He called Marcus and the Stantons all the worst names possible
“If Johnny finds out about this, he’ll gun him down. Even Billy could do something rash. You’re worth twenty of them, gal, never forget it.”
He was kind in his abrupt, gruff way. Only when he pointed it out, did she realize the locket was gone, adding to her anguish. She had lost her mother’s treasured locket. After she changed into her nightshirt, she grabbed the tattered, once beautiful gown and threw it in the fire.
She watched through tear filled eyes as the hungry flames devoured it, then broken hearted sought the sanctuary of her bed. Her ordeal had been so traumatic, so life draining that within a short time she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She didn’t hear McGuire speaking to the ranch hand Marcus sent over to make sure she had arrived home safely.
* * *
Next morning, subdued and white-faced, George served biscuits covered in honey for breakfast, all the while waiting for Billy to make a sneering, I told you so, remark. He said nothing, just ate with quick, jerky movements, although his eyes burned with rage.
“Don’t cause any trouble, boy, you hear me? Stantons will put the law on you for sure. Don’t worry. I’ll think of a way for us to get even.”
The threat, quietly spoken, held undertones of menace. George quaked inwardly, knowing full well McGuire was a man who would not allow his family to be insulted without seeking retribution.
“McGuire, Billy, promise you won’t hurt Marcus.” The mug she held shook in her hand. “Please don’t do anything,” she pleaded.
“All right.” McGuire agreed gruffly. “You stay away too, boy.”
* * *
Marcus glanced at Georgina’s locket, and in the light of day became even more puzzled. It was plain gold with beveled edges, quite a nice piece of jewelry.
How did Georgina come by it? A gift from that young wretch Valentine no doubt. He must have stolen it.
He would never forget his first sight of Georgina last night. Her cheeks had been tinged delicately pink with excitement. Her milky white throat and shoulders bared by the gown, and her soft tremulous lips had given her the fragility of fine porcelain. She was by far the prettiest girl present. He cursed Kathryn under his breath for ruining the evening both for himself and Georgina. He had so wanted things to be special for her.
His aunt and uncle had disapproved of him inviting her to the party. They were vocal in their condemnation of the McGuires. Oh, Georgina, sweet beautiful Georgina. There could be no real future for them. No happy ending, he thought desolately, shuddering at what his parents would say about her lowly background.
He had never considered himself a snob before. In fact, he despised many of his peers who openly boasted about marrying for wealth and to beget legal heirs, without even a scrap of affection for their wives. When they wanted love, they took a mistress. When they tired of one woman, they ruthlessly cast her aside and moved on to the next conquest.
Clenching his fists, he realized he loved Georgina, but in the cold light of day, with his passion cooled, he knew it was impossible to make her his wife. I certainly won’t be marrying Kathryn.
His parents, of course, were hoping for a match and he himself had seriously contemplated the idea until her show of spite last evening. He abhorred vindictive, spiteful women, no matter how socially suitable or rich they were.
“Georgina,” he groaned. Why did their backgrounds have to be so different? He wanted her like no other woman he had ever known. If he couldn’t marry her, there were only two choices left: try to forget her or make her his mistress. He would buy her pretty gowns, beautiful jewels; nothing would be too grand for sweet Georgina.
Maybe he could buy them a ranch away from here. He had money independent of his parents. Georgina was a creature of the wild whose spirit would wither and die if trapped in the confines of a city. He would spend most of his time with her, would worship and cherish her for the rest of his days.
Feeling better for having solved his problems, Marcus straightened his cravat. He patted his hair back into place, found his hat and prepared to ride over to the McGuire homestead.
The stable hand saddled his usual mount and without wasting a moment more, Marcus set off. He enjoyed riding and without vanity knew he was an expert, having been in the cavalry, and around horses most of his life. He spurred the horse into a gallop. This ex-race horse always gave a good account of himself, but after a time he slowed the beast down so he could survey the countryside.
He would be seeing Georgina soon and he hoped she would not still be upset over last night. Once he explained everything would be all right. Dear sweet, Georgina did not have a vindictive bone in her body, not like Kathryn, who last night showed herself to be a vicious viper.
The cabin came up suddenly, nestled against a backdrop of spruce covered hills. A curl of smoke drifted skyward and the bawling of cattle came from somewhere close by.
He dismounted, tethered his horse then strode on to the porch, holding his hat in one hand. There appeared to be no sign of life, so after tapping on the door several times, he entered the kitchen. Strange it should be at the front of the cabin.
“Georgina.” No answer. Feeling rather guilty for trespassing, he hurriedly returned outside. Maybe she was out the back. Hanging out the washing perhaps? He swallowed down on his feeling of disappointment at the thought she might be away.
Nothing on the washing line. He idly glanced at a child’s swing swung over a tree branch. Gnawing his bottom lip for a moment, he deliberated before deciding to look around. Thank goodness, he spotted her horse grazing in a nearby corral. Instinct drew him toward the creek, and there she was paddling in the water, with her trousers rolled up to her knees, exposing slim legs and dainty bare feet.
