by Jane Porter
“So why are you here? Why aren’t you at the saloon still? Or do you like the excitement? Is that why you have the Hoffmans bringing me food? Is it beneficial to you somehow, having everyone gossip?” Her bag slipped and she jerked to catch it but the strings had loosened and a potato rolled out. She bent to pick up the potato but another spilled and then the turnips, falling into the mushy soil.
She let out a scream of vexation and Sinclair was dismounting and there beside her, crouching in the mud, picking up root vegetables and shoving them into the bag before tying the bag to his saddle.
Without asking her permission, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse as if she weighed no more than the sack of potatoes. He slid a foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle, and pulled her against him as he picked up the reins, and spurred the horse to a trot.
McKenna sat tall, trying not to lean against Sinclair, which proved nearly impossible with the jogging motion of the horse. She’d bounced and bumped against him her hands flailing until she grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane and tried to pull away from Sinclair’s hard thighs and broad chest.
“Can we please walk?” she gritted. “I’m about to fall off!”
“I won’t let you fall.”
His arm tightened around her waist, his hand flat against her belly. Heat rushed through her, the heat coming in waves until she felt as if she’d pop out of her skin.
“I can’t breathe,” she said, drawing away.
He eased his hold and she was able to lean forward a few inches, but she was still so aware of him behind her, her body tingling from head to foot. But it wasn’t just her senses that were stirred. She felt an overwhelming awareness of him, and life, and who they’d been as well as whom they were now.
She wasn’t supposed to still care this much for him. She wasn’t supposed to feel the way she did about him.
“You smell like sheepskin,” she said huskily, fighting the intensity of her emotions.
“You smell like wet wool.”
“I love that smell.”
He laughed softly, a deep rumble in his chest that she could feel all the way through her.
She wanted his arms tighter. She wanted him to hold her closer. She wanted all the things she’d never had with him… or anyone else.
McKenna blinked, clearing the salty sting from her eyes, and drew a deep breath, dangerously close to breaking down. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job.”
“I’ll speak to her.”
“Do you think she’d listen?”
“I would hope so. I’m friends with her father. I’ve known her since she was sixteen.”
“She wants you,” MeKenna said after a moment. “And your family wants her for you, too.”
He said nothing.
“They said they hope you’ll be married soon.”
His shoulders shifted. “Nobody chooses my bride for me.”
“You want to marry?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted a family. I’ve worked hard so I can provide for my family.” His voice hardened. “You’re the one that doesn’t like marriage. Not me.”
“I didn’t say I disliked marriage. I just said I didn’t trust… men, and therefore marriage.”
“Maybe I should just propose to Miss Burnett,” he said flatly, his voice low.
But she heard him, and she straightened abruptly, shoulders squaring as she tried to glance back at him, but Sinclair was so much taller than her and with his hat on she couldn’t see his features well enough to read his expression.
They didn’t speak again the rest of the ride home.
Once in front of her cabin, he lowered her down from the saddle, and handed her the cloth shopping bag.
“That was oh, so very low,” she said tersely, stepping up onto her small covered porch. “And absolutely unnecessary. Why threaten me with Miss Burnett?”
He was off his horse and following her up the steps. “Not threatening you. I’m just telling you how I feel—”
“You want her?”
“I want you, but for reasons I don’t understand I can’t have you. Not then, not now.”
“I haven’t even been here five months. I can’t quit teaching now. I need to think of my students, and I need to think about what’s best for me.”
“For you.”
“Sinclair, this is how I make my living. It’s how I take care of myself.”
“You know I could take care of you.”
“And what if you changed your mind? What if you walked out on me?”
“I would never do that.”
“How do I know? My father—”
“I am not your father.” He stiffened, offended. “I am not your Bernard. And if you do not know that by now, if you do not trust me by now, then you will never trust me.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me!”
He caught her to him, and kissed her fiercely, his hands cupping her face, tilting her head back to take her mouth with hunger and anger and desperation.
He tasted of love and passion and desperation.
She heard a warning voice in her head. The voice wasn’t quiet, either. Things were changing. They’d reached the breaking point, and if they weren’t careful, it’d be a point of no return.
Whatever happened now…
Whatever happened next…
Sinclair pressed her back against the cabin’s roughhewn wall, his big body trapping her. “Tell me you want me,” he said, his hands braced on either side of her head, his this moving between hers. “Tell me.”
“I do—Sinclair, I do, but I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Can’t give you what you want.”
“Why not?”
“I need to do something right. I need to do something well, and this job is my chance to do something well.”
“So you won’t have me?” he said, stepping away from her, hands falling to his sides.
She caught at his arm, keeping him from moving further away. “Please, Sinclair, listen to me—”
“I have,” he snapped. “That’s all I’ve been doing for weeks. Listening and asking questions and listening some more but it’s always about you. What you want, what you fear, what you need.”
“Because you asked me.”
