Anthology - BIG SKY GROOMS

by DAVIDSON, Carolyn. MALLERY, Susan. WILLIAMS, Bronwyn (in) Montana Mavericks

  Not surprisingly, Lizzy was serving drinks when he walked in. Will had a feeling he was going to end up paying for another night of her services. It occurred to him that the services of a skilled professional might help unravel some of the tension that had kept him tied in knots practically ever since he’d stepped off the train in Butte.

  But not Lizzy. She admitted she was only a beginner, and while she wasn’t quite as unappealing as he’d first thought, for reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, Will knew it would never work with Lizzy.

  Whatever happened to the unwritten rule most gentlemen operated under? Unless a woman is the kind you would take home to meet your family, don’t ask about hers. Don’t get involved on a personal level. And with women of that type, all things mental were personal—only the physical was not.

  Cam glanced up at Will, then across the room at Lizzy. Will felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up to stain his face. He swore under his breath. Maybe he should just walk away before he got in any deeper. If it had been a business proposition, he would have pulled out long before now.

  Bracing himself to meet the bartender’s knowing look, he ordered a straight whiskey, found himself an empty table in a far corner and tilted his chair back to survey the room. He could have carried his own drink, but these ladies counted on tips earned from toting an ounce or two of whiskey across the room.

  Cam poured his drink and called on Lizzy to deliver it. Will wanted to believe he hadn’t expected it, but he had. He studied the woman as she wobbled across the floor in her ridiculous shoes. Carefully, she lifted the glass from her tray and set it down before him, never once raising her eyes to meet his.

  He placed a quarter-eagle on her tray and said, “Sit down, Lizzy.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  “I’m not supposed to sit unless—”

  “Sit, dammit! I bought a drink. If I have to, I’ll buy you one, too. That should keep Cam off your back for a few minutes.” He signaled the bar for another of the same. This time, Cam brought it over, gave him a questioning look, then shrugged and walked away.

  “He must think—” Lizzy started to say when he cut her off. Will had a pretty good idea what the bartender was thinking. Obviously, he had already established a reputation as a man with lousy taste in women. Now he was about to establish his idiocy.

  So be it. “I’ve found you a position and a place to stay.” The “place to stay” might be stretching it. Caleb hadn’t pressed him, and he’d never come right out and said he was going to install Lizzy at the Folly. After assigning the task of readying two rooms, he had rented a wagon and ridden out to the ranch, where he had borrowed a bed and enough other furniture to get by on.

  Caleb and Ruth had both insisted he keep the furniture. “It’s yours,” Caleb had told him. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to move in now. That old wreck will collapse the first time you slam a door.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he’d replied, knowing it wasn’t that far from the truth, either. He hadn’t bothered to elaborate on his plans. Ruth would have insisted on taking Lizzy into her home, which might have caused trouble between her and Caleb.

  “Thanks. Once I get things settled, I’ll explain what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” Caleb said dryly as he hefted a three-drawer dresser and headed for the front door. He probably had a pretty good idea what was going on. “By the way, I’ve got a mare I haven’t had time to finish off if you’d like to try her out. That is, if you can find the time.” The last remark had been laced with sarcasm.

  “Sure, why not? If she’s any good, I’ll buy her from you.” They’d left it at that, because Will had been in a hurry.

  And now, for some crazy reason, he had to assure himself that Lizzy would be safe until he could talk her into going along with his idea, which meant paying Cam in advance for another night. With every move he made, he was getting in deeper and deeper. The news had already spread about his buying the old Tanner Mansion. And while he’d like to think of it as an investment, if there was any investment potential in Lizzy Price, it was well hidden.

  “I’ve bought a house,” he said flatly. “I need a housekeeper. The job is yours if you’ll take it.”

  “A housekeeper?” Under layers of bright blue mascara, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kind of housekeeper?”

