Rachel Donnelly

by Lady Broke

  When George skittered in to announce dinner, Nat rose to his feet like a shot.

  As soon as they entered the sitting room, his gaze sought her out. She and Ellie sat on the striped yellow and red sofa conversing like old friends. Catherine lounged in Christie’s arms, her bright head resting against Christie’s shoulder, while one chubby finger twirled an auburn curl.

  It was a shame to break up such a pretty domestic picture. But when Bernice announced dinner, everyone rushed to the table, or risked a sharp tongue lashing. There was no worse crime than making her dinner late.

  “Well, Mother, are you ready?” Roscoe said. “I could eat the hind end out of a steer.”

  “Lucky for you, that’s what we’re having.” Ellie rose to her feet with an impish smile curving her lips.

  Roscoe took her by the arm to lead the way to the dining room.

  “Come on, firefly.” Nat plucked Catherine from Christie’s lap. “You can sit beside me.”

  “I want to sit beside Christie!”

  “You can’t have her,” Nat teased. “She’s mine.”

  “Is she your wife?”

  “She won’t have me,” he whispered against her little pink ear. “Whenever I try to kiss her, she runs away.”

  Catherine shook her head with a look of disgust. “Papa catches Mama every time.”

  Nat threw back his head and laughed.

  Christie came to her feet red faced. “You can sit between us.” She accepted the arm he offered, avoiding his gaze. “Then perhaps he’ll behave.”

  The silver and crystal on the table and the sideboard shone so bright in the coral papered room, they needn’t have lit candles. But Nat couldn’t take his eyes off Christie. The lavish ornate atmosphere paled next to the warm glow of her skin.

  Roscoe placed a quick kiss on Ellie’s neck as he pushed in her chair. “Now don’t say I never did anything for you.”

  “Behave yourself!” Ellie admonished. “Everyone needn’t know what a devil you are.”

  “A handsome devil, you labeled me this morning when you were scrubbing my back in the tub. By the way, I don’t believe that soap really slipped out of your hand.” He jumped away with chortle of glee when she tried to swat at him.

  Christie’s shoulders shook with suppressed laugher as Nat pushed in her chair.

  “He’s not really as bad as he seems,” Ellie assured them. But her cheeks appeared flushed as she bowed her head. “George, would you like to show Uncle Nat how well you’ve learned to say grace?”

  George folded his chubby hands together in a steeple, then began gravely, “Bless us oh Lord for these thy gifts which we are forced to receive.”

  “Which we are about to receive,” Ellie corrected.

  “Which we are about to receive,” George remanded. “From thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.”

  Catherine chirped in, “We love our bread. We love our butter, but most of all we love each other.”

  “Hey! You’re not supposed to say that!” George’s face creased with a frown. “I’m saying grace.”

  “Amen,” Roscoe finished, silencing them both. “Dig in.”

  Nat looked across the table to see how Christie was holding up under the commotion, but she appeared to be taking it all in her stride. In fact, he’d never seen her look so happy.

  • • •

  Christie sat wrapped in a spell of enchantment. The children’s chatter, Roscoe and Ellie’s warm candor, good food — gathered up tidily in an elegant, loving atmosphere. It was like a hug from home.

  No wonder Nat spent so much time here. The Williams took the place of family — the thing missing most in his life.

  “I wonder why she won’t let you kiss her?” Catherine mused to her desert more than anyone else.

  “Catherine!” Ellie admonished, though her lips twitched with amusement.

  Christie choked loudly on her tea.

  “He kisses me all the time,” Catherine declared.

  Nat gave her a broad wink. “That’s because you taste better than a peach pie.” He reached behind Catherine to give Christie two firm slaps on the back, supposedly to help her regain her breath. “Miss Wallace, on the other hand, eats so many lemons it makes her sour.”

  Christie recovered in time to flash him a healthy glare. Though it was true, she had wandered out to the orchard almost every day to partake of the delicious fruit.

  But how on earth did he know that?

