Gregory, Jill

by Warm Stranger Cold Night

  For a moment they stared at each other, with the wind rushing around them in the icy little alley, carrying with it the distant barking of a dog, the slamming of a door from some shop on the main street, the muffled sound of a wagon rolling through the town.

  She's just an itty bit of a thing, Quinn thought as his hand tightened around the girl's waist. He could break her in two as easily as snapping a twig. They both knew it.

  And they both knew he'd been bullying her unconscionably from the moment she'd sought him out in the saloon.

  Yet she'd stood up to him, stood up to him as few other people he'd known ever had dared to do. This girl with the fiery curls and gentle eyes had the most infuriating temperament he'd ever seen in a woman—and she was made of far stronger stuff than she appeared to be.

  "Listen. I didn't drag you back here to fight with you," he said shortly. "I wanted to explain something."

  "Fine." Maura swallowed. "Explain."

  "I reckon I believe you about that baby you're carrying. If you say it's mine—"

  "It is."

  She spoke with an utter simplicity that could only come from the truth, and Quinn felt his heart sinking like a stone. "Then I'll take care of it," he said grimly. "I take care of what's mine."

  Stunned, she could only gape at him. "G-go on," she managed at last.

  "I'll marry you just like you wanted—and do what's right by the baby. I'll give it my name, and set you up someplace safe where you can raise the kid."

  "Set me up?" Maura fought against the relief and hope rising in her. She saw only harsh determination in his face. He'd sooner be shot through with arrows, she guessed, than be making this little speech. But he was making it, and that was something. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly. "Where?"

  "There's some land I own in Wyoming—a ranch. It was payment for a job I did. You can have it."

  He sounded so cold. So impersonal. But he'd obviously given this a lot of thought. "What about you?" she asked a bit dazedly.

  "I'm not sticking around," he told her, eyes narrowed. "And you sure as hell aren't coming with me."

  "You're going to continue to be a gunfighter?"

  "Damned right. It's what I do—it's what I'll always do. Till the day I die. And that reminds me—I've got enemies, sweetheart. Lots of 'em. Believe me, you don't want me anywhere around you and the kid. So if you think you're getting a conventional, stick-around husband, you're wrong." His tone was rough. "That's not part of this deal. I get you started on the ranch, hire some men to work it, and then I'm gone."

  Gone. Maura read the determination in his face. "Fine," she responded as coolly as she could, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded shaky.

  "You accept that? You're not going to start nagging me to stick around?"

  Pride shot through her and her chin lifted. "Don't be silly, Mr. Lassiter. I'm certain both the baby and I will be much better off without you."

  "You got that right, lady."

  His hand dropped from her waist. As if realizing for the first time just how close he'd been standing, just how tightly he'd been holding her, he stepped back and cleared his throat. "So it's all understood between us then?" He still sounded wary and suspicious, as if he thought she was setting a trap. "You know that this won't be a real marriage—that I'm not sticking around?"

  "I understand perfectly. It's going to be a kind of..." She searched for the right words. "Business arrangement."

  "Right. Nothing more," he warned. "And nothing less. A business arrangement."

  Absurdly, Maura found herself fighting back tears. What was wrong with her? This was what she'd wanted, after all. He was going to give the baby a name and help her get started. She'd have a place to live—her very own place, with no one else telling her what to do. And she'd have her child. Someone to love.

  It was more than she'd ever had before. It should be enough.

  It is enough, she told herself firmly, thinking of the tiny beautiful life growing inside her. I don't need or want Quinn Lassiter to stick around. My baby and I will be just fine on our own.

  There was no threat in Quinn's eyes now, no fury. He was watching her steadily, perhaps even with a flicker of sympathy.

  Well, she didn't want his pity!

  But she could almost...almost... see once again that strong, tender man who had held her against the winter chill, whose lips had captured hers with such heat and power. A tremor of longing shook her.

  But she quickly took command of herself and drew in a deep breath. Those kisses, that cold, splendid night, were gone forever. She was in an alley with a hardened gunfighter, making a business arrangement, plain and simple. Take it or leave it, Maura, she told herself desperately. Do what's best for your baby.

