“No.”
Devlin clucked, reminding Georgina of one of the hens out back.
She tried again. “Go away. Please. I’m tired. I need my rest.”
“Ah, child, I’ve come to you for help.”
“I don’t want to help you.’’
“But you’re the only one who can.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
“’Tis not fiddlesticks I’m needing, child, it’s your grandmother to speak gently to me.”
“If you bother her the way you bother me, I don’t blame her for not speaking gently to you.”
“I don’t bother her.” Devlin’s voice rose.
Georgina sighed. She didn’t want to argue with a ghost. She didn’t want to argue with anybody—well, except perhaps Ashley Barrett. And she didn’t really want to argue with him, either. She wanted to pour another bottle of wine over his head. In spite of her annoyance with Mr. O’Rourke, she smiled. That truly had been a brilliant stroke on her part. She’d never realized how invigorating a good fight could be until she’d met the sheriff of Picacho Wells.
“Listen to me, Georgina, lass. Your grandmother likes you. If you’d speak to her for me, I’m sure she’ll listen to reason.”
“This is ridiculous!” Georgina, feeling very cranky, swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
There he was, sitting on the stool in front of her dressing table, looking downcast and miserable. In Georgina’s opinion, he ought to feel downcast and miserable. Imagine, bothering her in the middle of the night this way. She tried not to be disconcerted that his essence didn’t cast a reflection in the mirror. “If I promise to talk to Grandmother, will you go away and leave me alone?”
“Yes,” he said despondently. ‘If you promise me.”
“Very well. I promise.” She scowled at him to let him know she was promising only to get rid of him and, while she intended to keep her promise because she was a lady and an honorable human being, she didn’t want to do it.
He remained seated, staring at her, looking unconvinced. Georgina got mad.
“I’m going to speak to Grandmother on your behalf, Mr. O’Rourke! Now get out of here and leave me alone. I would actually like to go to sleep. I’m tired. I’ve had a trying day, and I have to get up early to milk the cow.”
She passed a hand across her eyes. They felt like they’d been glued together and pried open again, and she knew they wouldn’t feel any better tomorrow morning when she arose at the crack of dawn to milk Bossy, the cow. Georgina truly didn’t mind doing the chores required to keep the farm going, but she wished she could start them later in the day. The hours of farm life were apt to kill her.
“Vernice has taught you how to milk a cow, has she?”
Georgina opened her eyes and glared at the ghost. “You needn’t sound so skeptical. Yes, she has taught me how to milk a cow.” So she wasn’t very good at it yet; she’d get better with practice. Vernice had told her so.
Devlin rose from the vanity stool. Thank God. He chuckled softly as he hovered just above the floor. “All right, dearie, I’ll let you get your beauty rest. And I aim to watch you milk Bossy in the mornin’, too. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Georgina didn’t respond to his threat or to his doubt, but she did understand why Grandmother Murphy felt impelled from time to time to throw things at him
A pleasant and unfamiliar sensation of anticipation accompanied Ash to the Murphy farm the morning after his wine bath in order to return the clothes he’d borrowed and to pick up his own. He wasn’t sure why he felt the way he did, although he knew it had nothing to do with the idea of seeing Miss Sassy Witherspoon again, because he, didn’t want to see her. Not only that, but he hadn’t figured out how to get even with her yet. And even if he had figured out a good one, he wouldn’t be feeling this delicious sense of expectation about it.
No. The anticipatory feeling he currently enjoyed was because of—it was because of—it was because of—pie! That’s what it was Of course it was. It was the pie.
