Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  “The key,” he demanded, reaching out his hand. Susanna walked over and dropped the heavy iron key into his cupped palm. He rose and teetered to the door, locking it again. This time, he didn’t leave the key in the lock, but clattered it down on the dressing table.

  Once he had settled back on the bed and stretched his legs out on the lace coverlet, Connor took a long gulp from the whiskey. The burn of the liquid down his throat enflamed his anger. “Take your clothes off,” he said, one hand clutching the neck of the bottle.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She met his gaze. “Why?”

  He saw her lips tremble and remembered how that tiny tremor had always softened him into giving her whatever she wanted. So, she hadn’t grown out of it. In other ways, she had grown. His gaze swept down to her high breasts, past them to the slim waist hidden by the shimmering gray fabric that hugged her curves. Heat pooled in his groin. His voice grew rough. “You’re offering yourself to me so you can inherit Circle Star. A sensible man inspects the merchandise before striking a bargain.”

  She hesitated. He watched as conflicting emotions chased each other across her face. “And if you like what you see, will you agree to marry me?” she asked him quietly.

  “I don’t know,” Connor replied.

  Something knotted tight inside him as he caught a flicker of pity in those green eyes that he’d never forgotten. His demands had nothing to do with her beauty, and Susanna knew it. He wanted to hurt her, to pay her back for the hurt she had caused him, and it angered him that she understood him so well.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it, if that’s what you want.”

  Connor felt his breath catch in his chest as he watched Susanna standing in the center of the room, her back straight and proud, clad in a dress finer than he’d ever seen on a woman. In one instant, he went hard, with a throbbing in his loins that bordered on pain. “Get on with it,” he grunted, surprised that he managed any sound at all.

  Her hands fluttered up to her neck, where they stilled for a moment. Then her elbows rose high and her breasts jutted out as she reached for the hooks high up at the back of her dress.

  “No,” he told her. “Take your hair down first.”

  She paused to look at him before her hands drifted up another few inches, to where they nimbly plucked a dozen pins from the coiled tresses. When she lowered her arms, a cascade of glossy dark hair tumbled down to her waist, like a midnight waterfall.

  She retreated to the dressing table, sliding her feet against the floor, feeling her way as she moved backwards without taking her eyes off him. He heard a flurry of tingling sounds as the hairpins fell on the marble top.

  “Stay there,” he ordered, his voice so hoarse it hurt his throat. He tried to swallow but found he couldn’t—not until he raised the bottle to his mouth and took another gulp of whiskey. Where she stood now was farther away from him, but with the mirror behind her, he had a view of her back as well as her front.

  “Do you want me to continue with my clothes?” she asked.

  This time, no sound would come past his lips. He gave a silent nod. His heart pounded with such ferocity it felt as if the entire bed rocked with the beat.

  Susanna reached both hands behind her back, first high up at the neckline, then low at the waist. As she pushed the dress down her shoulders and past her hips, the rustle of silk sounded as loud as thunder in Connor’s ears.

  He could see flush that covered her cheeks, could see her hands tremble as she unfastened the tapes on her petticoats. Then she stepped out of the froth of white cotton and stood straight again. She looked directly at him, and there was no fear or anger in her eyes, only pity and shame.

  It was wrong.

  He shouldn’t make her go through with it.

  Connor wanted to tell her to stop, but his voice wouldn’t obey. Leaning back on the bed he watched, his gaze narrow and burning, as she dealt with the kid slippers and the plain white stockings fastened with garters above her knees.

  She halted and regarded him with a look in her eyes that stirred his anger—not a look between two people who were enemies, but a soft, yielding look.

  “Go on,” he told her, seeking refuge in his bitterness.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and lifted the chemise over her head. Her body was as slender as he had expected, but the pale globes of her breasts jutted out full and firm. The skin on his palms tingled as he imagined cupping his hands around them.

