“Yes.” He continued pacing.
Georgina sighed. “Perhaps if you sat down, you’d feel more comfortable?” She phrased her suggestion as a question in order to soothe his nerves, which appeared to be extremely ragged.
“Yes.” Pierce stopped pacing and frowned at the chair set opposite to the one in which Georgina sat.
She’d already positioned the wicker table in between the chairs, just in case Pierce made a grab for her. After his fumbling in the graveyard, she didn’t trust him. She gestured to the chair. “Please.”
“Ahem.” Pierce walked heavily to the chair and sat in it. Then he folded his hands and dropped them between his knees, looking pitiful. Georgina might have felt sorry for him if she had liked him better.
She smiled and, gave him another, “Please.”
“Miss Witherspoon. Georgina.”
She frowned.
“Miss Witherspoon.” Now he sounded desperate. “Miss Witherspoon, you told me once that I might still hope.”
Oh, dear, it was going to be a proposal. Georgina stifled a groan. “Did I?”
“Yes.” He stuck a finger inside his collar and ran it around his neck, as if he’d tied his tie too tightly and was trying to loosen it. “Yes, you did.”
“Oh.” She tried to think of something else to say, couldn’t, and decided she wouldn’t bother.
“And so I’ve been hoping.”
“Oh.”
Pierce licked his lips. “I know you told me once that nothing had been decided between you and Henry Spurting.”
“Yes?”
“But now that he’s come to visit Picacho Wells, I wondered if that might have changed.”
“Umm.”
He looked at her.
She looked back.
His expression intensified.
She sighed deeply. “No, Mr. Pierce. My intentions toward Henry Spurling have not undergone a change.” She declined to say what they hadn’t changed from.
“Oh.” He frowned heavily. His frown gave him a peevish expression, which Georgina took note of. He wouldn’t be a pleasant person with whom to live. She’d stake Granny Witherspoon’s pearls on it if they weren’t still in New York.
She didn’t bother trying to respond to his oh.
“Well, then.” His voice sounded firmer.
Georgina waited, but he said no more. She tilted her head, wondering if she was supposed to know what he was thinking by invoking transcendental energy and reading his mind.
“Well, then,” he repeated, “I believe I have a right to know what his intentions are toward you.”
She lifted her brows into two high arches and hoped they adequately displayed her disapproval at his assumption of rights. “Really.”
As if he couldn’t sit still a second longer, he popped up from his chair and resumed pacing. Now he looked to Georgina like an agitated squirrel. “Yes, I do.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?” She used her frostiest tone, hoping to shame him
It didn’t work. “I will. I intend to do exactly that.”
“Hmmm.” Irked didn’t half describe Georgina’s condition. She wondered if she should just swear off men entirely, since they were all so silly.
He whirled around, making her start. “You see, Miss Witherspoon, I have a good deal of affection for you. I can’t abide thinking that an unscrupulous city fellow from the East might be taking advantage of you.”
“Unscrupulous? Henry?”
“Yes. I don’t trust that man. He—he—he bears all the earmarks of a scoundrel.”
“Henry? A scoundrel?” Good heavens, Georgina thought, the man was mad! “I can assure you, Mr. Pierce, Mr. Spurling wouldn’t know how to be a scoundrel if he wanted to be one, which he doesn’t. He is a man of the highest moral principles.” He was so stuffy, in fact, that Georgina had occasionally wanted to stick him with a pin to see if he was full of cotton fluff as she suspected.
A fierce flush invaded Pierce’s cheeks. He looked like he might throw a tantrum any second. “It’s kind of you to say so, Miss Witherspoon.”
“Kind?” Georgina stood, feeling chillier by the second toward this ridiculous fellow. “I’m not being kind in the least, Mr. Pierce. I have known Mr. Spurling all my life, and I believe I know him rather better then you do. If he has any intentions toward me, they are strictly honorable, I can assure you.”