  “Well, hell—how many kinds are there? I don’t know how to take care of a house, and this one’s going to need a lot more than a broom and dustpan.” He started to explain, then thought of a better way. “Look, can you take off a couple of hours tomorrow morning?”

  “Why?”

  The woman would try the patience of a saint. Why did she have to be so suspicious of everything he said or did? He was damn well doing her a favor, wasn’t he? What was that old saying about gift horses?

  “So you can look over the house I bought and advise me on what it needs,” he explained patiently, wondering why he had ever set off down this road. The only excuse he could come up with was that the woman affected him like a bad case of chiggers. She was an itch he was compelled to scratch.

  Warily, she nodded. He named a time and told her to be ready. “And for God’s sake, wear a decent pair of shoes. It’s not like we’ve got sidewalks out there.”

  Wordlessly, she nodded again. “And wear something to cover your head. The sun’s pretty powerful.” Besides which, he’d as soon not have the whole town see her riding out of town with him.

  “Cam might object,” she whispered, reddening until the twin splotches of rouge no longer stood out on her cheeks.

  He stood. “Don’t worry about Cam. Just be ready when I come by for you in the morning.”

  He handed the proprietor a couple of bills, followed Lizzy upstairs, and let himself out the back way, just as he’d done before. It was getting to be a habit, traipsing upstairs with one of the girls. The runt of the litter, at that. So much for any pretense of moral rectitude; he couldn’t even manage good taste.

  After tomorrow, if all went well, he’d be out of this self-inflicted mess. A saloon, he told himself, oblivious to the flaw in his reasoning, was a fine place for men, but women had no business there.

  THAT NIGHT before scrubbing her face and saying her prayers, Lizzy took one last glance in the mirror her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. When thoughts of those happy days threatened to creep in, she quickly slammed the door on the past. She’d do well to keep her mind on present dangers until Cicero returned to bail her out of this awful place. He had promised to return in a week and pay back what he owed Cam, but the week had come and gone. Cam no longer felt compelled to keep his promise not to force her to work upstairs.

  Housekeeper. Well, we’d see about that. She wasn’t about to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.

  “It’s on the western edge of town,” Will explained the next morning as they wheeled away from the saloon in the buckboard he had rented. As soon as he could spare the time, he needed to try out Caleb’s mare. While he was at it, he’d have to see about fencing in a section of his newly purchased acreage.

  “I’m still not quite sure what it is you want to show me.” In the clean morning air, she looked surprisingly young and not too surprisingly, still wary. Her blue dimity frock had seen better days, but the quality was unmistakable.

  Who are you, Lizzy Price? Will wondered, not for the first time.

  Her face seemed unnaturally pale without the heavy cosmetics. Fortunately, most of her awful hair was hidden under a coal-scuttle bonnet that, while out of fashion, was obviously of first quality.

  “This house I bought is going to need a lot of work.” He was still figuring out his approach even as he explained. “It occurred to me that I’ll need someone on the site to take charge while it’s being brought up to standard.”

  Her eyes rounded at that. “Take charge of what?”

  “Not the actual repairs. Naturally, I’ll have an oversee
r keeping up with the building crew.” At least he would if he could hire himself a team of first-rate carpenters. “But you see, it’s a big house—” He refused to use the term mansion, not wanting to scare her off. “Like most houses, it needs a woman, not just to oversee the cleaning. I’m not sure how the rooms were laid out originally, but there’ll be painting and curtains and things like that. I’m afraid I don’t know much about what looks good.”

  Actually, he did. His likes and dislikes were firmly fixed after living in everything from the worst bunkhouses to the finest hotels these past ten years. “Now, personally, I prefer wood-paneled walls, but most of these walls are plastered. Which means they’ll need paint or wallpaper, and I’m no hand when it comes to choosing patterns and colors.”

  “You want me to pick out what goes on your walls?” The question ended on a high squeak.

