The tension in his voice brought their emotions to a halt; at the invitation implicit in his words, their tormented gazes locked. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and prayed for the strength to resist him.
Strength to resist, when all she wanted was to throw herself in his arms and hear him say it wasn’t true.
“In this house, men do more than look. You’re entitled to—”
“Stop this nonsense, Ellie. Stop it right now. Listen to me.” With each sentence his voice had lowered, until the last was uttered as a whispered plea.
“Listen to what? Lies?”
“I haven’t lied to you.”
“Maybe not about going to California, but certainly about everything else.”
“No, I haven’t. I love you, Ellie.”
The fervor with which he uttered those words came very near to dissolving her anger. Swiftly, she turned away, clasping the bedpost with both hands, hugging herself to it, striving with all her might not to cry.
When he touched her bare shoulders, she flinched. “I love you, Ellie.”
“It will cost you fifty dollars to touch me,” she hissed.
“If it would change the last few hours, I’d pay it, and more.” His hands fell away and the dejection in his voice pierced her shell of anger and fear. She turned to see that he had retreated a few paces.
“How?” she whispered. “You gave all your money to that friend in California.”
At her softened voice he looked up, and their eyes bore into each other’s. “I’d find a way,” he answered. “But first I have to convince you that I didn’t draw straws for you. Nobody did.”
The reminder of the drawing brought a bitter return of both her anger and her pain. “I heard otherwise, Kale. The words came from your own lips. I heard you tell Lavender. And Armando told me your brothers told him the same.”
“He’s lying.”
She shook her head.
“Damn it, Ellie. Why would you take his word against mine?”
“It wasn’t just Armando’s word,” she repeated. “Your lips spoke them first. On the porch of our…of my…of your home!” Her thoughts tumbled headlong toward the disastrous conclusion: Everything that had once been hers now belonged to him: her heart, her body, even her home. When he started to object, she recovered. “But that isn’t all. I have more to go on than your words. Ginny told me, and Delta.”
He frowned, disbelieving. “What did they say?”
“That Zachariah had a plan. That if you…if you fell in love with me, it would ruin Zachariah’s plan.”
“It was Zachariah’s plan,” he admitted. Seeing her, his brain struggled to accept that this lady in the fancy garb was his sweet Ellie. Not that she wasn’t beautiful and desirable, all gussied up. But the only thing he recognized as Ellie’s was her voice, so full of hurt and anger. And her skin—her creamy, satin skin. “And they were right, I ruined it. I wouldn’t go along with him. I couldn’t let them do such a thing to you.” His eyes beseeched her. “That’s why I sat up all night, studying on it. That’s why I asked you to marry me the next day.”
Her mouth fell open. “Why? Why did you ask me to marry you?”
He stared at her, wondering how many ways he would have to say it to convince her he meant it. “To keep you from having to marry one of my goddamn brothers!”
“Oh,” she intoned. “I must have been mistaken. I was sure you said it was because you loved me.”
“I do, Ellie. Don’t go twisting things. I do love you.”
“Somehow you were more convincing before I learned all the details.”
She watched him step toward her, felt his nearness, inhaled the welcome scent of him—natural and musky—combined with the sickly sweet smell of lavender that permeated the room.
She felt him touch her, his hands spanning her waist, his thumbs rubbing absently against the silk, creating spots of heated flesh beneath them. Mesmerized by the needs he aroused, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his.
Ever so slowly he slipped his hands up her bodice, molding her rib cage, at length cupping her breasts in his palms. Unable to move, scarcely able to breathe, she felt his fingers, hot and tender, stroke the upper flesh of her breasts through the stiff black lace, then work their way beneath it.
She had heard men talk about how lightning played on the horns of steers they were driving to market. They said it danced around like fairies, leaving brilliantly colored trails and curlicues of electricity in the air.
