Forgetting Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  That he'd waited until Mariah's family was attending his son's engagement gala at the Sheridan Inn, instead of speaking to her after church al these weeks, weakened his claim of paternal concern. But unlike most of the party guests—the crème de la crème of Wyoming society, who'd wanted nothing to do with her since she'd “betrayed” them—at least the elderly gentleman was speaking at al .

  “What is it, Colonel?” Mariah asked, carefully polite.

  “Alden is engaged now,” he admitted, as if he expected her to bemoan her loss. "And my dear Alice shal be spoken for soon. But although you have made poor decisions, and learned harsh lessons, you must not relinquish hope.“ He took her gloved hands in his. ”Leave Sheridan, Miss Mariah.

  Have your mother or Lady Cooper take you to Denver, San Francisco, New York. With the blessed veil of anonymity, you may yet find a match to make your fine parents proud."

  Staring at him, Mariah remembered her mother insisting that not al women need marry.

  “Promise me you wil consider it,” the Colonel pleaded. “I shal rest easier.”

  So she lied and said, “I'l ... consider it. Thank you for your concern.”

  He squeezed her hands once, nodded his white head— then returned to the people who were

  ignoring her completely, not speaking to her again for the rest of the night. So be it. Mariah knew she was here only so that her family would attend. And her family was invited so that the Coopers would attend and the Wrights could boast of entertaining “nobility.”

  “If one more person curtseys,” murmured Benjamin Cooper's wife to Mariah, her cultured accent undermining her repeated explanation of marrying out of any titles, "I may just order them beheaded and have it done with."

  To which her husband, coming up behind her, said, "Now darlin', that's not so bad an idea. Execute a few of these waddies, and could be some new land on the market for me and Jacob to buy cheap."

  “Anything for the cows, is it?” teased his wife back at him—and Mariah could hardly bear to watch the loving smile Benjamin and Alexandra Cooper shared. It made her feel. .. lost.

  “I'l go check on the children,” she excused herself, and fled. She had not wanted to come here, but her family insisted. Now, wel into the party, the only men she'd danced with were her father, brother, Benj Cooper, and his nine-year-old son Alexander. The only women who spoke to her were her sisters, mother, “Lady” Cooper and .. .

  Alice Wright? Perhaps sent by her father, Alice intercepted Mariah long enough to take her hand and say, “Why Mariah, you came.” But then, turning away, she wiped her gloved hand on her skirt and whispered something to her mother about “sheep.”

  As Mariah stared, amazed yet again by people's cruelty, her sister Laurel passed the Wright women with uncharacteristical y fond greetings, took both Alice's hands in hers and even kissed the air near Alice's cheek. Then, as she continued to Mariah's side, Laurel wiped her hands slowly down her own dress and murmured, so that only Mariah would hear, “Bitch.”

  Shocked, Mariah stared at her seventeen-year-old sister—such language was not tolerated in the presence of ladies, much less in their mouths! And yet, when Laurel impishly leaned in and "kiss-kissed" the air by her cheek, Mariah found herself fighting a smile of her own.

  Failing that, she covered her mouth.

  “That's the spirit,” whispered Laurel. “Now do you think there are any real cowboys here, or were they al born with silver spoons in their mouths like that prissy Alden?” And she sauntered on, a picture of ladylike gentility.

  Laurel had earned her cowboy boots back weeks ago, but Mariah knew Papa had trouble ahead of him if he truly thought to mold her into a proper lady. Maybe he would have better luck with Victoria, she thought with a sigh, hurrying on to the safety of the little ones. At least he would have no trouble with Audra. The quiet, strawberry-blonde kept Mariah and the children company, except when young Peter Connors, the banker's son, stole her away to dance.

  Mariah tried to enjoy the music, tried not to remember how in love she'd been at fourteen ... or the fact that she and Stuart had never danced together. Not once...

  Then, between playing “pat-a-cake” with Elise and talking Alexander and Kitty into sharing a shy dance of their own, Mariah began to feel something different about the party. She felt... alert. The fine hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she felt suddenly flushed.