  He held his breath as Susanna lowered her head and untied the knot at the top of her flimsy cotton drawers. Carefully, she pushed the delicate fabric down her thighs. Lifting one foot at a time, she stepped out of the garment and kicked it away to stand completely naked in front of him.

  In the mirror, he could see the curve of her buttocks. Red welts marked the skin inside her thighs and at the base of her buttocks.

  Through the alcoholic haze, rage like he’d never known boiled up inside him. “Who did that?” he roared. “Who did that to you?” He knew that only part of his fury was for her hurt and pain. The rest was the idea that another man had possessed her, even if by force.

  She glanced up. “What?”

  “At the top of your legs.”

  “Oh.” A nervous smile flickered on her lips. “That’s from two days of solid riding. Saddle sores. My skin needs to toughen up.” She reached down and gingerly touched a fingertip to the raw skin at the top of her inner thigh. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

  That tiny gesture was the most seductive act Connor had ever seen. In the thirteen years since they parted, he’d bedded plenty of women, the first one within a week. There had been women who pursued him, women whom he paid for, and women he had taken in passing without much interest at all.

  But never before had he wanted a woman the way he wanted Susanna now. “Would you get into this bed with me if I asked you?” Somehow the words formed on his tongue.

  “Would you marry me if I did?”

  A trade. Circle Star for her, and her in his bed for him. Fury propelled Connor off the bed. With a few quick strides, he crossed the floor and stood in front of Susanna. He leaned closer, until her naked breasts brushed against the front of his shirt.

  “Go home, Susanna,” he growled into her face. “I have nothing for you.”

  “Yes, you do.” She stared up at him, her lips trembling. A hint of some floral fragrance drifted up to tantalize him. The heat from her naked skin teased his heightened senses. When he glanced down between their bodies, he could see the rosy pink crests of her hardened nipples almost touching him.

  “No.” With every ounce of willpower he possessed, Connor backed away and returned to the bed. “Get your clothes on,” he said, picking up the bottle. Morosely, he focused on the whiskey, refusing to lift his gaze to Susanna again, although he couldn’t stop his ears from listening to every rustle of fabric as she dressed.

  He prayed that tomorrow she’d be gone, leaving him alone. One more day, and his resolve would break. Damn her. Damn Susanna Talbot. If she could do this to him now, what could she do to him if he allowed her to take him back to Circle Star, and awaken all the passion and longing he’d spent thirteen years trying to bury?

  He didn’t want to find out.

  The risk was too great, the pain cut too deep.

  He tipped the bottle to his lips and drifted into a blessed oblivion.

  ****

  Susanna’s hands shook so hard they were nearly useless. Damn. She muttered the silent curse as she struggled to fasten the hooks at the back of her gown. Underneath, her chemise bunched in tangled folds, and she was sure that in her haste she had pulled her drawers on back-to-front.

  Shame burned on her face, but it wasn’t shame because of her nakedness in front of Connor McGregor. It was shame for how every nerve in her body had yearned for him to yank her against his hard contours, lower his mouth to hers and claim her as his, as he had done on that sunny spring day thirteen years
ago.

  Her skin was still tingling in the private places where his eyes had lingered. His gaze had been so intent it had almost felt as if he were touching her. A strange heat had pooled within her, and then it had become an edgy throbbing as the blood rushed with added vigor through her veins.

  She knew she should have refused when he demanded that she remove her clothing, but she’d had no choice. Persuading him to marry her was the only way she could hold on to Circle Star—the only way she could protect her father’s legacy, provide for her mother, and ensure the welfare of everyone working on the ranch.

  Whatever Connor McGregor asked, she would do, and those things included getting into that big brass bed with him. It might be a sinful thought, but it was the truth.

  After she had repaired her toilette, Susanna gathered her courage and turned to face the bed that held the threat of her ruination. Connor lay sprawled atop the lace coverlet, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. The hand clutching the empty whiskey bottle dangled over the edge of the mattress. She tiptoed closer, lowered her ear to his parted lips and listened. His breathing was heavy and even.

