by Jill Gregory
"I'm sorry." Maura tried to reach out, to touch his taut face once more, but he jerked back, his eyes warning her not to do that again.
"He gambled as well as drank, and one day he gambled away everything—the deed to the farm, the livestock—even my mother's wedding ring. But that's not the worst of it. He tried to get it all back on one last hand— and was caught cheating."
Maura watched his face, trembled at the pain and rage there. It was shocking to see such raw emotion in a man who personified control—and she was frightened of what she had unleashed. Ferocious anger burned in his gray eyes—his mouth was a vicious slash, and he looked as though he could tear that crooked tree right out of the ground and toss it into the wind like a stick, so great seemed the force of his fury.
"What happened?" she whispered, knowing there was no stopping him now, knowing that nothing would ease the agony of these memories until they'd spilled out, every one, like drops of blood from a wound.
"What happened? A damned sheriff named Lester Peabody happened. Seems Peabody is the one who beat my father at that poker hand, the one he tried to cheat. If that's what really happened. Peabody was crooked—as crooked as they come. Everyone in town knew it, but no one had the courage to confront him, or to run against him. He owned that town. And when he accused my father of cheating and locked him up, there was no one to say different. Then Peabody came out to the ranch first thing in the morning. Sunup. Woke my mother and me, told us we had to clear out that day. Hand over the deed, leave everything behind. He demanded my mother give him her ring then and there."
She was stunned. She could only stare at him wordlessly, and dread what was coming next.
"I'll never forget the expression on her face, as if she'd been punched in the stomach, again and again and again."
Quinn took a breath. "She said she'd have to see my father first, hear from him what he'd done. Peabody didn't like that. He demanded she give him her ring right then and there."
"How could anyone be so cruel?" Maura breathed.
Quinn's eyes glazed with remembering. He spoke softly now. "That ring had belonged to her mother, and before that to her mother. Katharine Lassiter didn't get mad often—she took what life dealt her—but she didn't want to give up that ring. So there she was, in her wrapper, a woman all alone with her child on a godforsaken farm, miles from everywhere. And she defied him. Ordered him off her land until she heard from her husband that it was no longer theirs. And that's when Peabody suddenly got other ideas about what he wanted from her."
"No. Oh, no, Quinn."
"I tried to stop him." Moonlight stabbed the dark mask of his face. "I ran for the rifle but he got to it first. Broke it in two. Then he went after her. She fought him and so did I. But neither of us were a match for him. My mother grabbed up a knife. I'll never forget the terror in her face. But she yelled at him to let me go. The bastard threw me against a wall and I must have hit my head, because I went out cold. I was too small, too damn young and weak to fight back. And she was too frail."
Maura's fingers shook as she pressed them to her throat. Pain knotted inside her, pain for him now as he relived those terrible moments, for the little boy who had tried so valiantly to rescue his mother.
She no longer wanted to know what happened next. But she knew he was going to tell her.
"When I came to, the place was a shambles. My mother still had her wedding ring on, but not much else. The clothes left on her body were in tatters. And covered in blood. He'd stabbed her after he raped her. She bled all over the kitchen floor she always fretted about keeping so clean. She must have put up a hell of a fight. Not that it did her any good."
"Oh, Quinn..."
"I never had a chance to say goodbye. To tell her—" He broke off. There was no pain in his eyes anymore. No rage. They were empty. Colder than stone, colder than marble. His face looked gaunt and impossibly harsh beneath the shadows of the crooked tree.
"At that moment, in that house filled with blood and the echo of her screams, I thought I'd die too from the pain of losing her, of knowing how she'd fought, how she'd suffered. I howled like an animal. Then I buried her myself, with her wedding ring, behind the garden she'd loved. It wasn't until later that I remembered that Peabody was going to get the land." He sighed and closed his eyes. "You don't need all the details. I went to town, stole a gun and bullets from the general store. Went to the sheriff's office gunning for Peabody. And for my father. But the deputy tackled me first and they locked me in a cell next to my father's. They held us both for a week, then they let us go—on the condition that he leave town and take me with him."