  Looking around, she could not find a cause for that strange sensation.

  “What is it, Mariah?” asked Audra, coming to her side.

  Mariah met Audra's concerned gray eyes, so like her own—so like Papa's—and almost said,

  something's wrong. But then Elise tried to pick a fight with Alexander, and the moment ended.

  Resolving the childish tiff, Mariah did not see Victoria's approach until the fifteen-year-old appeared breathlessly at her side, face alight with her best I-have-a-secret expression.

  “Mariah! Guess who Papa's talking to, in the hotel lobby!”

  Mariah waited, impatient with such games, and Audra said, “To whom Papa is talking.”

  Victoria ignored her. "He came right in, demanding to speak with the ranchers! Of course the desk clerk said no, but he started in anyway—he got as far as the hal way. Then Papa saw him and, wel , he got him back to the lobby! And now they're talking.“ She considered it. ”Arguing, more likely."

  Audra met Marian's eyes, obviously as distressed by Victoria's presentation as whatever she might have seen. And true, it was not the sort of thing a fifteen-year-old girl should so clearly know, no matter who was involved. “Where were you, to see al this?” demanded Mariah.

  "In the elevator, of course! Mr. O'Sullivan was showing me how to run it—he has such interesting stories about the people who stay here—and I stopped it between floors and ..."

  But Mariah did not hear any more because, flushing again, she suddenly realized who might have stormed into the Sheridan Inn demanding to see ranchers....

  Whose presence might have caused the hair at the back of her neck to prickle....

  And with whom her father would most certainly be arguing.

  “Stuart,” she whispered, and the name fit too easily in her mouth, even now.

  “You guessed.” Victoria looked almost disappointed.

  Audra looked downright alarmed. “Marian's sheep farmer?”

  But Mariah did not care what else her sisters had to say. She was already heading for the hotel lobby, reaching the hal way just in time to see Papa's too-stiff back as he strode off, not toward the bal room but past the fine registration desk, in the direction of the Inn's saloon.

  Papa did not drink—but Mariah did not stop to worry about that. As she reached the lobby itself, the front door was closing. No desk clerk stood behind the counter, which meant nobody to protest when Mariah hurried across the carpeted foyer and out the front door, away from the light and music, onto the verandah—-

  And with a rush of... of completion ... she recognized Stuart striding down the snowy walk toward the street.

  The gaslight from the street lamps threw a shadow from his hat across what little of his face was visible. His gloved hands were clenching, as if with frustration—the argument? He held his shoulders stiffly. But even from the back, she recognized every stubborn inch of Stuart.

  With every anxious inch of herself, she recognized him. Not that she had any right to recognize him so quickly—or visceral y—anymore. She had no right to him at al .

  She hesitated, stray snowflakes blowing onto the verandah to sting her face and neck. Perhaps the proper thing to do was to step back into the Inn and leave him be. She and Stuart were no longer ... no longer she and Stuart, anymore. He had come looking for ranchers, not her.

  Not her....

  Mariah's gown was no match to a Wyoming February, nor were her dancing slippers equipped for snow. And how could she bear talking to Stuart again without wanting ... needing ...

  Without leaving herself more miserable and alone
than ever—which was oh, so very miserable and alone.

  But she could bear not speaking to him even less.

  Since whatever occupied his thoughts obviously kept him from feeling any prickles or flushes from her stare, Mariah cal ed, “Stuart?”

  His back stiffened. Slowly, he turned—as solid and real as ever. Until this moment, she'd not realized how she'd begun to doubt that he was even real. And here he stood.

  “Stuart?” she cal ed again, more softly. Likely he could not even hear her, over the wind that tossed snowflakes across her face and neck, scattered them over her velvet gown.

  Then Stuart was striding back to her, shrugging off his great coat as he did so, wrapping it around her even as he gained the porch, two steps at a time. “Pardon my boldness, Miss Garrison,” he said, his voice especial y husky, “but do you never have a coat?”

