“Let me go to him,” she pleaded, feelings of shame bringing hectic color to her cheeks.
“Does Clay know about him?” Pierce demanded.
“Don’t. Please, Pierce, you … it’s not what—”
“I’m not blind, Dara! Answer me. Does Clay know what a slut he planned to marry?”
Eden erupted from the chair, setting Dara on her feet in the moment it took for her to cry out a pained denial. He barely clung to the threads of sanity that stopped him from leaping at Pierce.
She grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, frightened by his sudden demeanor which told of a furious calm about to explode, but he shook free of her hold.
“Stay out of this, Dara.” And to Pierce, “Apologize.” His one word command was uttered softly as he closed the distance between them.
“I’m not my brother, McQuade,” Pierce replied, his stance belligerent. “You don’t give me orders in my house. She’s my sister, even if I am ashamed of her.” His eyes, filled with disgust, targeted Dara’s stricken face. “How could you drag this filth home and behave like a brazen trollop?”
“You damn. … That’s enough.”
But Pierce felt a surge of confidence and wasn’t about to heed Eden’s soft, warning voice. He ignored Dara’s cry, her plea for Eden not to hurt him lost in his own rage. Pierce needed to vent it and swung his fist only to find Eden had easily ducked his blow.
“Don’t force me to hurt you, Pierce,” Eden commanded, aware of what the repercussions would be. He didn’t care for himself, but Dara didn’t need further turmoil to divide her strong loyalties. His hands clenched into fists at his sides for he needed to shut Pierce’s mouth and knew he wouldn’t be able to talk him around. Not when Pierce glared at him and then ignored him.
“Does Papa know he’s here? Or did you sneak him in the back door? How long has this been going on while Clay is slaving to build a home for you? How long, Dara?” When she clutched the edge of the table for support, he demanded, “And where is Papa?”
Eden had had enough. He grabbed Pierce’s arm, jerking him to his side. “Shut the hell up. Your father fell down the stairs tonight and broke his leg. He’s asleep in the parlor, no thanks to you, and as usual your sister was here alone.”
“Alone?” he scoffed. “I’m not denying what I saw for myself, and neither will Clay when I tell him.”
“She’s your sister!”
“She betrayed him and—”
Dara rushed at her brother, crying out against his accusations. Guilt swamped her, but she found that she had a temper that wanted satisfaction. She couldn’t believe that Pierce was actually gloating. Her blow glanced off Pierce’s shoulder, and Eden swung her into his arms, sheltering her and deliberately turning his back on her brother.
“Easy, love,” he whispered. “Go see if your father is still asleep. He’s in no shape to contend with hearing any of this. I’ll talk to Pierce.” He felt each and every tremor in her body and had a moment’s regret that what had been passion was now anger and shame.
She clutched his fine linen shirt, lifting tear-filled eyes to his, a flare of resentment dying quickly. His face was slate hard. “Please, let me talk to him. He had no right—”
Pierce grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “I’ve got no right!” he cried out. “You may be the eldest, Dara, but if Papa’s hurt, then I’m the man of the family and I—”
“You’re drunk!”
“If I was, I’m sober now. Any man would be coming home to see what I did. I want you up in your room and him the hell out of here.”
“You’ve never used profanity in our home, Pierce!”
“I’ll use—”
“If you want to be treated like a man, Pierce, then act like one and stop abusing your sister. Whatever you want to say, direct it at me.” Eden stepped to Dara’s side, crowding her into the doorway. “Leave us. Now.”
“Whatever you two say concerns me and—”
“Now, Dara,” he repeated, never once taking his gaze from Pierce.
He barely waited for her to slip down the hallway before he slammed Pierce back against the wall, his arm across his throat.
“Move and I’ll break your neck. Don’t you ever dare to talk to her like that again,” he grated from between his teeth, not trusting himself for a moment.
