Spirit of Love

by Duncan, Alice

  That voice.

  That description. Large and dark? Him? He squinted at his door, wondering if he could go out there and punch the man in the nose.

  No. Of course he couldn’t. He passed a hand over his eyes, and wished he’d get over this odd impulse he had to seize other men away from Georgina and tear them into bloody strips.

  “He is rather large,” he heard Georgina say. “Do you think he’s dark?”

  “Perhaps it’s only his glowering aspect that makes him appear dark,” Henry conceded in what Ash guessed was supposed to be a humorous tone. It made him want to throw the wadded-up newspaper on the floor and jump up and down on it.

  “Yes, that might be so.”

  Dammit, she didn’t have to agree with the bastard! Ash couldn’t stand it another second. Even though he didn’t want to, he got up and went to go greet Georgina and her chowderheaded banker friend from New York City. He was practicing smiling as he walked to the door of the office, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded by the time he pushed it further open and went outside. From the start of alarm Henry Spurling gave, one would have thought Ash had shot a gun at his back. Which didn’t sound like a half-bad idea.

  He tipped his hat. “Morning, Miss Witherspoon. Good morning, Mr. Spurling.”

  Georgina smiled. Ash was sure she didn’t mean her smile for him, and his already bad mood worsened.

  “Good morning, Mr. Barrett. I’m giving Henry the grand tour of Picacho Wells this morning.”

  “That ought to take ten minutes or so.” Ash tried to sound civil

  Georgina laughed.

  Henry looked superior. “Ten minutes might be five too many.” He sounded superior, too.

  Ash again experienced a strong urge to punch him. “Yeah. Picacho Wells isn’t New York City.”

  Henry laughed as if Ash had said something funny. Ash discovered his hands were balling into fists and made a conscious effort to relax them. He took comfort from watching Georgina roll her eyes, as if she found Henry as ridiculous as Ash did.

  Payton Pierce’s voice sailed across the road to them, perfecting Ash’s day. He grimaced.

  “Good morning, Miss Witherspoon,” said Pierce. “Good morning, Mr. Spurling.” He sounded friendly. Ash looked at saw at a glance that his tone of friendliness was all an act, and felt minimally better.

  “Good morning,” said Georgina. She sounded bored.

  “Good morning,” said Henry. He didn’t, which showed how much he knew.

  “Well you two enjoy your grand tour.” Ash turned and went back into the building, unable to cope with two rivals—that is to say, two bankers—in one morning. Their voices, like a thin, reedy duet, followed him

  Georgina watched the expressions of the three men in her life with interest. They didn’t like each other; that much was obvious. Could they possibly consider each other rivals for her affections? She could almost believe it of Henry and Payton—but Ash? The notion confounded her.

  He didn’t even like her, did he? He gave no evidence of liking her at all. Well, except for that time in the graveyard. And that other time he had tried to teach her how to shoot.

  Her body tingled at the memories her thoughts evoked. Mercy sakes, was she turning into a wanton female like her grandmother? She pondered that possibility as Henry and Payton’s voices chased each other in her head like mice on a wheel. A rusty, squeaky, irritating wheel.

  Perhaps it wasn’t only wanton women who felt these sensual passions. After all, would God have given females carnal reactions to certain men if He didn’t want them to act upon them? In the proper confines, of course. Which meant marriage. Which brought Georgina back to Henry and Payton. Rather, Henry or Payton.

  Bother. Why couldn’t her body tingle at the thought of one of them? Why did it have to be Ash Barrett whose body she wanted to rub up against naked?

  “Whatever is the matter, Georgina?”

  She gave a start when she realized Henry had spoken to her. “What? I beg your pardon?” Oh, dear, she hoped her thoughts hadn’t been discernible on her face.

  “You looked as if you were lost in contemplation, darling.”

  Darling? Georgina frowned at Henry, who was smiling down upon her as if she were a prized possession of his—a pedigreed Persian cat or a new walking stick or something. She didn’t appreciate his proprietary air one little bit. She didn’t appreciate the scowl on Payton’s face, either. As if he had any right to resent another man calling her darling!