  “When I do, I don't button it,” she told him in a wavering voice, cherishing the sensation of his arms wrapped around her, even if it was just to hold the coat on, the sight of his dark brown eyes frowning down at her, the familiar plaid muffler he wore.

  She closed her eyes and savored this one instant with Stuart with an intensity that could never be matched by the simple joys of her sisters' laughs, her mother's quilts, even kittens. And she understood, final y, why she would never feel fully able to go home to her parents again.

  That wasn't where Mariah's home was anymore.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Stuart first saw Mariah at Alden Wright's party, he forgot Idaho Johnson's threats, the sheriff's apathy, his determination to confront those damned cattle ranchers.

  Stuart even forgot to breathe. He just stood there in the hal way, snow melting off his coat onto the carpet, and stared across the room at her.

  At least her arms and shoulders are covered, he thought dazedly. But he remembered, with an inner lurch, that he no longer had any say in what she covered or did not.

  Then he noticed that, despite outshining every other woman in there, Mariah was not dancing.

  She seemed to be playing with children ... and garnering ugly looks from other guests. So absorbed were they in eyeing her, nobody had even noticed Stuart's less-welcome approach—except for the desk clerk who'd fol owed him with protests and ineffectual sleeve-tugs.

  “Sir,” the man murmured, as if afraid some notable in the gala beyond would hear him over the orchestra. “I must insist. This is a private party.”

  Stuart ignored him to glance from one of the guests to another, a completely different kind of anger building in him than that which had brought him here. He recognized the looks they were throwing, like rocks, at Marian. He'd lived with such looks his entire life.

  But he'd given her up in part so that she did not have to!

  “Sir!” Tug, tug.

  Stuart ached for Mariah to turn, so he could see her face. He'd not seen her in forever....

  Then someone noticed him after al .

  One moment, Stuart stood in the hal way, watching Mariah. The next, Jacob Garrison was

  shouldering him bodily back into the lobby, despite his advanced age.

  “You get, boy,” warned the cattle baron. “Get before I kil you where you stand.”

  Pulling free of his harsh grasp, Stuart clearly remembered Johnson, the sheriff, and his demands to see the ranchers then. At least he had one rancher's attention. "Don't you hire folks to do your dirty work?"

  “Ain't nothin' dirty against the likes of you.”

  Despite that Johnson had obviously thought that—and the sheriff too, though he hid it better—

  Garrison's admission actual y disappointed Stuart. Maybe he'd been laboring under more of Mariah's hopefulness than he'd thought.

  In any case, he'd come to say something.

  "You and the others can make any threats you want, but the deadline stays. You won't be bul ying my sheep off my range! And if you're looking for a fight—"

  “I'm lookin' for a fight,” agreed Garrison, steely and dangerous. When he backed away, it was with spread hands—as if to remove himself from temptation. "But it ain't about sheep. Keep clear of me, boy.“ He even pointed, ”You been warned."

  At that, the white-haired rancher strode angrily away, past the parlor desk and toward the Inn's famous saloon, obviously for a drink.

  Rather than stalk after him and pick a fight in a bar—a bar where he'd surely be outnumbered—

  Stuart stalked out of the Inn with its fancy music and its stench of money and deception. Not about sheep? Why else would the man want to kil ...

  He stopped, halfway down the walk, snow swirling lightly around him.

  Mariah.

  Could Garrison possibly be angry because Stuart ended the engagement with Mariah?

  Ridiculous! That, if nothing else, should have won Stuart the rancher's undying gratitude. No, Garrison's threats had to be about the sheep, the deadline, the—

  “Stuart?”

  And in that moment, sheep and deadlines meant less than nothing.

  Stuart knew that stock trailed too far from water would stampede for miles once they smel ed it, no matter how far or how dangerous. The sound of his name, in that one precious voice, smel ed like water on a dry range ... and he could no more stop himself from turning and drinking in the sight of Mariah than stop a stampede.

  No matter how far or how dangerous.

  Her frock was dark green, trimmed with the same gold as her hair, and it looked impossibly soft to the touch— almost as soft as her. Mariah herself, though, put the dress to shame. Thinner than he remembered, but not a dram less stunning, she stood just outside the closed doors to the Inn, occasional y blinking at snow blown under the verandah roof.

