Spring Brides

by Judith Stacy

  In retrospect, maybe Elizabeth had been right to keep Juliette away from him, Tru mused. No telling what Avery would’ve done to retaliate. “Pa managed to scrape up enough money to bail me out of jail the next day. He was killed that night.”

  “Then we left for Europe,” Juliette said miserably. “I never saw you again until yesterday.”

  She hadn’t sent condolences on Pa’s passing. Neither had Elizabeth. But Tru refrained from reminding Juliette as much. Young, impressionable, overwhelmed by her father’s hatred and whatever part she felt she had in it—well, Tru had to cut her some slack. If he’d been in her shoes, he might’ve reacted the same way.

  Juliette cupped his cheek, her fingers warm and tender against his skin. “I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am for allowing Father to influence my thinking on you and James. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Tru couldn’t help hesitating. Forgive? Once, he didn’t think it could’ve been possible.

  And now?

  “We have to put all the wrongs behind us,” he said finally, and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Some days, I suppose it won’t be easy, but we can’t change what happened. Best not to dwell on it. Important thing is to learn from the mistakes so they don’t happen again.”

  “Tru.” As if humbled, unspeakably grateful, she drew in a quavery breath. Her eyes closed, and she rested her forehead against his chest. Words seemed to come hard for her.

  “Do you see now why I refuse to interfere in Ryan and Camille’s relationship?” Tru stroked her hair, relished the feel of the strands sliding through his fingers. “They’re entitled to be in love. We can’t take that away from them.”

  Her head lifted. “No.”

  The word came out hushed, maybe even reluctant, but he knew she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t mean it. In his opinion, they’d talked about it long enough. He considered the discussion closed.

  Bending, he slipped an arm behind her knees and lifted her into his arms. “As late as it is, Miss Blanchard, we can be sure the two lovebirds won’t be coming. You’re not going back to town. You’ll spend the night here.”

  “With you? Just the two of us?” Curling her arms around his shoulders as he carried her toward his bedroom, her eyes widened.

  “Alone. The whole night.”

  Her mouth pursed, as if she was considering the idea but didn’t find the impropriety particularly worrisome. He laid her on his bed, then lit a lamp on the small table beside it.

  Her hair splayed against his pillow, a tangled mass of silken strands that shimmered in the light’s glow. God, but she was beautiful.

  “I’d like to ask you something,” she said.

  He sat beside her, hip to hip. “I’m listening.”

  “Are you in love with Gaylene? Because if you are, I refuse to spend the night with you or let you kiss me ever again.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should be offended or amused. “Gaylene is an old friend. And no, I’m not in love with her. You think I would’ve kissed you like I did back at the Paxton if I was?”

  “Perhaps not,” she murmured. “But is she in love with you?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Might be that she was once. Maybe she still is. But after you, Juliette—” he drew in a breath “—well, there’ll never be a woman like you in my life again.”

  “Oh, Tru. I—” She bit her lip, holding the emotion in.

  “You might as well know, too, I’ll always love you,” he added. “No matter what happened to us in the past.”

  There. He’d said it. A McCord damn near on his knees professing his undying love to a Blanchard. Most likely, Pa had done the same to Elizabeth. Certainly, Ryan to Camille. And now Tru himself…

  Hell. What was it about the Blanchard women that affected McCord men like this?

  Tru scowled. It unsettled him, baring his soul to her. He felt naked. Vulnerable. Maybe he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Let her stew on it for a while.

  He stood. She looked small in his bed. Pure female. Fully clothed, but soft and luscious and ripe for his taking. He swallowed hard.

  “There’s nothing I want more than to make love to you right now, Juliette.” There went his mouth again, saying words that insisted upon being uttered. “But whether or not you think so, a McCord has honor. When and if I bed you, it’ll be when everything’s right and proper between us.”

  She gasped softly, pressed her fingers to her lips.

