“You can’t be serious!” Her fork clattered to her plate and she stifled a giggle. “What if someone walks in on us? Or what if our clothes get rumpled? People would know damn well what we’d been doing.”
Matt laughed and sat back, still holding her hand. “I’ll bet you at least one man here couples with a woman tonight. Maybe not the woman he came with, but—”
“And how would you know about these things?”
McClanahan shrugged. “Men talk about their conquests, Emily. I’ve never seduced anyone at a party myself, but only because none of the women interested me. Which certainly isn’t the case tonight.”
The intense sparkle in his eyes told her just how badly he wanted her, and Emily’s heart went hammering up into her throat. But what an outrageous idea! A proper lady would never consider…
“How about tasting one of these oysters?” Matt asked as he tapped his fork on his plate. “They’re supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Not that either of us needs one.”
Emily flushed and tried to finish her meal. The meats were fork-tender, and the fresh carrots and pickled beets were much more flavorful than the ones from Cripple Creek stores, yet she ate without tasting any of them. When Clancy Donahue made such forward suggestions she dismissed him as lewd, but there was no ignoring the attractive man across from her. Matt knew her too well.
McClanahan pushed his plate back and gave her a subtle grin. “Dance with me? You like to waltz, as I recall.”
Nodding, Emily let him guide her to the center of the ballroom. Elegantly-dressed couples dipped and swirled around them, yet all she could see was the gleam in Matt’s eyes as he held her close. His step was perfect; his hand was warm against the small of her back, and his lips were parted slightly, as though he were only a heartbeat away from ravishing her right here on the dance floor. As the orchestra played another refrain of “The Blue Danube,” she let the graceful tune carry her into a blissful state she’d only dreamed of before tonight. Perfect music…perfect partner who so obviously wanted her…
“Come on, honey, let’s find a hideaway,” he whispered as the dancers applauded. He guided her between the other couples, nodding with a tight smile when he recognized someone. Emily was inflamed, and one look at her would tell everyone what they were up to, if he didn’t escort her out of the ballroom fast enough.
“Must we run?” she asked nervously.
“Rosebud, you’ve got the face of a lamb being led to the slaughter. Relax,” he murmured back. He nodded to Charles Tutt and Clayton Avery, and tightened his grip on Emily’s back.
“But I don’t want to come sneaking back as though—and your new suit’ll get wrinkled, and so will my dress,” she pleaded as they broke out of the crowd.
“You think I don’t know ways around that?” he said with a sly chuckle. “And I can certainly buy you another gown if I get carried away and spoil this one.”
Emily whirled around and slapped McClanahan’s face as hard as she could. The smack caught everyone’s attention, and the ballroom fell into an expectant hush.
Matt looked stunned. Then his eyes narrowed and he grasped her offending hand. “What in the hell was that for?” he muttered.
“I refuse to be bought, or treated like a whore.” Hundreds of eyes were watching them and a low murmur slithered through the crowd, but Emily kept glaring at the man whose grip stung her wrist. “Maybe I act a little wild at times, but I’m enough of a lady not to—”
“A lady wouldn’t be causing a scene right now,” he interrupted tersely. “A simple no would’ve sufficed, Miss Burnham.”
Her cheeks flared and her palm was smarting from the blow she’d delivered. Thank God the music started up and the onlookers began to dance again. Matt’s gaze remained stony, riveted on hers, as a distinct red handprint appeared on his cheek. Emily bit her lip. “I—I didn’t realize I hit you so hard.”
“Damn near broke my jaw, girl.”
She blinked and looked away. “If you’d hit me that way, I’d be pretty hot about it. It’s just that—”
“I’m hot, all right.”
“—I don’t like being pushed into things. If you’d—”
“If I hadn’t pushed so insistently, we wouldn’t be squabbling. No need to apologize, Emily.”
Emily challenged him with her eyes. “I’m not apologizing, McClanahan.”
“I’m not either. Not my fault you’re so easily embarrassed.”
A full minute passed before the flicker of a grin gave him away. She laughed softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“Not as badly as something else I could mention.”