Quinn suddenly turned and leaned against the tree, his shoulders hunched as if bearing some incredible weight. "That sniveling cowardly bastard crawled out of town with me and a bottle of red-eye in tow," he said slowly. "I never knew if he really believed Peabody's story that my mother went crazy and tried to kill him when he went to claim the land, and that her death was an accident that came about while he was defending himself. There was no one to question him or prove otherwise—except me, and no one listened to a kid—especially when the whole town was scared of Peabody, way too scared to question his version of things. My pa included. So we left. And I ran off the first chance I got—hid in the back of a wagon traveling west, rolled out at the next town, and from there, lived off my wits and whatever pennies I could earn from doing odd jobs." He pushed away from the tree then, and his eyes bored into hers.
"So now you know. You know why I'd sooner drink spit than wear a lawman's badge. And why I can't feel, can't care. I lost something that day, Maura. Something was ripped out of me and it can never be put back. So quit trying." He shook his head. "Quit trying to make something of our marriage that it isn't. Quit trying to creep into my soul—I don't have one anymore. We had a bargain when we agreed to marry and I'm keeping my end of it. You need to keep yours."
"No, Quinn, I still don't believe you!" she cried as he started to walk past her, toward the house. He spun back.
"Believe it, sweetheart."
"It's not that you can't care—or hope or dream. It's that you're afraid to."
"Maybe I am." His lip curled and he shrugged, a dismissive gesture that was like a blow straight to her heart. "Think what you want, Maura, I don't give a damn. I'm in this marriage to do my duty by you and the baby. We both made a mistake that night and we're both paying for it. I can't give you more than that."
Pain tore through her, blinding her for a moment. She blinked it away, tried not to let her knees tremble too much lest he hear them knocking together over the breeze. "What makes you...think I want more?"
"You're a woman. Women always want more."
Cool as his voice was, there was sympathy in it now. Sympathy! His eyes searched hers almost warily. Did he expect her to cry? To break down and beg him to love her right then and there with the moon and the clouds and the night to witness?
Her heart cracked. She wanted to throw her arms around him, heal his hurts, tell him that love was the answer, not distance, but she couldn't. She couldn't. He was too far away, too hard and disciplined and unreachable for her. He didn't love her. He never would.
And why should he? She was only a silly lonely girl from Knotsville, a girl who had made a terrible mistake and given not only her virginity but her heart, to a man who had none. A man who would never love her back.
She wanted to cry. But she held the tears back with fierce effort and summoned what little remained of her dignity.
"I'd have to be a fool to want more from a man like you, Quinn Lassiter. And I was never anybody's fool."
This time she was the one who walked away. Head up, she swept past him in a ghostly swirl of white lawn and lilac scent that drifted in the crystal air.
She was chilled to the bone. And her heart ached with a pain that surpassed anything she'd ever known.
She got into bed and wrapped herself in all the blankets she could find, but it was hours before she slept, and she never
knew if Quinn came inside or not. She tossed and turned and shivered and wept bitter silent tears, and told herself she should be grateful because she'd escaped Knotsville and Judd and Homer—if not for anything else.
But the cold despair blew through her and seeped deep inside her soul and drained her of everything except the heartache of a love she would never know.
Chapter 25
"You coming?"
Maura frowned into the old mirror, wondering if it was too late to climb out the bedroom window and hide on the far side of the creek.
"In a moment," she answered Quinn, raising her voice so he could hear her in the parlor. She wanted to rip off the gown and her rose-shaped cameo necklace and crawl into bed, to hide from the world. But Alice was expecting her and so were the other ladies of the Hope Sewing Circle. She couldn't back out now.