  “I’ll sleep in Ryan’s bed tonight, since he’s not here to use it himself.” Tru took a step back. Two, then three. “Good night, Juliette. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  And though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, he turned and left her lying there, alone in his bed.

  Chapter Seven

  Juliette wasn’t sure what awakened her—the shrill song of a distant rooster, the bright morning sunshine or the realization she wasn’t in the Paxton Hotel.

  She rolled to her back. She was in Tru’s bed. In his room. Her curious glance took in all the things that were his—assorted books on a shelf, his Sunday-best Stetson hanging on a hook, shiny leather boots beneath. The room contained only a few pieces of furniture, none of them new, each simply made but sturdy and polished. Plain, cotton curtains hung at the room’s only window, the fabric pristine and starched. Tru McCord, she learned, liked his things neat and tidy.

  Her head turned, and there on the pillow next to her lay a bouquet of sweet clover and buttercups, their stems held together by a length of string. He must’ve brought them just a short time ago, for morning dew still lingered on the petals. Touched, Juliette reached for them and inhaled their sweet, subtle scent.

  She’d seen exotic flowers artfully arranged at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. She’d seen lavish bouquets at the Paxton, too, as well as other high-class hotels, and hadn’t given them a second thought. But this unpretentious bundle of wildflowers, well, they were more beautiful than any of them.

  Bemused, she slipped from the bed and stood in front of Tru’s mirror. Her dress was wrinkled from her sleeping in it, and her hair needed a good combing. Dare she help herself to his toiletries?

  His razor lay next to a wash basin, the towel beside it still damp from when he’d shaved. The clean smell of his soap lingered in the air and reminded her of him all over again.

  There was something intimate in seeing the items a man groomed himself with every morning. Items a wife would soon take for granted. Since Father had employed a personal barber, Juliette hadn’t witnessed them often. Even Mama had been denied the privilege.

  But Father, it seemed, had a way of doing things most men didn’t. Tru would think the idea of a personal barber ludicrous, and thoughts of all they’d discussed last night rushed forward. Two very different men, Father and Tru. Yet they both held a special place in her heart.

  I’ll always love you.

  Her pulse fluttered at the words Tru had spoken last night.

  There’ll never be a woman like you in my life again.

  He’d wanted to marry her once. Did he still? After all that had happened between them, did she have the right to want him to?

  She used his brush to remove the tangles in her hair, and battled waves of apprehension with every stroke. Daylight had a way of changing one’s perspective. Would Tru regret declaring his love? Certainly, there was much between them yet. Her hotel, most notably. Solving that problem wouldn’t be easy, and she grimaced at the prospect.

  Leaving her hair loose about her shoulders, she left the room, taking the wildflower bouquet with her. She found Tru at the stock pen, an arm braced over the rail, his gaze intent on the cattle within.

  She held back from joining him, compelled, instead, to study the land that meant so much to him. Three hundred acres of prime Nebraska rangeland, graced with a beautiful lake and as much green grass as the eye could behold.

  Tru’s home. Ryan’s, too. And Camille’s very soon.

  Juliette drew in a breath. Oh, God. Daylight did have a
way of changing one’s perspective.

  Tru must have heard her coming as she walked toward him. He turned, his dark eyes clinging to her.

  “A pleasure it is, Miss Blanchard,” he murmured.

  Her blood warmed at the husky greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Considering I was alone the whole night—” she batted her lashes with exaggerated coyness “—as well as could be expected.”

  He chuckled, clearly pleased with her response. “Are you always flirty first thing in the morning?”

  “Only with you, it seems.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the flowers. They were a lovely surprise.”

  His arm circled her waist before she could step away. “You could have them every morning, you know. A bouquet for each room in the cabin.”

  “If I married you.”

  “Yes.”

  What could she say, when their past collided with their future? He kept her against him for a moment, clearly waiting for a response. When she could give none, he released her. She turned from him and once again considered the lake in the distance. Had it been only a couple of days ago that Stephen Dunn and Charles Hatman were out here with her, as enthralled by her choice of location for the hotel as she was?

