by Jane Porter
She gave her head a slight shake and yet she was smiling. “I’m not your problem.”
“Well, apparently you are, until I see you settled.”
“I am settled.”
“I mean, married.”
She groaned. “That’s not happening. Marriage is not for me. So prepare yourself for years of fussing over my well-being. Decades, Sinclair.”
“Decades, you say?”
“Mmmm. Decades of caring for your spinster friend from Butte.”
He reached past her, lifting his heavy coat and hat from the hook by the door. His arm brushed her shoulder, accidentally skimming the softness of her breast. His body hardened in response, hunger surging within him.
He hated leaving her. It went against everything in him.
“I’ll be here Thanksgiving midmorning,” he said tautly, opening the door.
She followed him out. “What can I bring? Some of my delicious bread?”
He grimaced. “No need. Save that delicious bread for yourself.” And then he closed the distance and placed a light, chaste kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Mac.”
Her lips curved, her expression wistful. “Good night, Sin.”
“Lock the door behind me.”
“I will.”
“Do it now, so I can rest easy.”
She looked at him for a moment, emotion filling her eyes and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he wanted to.
His woman. His.
And then she was stepping back into the cabin and the door shut. He heard the heavy bolt slide, and felt the weight of it from his heart to his gut. It was so damn hard to leave her.
Chapter Eleven
McKenna was glad she’d dressed in her best chocolate silk and mocha velvet dress when they reached downtown Marietta and she discovered that Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t at Mrs. Douglas’ flat, but the Graff Hotel’s handsome dining room with its beamed ceiling, green walls, and tall pots filled with orchids and ferns.
Sinclair had organized the dinner and they were a table of nine as the Brambles and the Burnetts had been invited as Sinclair’s guests, too.
Mr. Graff, the owner of the hotel, worked the dining room during the meal, checking on every table’s satisfaction and comfort. McKenna had never met the German before but liked him immediately; particularly when she discovered his menu had been inspired by the menu being served to the president in Washington. Stuffed turkey and goose and prime rib. Three kinds of potatoes, string beans, cauliflower au gratin, and stewed tomatoes, with Chickasaw pudding and pies and ice creams for dessert. There were also macaroons and merengue and cakes with fresh brewed smyra coffee.
McKenna was grateful she was seated by Mrs. Bramble, and away from Johanna and Ellie Burnett, but she felt Ellie’s gaze during the meal, Ellie’s expression increasingly speculative.
During dinner, there was a toast to the late president, Abraham Lincoln, for making Thanksgiving a national holiday. Mr. Burnett, a tall, rangy Texan, rose and proposed a toast to Sinclair Douglas for his generosity and friendship, thanking him for bringing them all together today.
McKenna looked down the table and her eyes met Sinclair’s and held. She slowly smiled and he smiled back and in that moment there was no one else there. It was just them, Sinclair and McKenna, against the world. It was as it had always been, as teenagers in Butte, as young adults writing letters. It was them with their hopes and dreams.
Sinclair and McKenna together and it was perfect.
He was perfect.
He was.
Late that afternoon after saying goodbye to everyone, they walked, just the two of them, from the Graff to the courthouse, wandering through the public gardens. They walked until the sun dropped behind the mountains and the lavender light of dusk spread over the town.
“We should head back home before it gets too late,” he said.
She nodded, and they returned to the hotel for his vehicle.
As he drove, she sat close. They didn’t talk much, but the silence was almost like a conversation. Utterly content, McKenna felt her hip against his, and she tucked her hand deeper into the crook of his arm.
He made her feel safe. He made her feel so good.
“How do you do it?” she murmured, lifting her head to look up at the white moon.
He looked at her, eyebrow lifting.
“You make the ordinary extraordinary,” she said. “You make the whole world come alive.”
“It is alive. You just have to pay attention.”
Her gaze met his. “I am now.”
For a moment there was silence, and then his head dipped, blocking the moon. His lips brushed hers, letting her feel his breath and the coolness of his mouth on hers.
She shivered at the sensation, pleasure and surprise making her tingle all over.
“Easy,” he murmured, as her breath hitched and she shuddered again. “It’s just me, sweetheart.” His hands were at her neck, and then beneath her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss.
Her hands went to his chest to steady herself, but the moment she touched him, she wanted more. She slid her hands beneath his coat to find the warm, hard planes of his chest. He felt so good and she leaned in closer.
The kiss was as overwhelming as her feelings. She gave him her heart all over again. Love was murky and intense, baffling and consuming, but loving him wasn’t even a choice. Loving him was like breathing. She did it without thinking.
Eventually the kiss ended, but she kept her hand tucked inside his coat, feeling his heart beat.
When they reached her house she reluctantly drew away. He helped her out of his buggy and walked her up the porch, entering the cabin first to be sure she was safe.
She was. She was with him.
She flew in the clouds and he was her rock, her foundation and earth.
“Good night,” he said, head lowering to kiss her again.