“Georgina.” She started like a frightened fawn. Her head snapped back and he watched as the color ebbed away from her face leaving it chalk white.
“Go away.”
“Please, I can explain about last night.”
She stood there, little and sad. Disregarding the wet sand which could ruin his fine boots Marcus stepped to the water’s edge.
“Listen to me. I only told Kathryn so she could tell me the best place to buy your gown. You must believe me, she promised not to tell a soul. I swear it’s the truth.”
Her lips trembled. He held out his arms and she ran into them.
“Marcus, oh Marcus.” She sobbed into his chest and he held her close, savoring her nearness. He drew her slowly from the water and edged them to the overhang of a massive tree. Then he kissed her. Her mouth remained tightly closed, her body taut. As his questing mouth became more insistent, hers softened and parted under the persuasive pressure. Her body relaxed, becoming so pliant he could mold it into the contours of his own.
“Georgina.” Her name came out in an impassioned groan, as he drew her to the ground.
She answered his kisses, tentatively at first, but gaining in confidence under his experienced tutoring. He pushed her hands inside his shirt so she could feel his hot naked flesh. His fingers began caressing her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. Soon this was not enough. He wanted more.
The buttons on her shirt finally gave way to his eager, questing fingers. The sudden slap across his face jerked his head back. He got to his feet and strode off, leaving her alone and in shock.
Chapter Seven
The weeks passed, Marcus did not come near her again. Night after night she lay awake wondering what had gone wrong. She shouldn’t have slapped his face. Shouldn’t have let him kiss her like that.
One afternoon, a terrible thought came to her, something so shocking she broke out in a cold sweat. Could she be carrying Marcus’ child? On legs that would barely hold her up, she staggered into her bedroom to check the wall calendar where she always marked the dates of her woman’s time. This normal female thing only stopped when a woman was having a baby. McGuire, red faced and embarrassed, gruffly explained this after she had rushed t
o him one day, terrified because she had found blood on her clothing. She was about thirteen at the time, and they had never mentioned the matter again.
Three weeks overdue, it surely must mean a baby. Fear almost engulfed her. What could she do? She buried her face in her hands. Who could she turn to? Why has this happened to me? I know I was wicked and shouldn’t have let Marcus kiss me like that, but I loved him, wanted to please him. Thought he would say he loved me, that he would marry me and not worry about the differences in our social standing.
She must find Marcus, even though they had parted on such bitter terms. She choked back on her fear, forcing the tears not to fall, because once they started now they would never stop. He had to help. If he didn’t, she was doomed to a life of poverty and degradation.
There was no one at home, thank goodness. She hurried outside and blinking back frightened tears, saddled Brandy.
On arrival at Stanton’s she felt too afraid to go to the main entrance; instead slunk around the back and waited until she caught the eye of a young maid.
“I have to see Marcus Lindquist. It’s a matter of life and death,” she pleaded, almost in tears. “I’ll wait out here.”
The girl left and George waited and worried, with despair building up as each minute passed. What if Marcus refused to see her after their last bitter encounter?
“Georgina.”
She nearly collapsed with relief on hearing his voice.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a voice so cold it froze her to the bone.
Sheer desperation stopped her from fleeing his anger. She raised her head to face him and he noisily sucked his breath in.
“Georgina. What’s wrong?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and she stood rigid. Even though they had parted in anger and bitterness, his heart constricted because she seemed so distressed. Her green eyes, the only vestige of color left in her deathly white face, burned fever bright with a hint of tears. Something dreadful must have happened.
“I, I...” Her mouth trembled so badly the words would not come out.
“You better come into the house, you look ready to collapse.”
“No. No, Marcus please, I have to talk to you. Not here, not here.” The words tumbled over each other.
“Is it young Valentine?” Marcus wondered why he didn’t feel elated because something had happened to the young outlaw.
“No, not Johnny. Me.”
He guided her to the back garden. “We won’t be disturbed here.”
She stood facing him, little and scared.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Georgina.”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
“What!” He felt as if she had kicked him in the stomach. A black, all-consuming rage took possession of him, snuffing out the sympathy her distraught condition had first aroused.
“You, little whore. How many men have you given yourself to? Get out of my sight,” he snarled. “I never want to see you again. Ever.”
George nearly collapsed under his ferocious onslaught. The pain of his rejection almost killed her. This was her blackest hour. Her head was reeling, her heart so weighed down with grief she could scarcely breathe. Marcus had kissed her passionately, now they were having a baby and he didn’t want to do the right thing by her.
As George staggered away, a beautiful young woman, whom she had never seen before, came up to Marcus and slipped her arm through his.
* * *
A couple of weeks after her soul-destroying visit to Marcus, Billy suggested they ride over to a race meeting, which was held annually on one of the larger ranches. It proved such a popular affair people came from miles around to enjoy the fun.
George agreed to go with him. No use moping around the homestead feeling miserable, this would take her mind off things—temporarily. She wore a pair of buckskin pants tucked into her usual boots. No need for a coat over her grey work shirt, because it was so hot. Summer had come swiftly and she reveled in the warmth caressing her skin.
