“Please, don’t apologize! That was certainly not your fault. I’m not about to burst into tears, or start lamenting. I’m not even going to feel guilty for doing what I shouldn’t have done. It was too wonderful, and a gift for which I sincerely thank you.”
Kelly looked startled and puzzled, as if he didn’t know what to make of her. Which, given her repeated assurances that they couldn’t possibly be lovers, was probably a reasonable reaction.
Then he smiled, almost drawing her back into his arms with the magnetism of it. “It’s marvelous and unexpected you are, Marguerite McMasters. A treasure to cherish is what you’ve given me. Should I be rejoicing that you’ve changed your mind—or grateful that you lost it this once?”
She shook her head, trying to untangle the twisted threads of reason and emotion. “I was feeling so lost and lonely, as if, save for my horses, there would never be joy in my life again. But it was more than just my hunger for closeness and the pleasure of a man’s touch. No one but Aidan could ever grasp what the land means to me, or why I hold to it so fiercely. It felt so good to have someone understand, and offer comfort. Then, when I went into your arms, you could have taken what you wanted. Most men would have tried, probably, and I would have fought you off. Instead, you chose to give.”
“You make giving very easy.”
“It can’t happen again, for all the reasons it shouldn’t have happened today. But I don’t regret it a bit.” She smiled. “I’m almost at my woman’s time, which means it’s highly unlikely I would conceive, so perhaps knowing that pushed me to grasp a taste of the forbidden while I could. Though it’s never truly safe, of course.”
Neither was riding in the dark safe. Looking with concern to the windows by the door, she noted the sun was nearly down in the west. “Heavens, it’s later than I thought. I must get back to town.”
“Let me ride in with you.”
She debated the wisdom of being seen with him, but with them both riding in the same direction, it seemed silly to refuse his escort. Besides, on the prairie, there was always the chance of encountering a rattlesnake or a pack of coyotes, especially at dusk. It was safer to ride with an escort.
“Very well. Let me clear up the cups and plates, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll help.”
She smiled, amused at the care with which he carried the cups to the basin in the kitchen, then poured water over them from the pitcher beside it. “Living at that fancy hotel, I wager you don’t do much washing up, Ronan Kelly.”
“Not at the hotel, no.”
“Nor growing up either, I’d guess. I hear your family has a large trading company in Galveston.”
“They do, and I did grow up with servants. But I’ve spent many a year on the trail, washing up—and cooking for myself, too. I make quite a tolerable beef stew over an open fire, I’ll have you know.”
“While you sit on a high bluff as the stars come out, with the whole world laid out below you?”
He smiled. “Just so.”
What would it be like to share nights on the trail with him? But that was no more feasible than continuing as his lover. Clinging to Ronan Kelly would be as impossible as trying to trap a shooting star. Its very nature, like his, was to burn brilliantly as it lit the night sky for a glorious instant—and then disappear.
The damage to her reputation—and perhaps her heart—for attempting to capture him would last much longer, and could put all her plans at risk.
She mustn’t even consider it, no matter how glorious a lover he’d been. No matter how much she burned to feel him inside her again.
Seeming content with her silence, he made no attempt to strike up a conversation as they put away the plates, she closed up the cabin, and went to retrieve her job horse from the small shed behind it. He walked with her down the hill to the pasture as she led the horse, whistling for his gelding as they descended.
The two mares came, too, nickering and nosing Marguerite for treats.
“Not this time, my loves. But you mustn’t complain. You already had an extra, unexpected treat.”
As did I, she thought, looking almost instinctively to Kelly. The smile on his face and warmth in his eyes told her he thought so, too.
They rode back in silence as well, the beauty of the Hill Country in full spring array entertainment enough. Not until they reached the last turn before the trail led into town did Ronan break the quiet.
“I’m thinking when I leave you at Mrs. Lowery’s, you’re meaning it to be ‘goodbye’.”
