by Judith Stacy
“Son of a…”
Mattie gulped, her strength draining away. She latched on to Jared’s arms, gazing up at him. “He just used me,” she whispered.
Mattie fell against him, sobbing, the pain too great to bear alone. She felt big arms close around her. She snuggled deeper against his hard chest.
With a sharp, ragged breath she lifted her head and gazed up at Jared. “I went by the bank today. My account was nearly empty. He’d taken my money, gambled it away, most likely. Lord knows he never worked a day since I married him. I had to use the last dollar I have in this world to bury him!”
She fell into racking sobs again and slumped against Jared’s chest. Gently, he stroked his fingers down her back, fearing Mattie was on the verge of all-out hysteria.
“You need the doctor,” he said. “He can—”
“No!” Mattie pulled away. “No, don’t get the doctor. Don’t get anyone. I don’t want people to know how stupid I was, how I let myself be swept off my feet by a man I hardly knew. Everyone said I shouldn’t marry him, but I wouldn’t listen. I believed that he loved me. I don’t want the whole town to know what a fool I was.”
Jared shook his head. “Mattie, you’re too upset. You need—”
“—to forget,” she said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I need to forget.”
Jared froze as she gazed up at him. The look on her face sent a warm tremor through him.
“Make me forget,” she whispered.
Mattie came fully against him and rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his throat. “Please…make me forget.”
“Now, just a minute.” Jared caught her arms and tried to ease her away. “You’re not thinking clear.”
“I don’t want to think clear. I don’t want to think at all,” she said, and slid her palm across his chest.
He backed up, but she moved with him. “You don’t mean that.”
She meant it. With all her heart and soul she meant it. She ached deep inside. She wanted it to go away. She wanted to feel something different.
And who better to do that with than this stranger, who’d be gone in the morning?
Mattie circled her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. He pulled away.
“We were married for nearly a year, but he hadn’t touched me in months—months!” she said. “Please, I can’t lie alone in that bed tonight. I just can’t.”
Jared hesitated, studying her in the dim light.
“You can do it, can’t you?” she asked. “You can make me forget?”
“Damn right I can,” he said. “But that’s not the point.”
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “I’m not a married woman…not anymore.”
“I know, but—”
“I want this,” she whispered. “Don’t make me plead with you.”
“But…”
Mattie stepped away and held out her hand to him. “Please, just make me forget.”
He didn’t move, not for a long minute. Then, finally, Jared reached for her hand.
Chapter Two
Morning sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating what had to be the dressing table of the widow Mattie Ingram.
Jared, his eyes just opened, studied it as he lay curled on his side at the edge of the soft feather bed. Lace, doilies, fancy bottles, all belonging to the woman who at this very moment slept behind him…
He relaxed against the pillow, his body spent but humming with the contentment only a night with a woman can bring.
Make her forget, she’d said. He’d obliged her numerous times during the night, the last just before dawn. Now, still, he wanted to take her in his arms, do it all again—which didn’t make Jared feel particularly proud of himself.
Last night had been different. Standing in the kitchen, Mattie had looked alone and vulnerable. She’d needed somebody—him.
Jared had thought he could just hold her in his arms and comfort her, and she’d fall asleep. Once in her bedroom, though, Mattie had made it clear that wasn’t what she wanted from him.
True, he could have told her, flat out, “No.” But she was already feeling bad enough. Spurning her seemed cruel, making her beg intolerable.
Still, he’d tried to convince her otherwise, but she would have no part of it. Del might not have touched her in months, but Mattie knew what she was doing, and Jared had been on the trail too long to resist her considerable charms.
So he’d accommodated her. Given the widow what she’d asked for at her most vulnerable moment.
Why did that leave his gut churning this morning?
Jared didn’t rise from the bed, though he thought he should. Instead, he lay still, recalling the last time he’d awakened in bed with a respectable woman. His thoughts swept back, and when the memory came he played it over in his mind a few times, something he’d forbidden himself to do in years past. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t hurt so bad. Not now, not this morning.
Not with Mattie in the bed behind him.
In that instant, it all seemed surreal. Jared didn’t move, didn’t stir on the mattress, didn’t roll over to curl against her. If he did, would it all shatter? Would last night and this moment prove to be a dream? The dream that had crept into his sleep so often lately?
He remained where he was for a while longer, on the linens that smelled like Mattie, gazing at as much of her room as he could see—the lace, the figurines, the pictures on the walls. Their clothes scattered across the floor.
No, it hadn’t been a dream, he decided. None of it. Jared rolled over, anxious to have her in his arms again.
But the sheets were cold and the bed was empty.
Mattie was gone.
A dozen things needed doing—no, a hundred things.
Mattie darted to the cupboard in the kitchen of the restaurant she owned on Main Street and pulled down a serving platter. The room was silent except for the crackling fire she’d just laid in the cookstove, struggling now to take the morning chill out of the air.
