by Jill Gregory
"Much obliged for the pleasure, Miz Lassiter, ma'am," he gulped, and loped off to find the nearest bottle of whiskey.
"May I?" Quinn didn't wait for an answer, but stepped closer, his face purposeful in the bright glow of lamplight. Suddenly, as he grasped her hand, Maura couldn't breathe.
A short time ago she would have been overjoyed to see him gazing at her this way, with that intense light in his eyes. She'd have flown into his arms with her heart soaring, but now all the magic had drained out of the night and out of her heart.
"If you wish," she murmured coolly, and saw his eyes darken.
"You've danced with half the men here." He swept her abruptly into his arms and drew her close and tight as the music wove around them. "Like it or not, angel, now it's my turn."
Chapter 27
It was a waltz.
The musicians were slightly off-key, but they straightened themselves out as the dance progressed. At any other time, merely the pressure of Quinn's strong hand at her waist, her own fingers clasped within his, their bodies so close, she could feel the heat of him and the beat of his heart, would have filled her with a pure dazzling pleasure. But tonight it filled her with an almost unbearable ache. She ached for the one thing she could not have. His love.
She was a fool. She never should have allowed herself to fall in love with him. Allowed? She hadn't been able to help it. It had been as natural and inevitable as water spilling over the lip of a mountain in a gushing, unstoppable rush. Head over heels, she had tumbled, and there was no stopping it now.
"Care to explain?" His deep voice cut through the despair swirling through her. To her amazement, his face was a taut, angry mask. What did he have to be angry about? Maura wondered, choking back the urge to hysterical laughter.
"Explain what, Quinn? I have no idea what you mean."
His grip on her hand tightened, yet he took care not to crush her fingers. "Why you've danced with damn near every man here and not once with me."
"They all asked me. You didn't."
"That's not the point." He scowled down at her as they swept together across the floor. "You're my wife. How do you think it looks—"
"Since when do you care about how things look?" she countered, her eyes flashing. "And how do you think it will look when you leave me to go gallivanting around, hiring out your gun, disappearing for months."
"That's different."
She gave a high, tight laugh. "I don't see how. You can do what you please, but I cannot? You didn't ask me to dance, but I should be expected to sit around and wait while you sneak into the bushes with Serena Walsh..."
"Sneak?" His eyes narrowed and a dangerous gleam entered them. "Into the bushes? Like hell. We didn't sneak anywhere. We just—"
"No, don't tell me. I'm sure I don't care."
"We straightened a few things out. That's all."
She was gazing across the dance floor, her gaze fixed resolutely on the musicians. "You needn't explain anything to me, Quinn."
"I only want you to know—"
"Don't trouble yourself." She struggled to keep her tone cool. Distant. "I understand—perfectly."
"Oh, yeah? Exactly what is it that you understand?" He glowered down at her, wishing he could see more of her than the top of her head, the tilt of that stubborn little chin.
"Everything."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Maura felt her composure falling apart. The ache in her heart threatened to explode right through her chest, and she took a deep, steadying breath before lifting her gaze to meet his eyes again.
"You and Serena are old friends. Old friends like to spend time together. You hardly owe me any explanations—especially considering the way things are between us—"
"And just how are things between us, Maura?" he interrupted sharply.
"Just as we both want them to be." Somehow she managed to hide her misery beneath an indifferent facade. Yet it cost her dearly. "Friendly, agreeable. That's all. For the sake of the baby."
"Right, but ... I reckon I thought..." Unwittingly, he tightened his grip on her hand and didn't realize it until he felt her wince. Then he loosened his grasp, gritted his teeth, and damn near stepped on her foot.
"Sorry."
"You missed me. But I guess you would have owed me that one," she said tightly. She angled her head up at him, trying to muster a normal, natural smile even though her face felt as if it were about to crack. "I hope you've noticed that I haven't stepped on your feet once so far. Are you suitably impressed?"
"Maura, everything about you impresses me. But you're changing the subject."
