Molly scooted forward on her bench and leaned in for the kiss he gave her. Even after a year of engagement, Sean's kisses electrified her as they had from the first. She hugged to herself the knowledge that as soon as the ship docked, they would be married. Sean had wanted to wait, saying that it would be good luck to he married the moment they set foot in their new home.
The man shouted again and Molly tried to see his face, but he was in the wavering shadows cast by the overhead lamps swinging from the beams. Sean frowned and turned to face him. Ah, that temper of his, she thought, knowing that a fight was coming. Again, the man shoved him and this time, Sean looked at her long and hard out of those beautiful blue eyes of his, then gave her a devilish wink. Reaching up, he tore off his cloth cap and sent it sailing over the heads of the crowd. A rousing cheer went up, for there's nothing tm Irishman likes better than a good fight.
“Get him, Sean,“ she urged as her love turned and threw the first punch. The other man slammed his fist into Sean's face. He fell backward, into Molly, knocking her over from her perch into the open barrel of beer. At first, she wasn't frightened. Surely someone would pull her out. But as if from a distance, she heard the roar of the crowd and knew the fight was in full bloom and she had gone unnoticed. She held her breath until her lungs were ready to burst as she pushed and shoved, trying to right herself. But 'twas no use. She could find no purchase. And as her lungs filled their last with gulps of dark beer, she drew up the image of her Sean’s eyes. She wanted to carry that memory straight to the pearly gates and beyond.
Nora woke up gasping. Hands at her throat, she drew in breath after breath, sure she would never get enough air into her lungs.
Her hair clung to her sweat-dampened body like clumps of seaweed and she clawed at it, dragging her nails across her skin mercilessly. Jumping from the bed as if to prove to herself that she could move, her fingers scrambled on the night table for the match vase and strike pad. Quickly, with shaking fingers, she scratched the sulfur-tipped stick across the rough paper, delighting in the instant burst of flame. Anything to chase away the shadows still lingering from her dream.
When the lamp was lit and the chimney set in place, she blew out the match and tossed it onto the tabletop. Hugging herself, she stalked across the room, yanked back the gingham curtains, and stared out at the night.
What she wouldn't give at that moment to see streetlights. To hear the distant hum of traffic from the street far below her Los Angeles high-rise apartment. Heck, at this point, she'd even welcome an earthquake. She wanted to flick on a radio and be comforted with the sound of someone else's voice in the darkness. She wanted to watch some inane television show until the images from her dream faded enough to allow sleep again.
She rested her forehead against the cold windowpane and closed her eyes briefly. Instantly, she saw Sean Muldoon in all his Irish glory. That smile, designed to melt a woman's heart.
Those blue eyes flashing.
That quick, unquenchable temper.
Nora shivered and straightened up, rubbing her arms with brisk, hard strokes. She shot a glare at the ceiling, aiming it at heaven's door. This was all their fault. Tom, Dick, and Harry. It was some sort of cosmic revenge, for all the demands she'd made of them before accepting this life.
Through the cotton fabric of her nightgown, she briefly grabbed hold of the golden ring they'd given her, then released it again instantly. She was in no mood to be talking to those three.
Boy, talk about cheap shots. Because she'd wanted to keep the memories of her past lives, they were going to make her experience all of her deaths too? Well, thanks very much, but she had enough problems to deal with during the day.
She didn't need to be tortured nightly with the replaying of "The Perils of Whoever."
Numbly, her gaze drifted to the bunkhouse, where Seth was no doubt lost in peaceful sleep. It hardly seemed fair for her to be the only one suffering here. After all, if she was getting the message straight, he had been the root of all of her troubles for centuries. Why should he get to sleep while she woke up to cold sweats and ugly memories?
She let her head fall against the back of the chair, but determinedly kept her eyes wide open. There'd be no more attempts at sleep tonight.
Who would have thought that even angels could be so downright petty?
CHAPTER EIGHT
How was a man supposed to put in a full day's work if he couldn't get any sleep at night? Seth let himself out of the bunkhouse quietly, closing the door on the reverberating snores of the sleeping cowboys. He stepped off the small porch into the dirt and walked to the empty corral.
Rubbing one hand across his whisker-stubbled jaw, he tried again to remember what he had been dreaming about. Brief images floated in and out of his mind, but there was nothing he could grab hold of. Water. Cold. A woman's smiling brown eyes. That was it. And already, even those lasting impressions were fading. In fact, the harder he tried to recall the damn dream, the fuzzier it became.
He sighed heavily, leaned his forearms on the top rail of the corral fence, and stared off into the night sky. A chill wind raced across the pasture, tugged at his shirttail, then disappeared, leaving the air still and heavy.
Storm coming, he thought absently, then groaned. Hell, a storm had already hit. Storm Nora. He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder at the darkened main house and scowled briefly at her window. As he turned away, he caught the glimmer of a lamp being lit from the corner of his eye.
What was she doing awake at this hour? Coming up with more ways to drive him completely loco? Deliberately, he looked away from the house, shifting his gaze back to the wide, open blackness stretching out for miles in front of him.