She nodded, struggling against the unaccountable burn of tears. “Regrettably, yes. I...I would prefer that you not come to the cabin again. Isolated as it is, there’s always a chance of discovery. Or something equally as bad,” she added with a grimace. Finding herself with child would be an unmitigated disaster.
“If that ‘something bad’ did happen, you’d let me know, wouldn’t you?”
A rapid series of images raced through her head—being married to Ronan...making love to him, bearing his child, sharing the magic of nights on the trail and days in the pasture, raising and training horses. Dismayed that she had such a vivid vision of so unlikely an eventuality, it took her a moment to gather her thoughts to reply.
“Probably not,” she admitted.
“Promise me you will,” he urged. “You would need to leave town for a while, need a place to stay when you got there. I would want to help you manage that.”
Manage bearing his bastard child and giving it away? The very thought sickened her like a kick to the gut.
A sobering kick. Perhaps he’d arranged such things before. She needed to remember, before her inexperienced heart started weaving naïve daydreams around their encounter, that Ronan was a man who’d had interludes with countless women—and was by no means ready to stop looking for more.
Whereas she had already invested far too much of herself in him. And could no more imagine giving up a child of her body than she could imagine selling off the ranch or parting with a limb.
“Town’s just ahead. You don’t need to escort me all the way.” Better to part immediately, since parting was necessary.
“A gentleman always sees a lady safely to her front door.”
She huffed an impatient sigh, torn between wanting to end this quickly, before she grew too used to the pleasure of his company, and sucking every last minute of joy from what had been a magical encounter. But since arguing with him on a public street would doubtless cause more notice than simply riding quietly along, she swallowed her protest and told herself to enjoy the moment.
A few minutes later, they turned onto the side street where Mrs. Lowery’s house stood. She dismounted quickly, before he could attempt to help her. She was going to tell him he needn’t leave his horse, but by the time she’d handed the reins over to Mrs. Lowery’s son, who hurried down from the porch to collect the animal and lead him back to the livery stable, Kelly had hopped to his feet.
Apparently he did intend to walk her to the front door.
“Mrs. Lowery’s a wonderful busybody,” she said softly. “We’d best say ‘goodbye’ here.”
She held out her hand, and solemnly he shook it. “Goodbye, Mrs. McMasters,” he said. And then, before she could fathom what he was doing, he leaned down to place a hard, quick kiss on her lips, slightly parted in surprise. “Keep yourself safe, my fairy vision.”
With that, he swung back up on his horse, tipped his hat to her, and rode off, leaving her staring after him, one trembling hand to her mouth, where she could still taste the flavor of coffee, passion and Ronan.
Chapter Six
She’d finally gathered her scattered wits and turned to walk up the stairs to Mrs. Lowery’s front door when a figure approached from the shadows down the street. “Not very fitting behavior for a schoolteacher, Mrs. McMasters,” a prim voice reprimanded.
Marguerite swallowed a colorful Spanish curse. Of course, it was just her luck that the one person to witness her final act of fooli
shness—the one person worse than the gossipy Mrs. Lowery—was the banker’s wife and her severest critic on the school board, Mrs. Lydia McCleary.
“Mrs. McCleary,” she said woodenly, nodding to the lady. “Shouldn’t you be getting home before the light completely fades? I’m sure your husband will be worried about your safety.”
The blond beauty shook her head. “Mr. McCleary will be working at the bank for several hours yet. And don’t think to distract me from your own actions by feigning interest in my welfare! Not that there is anything wrong with a widowed lady past her mourning period having a gentleman caller. Indeed, finding another husband would be quite wise and proper. But you should look for the right suitor. Perhaps you don’t understand this, coming from another sort of people, so let me explain. Of all the single men in town, Ronan Kelly is the least proper, and least likely, candidate for marriage you could find.”
As the pampered daughter of a wealthy man, before coming to Whiskey River, Marguerite had never been forced to tolerate a woman who could scold and patronize like Lydia McCleary. Struggling to hold on to her temper lest she further alienate a school board member, she said, “Thank you for the warning, ma’am.”
