Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  “Hello, Connor,” she said, raising her voice above the background noise.

  He didn’t even flinch. Susanna instantly regretted speaking before she could see his face, observe his reaction. There was nobody else at the counter, except for a pair of aging cowpokes at the far end. She slipped into an empty space on Connor’s right. The room hushed into silence as the men seated at the tables halted their conversations and turned to watch.

  Connor stood completely still but Susanna could sense the tension in his body as he leaned casually against the counter. His hair remained the same sandy brown, long enough to curl over the collar of his worn leather coat. Susanna craned forward, until she could peer up into his face. A cry of surprise tore from her lips before she could restrain herself.

  The sensitive boy was gone, replaced by a hard man. The amber color of his eyes was exactly as she remembered, but instead of the gaze that had been gentle, sometimes a little shy, their expression was flat, almost dead. Even in repose, the full lips conveyed bitterness.

  When he turned to look at her, she cried out again. A thin white scar ran along the left side of his face, all the way from the crest of the cheekbone to the edge of his jaw.

  “Little Susanna, all grown up.” His voice rang deeper than at fifteen and a little slurred. “You took your time getting here.”

  Her lips trembled. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t find a single word.

  “So, you’ve succeeded in tracking me down. Are you just going to stand there and say nothing?” Connor lifted a hand to the barkeep. When his glass was full again, he picked it up but didn’t drink.

  “You knew I was looking for you?” Susanna forced out the words. Her knees buckled, and she clung to the edge of the counter for support. The storm inside her head blew with a thousand winds, all whistling different wants and needs. More than anything, she ached to reach out and touch his face, make it come alive again, the way it used to be.

  “I can read,” Connor said. “I saw it in the newspaper.”

  “But you didn’t come, or telegraph, or write.”

  “Why should I?” His tone was blunt.

  Susanna lifted her shoulders and let them drop again, feeling helpless against the hard barrier of resentment that surrounded him. “Curiosity?” she offered. “Didn’t you want to know why I was trying to find you?”

  “I mind my own business and expect others to mind theirs.”

  “This is your business,” she said with emphasis. “My father is dead.”

  This time there was a flinch. She wouldn’t have known if it hadn’t been for the glass of whiskey in his hand, full to the brim. Some spilled over the edge, splashing onto his fingers. Connor lifted his hand and downed the rest of the tawny liquid in two gulps.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” he asked as he propped the empty glass on the counter.

  “My father had you in his will.” Susanna lifted her chin and fixed her gaze upon his hard face. “That’s what he wanted to tell you that day, when you ran away. That he was leaving Circle Star to both of us together.”

  Nothing changed in Connor’s stony expression. Not one flicker.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Susanna demanded, fury stirring inside her. “I hadn’t told him about…about that other thing. You ran off like a fool, when he was offering to make you his heir and leave you half of Circle Star.”

  “So?” Connor shifted against the counter. “I ran off. That’s all in the past.”

  Susanna could sense a decade of emotion packed into those few words—regret, anger, pain. She was fairly certain that if Connor hadn’t been drunk, his voice would have revealed nothing, not even the slight tremor of feeling she could hear now.

  “No, it’s not all in the past,” she told him. “My father never changed his will. You can still have half of Circle Star.”

  “Can?” he drawled. “Is there something I have to do first?”

  “Yes.” Susanna lowered her gaze to her clenched hands. With an effort of will, she uncurled her fingers and looked up again, tilting her face up toward him. “You have to marry me.”

  She could feel him stiffen by her side. Then, with an exaggerated casualness, Connor reached into his coat pocket and tossed a few coins on the counter. “Get the lady a shot of brandy,” he called out to the barkeep. “She looks a little shaken.”

  Picking up his hat, he turned and made his way across the room and out through the swinging doors while Susanna remained standing by the counter and watched him go.

  Pete sauntered up to her. “What did he say? Why is he going off and leaving you standing there?”