  Not that she wanted Henry to call her darling. He’d only done it to prove a point to Pierce. And it wasn’t even a valid point.

  Fiddlesticks. Sometimes men were too much trouble for her to bother with.

  Georgina chose to ignore Henry’s question. What made him think he had access to her thoughts, anyway? “Are you ready to continue our tour of Picacho Wells?”

  Henry eyed the dusty street doubtfully. “I suppose if we must. I’ll be very happy when you return to New York City, Georgina. And I’m sure you will be, too.”

  “Miss Witherspoon seems to be enjoying her stay here.”

  Pierce sounded both defensive and moderately irate.

  Henry laughed. Georgina had never noticed before how self-satisfied and smug Henry’s laugh could be. She grimaced before she could stop herself.

  Henry smiled fondly at Georgina again. He tried to take her arm, but she stepped away from him, annoyed that he had been so forward as to voice something she had already told him wasn’t true.

  She had no desire to return to New York City, especially if it meant marrying Henry. Henry, however, was oblivious to her reaction and continued to prattle on. “Georgina has always been a good-natured girl, Mr. Pierce, and would never dream of disparaging the town where her grandmother and aunt live.”

  A loud “Ha!” issued from the sheriff’s office.

  Georgina turned her head and saw Ash, sitting on his chair, with his booted feet on his desk, looking out at the three of them through the open door. She lifted her chin and turned away from his frowning gaze. Neither Pierce nor Henry seemed to have noticed Ash’s addendum to the conversation.

  “She isn’t one to complain,” Henry went on in his self-assured way.

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Pierce said, his voice thin and tight.

  “Oh, I complain often enough when I feel there’s reason to do so.” Georgina, on the other hand, was feeling particularly feisty, and her voice asserted as much. “If I didn’t like Picacho Wells, I’d say so.”

  “You’re such a sweet thing,” Henry purred.

  “Yes, she’s a lovely young woman,” squeaked Pierce.

  Georgina heard a contemptuous snort from the sheriff’s office.

  “Let’s be on our way, Henry. It must be getting on towards noon, and you’ll need to have a bite of luncheon. You mustn’t skip any meals, you know, since you’ve been so gravely ill.”

  “You’re right, of course. The doctor told me as much. You’re so kind to look out for me.”

  Now he was condescending to her. Georgina, furious, added sweetly, “And then I believe you should lie down and take a nice long nap, Henry. I know your constitution always has been rather sickly.”

  Good. She’d annoyed him. Payton smirked and then adopted an expression of mock sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear it, Mr. Spurling. My own constitution has always been remarkably robust. One needs to be healthy if one intends to conquer the territory, you know.”

  “How lucky for you,” Georgina murmured. And how unfortunate for the rest of us.

  “I don’t intend to conquer the territory,” said Henry, somewhat heatedly.

  “Yes. That’s a wise decision on your part, Spurling.” Pierce oozed false sympathy.

  “Anyway, I’m not sickly. At least, not anymore.” Henry’s voice went up half an octave, and he’d put on his fussy face, the one Georgina remembered so well from New York. She shook her head, astonished that she could have once actually considered marrying him.

  “You kno
w, Mr. Pierce,” Henry continued. “I would definitely be able to live here in the territory—I simply choose not to do so. This place is beneath a man of my social standing.”

  Oh, you wouldn’t last a day out here and you know it, thought Georgina triumphantly. Henry was obviously peeved about her calling him sickly and about Pierce telling him that he basically wasn’t strong enough to survive the territory, so now he was going to insist on explaining how he would never choose to live here anyway, as it was just too uncivilized and barbarian a place.

  Conceited snob.

  “And what exactly would you suggest we need to do to make Picacho Wells suitable to a man of your social standing, Mr. Spurling?’’

  Payton was peeved. Georgina grinned inside. Perhaps these two weren’t so boring after all. If they continued this cultivated arguing, they might even be entertaining. Of course, neither man would stoop to physical violence or even, probably, rude words. No. They were both too cosmopolitan for that sort of thing. They’d merely snipe at each other, couching their verbal barbs in polite phrasing.

