The restaurant was across the street, a few doors down. Luke smiled as she glanced around her, drinking in the warm seduction of the night. When she looked upward at a sky made of crushed velvet, he indicated a star pattern.
“Sagittarius. See those three stars right in a row?” He pointed out the constellation, his hand resting casually around her shoulders. “That’s the archer’s bow. It indicates the coming winter. The Indians recognize it as the time to start preparing for the cold months ahead.”
Amanda looked at him, amazed. Although she was familiar with the science of astronomy, she never thought of it in practical terms. Luke was obviously knowledgeable on the subject. He continued to surprise her, and she felt inexplicably safe and secure with his arm around her and the open admiration she felt in his eyes.
As they proceeded to the restaurant, Amanda became aware of the eyes that followed her. Two cowboys, whittling on the boardwalk steps, stopped carving at the sight of her and actually stood to better watch her pass by. A primly dressed farmwife gave her an icy glance, then held more tightly to her gaping husband. Businessmen headed for the bar gave her warm smiles, while their feminine companions looked her up and down appraisingly, as if sizing her up as a threat.
Amanda was enthralled.
She had written about such women, watched and envied them, never dreaming that she would one day be among their ranks. For however long it lasted, this night—this magical, star-spun night—was hers. And she intended to enjoy it to the fullest.
The Full Moon restaurant was about as elegant as a cow town could boast. Amanda followed Luke’s lead and entered, dazzled by the candlelight and the soft glow of the gaslamps. A handsome man dressed in a dark suit indicated a table, and Luke ushered her forward, walking behind her.
Every man’s eye followed her. Luke saw the cowboys, men long on the trail and appreciative of a glance of a beautiful woman, stop their meal and glance longingly at the stunning brunette making her way to her table. The jaded businessmen paused from their drinks to watch her, their eyes following even after she passed. It was only the expression on Luke’s face that made them turn back to their meal, and then only reluctantly.
Luke held her chair, fighting his desire to take her out of here, to a place where he could have her all to himself. One of the men, a young cowhand, obviously taken with Amanda’s radiant beauty, tried to get her attention. Luke stood between them as he offered her a chair, annoyed to find himself in the role of protecting her from other men’s advances. He felt duped by his own hand. The duckling had turned into a swan, and he’d been stupid enough to provide the feathers.
“Thank you.” Amanda smiled, then accepted the seat.
Her voice was sweet and musical and Luke felt his warring emotions intensify. Taking the seat across from her, he smiled, trying to hide his gritted teeth. The wine steward approached, thankfully distracting him.
“Your order, sir?” The waiter smiled at Amanda, who innocently smiled back.
“Do you have something decent in a burgundy?” Luke struggled to hide his irritation. Was everyone taken with her? When the steward nodded, he looked toward Amanda. “Is that suitable?”
She nodded. “Burgundy is my favorite.” Actually, she’d never tasted any wine, never tasted spirits in fact, except for that night in the Harvey House.
“Fine.” Luke nodded acceptance to the waiter, who departed with a nod. It was then that he noticed the table beside them. Three elegantly dressed men, gamblers and cattle traders, he suspected, were watching Amanda with unabashed appreciation. She was returning their smiles, basking in the attention. Luke scowled.
Amanda looked him straight in the eye. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “Don’t return a man’s stare like that. Unless you’re prepared to accept what follows.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, but Luke didn’t respond. The wine steward returned, the glasses neatly balanced on a tray. Amanda reached up for hers and without her glasses, misjudged the distance. The wine toppled over, staining the white shirt front of the blonde gentleman seated beside her.
“I’m so sorry!” Mortified, Amanda’s hands clasped over her mouth.
The man shook his head, then snatched up his napkin and proceeded to sop up the purple liquid. “Not at all, don’t give it a second thought. I was trying to think of an excuse to meet you, and you’ve given me the perfect one.” He stood up and extended a hand. “My name’s Mr. Ashton Richards.”