Ash sighed, happy to have that, puzzle cleared up. Hell, there had been a whole lot of Miss Vernice’s dried-apple pie left over after supper last evening. She’d surely offer Ash a slice of it this morning. A hunk of apple pie and a slab of cheese and a cup of coffee was a breakfast any man would look forward to. Especially since the two Murphy ladies hadn’t let Miss Witherspoon anywhere near the crust, so it wasn’t tough at all. That piecrust had been as tender and flaky as ... Well, it had been tender and flaky, at any rate, and the pie had been delicious. His mouth had started watering by the time he guided his horse between the two rows of pecan trees lining the way to the Murphy farm
He rode Shiloh up to the house, dismounted, wrapped the reins over the porch rail, and headed for the barn, thinking he’d find Miss Vernice there, milking. He had decided that he should try and avoid Georgina until he had figured out a proper way to wreak his revenge. When he saw Georgina sitting on the milking stool, industriously trying to get milk from Bossy’s teats, he almost fell over. “Good God, what the hell are you doing to that poor cow?”
She sat up straight, startled, a teat in her hand, and managed to squirt milk on Oscar, who’d been watching her with his tail switching back and forth as if he were waiting for an opportune moment to leap onto her back and scratch her to death.
The cat yowled and sprang up onto a bale of hay where he arched his back and hissed at Georgina for several seconds before he sat down and began licking the milk from his fur.
Georgina gave Ash a severe frown. “Oh, it’s you.” From the tone of her voice, Ash might have been a skunk or a tarantula or a rattlesnake or some other loathsome beast. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
He frowned back, nettled by her attitude. “It’s hard to tell, but it looks like you might be trying to make yourself useful.” He used his most scornful tone, hoping in that way to irritate her. Not that she wasn’t already irritated.
“I’m not trying to be helpful, Mr. Barrett. I am being helpful. If you don’t believe me, ask Aunt Vernice.”
“Hmm. You aren’t going to be of much help if you keep jerking that teat. You’re going to hurt the cow.”
Her face flamed Ash guessed she wasn’t used to men using words like “teat” in front of her. Some kind of farmhand she was.
“Nonsense. I was doing fine until you showed up.”
He decided to give up the argument for the time being. “Whatever. I came over to get my clothes. Where’s Miss Vernice?”
She sniffed and turned back to Bossy’s udder. “Your clothes are in the kitchen. Aunt. Vernice ironed them after they dried. I think you ought to thank her.”
“I already thanked her, Miss Witherspoon. And I think you should apologize for putting her to the trouble of having to do extra work.”
She had the grace to look guilty. She seemed pale now that her blush had faded. Ash didn’t like to see her looking pale, although he couldn’t have said why.
Some uncomfortable urge seemed to propel him to ask, “You feeling all right this morning?”
“Of course I’m feeling all right.” She glanced up and skewered him with another one of her ferocious frowns. Feisty little thing. Ash’s insides grinned, even though he would have died before he’d have shown her how much her attitude tickled him. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the barn door.
Actually, Georgina wasn’t all right. She’d been carrying on a verbal sparring match with Devlin ever since she’d come out to the barn to milk Bossy, and she didn’t appreciate Ash bothering her as well. She pulled Bossy’s teat, being careful not to squeeze it too hard. She’d done that the first couple of times she’d tried to do the milking, and Bossy had protested violently.
Devlin chuckled. “You see, child, he’s a good man. He’s concerned about your health.”
“He is not,” Georgina muttered, glad at least one of her adversaries seemed to be leaving. She was disgusted when she realized Ash had heard her speak. H
e stopped walking and turned around.
“Beg your pardon?”
Georgina frowned at him She wished he didn’t look so blasted handsome, standing there in the barn door with the morning sunlight at his back, outlining his muscled form in that outrageous way. Drat the sun, anyway. He looked so big and solid and strong.
Henry Spurling certainly didn’t look like that. Henry looked as if a puff of wind might knock him over. So did Payton Pierce, for that matter. It galled her that the most appealing looking man she’d ever met had to, be this one, Sheriff Ash Barrett, whom she couldn’t• stand and who couldn’t stand her.
“I didn’t say anything,” she lied grumpily.
“Y’did so, child. D’ye think the man’s deaf?”
“Oh, shut up and go away,” Georgina growled. She was shocked at herself. She’d never uttered such a vulgar phrase before in her life. Good gracious, these territorial men certainly brought out the worst in her.
“I’m going away, blast it, Miss High-and-Mighty Witherspoon,” Ash said, sounding offended.
Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to speak to Devlin in Ash’s presence. Obviously, the sheriff couldn’t see the ghost. This is exactly what she’d feared. Although it annoyed her to have to apologize to the man, she said, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrett. I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“No?” His dark eyebrows rose insolently. “You were telling the cow to shut up and go away?”
“Of course I wasn’t talking to the cow!” Blast the man He was the most impolite fellow she’d ever met. Imagine him taking her to task for talking to herself. Well, for talking to a ghost, rather—but he couldn’t see the ghost. Oh, dear. At any rate, if he’d been a gentleman, he would have ignored Georgina’s lapse in manners But Ashley Barrett, as she’d already had cause to notice more than once, was not a gentleman
“Oh, I see,” said Ash, sarcastic as all get-out. “You’re talking to the cat you nearly drowned in milk.”
“The lad’s got a point there, darlin’.” Devlin laughed again.
“I was not!” What with Devlin on one side and Ash on the other, Georgina felt beleaguered. “Will you please just go away?” She wasn’t sure if her comment was directed at the ghost or the man, but she’d be pleased if either one did as she asked.
Fiddlesticks. Now Mr. Barrett looked angry. He stomped over to her. His presence made the cow jittery. Georgina didn’t know why the ghost’s presence didn’t bother the stupid animal. “I don’t know what your problem is, lady, but—’
“Don’t call me lady!”
Ash’s mouth flattened out into a thin line. “All right. I don’t know what your problem is, woman, but I don’t like people dumping wine on me, and then being rude to me for no reason.”
Georgina’s head snapped up from her milk pail. Her mouth fell open for a second before anger made it slam shut. When she opened it again, she all but screamed, “No reason? Why, you miserable bully! You were laughing at me! You were sitting on that porch, telling my grandmother and that slimy, man all sons of horrid things about me!”
“They were the truth, damn it. I didn’t make up any of it.”
“Thai’s not the point!”
Having been bred from the cradle to be a lady, Georgina was not accustomed to yelling at people. The fact that she was now screeching at Ash was a sign of her extreme agitation.
“The hell it’s not!”
“The lad’s right, lass.”
“Don’t you dare lass me!”
She was so furious, she didn’t realize she’d just screeched at the ghost instead of Ash until she saw the puzzled expression on the sheriff’s face. Bother! If it were possible to kill a dead man, Georgina might happily have killed Devlin O’Rourke. She decided to try to ignore him instead. “The point is, you’re no gentleman!”
“Oh, yeah? And just why exactly is that?”
“It’s mean and unkind to laugh at someone, Mr. Barrett. Or didn’t anyone ever teach you manners? And manners make the man. That’s the point!”
“The point is you don’t belong here!” Ash was leaning toward her now, bellowing.
Georgina was so furious, she hardly knew what to do with herself. She jumped up from the milking stool. “I do too belong here! Just because I was born in New York City doesn’t mean I can’t learn how to live on a farm. Lots of people from New York move to the western territories!”
“Yeah? Well, they belong here. You don’t!”
“That’s not so! Blast you! You’re not being fair.”
“You’re a damned city girl, and you ought to go back to the city with your fancy airs and graces, dad-blast it.”
“What? How dare you! You make me furious!”
“Yeah? Well, you make me mad, too!”
“I can’t stand it!” And with that, Georgina swooped down, picked up the milk bucket, and sloshed the warm fresh milk all over Ash Barrett.
Georgina was still thinking about the rippling muscles on Ash Barrett’s naked arms and the short, curly hairs on his naked chest on Thursday morning when she drove the buggy to Betsy Bailey’s house for the ladies’ quilting society meeting. Vernice sat complacently next to her. Vernice had no idea of the tribulation under which Georgina had been operating since the milking incident.
She’d tried everything she could think of to stop remembering the way Ash’s upper torso had looked, but so far she’d been unsuccessful. She’d even recited Bible verses and poetry aloud but such paltry methods hadn’t worked: Georgina was trying to think of something more powerful to erase the image.
A shotgun, perhaps.