She clung to him, head spinning, heart beating. When he finally lifted his head she saw stars. “Good night, Sin,” she whispered, smiling up at him. “That was one of my favorite Thanksgivings ever.”
“I’m glad you joined us. I hope you know you have friends here, McKenna.”
“I know that you are my friend here.”
“You belong here. Don’t ever forget that.”
*
McKenna spent Friday reading and writing letters, and then on Saturday she walked to Bottler’s in Emigrant to mail her letters to Amelia and Mary. There was no mail for her today and so she finished her shopping and thanked the clerk and headed out.
She’d just started walking when she heard a woman call her name.
McKenna turned to discover Ellie Burnett seated in a glossy black buggy drawn by a matching black horse. Ellie wore a dark gray wool coat with black velvet trim, her large, elegant hat pinned at an angle on her gleaming red hair.
She looked impossibly pretty and polished, and McKenna couldn’t help wishing she’d made more of an effort this morning.
Ellie lifted a hand, gesturing for McKenna to join her.
McKenna shifted her heavy bag with potatoes and turnips, soap and sundry to her other arm. “Good afternoon, Miss Burnett.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Frasier. Wasn’t that a lovely Thanksgiving dinner?”
“It was,” McKenna agreed. “The Graff does a splendid job.”
“Indeed it does. Can I give you a ride home?” Ellie smiled. “I’m heading into Marietta, and would be happy to drop you off on the way.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, but I don’t mind walking. The exercise is good for me. It’s about the only exercise I get these days.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You have to chop wood and fetch water and clean the school every week.”
“The students help me with much of that. They’re very good to me.”
“Yes, like the Hoffmans taking you to town with them.” She smiled and patted the bench seat. “Join me. You’re about to
drop whatever it is you’re carrying and there is no point in walking when I can get you back much faster, leaving you more time to tackle all those chores waiting for you. Besides, it’s threatening to rain and you don’t want to have to deal with the mud on top of everything else.”
Ellie Burnett’s tone set McKenna’s teeth on edge but she didn’t want to offend Johanna’s friend. Besides, dark clouds were gathering over Emigrant peak. Rain probably wasn’t that far off.
“True,” McKenna replied. “And thank you. I’d be delighted to join you.”
She climbed into the buggy and placed her bag at her feet and then they were off at a brisk pace. McKenna didn’t want to be impressed by Ellie’s skillful driving but Ellie had excellent command of her spirited horse.
For several minutes they discussed pleasantries—weather, upcoming holidays, the various bills the new state government was trying to put through before the end of the year—and then Ellie shifted the conversation, almost as deftly as she steered the horse around a fallen tree nearly blocking the road.
“You surprise me,” Ellie said with a glance at McKenna. “You have a very good grasp of politics and business.”
“I owe that to my father. He used to discuss both with me.”
“Mine, too. What would we do without our fathers?”
McKenna couldn’t answer that and for several minutes they lapsed into silence and then Ellie broke the quiet. “Are you pleased with your position at the school here? Or do you find it inferior due to your education?”
“Not at all. It’s been a good challenge.”
“So you don’t intend to leave anytime soon?”
“Absolutely not.” McKenna’s attention was drawn to a fragmented boulder scattered across the road ahead, but Ellie handled the rock and her horse with the same confidence she’d handled the fallen tree. “I intend to be here for quite a long time.”
“No plans to marry anytime soon?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
McKenna couldn’t quite suppress her shudder. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
Ellie glanced at her from beneath the brim of her hat, brow arched. “That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“Forgive me if this isn’t my place, but people are talking.” She paused, creating a delicate tension. “They’re aware of the extraordinary amount of time you and Mr. Douglas spend together. It’s widely assumed that you two have a…liaison?”
McKenna stiffened. “Who says that?”
“More people than you might think.”
“I don’t believe it. No. There’s no reason for speculation, either.”
“You must admit you’ve spent considerable time together. Alone.” Ellie glanced at her, her expression blank, and suddenly impossible to read. “It’s one thing for him to drive you home from a party, but another to purchase and install a stove in your home—”
“The stove isn’t for me, it’s for the school, and for future teachers.”
“I’m just not sure the superintendent would see it that way. Mr. Egan is quite conservative. His teachers must be above reproach.”
“I have known Mr. Douglas since we were children.”
“But you’re not a child anymore, are you, Miss Frasier? And I do believe Mr. Egan was giving you a second chance by hiring you for Park County’s little school. He believed you were reformed—”
“Reformed?”
“That you’d put your scandalous behavior behind you.”
McKenna’s lips pressed together. She was too insulted to speak.
Ellie shrugged lightly. “I see that I’ve upset you, but what kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t warn you that members of the community have noted your indiscretions, and are uncomfortable with your lack of propriety? I will try to intercede on your behalf, Miss Frasier, and beg them not to write Mr. Egan just yet, but I need assurance from you that you will not continue encouraging Mr. Douglas. At least, not if you desire to retain your current job at the school in Emigrant.”
“I’d like to walk.” McKenna choked, reaching for the bag at her feet. “Please pull over. I’d like to get out now.”