No one else was in the restaurant—not Mrs. Nance, who did the cooking, or the Spencer girls, who served the guests, or Billy, who washed the dishes. None of them had probably even considered that Mattie would open for business today.
She gripped the platter tightly. None of them knew how desperately she needed to open the restaurant today.
And no one would ever know.
Another wave of humiliation washed over Mattie, bearing down on her painfully, bringing the memory of her husband into her mind. How could she have been so stupid?
When Del Ingram had arrived in Stanford a year ago, he’d taken one look at her and sworn he’d fallen desperately in love. And Mattie had believed him. He’d been so convincing, how could she not? He’d been kind and thoughtful. He’d brought her gifts, praised her every move. He’d been mannerly, well dressed, wise and worldly. He seemed like a godsend.
Mattie had been lonely since both her parents had died the year before Del’s arrival. She’d stayed in the house they built and taken over the restaurant they started, and she’d done well for herself. In fact, the restaurant had improved considerably under her ownership.
It helped that her mother was no longer around to do the cooking. Mama, bless her heart, wasn’t the best of cooks. Mattie had hired Mrs. Nance and business really picked up.
With pride, Mattie gazed around the kitchen, through the door to the dining room. She’d made other changes as well. Blue checkered linens on the tables, vases with fresh flowers from Mrs. Donovan’s garden. She improved the menu to offer heartier meals.
As a result, the restaurant looked so inviting and the food tasted so delicious diners appeared often and regularly, including the mayor and the reverend with their wives and children, out-of-town guests and dignitaries. The town’s businessmen had made the Cottonwood Café their spot for breakfast almost every morning. She sent a wagon over to the train depot to bring in diners during their layover. Almost no one commented on the modest p
rice increase she’d made.
All of her changes had paid off handsomely. Everything was going wonderfully. And still seemed to be when Del arrived in town.
Mattie sighed in the empty kitchen remembering how lonely she’d been back then. Even with the restaurant keeping her busy day and night, she’d led a solitary life.
She’d longed for family, wished for her house to come alive with voices and laughter as it had when her parents were alive. She’d caught herself watching enviously as women in town strolled the streets with new babies in their arms. After all, she was twenty-one years old, certainly of sufficient age to have a family of her own.
Del had come along, seemingly just the sort of man she’d prayed for. Then, everything had changed.
After their marriage, which many in town had cautioned her against simply because no one really knew him at the time, another side of her husband emerged. Lazy, shiftless, domineering. He’d insisted on taking over her finances. He’d shouted at her when she questioned what he was doing with her money. He began to spend more and more time away from home. Some nights he hadn’t come home at all.
Mattie sagged against the worktable, holding the serving platter against her stomach. She’d never known where she’d gone wrong as a wife. She’d lain awake nights wondering what to do. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know the state of her marriage, or how she was treated by her husband—a man the town admired because he was so good at deceiving everyone, as he’d deceived her. She couldn’t admit how wrong she’d been in marrying him.
Mattie pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind spinning. It seemed that now, this morning, she could hardly stand up under the weight of it.
If only she could forget.
She bolted upright. Oh, heavens. Last night.
The kitchen door burst open with a gust of cold wind, and a man filled the doorway, his hat pulled low, his long coat whipping around him.
The serving platter slipped from Mattie’s hand and shattered on the floor.
Oh, heavens. Last night.
He slammed the door and crossed the kitchen, his gaze sharp and penetrating beneath the brim of his hat. Mattie gulped and backed up a step.
Stopping in front of her, the shattered platter on the floor between them, he gave her a long, grim look.
“I woke up and you were gone,” he said, and his tone told her he was none too happy about it.
“I had to leave,” she said.
“Why?” His gaze hardened. “Because you were done with me?”
Heat bloomed across Mattie’s face, reddening her cheeks as a deeper wave of humiliation swept through her. She’d thrown herself at him—a perfect stranger. She’d asked him to make love to her—practically begged him to do it.
How could she have done such a thing? Never in her life had she even imagined doing such a reckless thing.
Mattie turned away, unable to look him in the eye. “Last night…last night was a mistake, Mr….” She glanced back at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“McQuaid,” he growled. “Jared McQuaid.”
Mattie gulped, trying to force down her embarrassment. “Oh, well, yes of course. I remember.” She cleared her throat. “As I said, Mr. McQuaid, last night was a mistake.”
“You didn’t seem to think so just before dawn.”
She winced, remembering what they’d been doing at that particular moment, and her cheeks burned anew. “Well, no, I suppose I didn’t. But still, it shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Seemed to me you needed it.”
She moaned with humiliation and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, clasping her hand to her chest.
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked. “Your husband hadn’t made love to you in months.”
She gasped and spun to face him again. “How did you know that?”
“You told me.”
“I told you that?” she wheezed.
“Yeah. You said it somewhere between ‘make me forget’ and ‘don’t stop now.”’ Jared leaned closer. “Sound familiar?”