Billy’s eyes blazed and she knew he was planning some mischief.
The way I’m feeling, I’ll join him in any devilment he decides on. They rode away together, leaving McGuire at home as he professed no desire to waste time on such foolishness.
For a while they rode without speaking, then Billy said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait. We’re going to have a high time today.”
About a mile from the race meeting a lone horseman waited near a clump of trees.
“It’s Johnny.” Billy gave a whoop.
George heeled Brandy into a gallop. “What are you doing here?”
He looked fit and tanned, and was mounted on a superb chestnut. A wide grin creased his face when they came up to him.
“George, Billy.” They greeted each other enthusiastically.
“What a horse,” Billy said half in envy, half in awe. “Where did you get it?”
“Stole him, what else?” They all laughed, happy to be together once more.
“He looks like a race horse.” George let her gaze wander over the animal, it was certainly a splendid creature.
“It is. You know something, he’s going to win the two-mile steeple chase today.”
“Don’t joke about something like that,” George exclaimed. It was risky Johnny even coming to the meeting. To run in the race was sheer madness.
“What about the sheriff and his men?” The reckless glow in Johnny’s eyes frightened her.
“I’m going to give the authorities something to think about. It’s time they realized Johnny Valentine was back in circulation again.”
It was crowded at the race meeting, people milled about everywhere. Rich ladies in colorful gowns with matching parasols stood in groups chatting together. The men wore their finest clothes. The poorer folk were dressed in their best also and George couldn’t stop a twinge of envy. She ruthlessly squashed this thought, pretty clothes weren’t for her; pants were much more practical.
She scanned the crowds to see if the sheriff or any of his deputies were around. “You won’t find the law here.” Billy grinned. “They’re out scouring the Black Hills for Johnny Valentine.”
“Yeah.” Johnny chuckled.
George laughed, too.
“By the time they find out I’m not there and get back here, I’ll be long gone.”
They mingled with the crowds. If anyone recognized Johnny they gave no sign. Everyone had heard of Johnny Valentine, not everyone knew what he looked like. His picture on the ‘Wanted’ posters was not a good likeness.
They stopped at a refreshment tent for drinks. She frowned as Johnny paid for their purchases with gold. She felt thirsty and drank greedily. Why worry where he got the gold from? Those rich people he robbed could afford it. Why shouldn’t poor people share some of the territory’s wealth when they did most of the work?
After finishing the drink, she wandered outside to wait for the others as the atmosphere inside was stifling. Finding a shady tree, she lounged against it, taking her hat off as she did so. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders and she pushed at it irritably. She hated her hair sometimes and had often been tempted to cut it off, but something always stopped her at the last moment.
All at once she had the strangest sensation of being watched. Glancing up, she found Marcus staring at her. He stood with a group of well-dressed young men and women. He started toward her then stopped as a young lady came up to him. With sickening jealousy churning her stomach, George watched them link arms. The lady spoke to him and when he bent his head close to hers a searing pain lanced her heart. It felt so strong, went in so deep she wondered why she wasn’t falling to the ground in a screaming heap.
Johnny returned a short time later. “Are you all right?” He rested his hand on her waist. “You look sort of pale.”
“I’m a bit hot, left my hat off for too long, I expect.”
He gave her a long,
speculative look. “Your Englishman is over there, lording it up with the rich,” he sneered.
“Oh, so he is, I didn’t notice.” Forcing a careless note into her voice she shrugged to further convince him Marcus meant nothing to her.
“His type isn’t worth worrying about. Come on, George, the next race starts soon.”
“Where’s Billy?”
“Met up with a friend,” Johnny answered with a laugh. “A young lady, so I thought I’d better vamoose.”
“Billy with a girl?”
“Are you jealous?”
“Jealous?” She burst out laughing. “Oh, Johnny.” She gave him a hug. “What an idiotic thing to say.”
The laughter froze in her throat as she bore the brunt of a ferocious stare from Marcus. Tossing her head to show him how little he now meant to her, she slipped her arm through Johnny’s and said. “Let’s go and watch the next race.”
As they passed Marcus’ group, she insolently looked him up and down without speaking. It should have given her pleasure to see the angry flush staining his cheeks, but strangely it did not.
They placed a bet on the next race. She picked out the favorite while Johnny recklessly chose a rank outsider. The race started and they watched with mounting excitement as halfway home her horse charged into the lead.
“You’ve no hope now, George, he’s gone out too soon.”
Like dozens of other spectators, she urged her horse on. “Come on, faster, faster.” She swung around to face Johnny. A roar coming from the crowd drew her eyes back to the track. A black horse was speeding up on the outside and he urged it on so vocally several heads turned toward them.
“Stop it, people are staring at us.”
“I don’t care. Come on, come on.” He pranced up and down, and by the time the race had finished, with the black beating the favorite by a head, he was sweating profusely.
“You look as if you’ve ridden him every inch of the way,” she teased, feeling happy because his horse had won.
“I’m worn out.” He grinned. “Half my winnings are yours.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you won, though. You don’t have to give me anything; it was your money I lost on the favorite anyway.”
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