by Jill Gregory
“Means I’m going to have myself some fun. Don’t expect me back before morning.”
“You needn’t come back until hell freezes over as far as I’m concerned!” Furious, Caitlin glanced around for something to throw but by the time she grabbed up the embroidered pillow from the sofa, Wade was gone. When she heard the thunder of hoofbeats and caught sight of him spurring the roan toward Hope, she forgot about throwing the pillow and hugged it to her chest.
“That went well, didn’t it?” she muttered to herself. She supposed she ought to be flattered that Wade seemed jealous about her going to the dance with Drew, but she decided it had more to do with his dislike—and distrust— of the man than it had to do with her.
Well, what did you expect? That he’d get down on bended knee, professing his love? You don’t believe in love, remember? And obviously, neither does Wade.
“See if I care, Wade Barclay,” she muttered aloud. But misery rolled through her in waves as she sank down on the sofa and tried not to think about exactly what kind of “fun” Wade was looking to have himself in town.
Chapter 23
Jake Young waited on the front porch of the Porter ranch, hat in hand.
“Luanne, dear, there’s a gentleman here to see you,” Mrs. Porter called in a singsong tone and a moment later Luanne emerged from the small sewing parlor, hope lighting her face as she smoothed her gingham skirt.
“Good evening, Wa . . . oh, Jake!” She flushed, and the hope died out of her eyes. A polite smile settled upon her lips and she faltered only briefly before coming smoothly forward.
“How nice to see you. Won’t you come in?”
Jake shifted from one booted foot to the other. “Sorry, to intrude, Mrs. Porter—Miss Porter, but I need to speak to you about something. Miss Porter, I mean. It’s . . . it’s important,” he added, and there was such desperation in the look he shot Luanne that she forgot her disappointment that Wade hadn’t come to call and invited the wrangler into the parlor.
Curiosity stirred in her as she watched Jake slouch inside. His broad, clean-shaven face was flushed the color of the poppies Aunt Amelia had arranged in a vase over the fireplace, and he kept clearing his throat. Behind him, Amelia Porter discreetly closed the parlor door.
“Won’t you have a seat, Jake.” Luanne indicated a spot beside her on the sofa. “What’s this all about? Is something wrong?”
“No, ma’am. Well, yes, ma’am. I mean . . .”
With a schoolteacher’s patience, Luanne smiled and waited.
“There’s this problem I have.”
Silence. “Yes?” she prodded after a moment more of throat clearing.
“It has to do with a lady. Er, actually a poem. And a letter.” Jake’s flush deepened. “I’m not too good at explaining things,” he said apologetically.
“Of course I’ll try to help you, but I confess I don’t see what it is you need from me.” It was rather touching to see how earnest and worked up he was. He had the handsome face, height, and muscularity of a grown man—and he must be at least twenty-two years old, the same age as she—but he was almost as awkward right now as the young boys she taught at school. Sympathy flooded her.
Whenever she’d seen Jake before, he’d been doing ranch work or buying supplies in town—and she’d never paid much attention. Now that she thought about it, he’d always seemed quiet, which struck her as unusual in such a good-looking man. He was someone she’d expect always to be surrounded by women vying for his attentions. Luanne had never really conversed with him, except to nod hello.
Jake met her gaze earnestly. “Reckon I should just start from the beginning. That’s what my ma always told me to do.”
“It’s good advice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed. “You see, it’s like this. There’s this lady I’d like to get to know better—to court, I reckon you’d say . . .” Jake wiped sweat from his brow. “But there might be this other feller she’s interested in.” Remembering how Caitlin had clung to Wade that day in town, Jake scowled. “Matter of fact, I know there’s this other feller she’s interested in. But I don’t give up easy, especially when I really care about something—or someone—which in this case, I do . . .”
As his voice trailed off, Luanne’s smile faded. She suddenly felt she knew exactly to which “lady” Jake was referring. And she vividly recalled that day in town when she and Jake had both been looking on as Wade Barclay held and comforted Caitlin Summers. She herself well recalled the expression in Wade’s eyes when he’d tried to reassure Caitlin about her sister.