  Later, as they rode away from the Williams ranch, a brief rush of melancholy swept over Christie. Visiting their busy family had made her pine for her own. Soon her father would receive her letter and her future would change forever. Perhaps it already had. She wasn’t the same young woman who’d come to Nevada two months earlier — the young woman who’d banked her future on a kiss.

  How naive that had been. In the end, she’d have only exchanged one arranged marriage for another. When in truth, she didn’t want either. She wanted something more.

  Meeting Ellie and Roscoe made her realize that.

  Her gaze strayed to Nat, loping a horse-length ahead. He never spoke of his wife. What had she been like? Clearly, a woman who inspired great loyalty to keep him focused on a path of revenge for so long. He could have hired someone else to do the job, but instead he had made it his personal vendetta.

  If only Ellie had been able to supply more details.

  Somehow it didn’t add up. He said he hadn’t loved his wife. He gave away her expensive gowns as though her belongings meant nothing. In fact, there wasn’t a shred of evidence in his home of his wife’s existence — no portrait, no mementos of any kind. It was odd. It made Christie very curious to know the circumstance of their marriage.

  After a half hour at a steady gallop, Nat reined Diablo in. “I thought you could use a breather,” he said as she brought her mare to a halt alongside him.

  She wasn’t the least bit tired and opened her mouth to tell him so, then thought better of it. It had been such a lovely evening. She didn’t want to spoil it.

  He pointed to a cropping of pines in the distance. “There’s a creek up ahead. We’ll stop there and let the horses have a drink.”

  She nodded, pressing her knees against the mare’s flanks.

  The mare gave a buck, then shot forward like a sprung garter.

  Christie clutched the reins, fighting to keep her seat.

  The mare seemed to sense where they were headed, racing straight for the creek.

  By the time Christie pulled her to a quivering trot, Christie’s straw hat billowed behind her on its cord. Most of the pins were ripped from her hair. Her hands shook as much as the horse.

  When the shock of her ordeal wore off, she began to laugh. “You are a little grey devil,” she said, patting the mare’s sweat soaked neck. “I’d like to take you home, but a wild thing like you wouldn’t be happy trotting once a week in the park.” Christie wasn’t certain how well she’d take to city life again herself after her recent adventures. The constraints of her former life seemed dull compared to this untamed frontier. A part of her missed her family, but another part longed to be free.

  Nat came thundering up behind her, the half-moon scar on his chin white against his pale bronze skin. His eyes shot blue sparks. “Are you alright?”

  Christie flashed a reassuring smile. “She’s a little skittish, but I’m fine.”

  His lips thinned. “I should never have let you talk me into riding her. She’s as green as you are and just as stubborn.”

  Christie’s tone stiffened along with her spine. “I had no trouble handling her.”

  Nat gave a grunt as he swung down from Diablo’s back. “Like I said — stubborn.”

  Christie dismounted, saying airily, “I prefer a spirited mount.”

  “I doubt you’d feel that way if you’d been thrown and trampled on.”

  “But I wasn’t thrown.”

  “I don’t want you riding her while I’m gone.” He took both pair of reins, leading the horses
toward the creek.

  Thoughts of his leave-taking drained away all desire to argue. She strolled behind him, sending covert glances at his broad back. His jet black hair had grown longer. Soft waves curled against his collar. Her gaze traveled downward to the red shirt tucked neatly into his snug black trousers. An image of him standing naked by the lake sent her heart banging hard against her chest.

  Dark clouds hovered to the north, threatening rain.

  A roll of distant thunder sent the grey devil’s ears perking upward.

  Christie made a grab for her reins.

  The mare nickered, prancing sideways.

  Nat came toward her, speaking in soothing tones. “Steady, girl.” A moment later, he had her by the bridle. “You’d better ride with me. Can’t trust her to behave in this weather.”

  Christie didn’t argue. One wild ride a day was enough for her. She didn’t relish being crushed beneath the grey devil’s hooves.