  Susanna shrugged, feeling numb. “He said nothing, and I guess he’s going back to the jail to be locked up for the night.”

  Emotions fought each other inside her—longing and anger and disappointment and guilt and a deep, gut-wrenching pity. She could make no sense of the volatile mix, but one thing she knew for certain—it wasn’t over. As long as Connor was a prisoner of that hulking sheriff, he’d go nowhere, and that gave her an opportunity to work on him, wear him down.

  She leveled her eyes at Pete. “Go and see the sheriff. Find out what Connor is in for, and what it would take to get him released.”

  “What?” Pete’s brows edged up. “You want me to bail him loose?”

  “No.” Susanna flattened her mouth to a grim line. “The exact opposite. I want you to make sure he stays there.” Her expression softened, and she laid a hand on Pete’s arm. “I’ll work on him. He’s angry and bitter and hard. I’ll do my best to bring him around and get him to agree to the marriage.”

  “It’s not right, a woman like you having to go begging to a man like him.”

  “I don’t mind, as long as it works.” Susanna picked up the drink the bartender had brought over and offered it to Pete. The foreman shook his head. She set the glass down again and moved away from the counter. “Let’s go. I’ll get us checked into the hotel while you go and see the sheriff. We’ll have dinner as soon as you get back.”

  ****

  Unable to sleep, Susanna tossed and turned on the lumpy hotel bed. During the tasteless dinner in the smoky parlor downstairs, Pete had informed her that upon payment of seventy dollars in damages and fines Connor would be free to go.

  To her knowledge, Connor had no means of raising such a sum, except for his horse and saddle and his pair of guns. If he sold those and slipped out of town without seeing her again, it would be a measure of his desperation to get away from her.

  She shed a few tears over what he had become, and what he must have gone through to be so profoundly altered. The boy she had carried in her heart for thirteen years no longer existed. She could bury any dreams of a happy reunion.

  Then her guilt gave way to anger. It wasn’t her fault that Connor had chosen to flee all those years ago. He was wrong to blame her. Circle Star was at stake now, and it was in his interest to marry her and gain half ownership of the ranch.

  Had she done her best to persuade him? Perhaps she should have dressed up. She had brought a gown with her, but she’d been in too much of a hurry to find Connor, and she hadn’t stopped to think. Maybe, if she presented a more feminine picture, he might melt a little…Remember those long ago Sunday dinners, how it had been between them.

  Yes—tomorrow she would try again, and she would wear the dress she had packed for the trip, a gray silk visiting gown with a severe cut that flattered her slim waist.

  Her plan settled, Susanna managed a few hours of fitful sleep. She dreamed of a kiss, and the fierce hold of arms around her, and a gravelly voice whispering that he’d never let her go. But in her dream it was the man who was kissing her and not the boy, and the voice whispering those words into her ear was the deep, husky voice she’d heard in the saloon a few hours earlier, when it had been telling her that she should mind her own business and keep out of his.

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  Chapter Five

  In the morning, Susanna ordered hot water for a ba
th, partly to get clean and partly to soothe the skin on her buttocks and inner thighs that had been rubbed raw by two long days in the saddle. Afterwards, she asked for breakfast to be brought up to her room.

  When she was ready to leave, she found a message from Pete Jackson under the door. He’d gone to meet a breeder who had yearlings to sell and would be back in the afternoon. Susanna stifled a burst of irritation. This was not the time for Pete to go off and run errands. She suspected he had arranged the meeting on purpose, to keep out of any confrontation between her and Connor.

  As she walked through the hotel lobby, the gray silk gown swishing around her feet, she could feel several pairs of male eyes following her every move. Her head snapped up and her shoulders shifted back with a touch of feminine vanity.

  It had been the right decision to try again wearing a dress.

  The sheriff was without a deputy today. As Susanna entered, he lumbered up to his feet behind the desk. “I’ll be damned,” he said, and lifted a hand to tip back his hat, grinning awkwardly when he realized he wasn’t wearing one. “You sure look different today.”

