“Oh, stop it! The point is, you didn’t ask me before you ordered those dresses. I won’t be a kept woman, Matt.”
He wanted to laugh and catch her up in his arms, but he knew better. Emily’s fists were on her hips and her golden-eyed gaze was boring straight into his heart. “It’s only natural for a man to give you pretty things. Your father certainly did.”
“But that’s what fathers do. You’re a—a—”
“I’m a what, rosebud?” He reached out to stroke her crimson cheek, but she jerked her face away.
“I…I don’t know. I’m not sure I like having you buy things for me.” Emily looked down the alley, wishing her expression and her jumbled thoughts would stop betraying her. “I already owe you so much for rounding up Papa’s killer, and those dresses must’ve cost you plenty. Mrs. Andersen doesn’t work cheap.”
“And I’m certain she won’t gossip about our transaction or discolor your reputation, either. Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Well, no…she said somebody’s mistress left that red dress behind, but she wouldn’t say whose.” She glanced at the shiny toes of his boots. What was she worried about? The seamstress wouldn’t make her a dress that didn’t become her any more than she’d spread rumors about “that Burnham girl’s” escort. It wasn’t good business.
Matt took her hand and rubbed it between his own. “The gowns are gifts, Emily. Maybe they’re of a more personal nature than some people consider proper, but you’re not the type who gushes over little trinkets or stuffs herself on sweets. Are you?”
“Well…no.” His hands were warm and gentle, and she was beginning to think her tantrum had been not only childish, but out of place as well.
“So accept your dresses in the spirit in which I’m giving them,” he said quietly. “You’ve made me happier than I’ve been for a long time, and I’d like to return some of that happiness. You certainly deserve it, after all you’ve been through.”
Her pulse quickened, and Emily studied him through lowered lashes. “I thought you were merely helping me solve Papa’s murder. Now you sound like a man who’s come courting.”
“Maybe I’m clever enough to do both.”
“Maybe you chase after damsels in distress wherever you go,” she quipped. “I should check your past for a string of broken hearts.”
“Do you think I seduce every female I meet?” he asked as he clutched her other hand. “How many women do you think I’ve loved in a bathtub—or a miner’s shack—after they pointed a gun at me?”
Emily chuckled, adoring the way his blue eyes captured her in their gaze. “I don’t know, Mr. McClanahan. Perhaps I should be asking those questions.”
“Well, the answer’s none,” he murmured as he pulled her against him. “And if you’re not careful, we’re going to be adding this alley to our list of locations. Now kiss me—just a short one—and then behave yourself, dammit. A young lady of your ilk should never allow herself to be led into such…questionable situations.”
His lips teased at hers until she whimpered for more, and then he released her. With a devilish smile, Matt escorted her out of the alley as though he’d arranged such rendezvous hundreds of times. Perhaps he had—Emily wondered again if she should be taking McClanahan for granted so quickly. Should she believe in the implicit faith Richard Crabtree seemed to have in him, or was it Silas’s warning she should heed? As they stepped back into the flow of people along the busy street, it really didn’t matter. She was too much in love with him to even think of letting him go.
And later, when he stepped out of the tailor’s back room in a black suit he’d ordered on his earlier trip to town, Emily realized anew what a dashing companion Matt McClanahan made. The dark coat matched his hair, and its cut emphasized his broad shoulders. A fresh white shirt made his face look ruddy and masculine. His vest front was royal blue brocade, and Emily couldn’t decide which was more dazzling—the elegant fabric, or the way his eyes outshone it as he smiled at her.
“No comment? That’s not like you, Miss Burnham.”
She tried to get rid of the sappy grin she felt on her face. “I almost hate to admit it, but you do have excellent taste, McClanahan. I can only wonder where you plan to wear such a handsome outfit.”
Chuckling, he turned to the tailor. “I’ll keep this on. I think the lady would prefer it if you boxed the clothes I was wearing.”
When they’d stashed his parcels in the carriage and strolled into some of the other shops, they returned to Mrs. Andersen’s. She was reconciling her accounts, and her sewing tools were put away for the day. “You’ve come for the red dress,” she said with a smile. “Let me find you a box.”