Swiftly, she searched those enigmatic silver eyes. "Go on," she said quietly.
"You know what you said about the way things are between us?" Quinn plunged ahead. "It seems to me that things aren't always as simple as they appear. Or as we want them to be."
Now what did that mean? But before she could ask him, the music ground to a halt and Quinn slowly ended the dance. Yet their bodies remained close together, their hands stayed clasped in the pose of the waltz.
Watching them, a glass of brandy clutched in her fingers, Serena Walsh frowned. Even from this distance she could see what perhaps the two of them could not.
Maura saw only the dark intensity of Quinn's face. Their eyes were locked upon one another, their hearts beat together, and in her mind his last words repeated themselves.
Things aren't always as simple as they appear.
"What... do you mean, Quinn?" she whispered, her heart in her throat, but before he could answer, Edna Weaver's voice crackled in her ear.
"Maura, honey, supper will be served directly, but Alice needs a hand setting out the pies. Want to pitch in?"
"Yes, I'd love to, Edna, but... in a moment..."
Edna chuckled and tucked her arm through the younger woman's as if she hadn't heard. "I'll just borrow her for a short spell," she promised Quinn as she drew Maura away.
Maura glanced back, studying Quinn wordlessly as Edna led her across the floor.
He stood in the middle of the dance floor, amidst the throng of men and women, his gray gaze nailed upon her.
A feast had been arrayed for the guests on creamy linen draped over long tables set outdoors. More colored lanterns festooned the surrounding trees and the back porch, and numerous chairs and smaller tables had been moved from inside to out and the latter adorned with bright red cloths and vases of flowers. The night smelled of wildflowers and perfume and damp earth, mingling with the even more pungent and delicious aromas of cooked venison and barbecued steak, fried chicken, platters of mashed potatoes and brown gravy, fresh-baked rolls, corn bread, and assorted cookies, pies, and cakes.
Maura scarcely noticed any of the tantalizing scents, or the charm of the setting. As she set a platter of lemon cookies beside a rhubarb pie, she couldn't stop thinking of Quinn, wondering what he'd been about to say. Yet to her frustration, her thoughts were interrupted by Grace and Carolyn speaking to each other as they carried pitchers of lemonade to several small round tables near the garden.
"I say we take a vote never to admit Serena Walsh!" Carolyn exclaimed. "That woman thinks she can run around bold as brass and behave like some kind of saloon lightskirt and we'll accept her into Hope society because she owns a dozen books!"
"She told me she'd be happy to show us her library if we cared to hold our next meeting of the Hope Sewing Circle at her boardinghouse." Grace sighed. "It's clear she's angling to be on the library committee."
"Well, I wouldn't blame Maura Lassiter one bit if she dropped out were we even to consider stepping foot inside the Walsh boardinghouse, much less admitting that woman to our circle—"
"Pardon me, but I couldn't help overhearing." Maura had approached them soundlessly and neither woman had noticed her presence until she spoke. They both whirled around to stare at her, their gowns rustling. Both Grace and Carolyn turned the same shade of red as the tablecloths.
From the corner of the fron
t porch, where she'd been standing unseen, smoking one of the little cigarillos her newest boarder had given her, Serena Walsh went very still.
"It seems there is some misunderstanding," Maura said quietly. "I have nothing against Serena Walsh. If we wish to hold a meeting at her boardinghouse, I'd be perfectly willing to attend."
"You would?" Carolyn gaped at her, and plucked nervously at her russet gown. "But... my dear Maura...."
"Why not?" Maura glanced from one woman to the other. She might not care for Serena Walsh, she might wish Quinn didn't have this connection with her, but she knew too well what it felt like to be on the outside looking in to want the woman shunned on her account.
"The dress she's wearing tonight is stunning. Does anyone know if it was store-bought or if she made it herself?"
"She made it herself." Grace smoothed the skirt of her own dark navy gown. "She makes nearly all of her clothes herself. I do believe she's trying to prove to us that she's worthy to join our circle."