Luanne hadn’t been able to forget it. Because no man, Wade Barclay included, had ever looked at her in just that way.
“You’re talking about Caitlin Summers, aren’t you, Jake?” she asked softly. “And Wade Barclay.”
Surprise flashed across his face, then he grinned. “Well, you’re a schoolteacher, so I reckon it doesn’t surprise me that you’re smart.”
Despite her heartache, a laugh broke from her. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Well, I’ve been wanting to tell Caitlin how I feel about her.” He blushed furiously. “Maybe she won’t care and she’ll tell me to go jump in the stream—but I doubt it, ’cuz she’s too nice for that. And if I don’t take a chance and let her know, she just might go ahead and get hitched to Wade or someone else. I’ve been meaning to ask her to the May Day dance for weeks, but I couldn’t get up the nerve and then this afternoon, Drew Raleigh rides up and asks her first. So now, she’s going with him!”
“I see.” Luanne wondered bleakly how Wade felt about that. This entire conversation was painful. She realized in town that day that she had most likely lost Wade. It was clear from the way he held Caitlin and looked at her that his feelings for the co-owner of Cloud Ranch were far deeper than they’d ever been for her. And added to the fact that he hadn’t come around much since Caitlin arrived— and not at all since the day in Hope that Becky turned up missing—Luanne had come to the conclusion that her former suitor and she were not destined to walk down the aisle after all.
Now it seemed that Caitlin Summers, however, had not one suitor, but three. All pining for her. Too bad I like her so much. It would be much easier if she could despise the blond girl. But she’d found Caitlin to be a warm, kindhearted person beneath that cool facade she wore. She was loving and devoted to her sister. It wasn’t her fault that half the eligible men in Hope were throwing themselves at her feet.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask Caitlin to the dance, Jake, but I’m afraid I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“The trouble is, I get all jittery around her when I talk to her—I can’t think of what I want to say. The words just get all tangled up in my mind. So I thought about writing her a letter,” he rushed on, his keen brown eyes alight. “Telling her how I feel. You know, asking permission to court her. Think that would work, Miss Porter?”
“Why, yes, that’s an excellent idea.” Luanne found herself nodding. “It is often easier to express one’s thoughts in writing. And you can perfect exactly what you wish to say so that there are no mistakes or misunderstandings.”
“Right. That’s what I thought,” Jake said, beaming.
“So . . .” Luanne studied him bemusedly. “I applaud your initiative, Jake,” she continued, “but what does this have to do with me?”
He leaned toward her. “I need you to write the letter. And to put the poem in it.”
“Poem?”
“Oh, I forgot about that part.” He grinned again, suddenly so excited by her approval of his plan that he poured out the rest in its entirety. “She recited a poem to me once—real pretty it was too. And I want to put it in the letter and tell her that’s how I feel about her—it’s exactly how I feel. Confounds me that the lady who wrote it—”
“The poet, you mean.”
“Yep, the poet. She knew just how I feel. Imagine something like that.”
“What�
�s the name of the poem?”
“All I know is that it begins like this: ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’ ”
“Elizabeth Barrett Browning!” Luanne jumped up. “Just a moment, I have that very poem in a book in my room.”
She slipped out before he could say anything and he could hear her light steps across the hall. Jake wiped perspiration from his face. Good thing Miss Porter was so nice. He was leery of that stiff, pale Miss Ellis who taught school for the children in Hope. He’d never have asked her for help. But there was something friendly and warm about Miss Porter.
She was pretty too. Not as dazzlingly beautiful as Caitlin Summers, but definitely easy on the eyes. Comfortable like. He didn’t feel so jittery around her like he did around Miss Summers.
He was daydreaming about Caitlin’s reaction when she read his letter, the way her eyes would sparkle and the happy smile that would wreathe her face, when Luanne fairly skipped back into the parlor. She settled on the sofa beside him and quickly thumbed through the book.