Emily glanced up at Matt, who nodded. “I’d rather put it on, and let you wrap this outfit instead.”
Noticing Matt’s elegant clothes, the seamstress smiled coyly. “You’re going somewhere tonight? A party, perhaps?”
“Yes, ma’am,” McClanahan answered. He glanced around the shop, then walked toward a chair near the window. “I’ll make myself comfortable. Take as long as you need, Emily.”
Her heart thudded as she handed her skirt and blouse to Mrs. Andersen from the dressing room. Where would he be taking her, that they’d wear such finery? She’d assumed they’d eat and go dancing, as he’d suggested yesterday, and she’d dressed for that sort of outing this morning. Emily slipped the garnet gown over her head, lost in thought until the diminutive dressmaker returned.
“I’ve just the thing for your hair, dear,” she said with a knowing smile.
Emily took the stool she offered and watched in the mirror as the woman fussed over her. She brushed the long blond tresses lovingly, gathering them into a becoming topknot which she pinned securely at the crown. “We’ll turn these little stray pieces into ringlets,” she said as she wielded a curling iron. “And to finish it, I made some roses of this same red satin, trimmed with lace and streamers. I had a feeling Mr. McClanahan was taking you somewhere tonight!”
“Thank you, I…didn’t realize you had such a way with hair, Mrs. Andersen. It’s never looked prettier.” Emily turned to the right and left, admiring the ornaments tucked into both sides of her crown. The seamstress dusted her cheeks with pink powder and stood back with a girlish grin.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful young lady, Emily,” she whispered. “And it’s good to know you’re in circulation again. I only wish your father could see you right now.”
A pang went through her heart, because Papa would never know his efforts to feminize her had finally succeeded. Emily smoothed her skirt as she blinked away the mist in her eyes. “Thank you again,” she murmured. “I think Mr. McClanahan will be quite pleased.”
When she emerged from the dressing room, Matt sucked in his breath and stood to gaze at her. How could such a transformation have taken place in the time it took for his thoughts to wander only as far as their next destination? Emily Rose looked radiant and regal, and it was for damn sure he wouldn’t give any other man a chance to so much as grasp her hand. “You’ve done it again, rosebud,” he murmured as she turned before him. “You’ve caught me by surprise, and I don’t know what to say.”
Emily smiled as she felt the color flooding her cheeks. “You could start by thanking Mrs. Andersen for styling my hair.”
The petite woman came from behind the counter with an ornate perfume bottle. “A finishing touch—just a dab behind your ears,” she said as she lightly applied the stopper to Emily’s skin. After inhaling the ethereal sweetness of lilac that wafted around them, she chuckled. “You two have a wonderful evening!”
Matt flashed the little woman a grateful grin as he ushered Emily to the door. He could hardly watch where they were walking to looking at her, and it was an effort not to embrace her right there on the sidewalk. “Is it my imagination?” he said as he helped her up onto the front seat of the carriage. “Or did every person we pass turn to gaze after you?”
“How would I know?” she asked demurely.
“I was too busy looking at you to notice.” His eyes burned with a fire that made her so warm she wondered if steam would drift out of her ears. Even at his most passionate, intimate moments, Matt McClanahan had never looked as though he’d fall over with the slightest tap of her finger. It gave her a heady sense of power, this newfound femininity. “Where are we going now?”
He blinked, as though bringing himself out of a trance. “I’d had a restaurant in mind—a private little place—but now I’ve decided to accept an invitation I received awhile back. A birthday ball, with a buffet supper. Is that all right?”
“Well, I suppose. But—”
“Much more elegant than a dance hall. And I’m certain your father would’ve approved, because the host is a good friend of his, and he sent you an invitation, too.” Matt picked up the reins and started the horses toward the edge of town. “It’s time you were attending these events, sweetheart, and I’m pleased to be escorting you.”