"As if skill alone is enough!" Carolyn broke in waspishly.
"Why is it, exactly, that you feel she's unsuitable?" Maura asked.
"Well, she... she smokes cigars. She socializes with the men who stay at her establishment, and... she conducts herself in a questionable manner and appears by all accounts to be a loose woman! Only look at the way she traipsed around in the darkness tonight with your husband—" Carolyn gasped and clasped a hand to her throat, encased in russet lace. "Oh, dear..."
"Carolyn!" Grace moaned, and turned distressed eyes to Maura.
Somehow Maura managed a careless shrug. "If you mean that private little talk they had, please don't think badly of her for that." She forced herself to speak with offhand calm. "Quinn and Serena are old friends, and Serena... needed his advice about a problem. I certainly didn't mind their going off together to discuss it. He's scarcely seen her since we moved to Hope, what with getting Sage Creek Ranch up and running and chasing after the Campbells and trying to build another room onto the cabin."
"So you...you like Serena Walsh?" Grace asked.
Maura turned and began casually surveying the tables. "I wouldn't want her—or anyone—shut out from the sewing circle on my account. That's all I'm..."
Before she could finish the sentence a piercing scream shattered the night.
For one awful moment all three women froze, and then another scream came—a shriek of terror echoing from deep within the knot of willows to the left of the porch, a shriek so earsplitting that shivers pricked like needles across the back of Maura's neck. "My Lord!" Grace gasped.
Maura started to run, past the vegetable garden, toward the trees.
"Wait!" Carolyn screeched after her. "Maura, good gracious, don't go out there, it could be—"
But she was already racing into the deeper dimness of the willows, along the same path that Nell and Tex had taken.
That scream had sounded like it belonged to Nell Hicks.
She wasn't thinking of anything except that Nell must need help. If it was the Campbells again—she couldn't bear the thought of them dragging that girl off, of her fear and panic. Others must have had the same idea, for she heard the sounds of people running behind her, but Maura never slowed, darting through the darkness, stumbling over rocks and tree roots, straining to see ahead of her through the leaf-shrouded dimness even as more screams rang out, echoing through the night.
Her breath lodged in her throat as she at last glimpsed two figures standing close together, still as stone, ahead of her.
Her footsteps slowed. Nell and Tex were staring up, up, up at the overhanging limb of a pine tree. As Maura watched, Tex began trying to tug Nell away, but the girl was planted there in shock, screaming, unable to stop.
Maura peered up—and the world dimmed to a misty gray. Her hands flew to her throat and she closed her eyes, willing the grisly sight away.
"Oh...my...God."
Two men hung upside down from the tree limb, bound by their ankles, their arms roped at their sides. Beneath them, puddles of blood flowed through the dark grass, shining black in the moonlight. Their faces...
She closed her eyes again, swaying as Nell's continued screams rang in her ears. She'd never forget their faces. Their throats had been slit. They were dead... dead...dead...
"Maura!"
Quinn's arms wrapped around her, yanking her away as her own legs gave out beneath her.
She leaned into him, closing her eyes, fighting the nausea, trying to block the horrible images from her mind.
Judd and Homer would never bully anyone again.
Chapter 28
Maura didn't speak a word during the entire drive home. Nor did she so much as murmur when Quinn carried her into the bedroom, helped her out of her clothes, and eased her down upon the mattress.
"Try not to think about it, any of it. You hear me, sweetheart?" He knelt down beside the bed and carefully removed the few remaining pins from her hair, letting the bright curls spill freely around her pale cheeks. Her skin was almost as white as her nightgown, and when he stroked her cheek with his fingers, it felt ice-cold to the touch.
Pain tore at him as he studied her stunned face. He hated seeing her like this, silent, agonized, paralyzed with shock and horror. But it was too soon, he knew, for her to do more than absorb what she'd seen. The best thing would be for her to rest, stay quiet, and let the blow sink in.
"Get some sleep, Maura. That's all you need to do now. Sleep. There's plenty of time to think about it tomorrow."