“You’ve got no call to order me. She’s a—” The fury in Eden’s eyes, the quicksilver tension that made his facial bones prominent, stopped him. “She’s my sister,” he stubbornly maintained. “Clay’s my friend and has a right to know wha—” His words were cut off by the pressure Eden exerted against his throat. A strangled gasp escaped Pierce’s throat, and his eyes bulged as he fought for air.
“You seem to need reminding that Dara is your sister,” he noted in a cool dispassionate voice. “Clay is a fool for waiting to marry her.” The strangled sounds emerging from Pierce made Eden regain a semblance of control, and he released him. While Pierce fought to recover his breath, Eden briefly explained what had happened to his father. Pierce glared at him, listening, but when he was done, the younger man offered no words of gratitude.
“We don’t want or need your kind in Rainly. You miners think you got everything coming easy to you, taking over our town, our lands, and our women. But you’ll find out. We’ve got plans for all of you. And stay away from my sister,” he warned. “Clay will make sure of that when I’m done telling him what I saw.”
“If Dara wants me, nothing will keep me away from her. You make sure to tell that to Clay.”
“He’ll kill you if you-”
“Has he ever killed a man?” Eden taunted, beyond caring how far he had let Pierce goad him. “While you’re at it, don’t forget what telling him will do to your sister,” he continued softly, leaning one hand flat against the wall next to Pierce’s head. “Listen to me, and if you have a lick of sense, believe this as nothing else. If you hurt Dara with that vicious mouth of yours, I’ll come after you, and when I’m—”
“Dear Lord! Stop it! Both of you just stop,” Dara interrupted, entering the room. “I’m not some simple minded ninny for you to fight over. And I’m not a child, Pierce, that you should tattle on to Clay or anyone else. Clay isn’t married to me. He doesn’t own me. I did nothing … nothing I’m ashamed o f,” she finished on a wavering note. But the scorn in her brother’s eyes made her back away.
She turned blindly to Eden for comfort and went into his open arms, no longer caring what her brother saw or thought. Dara refused to give way to the tears that burned her eyes. She wouldn’t give Pierce the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She needed the security Eden’s arms offered almost as much as she needed his warmth.
“Mama’d turn over in her grave to see you.” With a disgusted snort Pierce walked out.
Eden willed the tension to leave him, waiting until Pierce’s footsteps proved he had gone upstairs to his room before he eased Dara away from his body.
Her pale skin drew him to brush the back of his hand against her cheek, her eyes holding his, bruised with shadows and pain. He thought of all the ways he knew that would soothe her, but knew, too, from the fragile sound of her voice whispering his name, that he would use none of them.
“I didn’t want the evening to end this way, Dara,” he whispered with tender regret. “While I’m sorry for what your brother subjected you to, I won’t apologize for anything that happened between us. No, love, let me finish.” But he paused, his fingertip fanning the curve of her brow, pushing back a loose tendril of hair. Cupping her chin, he raised it, his look as hard as his words. “If Clay dares to threaten you or Pierce mentions one word about tonight, I’ll handle this my way. Your brother is still able to open his mouth simply because you were here. I won’t be as gentle or generous with him again.”
“Eden,” she said simply, unable to hold his gaze, “he’s my brother. No matter his cruelty, that wasn’t him talking, it was liquor. Don’t hurt him.”
&nb
sp; His grip tightened on her arms for a brief moment as if he intended to pull her close, and Dara was tom between wanting him to and shame for what she had allowed to happen between them. She knew he was waiting for her to say something more, but words were suddenly beyond her.
“Dara, I …” He dropped his hands, spun around, and within moments his long strides had taken him to the back door, and then he was gone.
“What have I done!” she cried out in a tom whisper, the night’s stillness oppressive with its silence. Racked with shivers, she slowly made her way up the stairs to her room, unwilling to light the lamp. Her fingers were clumsy trying to open the button loops she had hastily done up, and several ripped in her desperate haste to remove the gown.
