Colorado Captive

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Far as I could tell, you had them in the palm of your hand.” McClanahan lifted the steaming cup to her lips, barely able to conceal his anger. “What I want to know is why you were strung up like a damn rolled roast.”

  Emily flushed and looked away. “My dress was a little too snug, so I bought—”

  “And why didn’t you tell me you were carrying my child?”

  Her face stung as though he’d slapped her. “What are you talking about? I—”

  “Is that why you ran away from me?” he demanded as he leaned closer. “I have a right to know, Emily. I thought you were a decent enough woman to tell me about such a thing.”

  “And what makes you think I knew?” She could hardly breathe, she was so shocked, yet her eyes were awash with tears. “Nobody told me all the details about being a woman, but I haven’t known you long enough to be sick from—”

  “Yes you have—if you count back to our first time, up on Mount Pisgah,” Matt mumbled. “I figured and refigured on the way back from the bank.”

  The air rushed from Emily’s lungs. How could it be? They’d only been together…dozens of times. She’d be naive to deny the signs—tighter clothes, tears that sprang up for no reason—yet she’d been so preoccupied since she’d returned to Cripple, with the Angel Claire’s explosion and hearing Papa’s killer confess, that the possibility of pregnancy simply hadn’t occurred to her.

  Emily’s expression told him she was as surprised as he was, and as Matt realized how confused she must feel, the last of his resentment melted away. With her hair tumbling over her shoulders, and her butterscotch eyes nearly popping out of her pale face, she looked so fragile and childlike…so precious he held his breath, loving her intensely once again. Her brow furrowed and she looked toward the opposite wall. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  “What’s wrong? Really, McClanahan I-I…” Emily felt her face pucker up despite her efforts to control it. Without warning, she burst into blubbering sobs that would’ve sent tea flying all over the bed had McClanahan not snatched up the cup in time.

  Matt pulled her close, wishing he had the words to reassure her and win her forever. He’d always admired Emily’s spirit, yet now that she was as soft and helpless as a kitten, all woman, he could forgive her tendency to speak first and think later. “Let it out,” he murmured as he nuzzled her damp cheek. “No sense trying to reason this thing through till you’re ready”

  With final, sputtery cough, Emily rested her head on his shoulder. His shirt was stiff with starch, yet his warmth and the gentle rumbling of his voice soothed her. It felt good to be in his arms, to have him weaving his fingers through her hair…too good. She pulled away to wipe her face on her flannelette sleeve. “Sorry. I hate being such a crybaby.”

  “Goes with the territory, rosebud. I know as well as anyone else that you’re not usually this—”

  “You don’t know the half of it!” she blurted. “What if Silas figures out—and Donahue’ll hear I fainted, too! If he guesses there’s a…baby…”

  The roses in her cheeks died suddenly, and Matt set aside his romantic thoughts and desires. “What about Donahue?” he asked in a low voice. “If he’s been bothering you, or—”

  “He’s offered to be my bodyguard, of all things,” Emily said with a roll of her eyes. “Still has fantasies that he’s the perfect husband for me, especially now that everyone knows who I am. Can you believe it?”

  McClanahan didn’t doubt the burly bartender’s intentions for a moment, just as he saw through Emily’s attempt to make light of them. Her words rang with typical Burnham sarcasm, but the tea she was trying to pour came from the pot in a wobbly stream. “Honey, I haven’t told you this because I knew you’d figure it out for yourself,” he said cautiously. “Thompson and I have been keeping close track of Donahue—watching out for you—because we’ve got proof he shot your father.”

  Her blood ran cold, and she could only stare at him for a moment. “That’s not true,” she replied firmly. “Nigel Grath confessed. He tried to blackmail me when he dragged me down the mine shaft—was absent from work...”

  “What was his motive?” Matt asked as he watched her chin rise with her obstinance. “Donahue’s been casing your assets ever since he signed on at the Flaming B. Before that, he was wanted in Wyoming for rustling.”