  Susanna greeted him in her best Philadelphia manner. “May I talk to the prisoner?”

  “Sure, Miss, sure.” The sheriff waved his hand in the direction of the single cell. “You go right on ahead, Miss. I’ll keep an eye on things from here, just in case.”

  Susanna inclined her head. “Thank you. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  She edged past the desk until she came flush against the iron bars that fenced off the rear of the room. Connor lay on his back on the narrow cot, arms crossed under his head. He wore his tall leather boots and his coat hung from a peg on the wall. One bare elbow poked through a tear in his faded cotton shirt.

  “Hey, McGregor,” the sheriff called out. “Get up. You have a visitor.”

  “Thank you, I can manage,” Susanna said to the sheriff, hoping to silence him. He took no notice of her and carried on yelling until his prisoner stirred on the bed.

  Connor sat up and a directed a grim look at her. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to talk.” Her hands curled around the iron bars that felt as cold under her touch as Connor’s hostile eyes felt on her skin. She caught her breath, forced herself to speak evenly. “I’d like to hear where you’ve been, what you’ve done. It’s been thirteen years.”

  “Closer to fourteen.”

  “All the more to talk about.”

  Connor shifted on the cot, settling his shoulders more comfortably against the wall. “Go home, Susanna,” he said quietly. “I might have been your Prince Charming once, but I turned into a pumpkin a long time ago.”

  “It’s the carriage that turned into a pumpkin, you idiot, not the prince.”

  The hint of a smile was over in a second, but it was enough to convince Susanna that the old Connor was buried somewhere deep inside the bitter shell. If she worked hard enough, was patient enough, she could find him, bring him out again.

  He frowned at her, as if to banish the lingering memory of that tiny smile. “I went up north, to Canada. Worked the mines.”

  “How did you get the scar?”

  “Knife. The other man didn’t live to tell the tale.”

  Susanna wanted to trace the thin white line on his cheek with her fingertips, but the distance between them was too great. She reached her hand through the iron bars anyway, poised for a gentle touch. Connor didn’t move closer, although her intention must have been clear to him.

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  She lowered her voice. “Why won’t you come home with me?”

  Connor’s expression hardened. He yelled for the sheriff. “Get her out of here,” he demanded, gesturing at Susanna.

  The sturdy lawman trundled closer. “Can’t see no harm in letting the lady talk to you.” He let out a gusty burst of laughter. “The iron bars won’t protect you against a sharp tongue or sweet talk, but they’ll sure keep you safe from any other harm.” He winked at Susanna. “You just carry right on, Miss. I’ll be behind my desk, minding my own business.”

  Susanna waited for the sheriff to sit down again before she turned to Connor once more. He hadn’t moved but remained perched on the cot, his back to the wall, one knee folded, the heel of his boot wedged against the edge of the wooden platform.

  “Please,” she said. “Can’t we at least talk about it?”

  He gave her a bleak stare, but Susanna stood her ground. “All right,” Connor said finally. “Get me a bottle of whiskey. Then you can talk all you want.”

  The sheriff bounced up. “No drinking in my jail.” He reached for a pair of keys dangling from a hook on the wall and walked over. “Take him to the saloon. Saves me the trouble of feeding him. Just see he gets back before dark.”

  Without a word, Connor shrugged into his leather coat and strode out. Susanna had to run to keep up with him. “Not here,” she pleaded as they reached the saloon door. “I’ll buy you a bottle. We’ll go to the hotel and talk in private.”

  She had expected that Connor would offer to go inside and make the purchase if she gave him the money, but he didn’t. She was forced to go into the saloon, this time without Pete’s support, and ask for a quart of whiskey at the counter.

  When she returned outside, Connor took the wrapped package from her. Not removing the brown paper, he pulled out the cork and tipped the bottle to his mouth.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked as he lowered the bottle again. His tone was hostile, but Susanna found that easier to tolerate than the cool indifference he’d shown toward her the day before.