That’s what happened when his fingers played against her skin. She wondered if it was the same thing. She wished she could ask him. At this moment she wasn’t sure she would believe him, not even on so neutral a topic.
“I love you more every day, Ellie.” His voice was low and so convincing. Or was she letting herself be convinced, opening herself up to yet another betrayal?
His lips lowered slowly and she felt her own pucker in response. She was unable to resist his handling or his husky, seductive voice. “Right now,” he continued, “I love you more than ever.”
Just before his lips touched hers, she regained enough gumption to jerk her face away. “That’s lust, Kale, not love. And it will cost you fifty dollars.”
His reaction called to mind a child’s toy that had been wound up, then set loose. She read it in his eyes: understanding dawned first, then disbelief, and at the last disgust.
Disgust that wiped away all traces of passion from his eyes, all compassion from his voice. His hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back. “Have it your way. But you’re still coming home with me. I’ll be back for you after I take care of Costello.” His eyes swept her trussed-up body. Disgust turned to repulsion. “Get yourself dressed before I return.”
Then he was gone. She watched him leave, heard him bark instructions to Lavender on his way down the hall.
“Get her into some decent clothes,” he commanded. “Keep her away from the customers.”
“Especially Costello?” Lavender inquired.
“All of them!”
“Where’re you going?”
“After Costello.”
“He left. And I’d advise you to do the same.”
Ellie listened through the door with her face pressed to the cool wood, hot tears streaming from her eyes. Filled with bitter despair, her sobs escalated. She cried for all she had given up, for all that had been taken from her.
And for all she’d never had. He said he hadn’t won her by drawing straws, and for some reason she believed him. But what difference did it make? He didn’t really love her, not the way she loved him. And he had lied about it.
“Alone,” Lavender’s voice boomed through the door.
“Alone?” Kale inquired. “You mean without Ellie? You’re damned crazy if you think I’d leave her here.”
“Where do you think she spent most of her life? Wise up, Jarrett. And if I may say so, you’re not one to call the kettle black.”
“I’m not calling anybody anything,” he objected. “I just don’t want Ellie to…I mean, I don’t want to leave her, not anywhere.”
Her tears flowed in steady streams then, at the plaintive tone of his voice when he uttered that last commitment. Using her petticoat, she dried her eyes.
“It’s best,” Lavender was saying. “She’s had quite a shock. She needs time to recover.”
“But I—”
“No, Jarrett. I know women, so you listen to me. You run along to the ranch. Come back in a few days, maybe she’ll go home with you.”
“I guess you’re right,” Kale said.
“I know I’m right. Go on now, get out of here.”
“If I leave her, will you try to convince her of the truth?”
“From what I heard through the door,” Lavender confessed unabashedly, “she already believes everything except that you love her. You’ll have to convince her of that yourself.”
“She knows it,” he replied. “At least she will when she comes to her senses.”
Ellie ran smack dab into Lavender when she tried to rush from the room. “Let me go,” she cried. “I’m going home with him.”
“No, no, not tonight, baby.” Lavender pushed Ellie back into the room, holding her by the shoulders. “Not tonight. Give this thing a little time. I take it you believed him.”
“Yes.” She inhaled. “I know he loves me. It was the drawing—the shock of hearing about it. I couldn’t bear the idea that he would marry me because he had to, or because he wanted the ranch, or because he was Benjamin’s brother and he’d drawn the shortest straw…” She struggled against Lavender’s hold.
“…or the longest. Let me go, Lavender. I want to go home with him.”
Lavender’s grip tightened. She pushed Ellie toward the bed, where she forced her to sit, then sat down beside her, taking Ellie’s hands in her own. “Don’t rush after him, baby. That’s no way to hold onto a man. A night apart now and then will do him good.”
“But he said—” Drawing her hands from Lavender’s, Ellie clasped them to her cheeks. She caught her words before they tumbled out. Her face flushed, recalling Kale’s vow that they would never sleep apart again. She struggled to rise. “I must go, Lavender.”
