“Yes, and what a spectacle that would have made for the gossips to chatter about,” he said with a laugh. “Too late for that, I reckon. Which brings me to the point at hand.”
He stared at her for a long moment, opening his lips as if to speak, then closing them, before pacing the room and finally halting in front of the desk.
He seemed...unsure of himself, and very uncomfortable. “What is it?” she asked, mystified and concerned. She’d never seen Ronan Kelly look anything but confident, commanding and very much in control.
“Well, as I said, it doesn’t sit well with me that you’ve had to suffer for my behavior. I’ve thought and thought about how I might make the situation right, and it seems to me there’s only one way. Which is for you to...to marry me.”
Marguerite stared, sure she could not have heard him correctly. “Excuse me if I’m misunderstanding,” she said faintly, “but were you asking me to marry you?”
“Well, yes,” he said. “Wasn’t that clear?”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said flatly. “And you want me to marry you—why? Because my reputation has been compromised, and you think that’s a good way to made amends?”
“The only way, I’m thinking,” he said eagerly. “There may still be some who question your morals. But once we’re married, no one would dare impugn your honor, or have me to deal with. I can out-shoot and out-fight any man in this town, and they all know it. Better still, there’d be no more having to sneak behind closed doors to settle for just a kiss, Marguerite-mine. I could pleasure you wherever you like, as often as you like.”
Ronan Kelly—Ronan Kelly—really was asking her to marry him! Euphoria filled her for an instant, until the shock of that unexpected and completely improbable event faded, and the reality slammed into her with the force of a runaway carriage.
He’d proposed to make amends for ruining her reputation, and so that they could be lovers. Except for the reputation part, the offer was almost the same as when he’d asked her to become his kept woman.
Actually, that’s exactly what she would be. Only permanently, with him chained to her for life, whether he still wanted her or not. This offer, like the last, was made with no mention of affection or devotion.
The memory of Aidan’s ardent face when he’d asked for her hand recurred with painful clarity. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut, and for a moment, tears threatened.
And then, she was totally, completely furious.
“So it’s your wife I’m to be, not your harlot? Or rather, a legal harlot, so you can assuage your sense of guilt? Let me tell you, Ronan Kelly, I find that offer no more acceptable than the first! You’ve already given me a job, here at the mercantile. Marriage is another thing entirely!”
“My harlot?” he repeated, looking affronted. “Here now, I’ve made you a very proper offer—”
“Let me tell you something about marriage,” she interrupted. “I know what is it to be, not just desired, but cherished. In a union built on trust, and love, and affection! A good marriage requires loyalty and faithfulness, while all I hear is that you couldn’t bear to be tied down to one place and one woman. So where would that leave me, after passion cooled and you tired of me? Oh, I’d have my place here as your wife—while you were off to Austin or San Marcos or Galveston, setting up new mistresses. Madre de dios, Ronan Kelly, if I knew my husband had been with another woman, I would kill him! It’s all I can do not to slap you now, just thinking about it.”
“No, don’t say anything else!” she cried, raising a hand to keep him from speaking. “You need to restock the mercantile, you said. Why don’t you go do just that? I’ve managed the store well enough without you these past two weeks, and I’m sure I will continue to do just fine. Maybe by the time you return, I’ll be able to see you again without wanting to box your ears. For now, I’ll get back to work. Have a good journey.”
At that, still shaking with a mix of inflammatory emotions, she stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind her.
After striding over to flip the sign from “closed” back to “open,” she seized the feather duster and attacked the shelf of canned goods.
When the office door opened a few minutes later, she deliberately kept her back turned. She heard him halt behind her, but ignoring him, she continued to ply the duster. Her heartbeat accelerated and her chest felt so tight with pain and rage, and disappointment and regret that she feared she might faint.
She didn’t know what she’d do if he touched her—punch him in the jaw, or fall, weeping, into his arms.
Because only now that he’d proposed did she realize how much she wanted to be his wife—or would have, if he’d asked her after declaring he loved her and wanted to share his life with her. Rather than out of lust and because of some stupid masculine sense of duty.
Just when she felt she would faint or scream if he didn’t do something, he said stiffly, “I’ve never asked a woman to marry me before, so I didn’t realize what an insult it was. Goodbye, Mrs. McMasters.”
She heard each footfall as he walked out. Not until the door had shut behind him, and she was certain that he was well on his way back to the hotel, did she risk turning around.
The boardwalk outside the mercantile was empty. Ronan was gone.
Tossing down the duster, Marguerite rushed to the window, flipped the “open” sign back to “closed,” and fled to the privacy of the office.
Closing the door, she leaned against it, feeling she might be sick.
Maybe she should have swallowed her pride, and accepted Ronan, even though he did not love her. Because she’d just been forced to realize how, slowly but inevitably over these last few weeks, she’d come to love him completely.
After responding to his proposal with such anger and scorn, he was unlikely ever to ask her again.
But could she bear to marry a man she loved, knowing he didn’t love her? Knowing there was almost no chance, after he tired of her, that he’d remain faithful?