He shook his head. “It’s charitable of you to say so, Miss Witherspoon. I’ve come to expect such generosity of spirit in you. But you’re too unworldly to understand the ways of men.”
“Good heavens.” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“It’s true, ma’am. I know it will come as a shock to you, but there are men in the world who prey on innocent females. They abuse a woman’s purity. They’re the vilest sorts of fellows, and they take advantage of women every day.”
“Every day? My, they must be very busy fellows.”
He gave her a small frown. “I’m not exaggerating, Miss Witherspoon.’’
“Of course not.”
“There are terrible men out there, waiting for a likely female upon whom to pounce. They’re conniving, unscrupulous men. Men with no morals and no principles.”
“Henry’s not one of them.”
“No?” Pierce’s brow was furrowed up so hard, he reminded Georgina of the wax image of Neanderthal Man she’d seen in a museum once. “You’re too young, too innocent, to know what evil men can get up to, Miss Witherspoon.”
“Young? I am twenty-three years old, Mr. Pierce.”
He’d opened his mouth, ready, Georgina was sure, to dispute any allegations she might be going to make, when her words penetrated the soup he called a brain. His mouth clanked shut and then opened again. “You are? Twenty-three? Really? I had no idea you were that old.” He sounded vaguely appalled. Georgina was not amused.
“Yes,” she said in her coldest voice. “I am twenty-three. An old maid to you, Mr. Pierce, evidently.”
“What? Oh, no! No indeed, Miss Witherspoon. You’re far from being an old maid! Why, you’re remarkably well preserved.”
Well-preserved? Georgina would like to preserve him. In a jar full of formaldehyde.
“But that’s not the point,” Pierce continued, oblivious to how insulting he was being.
“Oh? And exactly what is your point, Mr. Pierce. I presume you didn’t come all this way only to tell me I’m past my prime.”
“Good heavens, no. I came here to warn you about that fellow. To urge you to be on your guard so that he doesn’t take advantage of you.”
“I see. So this was an act of charity for you.”
“I mean, you may not be—well, you aren’t as young as I thought you were, but you’re still naïve to the ways of the world. There are awful men out there, Miss Witherspoon. Men who prey upon young—or even not-so-young—girls—women, rather. Men who do unspeakable things. Men who . . .”
The notion of Henry trying to take sexual advantage of a respectable virgin was so inconceivable that Georgina laughed out loud. She doubted if Henry would know what to do with a female if she pranced naked in front of him.
Not like Ash, who’d know in an instant. Who might even strip her himself. A shiver rattled her.
Bother. Why had she thought of Ash yet again? Vexed, Georgina said, “Nonsense. You don’t know Henry, and you don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Pierce. I shan’t sit and listen to you assert any more slanders against him. Henry’s a fine man.” If by fine one meant upstanding, conventional, and moderately pompous. She didn’t add that part.
“Oh, dear, now I’ve upset you.” Pierce at least had the grace to sound contrite.
“Yes, you have.” Georgina allowed herself to sound almost as angry as she felt.
“But my dear Miss Witherspoon—”
The dear part finally pushed her over the edge. Georgina did something she’d never done in her entire adult life. She stamped her toot. “I am not your dear anything, Mr. Pierce. I’m
not anyone’s dear, and I’ll thank you to remember that! I don’t know if this was supposed to be some sort of awkward marriage proposal, or if you only came here to disparage an esteemed friend of mine, but you’ve failed on both counts.”
She paused to catch her breath. She knew her cheeks were flaming. So were his. Her anger had evidently caught him flatfooted and dumbfounded, the idiot.
“Now,” she continued in a voice of steel, “please leave my grandmother’s house. I don’t want to see you any longer today.”
“But—”
“No! Depart, if you please! Now!” She pointed with a steady finger to his buggy.