Emily gave him a coy smile. “Your ego, I assume?”
“What else would I be discussing with such a lady?” As he looked down into her lovely, playful face, Matt fought the urge to kiss Emily full on the mouth, regardless of the onlookers and her protests.
She glanced toward the couples on the dance floor, clearing her throat. “We could two-step, I suppose. My skirt would disguise your predicament.”
“It was dancing with you that caused the problem.”
Emily widened her eyes to tease him. “What’ll you do, then—pout? Or leave without me?”
“And let some other fool fall prey to you? Not a chance.” McClanahan took her elbow, trying not to laugh as he guided her between the other dancers. He admired her all the more now: Emily Rose Burnham wouldn’t be cowed into any compromising positions, and wouldn’t snivel in self-pity or bemoan whatever fate she shared with him. Because it was a fate she would fashion herself.
Emily closed her eyes and danced as closely to him as she could without stumbling over his feet. Were all men as confusing and hair-triggered as McClanahan? She was no prude—she knew that—yet the West’s party hardly seemed the place to let her passions show. If the other men later recalled her dalliance with Matt, they wouldn’t be as likely to forgive an impulsive slap…and they’d never negotiate Papa’s business seriously if they knew she could be wheedled into quick, secret trysts.
It wasn’t over, of course. McClanahan would have his way eventually, and the thought of how he’d seek his revenge made her heart beat faster. As the song ended, another man’s teasing voice made her realize what a silly grin she must be wearing.
“Emily Burnham? My Lord, who’d ever believe you came here with this rake?”
Her eyes flew open and she backed awkwardly out of Matt’s embrace. “Mr. Penrose—I—goodness, it’s been so long since—”
“Too long. Glad to see you out and about, because I for one never believed Elliott’s daughter would knuckle under.” Spencer Penrose gave her a jovial smile and extended his hand toward Matt. “So you got lucky, McClanahan. Took a pretty young lass like this to bring you out of hibernation, did it?”
Matt chuckled. “I’m only here to protect the other guests from her—”
“Feisty little gal, isn’t she?” He raised his dark eyebrows as he glanced briefly at the handprint on Matt’s cheek. “But undoubtedly worth the trouble.”
As he raised a glass of champagne to his lips, Emily’s thoughts raced. Spencer Penrose was one of the wealthiest, most influential citizens in Colorado Springs—the man who’d suggested Papa get in on the ground floor of the Cripple Creek mining boom—and she had to talk carefully and intelligently in his presence. He was known for his jokes, but no one would be laughing if he caught her toying with the truth. “How are things at your mine?” she asked with a polite smile.
“The C.O.D.’s the place to be,” Penrose quipped. He smoothed his short, dark waves and gave her a penetrating brown-eyed gaze. “I hear you’ve got a maverick blaster causing problems at the Angel Claire. But I guess Silas doesn’t worry you with such things.”
“I, uh, see the balance sheets, but I let Mr. Hughes handle the personnel,” she replied cautiously.
Penrose chortled and took another sip of champagne. “Guess you just know about the paper figures on your father’s newest establishmen
t, too—but I hear McClanahan’s more personally involved. The Rose is quite a place isn’t, it?” His mustache, which was waxed into a tiny tip at each end, quivered as he laughed.
“Cripple Creek’s finest,” Matt replied smoothly. “And I’m pleased Emily’s asked me to help her look after her father’s concerns. She’s quite a lady.”
“Yes, she is. And you’re doing a fine job for her, too.” With a knowing smile and a wink, Mr. Penrose took a step back. “I won’t interrupt any longer, because I can see you take your managerial duties seriously, Mr. McClanahan. Try to have her home before sunrise, all right?”
As he walked back toward the buffet, Emily let out a long breath. It was all she could do to stand still, her knees were knocking so badly.
“What’s wrong?” Matt draped an arm around her shoulders with a concerned scowl. “He’s obviously pleased that your father’s death hasn’t kept you from—”
“He certainly knows about us.”