  Her questions melted away, once perched in front of Nat on Diablo’s back. The warmth of his strong arms around her waist and the smell of his wind-freshened hair blocked out every other thought. There was only him and the cool rushing wind. It was difficult to resist the urge to lean back against his hard chest and rest her head on his shoulder.

  But she managed to stay upright and not make a fool of herself, despite thoughts of his teasing words to Catherine before dinner. What would he have done if she’d declared she’d have him? He’d have been in a fine pickle then. She smiled, wishing she’d done just that, if only to see him squirm.

  At first sight of the house, she sucked in a sharp breath. She’d almost forgotten. Morena wanted to speak with him. That was one of Christie’s reasons for accompanying him this evening — to ensure he arrived home in time. Inez would be in a state if the whole business wasn’t settled tonight as planned.

  Nat pulled Diablo to a halt in front of the veranda. “You’d better get inside.” He dismounted, then reached up to lift her down. “The rain’s about to hit.”

  The wind whipped at the skirt of her riding habit, and snapped at her cheeks, but for some reason she found it hard to let go — to see their time together end. She kept her hands on his shoulders even after he set her on the ground. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I’ll be in as soon as I bed these two down.”

  She dropped her hands, then took a step back, conscious of his curious stare and the impropriety of her lingering touch. The last thing she wanted was to appear forward, but the sooner he returned to the house — the sooner Inez’s engagement would be secured.

  Inez was keeping vigil on the wide oak stairs when Christie got there. She sprang to her feet as soon as Christie came through the door.

  “I brought him back as soon as I could.” Christie peered left toward the sitting room, then right toward the dining room. “Where’s Morena?”

  “She is in Señor Randall’s study,” Inez whispered, her brown eyes as wide as walnuts. “I convinced her to wait there before she wore the polish from the floor.”

  “I suppose she’s very nervous.”

  “Oh no, she is never nervous,” Inez said, almost dancing on the spot with excitement. “But once she makes up her mind, she does not like to wait. I am the one who is nervous.”

  “Not to worry.” Christie patted her shoulder. “We’ve got him cornered now. You wait upstairs.” Christie steered her back up the stairs. “I’ll come and fetch you as soon as I send him to the study.”

  Inez did a furious head bob, then hastened up the stairs.

  Christie decided to wait in the sitting room, rather than arouse Nat’s suspicion by pouncing on him as soon as he stepped through the door. She pranced to the sideboard to pour a glass of wine. She had to admit, the prospect of Inez’s long awaited engagement finally coming to fruition had her beset with excitement. She felt like celebrating.

  By the time she took her first sip wine, rain was lashing against the windows.

  Not long after she heard voices in the hall.

  Fearing Holt had arrived earlier than expected and might spirit Nat away, she set her glass on the sideboard, then rushed out into the hall.

  But it was only Iago, securing the lock on the front door.

  “Have you seen Señor Rañdall?”

  “Sí, he is very wet,” Iago said, black eyes twinkling. “Pardon, Señorita, but I must prepare his bath.”

  “Thank you,” she answered breathlessly, rushing for the stairs. Well, one thing was certain, she couldn’t allow him to step one foot in that tub. Morena’s patience might not stretch to accommodate his leisurely soak, and Christie wasn’t prepared to go through this again. The suspense was killing her. How Inez had suffered through so many delays, she did not know.

  After gaining the top of the stairs, Christie veered left, in the direction Inez had informed her Nat’s bedchamber was. The second door, if she remembered correctly. She rapped on the oak door three times.

  When he jerked opened the door, she found herself staring at a bare, well-muscled chest. She dared not shift her gaze lower for fear of what else she might find. For a moment, the shock of so much skin made her forget why she was there. She uttered the first thing that popped into her head. “How did you get undressed so fast?”

  He leaned against the doorframe and raised one brow. “Is that why you’re here? To see how fast I can undress?”