“Yes, here it is.”
Jake stared where she pointed. His skin had turned red again. He nodded as he gazed at the words running across the page. “Uh-huh.”
“Would you like to copy it? There’s writing paper over there on the desk—”
“Uh, no, ma’am, I was hoping you’d copy it for me. I could tell you what I want the letter to say and you could write it all down and add that there poem—”
“But, Jake, don’t you think it would be better if the letter was written in your own hand? It would be more personal.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
He surged to his feet suddenly, stalked across the room to the window, then spun about and stared at her, a muscle working in his jaw. “I don’t reckon I want to do that. I’m asking you to do it, ma’am.”
“Please call me Luanne. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel so old and stuffy.” Tilting her head to one side, she studied him, baffled yet intrigued. He looked so uneasy. Why didn’t he want to write the letter himself?
“Never mind. If you don’t want to help me, I understand,” Jake said stiffly. He strode toward her, frowning. “You’re busy and you probably don’t have time—”
“Jake.” Luanne rose as he came to a halt before her. The top of her head only reached his shoulder, but she met his gaze squarely. “You don’t know how to write, do you?” she said softly.
From the night outside came the whistle of the wind, the sigh of the pine trees. Inside the lamplit parlor, Jake Young swallowed hard.
“I’ll bet you don’t know how to read either, do you, Jake? Can you read this poem?”
He hesitated, then shook his head.
Without thinking, Luanne laid her hand on his arm. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. There are many people who can’t read or—”
“I was the oldest of seven kids on our farm—and my pa said he couldn’t afford for me to waste my time in school. My sisters went, and later my little brothers, but I had to help my pa out. And there never seemed to be time for any lessons at home—”
“I understand, Jake,” Luanne interrupted. “It’s all right.”
“It is?” Staring into her soft golden-brown eyes, Jake saw no trace of amusement or pity or scorn—only that nice warmth he’d noticed before, and a sweet, quiet sympathy that made the tension in his neck relax. Hope surged through him. “Then . . . you’ll write it for me? Miss Porter, I can’t thank you enough!”
“It’s Luanne,” she corrected him again. And gave her head a tiny shake that sent her gingery-red curls dancing. “But no, I won’t write the letter for you, Jake. That wouldn’t answer at all. I’ll do something even better.”
She smiled up at him. “I’ll teach you how to read this poem—and how to write that letter yourself.”
“Wade, honey.” Tessie giggled. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Seated at a corner table in the Silver Star Saloon, Wade ignored the brassy-haired saloon girl, poured himself another glass of red-eye from the bottle at his elbow, and downed it in one deep swig.
“Aw, now. What’s wrong, honey? You can tell me.” With practiced ease, Tessie slipped onto his lap as she had a hundred times in the past. She stretched her sleek, perfumed arms around his neck and licked his ear. “Tell Tessie all about it. You never drink like this unless something’s real bad-wrong somewhere. Like the night after Reese died—”
“Leave it alone, Tessie.”
“Aw, honey, that’s not really what you want.”
No, Wade thought as she began to nibble on his ear. He wanted a fight. A real down-and-dirty fistfight, with broken windows, smashed mirrors, crashing chairs. But glancing around the saloon tonight, he knew he wasn’t going to get his wish. Wesley Beadle was dealing faro to a couple of spindly-legged old miners, and one or two ranch hands he knew were playing poker and minding their own business, and there was no one else in the damned place who looked like they’d put up much of a fight.
He sighed and reached for the bottle again.
Something had to help him forget about Caitlin.
“Like to put my fist through his face,” he muttered as whiskey splashed into the glass.
“Who, sugar?”
“Drew Raleigh.”
“Him? Now why would you let a fancy eastern green-horn like him get you all riled up? That’s not like you, Wade honey.”
“You seen Raleigh tonight?” he asked over the lip of the glass.
