by Craig, Emma
Changed, had she? And she’d had a miserable mother, had she? Well, maybe he was right, but he had no right to say so. “You’re being ridiculous, Elijah Perry.”
“I am not!” Furious, Elijah turned away from Joy, cut sharply around the end of the counter, and stalked over the stove. There he picked up The Woman in White, scowled at it, slammed it back on the table, and jerked around.
Joy sniffed. “Don’t damage the book, if you please, Mr. Perry.”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Perry’ me, Joy. And I’ll damage the book if I damned well please. It’s my book!”
Joy shook her head, exasperated. “Very well. Ruin it if it suits you.”
“I don’t want to ruin it!”
Good heavens, he was in a vile mood. “This is a stupid conversation,” she muttered.
Striving to ignore him, she went back to sifting through the mail. She heard him coming back to the counter. Since she didn’t trust him not to do something she’d regret while he was in this mood, she spread her arms out over the already-sorted piles of correspondence. She wouldn’t have put it past him to sweep it all onto the floor, and then she’d have to pick it up and sort it all over again. She glared a warning at him.
He stopped short of the counter. His hands had bunched into fists again, but he held them rigidly at his sides this time. Joy felt anger radiating from him like waves of heat from a fire. She held her ground, staring back, daring him to do his worst.
He did.
“Dammit, you can’t go to South America with that idiot Thrash. You’re going to stay right here in Rio Hondo and help me run my hotel. You’re going to marry me, dammit!”
In the end, it was Joy who started so violently, she scattered mail all over the floor.
Chapter Fifteen
Joy stood stock still amid a flutter of falling paper and stared at Elijah, her mouth gaping open.
Elijah stared back, his gape matching hers and then some. Hell fire, had he really, honestly and truly, just asked the woman to marry him? From the expression on her face, Elijah feared he had. What in the name of mercy was he thinking of?
“What did you just say?”
Joy’s voice had gone so small and squeaky, Elijah barely heard her. Because his senses had obviously become deranged, and because he could scarcely comprehend the enormity of the blunder he’d just committed, and because his brains refused to unscramble, he remained silent. He did manage to close his mouth.
So did Joy. Then she opened it again. Her eyebrows began to lower into a frown. These were bad omens. Even in his present state of bewilderment, Elijah could tell that much.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Elijah, I don’t believe I heard you properly.”
An out! She’d just offered him an out. He could deny she’d heard him propose. Brilliant.
He couldn’t do it. Elijah Perry’s conscience, an untrustworthy item that had seldom before interfered in his life, today stared him straight in the face and refused to allow him to lie. Dammit! Why was he developing scruples now, of all inconvenient times?
Joy squinted at him. Her hands went to her hips. She was getting mad; he recognized all the symptoms. “I, ah, I . . .” Oh, hell.
He heard footsteps on the wooden boards of the porch. Could reprieve actually be at hand? Voices! He heard voices. Thank God, thank God! Joy heard them too. Elijah saw her stiffen, then huff with frustration. He turned around, wondering if he was wise to turn his back on her under the circumstances. On the other hand, how much damage could she do with a piece of paper?
He heard Joy mutter, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Elijah Perry. I plan to hear your excuse for this latest outrage before I’m very much older.”
Oh, yeah? Elijah might have something to say about that—or he might not, depending on how he deemed best to preserve his health and his single status. He faced the door, smiling for all he was worth, ready—nay, willing—to embrace his salvation, in whatever form it presented itself.
He had it backwards.
“Elijah!” the newcomer cried. “Elijah! Darling!”
It was Mary Ellen Loveless, and she embraced him. Ran right up to him and flung herself at him, in fact. Elijah, who had believed himself to be beyond shock after having proposed to Joy Hardesty, discovered he was wrong. He was so surprised by Mary Ellen’s sudden appearance that he almost fell over backwards. If he hadn’t stumbled into Joy, and if she hadn’t shoved him, hard, in the back, he’d have ended on the floor with Mary Ellen crawling all over him.