  "Yes," she heard herself saying in a faint voice. "I'll marry you."

  Quinn Lassiter nodded. He didn't even smile. Just took her arm and started steering her back toward the street.

  "Fine. Put on your prettiest dress and we'll get this thing over with."

  She faltered and stopped in her tracks. "I'm afraid this is my prettiest dress."

  He glanced down in surprise at the threadbare gingham she'd worn the day before as well. The fabric was faded and dull, and frayed at the cuffs. It looked like something she'd worn for years while scrubbing floors and washing dishes.

  "Hell, I thought every woman owned at least one fancy Sunday dress," he muttered without thinking.

  Suddenly, he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes. Tears! Something clenched in his gut. She averted her head, but it was too late. He'd seen those ominous glistening droplets.

  Shit.

  "But this one's not so bad," he said quickly. "I mean, it's a hell of a lot better than those godawful long johns you had on that night we met. I mean, it's a dress, isn't it—hell, don't do that," he ordered tersely as more tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Don't cry!"

  "I'm n-not c-crying!"

  "You sure as hell are." He stared at her. Wasn't that just like a woman to sob because she was getting married in an old rag of a dress?

  "You want a new dress?" he growled. "For the wedding?"

  "Of course not. That would be s-silly."

  "Why would it be silly?"

  "Because this isn't a special occasion. It's a b-business arrangement."

  "It damn sure is." He tugged her over to the boardwalk as a wagon rolled down the street. The wind whipped at the skirt of her gingham as they continued toward the hotel. They hadn't gone ten more steps before he heard a sniffle. A definite sniffle.

  Quinn stopped short and grasped her by the shoulders.

  He turned her in the direction of the mercantile. "Go buy one of those fancy gowns."

  "Buy one?" Maura shook her head. "No. I can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  She'd never bought a dress in her life. She'd sewn the few that she owned. "I—can't afford it," she stammered.

  "I can." He yanked a pouch from his pocket and pushed some greenbacks into her palm, even as she shook her head once more.

  "I don't take charity."

  His brows lifted. "It's not charity, Maura. We're going to be married. I'm going to be your husband."

  Maura's eyes flew to his. All thoughts of a dress vanished from her mind. Did he mean he would expect all of his husbandly privileges?

  "Get yourself a bonnet too," Quinn went on, as if he hadn't just said something significant enough to rattle all that was left of her wits. "And whatever else you might need for a journey. We'll be leaving Whisper Valley tomorrow."

  "So soon?"

  "Could be a job waiting for me, hunting down some rustlers. The sooner I get you settled on the ranch, the better. Now do you want to get yourself a dress and get this wedding over with or do you want to stand here jawing all day?"

  She swallowed and pushed the greenbacks into her pocket. "I'll meet you at the church then."

  "No, you won't. I'll call for you at the hotel after you've changed your clothes. We'll go to th
e church together."

  There was no tenderness in his tone. Only taut command.

  And suddenly she couldn't keep still a moment longer. "Since this is our wedding day," she said, her eyes still sparkling with the glitter of tears, "we'll do as you wish. But only today. After this..." She gathered her courage. "Don't expect me to go along with everything you want. I'm marrying you for the sake of the baby, but I won't be your doormat. I've played that role all my life and I'm telling you right now, that is not part of our arrangement."

  "I don't remember ever saying it was."

  "Well, in case you thought so—"

  "Sweetheart, I won't be around long enough to try to make you a doormat—or anything else for that matter. Got it?"

  She forced herself to meet his cold glance without flinching. "Oh, yes, Mr. Lassiter." Her voice was a low quiver. "I've got it."

  She whirled around and headed nearly at a run toward the mercantile.