Emily was too intrigued to remark about the possessive tone of McClanahan’s comment. As they passed the dry goods store and the blacksmith’s, she tried in vain to remember whose mail sat on Papa’s desk. They left the business and residential districts behind and were heading toward the foothills before she guessed their destination. When Matt pulled the wagon into a driveway bounded by Douglas firs, leading back to a mansion that was invisible from the road, Emily’s eyes widened. The owner of this magnificent estate was known all over Colorado Springs for sparing no expense when it came to indulging his wife or throwing lavish parties. “You know Taylor West?” she murmured as he halted the horses.
McClanahan smiled mysteriously. “Well enough to help celebrate Olga’s birthday. Why the frown?”
“I—I didn’t send an acceptance, or bring a gift, or—”
“I had one delivered this afternoon. A crystal candy dish from you, and imported liqueur candies from me. Not that she needed either of them.”
Emily tried to smile as the uniformed attendant helped her to the ground. When Matt offered his elbow, she tugged him to a halt beside the veranda. “But Matt, Papa’s friends will know the minute they see me that I haven’t been wasting away all these months. If they think I’ve lied about my health, they won’t trust me to conduct Papa’s affairs—”
“So we’ll let the truth speak for itself. None of these men would be crass enough to challenge you about it in public.” He gazed down at her with a fondness that made his heart swell. “When they see you, Emily, they’ll be so enthralled they’ll forget all about the rumors—which are exactly what they’ve heard. If it becomes uncomfortable for you, we’ll leave early, but I thought an evening like this would do you good.”
She hadn’t been to a party since the ball Papa had hosted last spring. And as another couple was welcomed inside and strains of music and laughter drifted through the ornately-carved doors, Emily couldn’t help smiling. She stood on tiptoe to peck Matt’s cheek, then took his elbow again, vowing to set her concerns about appearances aside.
“Any more of that brazen behavior’s liable to land you on your backside behind this shrubbery,” he murmured as he gave her a roguish wink.
A doorman in a red frock coat let them in, and Emily immediately felt overwhelmed by a luxury that was almost ludicrous. A few years ago when she’d visited the West home for a Christmas reception, she’d noticed the sheer mass of things: bric-a-brac on every spare inch of the marble-topped tables, clusters of photographs amid the sterling pieces on the ponderous buffets, cut-glass paperweights, ruby glass souvenir cups, curios, and lace doilies everywhere—and they seemed to have multiplied. As they followed an aproned maid up the grand staircase to the ballroom, she relaxed.
Matt gave her a questioning look.
“I was afraid to breathe, for fear I’d knock something over,” Emily whispered.
He chuckled and covered her slender hand with his. “Same here. West probably travels to his brokerage houses just to escape Olga’s clutter.”
A chamber orchestra was playing as guests gathered at small tables on one side of the room or helped themselves to the buffet, which ran the entire length of the opposite wall. Emily recognized several of the men and their wives, and for a moment she wondered how much information about the murder she should reveal to these bankers and real estate tycoons. Some of them had caught sight of her and were already watching her
with open curiosity. McClanahan’s arm tightened around her waist.
“Olga, you’ve outdone yourself again,” he said as he bowed over their plump hostess’s hand. “And yet you never appear to age. How do you do it?”
Mrs. West’s smile was as wide as her magnificent diamond necklace. “You are the flirt, Mr. McClanahan—and those little candies are wonderful!” She eyed Emily, smoothing her lavender taffeta dress with gemstone-studded fingers. “And you, dear! Why, Taylor, I thought you told me Elliott’s daughter was confined to the ranch because of her declining health. She looks perfectly sleek and sassy to me.”
Her husband’s gaze made a quick, appreciative trip along Emily’s profile. “She’s still rather thin, darling, but she’s certainly done a splendid job of recovering. Perhaps we owe the roses in her cheeks to McClanahan.”
Emily laughed, trying to word her response carefully. “Mr. McClanahan is my business manager now. And when I received your invitation, I thought it was high time to come out of seclusion, since moping at the Flaming B won’t bring Papa back,” she explained.