“Miss Amanda Edison.” She shook his hand heartily, grateful that for some reason this man accepted her in spite of the wine dousing.
“Charmed.” His smile seemed sincere and he indicated the empty chairs beside her. “I’ve just returned from Colorado, to do some cattle trading, and I have to admit that you are the prettiest woman I’ve seen in days. Would you mind if we joined you? I would understand if you are occupied.” He glanced sideways at Luke.
“Not at all,” Amanda said quickly, overcome by the man’s generosity. “I’m sure Luke won’t mind, we’ve plenty of extra chairs.” She suddenly turned to Luke, as if in afterthought. “Do you mind?”
Luke didn’t trust himself to speak. He was furious.
Chapter
10
Luke had planned for a romantic evening, just the two of them. There was nothing he could do about it now, nothing that wouldn’t create a scene or show his raw anger. Nodding coldly, he stood up and allowed the three men to join them. Amanda, he decided, he’d deal with later.
“Mighty appreciated.” Ashton took the seat next to Amanda, while the other two men sat across from her. They seemed equally delighted with the arrangement, and as Amanda sipped a new glass of wine, they introduced themselves.
Gilbert McMahon, a dark Irishman, discovered that Amanda shared his interest in horse breeding, though she seemed to abhor the animals themselves. However, when he debated the merits of the Indian paint horse with the English-bred, he found her opinions were startlingly intelligent and full of insight. Andre Deville was astounded to discover that she had an appreciation of American painters—Remington, especially. And Ashton couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Her laughter tinkling like fresh champagne, Amanda charmed them through the sumptuous prime rib, the ripe fruits, and the wonderful rich chocolate cake for dessert. Luke watched her in growing fury, unable to decide whether she was enjoying herself at his expense, or if she really didn’t know what she was doing to him. She was in the midst of a lively discussion with Ashton regarding the present generation, and with a sigh, the American businessman laid down his fork and grinned.
“Miss, all I can say is that you are a woman among women. May the future hold many more like you,” he toasted her with his glass.
“Oh, but it will,” Amanda said earnestly. Forgetting everything other than her own mental stimulation, she leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling with intensity. “It is a certainty. As the species evolves, it will become necessary for women to enter the work force, to regard education with the same importance as men. Physical strength will no longer be the final determinant of power, for once women hold equal positions with equal pay, in jobs where mental brilliance bears more significance than mere anatomy, there will be more—”
She was surrounded by stony faces. Luke forced a smile, his hand tightening around his glass. Amanda could have cried. She’d done it again. Somehow, she always managed to start trouble, even when she didn’t mean to. Frantically, she went over her last words, but she couldn’t decide what had taken the merriment out of the evening.
“Miss.” Ashton cleared his throat. “You don’t honestly subscribe to the theory of evolution?”
“Oh, that,” Amanda said innocently, relieved. “How could one not? How could you look to the flower and fauna of South America, see how it’s adapted to the environment, and not believe? How could you see the desert cactus with the ability to store water, the polar bears of the north with their thick winter fur, the Appalach
ian mountain goat—”
“It is a godless theory!” Gilbert said, flushing with outrage. “Man is made in the image of the Lord!”
“I’m not arguing that,” Amanda said, puzzled. “But when? To me, it is not a contradiction. God may have started all life, but is it wrong to assume that it would change? Nothing in life is static.” She glanced earnestly from one man to the next. “Have I said something that has upset you all?”
Andre started to grin, then chuckle, then finally, burst out laughing. The other men felt their own outrage fading, then they too began to laugh. When the Frenchman finally wiped his eyes, he gazed at Amanda in open admiration.
“My dear, what a rage you would be in Paris! A woman who thinks! May we all be damned.” Observing her flush, he continued in a charming voice. “Don’t let these rustics fool you, miss. There is no more intoxicating combination, even if it is frightening. But what would man really prefer? A glass of ice water, clear, simple and pretty, or a glass of ruby wine, rich and deep with untasted pleasures?” He raised his goblet, letting the wine dance in the candlelight, the purple gems dancing over the snowy tablecloth.