  Quinn watched her go, enjoying the sight of her gently rolling hips beneath that plain, worn gown, the determined set of her narrow shoulders, the way the sun set fire to her carefully coiled hair, nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

  If he wasn't so disgusted with himself for landing in this pickle, he might almost look forward to pulling the pins from that spiraling mass of curls, to watching them tumble down past her shoulders, all wild and free. He might even have looked forward to tangling with that unexpected temper of hers. And certainly he would have looked forward to taking her to his bed, to freshening his memory of that fateful damnable night by exploring every naked inch of her.

  But right now he wasn't looking forward to anything.

  He wasn't about to lose his freedom, the only good thing he'd had in his life for the past fourteen years. The only thing he cherished more than his gun, his horse, and his aim.

  And that woman marching across the street to buy a wedding gown had better not expect him to trade in his liberty for a home, a hearth, and a baby.

  Because he'd rather eat every cow pie in the territory than suffer a fate as horrible as that.

  Chapter 10

  "It's the most gorgeous dress I've ever seen," Maura exclaimed.

  She reached out one finger and touched the pale blue satin gown with the puffed sleeves, yellow sash, and pearl buttons, caressing the fabric tentatively, as though fearing it might disappear in a puff of smoke. "But so is this one."

  Her gaze shifted to the ivory silk gown with its billowing beaded train and scalloped neckline.

  Both dresses were stunning, far lovelier than anything she had ever hoped to own, or needed to own. Even for her wedding.

  "I don't think either one is quite right for me, though."

  Reluctantly, she dropped her hand and stepped back from the counter where the balding little clerk had draped them for her perusal.

  With a grunt the clerk began to whisk them away, but a light, cool, feminine voice stopped him.

  "Not so fast, Jimmy. I think those dresses are perfect for her. Why don't you try them on?" the voice asked her, and Maura turned, startled, to gaze into the wide-set turquoise eyes of the most beautiful young woman she'd ever seen.

  "Forgive me for meddling." The girl flashed her a smile so warm and beguiling and sympathetic, Maura couldn't help but smile back. "But with your coloring and your figure, these would be lovely. You ought to buy them both."

  At this, the baby in the young woman's arms gave a squeal, and the girl in the blue-checked shirt and trim blue riding skirt lifted the tiny girl up to her shoulder. "Oh, there, now Tory, you'll have all the pretty dresses you like when you're old enough. Surely you can share these two with this nice lady."

  And turning back to Maura, she grinned. "I'm Emma Garrettson," she said. "Don't mind me, I tend to speak my mind. It's a habit I have. My husband tells me it's one of my more annoying habits. But then according to him, I have so many that—"

  She broke off with a laugh that sounded like chiming bells. "Sorry. This is none of my business. But you looked so ... so taken with the dresses. I had a feeling that there's a special occasion."

  Maura's natural reserve vanished beneath the warmth of Emma's smile. "My wedding," she blurted out, then blushed.

  How strange to say those words. Emma Garrettson's face lit up like a candle. "How wonderful. When are you getting married?"

  "Today." Maura's blush deepened.

  "Today!"

  "In a few moments. We're just passing through town and decided...that is ... I have to pick something out and meet Mr. Quinn...that is, my fiancé"—she stumbled over the words, positive by now her cheeks must be as bright as berries—"at the hotel as soon as I'm ready. I was going to get married in this," she rushed on, aware that she was babbling, but unable to stop as Emma Garrettson watched her with rounded, fascinated eyes, "but it's so old and drab and my... er...fiance insisted that I have a new dress." She finished and took a deep breath. "I'm Maura Reed," she added, amazed that she'd been having such a long and intimate conversation with someone she'd only just met and hadn't yet told her name.

  The clerk, Jimmy, was listening too, and appeared just as transfixed as Emma.

  "Well, goodness. That was very thoughtful of him. Your fiance, I mean. The least you can do is pick out something that will dazzle him," the dark-haired girl pointed out. "The blue one. That will do it."

  Maura turned and gazed longingly once more at the pale blue gown, shimmering almost silver in the light.

  "Do you think so?"

  "Trust me. It's perfect for you. Why don't you slip into the back room and try it on? If it needs any adjustments I can do it for you in a trice."