  “Well, there are just so many things that would need to be done. For one thing, paved streets are definitely needed to hold down the dust, which you must admit is quite a problem.” Henry cast another superior glance up the road. “The place is quaint, but I shouldn’t think it’s very attractive to the right kinds of people.”

  The right kinds of people? Georgina couldn’t believe he’d said that.

  On the other hand, she guessed she could. Had she ever been like that? The notion made her shudder inside.

  “I don’t believe that’s so, Spurling, although I do agree we are in the beginning stages of town-building. This is a growing, vibrant community. The citizens of Picacho Wells, however, have better things to do with their money and time at the moment than pave the streets.”

  “Oh? My goodness, I should think that, cleanliness being next to godliness and so forth, paving the street should be a priority.” Henry gave a supercilious laugh.

  “This is a new community, Mr. Spurling. I’m sure you’ve never given much thought to the sorts of things folks need to do in order to create something, since you’ve always resided in New York. Your imagination and cunning have never been called into play, as New York City was established long ago.”

  Now Pierce sounded supercilious.

  Georgina was fascinated. She’d never expected to be entertained by these two stuffed fish, but she was as she listened to them, by their oh-so-polite arguing.

  “I can assure you that I am as competent and imaginative as the next fellow when it comes to understanding the problems of creating and developing a new city or town.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  And in your vast experience, have you considered that before people require paved streets, they need water? Wells, Mr. Spurling. Wells are what the citizens of this community need.”

  “Water is important,” Henry conceded. It sounded as if it cost him

  “Yes. Water is vital. My bank is lending money all the time to finance the digging of wells for use in the community. And windmills. You’ll notice all the windmills.” Pierce gestured to a row of windmills lined up behind the main business street of Picacho Wells.

  “Yes, I did. Of course, without indoor plumbing and a water-storage and pumping system, one needs windmills, I suppose. When you get the water problem solved, then perhaps you can work on electricity and plumbing. Sanitation, Pierce. People find those things such conveniences, don’t you know. And life is so much healthier with sanitation. Or perhaps you’ve never lived with electricity and plumbing?”

  Now that, to Georgina’s way of thinking, was quite a comeback. She might even be proud of Henry if he wasn’t such a pompous prude.

  “Sanitation in New York City doesn’t seem to have done much for your own health, Mr. Spurling,” Pierce commented, keeping his tone smooth and silky.

  She managed to pull Henry away from the spat eventually, but not without a struggle. She was exhausted when she finally left him at the Picacho Wells Hotel and headed back to her grandmother’s house. She wished she never had to set eyes on either Henry or Payton again.

  As for Ash, well, Georgina just didn’t know about him, that was all.

  She was so weary from her morning with Henry Spurling that she took her own advice and lay down to take a nap after lunch.

  She couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes when she heard a timid knock at her bedroom door. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling guilty for succumbing to her fatigue.

  “Yes?

  “It’s Vernice, dear,” came her aunt’s voice. “Mr. Pierce has come to call on you.”

  “He has?” Georgina frowned. What in the world was Payton Pierce doing here in the middle of the day? Didn’t he have a bank to run? “I’ll be right there.”

  She quickly washed her face to wake up, tightened her corset laces, patted her hair into place, yanked her dress over her head, whacked it a couple of times to get the wrinkles out, and went reluctantly out to the parlor. Her grandmother was already there, glowering at the banker from the sofa. Devlin O’Rourke hovered above him—Pierce obviously couldn’t see him—and looked as if he wanted to drop something on his head.

  Vernice appeared to be happy. She was always happy to receive visitors. Georgina smiled. She was ever so fond of her sweet aunt.

  “Look who’s come to call, Georgina,” Vernice called happily, pausing in the act of pouring tea into Pierce’s teacup.

  Georgina’s eyes opened wide when she saw Devlin O’Rourke make a swoop for the cup. His intention, she was sure, was to push it aside, thereby making Vernice pour tea onto the table so that it would ultimately drip onto Pierce’s well-polished shoes. While Georgina would love to have Dev dump tea all over Pierce, she wasn’t about to let him upset Vernice. She cried, “No!” and Dev shot up to the ceiling again, obviously peeved that Georgina had stopped him.