The other men grinned in agreement. Amanda sank back in her chair, more puzzled than ever. Everything she’d done tonight—spilled the wine, talked to the men, argued and showed her mind—had always resulted in censure and disapproval. Now, for some reason, the very same actions were applauded. Why? What was different?
“Amanda.” Luke interrupted her thoughts. “They’re beginning to play music. Would you care to dance?”
“I thought I’d claim that honor—” Ashton began, then backed off when Luke gave him a furious stare. “Perhaps the next one, miss.”
Amanda nodded, dizzyingly aware that the gods had bestowed on her the one perfect night she’d wished for. Rising to her feet, she allowed Luke to lead her to the floor, while musicians scraped their violins. Sweet, sweet strains of music flooded the room, reminding her of the sophisticated East, somehow transported to the rough and ready West.
She was so delighted with her success that she didn’t notice Luke’s anger until they were spinning on the floor. His hand tightened around her waist and she glanced up, surprised to see no twinkling laughter in his eyes, only a dark rage. Amanda couldn’t figure out why. She had made some mistakes, dreadful ones, but then she always did. Why was he looking at her as if fighting to control his anger?
“Is something wrong?” She bit her lip as his eyes blazed. She could feel the tension in his body, the tightness in his steps. He looked down at her and Amanda cringed.
“No, why would anything be wrong? Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” Luke asked tightly.
Confused, Amanda nodded. “Yes, I am. I thought that’s what you wanted when you bought the dress—”
“I bought the dress for my own appreciation, not for every other man in the room,” Luke spat out. “It seems it doesn’t take much to turn you into an ordinary tart. Just a hairstyle, a new dress, and a lack of common sense.”
Stunned, Amanda stopped, heedless of the other dancers who paused to glance at the handsome couple. “I never—”
“I thought I knew you, Amanda,” Luke continued in the same cold voice. “I thought at last, there was a woman who was pure, who was intelligent, who faced the world with an innocence that was at once as charming as it was frustrating. I also thought you needed me, but tonight you’ve proven me wrong. Evidently, all you need is the proper accoutrements, and you can do battle all by yourself.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Don’t you?” Luke smiled, though no mirth showed in his eyes. “Here comes your ardent companion, to claim a dance, no doubt. Enjoy yourself, Amanda. I think it’s time I said goodnight.”
He dropped her hand and actually walked away, stopping only to nod coldly to Ashton. Amanda had no choice but to accept the other man’s hand, and allow him to continue the waltz. Suddenly, everything was different. Ashton was handsome, charming, and kind, but the light seemed to have gone out of the night.
“I hope your companion didn’t leave because of us,” Ashton said smoothly. “He didn’t seem too happy.”
“No.” Amanda shook her head. “He looked angry. I don’t understand…”
“He’s jealous, my dear.” Ashton’s hand rubbed her waist in a gentle caress. “As I would be, also. He is your betrothed, perhaps?”
“Luke?” Amanda laughed shortly. “He’s a gunslinger. I hired him to take me to Texas.”
“I see. It’s interesting that he seems so attached to you, since he’s little more than a hire. Southern, I suppose?” Amanda nodded, and Ashton chuckled. “I thought I detected an accent. Probably lost everything in the war. Lots like him. Gentlemen once, scavengers now.”
Amanda stopped dancing and stared up at her companion, her eyes narrowing in thought. “I’d hardly call him a scavenger. Luke has worked hard since the war. He performs a valuable service for me, and has saved my life more than once.”
“You are too kind, miss.” Ashton smiled, undaunted. “And I suppose he misinterprets that kindness. It’s obvious he means nothing to you.”
“What are you talking about?” Amanda asked, her voice like ice.
Ashton shrugged. “The way you invited us to your table, spent the evening conversing with us. You must have been trying to tell him something. Then, this dance…I am sure, had your attentions been occupied, you would not have encouraged this acquaintance. However, I am extremely glad you did.” He squeezed her hand.