  Maura found herself swept along by Emma Garrett-son's enthusiasm. She allowed herself to be escorted into the small neat office behind the long counter, and was soon stepping into the magical blue gown.

  "It's beautiful." Emma stroked the baby's cheek. "See the pretty lady, Victoria? Tell her she must be married in this dress."

  The baby cooed, and Maura laughed. Turning to survey herself in the long mirror that hung behind the office door, she gave a gasp of pleasure.

  The delicate blue color was striking with her auburn hair. The puffed sleeves made her look and feel like a fairy-tale princess, and the gown, cinched gracefully at her waist, fell to the floor in a graceful sweep of diapho-nous fabric.

  "It needs to be taken in just a bit at the waist since you're so slender," Emma said. "Here, slip it off and hold Tory for me, and I'll have it ready in no time."

  Maura changed quickly back into her gingham and found herself sitting on the floor playing with little Victoria Garrettson while Emma worked deftly with a needle and thread.

  "If I wasn't so nervous about getting married today, I could do that myself," she said by way of apology. "I'm quite good with a needle and thread. I was planning to go to San Francisco to find a job as a seamstress in a lady's dress shop when—"

  She broke off, biting her lip.

  "When you met Mr. Quinn and decided to marry him?" Emma finished easily for her, glancing up from her task.

  "Something like that. Actually his name is not Mr. Quinn, it's Mr. Lassiter. Quinn Lassiter."

  "The gunfighter!" the girl exclaimed, then gave a cry as she stuck herself with the needle. "Damn. Lost my concentration. Tucker told me Quinn Lassiter was in town. Tucker is my husband," she explained as she deftly pulled the needle through once more. "I seem to remember him mentioning that they played cards together a day or so ago. Tucker lost twenty dollars to him—so he must be a good card player. But...how strange! One wouldn't think a famous gunfighter like him would settle down.... Oh, pardon me!" she added with a sheepish laugh. "I'm babbling. I hope you'll be very happy."

  "You're very kind," Maura said softly. The baby nodded at her shoulder, her small, pudgy body going slack. Tory was falling asleep, her tiny bow of a mouth pursed, her eyes closed daintily against rounded cheeks. "You haven't even asked me a single question about why I'm getting married in a strange to
wn in the middle of the day, in a store-bought dress I'm selecting only moments before the ceremony."

  "It's none of my business—unless you want to tell me.

  Maura shook her head. "It's a long story," she murmured, then her voice trailed off as another bout of queasiness returned. "Perhaps you'd best take the baby," she managed, light-headed enough that she feared she might drop the precious bundle in her arms. "I'm not feeling well all of a sudden..."

  "I know that look." Emma set the dress aside and hurried to her side, scooping Tory into her arms. She gazed down at the auburn-haired girl seated upon the floor, one hand to her brow.

  "You're positively green," she murmured sympathetically. Her hand gently rubbed her baby's back. "I felt ill when I was expecting my child too."

  Maura said nothing for a moment.

  "The dress is ready," Emma continued, easing the uncomfortable silence in her brisk, breezy way. Maura glanced up at her gratefully.

  "Why don't I go along to the hotel and help you dress? There are a lot of little buttons here that need fastening and you don't want to keep Mr. Lassiter waiting."

  Keep him waiting? Maura surged to her feet so quickly her head spun and she had to grasp the edge of the desk.

  "How long have I been here?" she gasped. "I told him I'd buy a dress and come back right away—"

  "Oh, let him wait for you," Emma advised. "He'll be that much more eager. I'm a firm believer in training a man right from the beginning so he understands that a woman cannot be rushed while getting dressed, baking a cake, or making love. Not that I had to teach Tucker much when it came to that. He has always known just how to... Goodness, listen to me rattling on." It was her turn to blush, and to laugh.

  "You don't know Quinn. He's not a patient man—or a trainable one—" She broke off, cursing her own loose tongue. "I must get back," she finished, suddenly eager for Emma to accompany her. She could use a friend at this moment. She was about to take the most important step of her life, and to face a man who was as unpredictable as a mountain lion. It wouldn't hurt to have a friendly face at her side.