No, she couldn’t. To settle for less than a man who cherished her would kill her soul one slow, painful day at a time.
Even so, she already regretted sending him away.
Furious, miserable, distraught, Marguerite laid her head on her hands and wept.
Chapter Fourteen
After leaving Whiskey River that same day, a baffled and furious Booze made the rounds of his various suppliers. While he smiled at the merchants and said the right things, inwardly he was still fuming, trying to make sense of Marguerite’s stunning rejection.
It wasn’t so much that she’d refused him, though he hadn’t really expected she would. It was the outrage of her response that angered and confused him.
Very well, so he hadn’t promised her the moon and the stars. But everything he knew about Marguerite told him she wouldn’t appreciate a lot of false, fancy words. He’d honored her with the straight truth, thinking at the very least, she would thank him for the offer and ponder on it, if she didn’t accept him outright.
Very well, so she didn’t want to marry him. He’d done the right thing, and she’d rubbed his nose in it. He ought to be relieved, actually. He’d been happy enough with his life before Marguerite McMasters waltzed into it. He could just pick up where he’d left off and continue on as before.
Except, somehow, that prospect didn’t cheer him nearly as much as it ought.
He was still brooding when he reached Austin, which explained why, even though he now was completely free of any obligation to Marguerite, he still didn’t feel inclined to call on the amorous lady who’d given him such a warm welcome in the past. Nor did he feel like drinking with his comrades in Houston. Thankfully, the hotel clerk there asked him first whether he was interested in feminine company before inviting any ladies to stop by.
Upon leaving San Marcos after being away for a week he actually felt lonely, camping on the Backbone, which was perhaps his favorite place in all the world.
It was there, lying on his back un
der a wide Texas sky, staring up at a million stars, and going over Marguerite’s words yet one more time, that the realization came to him.
Of course he was lonely, and out of sorts, and feeling bereft. Somehow, in a manner so quiet and subtle he hadn’t realized what was going on until just now, he’d fallen in love with Marguerite McMasters.
Electrified by the notion, he sat straight up. He didn’t just lust after her—he loved her! And never in any universe was Booze Kelly going to let the woman he loved just walk away from him. They’d been friends before his catastrophe of a proposal. Somehow, he had to woo her and win her back.
But first, he’d have to figure out what had made her so furious.
I know what is it to be, not just desired, but cherished, she’d said. Despite her beauty, she wasn’t vain or self-centered, like Lydia McCleary. If anything, she tried not to draw attention to herself. Maybe she’d been furious because she loved him, and had been hurt and disappointed that he’d not vowed any love for her?
All I hear is that you couldn’t bear to be tied down to one place and one woman, she’d said. She didn’t trust him to be faithful—and why would fidelity matter to her—unless she loved him?
Feeling more hopeful by the moment, he recalled her declaring she’d shoot him if she ever caught her husband with another woman, and had to grin. He’d wreak some destruction of his own, if he ever caught another man sniffing around Marguerite.
Oh no, Marguerite-mine, this isn’t over yet, he vowed. As soon as he finished the last of his business, he’d ride back to Whiskey River, and somehow, this time, he’d charm her into accepting his proposal.
But how to approach her? They hadn’t parted on very good terms.
He sighed, wishing there was someone whose advice he could ask. But even if he could, he didn’t think he’d want to talk about Marguerite to his mama, who would all too likely inquire about details he’d just as soon not discuss. Michael was married—but the sharp edge of grief in realizing he could no longer confide in his friend occurred at the same instant he recognized that, given the woman he’d married, Michael’s advice wasn’t likely to be of much use.
Then he thought of someone he could consult, and his excitement grew. She might not be the sort of person most would think of in these circumstances, but he’d known her for years, and if anyone knew all there was to know about love and passion, it was Miss Evangeline.
As soon as he got back to Whiskey River, he’d pay her a visit.
A few days later, in the late afternoon, Ronan rode to Miss Evangeline’s house, deserted at this time of day. After being admitted by the maid, he was shown to the owner’s private parlor.
“Booze, what a pleasant surprise,” Evangeline said, rising to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Will you have coffee, or whiskey?”
“Coffee now. Thanks for receiving me unannounced.”
“You know I always have time for you. So, what brings you to visit?” she asked, waving him to the sofa.
“Women,” he said as he seated himself, “are very complicated creatures.”
“On the contrary, darlin’, we’re the simplest things in nature. This is about Marguerite, isn’t it?”
He was taken aback for a moment. “How could you know that?”
She chuckled. “I hear you blow into town early in the morning, which means you must have been riding all night, and hardly take the time to bathe and change before you hustle down to the mercantile to talk to Mrs. McMasters. And then, you storm back to the hotel, snarling at poor Della Shane when she asks if you want the breakfast she’s been holding. A half hour later, you’re riding out of town again.”
“How do you know—?” he began.
“It’s a small town, Booze. And satisfied men are talkative. They also say that Marguerite McMasters has been moping around the mercantile ever since you left.”
“Moping she’s been, is it?” Booze asked, encouraged. Maybe his speculations were correct, and she did care for him.