He departed. His head was hanging, and he looked like a whipped dog, but he departed. Georgina watched him grimly, wishing she could hurry him on his way with a flatiron flung at his back. She’d never experienced violent emotions until she came to visit her grandmother, and wondered if her recent savage impulses were a precursor to insanity. She wouldn’t be surprised.
She was more pleased than not when Oscar arched his back and hissed at Payton as he passed on the way to his buggy. When Devlin applauded from the roof of the house and she looked up and saw him there, grinning like one of Satan’s minions, her already unsteady mood deteriorated.
Chapter Fourteen
Ash had awakened that morning feeling crabby, and had been getting grumpier and grumpier as his day progressed.
He laid the cause of his mood at Georgina Witherspoon’s feet, and reviled himself for it. Blast the woman, what was the matter with him that she could affect him this way? He, who hadn’t been affected by a female since Phoebe’d had the good sense to die?
He hadn’t seen Georgina since yesterday, when she’d been showing that simpering gent friend of hers from New York around town. Then, a little later in the day he’d seen Pierce—who obviously didn’t have enough real work to do to keep him busy—haring out of town in the direction of the Murphy place.
Ash had hoped he’d fall off his horse and die a miserable death in the desert, but knew his hope remained unfulfilled when Pierce rode back into town a couple of hours later. At least the banker didn’t look happy. Ash took small comfort from that.
What in the name of mercy did Georgina think she was doing, allowing herself to be courted by two worthless city fellows? And both of them bankers, too. Didn’t she know herself better than that?
Hell, she was no weak-kneed, lily-livered, good-for-nothing city woman!
He almost fainted dead away when he realized what he’d just admitted to himself.
“Damn.” He ran a hand through his hair and wished he could go back to bed and sleep for a decade or so.
Could his assessment of Georgina be correct?
Ash forced himself to sit down and take stock, logically and without his carnal instincts getting involved, of what he knew about Georgina Witherspoon.
When she’d first arrived in Picacho Wells, Ash had known without the slightest hint of a doubt that she was another Phoebe. She was pretty, silly, vain, and useless. Then he’d come to know her.
“Damn.” He hated it when his prejudices got knocked around by reality.
Oh, all right. So she wasn’t useless. He guessed she wasn’t silly, either. Vain? He couldn’t say for sure, but it didn’t look like it from here. All the other women in town liked her, and frontier females didn’t cotton to conceited city girls.
Drat.
She was pretty, though. He tested that particular truth and decided he couldn’t hold her prettiness against her. Actually, he’d rather be holding it against himself. Bare-assed naked.
“Dammit, Barrett, stop thinking things like that!”
He shook his head hard and tried to dispel the image his vagrant thought had provoked. It didn’t want to be dispelled, but Ash had some hard thinking to do, so he tried his best.
Because he was having a difficult time thinking in his chair, he went outside and walked down the boardwalk, his hands behind his back, his head lowered. It helped to clear his head when he could expend some energy in movement. He barely noticed the people he passed on his contemplative stroll. He nodded to a few of them when they managed to catch his attention, but his thought processes were focused on Miss Witherspoon.
It was galling to him that he was spending so much time thinking about a woman from New York City. He’d believed himself to be above such nonsensical pursuits. Hell, he was a Texan. Texans had no love for New Yorkers. She was a damned Yankee, dammit!
He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Georgina, strolling by on the boardwalk across the street as if his thinking about her had conjured her up and plunked her down in the middle of town. His town. She was alone. Ash frowned and glanced around, trying to find Vernice, Maybelle, or even one of her idiotic banker friends. He didn’t see any of them.
What the hell did she think she was doing, coming to town alone? Fury and protectiveness and something else Ash didn’t want to speculate about arose in his breast. With a muttered curse, he tromped across the street, straight at Georgina.
“Miss Witherspoon!”
Georgina, who had been studying a display of ribbons in the window of Montgomery’s Dry Goods Store, gave a start of alarm and whirled around. When she saw Ash, looking like a thundercloud about to burst and storm all over her, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and frowned at him.