  “We’ll have to go up to my room,” she replied, and shuddered at the thought of what her mother would say about such lack of propriety. “There’s nowhere else private,” she added with a flash of hostility of her own.

  “If that’s what you want. You’ve bought my company for the afternoon.” Connor swept his eyes over her in a way that made her blush. She understood he was doing it on purpose, trying to hurt her, but the knowledge didn’t lessen the impact.

  ****

  An edgy restlessness had filled Connor McGregor ever since he saw the newspaper advertisement a month ago. It had driven him to drink. He had decided to ignore Susanna Talbot’s appeal. He wanted nothing to do with her. Then why in the hell had he ridden south, closer to Circle Star—to where she might find him?

  If he’d ever had any doubt he was a fool, now he knew for certain.

  Connor hung back as Susanna collected her key from the hotel reception and hurried up the open staircase. He followed, his deliberate footsteps ringing on the timber treads. When he caught up with her, she was inserting the key in the lock on the last door at the end of the corridor. He could tell her hands were shaking.

  After a few seconds of waiting and watching in surly silence, he let out an impatient grunt and swept Susanna out of the way. He turned the key in the stiff lock, pushed the door open and ushered her into the room. Then he locked the door again from the inside.

  “There’s no need to do that,” she told him, tremor in her voice.

  “You said you wanted privacy,” Connor replied and left the key in the lock. He had no idea why he’d locked the door, or why he’d even agreed to talk to her. The bottle weighed heavy in his hand, and he knew where to look for answers.

  “I’ll get you a glass.” Skirts rustling, Susanna rushed to the mirrored dressing table along the wall.

  “Don’t bother.” Connor glanced around the room, found it large and comfortable. White lace covered the brass bed, and two padded chairs flanked a small circular table by the window. He knew those chairs would be the proper place to sit, but he didn’t care. He took off his coat and tossed it on one of the chairs. Then he picked up a pillow, propped it against the headboard and stretched out on the bed.

  “Your boots will make the bedcover dirty,” Susanna complained.

  “They’ll add the cleaning to your bil
l. I’m sure you can afford it.”

  She regarded him evenly and spoke in a low, reluctant tone. “Maybe not. If you don’t marry me, I may end up with nothing.”

  Connor listened as she explained the instructions left by her father, and the prospect of a corrupt auction to sell Circle Star. “I’m sure you won’t be left destitute,” he drawled after she’d finished. “Some man or other will want to marry you.”

  “But you don’t?”

  The whiskey soothed the ache that had gnawed inside him every waking moment for more than thirteen years. He leaned back on the bed and narrowed his eyes. Susanna stood a few paces away from him, reed slender, her posture proud. Her chest rose and fell with swift breaths, just as he remembered it rising and falling that last time he’d seen her by the river at Circle Star. Her arms hung down her sides, hands clenched into fists.

  It enraged him to see her standing there, even lovelier than he had dreamed of during all those lonely years, saying exactly the words he had always wanted to hear.

  Offering to be his.

  But not for love.

  For financial gain.

  Fury unleashed inside him, fed by the discovery that the long years of hardship had been his own making. If he hadn’t fled that afternoon, he would have grown up with her. He would have protected her, cherished her. She would have had no choice but to love him then, and Christian Talbot would have stood by, encouraging him, blessing their union.

  It was her fault.

  If she hadn’t threatened him, he wouldn’t have fled.

  He tipped the bottle to his lips and took another sip.

  “I need something to eat,” he muttered.

  Susanna frowned at him. “I’ll see if I can get food from downstairs.” Her skirts swished as she flounced away.

  Connor watched her leave and lay on the bed while he waited, already a little drunk because he hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous day. Bitterness churned inside him, and he wanted to punish Susanna for making him suffer all those wasted years.

  When Susanna returned, she pushed the door shut and leaned against it, the key clutched in her nervous fingers. “It will be a while,” she told him. “They’ve only just started cooking lunch.”