She nodded, clutched his hand, and stared at him with those wide, frightened eyes. That's when he climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her close, just holding her until her tense body grew slack alongside his and he felt her drifting at last into the blessed escape of sleep.
Hours later, Quinn bolted up in the bed. He knew he was alone even before he glanced around the bedroom and saw that Maura was nowhere to be found.
"Maura!"
Panic tightened his chest, but he kept it at bay. The Campbells could hardly have invaded the cabin and dragged her off without a sound. He was amazed that she'd even been able to slip away without his noticing— light sleeping was one of the things that had kept him alive all these years.
And why had she slipped away? That was the question. The night might be warm and fragrant with spring grass and flowers, but it held danger as surely as a grizzly's jaws.
Judd and Homer Duncan could attest to that.
His footsteps made no sound in the darkness as he left the empty cabin, circled the bunkhouse and barn, checked the shed, the corrals, and then on a hunch doubled back through the trees toward the creek.
He stopped, sucking in his breath as he saw her on the bank, near the exact spot where they'd first met Lucky Johnson the day they'd arrived at the cabin.
She was sitting with her back against a tree, staring out at the softly gurgling water.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Fear for her thickened his voice with anger.
The startled half gasp, half scream she gave did nothing to dissipate it. What if it had been the Campbells who'd happened on her there? Or whoever had butchered her brothers?
"You should... never... sneak up on a woman who's expecting a child!" she gasped, her eyes glassy in the night.
She wore only her nightgown and her ragged old shawl. Despite the odd combination, he thought she'd never looked more alluring. He wanted to pull the shawl slowly away from her shoulders, slip the nightgown off, and make love to her on the sweet-scented grass, but instead he hunkered down beside her and spoke with curt command.
"Come on. I'm taking you back to the cabin."
"I can't go back there."
"Want to bet?"
Misery shimmered from the depths of her eyes. "I can't breathe in there, Quinn, much less sleep. I keep thinking about it... about them...."
"Then don't. Leave it till morning."
She shook her head. "Perhaps you can turn off your thoughts the way one extinguishes
a lamp, but I can't. I see it all every time I close my eyes. I see their faces, the tree, the blood—"
He sat alongside her and drew her into his arms. There was no way of knowing if her shivering was caused by the nip in the night air or by the horrors racing through her mind, but he knew it felt good to hold her, and that he wanted to soothe her hurts, ease her fears, banish the cloud of desolation that filmed those hauntingly lovely eyes.
"Who would have done this, Quinn?" she whispered desperately against his shoulder. "Not the Campbells. They had nothing against Judd and Homer—and besides, they'd have simply shot them, wouldn't they?"
"Seems likely. Did the Duncan boys have any enemies?"
"Many, I'm sure." She drew in a shaky breath. "But they were feared by everyone they terrorized—I don't know who would have had the courage to go up against both of them. And here—in Wyoming? Their enemies would have been much closer to home."
A shudder ran through her.
"You're cold," Quinn said sharply. "We've got to go back—"
"No!" She lifted pain-filled eyes to his. "I need the open sky, the stars. Air. Don't you know what I mean?"
He nodded. The wildness and beauty of the open night soothed. Better than whiskey, better than fighting with gun or fists, better even than a long, punishing ride—or a heady tumble with a woman. The night cleared the brain and eased the soul.
But a woman in the night, Quinn thought, stroking Maura's soft, fragrant curls, a woman in the wild night could cure a man of anything that ailed him.
As if reading his mind, Maura inched closer. Her hands lifted to rest softly upon his chest. The warmth of her fingers sent a shock roiling through him.
"Make love to me, Quinn," she breathed. "Make me forget everything."
He knew he should take her back to the cabin. He knew he should set her down before a log fire and make her drink some tea. Wrap a blanket around her shoulders and let her settle in her own good time.
"Please." The word slid through him like a knife thrust. "I need to forget. And," she said softly, desperately, "to remember."