And Eric, well, many a better man than Eric would have taken what she offered and blessed whatever gods he worshiped for his luck. And Adam, he was ashamed to say, numbered himself among them.
Indeed, how many nights had he awakened sweating and panting from a fevered dream that featured the luscious Lori McClintock? A dream in which his hands were full of her and he had lost himself in her silken depths. A dream in which she saw him as a normal man, in which he was a normal man, with two good legs on which to stand.
But he hadn’t been that man for many years now, and no woman would ever see him as normal, not even a girl a desperate as Lori McClintock. Except in his dreams.
Right now, of course, she was in his worst nightmare. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t want to marry Eric, what do you want?” He had a pretty good idea, of course. She wanted money. Her stepmother had hinted of that this morning. She’d used the words “take care of her,” but he knew what that meant, what that always meant. Of course, like most people in Texas, he was dead broke, except for a chestful of worthless Confederate script. They’d have no way of knowing that, though, and he wondered at his chances of making them believe it.
He watched her face as she considered his question. God, she was beautiful. Her raven hair was loose, just the way he’d always imagined it in his dreams, curling riotously down her back and tied away from her face with a piece of rawhide string. Her eyes, the deep, rich color of blueberries, gazed up at him with a puzzled innocence he knew was feigned but which was no less appealing for all of that. Her cheeks were unnaturally pale, but her skin still glowed with the warmth of satin in the afternoon sunlight. And even the shabby, shapeless dress she wore could not conceal the lush, ripe curves beneath. The curves about which Adam had dreamed. The curves which Eric would not have even considered resisting.
Jealousy was like hot bile in Adam’s stomach, but he schooled his expression to reveal nothing as he waited for her reply.
Finally, she said, “I don’t know.”
She was lying again. She had something in mind. He could see that plainly on her expressive face, but for some reason, she didn’t want to tell him what it was. He should have been irritated at her games, and he probably would have been if he hadn’t seen the tears glistening in her eyes.
Suddenly, his irritation evaporated into pure terror. The one thing he could not bear was a woman’s tears. Indeed, given the choice, he would have faced a whole brigade of Yankee guns instead. But of course, his leg had kept him out of the army, so he was doomed to face this instead. “Miss McClintock,” he tried, not really knowing what he should say, but knowing he had to say something and quick.
He’d only made it worse, though. He could see that clearly. The tears were now trembling on her thick, dark lashes, and if they started sliding down her face, he didn’t know what he would do. “There must be something you need. Something you want,” he insisted. Everyone wanted something, he knew. Please, God, just let it be something he could manage so he could get the hell out of here. Damn Eric, he could cause a disaster when he wasn’t even here!
But she only shook her head stiffly, as if she didn’t trust herself to speak, and in the next second a single, silver tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it quickly away, but another instantly followed, and then she was weeping in earnest, covering her face with both hands as if ashamed to have him see.
He could have groaned aloud but somehow managed to restrain himself. He also managed to restrain himself from fleeing, which was what his every instinct demanded. His father hadn’t raised him to be a coward, however, and if he wouldn’t run from Yankee guns, he wouldn’t run from a girl’s tears either. He would uphold the Ross honor—somehow.
Hovering over her, cursing his cane and his awkwardness and Eric for bringing this down on him and his own helplessness, he reached out instinctively to take her in his arms. Fortunately, he caught himself before he actually touched her and snatched his hand back again. But the strength of his desire to pull her to him and feel her softness against him shook him to his core. For a second, he could almost imagine his father’s glare of contempt.
“She’s nothing but trash,” he would have said, and he would have been right. Poor white trash who had survived only because the Ross family had taken pity on a widow and orphan of the Confederacy. “Pay her off and be done with it!” his father would have advised. Certainly, he never would have offered Eric—not even Eric whom he despised—in marriage to a girl like this. She was a scheming adventuress who deserved nothing from him.
Adam knew all of that even as he carefully lowered himself to the bench beside her and propped his cane against it. With both hands free, he had to curl them into fists to keep from reaching out to her again. As he impotently watched her shoulders shaking as she wept, he couldn’t help but notice the perfection of her frame and marvel over the differences between the female form and his own. She was, he quickly realized, naked beneath her thin dress, or nearly so.
The knowledge stopped his breath and sent a strange heat scorching over him. He was near enough that he could catch her scent, a combination of fresh air and sunshine and earthy woman that was both intoxicating and stupefying. Quickly, in an effort to distract himself, he dropped his gaze to the floor, but there he saw her bare feet showing beneath the tattered hem of her dress. They were small and delicate and perfectly formed, just like her hands under the work-roughened skin, and just as he imagined the rest of her to be.
“She isn’t worthy of you,” his father’s voice reminded him inside his head, but the roaring of desire drowned out the words.
Maybe... he thought, his mind racing as need overwhelmed logic and reason and good sense. Maybe he could take her as his mistress. He would provide for her and the child in exchange for...
In exchange for what? the voice of conscience scoffed. In exchange for allowing him to slake his lust on her? He’d be no better than Eric then. The only difference would be that he’d make her a high-priced whore instead of a cheap one. That wouldn’t do much to restore the lost Ross honor, would it?