  “Unfortunately,” he said ruefully, mentally crossing his fingers, “I’m not married. My mother died when I was young. I haven’t been back to Whitehorn in ten years, so I don’t know any women I could ask to help me on this project beyond rough cleaning. If you turn me down I’ll likely end up making a mess of everything. I’ve been told my taste in decorations is less than perfect.” He’d been told no such thing, but what the devil.

  “But—but why me? Because you like my taste?” Her brief laugher was openly skeptical. One more subtle hint that there was more to the woman than met the eye. If there was, he didn’t want to know about it. He was half tempted to take her back where he’d found her and leave her there, with his blessings.

  He turned to speak and was captured by the cameo-like perfection of her profile as she gazed up at the mountains. You’d think she had never seen a mountain before.

  You’d think he had never seen a woman’s profile before.

  The roads were rutted, the seats unforgiving. As they bumped along the rocky, sun-baked surface, Will tried to think of a tactful response to her question about why he was going to such lengths.

  Because he liked her taste? Hardly. He had sense enough to know that what she’d been wearing at the saloon was probably not indicative of her personal tastes, but then, what she was wearing now could have come from a missionary barrel for all he knew.

  If he allowed her a free hand she’d probably do the old place over in bordello fashion, in which case he’d have to hire someone else to undo it. Or live with it. That would really enhance his image as a successful banker.

  Oh, what the devil, he’d just have to keep tabs on what she was doing as the job progressed.

  “Now, about where you’ll be staying,” he said, clearing his throat and paying particular attention to the road ahead. “I considered the boardinghouse and the hotel, but it occurred to me you might not be comfortable staying in town—I mean a woman living alone, and all that.”

  “Because everyone knows where I’ve been these past two weeks,” she said quietly.

  “Now that you mention it, that could be a factor,” he admitted, as though that thought had never occurred to him.

  Fortunately, he was saved from having to explain further. “There it is, just up ahead. It doesn’t look like much now, but with a little work…” It looked like the very devil, and it would take more than a little work. He could probably have built two houses for what the repairs alone would cost, but he needed a house now.

  “Oh, my,” Lizzy murmured. “Oh, my mercy.” It was a monstrous house, narrow, but a full three stories tall. It looked more pathetic than ever, stripped bare by the harsh light of a clear Montana morning.

  Will looped the reins around the stump of a dead cottonwood and helped her down from the buckboard. “Watch the front steps—I’ll see that they’re on the list to be repaired. Well, what do you think?”

  He shouldn’t care what she thought of the old ruin, but oddly enough, he did. She was probably doubting the sanity of any man who would buy such a place.

  So was he. “I, uh—I used to play here as a child,” he admitted. “We all considered it haunted—you know the way kids are.”

  Seeing an odd look cross her face, almost as if she were in pain, he could have kicked himself. Remember the rules, Kincaid—nothing personal!

  “Not that it was. Haunted, I mean. All old houses get a reputation, don’t they?” He didn’t want to put her off, but how could he explain buying such a monstrosity to a stranger when he couldn’t even justify it to himself?

  “I’m sure it’s—that is, it must once have been…lovely.”

  She had a manner of speaking that struck him as odd, considering her circumstances. Despite himself he wondered how she had ended up in a place like the Double Deuce. He knew a man was involved—a man usually was in these cases. But it was none of his business, and he’d do well to keep that fact foremost in his mind.

  A board creaked underfoot, and instinctively, he reached for her arm. “I’ll have someone go over the floors first thing to be sure they’re still sound.”

  She was frail as a bird. He released her almost immediately. Still feeling the warmth of her flesh, he planted his fists on his hips and looked around, struck all over again by his own recklessness.

  And he’d thought he had outgrown it?

  If he had half a grain of sense, he would take Lizzy back where he’d found her, turn his back on this old relic, head west to Butte and catch the next eastbound train back to Chicago. Or even New York. He had seen Caleb, met his new sister-in-law, his cousin and his nephew. Maybe somewhere along the way he could catch up with Brock.