Instead, she crawled all over him while he remained standing, wild-eyed with shock. Over Mary Ellen’s died-blond hair, Elijah saw Joy stiffen to attention, and heard her gasp with indignation. He saw her eyes narrow as she witnessed the extremely painted Mary Ellen plant kisses all over his face. He’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he witnessed the fury rise within Joy, changing the color of her flesh by inches until the very part in her hair glowed red with rage.
He also saw Mac, behind Joy, chuckling with unfeigned humor, his pipe clamped between his pearly teeth, and his blue eyes twinkling up a storm. Mac winked at him. Hell of a lot of good that did him.
“Well! I never!”
“Joy! Wait!” Elijah wrested a hand free from Mary Ellen’s grip and waved it wildly in the air as Joy stalked past him, her back as straight as a lance, her lips pinched up so tightly, he could hardly see them.
Mac stepped aside to let Joy pass, a wise move on his part since she didn’t seem inclined to take note of any impediments in her way. Elijah watched her storm out through the door, and his heart, almost as unreliable a commodity as his conscience, sank down into his boots. In the split-second he had to think about anything at all before she disappeared with a whish of skirts, he realized he had meant it when he’d proposed.
“Elijah, honey, I’m so damned glad to see you again!” Mary Ellen gave him a fat, wet kiss on the lips.
Sweet God in heaven, what was he supposed to do now?
Mac burst out laughing, then turned and followed Joy out of the store, leaving Elijah to deal with his past by himself.
# # #
To the best of her recollection, Joy had never thrown a temper tantrum before. As she sent a glass jar hurtling across the room to smash against the wall, widening the splotch the jar of ink had made, she realized she’d denied herself a good deal of relief in her life. Of course, if she’d thrown an ink bottle at home in Auburn, her mother would have killed her.
“If she’d killed me, she’d have spared me this!” she cried, hurling a flatiron against the wet spot and gouging a hole in the wall. She’d fix it later. Mac would understand.
“Aye, child, I do understand.”
Joy whirled around, barely keeping her grip on the rock which she’d expected to hurl after the flatiron. She blinked at Mac, who stood in the door of her room, a halo of sparkles wreathing his head. He nodded at her.
“Go ahead, child. Fling it. It’ll make ye feel better.”
Perceiving the sense in Mac’s suggestion, Joy spun around and heaved the rock. Adobe plaster exploded from the wall, exposing the wooden framework underneath. Joy drew the back of her shaking hand across her forehead, wiping perspiration away. She did feel moderately better. Except for the huge, gaping, bleeding, throbbing hole in her heart.
Damn Elijah Perry to perdition for all eternity. She turned back to face Mac.
“He proposed to me not ten seconds before that . . . that . . . that . . . hussy showed up, Mac! He proposed to me! I know he did! I heard him! It wasn’t my imagination! It wasn’t!”
“Aye, child, I’m sure he did. He meant it, too. He loves ye, Joy.”
“Ha!” Feeling tears sting her eyes, Joy whirled around, mortified that she’d want to cry over such a pernicious, deceiving, foul, base, beastly, dishonest man as Elijah Perry—who’d proposed to her and then fallen into the arms of a . . . a . . . a . . . Joy wasn’t sure what one called women like that, but she knew whatever one called them, they weren’t good wo
men. Not like her. Not that she was good.
All at once the anger drained out of her. Deflated, she sank onto her bed and drooped there like a wilted lily. She peered at the mess she’d made of her bedroom wall.
“I’m sorry, Mac. I’ll clean it up.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, lass. You sustained a big shock, and you deserve to be upset.”
Upset? That was one word for it. Maniacal was another. Hurt. Sad. Angry. Offended. Outraged. All of those, and more. “I’ve . . . ah . . . never done anything like this before.” She waved a hand at the glass shards and plaster dust littering the floor.
“Then it’s about time ye started, child. There’re a lot of emotions piled up inside o’ ye. Ye’ve got to let ‘em out, or they’ll eat at your liver.”
She looked up at him. He truly was a kind man. How strange that it should have taken her so long to recognize the genuine goodness in him. She shook her head, feeling bitter and beaten. Thank you so much, Mother, for making me as blind as you were. “Thank you, Mac. I appreciate your understanding.”