  “Where’d you hear that? You think Papa would’ve hired a known criminal?” She felt her insides churning, just as she had during her last conversation with Matt at the ranch. “Every time we talk about something besides—sex—I get the feeling you’re spinning a yarn, McClanahan. You’ve told me about everything except yourself, and—”

  “I’ve tried, but it seems I get cut off before—”

  “What are you, a bounty hunter?” Emily demanded. Her cup and saucer clattered loudly as she set them on the night stand. “You came back to Cripple for Clancy, and to claim your reward, didn’t you? Maybe I should have Idaho bring me the checkbook so I can pay you for—”

  “You think I care about the money?” In utter frustration, Matt grabbed her by the shoulders. “I love you, dammit. And I’m telling you Donahue’s a dangerous man. Can’t you see he’s trying to hide from the law—wants to marry into your fortune so he can take it from you, legally?”

  “Sounds a lot like what you tried, doesn’t it?” Emily fixed a cold glare on him, wishing her head and stomach would stop spinning so she could analyze this information about Clancy. Did McClanahan really love her, or was this another of his convenient fairy tales? “It’s no secret that Donahue’s a crude, possessive bully. But most men are, in one way or another. So why should I believe you’re any better than he is?”

  “I’m the father of your child,” Matt rasped. “And I want to be. Can’t you get that through your head?”

  Emily felt another crying jag coming on; she was torn between being disgusted with herself and wanting to believe the man whose desperate face was only inches from her own. His mouth was taut and his blue eyes burned with a crystal fire that awed and frightened her. “But…but Papa would’ve told me about the rustling—and about you inheriting the Wickersham ranch.”

  “Maybe he ran out of time. Maybe he was trying to protect you from one of the realities of the ranching business. If I knew the reason, I’d tell you, honey.” Matt could see her wavering; saw the doubts seesawing in her huge amber eyes. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of her when she wasn’t strong enough to fight back, but being fair might well cost him the love he’d wanted all his life. So he did the only thing he could think of.

  McClanahan’s kiss came as a shock, and her first reaction was to shove him away. He tightened his hold on her, so Emily tried to bite him—damn him for shutting her up, instead of answering her questions! But he eluded her teeth by opening his mouth wider and forcing hers open with it. Matt’s lips were bold, controlling her as he leaned her back against the pillows. When his tongue teased at hers, she gave up all pretense of resistance. The new sensation of his mustache tickling her nose made her giggle deep in her throat.

  Matt pulled away with a reluctant sigh. “Emily, we need to talk.”

  “Oh.” She tried to hide an impish grin—was this sudden change of emotions part of being pregnant? Or had she missed his affection more than she cared to admit?

  He brushed a silky lock of hair away from her face, choosing words he hoped wouldn’t set her temper off again. “I want to take care of you, rosebud,” he said softly. “Not just because of the baby, but—and not just because it’s the honorable thing to do…” When she laughed again, Matt let out an exasperated sigh. “What’s so funny? I’m talking about our future together, Emily.”

  She saw the utter seriousness in his eyes, yet she couldn’t hold in another giggle. “Honorable—us? What sort of parents would we make, McClanahan? A mother who tells colossal lies—and dresses in overalls, and works in a whorehouse. A roguishly handsome father who’s a mysterious, wealthy man about town. He comes on as hearts and
flowers when the time’s right, yet I can’t see him letting a woman tie him down.”

  McClanahan winced inwardly at her impression of him, but he set his pride aside. It was time to show his hand, before Emily Rose Burnham wrote him off as unworthy of becoming a husband and father. “I…was engaged once. Her name was Fallon.”

  Emily stared, certain the pain in Matt’s eyes was something that couldn’t be faked. She relaxed against the pillows, sensing she’d better hear him out this time. “Wh-what happened? I had no idea…”

  “I met her in Denver. She was from a prominent family, and once my smithy was in the black, we were to get married.”