A weariness unlike any she had ever experienced beset her, and her thoughts were as scattered as the clothing she removed. She couldn’t begin to think back on all that had happened tonight, but resting between cool linen sheets with her pillow muffling her tears, the past hours refused to allow her peace.
There was a hurt that expanded beyond pain inside her. She knew that Clay didn’t love her, not the way she wanted him to. All these years wasted, dreaming of the day they would marry, and now, now she felt cheated. The anger she felt surprised her, but remembering her brother’s reaction brought a fresh wave of hurt. He was shocked at finding her in Eden’s arms. She could understand that, for she had been a little shocked herself that she allowed her desire to carry her so far. But Eden had made it all seem right, as if she had a right to her needs to be held and kissed and…
“Dear Lord, how can I fight Pierce’s anger? Why did he denounce me and then align himself with Clay as if I meant nothing to him?”
She clutched the pillow tight, unwilling to believe Pierce’s cruelty, but his words lingered, echoing over and over until she wanted to scream with the pain of hearing them.
“Mama, I tried,” she sobbed. “I can’t be what they think I am. I want to love, Mama. If you were here, you could explain to them.”
There had been other nights when Dara longed for her mother, but no answer came then, and none came now. They were all wrong about Eden. He was tender and gentle and caring. He couldn’t be anything but those things after the way he had cared for Matt and her father. Eden was…
Her thoughts turned to his threats issued in that so-soft voice. Eden was capable of violence, and she would be a fool to deny it. But dangerous or not, he called to her passions and dreams as Clay, she fully understood now, would never be able to do. She had cried out that no one owned her, that she had rights.
But rights carried responsibilities, as she well knew.
How could she continue to let Clay believe she would ever marry him now?
Alone at the river’s edge Eden silently echoed her question. He drew deeply on his cigar, glancing back at her darkened house and knew she was awake in her virginal bed, as tormented by the night’s events as he was.
What had started out to be an innocent diversion had escalated into something more. He knew, but doubted Dara did, that he had no intention of stopping. Jake had accused him of being unable to settle down in one place with one woman. Once he might have said there was some truth in that.
But now…
A pensive frown creased his brow, and he speculated on the sanity of his own actions tonight. What devil had possessed him? He knew himself, had never questioned what he wanted, or needed, but Dara … such a lush, tempting bundle of contradictions … and what he was feeling right now for her went beyond the need for any physical gratification. How far beyond, he wasn’t about to delve into.
With an angry twist of his wrist, he sent the halfsmoked cigar out into the river’s sluggish current, heard its dying hiss with a bitter smile, and turned toward town.
And Dara, clutching the lace curtain in her room, watched him go, envying him his freedom, her own decision made.
She could only pray the night would pass quickly and that her courage would last long enough for her to carry it out.
Chapter Eight
“Dara! Dara, Clay’s here and Papa’s awake and hungry. Dara, do you hear me? There’s no hot water for me to shave with, either.”
Having entered her room to dress just a little while ago, Dara cringed hearing Pierce’s strident voice yelling up the stairs at her. She knew her sleepless night was evident with the shadows beneath her eyes. He called up to her again, but she didn’t bother to answer him, both thankful that her father, after his restless night, was awake, and angry that everything that needed to be done seemed to fall upon her. Muttering as she hastily buttoned up her shirtwaist, she longed to yell at Pierce to heat his own hot water. But even as she hurried, pinning up her long hair in a most careless manner, she knew she was mostly reluctant to go downstairs and face Clay.
Tossing the buttonhook on her dresser, she ignored the resentment flaring in her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself before she closed the door to her room. At the top of the stairs she heard the murmur of voices from the parlor and hurried down.
Clay was leaning over Cyrus when she paused in the doorway. She greeted him coolly when he glanced up, and she spoke before he could.
“I won’t be joining you for service this morning. Papa mustn’t be left alone. But I would like you to come directly back here. We need to talk.”
