by Yvonne Jocks
"He had business to conduct," explained Laurel. But he'd also said he wouldn't be but an hour or so—and that was two hours ago! He'd also called her dearest. Had that been as false as his schedule?
Thaddeas strode in, solemn and welcoming, and Laurel gladly accepted her hug from him, too. She assured him that she was fine, the claim was fine, Collier was fine.
"Where is this newest brother of mine?" he asked, and she had to confess that she wasn't sure.
"But he should be back any minute."
"I'm sure he will be." Thad gave her another hug. But he looked slightly dangerous as he said it. Had Collier been courting her, he would have just lost his visiting privileges.
But Collier wasn't courting her. He'd already married her. He'd already... well... quite thoroughly! Things one oughtn't think of around one's older brother, any more than around one's father!
Uncle Benj arrived with as much noise as usual, sweeping Laurel into the kind of hug she'd given Kitty, dismissing her thanks for the sleigh with his usual bluster. Little Alec shook her hand solemnly to welcome her back. And Lady Cooper looked expectantly about her. "I trust Collier is about here somewhere."
Every time someone commented on him, Laurel felt more fearful. What if he had gone by the Sheridan Inn and was even now getting drunk with the remittance men? What if, tired of chores and of her, he'd boarded a train and left town?
Then Elise called, "Here he is!" and ran for the front door. Laurel sank into the seat nearest her, weak with relief.
Collier had never looked so beautiful as when he strode into the foyer of her family's in-town house. He answered each greeting with that easy charm, shook Thad's and Benj's hands, kissed Alexandra's, and scooped the persistent Elise up into his arms.
But his bright gaze seemed to be searching. He smiled when it reached her.
Oh, heavens. She'd grown accustomed to the scruffy Collier, the man with whom she'd been sharing her bed, her dreams, her body. This was Lord Collier again, clean-shaven and neatly pressed. For a moment she thought he'd cut his hair anyway—and somehow that scared her. His being Lord Collier again scared her.
Then she realized he'd merely pulled it back into a little golden tail.
"Forgive me, dearest," he said, sinking to his knee beside her chair, putting Elise down to take Laurel's hand in his. And though he looked and smelled like aristocracy—except for the tail—he sounded like the Collier she lived with, loved.
Only now that she recognized her fears of desertion—just like when she woke alone in the cabin—did she realize just how desperately she'd been loving him.
"You said an hour," she accused softly, and his bright eyes widened. Had he not expected her to care?
"I know," he assured her, kissing her hand as he had his cousin's. She wanted a different kind of kiss, but with her family milling about, she couldn't have it. "It was beastly of me not to at least telephone when I realized I would be late. I received some news from home—nothing grievous," he assured her quickly. "Nothing we cannot discuss later. But I fear I let it distract me far more than I should."
Nothing grievous. That was good. But now that she was relaxing into the surety that he'd returned to her, Laurel noticed a nervous edge about her husband. Maybe the news wasn't grievous. But it surely was eating at him all the same.
Mama appeared in the archway to the formal dining room. "Collier!" she greeted, coming to his side to kiss his cheek as he stood. "What perfect timing. Dinner is just now ready."
"I hope I did not delay—" he began, but stopped when she pointed a commanding finger at him.
For a small woman, Mama could put a great deal of command into a single pointed finger. "That would be less than perfect timing. I believe I said your timing was perfect."
"Ah, darlin' Lillabit," teased Uncle Benj, coming up behind her. "Is this here scamp impugning your veracity?"
"I should not dream of it," insisted Collier, slanting his amused gaze down to Laurel. He still held her hand. When she squeezed it, he squeezed it back. Everything would be all right, grievous news or not.
And yet she held him back just a moment, as the others started into the dining room and he helped her to her feet.
As if she couldn't even stand up on her own!
"What kind of news?" she asked. "What's there to discuss?"
"Really, we needn't—" But he must have understood how she was glaring up at him, because he mouthed the word Ah. "My father and brother wish to see us in Denver next month. I would like to make that our wedding trip. Dinner smells delicious."
She felt as she had when she'd fallen in the creek. His father and ... what?
"Laurel!" called Elise impatiently, and Laurel heard their father chide her poor table manners.
"Shall we?" pleaded Collier, more tugging than escorting her toward the dining room.
Stunned, she followed. "Your father and brother?" she hissed as he bent to help her into her chair.
Pushing it in for her, he murmured into her ear, "And Lady Vivian."
His Lady Vivian?
Then he sat beside her, and Papa bowed his head to say the blessing, and Laurel couldn't say a darned thing.
But as soon as they got to the Amen, she kicked him.
Chapter Twenty-two
Laurel took the news no better than Collier had expected— even discounting the kick. As soon as her younger sisters left for school, she drew him aside into the marginal privacy of the front foyer.
"Easter's too soon," she protested. "We'll likely have snow through May! Even if we make it to the station, the trains might not be getting through!"
He tried to remember how amusing he sometimes found that stubborn streak of hers. "I would prefer we plan on going and have the weather detain us, than plan on poor weather and find ourselves unprepared in fair."