But she knew Quinn wasn't looking forward to the dance this evening, that he was only going for her sake, and she had now come to dread the evening herself. Since her brothers had shown up, everything had gone wrong between them, everything had gone wrong in her life.
Even the buttons on her gown were not what she had wanted.
Why in the world had Judd and Homer stolen the jewel box? she wondered for the dozenth time since she'd had to borrow buttons from Alice. The ones she'd sewn onto the gown were plain round blue buttons, perfectly serviceable, but not the delicate glistening white pearl ones that would have complemented the dress so perfectly.
Yet there was no help for it—the pearl buttons were gone—and so, apparently, were Judd and Homer. There'd been no sign of them since yesterday, neither in the valley, along Sage Creek, or in town.
"Good riddance," she whispered, then dragged her hairbrush through her curls one last time.
Maura Jane, I guess you're ready as you'll ever be, she told herself as she turned away from the mirror. She supposed her appearance was passable, but the excitement of the evening was gone.
She and Quinn had barely spoken three words to one another since last night. He said nothing as she walked through the bedroom door, only watched her from beneath those slashing black brows. He stood at the mantel, enjoying a glass of whiskey, but the moment she saw him her feet faltered to a halt and her heart did a crazy dance in her chest. Good heavens, it wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. The man looked devastatingly handsome in black pants, gray silk shirt, and a black string tie, his boots polished to a high gloss, his night-black hair gleaming in the lantern light. Never had he looked so sleekly, powerfully handsome, Maura thought, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn't tear her eyes from him, and searched his lean face in vain for some sign of approval or appreciation or even the faintest hint of pleasure at the sight of her.
She found none. But she thought she heard a choking sound, then heard him give a sputter, and he swallowed hard. The whiskey went down, and he turned suddenly and set his glass on the mantel with a thump.
"You look nice," he said curtly, then quickly took one more swallow of the liquor. "Let's go."
Any faint hopes Maura still cherished for the evening wilted at his cool tone.
What did you expect? she asked herself mockingly as they left the cabin in silence and walked together through the star-frosted night. You look beautiful, Maura Jane. You're the most fetching woman I've ever seen. I'm in danger of losing my heart to you.
The absurdity of it made her give a woeful chuckle, and Quinn glanced at her as he helped her into the wagon.
"Something funny?"
"Just the idea of me going to a party," she said quickly. She took a deep breath. "I never thought I would so this is a red-letter day for me. And now I only hope I remember how to do even one of the dances you taught me.
"All that work and sore feet better not have been for nothing." But a lighter note had entered his voice, and the furrow between his brows smoothed out when he vaulted into the seat beside her and took up the reins.
Encouraged, Maura tried a small smile. "Now you're making me even more nervous."
"What's there to be nervous about?"
"So many things," she exclaimed. "I'm likely to forget my own name, and what if I spill something on my dress? And how do I know if I look all right and—"
"You look fine."
"Fine." She folded her hands in her lap and considered. "I suppose that's good enough. Fine."
"You look beautiful," he said quickly. He threw her another glance, and this time Maura thought she saw hunger in his eyes. He quickly dragged his gaze forward again, back to the trail and the horses' bobbing heads. "But you know that."
"How should I know that?"
"You looked in the mirror, didn't you?"
Something lifted in her heart, but Maura kept her tone even. "I don't know what that has to do with anything."
"Because then you saw." His jaw jutted out. His voice grated even lower, rougher, sending intimate chills curling along her spine. "You damn near made me choke on my whiskey."
So it was true. Delight danced in her eyes, making them sparkle. "Really?"
"You don't have to sound so happy about it."
"I'm not happy. I'm sorry. I'd have hated for you to choke on your whiskey."
"Yeah, well, I could use about another pint of it right now," he muttered, and loosened his shirt collar with a finger.
She stared at the sky, aware suddenly that the stars above shone just like diamonds tossed upon a velvet sea. She'd never seen stars so brilliant, so fiery, and her heart swelled with the joy of it.