  His voice was toneless, as though he no longer had any feelings for his former fiancée, yet Emily could tell his memories were difficult to discuss. She laid a hand on his arm, listening intently.

  “Fallon and I had high hopes,” Matt continued quietly. “My business was picking up. She loved the bustle of Denver, and spent her days planning a big wedding with the help of her friends and sisters. She wasn’t anything like you, rosebud. She was tall, with chestnut hair. Chattered a lot.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  McClanahan smiled, squeezing her hand. “I thought she was, but she tried every trick in the beauty books to get rid of her freckles.” He cleared his throat, studying the golden rosiness which had returned to Emily’s face. “But that’s about the time I got a letter from my mother, saying she was alone on the Wickersham ranch and was deeding it over to me. Wanted me to run it while she lived the rest of her life out.”

  Emily heard a tug-of-war in his voice and tried to recall what he’d told her when they were gazing across the spread that adjoined her own. “I can understand why you’d be bitter about not hearing from Lorna all those years. But your mother was only—”

  “My mother wasn’t the problem—not then, anyway,” Matt replied. “I liked Denver well enough, yet I didn’t particularly want to raise my children there. Fallon refused to leave town, though. She’d never been away from her family and friends, and the isolation of ranch life wasn’t her cup of tea.”

  “But if she truly loved you—”

  “I’m not sure love was the issue,” McClanahan said in a strained whisper. “Some women just aren’t cut out for harsh winters and keeping their own company. When I told her I intended to claim my inheritance—which meant I was finally wealthy enough to support her—Fallon threw her engagement ring in my face. Then her father drove my customers away, in retaliation for disgracing his little girl.”

  Emily’s mouth fell open. “Matt, that—that’s awful. What’d you do?”

  “Spent most of my time and money in the taverns, drowning my sorrows,” he replied with a morose chuckle. “I was trying to figure out why my mother chose that particular time to contact me, after years of refusing to be my mother, and why Fallon didn’t have guts enough to stand by me.”

  Bitterness hardened his handsome face, yet his voice betrayed the rejection he still felt after all this time. “I didn’t think self-pity was your style, McClanahan,” she said softly.

  “Thank you, rosebud.” Matt took her hands between his, hoping her understanding would carry him through the rest of his story, and the rest of his life. “Needless to say, I was in no mood for a reunion with my mother, so I put off answering her letter. A couple weeks later I was awakened by a bucket of cold water in my face—Gus Veatch had come looking for me, to tell me I’d better take the reins of the Wickersham ranch before I lost all my employees. He said the furnace had exploded one night, and my mother died of smoke inhalation before the men could save her”

  Matt paused when he saw fresh tears in Emily’s eyes, because the last thing he wanted was to manipulate her with his pain. “So after twenty years, I returned home to find that Hell had opened up and swallowed the house. They’d already buried my mother, so I never saw her again.”

  Her stomach tightened, because the hands at the Flaming B had related pretty much the same story about the disaster. “Matt, I’m so sorry…”

  “So was I, honey,” he mumbled. “All I could think was that if I’d gone home when Mama first asked me—after Bert died—or if I’d set aside my wounded pride after Fallon jilted me, I would’ve been there to maintain the house for her. Lord only knows how long it’d been since the furnace was cleaned.”

  Guilt wasn’t something most men felt comfortable admitting, and Emily could certainly understand the sense of loss that still haunted him. “So I never met you because you stayed away from your ranch?”

  “What did I have to stick around for?” he asked. “I stopped in often enough to see that Gus and the men were training top-notch horses, and took on a few investments in the Springs. My friends were good about finding other jobs for me now and then…”

  Matt’s voice trailed off when he saw that the fragile young woman beside him was cogitating about what he’d just told her. He cupped her jaw, hoping she’d listen attentively to what he said next. “Emily, I’ve been alone for too long,” he murmured. “I thought roaming the Rockies and taking jobs I didn’t really want was the fate I deserved, but it was just a way to pass the days till I figured out what else to do with myself.”