Tessie shook her head. “But I’ve got an idea.” A smile curved her thin painted lips. “Come on upstairs and I’ll make you forget about Drew Raleigh—and whatever else ails you. It’s been a long time for you and me, honey. Too long.”
Deliberately, he focused his gaze on her. Tessie was pretty all right—with her brassy yellow curls and big blue eyes. And her figure was nothing to sneeze at, he thought, studying the way the low-cut purple and green gown with lace-edged flounces clung to her curves. Always before, her voluptuousness and the pretty red curve of her mouth had ignited hot desire in him—but not this time.
This time he felt only emptiness.
“Come on, honey, what are you waiting for?” She gave a husky laugh.
What was he waiting for?
A vision of a slender angel with flushed cheeks and golden hair bright against his pillow invaded his thoughts.
“Wade, honey? Come on—”
“Nope. Can’t do this, Tessie. Sorry.”
“What do you mean?” Her smile was seductive. “We’re just getting started.”
“You’re wrong about that.” He shook his head, and pushed back his chair, easing her to the floor. “No hard feelings, Tessie, but we’re finished. I just remembered someplace I have to be.”
“It’s that Summers girl, isn’t it?” Tessie sighed. “You think she’s prettier than me? You like her more than me? Or is it just that she’s classier than me?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Tessie. Reckon I never should have come up here in the first place. Reese taught me when I was a boy that you can’t run away from your problems.”
He glanced at the whiskey bottle, and then at the girl. Both were means of escape. He knew as well as he knew every inch of Silver Valley that neither of them would work.
And in the meantime, he’d left Caitlin alone in that ranch house with only Francesca and Becky.
What if that bastard Dominic Trent chose tonight to show up?
A knot of panic coiled through him. He strode from the saloon without a backward glance, ignoring Tessie’s entreaties. The door slammed behind him.
Sprinting toward his horse, Wade cursed himself for a fool.
The cool air hitting him as he rode like hellfire for Cloud Ranch drove the last of the whiskey from his brain. As he approached the ranch beneath a low yellow moon, his fear intensified. What if she was hurt? Or . . . gone? What if Trent had come while he was away and—
He bolted inside and up the darkened stairs. Her door
wasn’t locked. Shoving it open, he stood in the doorway and stared.
Caitlin lay asleep in her bed. Unconsciously sensuous, peaceful, beautiful. Her golden curls splashed across the pillow, radiant in the moonlight that shone through the open window. The sheet covered her body, but he saw the lace of the lavender nightgown that rose to just beneath the base of her smooth, creamy throat.
She was safe.
And the sight of her in that bed shook him to his very core.
This must have been how Reese felt about Lydia, he thought, and all of his desperation rushed back. I swore I’d never feel this way. If she leaves here—when she leaves here—
He wanted with all his heart to go to her, cradle her in his arms, waken her with kisses. To spend the night in that bed and show her how much he wanted her, needed her. To watch the sunrise beside her, to hold her close as night melted away to dawn.
Instead, he closed the door and stalked down the hall. He spent the rest of the night in his own darkened, empty room.
Alone.
Chapter 24
“How many dances have you gone to, Caitlin?”
Seated on her sister’s bed, wearing a brand-new pink and white muslin gown, Becky’s eyes shone. “At least ten, right?” she asked, drawing her hairbrush through her hair.
“Yes, of course. Probably more.” Caitlin slid her rose silk gown over her head and past her shoulders, then let it flounce down past her hips. Frowning, she shook out the skirt and turned halfway to study herself in the mirror.
“If you’ve gone to so many, why are you so nervous about this one?” Becky demanded. “You’ve changed your dress three times!”
So it was that obvious, was it? Caitlin threw Becky a dismayed glance. If Becky could see her anxiety, so would everyone else. Including Drew Raleigh. Including Wade.
Stop being so silly, she scolded herself. Do you really think that if you look your very best tonight, if you smile and dance and charm the whole damn town, Wade Barclay’s going to decide he truly loves you?