  Lizzy gestured toward the staircase. “The banister is lovely. Once the missing spokes are replaced, all it should need is a thorough scrubbing and then a good rubdown with beeswax.”

  “There, you see?” Will tried to infuse his voice with enthusiasm, but it wasn’t easy when he was suffering under a ton of doubt. “It takes a woman to see these things. Me, I’d have probably slapped on a coat of barn paint and let it go at that.”

  Juliette Elizabeth Price-Hawthorne shot him a skeptical look. He was up to something. Until she discovered what it was, it would pay to walk carefully, and not just on account of the risky flooring.

  The thought had barely formed in her mind when she stumbled over an uneven floorboard and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her arm and swung her around. Regaining her balance was easy. Regaining her composure was another matter, with his arms wrapped around her, mashing her face against his vest.

  He smelled…male. Both her father and her brother had always smelled like cologne, tobacco and whiskey.

  Will Kincaid smelled like clean linens, good woolens and sunshine. And while he might have the looks of a gentleman, the hands that gripped her arms had done more than leaf through the morning paper and help ladies into their carriages.

  Stepping back, she drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you, I’m all right now.”

  She was not all right. What she was, was suspicious. If he had any intention of setting her up here as his paramour, this would be the time to set him straight.

  And do what, Lizzy—go back to the Double Deuce?

  Oh, Cicero, how could you, she wailed inwardly.

  “You’re sure? Didn’t turn your ankle or anything like that?”

  She managed to laugh as she backed away and braced herself against a dusty wall. “I’m not wearing those awful red shoes today.”

  “Oh. Well, then, shall we continue the tour?”

  And as if she weren’t riddled with doubts—as if she were still every inch the lady she had once been, and he were every inch the gentleman he appeared, he took her arm and led her through the arched doorway.

  “This is obviously the front parlor,” she said, trying her best to ignore his size, his looks—his potent masculinity. He was a tall, strong man, and while his features weren’t storybook handsome, the sum total was devastating.

  And she’d do well to guard against being devastated.

  “Facing north as it does,” she said as if she were guiding a tour through o
ne of the magnificent old homes along the Battery, “it might look best painted in a warm shade of yellow.”

  It really was a lovely old house. Even in its present deplorable condition, she could see the possibilities. The most remarkable thing of all was finding such a place out here on the wild frontier.

  “Yellow,” he said thoughtfully. “I do believe you’re right.”

  “And through here—” She led the way, needing to put as much space between them as possible. “It could be either a study or a dining room.”

  “Nice fireplace,” Will observed, trying to see his house through her eyes. It was a mess. The old place had obviously sheltered its share of drifters, grub-line riders. He’d need to have new locks put on and old doors replaced. No sensible man would leave an investment unprotected, he told himself as he took her arm again, this time to guide her past a patch of broken glass.

  They toured the rest of the two bottom floors. Will refused to test the stairs to the attic, remembering the wretched condition they’d been in nearly twenty years ago. The kitchen had been cleaned that very morning, but it would need to be thoroughly modernized. He would order one of those new ranges for cooking and a table that didn’t look as though it had gone through the wars. And some dishes and cutlery. And some chairs. The only chair in the house was the one in the small bedroom he’d had cleaned and furnished. Lizzy had peered through the door as they’d toured the second floor, but he hadn’t explained who it was intended for and she hadn’t asked.

  “So,” he said, back in the soon-to-be-yellow front parlor. “Will you take on the job?”

  “I can’t imagine why you would trust me to do it.”

  “Who else could I hire? Most of the women in town have homes of their own with families to take care of. As for the single ones…”

  “They wouldn’t consider it. It would be unseemly,” she said in that surprisingly prim little voice that had seemed so at odds with her appearance the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

  Unseemly. That was putting it mildly. God, that hair of hers was awful! Looked as if it had been dipped in a bucket of orange paint. She had removed her bonnet, using it to swat down cobwebs.