Mrs. McCleary inclined her head regally. “Of course, he’s terribly handsome, and quite the most debonair and exciting man in town—so worldly, after all his travels! He also has the reputation of being quite a womanizer, able to exert his charm to dazzle the gullible or unwary right into his bed—not that I would know, of course. But he is a friend of my husband, and I hear things. I’m afraid he looks on all us poor women as playthings. You mustn’t take his attentions seriously, for he most certainly was only amusing himself.”
Warnings were one thing, but it seemed odd the woman would natter on about Ronan Kelly to such length, particularly as her comments ranged from condemning to something more like admiration. Marguerite began to feel the banker’s wife, openly acknowledged to be the prettiest woman in town, was irritated to have discovered Kelly’s eye falling on a lady other than herself—and perhaps jealous?
As she was struggling for a polite way to rid herself of the officious woman before she lost her temper and told her exactly what she thought of her advice and her interference, Marguerite was relieved to spy another figure approaching out of the fast-fading twilight. And though normally, being around the man made her uncomfortable, she was relieved when Richard Blackman halted before them.
“Mrs. McMasters, Mrs. McCleary,” Blackman said, tipping his hat.
To Marguerite’s amusement, the other woman at once transferred her attention to the man who’d just joined them. “Mr. Blackman, how fortunate you happened by! It has grown rather dark, and I must admit, I’m a bit leery of walking home on my own. Since you’ll be going in that direction, surely you can escort me.”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you, ma’am, but I came to call on Mrs. McMasters—on a matter of business,” he added hastily, as a frown replaced the beauty’s smile at that announcement. “You are quite right, though; you should get home before the light fails completely. I’m sure Mr. McCleary would be right cross with me if I didn’t hurry you on your way, and I’m sure your charming children are missing you as well.”
“If you are quite sure escorting me yourself would be an imposition,” the banker’s wife said acidly.
“Not at all—if I were walking now, escorting you would be a delight! But I couldn’t ask so busy and sought-after a lady to wait around in Mrs. Lowery’s front parlor while I consulted with a client. I’ve handled business affairs for Mrs. McMasters since her husband’s tragic death, you know.”
The beauty stood frowning, as if trying to choose between the boredom of waiting while the lawyer attended Marguerite and the indignity of having to walk home alone.
“Well, perhaps I shall meet a gentleman on the way who can perform that small service,” she said, her tone making her displeasure with Blackman quite clear. “Since you are so busy with Mrs. McMasters’s affairs, I might need to recommend that Michael consult another lawyer when next he has need of one.”
“A good evening to you, then, ma’am,” Blackman replied. Keeping her face expressionless, Marguerite nodded a farewell. As Blackman took Marguerite’s elbow to help her up the steps, with something of a flounce, Mrs. McCleary turned and headed north toward the mercantile and her handsome mansion on the edge of town.
Just before they entered the boarding house, Marguerite heard the woman’s voice drifting back on the evening air. “Ah, Jesse Chandler, you handsome thing! I’m sure I can count on you to guide me home through the dark, can’t I?”
At the astounded clerk’s incoherent gabble of a reply, Marguerite smiled. Mrs. McCleary really must be in need of masculine attention if she were ready to cozen Ronan Kelly’s middle-aged clerk into escorting her home.
Though given the hunger for a man’s touch she herself had recently displayed, she ought not to judge Mrs. McCleary so harshly. The banker did work long hours, which left his pretty wife with a lot of empty time on her hands. And unlike the Galveston from which they’d both come, many fewer activities and amusements to fill it—since apparently, tending her two children wasn’t an activity she favored.
Though she was opinionated enough about how the school they attended should be run.
Maybe Mr. McCleary worked long hours to escape a wife so demanding of masculine time and attention.
“Sorry for that,” Marguerite murmured as she led Blackman to the furthest corner of the parlor, from which hopefully the ever-vigilant Mrs. Lowery would not be able to overhear whatever business it was Blackman wanted to discuss. “I’m afraid Mrs. McCleary doesn’t like me very much.”