McClanahan chuckled, hugging her. “Even before you left your mark on me, I’m sure people surmised—”
“But Penrose’ll have everyone talking even more. He loves to tease, and—”
“Let him talk. We can handle it.” He turned to face her, smiling at the heightened color of her cheeks. “And if he’s gossiping about us, people won’t be as likely to speculate about the state of the Burnham empire.”
Emily let out an exasperated sigh. “But Matt, they’ll think—”
“That we’re lovers? We are, rosebud.”
“But these people know Papa would never have allowed such flagrant carryings-on,” she protested. “Men like West and Penrose may joke about it to our faces, but they’ll assume you’ve taken the reins, where Papa’s businesses are concerned. They may lose faith in—”
“I’d never presume to control either you or your estate, Emily—even if I really were your business manager. And socially, I’m not doing anything that any man wouldn’t try.” McClanahan wasn’t sure if this sudden fit of jitters was caused by her conscience or by the glances they’d gotten all evening. He massaged her shoulders, deciding he loved her all the more for her unpredictability. “One more dance and then I’ll take you home. Tomorrow we’ll ride out and check your herds—get some fresh air and do anything we please, where only the cattle can talk about us. All right?”
Nodding sheepishly, Emily reached for the handsome man in black and savored a final waltz. When would they dance this way again? Maybe not until Papa’s murderer was convicted, and maybe never. The answer depended entirely on Matt McClanahan, and knowing what he would do was next to impossible.
Chapter Nineteen
Matt stopped on the stairs, ready to tease her about taking so long to bathe and dress, but when he caught sight of her, the words didn’t come out. Emily was in her father’s room, wearing a lace gown he recognized from Claire Burnham’s portrait in the parlor. She was barefoot, holding her hair up in an untidy topknot, yet as she turned in front of the mirror with an expression that was both critical and pleased, her unstudied beauty stole his breath away.
It was time to declare himself. Emily knew his intentions—just as he now realized she was waiting for him to announce them—but the idea of proposing marriage unsettled him. He loved her without question, and his wealth and background made him as qualified as any man to claim Emily Burnham’s affections…yet he felt hesitant. Depending on her whim, the woman modeling her mother’s wedding gown was as likely to laugh at him as she was to admit she loved him. McClanahan had been derided and slapped before, and had put those women in their places, but Emily wouldn’t tolerate such domineering behavior from him. Nor did she deserve it.
Matt slipped down the stairs, shaking his head. When had he started bowing to a woman’s wishes? Utter nonsense, to consider a naive little blonde his equal. Yet he knew damn well Emily could outsmart him if she chose to, and she could certainly live without him. As he checked the horses and the saddlebags a final time, he hoped the right words would come when he needed them, because he wasn’t so sure that spending the rest of his days and nights without her would be much of a life.
When she heard him come in from the stables, Emily bounded down the stairs with a smile full of sunshine. “Sorry I took so long. Are the horses ready?”
“Hours ago.” Matt caught her up in an exuberant kiss, and then couldn’t turn her loose.
Emily giggled, straightening her hat when they came up for air. “What was that all about?”
McClanahan shrugged. “Even in pants and a shirt, you look very kissable, young lady.”
“And you look sleepy. If you fall off your horse today, I’ll leave you at the mercy of the cattle.”
“If someone hadn’t wakened me—twice—I’d have the energy to turn her over my knee for making such a threat.”
“You loved it, McClanahan.”
Recalling her eager, willowy body as she’d coaxed him into one bout of frenzied lovemaking and then another, Matt smiled. Emily’s tawny eyes were teasing at him again, and a kiss on the tip of her nose was all he dared give her. “We’d better get started, Miss Burnham. It’s a long ride over your vast estate.”
“Yes, sir. Lead on.”
They rode out beyond the corrals and stables, over rolling pastureland that was green and uninterrupted for as far as the eye could see. Occasional clumps of trees were turning cinnamon and orange, and the autumn air was invigorating while being unseasonably warm. As he watched Emily’s graceful form fall into the rhythm of Sundance’s canter, Matt searched for the words that would win her. He considered himself reasonably articulate, yet he couldn’t think of a damn thing that didn’t sound silly or gushy when he practiced it. But he had to say something; he couldn’t expect her to read his mind.