Good gracious, but the man had muscles. Georgina fanned her face, which always seemed to get warm when she thought about the sheriff’s naked chest.
It was her own fault. If she hadn’t dumped milk on him, he wouldn’t have had to remove his shirt and wash himself off under the pump. Grandmother Murphy hadn’t helped any, either. Georgina remembered the scene vividly.
“I swear, child, I do believe you have some Murphy blood in you after all.” Maybelle hadn’t stopped laughing since Georgina and Ash had entered the house, Ash dripping from his bath at the outside pump.
Georgina had not been amused. “Of course I’m a Murphy.”
Her voice had been as sour as the milk in the barn would have been by this time if Oscar hadn’t licked it all up.
“She’s got Murphy blood in her, all right,” Ash had grumped. “She’s a damned mad woman, too.”
“What do you mean, too, you wicked man?” Maybelle had laughed some more.
Georgina had been about as far from laughter as she’d ever been. “Yes, Mr. Barrett, what do you mean, too? Are you implying that my grandmother and my aunt are crazy?”
He’d only muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“She just tried to drown you so’s she could look at your muscles, Ash. You know how we females are.” Maybelle had so amused herself with that comment that she’d cackled for a good five minutes afterwards.
Georgina had been offended by her grandmother’s comment. She’d also been furious. “That’s not so! He was being horrid to me, and I couldn’t help myself.”
“Ha! A likely story. She’s a red-blooded girl after all, Ash.”
“A red-blooded girl.”
Maybelle had winked at them both. Georgina had been shocked that her grandmother had such a lascivious wink—and at her age, too.
“Leave me alone.” The sheriff, evidently feeling outnumbered by Murphys at the moment, had unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off.
That’s when Georgina had succumbed to lust. She’d never been so victimized before, and she was still surprised at herself and her reaction to Ashley Barrett’s muscles and chest, hair and so forth. She’d always believed herself to be above such nonsense. It was disheartening to discover how wrong she’d been.
Bother.
“Is everything all right, dear? You look a little downcast today.”
Georgina, who was at least gratifi
ed that her hands were now well enough to enable her to drive the buggy, glanced at her aunt. Poor Vernice appeared very concerned, and Georgina felt guilty.
“I’m only a little tired, Aunt Vernice. That wretched Mr. O’Rourke has been plaguing me at night, pleading with me to talk to Grandmother.”
Vernice tutted sympathetically. “I know what you’re going through, dear. I’m awfully sorry. I wish I knew how to get rid of him “
Feeling put-upon and crabby, Georgina spoke her mind. “The only way to get rid of him is to convince Grandmother to confess her love for him. He claims he’ll go away if he knows she’ll join him when her turn comes to pass on.”
Vernice sighed. “She’ll never do it.”
Georgina was way past the sighing stage. She huffed angrily. “Not any time soon, she won’t. They’re both as stubborn as mules, and it’s we who suffer as a result.”
“So true. So true.”
“And now Mr. O’Rourke is sulking, and so is Grandmother, and they’re both even more difficult when they’re sulking than they are normally—and they’re normally impossible.”
“It’s a sad state of affairs.” Vernice shook her head and sighed again.
The morning was fine—the wind was hardly blowing at all—hut Georgina wasn’t in the mood to appreciate pleasant weather. She scowled as the buggy approached the main thoroughfare of Picacho Wells. Betsy Bailey and her family lived at the other end of town. If Georgina saw Ash Barrett this morning, she felt strongly inclined to run him over with the buggy. She’d never do it, because he wasn’t worth getting herself arrested for, but the notion kept her pleasantly occupied for several minutes.
She caught sight of Ash only seconds before she saw Payton Pierce. She’d already figured out that the, sheriff didn’t care for the banker, so she decided to put on a show of friendly camaraderie with Pierce. She didn’t like the banker much, but if she treated him well she might thereby rile Ash, and the effort would he worth it on that account.
Fortunately, Pierce saw the Murphy buggy and waved, smiling broadly, so ii was natural for Georgina to pull the horse to a halt beside him. She gave him one of her best, most flirtatious smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Pierce.”
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