  “Certainly not!” She lifted her gaze, realizing she’d been staring. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the firm, smooth surface of his stomach. Her words came in a breathless gasp, “I came to tell you you’re needed downstairs, right away.”

  The lazy smile faded from his lips. He strode to the bed, snatched up a dry shirt, then began shrugging into it on the way out the door.

  She hurried to keep up as he strode down the hall. “There’s no need to look so serious. It isn’t an emergency.”

  He stopped at the top of the landing. “What?” His gaze narrowed on her under a gathering brow. Suppressed anger underlined his words. “Did you or did you not just burst into my bedchamber to inform me I was needed immediately downstairs?”

  She cringed inwardly, but held her ground. “I did knock.”

  He appeared ready to devour her whole.

  She took a step back. “I believe my exact words were, right away. It was you who charged from your bedchamber as though the house was on fire.”

  “Then I suggest you tell me what it is right now, because in case you haven’t noticed, half of me is soaked through to the skin.” His voice continued to rise. “And the other half is getting angrier by the moment.”

  “Morena wishes to speak with you in the study. It’s very important,” she added hastily. “It’s the last opportunity she’ll have since you’re leaving in the morning.”

  He took a long deep breath, as though attempting to calm himself. “You hunted me down to tell me my cook wishes to speak with me.” He turned on his heel and stalked back down the hall toward his bedchamber.

  Christie raced past him, to position herself in front of the door.

  He let out a loud groan, boarding on a growl. “What now?”

  “Please,” she begged. “It will only take a moment.”

  “My bath is growing cold.”

  “Iago hasn’t even finished filling the tub.” Her tone turned pleading. “I’ll tell him to hold off until you’re done.”

  He set his hands on his hips. “Has anyone ever told you, you are the most persistent female on the face of this earth?”

  She pressed her lips together to stifle a smile. “My father tells me that often.”

  “A pity his wisdom didn’t extend to a sound thrashing,” Nat muttered, heading for the stairs.

  “He isn’t a violent man,” Christie answered, hot on his heel.

  “Nor am I, usually.” He halted at the top of the stairs to send her a glare. “But I’m beginning to re-think my position.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything to end this ceasel
ess nagging.”

  “You might have time to change your trousers, but I’d hate to leave Morena waiting any longer.”

  “Perish the thought.” He headed down the stairs.

  Christie followed, praying his foul mood would abate before he reached the study.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Christie prowled before the sitting room window, chewing her lip. A half hour had passed. What on earth could be taking so long? The matter only required a simple yes or no. Either he gave his permission or not. It was all she could do not to rush across the hall and press her ear to the door.

  There was precious little to distract her in the sparsely decorated room, besides the rain, pelting against the windows and the sweet fragrance of apple wood burning in the grate.

  The tall multi-paned windows let in the gloom, turning the pale blue wallpaper to grey. A walnut highboy to the right of the fireplace cast shadows against the satin upholstered sofa and chairs. The only cheery sight was the prisms, dangling from the candelabras on the mantel, reflected in the large Continental mirror. Like much of the house, it lacked a personal touch with no trinkets to keep a visitor amused.

  What were they doing in there? Cooking up another plot to delay the match? Perhaps that was it. Morena was dragging her feet again. Considering Inez’s love-sick desperation, it wasn’t a wise idea. She and Heriberto might run off and do something rash.

  Ohhhh!

  If only she could hear what they were saying!

  Christie stopped in her tracks, tempted to make her way to the kitchen in search of Inez.

  Then, like spider legs creeping up your back, something told her she was being watched.

  She swung round from the rain-drenched window.

  Nat lounged in the doorway, looking freshly scrubbed.

  The sight of him sent a thrill rushing through her. The light blue shirt, tucked neatly into his black trousers, made his tan appear darker, turning his eyes a deep cobalt blue. It wasn’t fair that he always looked so cool and collected.

  “There.” He cocked a half smile. “Are you satisfied?”

  She feigned a wide-eyed innocent look — no easy accomplishment in the face of his sardonic smile. “Whatever do you mean?”