After a moment, she said softly, "Thank you."
"What for?"
"For the compliment. I've never had a real compliment before. From a man, I mean. Sometimes Ma Duncan would tell me that my hair looked nice when I pinned it up a certain way, or she'd tell me that I carried myself well, just like well-brought-up young ladies she'd known back east—which is what Ma Duncan was herself many years ago, before her father lost all his money and she married Pa Duncan and her life grew harder."
She cleared her throat. "But your compliment was much nicer. I feel much better now about going to the dance."
"Glad to hear it." His voice sounded amused.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, but Maura somehow felt it was a companionable silence. The tension inside her eased. The night beckoned her, and when they passed through the gate leading up to the Tyler ranch house and the sounds of gaiety and laughter and fiddle music echoed through the shadowy trees, she forgot about Judd and Homer and the Campbell gang, she forgot that she had blue buttons instead of pearl ones on her dress. Her heart leapt with excitement and her pulse began to race in time to the music.
Tonight she wasn't going to watch the dance with her face pressed against a windowpane. Tonight she would be a part of it, laughing, chatting—and dancing in her husband's arms.
Quinn helped her down from the wagon. His strong hands lingered at her waist after he set her down upon the grass.
For a moment, gazing up into his eyes, she thought he was going to kiss her. She held her breath. His lean, sun-bronzed face, illuminated by moon and stars, was as solid and forbidding as rock, but there was a warmth in his eyes that softened the effect, and made her want to stretch up on tiptoe and slant her mouth to his.
But she did no such thing. It must already be plain as pudding that she was crazy in love with him, and she wasn't about to make it any plainer.
Fortunately, he released her before she had time to do anything foolish. Disappointment twinged through her as his hands fell away, but then he took her arm and escorted her toward the lights and the laughter.
"Time to face the music."
As he led her through the front doors of the big split-log house, a thrill of pleasure shot through her. The large and spacious parlor was festooned with colored lanterns and so crowded that at first Maura couldn't make out a single person she knew. But then she spotted Carolyn Mason at the long linen-draped refreshment table against the wall, and Edna and Seth Weaver spun by doing a do-si-do
—Edna beaming and waving frantically to her—and before she and Quinn had worked their way around the edge of the throng more than ten steps, Alice Tyler was at her side, hugging her.
"Maura, you look gorgeous! The dress is perfect. Even the buttons," she added with a wide smile. She beamed up at Quinn. "Thank you for coming."
Jim Tyler clapped him on the shoulder. "Quite a gathering, eh, Lassiter? Wait till you taste Alice's apple pie. None better in the whole territory!"
Then another rancher sauntered up and the three men drifted off in a huddle, talking cattle and weather and stock prices, and suddenly Lucky Johnson loomed before her.
"Miz Lassiter, ma'am, before your husband notices and decides to plug me full of holes, may I have this dance?"
She laughed. With his slicked-back fair hair and stub- born cowlick, his red-and-blue-plaid shirt and red bandanna, Lucky was quite a dashing sight. His grin was infectious as he grabbed her hand without waiting for an answer and pulled her toward the center of the floor, which had been cleared of all furniture and was crowded with dancers.
Glancing back, she saw that Quinn's gaze followed her. His polite smile had turned into a frown.
"Lucky, are you sure you wouldn't rather wait for Orchid or ... or Miss Grace Ellis or Serena Walsh?" she teased, her stomach fluttering nervously at the prospect of dancing, even though she was eager to try. The music filled her ears and made her long to twirl and glide.
"They're right nice and even passable ladies, Miz Lassiter, ma'am, but you're the woman I want, need, and must have as my partner for this very dance!" he declared.
She laughed and swung willingly into his arms for a country dance. Lucky whisked her across the floor so easily that her feet flew. But when she caught sight of Nell in a pretty store-bought gown of pink and white gingham, trimmed in white ribbons and white satin sash, she suddenly tripped.