  She returned his gaze, her heart hammering weakly as she anticipated his next words. His touch was tender, and everything within her cried out that Matt McClanahan was as compassionate and wonderful as he’d been during their happiest times together…every bit as decent a man as Papa.

  “I love you, rosebud. I’m not good at saying what’s on my mind—especially when those eyes of yours are turning my insides to mush, like they are now—and I haven’t always told you everything I knew,” Matt admitted softly. “But ever since I’ve met you, all I can think of is making a home with you. Having a whole life again.”

  Emily managed a grin. “You’ve been known to think of a few other things, too, McClanahan. Like that time in the tub, or at Taylor West’s party, or—”

  “You little…” He pulled her into an exuberant embrace, chuckling as he kissed her soft, eager lips. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, it was all he could do not to crawl between the sheets and reacquaint himself with her beautiful body…the body that would bear his child and give him a life he thought he could never hope for.

  “Marry me, Emily,” he murmured against her ear. “You know it’s you I want—not your money or your ranch. We can live wherever you’d like, and spend our days seeing to our affairs. Please say you want me, too.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was the weight of his body against hers or the impact of his words, but Emily felt her stomach lurch dangerously. She swallowed hard and pressed her palms against his chest. “I—I need some time,” she stammered. “Maybe you’d better leave now.”

  McClanahan frowned, yet he wasn’t totally surprised at her request. “Are you all right? Just a moment ago you were laughing and—”

  “Please, Matt,” Emily said with all the strength she could muster. “I want to be sure of my answer. A lot’s happened since I accused you of killing Papa, you know.”

  He forced a smile and brushed her cheek with a kiss. “How long do I have to wait? When will I know if I should just—”

  “Have I ever been one to keep my opinion to myself?”

  Matt chuckled in spite of the anxiety she was causing him. “Not that I can remember.”

  “Then just go. Please,” she added in a desperate whisper.

  As he closed her bedroom door behind him, Matt thought about heading right back to her side to demand an answer, though he knew he’d be courting a refusal. But when Silas entered the vestibule, looking anxiously up the stairs at him, McClanahan decided he’d better leave her alone. Then, as he started to descend, he heard quick footsteps and a violent retching, followed by a mournful gurgle. So Emily hadn’t been turning him down—she was just too damn proud to be sick in front of him!

  “What in God’s name—?” Silas said as he scowled up at the awful noise. “Is she going to be al
l right?”

  McClanahan fought the urge to laugh out loud and buy Hughes a drink to celebrate. “Emily? Healthy as a horse,” he said lightly. “She’ll be pestering us again in no time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Do you think Mr. VanAntwerp approves of what I’ve done?” Emily asked as she and Silas left the attorney’s office the following morning. “He didn’t question turning the Angel Claire over to you, or giving the Rose to Miss Chatterly, yet I had a feeling he wanted to.”

  “Why should he? You made the decision of your own free will, rather than from financial necessity,” Hughes replied with a slight shrug. “Your father undoubtedly mentioned such possibilities to him when he established both businesses, in case something happened to him before you were old enough to assume responsibility for them.”

  Emily sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be old enough, Silas.”

  The mine manager stopped on the sidewalk, steering her away from the passersby. “You have a face men want to believe in, Emily. A manner that belies strength of character and good sense—not to mention the admiration of everyone in town for the favors you’ve done them this past week. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “You’re calling me a good liar, aren’t you?” she replied with a rueful laugh. “What would Papa think if he knew I pretended to be—”

  “Elliott’s probably beaming, watching his little girl work the same sort of magic he did. You don’t think every transaction of your father’s was notarized, or every business ambition entirely aboveboard—do you?” he asked gently.

  “Of course not. Strength survives, and money talks.”

  “Good girl.” Silas smiled again and rested his arm lightly along her shoulders as they started down the sidewalk. “So stop your worrying. It’s not like you to fret over such trivialities, Emily.”