  He frowned down at her. “Spoilsport.”

  Payton Pierce blinked. “I beg your pardon?!’ He arose, as a properly brought-up young man should do when a lady enters a room, although he appeared both puzzled and alarmed.

  Georgina didn’t blame him. He couldn’t see Dev and probably thought she’d hollered at him. He couldn’t know that the ghost had planned to ruin his shoes. She forced herself to smile cordially. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Pierce. I sneezed.”

  “Oh.”

  Thank goodness for manners If Ash were here, he’d have flat-out told her that her no hadn’t sounded like a sneeze to him. Pierce was too namby-pamby—rather, he was too much of a gentleman—to say such a thing.

  “God bless you,” her guest said, rather perfunctorily.

  “Bilgewater!” Maybelle poured brandy from a flask into her teacup and downed the liquid in one gulp. Pierce stared at her as if he’d never seen a woman do anything like that before.

  With a sigh, Georgina guessed he probably never had. She hadn’t, either, until she’d come to the territory. She sat on the sofa next to Vernice, thus making sure that Pierce had to sit on his own chair, well away from her. “How kind of you to visit us today, Mr. Pierce. I should expect you to be in Picacho Wells, watching over our money.” She smiled at him to let him think she was joshing, even though she wasn’t.

  He didn’t smile back. He looked, in fact, deadly serious. Georgina didn’t know what his expression foretold, but she wasn’t optimistic

  “He’s a banker,” Maybelle said. “He doesn’t care about anyone’s money but his own.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true, Mother.” Vernice was used to her mother’s disputatious personality, but she still always tried to blunt Maybelle’s barbs. Georgina admired her aunt’s tenaciousness.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Murphy is only having her own little joke,” Pierce said, sounding not at all sure.

  “Yes,” said Georgina. She hoped he’d leave soon. She’d already wasted a whole morning on Henry. And she didn’t relish wasting
her afternoon on Payton. She had work to do around the farm. The notion of having real work to do cheered her oddly. She wished Ash were here to see her do it.

  “May I speak to you for a moment, Miss Witherspoon?” Pierce appeared to be awfully nervous. Georgina looked around, wondering what was preventing him from speaking to her right here and now. If he could see Devlin O’Rourke hovering overhead, she might have understood his reluctance, but . . . “Of course, Mr. Pierce. Feel free.” She waved a hand in the air, giving him leave.

  “Alone?”

  Botheration. The last thing she wanted to do was waste any more time listening to whatever Payton Pierce had to say. Georgina feared it might be a marriage proposal, and she wasn’t sure she could keep from exploding if it was. Why couldn’t an interesting man propose to her? Just once. Was that too much to ask?

  Evidently it was.

  She heaved a great sigh. “Certainly, Mr. Pierce. Would you care to come out on the front porch with me?”

  Maybelle snorted. Georgina scowled at her.

  “The boy’s going to ask you to marry him, girl. Sock him in the jaw when he does.”

  Georgina glanced up, noticed the belligerent cast to Devlin O’Rourke’s features, and sighed again She wanted to tell him to stay out of it, but if she spoke to a ghost whom Payton couldn’t see hovering above his head, he would think she was crazy. Feeling resigned and discouraged, she stood.

  Payton Pierce arose, too. “Thank you, Miss Witherspoon.” He turned and bowed graciously to Vernice and Maybelle.

  Vernice fluttered like a butterfly.

  Maybelle snorted again.

  Georgina sat on a wicker porch chair with her hands folded demurely in her lap and watched as Payton nervously paced the porch. She could envision Ash pacing. Only he would look like a panther—sleek, dark, and deadly. Pierce just looked like a mouse about to be attacked by the family cat.

  Whatever Pierce looked like, he was having trouble getting to the point. He hadn’t said a word since they’d exited the house. Georgina, who was already bored with him, tried to urge him to get it over with, whatever it was. “You wished to speak to me, Mr. Pierce?” She honeyed her voice to encourage him.