“Dara, I’m sorry you were alone when this happened. I was just asking your father how you managed. I wish—”
“Oh, she wasn’t alone at all, Clay,” Pierce said from behind Dara.
Her cry focused everyone’s attention on her. And Dara, unwilling to subject her father to the scene she knew Pierce was more than ready to begin, bit her lip. “I’ll get your breakfast, Papa,” she murmured, blindly turning around. “And I’ll heat some water for you to shave with, Pierce.”
“Dara, wait, who was here?” Clay called out.
“Eden McQuade,” she answered, offering no elaboration.
“McQuade?” he repeated, facing Pierce. “What is she talking about? What was he doing here after I saw her home?”
Pierce had the grace to look away, muttering, “It’s best you ask Dara. Papa,” he reminded him, and directed a pointed look toward his father, until Clay realized what he meant.
Cyrus stared at the two of them, his thoughts fuzzy, the pain blurring his vision. The strained silence that followed made him try to sit up against the brace of pillows, the sense of something being wrong filtering to him.
“Pierce,” he called weakly, “come here, boy, and tell me what happened.”
Clay glanced from one to the other. “Stay with him,” he ordered Pierce, spinning around to rush down the hall.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had confronted Dara about McQuade in the kitchen. The unease and tension of last night filled him once again as he skirted the table to join her by the stove. He watched her fiddle with the kettle, a calm sort of fury filling him. He shook his head as if to clear it, suddenly not sure he wanted to know what happened.
His hands lifted and hovered over her shoulders, and he was overpowered by the need to touch her, to hear her explanation that all his suspicions were wrong, and that she loved him still. But when he found his voice, its tone was one of suppliance, and he inwardly cringed that he could not control it.
“Tell me, please, Dara. You’ve lied to me about him, and I must know why. You’ve … well, you act so different, and I … He paused, both large-boned hands on his hips, studying her slender back. “These last few weeks haven’t been easy ones for either of us. I’ve neglected you, and for that I’m sorry. I … Damn you! Look at me!”
Her spine stiffened in reaction to the sudden demand, but obediently she turned around, her bleak gaze meeting his. “I want to talk to you about all of it, but not now, Clay. I’ve—”
“Now. Not later, but now.” He loomed closer, his stance threatening, and seemed satisfied when she shied back.
“Try to
believe that I don’t want to hurt you, Clay,” she pleaded, reaching out with one hand.
He pushed her hand aside. “Stop it. I don’t want to be soothed. I want some answers. True ones. Why was he here last night after I left?” He reached out blindly and gripped the top edge of a nearby chair. “Did you invite him to meet you? Or was—”
“How could I invite him?” she taunted. “You were the one to decide when we left the social. Or did you think—”
“Was he lurking around here, waiting to catch you alone again like the scum he is?”
“Scum? You dare to call him that when he cared for my father! Where were you when I needed help? Were you here with me, Clay?” she asked in a fury-laden voice, advancing on him. “Blame him, that’s what you’ve always done. Put the blame on the weather, your crops, your needs! But you know you couldn’t wait to leave me last night. After all, one kiss and ten minutes of your time was more than proper for a goodnight, wasn’t it? And we must always do what Clayton James Aloysius Wescott deems proper, mustn’t we?”
Stopping abruptly, Dara drew a shuddering breath, grabbing out for some semblance of control and finding it gone. A bitter acid filled her, cutting down the walls of restraint that had governed her life. “You can decide for yourself why he was here, Clay. I don’t think you would believe me if I told you. As for his staying and helping me, let’s say he did it out of the goodness of his Christian soul and leave it be,” she finished on a caustic note, turning her back toward him just as the kettle’s whistling rose.
But as she reached out with the pot holder to lift it from the stove, he grabbed her hand and spun her around. “You want me to decide for myself? I will. I decide that McQuade needs a lesson he’ll never forget. He won’t have trouble mistaking my warning this time to stay away from you, Dara. If he survives it.”
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