Another sudden wind blew up out of nowhere and he considered buttoning up his hastily thrown on shirt. But the chill in the air was probably just what he needed, so he didn't. A week ago, he would have laughed at any man who suggested that he would find himself attracted to Nora Wilding.
Now, as hard as he tried, he could find nothing to smile about in this situation. Grumbling under his breath, Seth rubbed tired eyes with his fingertips and wished to hell he could just go to bed.
Sleep, he corrected mentally.
In the stillness, he heard the unmistakable click of the ranch house's front door latch being opened. Now what? he asked himself. He knew damn well there was only one person awake in the house. Nora. And apparently, she was on her way outside.
Briefly, he thought about hiding, but immediately dismissed the notion as cowardly, not to mention downright ridiculous. The best thing to do was simply turn around, walk to the bunkhouse and go inside. Hell, he could even toss her a friendly wave on his way.
"Ouch!" A hushed oath of pain carried on the night air and Seth braced himself. He was out of time. She was almost upon him. There would be no escape. All he could hope for was that his earlier reaction to seeing her in pants wouldn't return.
Bracing one foot on the bottom rung of the fence, he turned at the waist to watch her approach. Instantly, everything inside him tightened in anticipation. This was far worse than those damned pants.
She ran across the yard with quick, light steps. Her bare feet made hardly a whisper of sound, and as she ran, that floor-length nightgown of hers flattened against her body, outlining and defining shapes he'd been trying to forget.
His fingers curled into the rough wood beneath his hands.
He welcomed the sting of splinters digging into his flesh. "Hi Roy," she said quietly as she stepped up beside him. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No," he answered. Why he couldn't sleep was his business.
"Me neither," she told him and braced her forearms on the top rung of the fence, so close she almost touched him. “Cold out here.”
"You should be wearing a coat," he said and glanced down at her feet. “And shoes.”
"No lectures, okay?" She turned her face into the winterlaced wind and closed her eyes.
His gaze swept over her briefly, before he coul
d stop himself. Her long hair was twisted into a single braid, and the end of that black rope swayed from side to side just above her bottom, as if purposely drawing his attention to the softly rounded curves. Her bare feet poked out from beneath the hem of her nightgown.
He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with the cold night air and praying for the strength to overcome whatever it was she was doing to him.
Unfortunately, along with the scents of pine and spring grass, he also drew in a healthy measure of the scent clinging to her. Lavender. He frowned to himself. Since when did Nora Wilding wear perfume?
"I saw you from my window," she said softly. "I figured since we were both up, we might as well talk about our little camping trip.”
Good. A reason to take his mind off of her. "You can't mean to ride the countryside counting the cattle."
"Why not?"
"It's stupid," he snapped and even in the faint glow of a quarter moon’s light, he saw the flash of anger flare up in her eyes. "Why spend a couple of weeks doing now what we'll only do again in a month or two?"
"Because I want to, Murdoch," she countered, a thread of steel in her purposely quiet voice. She had a reason, but she didn't want to admit to it. Even to herself.
"Not good enough."
"Fine,” she snapped and stepped down off the fence rail into the dirt. "Then I'll go alone."
Frustrated anger swamped him. He grabbed her upper arm, holding her still when she would have stomped off. “You can't go alone."
"Ow," she said with a wince and he immediately released her.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, rubbing her upper arm. "Just a bruise.”
He frowned, but before he could say anything else, she asked, "Why can't I go alone?"
How much could a body forget and still have a mind? She had lived in Montana her entire life. Granted, she'd never spent much time on the range, but she would have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not know what life was like in the wide open. How was he supposed to make her see that how she was acting could get her killed'?
"Damn it, Nora, it's dangerous! That's wild country out there." He waved one arm at the blackness. "Mountain lions, coyotes, wolves, bears, snakes."
She shuddered violently. "Snakes."
“Damn right. That's not even counting the men you could run into. Herd cutters, rustlers, drifters…" His voice trailed off as he realized by the look in her eyes that he was getting through.
After a long moment's thought, she finally said, “All right then, I'll take Richard with me." She met his gaze with a silent challenge. "He'd be happy to go."
A short bark of laughter shot from his throat and he released her abruptly. "Richard? For all the good he'll do ya, you might as well drag Elizabeth along."
One black eyebrow lifted high on her forehead. "Do I sense a little jealousy here, perhaps?"
"Me?" he countered, slapping one palm on his bare chest. "Jealous of that eastern…" He couldn't think of a word bad enough that he would still be able to use in front of Nora, so he let the sentence end there.
“Why else would you care who I take with me?"
"Hell if I know,” he growled at her. Shaking his head, he looked at her. "Maybe I just don't want to see you dead is all."
A long strand of her hair pulled free of the braid and flew across her face. Tucking it back behind her ear, she asked, "Are you sure that's all it is?"
No. he wasn't. But she would be the last person on earth he would admit that to. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure."
Leaning one elbow on the top of the fence, she looked up at him, studying him like he was some sort of bug she'd found under a rock. Uncomfortable, he rolled his shoulders and planted his feet wide apart, getting set for whatever she was about to say next. Though God knew, there was no telling what that might be.