“Oh, aye, lass. You and Elijah both have a lot of ground to make up, y’know.”
Joy snorted before she could stop herself. “Elijah!” Ooooh, she’d like to have a minute alone with him. With another flatiron in her hand. She’d throw this one at his fat head.
Laughing, Mac sat next to her on the bed and put an arm around her shoulder. Unused to people touching her, Joy was surprised she didn’t flinch away from the contact. Instead, she felt a tingling warmth invade her body, making her relax and easing the turmoil raging in her heart and brain.
“It’ll all be fine, child. Soon. Ye’ll see. Give the lad a chance, Joy. He’s no more acquainted with deep human emotions than ye are, child. Your mother tried to ruin you, and his mother tried to ruin him, and they both almost succeeded. He had help from the war, and from the freedom the world grants to men to run away from their problems. You weren’t so lucky, lass, but ye’ll be better soon. And so will he. Ye’ll see.”
“Will I?” Joy didn’t believe a word of it, even if she did appreciate his saying so. Her heart sat in her chest like a lump of cold, lifeless dough. Dough whose yeast had died. Dough that would never rise again.
Mac’s soft chuckle seemed to penetrate her barren dull places, and Joy couldn’t stand another minute of this terrible anguish. With a choking sob, she turned and wept onto Mac’s shoulder. He patted her back and mouthed soothing words into her ear, and Joy, whose eyes were squeezed shut against the ache in her heart, didn’t see the showers and showers of healing sparkles rising from his hands every time he touched her.
# # #
“Mary Ellen?”
Elijah knew it was Mary Ellen, of course, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Leave go of me, occurred to him, but not even he was mean enough to say that out loud. Mary Ellen cared for him. Hell, he even cared for Mary Ellen, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Not like he’d just hurt Joy’s.
His blasted heart reminded him of its presence again when it gave a hard spasm. Damn it, he had to go after Joy and explain everything to her.
How could he explain this?
Elijah heard a crash that sounded as if it came from the back room. What the hell was that?
There was another crash, louder this time. It sounded like someone was heaving heavy objects against the wall. Oh, shit, he hoped that wasn’t Joy cutting loose in there. Dammit, if Mary Ellen would just let go of him for a second, he could go back there and check up on Joy. Of course, if he did she’d probably start heaving heavy objects at him. And he wouldn’t blame her.
Aw, hell.
Elijah couldn’t for the life of him perceive an easy way out of this one.
“Oh, Elijah, honey, I’m so glad to see you!”
Damnation, now Mary Ellen was crying. Elijah wasn’t sure he could stand dealing with two hysterical women. Hell, he’d managed to avoid hysteria all his life; why had it chosen to besiege him now, when he wasn’t in full health?
The term poetic justice occurred to him, and he resented it.
Mary Ellen pushed herself away from him, nearly sending him reeling backwards. She caught him by the shoulders and, sniffling, stared at him, her makeup streaming down her cheeks, her blue eyes reminding Elijah of marbles in a river.
“Oh, Elijah, I got so scared when they told me you’d been shot.”
“You heard about that?” How the hell had she heard about that? If he weren’t so confused, he’d have asked. Mary Ellen spared him the necessity.
“I was in Albuquerque, you know, because I knew you were headin’ west, when this cowboy came into the saloon where I was workin’ and told us you’d been shot all to hell. Oh, honey!”
Before Elijah could brace himself, Mary Ellen had pulled him to her bosom again. She had a substantial bosom. He very nearly bounced off of it, but she also had a grip on her so he didn’t. She was squeezing the hell out of his scarcely healed wounds, however, and he murmured a tentative, “Ow.”
She let him go immediately and slapped a hand to her painted lips. “Oh, Elijah, darlin’, did I hurt you?”
He cleared his throat, thanking God—if there was such an entity—she’d released him. “A little.” Shoot, Mary Ellen was a mess with that paint running all over her face. He groped for his handkerchief and dangled it out to her. She grabbed it, offering him a shaky smile.
“Thanks, honey. I was so worried about you.”
“Er, yeah, I can see that. Um, why did you decide to come here, Mary Ellen?” Had that been untactful? Well, Elijah was too rattled to worry about it now.