  “Connor?” she whispered. He didn’t stir. She poked her finger into his chest. The hard muscle had no give and the impact jarred her wrist.

  She raised her voice. “Connor?”

  Still no response.

  She examined his face. Sleep softened the bitterness of the full mouth. Slowly, Susanna lifted her hand, and with infinite care, pried open one of his eyelids. Only the whites were showing. She waited a moment. He did not wake up, did not focus.

  A thrill of satisfaction ran through her. Connor was out cold. He’d drunk himself insensible. Fool. Didn’t he understand that by doing so he was handing her an advantage? She could do whatever she wanted with him while he was in no condition to resist.

  Quickly, Susanna scanned the top of the dressing table until she spotted the key. She eased over and snatched it up, together with her purse. Keeping her steps light, she dashed toward the door. As she turned back to sneak one final glance at the bed, she gave in to her longing and returned to Connor. For a few seconds, she studied his face, memorizing its contours. Then she bent down and brushed her lips against his.

  Her heart hammered close to bursting as she straightened. She hurried to the door, unlocked it, slipped through and locked the door again from the outside. She knew the flimsy panels wouldn’t hold Connor in if he had a mind to get out, but it was better than nothing. The way things were going, she’d cling to even the slimmest of chances.

  She had to find a way to lure Connor to Circle Star. Once back on the ranch, he’d feel the pull of the land and want to own a share. If only she could persuade him to come home with her, eventually he would relent. And, once they were married, the old Connor would emerge from under the hard and bitter shell, and they would make a life together.

  Susanna hurried outside and surveyed the storefronts for inspiration. The advertisement for cheap coffins caught her eye. She gathered her skirts and burst through the entrance of the undertaker. A stout man with an enormous droopy moustache was sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. Susanna decided he was too well dressed to be anyone but the proprietor.

  “I need a coffin,” she informed him.

  The man rose to his feet, carefully folding away the newspaper. His survey of her was quick, but Susanna knew it had instantly assessed the costliness of her gown.

  “I have something very handsome in oak with a satin lining,” the undertaker said. “Is the deceased male or female?”

  “Male.”

  “My coffins come in three sizes—large, medium and small.”

  “Large.”

  “If you’d like to come this way.” The man swayed under his own weight as he guided her to a display of coffins arranged on sawhorse stands along the wall.

  Susanna cast a cursory glance at the oak casket. “How does the lid close?”

  “It opens with a hinge. Let me show you the interior.” The undertaker lifted the lid and praised the quality of the cream satin lining.

  “And once the body is inside, how does it close?”

  “There’s a lock, with a very pretty brass key. Let me demonstrate.”

  She had already stepped away. “No. That’s not what I had in mind.”

  “I have a mahogany casket,” the undertaker said. “Very exclusive.”

  “How does it lock?”

  “The key is slightly larger, with room to engrave the name of the deceased, or a proverb, should one so wish.”

  Susanna eyed the rough pine coffins stacked against the far wall. “And those, how do they close?”

  “Ma’am, those are nothing but plain boxes made of unfinished lumber. Once the deceased is inside, the lid must be nailed shut. Some of the lids have a hinge halfway up, which allows the top end of the lid to be folded open so that the deceased can be pulled out again, in case there is a need to use the coffin for more than one burial.”

  “That’s what I want. The biggest you have.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  Susanna cut him off with an impatient gesture. “How much?”

  The undertaker named the price. Susanna opened her purse and paid for the coffin, brushing aside the man’s efforts to guide her to something more expensive.

  “Do you do carpentry?” she asked.

  The man’s portly chest swelled with pride. “All our coffins are made on the premises.”

  “I’d like an alteration. It must be done immediately.” She described what she wanted. With a shrewd look, the undertaker suggested he could provide a layer of padded lining inside the coffin, to which Susanna agreed.