“But we’re almost to your turn off.”
“We’ve another mile, at least, and I’d prefer to walk the rest of the way.”
“You’re not angry with me, are you?” Ellie slowed her horse, then brought him to a complete stop. “I would think you’d appreciate someone being honest with you. You don’t want to spend your entire life alienated from others, do you?”
McKenna felt so very much in that moment—fury, outrage, shame—it was difficult to know which words to say. “I wish I could trust you, Miss Burnett. Alas, I do not know your heart, or your intentions.”
“They are but the purest.”
“How lucky for me then, that you have chosen to befriend me. Good day.” McKenna stepped out of the buggy and started walking.
Ellie drew the buggy alongside McKenna’s. “I don’t blame you entirely, Miss Frasier. How could I when Mr. Douglas has encouraged your dependence? But that must be nipped in the bud. You are not the one for him—”
“But you are?” McKenna spun on her heel, and faced Ellie, temper barely leashed. “Is that what you believe?”
“I know I would never abuse him as you have. I would never dream of playing with his affections. He is the rarest of men. Hardworking, honest, true.”
“I do not need you to lecture me about Sin—” She broke off, drew a swift breath. “Mr. Douglas. I know him far better than you.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it isn’t the Hoffmans who send milk and eggs, cheese and butter to you. It’s Mr. Douglas. And when you needed a ride into town for the statehood celebrations, it wasn’t the Hoffmans who thought of taking you, it was Mr. Douglas’ suggestion that they offer to take you.” Ellie held up a finger, stopping McKenna. “In case you didn’t see the big picture, Mr. Hoffman is Mr. Douglas’ ranch foreman. He works for Mr. Douglas, and every egg, or bit of butter or cheese that come to you through those four Hoffman boys, comes not from the Hoffman’s generosity, but because Mr. Douglas has provided it. And that, Miss Frasier, would not please Superintendent Egan, either.” Then she clucked and gave the reins a shake and continued on, leaving McKenna on the side of the road.
For a long minute McKenna just stood there, too shocked to move. She couldn’t believe it. Any of it. And yet she didn’t think Ellie Burnett was lying.
Was Sinclair providing for her? Was he sending food through the Hoffmans?
And did everyone truly know that he’d paid her so much attention, or was Miss Burnett just more observant than most?
Did she care more than most?
Or was McKenna’s job truly in danger?
The first raindrop fell and McKenna lifted her face to the sky, fighting the emotion threatening to swallow her whole.
How was it possible that she was already the subject of speculation and ugly gossip? Why did everyone assume the worst of her?
In New York last spring Town Topics named McKenna the most scandalous woman of the year, and now here she was in tiny little Emigrant about to lose everything. Over a man. Again.
More raindrops fell. McKenna began walking quickly, not wanting to get soaked by the freezing rain. The last thing she needed was to get sick.
The sound of a horse behind her made her move closer to the side of the road. She glanced behind her as the horse and rider approached and then nearly screamed in frustration. Of course it’d be Sinclair. Who else?
She put her head down and began walking more quickly, as if she could somehow make herself invisible. But of course he knew it was her, and he slowed his horse.
She hunched her shoulders as he stopped next to her.
“Give me your hand, I’ll pull you up in front of me,” he said.
“I’m almost home,” she said, trying to ignore the stitch in her side from walking so fast.
�
��You’re more than a half mile away and it’s going to come down hard. Give me your hand—”
“No, thank you. I needed the exercise.”
“It’s raining, McKenna.”
“I like the rain, and I’m glad for the rain. Mr. Bottler and Mr. Stickland’s crops needed it.”
“They’ve harvested their crops for the winter.”
“Then it’s good for their livestock.”
“And it’s good for you, yes?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook. She was so upset, not just with him, but with all of them. “There’s nothing like a walk in the rain.”
“Especially when it turns your path to mud.”
“I like the mud.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Go away.” She choked, the rain beginning to come down harder, pelting her face and hat, making her bag of potatoes and turnips even heavier. She shifted the bag from one arm to another, trying to keep her arm from going numb. “Your help is not needed.”
“Something has happened.”
“Of course something has happened! I’m the most scandalous woman in America!”
“I did think Town Topics laid it on a bit heavy. You’re fallen, yes, but I don’t think you’ve quite earned the title of most scandalous woman. I am sure there are a few women whose behavior is worse.”
“Is that a joke? Very nice.” She wiped an arm across her face trying to dry it even as the rain kept falling. “Humor is so good for lifting the spirits.”
“Lift your hem. Your skirt is dragging in the mud.”
“Excellent. That will be delightful to wash.”
“You are having a tantrum.”
“No. I’m just working very hard not to say what I want to say.”
“Which is?”
“Please, Sinclair, go. Go before someone else sees us, and spreads more gossip, fueling speculation that you and I are having a torrid affair—”
“Is that Miss Burnett said?”
She shot him a furious glance, angry, so angry with him. “How did you know I rode with her?”
“I was at the saloon across from Bottler’s store. I saw you leave with her.”