And what about the child she carried? Eric’s child. There could be no doubt of that, since virtually every other man who might have fathered a child on her had left long ago to defend the Southern cause. Only beardless boys and decrepit old men remained in Texas. Oh, yes, and Adam and Eric Ross. Adam who could not fight and Eric who would not, at least until now, when the Southern cause was all but lost.
And if Adam had any shreds of doubt, Eric’s parting words to him would have settled the matter. He couldn’t recall exactly what he had said, since the words made no real sense to him at the time. Now, of course, he understood exactly what Eric had meant when he’d told Adam that finally Eric had gotten what Adam wanted.
What Adam still wanted. He sighed with longing as Lori McClintock drew a shuddering breath and used the corner of her apron to wipe the tears from her face.
“What is it you’re planning to do?” he demanded more gruffly than he’d intended. He was annoyed with himself, after all, not her.
She looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t realized he was so close. He couldn’t believe it. Her face bore no evidence of the tears she’d just shed except for the dampness of her lashes and the color that had bloomed in her cheeks. Was it possible for a woman to look more beautiful when she cried?
“Nothing,” she insisted guiltily. “I’m not planning anything at all!”
“Yes, you are,” he insisted right back. “You’re a poor liar, Miss McClintock. What is it? Are you going to run away? Where do you think you could go and how could you get there? The roads aren’t safe, and a woman in your condition—”
“I’m not going to ran away!” she snapped, and something flashed in her eyes that might have been a trace of her usual spirit, the fire that had drawn him to her years ago, even before her body had blossomed into womanhood. “I know better than that.”
“Then what is it? What is it that you can’t tell me? Or maybe you’re
ashamed to tell me. Is that it?” he accused, welcoming the outrage that had begun to glow in his chest. Perhaps the heat of it could burn away the misplaced lust.
“What can I do, Mr. Ross?” she demanded, showing some outrage herself, “except pray to die or—”
She caught herself and turned her face away but not before he saw the terrible bleakness in her dark eyes.
“Or what?” he demanded, experiencing a new kind of terror. And when she refused to respond or even look at him, he reached out and grabbed her arms and jerked her around to face him.
She stiffened in fear and her lovely eyes widened with it, but he barely noticed in his quest for the truth. “Or what?” he repeated. “You aren’t planning to do yourself harm, are you? Answer me!”
But her only answer was a terrified gasp as she sat frozen in his grasp like a small animal paralyzed by the gaze of a predator. It took another moment for him to realize he was what was frightening her, and he released her at once. Mortified, he jumped to his feet, or tried to, forgetting as always that he couldn’t jump anymore and inwardly cursing his clumsiness and the fact that she was there to witness it.
To make matters worse, he bumped his cane and it went clattering to the floor. He stood there helpless before her, unable to walk away without it and unwilling to let her see the contortions he would have to perform to pick it up.
But when he looked at her again, he forgot everything except the fear that still shimmered in her eyes. Honor compelled him to dispel it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he assured her as calmly as he could, “and I certainly didn’t mean to... to manhandle you. I beg your pardon, Miss McClintock. I’m just... concerned about you.” He almost winced at his own choice of words but was gratified at least to see that she looked a little less terrified of him.
“Are you?” she asked so forlornly that he wanted to reach out to her again, but he caught himself just in time. “Why?”
“Because,” he began and faltered when he realized he didn’t want to tell her the true reason. “Because you... Because my brother was the one who... and the child...” he stammered, at a loss for words to express himself and silently cursing Eric again for getting him into this. How many times had Eric gotten him into something? More than he cared to count, although he had to admit, this was the worst.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, bitterly. “The child. The heir to the Ross fortunes and all that. Well, you don’t have to worry, I won’t be making any claims on you. I won’t be making claims on anyone at all.”
There it was again, that awful bleakness in her eyes, as if she were looking death right in the face, and then he knew for certain: she was planning to do herself harm.
“Don’t!” he cried before he could stop himself.
She stiffened. “I said I wouldn’t!” she replied indignantly. “I don’t want anything from the Rosses! Nothing at all!”
“No, not that! I know what you’re planning, and it isn’t the answer! And don’t forget, it wouldn’t just be your own life you’d be taking. Do you think you have the right to destroy that one, too?”
Her anguish tore at his heart, and he saw beyond a doubt that he had guessed correctly. Her face was white again, her eyes large and terrified in her beautiful face, and she lifted the back of one hand and pressed it to her lips as if to hold back a sob.
He had to do something. Everything that he believed himself to be and ever hoped to become depended upon his ability to sort this out and save this girl and her child from disaster. Perhaps she wasn’t worthy of his attention, but the child she carried was a Ross. The heir to his family fortunes or whatever remained of them when this blasted war was over. Perhaps the only heir there would ever be.
Certainly, Adam would never have an heir. Eric had ensured that one day long ago when he’d crippled him, and Adam had since resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to attract a suitable bride. And Eric, if he ever came back at all, could probably be counted upon to resist making a marriage of any kind, even if prodded by a shotgun.