When they stopped midmorning to water the horses at a stream, McClanahan plucked a pale blue columbine and stroked her cheek with it. “What do you think about when you’re riding, Emily?”
Her smile was wistful as she gazed across the limitless sun-drenched acres around them. “How good it is to be home. How…complete I feel, now that I’m back on the land Papa and I shared.”
Matt nodded, though he’d hoped for a better opening. “I’m not much for cities either. Rather go for months just seeing a good friend or two than spend another day in town.”
“Me, too.” Emily took the flower from his hand, gently fingering its delicate, pointed petals. “Is that all?”
“All what?”
She tossed him a teasing glance. “All that you’ve been thinking about? You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”
He wanted to blurt out how much he loved her and crush her in an embrace as she whispered the same to him, but instead he cleared his throat. “Did I tell you we’re doing double duty? I sold Crabtree a few cutting horses from my herd, and I told him we’d bring them back with us.”
Did her smile falter, or was he only imagining she’d expected more intimate conversation? Emily ran her toe across a dusty spot in the grass. “Your spread’s within a day’s ride of the Flaming B?” she asked doubtfully. Then, as though she felt as awkward as he did, she grinned and adjusted her hat. “Well, if these horses are anything like Sundance, I’m sure we’ll get our money’s worth out of them.”
“Yep. My trainer’s the best—and I’ve got a pretty good eye for horseflesh, you know.” Why couldn’t he speak his mind? His hand wandered to the golden
cascade of hair flowing down her back, and it occurred to him she’d worn it loose to please him. “Emily, you’re so pretty that sometimes I can’t…can’t even think straight.”
She looked confused; maybe a little nervous. “I…thanks, McClanahan. Uh, looks like the horses are rested.”
“Yeah.” He reached for Arapaho’s reins and handed Emily her own. “Let’s head north, to where those cattle are grazing.”
Emily nodded, and once they were mounted he was alone with his thoughts again. He grimaced and jammed his Stetson down tighter. Any sane man wou
ld’ve swept her into his arms—would’ve kissed her until the words came tumbling out of their own accord. But he’d lost the moment.
It was no different when they stopped to eat. They sat in the shade, their hats off as they devoured ham and biscuits, and McClanahan could easily have tried again—could’ve made love to her, the way she was lolling on the blanket, pretending she was interested in cracking a leaf into tiny, dry flakes. But he was tongue-tied; frozen by the prospect of being refused after stumbling through a proposal.
By the time they stopped to make camp, Matt wondered if he’d ever be able to converse intelligently with her again. His thoughts were constipated, and Emily was obviously as confused by his silence as he was. After days of teasing and coaxing and complimenting her—having her body and mind all to himself most of the time—he strained to make the commonest of talk about the condition of the grass and how the streams might not hold out through the winter without a good rain or two.
Not even the sunset inspired him. After they’d cleaned up their dishes and built the fire up for the night, McClanahan thought surely he could string a few appropriate words together. Emily sat cross-legged on her blanket beside him, watching periwinkle clouds drift across the glowing pink sky. He couldn’t have asked for a more willing listener, or a more perfect setting as the hush of dusk settled around them. The only sounds were the crackling of the logs and the callings of a few night birds roosting in the nearby trees. The flames bathed her in an inviting light, and the aroma from the coffee grounds they’d discarded lingered around them.
Emily sighed. “Guess I’ll turn in. It’s been a long day in the saddle.”
He cleared his throat. “Rosebud, I—”
“What’d I do, McClanahan? Don’t you love me anymore?”
The agony in her plaintive voice made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. He grabbed for her, rolling her onto the blankets as he kissed her neck, her forehead, her damp cheeks. “I do love you, Emily Rose,” he murmured hoarsely. “Jesus, I’ve been trying to get it out all day and I’ve done such a damn poor job of it you must think I—”
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