Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  CIRCLE STAR

  BY

  Tatiana March

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  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2014 by Tatiana March

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the permission of the author except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner to create a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Part One - Susanna

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Part Two - Claire

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Fife

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About this Book

  About the Author

  Part One

  Susanna

  Prologue

  The boy sprawled over the dusty gravel slope, propped up on one elbow. As he shifted his weight, power rippled along his arm and the muscles that broadened his chest. He glanced at the girl sitting a few paces away and wondered if she’d noticed the changes in his body—the strength—the deepening of voice—the stubble on his upper lip.

  She sat very still, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees. Her eyes held a dreamy look, but they were locked on the rushing water of the river that flowed swiftly after the spring floods.

  The boy’s brows drew together. She wasn’t even looking at him. He’d never figured out if she truly ignored him, or just pretended to.

  He allowed his gaze a furtive roam. The girl’s body was changing, too. A soft curve had swelled on her bosom, and her hips had flared out, so that the denim workman’s pants she wore around the ranch stretched taut over her buttocks.

  On Sundays, her father allowed the boy to join them for dinner at the big house. He’d seen the girl in a form-fitting dress, her glossy dark hair in an upsweep, instead of the single heavy braid that hung down her back. It had given him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, just as looking at her did now.

  A few days ago, her father had said something to him about leaving the bunkhouse, where he slept with the other ranch hands, and moving into the small room by the kitchen. It was used for storage now, but it could be cleared out for him. Since Mrs. Talbot had left Circle Star to live back in Philadelphia—the big eastern city where she came from—Mr. Talbot had more freedom to act on his whims.

  The boy’s frown deepened. He didn’t understand how married folks could live with half the continent between them. It was 1883, and people were free to do what they wanted. Why didn’t they just plain divorce, if they could no longer bear to be in the same place? His own folks had lived together, and died together, leaving him to fend for himself at eleven, with nothing but a horse, a saddle, a Winchester rifle, and a pair of Colt revolvers to his name.

  For two long years he had drifted, sleeping rough, scraping a meal anyhow he could. Then Mr. Talbot had caught him living in a line shack on the northeastern corner of Circle Star. Instead of an earful of curses and a kick up his backside, the boy had been given a job.

  He worked hard. He knew he earned his keep. The toughest part was the newspapers and books Mr. Talbot made him read in the evenings, and later quizzed him about, to make sure he hadn’t skipped pages, and had understood all the long words.

  The boy didn’t mind, though.

  For him, living on Circle Star was as if he had died and gone to heaven.

  He shifted again on the hard gravel ground, his frustration rising as the girl’s attention stayed stubbornly on the whirling water. She always appeared when he was least expecting it. She’d suddenly be there, leaning against the side of the corral as he labored to break a wild mustang. Reeking of sweat, caked in dirt from the battle with the horse, he’d keep his distance. Or, she would lazily stroll over when he fished by the river, and she would silently sit down, just as she was doing now.

  The only time the girl got to see him properly was at Sunday dinner. Then he wore clean clothes and slicked his unruly sandy hair down with water. He still remembered how he had blushed the first time he’d walked into the cool dining room and had felt her eyes linger on him.

  “One day, I’m going to have a ranch of my own,” he declared to her now, as much to break the silence as to inform her of the fact.

  “And how would you achieve that?” she asked, still not looking at him.

  “I don’t know.” He already regretted the bold statement. “I’ll find a way.” He knew the words rang hollow, but deep down he believed them. One day he would.

  “I’m going to own Circle Star,” the girl said, pride in her voice. “I’m going inherit it when my father dies.”

  “A woman can’t run a ranch.”

  “I will,” she told him flatly. “Just wait and see.”

  He glanced up. She was no longer hugging her knees, but had twisted toward him. The way she leaned over, one hand propped against the ground, made her breasts jut out in the confines of the shirtwaist blouse. She challenged him with a defiant look. He’d noticed the color of her eyes the first time he’d spoken to her—a clear sage green with a dark rim around the iris. From that moment on, every time he heard the name Circle Star, he recalled those eyes.

  “If I married you, I’d own Circle Star.” The boy froze as he heard his words. They seemed to come out of nowhere. It wasn’t something he was planning to do, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t announce his intention out loud.

  The girl leaned closer. “What makes you think I’d agree to marry you?” Her eyes narrowed, in anger or against the sun, the boy couldn’t tell which. A ripple of wind teased the dark tendrils that had broken loose from her braid.

  A sudden flame of desire burst through him. The emotion had festered inside him for two years while he’d watched her turn from a gangly child into a slim girl, at the same time as he matured from a boy into a man.

  “This,” he said hoarsely, and reached out for her.