So the only child who might ever succeed them was the bastard that grew inside this girl. His father would never have approved of her. His mother... Well, he couldn’t be sure what his mother would have done, since he’d been so young when she died, but surely she would have disdained Lori McClintock, too.
But they would both expect Adam to preserve the Ross honor at all costs. And in this case, preserving the Ross honor meant preserving this girl and the child she carried. He could think of only one way to do so.
The idea seemed to come to him full-blown, but he knew he must have been thinking about it all along, ever since he’d walked in here and found her slumped over the table. For a moment he’d been afraid... But then he’d seen she was asleep, looking like an angel, all innocence and light.
Well, perhaps not innocence.
“Miss McClintock, you need to be married,” he said.
The fear in her eyes flared brighter, and she shook her head vehemently. “I won’t marry him!” she insisted. “I’ll die first!”
He believed her. “Then you must marry me.”
He hated the baldness of the words and hated the way he had said them even more, but there was no going back. Besides, a girl in her position would be so grateful for the offer that she couldn’t possibly be offended by the tone.
“What?" she asked, her face crinkling in confusion. She obviously couldn’t believe her good fortune.
“I said, you must marry me.” The words wanted to stick in his throat, but he let his gaze drop to her breasts for an instant to remind him of why he was so willing to make the offer. Then he found it easier to go on. “You are with child, Miss McClintock. The man responsible is gone and might never return. If you bear the child out of wedlock, you face ruin and disgrace. Neither of you will ever be able to hold your heads up. But I am offering you the protection of my name.”
She still couldn’t believe it. “But why? Why would you...?” She gestured helplessly.
“Because the child you carry is a Ross. We take care of our own, Miss McClintock, and as head of the family, it’s my duty to take care of you, too.”
It all seemed so clear to him, but she was shaking her head. “I couldn’t,” she insisted.
Stung, he stiffened, certain she meant she couldn’t bear to tie herself to a cripple. “I realize I must repulse you,” he said, feeling the heat of humiliation crawling up his neck. “But I assure you that—”
“Repulse?” she echoed, even more confused now. “What are you talking about?”
His face felt as if it were on fire, but he forced the words past the tightness in his throat. “My leg.”
She glanced down at it in apparent surprise, as if she hadn’t been thinking of it all along. “Oh, no, that’s not what I mean!” she insisted. “I mean, you don’t really want to marry me, do you?”
He thought he saw something flicker in her eyes, something that might have been hope, but he knew he must have been mistaken. “What I want isn’t important,” he lied, knowing that while he might not want to marry her, he would not object at all to having her in his bed. Eric may have had her first, but Adam would have her forever. The thought sent the heat in his face surging to other, less seemly places. Forcing himself to ignore it, he hurried on. “I have to think of the child, and you have to think of the future. What will become of the two of you if you don't marry me? Really, Miss McClintock, I don’t see that either of us has a choice in the matter.”
There, he thought, watching as the emotions played across her marvelously expressive face. Surely she must understand now and realize she had no choice. Cripple or not, his was the best offer she was likely to get. A girl with nothing who was carrying a bastard child should jump at the chance for security and respectability. After a few moments, the riot of her emotions finally settled into the calm of decision, and she drew a deep breath. He braced himself to receive her effusive gratitude.
“I appreciate what you’re tryi
ng to do, Mr. Ross,” she said, her large eyes infinitely sad, “but I can’t let you make a sacrifice like that. It wouldn’t be right or fair, and like my pa always said, the McClintocks might not have much, but we’ve got our honor. My honor won’t let me ruin your life, too, Mr. Ross.”
Adam gaped at her. “Don’t you understand what I’m offering you?” he demanded.
She nodded. “Yes, sir, I do, and it’s about the nicest thing anybody ever did for me. You’re wanting to make things right, but I can’t let you make things right for me by making things wrong for you. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
Adam couldn’t believe this was happening. “Miss McClintock, marrying you wouldn’t exactly be a ... a sacrifice,” he tried, wincing at his own understatement.
“Do you love me?” she asked.
What could that possibly matter? “I admire and respect you,” he offered. “I’m sure that—”
“Would you be proposing to me if I wasn’t in trouble?” she pressed.
Dear God, he hadn’t expected an interrogation! “Under the circumstances, I don’t see where that makes any difference,” he pointed out in exasperation.
“It makes a difference to me. I admire and respect you, also, and I can’t ruin your life just to save my own.”
“But what about your baby?”
Something like pain tightened her features, but she said, “That’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Adam didn’t want her to take care of it. He wanted to take care of it. And her. Oh, God, how he wanted to take care of her. In the dark of night, lying in his bed, with her dark hair spread all around and her naked flesh beneath his. And damnit, it was the honorable thing to do!
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of any arguments to make his case, or at least none that he could raise with her. Probably, she just needed time to think. Yes, that was it. He needed time, and so did she. Let her stew for a few days. Let her imagine what her life would be like with him and without him. Let her stepmother describe it to her. Meanwhile, he’d come up with some new way to persuade her.
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