“Surely you didn’t ask her to be your fancy woman,” Evangeline interrupted his thoughts.
“Of course not!” he said indignantly. “I asked her to marry me! Though the way she reacted, you’d have thought I’d asked her to walk through town in her petticoat!”
“Turned you down, did she?”
“Scornfully,” he replied. “I know I’ve been a bit of a wanderer, but I never figured a woman would be insulted by a proposal from me,” he replied, still stung by her response.
“Miss Marguerite is a passionate woman,” Evangeline observed.
A flurry of images flashed through his head—making love to her at the ranch, her body pressed against his in the mercantile’s office, her nearness driving all thought from his brain, his body on fire with need. “Aye, she is,” he said at last.
“So I’m figuring she has a temper, too. What did you say to her? Did you tell her you loved her so much it kept you up nights, thinking about her? That you couldn’t imagine living your life without her? That you needed her more than good whiskey?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “I’m only just figuring out this loving thing.”
“Let me guess. You told her you felt bad about compromising her, and wanted to make things right?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“And you wanted her in your bed, of course.”
“She is a passionate woman.”
To his indignation, Evangeline burst out laughing. “Oh, Booze, you couldn’t hardly have asked her in a way more likely to get her to refuse!”
“Damnation, what am I supposed to know about asking a woman to marry me?” he shot back, irritated. “Finding a mistress is much more straightforward!”
“Like I said, Booze, women are simple. All a girl wants is to marry a man who’ll appreciate her, love her completely, and faithfully share his life with her, ‘until death do us part’.”
“I figured I must have done something wrong, for her to refuse me like that. Because I’m pretty sure she does care about me. And...and I’m pretty sure that the rest of my life will be miserable if I can’t get her to change her mind.”
“You do love her, don’t you?”
Ronan thought of how her clever ideas interested and intrigued him, how much he admired her bravery and determination, how content and at peace he felt when he was with her, how incredibly strong and deep was the passion she inspired in him. “Yes.”
“Then all you need to do is convince her of that. Which might take a bit of wooing, since you got off to such a bad start.”
“A grand gesture might do it,” he said, an idea suddenly occurring.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Evangeline said. “But make sure you say the words, too, Booze. Love words are important to a woman.”
“Love words. Right. Thanks, Miss E! I knew I was smart to come here!”
“So, will you be staying? I’ll give you tonight for free.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re a wise and kind woman. But no, I won’t be staying.”
She nodded. “Didn’t think so. Off to try your luck?”
“Not tonight. I appreciate all your advice, and I aim to follow it. That will take some planning. I’ll need to go back to Austin and make preparations.”
She rose with him and offered him her hand to shake. “I wish you the best, Booze. She’s a fine woman, and I think you’re almost worthy of her. Mind you treat her right, though, or you’ll answer to me.”
Ronan thought of Marguerite’s furious statement that she’d kill her husband if he strayed, and grinned. “Don’t worry, Miss E. She already threatened to take care of me if I don’t behave myself, and I hear she shoots straight.”
“Don’t expect I’ll be at the wedding, but I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Oh no—you’d better be sitting in the front row! You went about it real quiet, but don’t think I don’t realize that you saved her for me, when she was in a bad spot and I wasn’t around to help. I owe you a lot for that.”
Evangeline nodded, not disputing the truth of his hunch. “You done a lot for me over the years, Booze. If I can help two good people find each other, that’s reward enough.”
“Still, I don’t forget a good turn. Thank you again, and goodbye, Miss E.”
“Safe travels, Booze.”
A week later, Marguerite came in early to open the mercantile. She planned to close early as well, make her mortgage payment at the bank, and ride out to the ranch.
Surely a visit to the horses, a reminder of all she was working for, would cheer her, she told herself as she unlocked the door. In the nearly two weeks since Ronan had been gone, she’d struggled to recover her equilibrium. After much reflection, she was sorry for her outburst of temper after his proposal, though not for her answer. Many lonely, sleepless nights going round and round about whether or not she should have refused him only confirmed that she’d made the right choice.
Not a choice that made her happy, she acknowledged as she absently tidied the displays, then went over to flip the window sign to “open.” A permanent ache seemed to have taken up residence in her chest, almost as acute as the pain of losing Aidan. She tried to tell herself it was ridiculous to feel so low, for what really had changed? She’d admitted she loved Ronan, but on some level deeper than words, she’d known that for a long time.
But somehow, having that out in the open, and knowing he did not love her back, did change things. She still had her horses and her dream. But it no longer filled her heart as it once had, leaving an empty, aching space that yearned for what she couldn’t have.
She’d still have him—as an employer. She told him she would try to forget the exchange, but that was difficult when every time she had an unguarded moment, memories of it filled her head.
It was probably better that he stayed away. But she missed him dreadfully.
Annoyed with herself for her weakness and vacillation, she took a deep breath and told herself to get over it. She’d weathered heartache before. She could do it again. Her horses, her ranch, and her dream awaited.
Scandal with the Rancher Page 14