Her laugh wobbled. “Why did I come here? God Almighty, Elijah, I thought you were dead!”
“Oh. Well, um, I’m not.”
She smiled and sniffled. “I can see that. I’m so glad.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“I come down here to see for myself, because I didn’t trust nobody else to do it for me. Rio Hondo ain’t exactly an easy place to get to.”
“You’re right about that.”
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes again. “I decided if you were still alive, maybe I could take care of you if you wanted me to.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. Elijah sighed and wished he could see his way out of this. But with Joy smashing things in the back room and Mary Ellen fluttering her eyelashes at him in this one, damned if he didn’t feel like a bear in a trap. He hated feeling trapped.
Damn, what did men do in situations like this? Something startling occurred to him: Perhaps he should tell Mary Ellen the truth.
What a novel idea. Honest in all other aspects of his life, Elijah had discovered that, when it came to women, honesty seldom served. However, in the few brief seconds of silence that followed Mary Ellen’s offer to tend his wounds, Elijah mulled over the notion of truth-telling and decided a dollop of truth in this instance, while guaranteed to be painful, might make things easier in the long run. He took a deep breath.
Mary Ellen laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. Until today, he’d not been sure he possessed one. At the moment it was battering against his ribs like a herd of wild buffaloes, and he couldn’t have ignored it if he’d tried.
“What is it, honey? I figured I could check this place out. Maybe open a saloon here. Rio Hondo’s gonna grow, according to all the men in Albuquerque. Even though there’s hardly anything to it, they say the ranchers need the place.”
“Yeah. I reckon they do.”
“Even if it is ugly as a mangy dog and a hellhole.”
Stung, Elijah muttered, “It’s not so bad.”
Mary Ellen shrugged, obviously unconvinced.
Elijah braced himself. “Mary Ellen. . .”
“Yes, sweetie-pie?”
“I, ah . . . I aim to settle here. In Rio Hondo.”
Her eyes went wide. “You? You’re aimin’ to settle down? Here?”
She smiled hugely. Elijah realized his mistake. He should have opened his truth-
telling session another way. Damn it. Feeling like a fly struggling in a sticky web, he tried again. “That is, I aim to open a hotel here. Build one.”
“A hotel? You?”
“I used to work in my uncle’s hotel in Baltimore. I liked it.” He wished he didn’t feel so defensive about his proposed enterprise. It should be nobody’s business if he wanted to give up the chancy life of a professional gambler and take up hotel-keeping. Why did he expect her to laugh at him?
She cocked her head, interested. Elijah was relieved when she didn’t so much as crack a smirk.
“Sounds like a fine idea to me, Elijah honey. Sounds right up my alley.” Her smile this time was conspiratorial, as if she expected him to let her set up a brothel in his hotel.
Aw, hell. “Mary Ellen, you see, it’s like this . . .”
“Yes?”
It’s like what? Elijah let his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling and prayed for inspiration. It didn’t strike. No surprise there. God was probably laughing his head off at him. Fancy Elijah Perry, of all people, praying for something. “You see, I’ve met someone.”
She drew back an inch or so. “I beg your pardon?”
Damn, this was awful. “Well, I didn’t intent to. I mean, I didn’t mean for anything to happen.”
Christ, now he was whining. Elijah told himself to get a grip. “That is, Miss Hardesty nursed me when I was laid up, you see, and, ah, we’ve become, ah, sort of fond of each other.”
Fond of each other? Elijah cursed himself as seven kinds of a fool. He was fond of Joy Hardesty. He had no idea what Joy thought of him, although he had a feeling “fond” didn’t describe it. Not at the moment, anyway. He heard another crash from the back room.
“I see.” Mary Ellen took a second step away from him, her eyes thinning ominously. She didn’t look like she was going to cry again anytime soon. Beat the crap out of him, maybe.
Elijah shot a hand out to grab her wrist. “Listen, Mary Ellen, I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I mean, I was wounded. I’d just taken three bullets—or was it four? I forget—anyway, it was real bad there for a while. Joy and I were, ah, sort of left alone together for a long time. I . . . we . . . it just . . . well, sort of happened.”