  She squinted up into the endless expanse of blue sky. “There’s one thing you haven’t told me yet, Tru.”

  “Just ask.”

  “How is it that this land is still yours when you said your father lost everything to Ace Stillman at the Antler?”

  He hooked a thumb in the hip pocket of his Levi’s. “Pa put these three hundred acres in my name. One of the few smart things he ever did in his life.”

  “I see,” she said pensively. “With your name on the deed, my father couldn’t touch it.”

  “No one could. Pa intended this land to be my graduation gift. A place for me to open a veterinary practice.” His mouth quirked. “Due to circumstances beyond my control, I never graduated. But the acres are mine, nevertheless. Fair and square. I’m using the land to breed cattle instead.”

  An image of the tall cowboy she’d met at Stan’s Restaurant loomed in her mind. His name was Cal Workman, she recalled, and he was keenly interested in Tru’s stock.

  Yesterday, she’d been so intent on convincing Tru to sell his land that she’d paid his cows no mind. Now, however, her curiosity bloomed.

  “Mr. Workman mentioned breeding his stock with a particular bull of yours.” A pair of newborn calves lay on the ground, content to be cleaned vigorously by their mother. Given how captivated Tru was with them, Juliette guessed they were sired by this bull. “He’s pretty important to you, isn’t he?”

  “More than you know. I had him brought over from Italy. Cost me everything I had, but he’s worth it.” Tru cleared his throat. “Want to see him?”

  She saw the pride he tried to hide. Her mouth softened. “I’d love to.”

  He took her arm and led her to another corral. Inside, a heavily muscled, gray-colored beast ruminated his hay, oblivious to the attention they paid him. “His breed is larger than nearly any other in our country. He can survive on a range with limited grazing during drought years. He tolerates Nebraska’s heat and bitter cold. Beef quality is excellent, and he gains weight fast.”

  She never claimed to have more than the most basic knowledge in the art of cattle breeding. After all, she was a city girl, through and through. But Tru’s enthusiasm was catching, and she couldn’t help being fascinated by this animal he’d had shipped from halfway across the world.

  “I studied a hell of a lot of breeds before I decided on this one,” Tru continued. “I’m the first to introduce the line to the United States. It’ll be only a matter of time before word spreads about him. Cattlemen are constantly looking for ways to improve their stock. Cal’s only the first to give him a try.”

  “Deciding to buy this animal was quite an undertaking for you,” Juliette said quietly, thinking of the time and money.

  The risk.

  Tru reached out, gripped her chin gently and turned her toward him. “I intend to make a name for myself with him, Juliette. Ryan, too. If it’s the last thing I ever do, the McCords will be respected. Most of all, trusted. And if I get rich in the process, well, that’s even better.”

  His dark, grim gaze held her transfixed. Time fell away, and the pain of his past loomed up, sucked her in, swallowed her whole. All his life, he’d borne the shame of his father’s reputation as a two-bit gambler. He’d been abandoned by his prostitute mother. Lived a hand-to-mouth existence with his younger brother.

  Through it all, he’d survived. Kept on surviving, even after her father set out to destroy what little he had. He’d grown into a man who took responsibility seriously. He loved hard. Worked hard. He knew what mattered most in life.

  And it wasn’t money.

  Tears stung Juliette’s eyes. Perhaps James McCord hadn’t been a failure, after all.

  She couldn’t say the same about Avery Blanchard. Or herself. Father and daughter, both driven by a need to achieve prominence in the business world, where their career and the desire to be important consumed their every thought and action.

  At what expense to the people they loved most?

  “So now you know why I’ll never sell my land to you, Juliette,” Tru said. “No matter what you say or do.”

  She held his gaze and thought of the challenge he’d made. “Not even if I married you?”

  “Not even then. If you decide to marry me, I’m going to make damn sure I’m the reason, and not your fancy hotel.”