"So you will go with me to count cows."
"I didn't say that."
"You said I can't go alone and Richard would be worthless."
"That's not the same thing as agreeing to go,” he reminded her, grateful that she'd let go of that whole jealousy notion. Feeling more on safe ground here, he asked, “Why is it so important to count the cattle that you can't wait for roundup?"
She was silent for so long, he thought she wasn't going to answer him at all. Finally though, she looked away from him and stared out at the same pastureland that had captured his own attention just a short time ago.
"You said yourself that I don't remember anything."
"Yeah?"
"I have to know what I've got, Clint. How many cows, how much money, how much land.” She shook her head slightly. One corner of her mouth lifted and then fell again before the smile could be born. "It feels as though I just got here," she admitted plainly. "Like I've never seen this place before. I won't feel like it's home until I've seen everything on it. Been everywhere.”
Her voice sounded wistful. A quality he had heard a time or two before her last illness. Scowling to himself, he admitted silently that it was that tone that had always touched him. The Nora he used to know had seldom been wistful. But once in a while, she had talked to him of her dreams. Dreams of a husband and children. Dreams she had suspected would never come true.
Maybe that's why he hadn't spoken against Richard Bonner when he had first arrived on the ranch. Nora had looked happier than he'd ever seen her. She had basked in Richard's doting attention like a spring flower reaching for the first warm rays of sunshine.
He pushed one hand through his hair as if shoving those old memories aside. Glancing at Nora, he told himself he should be pleased. She wasn't mooning over Richard anymore. Now, it was the ranch. Her inheritance. Shouldn't he be trying to help her regain something that was so important to her? By damn yes, he should.
Seth nodded abruptly, making his decision. "All right, Nora, I'll go with you. I'll show you as much of the ranch as you want to see."
She turned her head and granted him a smile that hit him as hard as a well-thrown punch to the gut. "Thanks. Roy."
He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I don't even want to know where you got all these names you keep calling me."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said softly as her smile faded.
Probably not, he thought. But somehow, he wanted to. He wanted to know why she was so changed. So different. He wanted to know why a woman he had known and cared about for ten years was suddenly so appealing to him.
And he wanted to know how to nip those feelings before they could take root and choke him.
"There's one other thing, Seth," she said and he blinked, surprised again at the sound of his own name from her lips. "I've been wondering about something that only you can help me with.”
The words sounded simple enough. Why then did he feel the hairs at the back of his neck standing straight up? He crossed his arms over his chest and didn't drop them even when she smiled at his defensive stance. "What's that?" he asked warily.
"Well,” she pushed her hair off her forehead, smoothing it across the top of her head. “It's something I think would maybe explain why you always seem so jumpy around me. And why you get so mad whenever I'm talking to Richard."
Somehow, he didn't think he was going to like what was coming. The expression on her face was too thoughtful, too knowing. Besides, he had plenty of reasons to dislike Bonner. "I'm not mad. I don't like Richard. Don't trust him."
"Oh, that's part of it," she allowed.
"As for being jumpy," he went on in a hurry, "which I'm not, it's only because I'm waiting for your memory to come back.”
"Which one?" she muttered so quietly he almost didn't hear it.
“What?"
"Never mind," she said, waving one hand dismissively.
"It's getting late," he prompted, suddenly eager to get away. To keep his distance before she had the time to ask him whatever it was she was getting at.
"This'll only take a minute," she said, then took a deep breath. "I just need to know som
ething."
His arms dropped to his sides. He didn't remember Nora being this stubborn either. "What?"
"How do I put this delicately?" she wondered aloud, tapping one finger against her chin.
“The hell with delicate, Nora. Just say it and be done with it." Whoa boy, he told himself, deliberately trying to put a rein on his rapidly growing temper.
"Alrighty then," she said with a lift of her chin. Staring directly into his eyes, she asked, "Have we ever-"
"Ever what?"
"Had sex?"
Stunned, he stumbled backward a step or two. Despite his efforts, he hadn't been prepared for this. He gave his head a good shake, hoping to hell he hadn't heard her right, even though he knew he had.
“Seth?”
Dumbfounded, he could only stare at her. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“For God's sake," she demanded. "Answer me. Have we done the midnight tango or not?"
Tango? He rubbed one hand across his face viciously. Her question had hit far too close to where his thoughts had been roaming lately. But for her to think that he would sleep with her without benefit of marriage didn't say much about her opinion of him.
"I don't know what the hell a tango is," he finally managed to say. "But as to the other-no."
"No?"
"No!”
He couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed.
Hell, he wasn't even sure how he felt. All he knew was that she had questioned his honor and he wanted that straightened out right now.
“I work for you, Nora. And your father before you. I would never do something to dishonor you, and it shames me to know you think I would."
"Dishonor? Shame?" she countered. “I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, cowboy. You can relax on that one. I just wanted to know if there was something about our relationship that I should be aware of."
“Well, there isn't."
"Swell," she muttered thickly. "I didn't do anything with Richard…"
“I hope to hell not!"
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