“Yes, Mr. Barrett?” She used her chilliest tone, hoping in that way to show him he couldn’t talk to her like that.
Ash halted in front of her still looking stormy. “Where are all your men friends today?”
“Where are all what men friends? What are you talking about?”
“That damned banker from New York, and Payton Pierce. What happened? They finally get tired of trailing around after you like a couple of hounds after a bitch in heat?”
Even from Ash Barrett, who had never treated her as a lady should be treated, this was more than Georgina cared to take. She stared at him, wondering if he’d lost what was left of his mind. She considered slapping his face, decided that’s what he wanted her to do so he could call her names, and said instead, “What in the name of glory is the matter with you? How dare you speak to me that way?”
“This is stupid.”
“It certainly is!”
She took a step, intending to walk around him and continue perusing hat ribbons. Drat the man. Of all the obstreperous, miserable, horrid, rude— “Ow!”
He’d grabbed her arm, right above the elbow, hard. “Just a minute. I’m not through with you.”
She drew herself up to her full five feet, three inches and stared at him as she used to stare at rude university students in New York who thought it was funny to make lewd comments about passing ladies. “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir, as I am through with you!”
“Confound it, just listen to me for a minute, Georgina!”
“And when, pray, did I give you leave to call me Georgina?”
“Curse it, you didn’t.”
Ash looked very aggravated. Georgina noted that he still hadn’t released her arm. She pointedly eyed his hand where it clutched her.
“Listen, I have to talk to you, and I don’t give a damn about the social niceties anymore.”
“What exactly do you have to talk to me about?” Georgina shot back.
“About that man.” The way he’d said man made Georgina wonder to whom he could be referring. The villain she’d shot was still locked up, wasn’t he? “What man? Isn’t he still in jail?”
“In jail?” He looked ferocious. “He probably ought to be, but I don’t suppose he is.”
She shook her head, confused. “What are you talking about, Mr. Barrett?”
“Confound it, stop calling me Mr. Barrett!”
“Oh, this is too much! First you accost me on the street, bruising my arm, and now you’re telling me not to call you by your proper name! I do believe you’ve gone mad!”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too. Come here.”
&
nbsp; And with that, to Georgina’s shock he grabbed her hand and pulled her between the dry goods store and the leather and saddle shop.
“Stop it! Stop it this minute! What are you trying to do to me?” Georgina squawked.
“Be quiet!”
“I won’t be quiet!” she screamed hack at Ash.
“Yes, you will.”
He grabbed her arm again and hauled her to the clump of trees next to the graveyard, then stopped and released her arm.
“Now, I want to know exactly what kind of game you’re playing, dammit.” He stood in front of her, glowering, his fists planted firmly on his lean hips.
Georgina decided it would be better if she didn’t think about his lean hips. She rubbed her arm, where she was sure he’d left bruises. “Don’t you dare curse at me, you vicious brute. And I’m not playing any kind of game. Whatever are you talking about?”
“The game you’re playing with those two bankers and me! That’s what I’m talking about.”
Georgina squinted at him, trying to understand what he was talking about. “I still don’t know what you mean.”
“Dammit!” He turned and slammed his fist into a tree. Georgina blinked, wishing she didn’t care if he hurt himself or not. He turned and glared at her some more. “You know good and well that if you marry one of those idiots, you’ll be miserable for as long as you live!”
Dumbfounded, Georgina could only repeat herself. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Stop asking me what I’m talking about!”
“But you’re not making any sense! What idiots? Who’s marrying whom?”
“You! You’re going to marry that idiot Henry Spurling or that idiot Payton Pierce, and either one of them will ruin your life!”
“I’m going to do no such thing.” She was really furious now, and stalked up to stand right in front of him. She shook her finger in his face. “And even if I had such plans, what right have you to comment on them?”
“I’m a man, dammit! I’m not one of those sissy Nancy boys you fancy!”
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