“An admirable attitude—one Elliott would expect of you,” Mr. West replied with a wide smile. Then he focused his attention on Matt, his expression more businesslike. “First chance you get to come by my office, I’ve got an investment opportunity you’ll undoubtedly be interested in for the Burnham portfolio.” The portly little man glanced toward the door, buttoning his coat over his straining vest buttons. “Shall we greet the Harveys, dear?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. West patted Emily’s sleeve and smiled up at Matt. “And thank you both for your remembrances. Help yourselves to the buffet and have a lovely time.”
“I’m sure we will.” McClanahan nodded, and when their hosts were on the way to the door, he leaned toward Emily. “You should inquire about that investment sometime tonight. Taylor isn’t generous with his business tips.”
“After the way he so pointedly addressed that remark to you, do you really think he’ll indulge me with such information?” she asked archly.
Matt shrugged. “You’ve been involved in Elliott’s affairs for years—probably know as much about your father’s investments as Taylor does.”
Emily sighed and glanced toward the buffet. “To these men, I’m still Elliott Burnham’s little girl. A blonde bit of fluff who can’t be taken seriously or invited into their board rooms.”
“And you’re just the woman to prove how wrong those assumptions are.” He gazed at her upswept hair and gossamer skin, pitying the fools who fell prey to her beauty without acknowledging her business acumen. “You’ll have to appear in his place from here on out, rosebud. Might as well let his friends know you mean business.”
The responsibility of managing the Burnham estate was nothing new, yet here among her father’s peers, who were assessing her with covert glances, it seemed much more a reality…almost frightening. “Maybe for tonight I’d like to be the coddled daughter,” she murmured. “Since I’m dressed for the part, I might as well play it.”
Matt chuckled and guided her toward tables covered with silver trays of attractively arranged food. “I won’t treat you like my daughter, rosebud,” he replied with a low laugh, “but I’ll see that you have a good time. The other guests are noticing the exquisite young woman by my side, and I intend to enjoy every one of their envious looks.”
As she chose slices of succulent turkey breast and spoonfuls of tender vegetables, Emily realized McClanahan was only half right. Most of the women in the room were eyeing him, as though they didn’t know him but wished they did. He was following her so close
ly that his arm brushed hers, and a thrill of happy pride went through her for the first time in her life. In a room full of middle-aged financiers and stout entrepreneurs, Matt McClanahan cut a bold, intriguing figure in his black suit. And he was hers—if only until Nigel Grath was brought to justice.
But who was he? Once again Emily reviewed what she knew about the swarthy man who’d come to the Angel Claire from out of nowhere. He’d done some ranching—worked with horses, she recalled—and seemed to have a passing acquaintance with everyone she knew, whether it was the Sundance Kid or Taylor West. If McClanahan ran in the same circles as she and her father, why hadn’t she seen or even heard of him before Papa was shot?
“Why so somber? I was looking forward to idle chatter with Elliott Burnham’s coddled daughter.” Matt seated her at a table in the most secluded corner of the ballroom.
“I haven’t had much practice at idle chitchat,” Emily admitted. “But I bet you can tell me what proper ladies talk about.”
He laughed as he sat down across from her. “Topics so scintillating I can scarcely recall them, such as what they heard at the hairdresser’s, or who’s hostessing the Ladies’ Aid meeting next week. Nothing so mundane as the quarterly profit percentage on their cattle or what their stock broker recommends for the coming year.”
She swallowed a bite of baked pheasant, grinning. “I can tell you how each of Papa’s businesses has done—”
“I’m certain of it.”
“—and I’ll bet you,” she continued as she glanced at their host, “that West’ll recommend utilities or transportation for the portfolio. His last tips on electricity stocks and a streetcar company made a bundle of money.”
Matt reached across the table, smiling as he took her hand. “No bet. I’d rather discuss something much more suitable, considering the candlelight, and themusic, and the excellent food.”
Emily’s heart fluttered. “Such as?”
He leaned closer, enjoying the way her golden eyes widened. “Shall we slip away for a while after we’ve eaten? Find a spot to make love before we dance?”
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