  The nape of her neck felt smooth and warm beneath his fingers as he slipped one hand under her braid and pulled her close. Her arm skittered along the ground, and she toppled into him, her breasts flattening against the hard planes of his chest. He anchored her on top of him with a fierce hold. His mouth settled against hers, stifling her cry of surprise.

  He’d known hunger and thirst, but they meant nothing compared to the yearning that now soared inside him. His loins went hard with a fury that matched the surge of blood through his veins. His heartbeat drummed in his ears while his lips feasted on her soft mouth.

  It took a few moments before his senses stilled enough for him to pull back a little, pay proper attention to the girl. She lay on top of him, her legs tangled with his. Her panting breath brushed a lick of damp heat along his cheek.

  “This,” he repeated softly into her ear.

  She stirred,
her body tensing against his. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around her. She’d been clinging to his shoulders, but now her hands pushed instead, and her motion grew into a struggle.

  “Let me go,” she told him, her voice a husky whisper.

  “No,” he said. “Never.”

  And he meant it. He’d marry her. She would be his, and so would Circle Star, although the ranch didn’t really matter—not when he held the girl’s warm and pulsing body against his.

  “Let me go,” she said again, anger sharpening her voice.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Don’t you like being kissed?”

  She wrenched out of his grasp, and he chose to let her go. As she scrambled up, her braid dragged down and scraped a burning trail across his mouth. “My mother says ranch hands are not for me,” she warned him primly. “I’m going away to school, and I’m going to be a lady.”

  “A lady?” He frowned at her. “What good will that do when running a ranch?”

  He could see hesitation pass like a cloud over her face. Wanting to press his advantage, the boy leaped up and reached for her again. He settled his hands on her hips and hauled her close to him, the hardness in his groin straining against her soft mound. Of its own volition, one of his calloused hands crept up and curled over a breast.

  A fiery blush flared to the girl’s cheeks when she felt his touch and realized what he was doing. “Let me go,” she rasped. When he didn’t, she lashed out at him, clawing and flailing with both hands.

  Startled, he released her. She lowered her arms to her sides and glared at him, her breasts rising and falling with urgent gasps of breath. A battle between fear and shame and excitement raged in the sage green eyes that had widened into dark pools.

  The boy wanted to say he was sorry, explain that he hadn’t meant to offend or frighten her. Just as he was about to speak, the girl whirled around and stormed up the riverbank.

  “I’m going to tell my father,” she yelled over her shoulder as she raced away from him. “I’m going tell him what you did, and he’ll throw you off Circle Star.”

  “No he won’t,” the boy shouted after her, even though she was already out of sight beyond the ridge of the riverbank. “He won’t,” he muttered to himself, standing rooted, lungs heaving, hands knotted into fists.

  But Mr. Talbot probably would, if she told him. The owner of Circle Star was a hot tempered man, and a stickler for family values. It was out of respect for his benefactor that the boy had declined to join the other riders when they trooped into the whorehouse on trips to Cedar City. Curiosity had burned holes in him, but he’d said no.

  Now he wished he hadn’t.

  He dragged the toe of his boot along the gravel ground, listening to the scraping sound it made. He might as well pack up for the day. He needed something more than fishing to push the gnawing worry out of his mind. There was a new stallion Mr. Talbot had bought from a breeder in Santa Fe that he could get started on.

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  The boy soothed the quivering horse, gentling his hands over a flank. He murmured soft words, not pausing to consider their meaning. That’s how he should have been with the girl, too—cosseted and calmed her, instead of just letting his lust and need loose on her.

  He wanted to find her, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He’d never been inside the big house uninvited, never been upstairs, and yet he knew where her room was. He’d spent enough restless evenings sitting beneath the cottonwood trees, gazing up at her window until the lamp fluttered out and the window turned into a forbidding dark square.

  No. He’d wait.

  By tomorrow evening, he would know. It was Sunday, his day to join the girl and her father for dinner. If she’d told, the storm would have raged by then. Of that he could be certain. If he got invited as usual, then she hadn’t told.

  Behind him, someone called out his name. The boy whirled around. Pete Jackson, the foreman of Circle Star, was striding across the sun-baked yard. A small, wiry man with legs bowed from a lifetime in the saddle, he made haste toward the corral.

  “The boss wants to see you,” the foreman grunted. “In the library. I’ll take the horse.” He climbed over the fence and eased closer until he could reach for the lead rope.

  “Did Mr. Talbot say why?” Fear clutched at the boy’s insides as he thought how he had betrayed the trust that had been put in him.

  The foreman took the rope, moving with caution, preoccupied with the horse that had grown restless again. Prancing and whinnying, the stallion shied away from both of them. “No,” Pete replied, distracted by the task of calming down the animal. “The girl was with him. All he said was that he wants to talk to you.” And he added, “The boss seemed about to explode. You know how he gets when he is mad about something.”