“Trust me, Ellie. It’s best that you don’t. I know men. They’re jittery as June bugs when faced with the prospect of committing themselves to a lifetime with one woman. If you show him you don’t need him right from the start, he’ll be more apt to want to stick around.”
Ellie didn’t believe it. But she didn’t argue further. Kale was already gone. A few days, Lavender had told him. Well, she wasn’t about to wait a few days. If he didn’t come by mid-morning tomorrow, she’d go to him, Lavender’s philosophies be damned.
Suddenly she felt rejuvenated. Jumping to her feet, she began to plan for the future, for tomorrow, for tomorrow night…with Kale.
She twirled in Poppy’s dress. “I think I’ll buy this dress from Poppy. Kale would love it—at the ranch.” She felt again his fingers on her skin and knew that the morrow could not arrive soon enough.
“And I think,” Lavender cut into her reveries, “I think we had best look for a preacher before you go back to that ranch with Kale Jarrett.”
By the time Kale stepped into the saddle and rode away from the Lady Bug, his anger had subsided to an aching sense of failure and loneliness.
He’d failed Ellie miserably. Damn it, how was he to know his brothers would come to town talking? He would have expected Costello to use any means available to turn Ellie against him, but he hadn’t counted on furnishing him the ammunition himself. That the gambler had twisted his brothers’ comments into lies was certain.
Far less certain was how he could convince Ellie of Costello’s conniving ways. He didn’t know much about women. In fact, he suspected only one person in Summer Valley knew as little as he did about the weaker sex, and that was Lavender Sealy. Once this trouble was settled, he intended to have a talk with Lavender. If he and Ellie were to live this close to that woman, he had to put a stop to her meddling.
The moon rose high overhead, and Kale rode toward the ranch, his heart barely in it. From time to time he had wondered whether his love for Ellie was strong enough to cure the itchin’ feet he’d inherited from his pa.
Now, at least, he knew the answer to that. The fear he experienced when he saw her race hell-bent-for-leather away from the ranch rode with him still, a nagging residue which sickened and weakened him yet with the knowledge that he could have lost her, and the despair he would have lived with forever, had he done so.
He loved Ellie Jarrett beyond his wildest dreams. Seeing her in that fancy house, gowned in that fancy dress, set his soul on fire. He could still feel it, the desire that washed over him when he walked in there and saw her.
It wasn’t the dress that angered him, and she’d known it instantly. It wasn’t the provocative way she tossed her chin, strutted herself, or swished her skirts above her thighs. Lordy, remembering it set him to wanting her worse than ever.
It wasn’t Ellie; it was where she was. It was the men around them, ogling her, wanting her—her body, her satiny smooth body; it was Costello, that damnable gambler, with his hand on Ellie’s bare shoulder. It was Costello, his insinuations about Ellie.
He could kill the man for it. He should. But Ellie wouldn’t have it. His guns rode against hips, heavy now. For the first time in his life, they felt alien, evil.
As soon as he got to the ranch, he would hang them up for good—a gift to Ellie. She’d like that. He had no more use for guns, anyhow, now that they knew the Raineys didn’t own Plum Creek. He’d leave Benjamin’s killing to Carson. Keeping the peace was Carson’s business, after all, not his own.
As for himself, he didn’t need guns, he had Ellie.
Or he would have her in the morning. He wouldn’t wait a few days, like Lavender said. He would go after her tomorrow…tomorrow morning.
The full moon cast its pale light over him. The stars, bright and close to earth, surrounded him with a sense of serenity, almost gaiety. He wished Ellie were here to enjoy them with him.
How he wished she were here. The whole time they’d argued inside that fancy room of Lavender’s, he’d been struck by the futility of it all. He had hurt her, he knew that well enough, and he hurt for it.
He understood her fears. Hadn’t she lost just about everything she’d ever had that mattered? She was angry and scared, and he understood that.