“Lydia McCleary doesn’t like any woman between birth and age eighty attractive enough to deflect a man’s attention from her charms,” the lawyer said. “That sounds harsh, I know, but she delights in playing men off against one another, gifting one with her charm and attention, making him feel he is the handsomest and cleverest being in the universe, then ignoring him completely to focus on another as the mood takes her.”
The words were spoken with such vehemence, Marguerite concluded Blackman must have been the victim of such a game. Had the return to town of the roving Ronan Kelly provoked that change of focus? “I hope she won’t be angry enough that she persuades her husband not to use your services.”
Blackman laughed. “That threat’s an empty one! There’s not another trained lawyer between Whiskey River and San Marcos, and Michael McCleary knows it, even if his wife doesn’t. But enough about her. Please, ma’am, sit and rest yourself! I stopped by earlier, and Mrs. Lowery told me you’d ridden out to the ranch this afternoon. After teaching school all day and then riding so far, you must be exhausted!”
Actually, she felt wonderfully relaxed and refreshed, she thought, warmth spiraling through her as she remembered how and why. “I’m used to riding, Mr. Blackman. It’s energizing rather than fatiguing. But what business was it you needed to discuss, so urgent you felt compelled to come back again?”
He blushed a little and cleared his throat. “It’s not business, exactly—I said that to deflect Lydia McCleary. I really wanted to check and see how you were faring. Michael McCleary happened to tell me that Ronan Kelly expressed a strong interest in buying your ranch.”
Not sure what she could say that wouldn’t reveal she knew Ronan Kelly a good deal better than she should, Marguerite murmured, “Indeed?”
“Good, then he hasn’t approached you yet. I admire Kelly a great deal, but he has the energy, the drive and the single-mindedness of a run-away locomotive when he wants something. He can, and has, plowed right through obstacles standing between him and whatever it is he desires. Though with so lovely a lady, he’d be more likely to try to charm than railroad you. I was concerned that he might be...pressing you about selling your land. If he does, you’ve only to tell me, and I’ll warn him off.”
“How gallant of you, Mr. Blackman! As it happens, Mr. Kelly did a
pproach me about the land, but when I assured him I was completely opposed to selling it, he backed off at once.”
Blackman frowned. “I’m rather surprised at Ronan Kelly giving up so easily. He’s wanting to establish a cattle ranch, I’ve heard, and your property would be ideal. Your loan payments are current, are they not?”
“Yes. I made this month’s payment just a few days ago.”
Blackman nodded approvingly. “You must be careful to make sure you don’t fall behind, or make a payment late. I wouldn’t put it past Kelly to persuade Michael McCleary to declare the loan in default, so Kelly could take it over without having to finagle with you over it. The two men did come out from Galveston together, and have long been friends. McCleary’s a backer of Kelly’s trading activities, too.”
Yet another person wanting to warn her about Ronan Kelly. Although, after what she’d learned from talking with the man himself—and what they’d shared—she had no problem disregarding this advice.
He wouldn’t go behind her back to strike a deal with the bank or try to charm her into selling to him, Marguerite was absolutely certain. He might be—very well, he was—a charmer and a womanizer, but he was also honest to the core. He’d assured her he hoped she would be able to keep the land, and she believed him.
“That would be underhanded! Mr. Kelly doesn’t strike me as the sort of man to creep about in the shadows, striking deals of dubious legality behind closed doors. Horse-trading perhaps, but out in the open.”
“You may be right,” Blackman acknowledged. “I just felt I must warn you what you might be up against if Kelly decides he prefers your land to any other parcel near town. And to assure you I’ll keep an ear to the ground, in case there should be any cozy deals in the works between Kelly and the bank.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Blackman, although I’m certain in this case, it isn’t warranted. If Mr. Kelly should make some grand attempt to get his hands on my land, by means fair or foul, I will certainly deal with it.”
Scandal with the Rancher Page 6