  The boy asked no more questions. Rushing the corral fence, he flung himself over and hurried back to the stables.

  The saddle in the tack room by the entrance belonged to him, as did the bay gelding he rode each day. The saddle had been a gift on his fifteenth birthday, and Mr. Talbot had agreed to sell the horse to him, taking a dollar out of his weekly pay. He expected a balance was left owing but it didn’t worry him too much. He was no horse thief, but he could accept remaining in debt to a man who had volunteered a loan.

  One day he would pay back every cent, with interest.

  Quick and silent, he saddled the bay and walked out into the yard, where he left the horse tied in the shade of the cottonwood trees while he slunk over to the bunkhouse. His bed was at the far end, on the left by the window. Sunlight filtered in, exposing the dust in the air and the dirt caked on the timber floor.

  He fastened his gun belt around his hips, checking that the two Colt Peacemakers rested snugly in their holsters. For riding, he preferred not to tie the leather thongs around his thighs. The scabbard for the Winchester had been lost years ago. He slung the rifle on his back and pulled his pair of saddlebags from under the bunk.

  Two years ago, he’d arrived with scant possessions—a change of clothing, a blanket, a few cooking utensils, and a photograph of his parents. Now he could add three books, and the suit Mr. Talbot had bought for him to wear for dinner on Sundays.

  He didn’t have room for everything in his saddlebags. After a brief reflection, he left the suit behind, folding it into a bundle and stashing it under the blanket on the bed. That way, it wouldn’t get dirty on the floor, or alert anyone too soon to his escape.

  The books he took with him. The prospect of no longer having them made reading appear a pleasant pastime instead of the chore he had regarded it up to now.

  The saddlebags weighed heavy on his arm as he strode to the door and swept his gaze over the yard. No movement broke the quiet. Saturday was the day for the men to ride out to Cedar City, for the saloons and the whores and whatever else they managed to rustle up for entertainment. He had chosen to stay behind and go fishing.

  Satisfied with the peaceful scene, the boy strolled out, putting on a casual air, in case someone was watching. The gelding greeted him with a nickering sound, butting its head against his shoulder as he walked up. He took a few seconds to croon to the animal. Then, with an economical motion, he vaulted into the saddle and was on his way.

  Where to, he didn’t know.

  As the house grew distant behind him, he wondered if he should have stayed, tried to weather it out. With a shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the thought. This way was better. He could hold on to the good memories, without letting them be ruined by a furious dismissal from the man he worshipped, or by hearing the girl spell out her complaints.

  There was nothing for him at Circle Star. He would forget Susanna Talbot, just as he was sure she would forget him. Gritting his teeth, Connor McGregor urged the gelding into a canter and leaned low over the horse’s neck, feeling the hot Arizona desert wind whip into his face as he rode toward an unknown future.

  Back to contents

  Chapter One

  Susanna Talbot shifted her buttoc
ks on the hard seat of the buggy, trying to find a way to soften the battering against her rear. A wry smile touched her lips as she recalled the words of her best friend Claire.

  “Of course you get sore from riding,” Claire had blurted out. “You have such a bony ass.” Then Claire had grinned her infectious grin, and both girls had ridden on, stifling their mirth, delighted in the knowledge that their mothers would be scandalized if they overheard the exchange.

  But now Claire was far away, and so was Philadelphia, and the house on Rittenhouse Square that had been the center of Susanna’s universe for the past ten years, ever since she left boarding school.

  Circle Star.

  She closed her eyes and let her mind transport her back in time. She could almost hear the noises—the thundering hooves of the cattle, the whinnying of horses, the cry of a lonely coyote at night. And inside the house, the chatter of maids, the clanking of boot heels against the tile floor in the hall, the booming voice of her father.

  Her father.

  A groan rose in her throat. Quickly, Susanna opened her eyes and glanced at the driver sitting beside her, but fortunately he appeared not to have heard her. She blinked back a tear. Her heart ached at how she had drifted apart from her father, never once returning to visit. And now, with his sudden death, the chance to make amends was lost forever. With a resolute frown, Susanna tightened her mouth.

  Grief would find a time and place, and it wasn’t now.

  If she wanted to make a success of her plan to run Circle Star, she couldn’t afford to show weakness. The men had to perceive her as a competent businesswoman. The fact that at twenty-six she was already considered a spinster ought to help. She hoped the advantage of her age wouldn’t be outweighed by her slim build, or a feminine face with full lips that had a tendency to tremble when she was upset.

  She would just have to toughen up.

  The buggy rattled along the dirt road that ran arrow straight across the plateau dotted with towering cacti. Susanna tugged a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and tied it over her mouth. A layer of dust already covered her black bombazine traveling gown, and she could feel grit scraping in her teeth. Despite the discomfort, she was glad that Pete Jackson, the foreman of Circle Star, had sent the open buggy for her.