  Snow. For mercy's sake!

  She seemed to say something else, but Stuart didn't hear. He was already giving in to his own need to protect her, to warm her ... and maybe to wrap his arms around her one more time Even if it was with a coat.

  “Pardon my boldness, Miss Garrison,” he apologized, since he had no right to do either. “But do you never have a coat?”

  “When I do,” said Mariah softly, tipping her head back to better see him, so that her hair spil ed across his arm, so that her eyes al but glowed up at him, “I don't button it.”

  Stuart wanted to hold her like this forever, block out the cold and wind, take care of her ...

  “Wel you're a fool not to,” he grumbled, freeing one arm long enough to pull open the door, draw her into the hotel's lobby—into the music and lights and luxury, where she belonged.

  He expected Mariah to chal enge his right to tel her anything. Instead, she admitted, "Maybe I am." Then, to prove it, she tucked her head under his chin, leaned her cheek against his chest, and snuggled into his embrace and his coat, fully as if she belonged there.

  As if the world consisted only of them, with no ranchers or fathers or society matrons to discover them at any moment.

  Slowly dipping his own head to rest atop her silken curls, breathing in the rare fragrance of her, Stuart tightened his hold on her and al owed himself to briefly wonder: Didn't it?

  Had Mariah ever been a fool, he was twice one. Impractical or not, this moment meant everything.

  Her father could kil him. Gunmen could slaughter every sheep he owned. And against this

  moment, it would mean nothing. His sense hadn't strayed so far as to not realize that at some other time, such things would matter greatly. But right now, unexpectedly holding the woman he thought lost to him forever ...

  Didn 't the world consist only of them?

  Maybe not. The sharp ring of a bel startled them apart, at least by several inches. The desk clerk had returned to his post and was glaring at the both of them. "This is a respectable place of business,“ he told them sternly. ”There wil be none of that!"

  Stuart stepped slowly back, unwrapped his coat from Mariah's beautiful gown. They were

  respectable people, after al . They were no longer engaged, not even unofficial y, fo
r what had once seemed like good, practical reasons. Those reasons would matter greatly, too. Someday.

  But not tonight. And the stricken expression on Mariah's face, as he took his coat back—that meant everything.

  He'd honestly thought he could exist without her. But there was nothing practical at al about living such a shadow life either. And he was a sheep farmer in cattle country.

  When had he started fearing risks?

  Slowly, Stuart laid his coat on one of the lobby's horsehair sofas, fol owed by his hat, now wet with melted snow. “Wil you dance with me, Miss Garrison?” he asked.

  “I would love to dance with you, Mr. MacCal um,” she whispered to him, suddenly shy.

  And before he lost his nerve—before he could remember al the reasons not to—Stuart drew

  Mariah into his arms in a completely different, equal y satisfying posture. The fingertips of his left hand easily found her spine, and whatever that green gown was fashioned from did indeed feel soft as anything—almost anything—he'd known. But the warmth of her back beneath it, that was heaven. With Mariah's gloved hand in his right, the sweep of her skirts brushing against his boots, they easily matched each other's steps, there before the iron-gril elevator.

  So this was what dancing could be like. This was worth forgetting whatever work clothes he'd worn, whether he'd shaved or not.. . and the room ful of ranchers, not twenty feet away, already wil ing to kil him. This was worth everything, too—and after weeks of nothingness.

  Mariah said, “Stuart, I've forgotten why we thought we mustn't... why ...”

  The need to remember, for her, tugged at the dream like a rooster's crow. “Oh, lass ...”

  “Please don't remind me. Not just yet.”

  “I am having difficulty remembering myself.”

  She smiled, as easy to lead as a lamb to a bottle, and he spun her in a slow circle so that her curls bounced and her skirt flared gently out. “I'm glad.”

  “But...” The slow return of his senses actual y hurt, like blood returning to frozen fingers. “They were solid reasons. I can remember that.”