He had been hard put to resist taking her in his arms and smothering her with reassurances and love.
Love. And she had called it lust.
He had left the stage road, striking out across country in an attempt to get back to the house sooner. Now he sat at the cliff, the stage road well to his left, the house below him, a dark shadow illuminated by the white light of the moon.
Lordy, how he had wanted her tonight. She had called it lust, and it was…lust so powerful he felt its pains even yet. But it was also love.
And the combination of the two rendered him practically useless for anything besides loving Ellie.
Tomorrow be damned. He was going back tonight. Lavender Sealy had meddled enough. He gathered up the reins.
He might have hell getting into that house after they’d closed it up, but he would do it. Even if he had to break down Lavender’s precious glass door he would get inside the Lady Bug and find Ellie.
He eased the bay around. Hadn’t he promised Ellie they would never spend another night apart?
A sudden thunder of horses’ hooves shattered his musings just as he was about to sink spurs to the bay. He drew up cautiously, watching two men approach at a rapid clip. His hands went to his holsters, poised there while he let the men draw rein.
Then he recognized them—Costello’s two men. “What the hell—?”
“Jarrett, come quick…Miss Ellie’s taken sick. Costello sent us to fetch you.”
Kale’s heart stopped in that one second. “What happened?” He struggled for breath. “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t know,” one of the two men answered. While Kale sat dumbstruck, they had fanned out to either side.
“Let’s get going.” The man in front flicked his reins. Kale glanced to the right. The other man was now a couple of paces or so behind him.
Something didn’t feel right. Suddenly wary, Kale pulled up on the reins and let the lead horse proceed another pace in front.
The man behind him spoke. “Get along, Jarrett. Figured you’d be hot to get inside those satin pants.”
Kale froze—not at the words, hateful as they were, but at the sight in front of him.
The front rider turned, glaring at his compadre in the rear. “Shut your trap, Abe. Come on, Jarrett. Time’s wastin’.”
Suddenly, through his haze of anger and fear, Kale realized what was amiss. The moon shone as brightly as before; it glistened from dark leaves, from the horses’ manes and swishing tails. And directly in front of him paced a big black stalli
on—the puddin’-foot.
That was the trouble with two-bit outlaws, he reflected—they oftentimes got careless, and this was definitely a case in point. Had they figured their news would so alarm him that he wouldn’t notice their mounts? Or had they thought the night too dark for the puddin’-foot to be recognized? He shrugged, at once eliminating choices and ruminating on his own stupidity.
He’d recognized the horse, all right, but not in time to do himself much good. They had closed around him quickly, penned him in neat fashion. The man to his rear would have a gun on him by now, so if he drew on the one in front, he would take a slug from behind before his Colt cleared leather.
“Hold up a minute,” he called. “My cinch is loose.” It was a weak excuse, he knew, but the only one that came to mind. While he spoke, he jerked back on the reins. The bay reared a bit, then stopped short. He pulled the horse sharply to the right and drew on the men.
According to plan, his sudden stop jolted the rider behind him enough to throw off his aim. The first shot missed, but they were ready for trouble.
The last thing Kale heard was the report of a gun as the tearing impact of a bullet hit his skull and knocked him from his horse.
“Is he dead?”
“Hell, I reckon. Wouldn’t you be? That was close range.”
“We’d better make sure.”
Together the two men picked up Kale’s body and, swinging it back and forth a couple of times for momentum, heaved it over the side of the hill.
“That oughta do it.”
“Yep. Costello said to make sure it was done proper. This should fill the bill.”
Slapping dust and blood from their hands, the men remounted and rode for town.
Chapter Thirteen
No one at the Lady Bug paid any mind when Armando Costello arrived early the following morning and seated himself at his usual table in the otherwise vacant gaming room. Costello had patiently led Lavender Sealy to accept this behavior as part of his eccentric but otherwise harmless routine.
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