of censure, especially from Colleen’s most loyal supporters. Mrs. Greeley had sniffed a rude comment, one or two others had stopped frequenting her store, but the rest of the town had seemed pleased. Megan smiled to herself. Everything was working out.
“Megan, Megan, come quick!” Bonnie dashed into the store and across the swept floor. Her new shoes skidded on the smooth surface. “They’re here, they’re here!”
She climbed down the ladder and turned to the child. Bo
nnie’s big eyes glowed with excitement. Her braids flapped with each turn of her head. “Who’s here?” Megan asked, teasing her by pretending ignorance.
“The supply stage.” The little girl practically quivered with anticipation. “You think they brung my readers?”
Along with her regular order, Megan had sent for some primers for the girl. Bonnie had been waiting impatiently ever since she’d finally mastered her letters and had started reading simple words. She was anxious to “read a whole story by myself.”
Megan crossed over to her and bent down to smooth the child’s lace collar. That morning, Bonnie had left the house all clean and tidy. Now there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her shoes were scuffed and there was a new tear in the elbow of her blue calico dress. “I’m sure they brought your readers. But let’s go find out for sure.” She took Bonnie’s hand and led her to the door.
Outside, a crowd was already collecting around the stagecoach. There was only one passenger climbing down. He was dusting himself off as if he’d had to share his seat with dirty cargo. Megan grinned. He probably had. Every inch of the vehicle had been filled with boxes, barrels and sacks.
“Where are they?” Bonnie asked, dancing and ducking, trying to look around the people in front of her. “I don’t see ’em.”
“They’ll be in a box for the store,” Megan said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re here.”
Mrs. Dobson came out onto the boardwalk and marched over to the stage driver. “Don’t forget to give me the mail, young man.”
The driver, closer to fifty than forty, looked down at the darkly-clad woman and grinned, exposing white teeth. “Now, Miz Dobson, did I ever forgit your mail?”
“Just because you haven’t yet, doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“All right, ma’am, I’ll be gittin’ it fer you right quick.” He leaned close and winked. “I don’t suppose you’d have time to share a cuppa coffee with me?”
Mrs. Dobson glanced from his shiny, leather boots to his black Stetson. Megan watched the exchange, all the while wondering when the widow was going to light into the man. She’d taken hides off of much bigger men than this one, and for much less of an offense. It was a pity, though, she thought sadly. The driver was handsome, in a gruff sort of way, and he was a lot cleaner and better mannered than many men in town.
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