  “How quickly can you do it?” she asked.

  “Not long at all. Half an hour.” The man twirled his moustache, regarding her with calculating eyes. “Of course, there is an additional charge for the express service.”

  Susanna paid the extra, and waited in the showroom while the man squeezed white overalls on top of his suit and took out his tools. “I’ll go and change,” she told him after a few moments of watching him proceed with the alteration. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  When Susanna returned to the hotel room, Connor remained unconscious. Keeping a wary eye on his inert shape, she got out of her gown and tugged on her denim pants and boots and short wool coat. Then she returned to check the progress on the coffin.

  “I made the hole in the lid quite large, to make sure it lines up with his face,” the undertaker explained. “I forgot to ask how tall he body is.”

  “I’m sure it will do,” Susanna told him. “Can you deliver now?”

  “My son will be back in ten minutes. A delivery needs two men.”

  Susanna tapped her boot impatiently against the plank floor, sending sawdust from the carpentry job into a whirl. Damn Pete Jackson and his eagerness to inspect the yearlings for sale. Why wasn’t he back yet? Ten minutes could make a difference, if it allowed Connor to wake up.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” she called out, already at the door.

  By now, the interior of the saloon with its brand new big mirror—that she was going to have to pay for—and it’s rough crowd of customers were a familiar sight. She strode up to the counter and bought six bottles of whiskey.

  When she returned, the undertaker and his son were lifting up the coffin, each holding up one end. The bottles balanced under her arm, Susanna led the procession to the hotel. Before going up to her room, she paused to explain to the landlord that no death had occurred on the premises. Once the dapper little man had calmed down, she arranged to check out and left a message with instructions for Pete Jackson.

  “My brother has an alcohol problem,” she informed the undertaker and his son as they set the coffin down on the floor of her room. “I promised to bring him home, but I wish to spare him the indignity of being hauled through the lobby with people watching. This will keep him hidden until we get out of town.”

  She folded Connor’s leather c
oat into a pillow, placed it in the coffin, and then stood aside to watch the men heave his inert body inside. The undertaker’s son, a sturdy lad of perhaps eighteen, crouched down and started to bang nails into the lid. “Only nail down the bottom end,” his father instructed. “The top end will be secured with a pair of steel eyelets and hooks. Those will allow him to push the lid open when he wakes up.”

  “Do you know where I could rent a wagon?” Susanna asked.

  “I can provide a wagon for a dollar a day and supply a driver for another dollar a day.” The undertaker stroked the ends of his droopy moustache. “Of course, I’ll have to charge you for the return journey as well, so it will be twice the number of days.”

  After the undertaker promised to send a team of four men to carry the coffin downstairs and load it on the wagon, Susanna agreed to his charges. She arranged for the driver to meet her by the back entrance exactly in one hour, and then she ushered the greedy merchant and his son out of the room.

  Once they were gone, she took out two strips of rawhide meant for tying her hair into a braid and wound them around the hooks and eyelets at the end of the coffin lid. She finished with a tight knot that would be impossible to undo while reaching out through the hole in the lid. Leaving Connor securely sealed, she hurried out and locked the door behind her, praying that Connor wouldn’t wake up while she was gone.

  Back to Contents

  Chapter Six

  The next hour was the most frantic in Susanna’s life.

  She went to see the sheriff, who agreed to release Connor on credit, provided one of his deputies followed her to Circle Star to collect the money. When she explained that she had hired a wagon and a driver, the sheriff told her the driver could bring back the seventy dollars Connor owed in damages and fines.

  It cost Susanna another five dollars to settle the fees for Connor’s horse. According to the small, wrinkled man at the livery stables, the glossy black stallion was called Brutus. The beast nipped her sleeve as she led him from the stables to the hotel hitching post. Even through the thick material of her coat, his teeth bruised her arm.