“Oh, heavens…” Mattie spun away, unable to tolerate the heat of his gaze, or the heat burning inside her.
She stalked to the cupboard at the rear of the kitchen and pulled out the broom and dustpan, desperate for something to do. But when she started sweeping up the broken serving platter she felt even more conspicuous with Jared scrutinizing her every move.
Her skin tingled where his gaze touched her. Memories of last night sprang into her mind. She’d never experienced such a night—never imagined it was possible to do some of the things they’d done. Even on his best night, Del, her own husband, had been woefully lacking in comparison.
Mattie cast a furtive glance at the man towering over her, then focused her gaze on her chore. Jared McQuaid was ruggedly handsome. Well over six feet tall; she remembered brushing her legs against his longer ones during the night.
He had big shoulders and arms; he’d rolled her around the bed with considerable ease. A hard chest; her fingers had raked over it a good portion of the night. Thick, black hair; she’d yanked on it more than once.
Now, this morning in the light, she saw that his eyes were blue. The very last secret the man held.
Thanks to her wanton behavior last night.
Mattie cringed, a deeper heat crackling inside her.
But he’d made her forget, just as he’d boasted he could. She’d forgotten all her troubles. And how welcome that had been, even for those few hours.
His strength went beyond the physical. In her kitchen last night she’d seen it. Jared McQuaid could carry the weight of his own troubles, plus hers and dozens more.
Another shudder passed through Mattie and her cheeks heated again. Embarrassment. Humiliation.
What else could it be?
Mattie made tiny strokes with the broom, trying to make the chore last as long as possible. If he saw she was busy maybe he would simply go away.
She wanted him to go away. Good gracious, how she wanted him to leave. She never wanted to lay eyes on this Jared McQuaid again, or to be reminded of last night.
She’d propositioned a stranger. Wrestled him like a wild bear. And liked it.
A little whimper slipped through Mattie’s lips at the thought. She dashed to the trash bin with the dustpan full of broken china, and took her time emptying it.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she said a silent prayer that when she turned around, Jared McQuaid would be gone.
“Why are you here today?” she heard him ask.
With a sigh she turned and saw him wave his big hand around the kitchen.
“Nobody expects you to be open for business,” he said. “Not today.”
Mattie stuffed the broom and dustpan into the cupboard, a little peeved that he wouldn’t take the hint, do the decent thing and leave her alone with her humiliation.
“Since you’re brimming over with my personal information, and have such an excellent memory of everything I said last night, perhaps you’ll recall that my husband left me penniless? I have to open for business today.”
“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “What you’ve been through isn’t easy to bear. You need some time.”
“I hope you won’t think I’m rude, Mr. McQuaid, when I point out that this is none of your business.”
“You made it my business,” he told her. “Last night.”
She faltered and touched her hand to her throat. “I know you feel…used…under the circumstances.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Circumstances?”
“Yes.” Mattie tried to look at him, but failed. “The circumstances in which I…used you.”
She felt his gaze burn hotter against her skin, and Mattie wished with all her heart that she could simply disappear in a puff of smoke. It was too much. All of it. Everything she’d been through in the past three days was simply too much to bear.
Seeing Del fall from the roof, one of the very few times he’d done
something useful at the house.
Realizing that her husband was dying before her eyes.
Hearing his confession.
Knowing what a fool she’d been.
Thinking how disappointed her parents would have been in her.
Imagining what everyone would say about her, if they found out.
Pretending, in front of the whole town.
And now this.
A lump rose in Mattie’s throat, closing it off, bringing a mist of tears to her eyes. She looked up at Jared and knew she owed him an apology. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say she was sorry.
“Mr. McQuaid—” Her voice broke. Mattie gulped down the knot of emotion and tried again. “Mr. McQuaid, I realize you owe me nothing and I have no right to ask anything else of you, but I would appreciate it if you would leave.”
He didn’t leave. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, then eased closer until she could feel the heat of his body.
“You’re going to have to figure out a way to deal with your husband’s betrayal, Mattie,” he said. “But don’t be sorry you reached out for help last night. Don’t be sorry you needed somebody.”
He touched her chin and brought her face around.
“Don’t be sorry it was me,” he whispered.
And with that, Jared McQuaid walked out the kitchen door of the Cottonwood Café.
As he stalked down the boardwalk, people got out of his way. Jared strode into the newspaper office, then went to the jail. The sheriff was there, limping on his makeshift crutch, cursing the pain of his gunshot wound.
Jared signed the paperwork, took custody of the prisoners and marched them to the train station at gun-point. He loaded them into the baggage car, chained their leg irons to the floor and went back out to the platform.
The wind snapped his coat around his knees as he stared down Main Street. Prosperous businesses, likable people; this was a good town.
His gaze landed on the Cottonwood Café, the sign barely visible at the other end of town.
Mattie Ingram.
Yeah, he’d made her forget, all right.