She sighed. "What sort of preparations?"
That seemed a good sign. "I should like to order a week's worth of proper dresses for you before we leave town today."
"As in... seven?"
"Unless weeks have changed since last I counted." But she had that mud-throwing look about her again. He'd best not push his luck, so he leaned nearer to murmur, "Please, Lorelei. We've maintained appearances for your family."
He did not understand the way she searched his face then, but at least she grudgingly conceded. "Seven new dresses, for mercy's sake. And what else?"
He did adore her, barbarian or not—so much so that he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until she relaxed that clench of her jaw. It had been entire hours since they'd done this, and he'd missed it. She tasted so sweet, and felt so soft against him, that he almost forgot where they were—
Until her brother cleared his throat. "Time and a place, Pembroke," scolded Thaddeas Garrison darkly from the doorway, his arms folded as if to bar any possible protest.
"Quite," said Collier, less embarrassed than he perhaps ought to be. "My apologies."
"Mmm-hm."
"Really, Laurel," admonished the rather round Mrs. MacCallum, passing through from the kitchen. He supposed Mr. MacCallum was to be congratulated, for Marian was clearly in the pudding club. "Whatever could you have been thinking?"
Collier had no idea why his wife then advanced on her older sister—though why ever it was, he quite understood the older sister retreating to the safety of her parents, in the parlor.
Just in case everything fell to bits, though, he penned his reply to England, to post before they left that afternoon.
Father. Thank you for your gracious invitation. Mrs. Pembroke and I cannot commit to a date, due to the capricious nature of Wyoming's winters. However, we shall make every effort to be there before Easter.
His father would dislike such guarded promises, but it was the truth. After consideration, Collier added, It all depends on the Chinooks and the Alberta clippers.
Resp. your son, Collier.
Laurel didn't want to go to Denver. She didn't want to meet the viscount, and Edgar, and
certainly not Lady Vivian. And she sure didn't want Collier meeting up with Lady Vivian!
But it was important to him. And, as he had pointed out, they'd maintained appearances for her family, hadn't they? She didn't like wondering where the pretense ended and the reality of his affection began—which "dearests" he'd really meant, or even whether he'd answered the door wearing only a quilt specifically for show. But her family believed her happily married.
The least she owed him was to do the same for his.
"A viscount is more important than a baron," she repeated determinedly as they rode out to the ridge together. She'd been forcing herself out into the cold during the week following their trip to town. "So I always address your father before Mr. Tentrees."
"Yes," agreed Collier slowly. "Except that he is Baron Ten-trees. You'll have little call to speak to either first, in any case. They will address you."
"Don't speak until I'm spoken to?" she challenged, aware of the dare in her voice. Well, it was a foolish notion, no matter whom she'd married.
"Only for a week," he pleaded. "And when you are alone with the Baroness Tentrees and her daughter—"
"Vivian," clarified Laurel darkly.
"Lady Vivian," he corrected, "speak to the mother first."
" 'What a lovely day, Baroness,'" she said, to practice.
"Your ladyship," he corrected.
"You're joshing me." And it wasn't particularly funny.
"Here." Collier reined in his dapple gray, so Laurel did the same with Snapper, and they both dismounted, hitching their horses to a tree branch, just in case. "Best that we continue on foot. You have the coffee?"
She patted the canteen under her coat, where it was warming her nicely. "You have the binoculars?"
He lifted the case by its leather strap, and they proceeded from there toward where the trees began to clear out, proof of how rocky this particular ridge was.
Laurel didn't have to ask about the tarpaulin and blankets, since Collier wore them rolled and tied to his back. They'd
decided against the bearskin, even if they were downwind from where they hoped to see horses. The wind could change, after all.
Collier leaned closer to her, pressing his muffler-wrapped mouth to her scarf-covered ear so that he could quietly ask, "Are you certain you're all right?"
She nodded, torn. On the one hand, she loved his concern for her health: it still made her feel safe, cared for. But she was a rancher herself now. Even if she hadn't seen any of her earmarked cattle since winter descended on them. A bit of achiness in her bones shouldn't slow her down.
"Then I'll go ahead." At the edge of the treeline he sank to a crouch, then crawled through the snow to where the ledge dropped off into a high valley.
Laurel watched, holding her breath. She did want to see the horses he'd been watching. And this hard crust, which allowed them to wander more easily, wouldn't last much longer. To her relief, Collier stopped before reaching the very edge. He shrugged the blanketing from his back and spread it out—tarp first, to keep them dry, and then the blanket. He rolled onto his back long enough to dust the snow off his front, then rolled back onto the blankets to lie with a view of what she assumed were wild horses. Then he beckoned to her.
Laurel hunkered down and scuttled through the snow to her husband's side. Immediately he drew the edge of the blanket over them both and held her close. "Still all right, then?"
Her hands throbbed. But as Papa had said, that would last for a while. And lying here with him was more than all right. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Where are they?"
He pointed. She squinted and, yes, there they were, partially hidden in the pine timber, pawing through the snow to graze. There had to be at least twenty horses in this particular band ... and one looked to be taller than the rest, and snow white. It was Foolish Pride. Thoroughbred or not, she was surviving the winter!