“Why don’t you ask me what I want, and fear, and need? Why don’t I matter as much as you?”
She felt a lump fill her throat, matching the weight in her stomach.
“Is it because I’m a Douglas from Dublin Gulch? Is it because I don’t represent power in your world? Why would you give Bernard everything and yet withhold it from me?”
“I didn’t give him everything.”
“No? Are you still pure then?”
Her heart fell, and she went cold all over. “Is my innocence so very important to you?”
“I respected you. I kept you chaste.”
She couldn’t breathe. She hurt all over. She knew what he was asking. She knew what he wanted to hear.
This would be the time to tell him she was still a virgin. This would be the time to explain, but he was enraged and she didn’t know how to manage Sinclair now.
“My innocence is no one’s business but mine,” she said. “I do not belong to you. Nor do I owe you any explanation.”
“You are so spoiled. You were raised to think that you are the sun, and the rest of the world just exists to revolve around you, enjoying your warmth and light, when you choose to radiate heat and light.”
“Wrong!” she cried, flinging the word at him as if it were a knife. “I wasn’t raised to think of myself that way, and maybe I was spoiled—indulged by my father as so many fathers indulge their daughters—but I never thought of myself as the center of the universe until you turned me into the sun, big and bright, filled with life. If you’re not happy that I have such confidence, blame yourself, because you made me this way.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! You, with all your rid
iculous love!” She was practically shouting the words, absolutely beside herself because he couldn’t see that she was his, and had always been his, and would always be his. Twenty-five years… fifty years from now. It didn’t matter. The time apart wouldn’t matter, either. She’d always love him. She’d always be his, and he’d be hers. For better, or worse. And maybe they couldn’t make it work in their lifetime but it didn’t change the love. It had been there in the beginning and it would be there at the end. “Now make the gossip stop. It has to stop. I need my job.”
He walked to his horse and reached for the reins. “You had other choices, McKenna. You didn’t have to live like this.”
“I could have married, yes? I could have let a man take care of me.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I don’t want to be totally dependent on anyone.”
“I am not anyone. I have loved you for half my life, McKenna. If I am just anyone, it’s time for this to end.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “That’s not what I was saying. You’re taking my words and twisting them—”
“Marry me, next month.”
“Sinclair.”
“You won’t, will you?”
“Does it have to be now? Can’t we wait? Let me finish the year and see how things are this summer?”
Sinclair ground his teeth, his hard jaw jutting.
For a long minute, he was silent, and then he shook his head and crossed to his horse, and put a foot in the stirrup, then seated himself. “I’ll make the gossip stop.”
He turned the horse around and she hurried down the steps, running to catch up with him. “No goodbye? Is that it?”
He glanced down at her, blue gaze cold. “Goodbye,” he said grimly.
She grabbed at his calf. “Not like that, Sinclair!”
He made a rough sound. “You win, Mac. I’m giving you what you want.”
“And what is that?”
“Your freedom.” Then he spurred the horse and he was off, cantering across the field.
*
His ridiculous love.
Her words kept ringing in his head, sharp and mocking. Her eyes had been bright and hard as she’d flung his ridiculous love in his face.
Once he reached the main road, Sinclair let his horse go, the canter becoming a gallop, anger rushing through him, making him see red.
Why did he keep seeking her out? What did he want from her? What did he expect?
That she might have changed? That life and the challenges she faced had opened her eyes?
It seemed he was wrong.
It seemed he would always be wrong about her.
His frustration was huge. It flamed his anger and the old pain, making him want to hurt something, break something, break her—
No.
Not break her.
He just had to avoid her.
She wasn’t good for him. She made him insane. And surely after fourteen years, he’d had enough of the Frasiers?
Surely after fourteen years, he could focus on someone else. Create a new future.
He had much to offer. Stability, security, protection, companionship. He’d be a good husband, an excellent provider, and a devoted father. And once he was committed, he wouldn’t stray, either. He would never do that to his wife. It was the worst betrayal he could think of.
Maybe it was time to think seriously on marriage.
And if he was serious about marrying, why wait? He’d be thirty in May. He had a fine two-story house with a big bed in an upstairs bedroom that featured a high sloped ceiling and a dormer window where one could see the moon.
He slept in that bed, in that room, alone. He’d lived in his fine house for two years alone. Why spend another long winter by himself? There was no reason to remain a bachelor when he could take a Christmas wife.
Ellie Burnet was young and beautiful, healthy and strong. She knew his life, too. She’d understand what needed to be done. She’d helped her father with his work. She would be a good partner, a suitable mate.
Maybe Ellie had done him a favor today, threatening to report McKenna to Superintendent Egan.
Maybe she’d forced his hand, and normally he didn’t like to be pressured, but when it came to McKenna, he was a fool. Maybe he needed the push to make him see what he’d refused to see—McKenna Frasier would never pick him.