  All along, he’d never had any intention of allowing her resort to be built on his three hundred acres. Had he known her better than she knew herself? That she, a Blanchard, would never marry a McCord?

  He’d outwitted her.

  Or had he?

  A strange calm came over her, an acceptance of the way things would be between them.

  “Well, then, Tru McCord, it appears this discussion is closed,” she said.

  His mouth tightened. “Seems so.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and gave her a firm nudge toward the cabin. “C’mon. We’d best head back into town. Might be Ryan and Camille left a message for us at the Paxton.”

  But at the sight of the young couple standing at the pen, peering at the cows inside, Tru and Juliette stopped short.

  Ryan glanced up, and his face split into a wide grin. “Woohee, Tru! We got twins!”

  It took Juliette a moment to realize he was speaking about the newborn calves. Even Tru appeared taken aback at first.

  “Born just before dawn,” he said with a slow nod. “Healthy as can be, too.”

  Pride shone on Ryan’s tanned, lean face, which so resembled his older brother’s. “Makes three babies now and more coming. Got a good start on our new herd, don’t we? Real good.”

  “Where’ve you been, Ryan?” Tru asked, cutting to the chase. “Juliette’s been worried sick about you two.”

  The grin faded. “Reckon so, and I’m sorry. Guess it couldn’t be helped.”

  “She was entitled to an explanation of your intentions. We both were.”

  “Please don’t be angry with him, Tru,” Camille said, stepping forward as if to shield Ryan from the scolding. “It was I who refused to leave word of our whereabouts.”

  “Because you wanted to prove your independence to me,” Juliette said.

  Camille swung toward her. “Yes,” she said, her chin held high, her demeanor signifying she was ready to do battle.

  A battle Juliette had no intention of fighting. Not anymore. She inclined her head. “In that you succeeded. You look well, by the way.”

  Happy, too, judging by the glow in her cheeks. She didn’t look so frail. Or shy. She carried herself with confidence, as if pleased with the turn her life had taken. She wore one of her newest dresses, with her hair upswept and perfectly curled. Wherever Ryan had taken her last night, she’d been well car
ed for.

  Some of the fight seemed to leave Camille. She eyed Juliette warily. “Better than you, I think.”

  Immediately self-conscious, Juliette tucked a hank of loose hair behind her ear and made a futile attempt at smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt.

  “I came out here in a bit of a rush last night,” she admitted.

  “It was late. I wouldn’t let her ride back to the Paxton,” Tru said. “She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back.”

  Camille’s eyes widened a little. “So you spent the night here.” Her glance bounced between them. “Just the two of you.”

  “I did.” Juliette refrained from explaining any more than that, though she sensed Camille’s curiosity about her relationship with Tru, given their battle of wills over his land and her hotel. Didn’t she have an inkling of Juliette’s curiosity about her own whereabouts last night?

  Juliette cocked her head. “I’m not sure how I should address you this morning. Are you still a Blanchard? Or are you Mrs. Ryan McCord?”

  Ryan slid a protective arm around Camille’s waist. “I want her as my wife more than anything, Miss Blanchard. We talked about things a long time. The past, mostly. The future, too. We’re not going to let what happened between our parents stand between us. Not like you and Tru did.”

  Tru shifted and scowled. Dismay curled through Juliette. Why hadn’t she and Tru possessed the wisdom and determination their siblings did?

  “But we’re not married,” Camille said. “Not yet. Oh, Juliette.” Lip quivering, she threw her arms around Juliette and held on tight. “A wedding is a woman’s most special time in her life, and I do so want to share it with you. I couldn’t bear to get married without you there to witness it. I just couldn’t.”

  A lump of emotion welled in Juliette’s throat. It took a long moment before she could speak. When she was sure she could manage it, she set Camille gently away.

  “Does this mean I can’t be narrow-minded anymore?” she asked with a smile.

  Camille scrubbed at a tear. “Absolutely not.”