Amanda paled. Surely, Luke didn’t think the same thing—then she cringed inwardly. He had to. Why else would he have been so angry?
“I’ve got to go,” Amanda said abruptly.
“Surely you don’t—”
“I have to leave right now.” Amanda pulled away from Ashton, hardly aware that she’d left the man standing in the center of the dance floor, wondering what had happened. Amanda couldn’t have cared less. All she wanted was to find Luke and explain to him.
If it wasn’t too late.
Amanda ran up the street, oblivious to everything except Luke. She had never deliberately hurt anyone before in her life, and so this doubly stung. Not only had she hurt him, but she made him look like a fool in public. Even though they were leaving Wichita and would probably never see any of those people again, she had no doubt that Luke’s pride had been injured.
Amanda hurried faster, her feet skipping on the dusty boardwalk. She hadn’t done it intentionally, but how could she make him understand that? She knew etiquette, knew all of the book rules by heart, but she hadn’t understood the subtleties. She was having too good a time to even think about it.
His room was empty. The innkeeper provided her with the number, and although she pounded on the door, there was no answer. Her shoulders dropping, Amanda leaned against the wall, forcing herself to think. Luke was tired and angry. He’d eaten a full dinner, but drank very little. Her mind went back to that night on the prairie, when he’d finished half the tin of whiskey….
The saloon. Where else could he have gone? Relieved, she turned quickly, then started down the stairs, remembering the tinny sounds of the piano and the bawdy laughter that she’d heard ringing out in the street.
Thankfully, it was just three doors down. Breathless, Amanda stood outside for a second, forcing herself to relax. Trying to summon as much dignity as possible, she walked through the swinging doors and into the smoke-filled tavern.
The room was full to the brim with cowboys and ranch-hands, trail drivers and cattle hawkers. Ignoring the whistles and encouraging hoots directed her way, she stepped through the throng, her eyes scanning the crowd. Normally, she would have been entranced by the spectacle of the western bar, but tonight, her mind was on one man. When she glanced toward the bar, she smiled in relief. It had to be him. It was Luke’s broad back, his sparkling white shirt, his raven black hair. Even from across the room, she recognized him. He was laughing, then he turned toward her, obviously losing some o
f his anger in this congenial setting. Amanda started to wave to him, then her smile froze as a saloon girl wrapped her arm protectively through his, then whispered something in his ear.
Amanda felt the heat rushing to her face and her legs weakened. She hardly heard the calls from the cowboys, and the heated shouts from the men, too full of whiskey. The piano continued to play, but Amanda didn’t hear that, either. Slowly, she turned and left the saloon, returned to the boardinghouse and to her room. Perhaps it was just as well that she couldn’t explain herself to Luke. He wouldn’t have understood.
No one ever did.
Luke drank down the shot glass of whiskey neat, grateful that the raw liquor seemed to numb his shattered male ego and temper his burning anger. Amanda. She’d looked so damned beautiful tonight—did she have any idea of the way she’d treated him? From the time she put on the new dress—his dress—she seemed like a different woman. Gone was the naive bookworm who innocently quoted everyone from Shakespeare to Twain. In her stead was a seductress, who boldly invited men to her table and managed to charm everyone with a tinkling laugh or a dissertation on Darwin. Luke could have throttled her.
“What’s the matter, cowboy? You don’t look too happy to see me,” Susie whispered, wiggling against him, her body soft and full like a ripe golden pear.
Luke smiled. It was good to feel the unabashed admiration of a real woman. He glanced down at the saloon girl. Blonde and pretty, with ash-colored hair and sherry eyes, she gave him a flirtatious grin as she wrapped her hands around his waist.
“It’s not you,” Luke replied, allowing the girl to caress him. “I was thinking of someone else.”
“Well, whoever she is doesn’t make you happy. More the fool she. I think you’re right handsome, and I plan to spend the whole night making you real pleased.” She giggled, then rustled her scarlet skirts deliciously.
Wild Is the Night Page 11