He spurred his horse faster. They galloped, the wind whistling as he leaned close over the stallion’s neck.
He felt dangerous and wild. Wild with frustration and humiliation and most painful of all, grief.
He was letting her go.
He was done. There was no more room for her in his heart, or in his life.
Chapter Twelve
He was engaged.
McKenna was at school when she found out, one of the Hoffman boys pushing past one of his brothers to get to her first to break the news.
They all thought it was a great story. They were excited by the news. Mr. Douglas, the strapping miner who’d become a big rancher, was marrying the Texan’s only daughter.
The children talked about it all day, and then all week as they learned new details. Mr. Burnett was throwing an engagement party at the Graff in their honor. It would be a holiday party, no, a Christmas ball, a lavish Christmas ball and there would be a band from Butte, and an entire table of cakes, and lots of beer and wine and champagne, the champagne coming in by train from New York.
The children shared too much of what their parents said at home. Some parents were invited, but not everyone because it was a formal dinner with five—no, seven—courses, and even though the ballroom was huge, Mr. Burnett wanted to keep it intimate, which was why he was only including his friends.
Mrs. Douglas and Miss Douglas were inviting friends, too. They were inviting more than just a few friends. They were so happy for Mr. Douglas. It was a dream come true and because it was the biggest party of the year, Miss Douglas was sewing many splendid gowns for the ladies attending the party on Saturday, December twenty-first.
McKenna was glad she didn’t receive an invite for this party. She said those exact words when Jillian Parker came to call on her a week before the school ended for Christmas vacation.
“You might change your mind when you see this,” Jillian answered, drawing a heavy envelope from her bag and handing it to her. “Your very own invitation.”
McKenna held the envelope in her hands, heartsick.
She didn’t get invited to the Brambles’ party when she wanted to go last October, and when she didn’t want to attend a party, the invitation arrived early.
“What do you think of the match?” Jillian asked, going to sit by the fire.
McKenna’s hands shook as she poured the hot water for their tea. “I haven’t an opinion.”
“Everyone says it’s a good match as Mr. Douglas runs cattle on his land, just like Mr. Burnett does. Their property isn’t far, either, so Miss Burnett will remain close to her father.”
“It sounds as if everyone knows best,” McKenna answered, carrying the cups to the fireplace. She thought she’d come to terms with the engagement news but suddenly she felt heartbroken all over again.
It was impossible, absolutely impossible, to imagine a future without Sinclair.
And once Jillian left, McKenna sank onto her bed, and buried her face in her pillow, howling into the soft down, unable to contain her sorrow.
Not Sinclair and Ellie. Not Sinclair and Ellie. Not Sinclair and anyone. Sinclair was hers.
*
Thank God it was weekend.
McKenna was so heartsick she could barely function. After Jillian had left yesterday, McKenna had more or less stayed in bed, and she’d only gotten up today to do the most necessary chores.
But every little task made her want to cry.
What had she done?
She couldn’t live without him. She couldn’t even go a week without him. It was just eight days since he’d left her, and it felt like forever. Maybe
because in those eight days, he’d gone straight to Ellie and proposed and her father had immediately planned a party that promised to be the party of all parties.
*
The snow began to fall steadily Sunday afternoon. It snowed all night and when Sinclair woke up the next morning, the fat thick white flakes were still coming down, turning the valley into a sea of white.
After moving his horses and cattle into the barn and making sure they had plenty of feed and water, he returned to his house and stared out the window facing Emigrant Peak, the mountain completely obscured by clouds.
It was cold and growing colder. The national weather were now predicting a winter much like last year with its record cold fronts and blizzards and snow piling fifteen, twenty feet high or more.
He knew how to survive in the cold. He knew his limits, he’d been tested over the years and he understood when to stay in, and when to venture out, and how to handle nature at its worst. But McKenna didn’t.
She was woefully unprepared.
And, no, she wasn’t his anymore. He was committed elsewhere, engaged to Ellie, but that didn’t mean he wanted McKenna to be hurt, or suffer.
Watching the snow fall in a blinding sheet of white, he worried.
*
The snow just kept falling.
It had started yesterday, Sunday afternoon and now it was knee deep. McKenna didn’t expect any students but at the same time she wasn’t sure if any would try to make it.
She dressed and trudged through the thick fluffy snow, batting away the flakes when they landed beneath her bonnet. Once inside the freezing school, she lit a fire and changed the date on the blackboard and with a trembling hand she wrote the morning lessons on the board before going outside to shovel a path for students.
There was a great deal of snow and it took a great deal of effort to clear even a partial path. She worked for an hour and when no students appeared, she realized that it was unlikely anyone was coming.
McKenna put out the fire, closed the school, and returned home, her boots soaked through and her hair quite damp despite the hat she’d worn. Inside her own cabin, McKenna was grateful for her new stove, as it proved particularly useful for drying wet shoes and coats and heating the water to warm her chilled hands and feet.