"Here," Cole said, handing her the binoculars.
As she drew them to her eyes, the view seemed to lurch, and then, suddenly, the horses appeared much closer. Shaggy, snowy, wild mustangs of all different colors and ages, bays and roans and sorrels, paints and blacks, long forelocks and manes, tails held close against the cold. All the pretty little ponies.
"They're beautiful!" she exclaimed quietly, delighted. "Oh!"
"Aren't they?" he agreed. "Look farther north, and up."
She did, and after a few tries she brought the paint stallion into focus. He stood on a higher rise than his harem, keeping an eye over them all. He had an intelligent face, a bit of Arabian slope to his nose. His particolored mane was quite handsome.
"He guards them," Collier explained. "But there's a mare who seems to be in charge otherwise. Brown, with a bald face."
Laurel spent a few more minutes admiring the stallion, then returned her magnified attention to the rest of the band.
"Oh! There she is. One white sock."
"That's the one. Everyone's behaving themselves today; I imagine because it's so cold. When she's displeased with another horse, she chases it out and it must wait for her permission to return and join the others. It seems quite distressing."
"Really? I'd think it would depend on why she chased them off in the first place. Maybe they'd rather be on their own, without all the rules."
'You would think that," teased Collier, and she snuggled closer against his warmth, then handed the binoculars back. She liked the way his bright eyes caressed her face—well, what he could see of it—before he accepted the glasses. What she could see of his high cheeks, over his muffler, were still clean-shaven. He hadn't gone back to being scruffy. But bits of burnished gold hair curled out from under where his scarf wrapped around his neck, just for her.
"I suppose you would want to go back to the herd," she
said, resting her chin on mittened hands to better watch the distant horses. How could people want to kill them just for being wild?
"I'm afraid I would," he agreed. That made her feel sad.
"How does a horse ask to get back into the band?" What Collier had learned, simply from observing the horses through his binoculars, impressed her. He'd always been a good horseman.
He even drove well, if Firefly wasn't at harness.
"He lowers his head very near the ground and makes a kind of chewing motion. I don't know why, but that's usually when the mare turns her shoulder to him. Once she's not facing him flat-on, that means he has permission to rejoin them."
And some of us, she thought, go to Denver.
She wondered how the viscount might signal permission to return to England, ending his second son's exile. The thought made her ache inside far worse than the cold ever could.
But it was what Collier wanted. So she took a deep breath, then said," 'What a lovely day, your ladyship.'"
"'Indeed, Mrs. Pembroke,'" pretended Collier back at her, even as he watched the horses."'The view of the mountains is exquisite.'"
"I'm not a ladyship?"
"I'm not even a lordship," he reassured her. "Not unless..."
"Not unless what?"
That he said nothing worried her with the same fear that had lodged deep inside her since he'd announced his family's visit. "Not unless what?"
"It's not likely," he admitted finally. "But if Edgar renounced his claim, then I might yet become the heir."
"And eventually the viscount?" He nodded. "And then you'd be a lordship."
"Then I would be everything I've ever wanted to be." His rich voice deepened with a touch of wistfulness.
Everything he'd ever wanted to be—in England.
"Don't concern yourself," he assured her, putting down the field glasses on their blanket. "Were it to ever happen, I doubt it would be before our own agreement... that is to say..."
"Before our two or three years are up?" she clarified, aching even more.
"But I'm afraid for now we still have to convince them that you would make a proper viscountess."
Laurel considered that. "Do you think
... could I really convince them that I would make a proper viscountess?"
She didn't blame him for his glance of surprise. Up until now she'd begrudged him every ounce of cooperation. "Certainly," he assured her. "You're hardly a washerwoman or a barmaid, Laurel! You're the daughter of one of the most prosperous ranchers in Wyoming. You already know basic etiquette." His smiling eyes took on a teasing gleam. "Even though you ignore it half the time."
There's nothing wrong with washerwomen or barmaids, either, she thought stubbornly. That was what her mother would say, and probably what she should say too.
Instead she watched his pretty eyes, and how his hair fell over his forehead from beneath his hat, and she dared wonder, for the first time, Could I convince you?
Not that she wanted to be a viscountess. She didn't even want to leave Wyoming. But neither did she want to lose Collier.
Chances were, he wouldn't return to England. He'd said so himself. But she could understand his wanting to hope. If he were to rethink their agreement a few years from now, if she had even the chance of his rethinking it, perhaps extending it indefinitely...
"All right, then," she decided, covering her uncertainty with a determined tone. "What will the viscount be expecting from your perfect wife, then? Other than my calling him 'your lordship.' Assuming he's spoken to me first."
She must have gotten that part correct, because Collier drew his muffler down off his face to show his full, lopsided smile—dimples and all—and then reached up and slid her muffler down off her face as well. Then he leaned close enough to touch foreheads with her, in their little cocoon of warmth on this snowy ridge.
"I know what /expect from my perfect wife," he whispered, and pressed his lips to hers in a delicious illustration.