“Well, we’ll keep this one around so long as he comes in handy,” Augusta told the women surrounding her. “And enjoy his company while he’s here. We just won’t expect too much from him, will we?” Her smile felt glued to her lips as she finished her small speech, and only Pearl offered a reply, a sharp burst of laughter that denied Augusta’s theory.
Now, while the man was occupied with a rake and lending his encouragement to Beth Ann, who worked doggedly in the coop and chicken yard, would be a good time to take a short jaunt into town, Augusta decided. It had been over-long in coming, this trip to speak to the sheriff and to the banker, in whose hands her funds were being held. She freshened up before her looking glass and adjusted her dress, smoothing out the skirt as she prepared for the walk into town.
Whether or not Roger Hampton knew what he was talking about, she needed to get her mind settled as far as Cleary was concerned. Before she got too entangled in his web, she must find out for herself if he was as open and aboveboard as he would have her believe. And if there were answers to be had, the banker and sheriff were the ones to give them to her.
A faint sense of unease followed her down the stairs and through the hallway as she peered into the kitchen. Cleary would be angry, should he discover her purpose this morning. But a woman must look out for herself, she decided.
Glory and Pearl were up to their elbows in soapsuds, washing the linens from the hotel, and they’d gotten a promise from Cleary to tighten the clothesline for them, insuring his preoccupation for the next little while.
Augusta set off at a fast clip, nodding a greeting to ladies who watched her progress from their porches, speaking nicely to those she met on the sidewalk as she neared the bank. And then she was inside the cool, high-ceilinged lobby of Nicholas Garvey’s financial establishment.
The man was handsome, she decided, measuring him against the male she’d left in her backyard. Perhaps not as appealing as Cleary, but fit and well put together, nonetheless. His smile was broad as he left his desk to welcome her, his hand cool against hers as he shook it with discretion, two small pumps of his elbow being the accepted greeting.
“What can I do for you this morning, Miss McBride?” he asked jovially, as his eyes scanned her in an indulgent manner.
“I came to make inquiries,” she said primly. “May we have a bit of privacy?”
“Certainly,” he said, escorting her to his inner office and closing the door behind them with a gentle click of the latch. He offered her a chair and settled behind the big, mahogany desk, tugging his vest in place, then placing his elbows on the spotless ink blotter. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”
“I’m here to inquire about Mr. Jonathan Cleary,” she said bluntly, alert to the change in his position as he sat upright and straightened a stack of papers.
“Well,” he said after a moment, smiling at her so that his teeth gleamed whitely, impressing her not at all. “What would you like to know about the gentleman? Not that I can tell you much of anything, you understand. He is a customer here, but beyond that I’m not at liberty to gossip about our investors.”
A faint flush rode his cheekbones, and Augusta eyed it suspiciously. The man was lying. As surely as she knew her own name, she knew somehow that Nicholas Garvey was not being honest with her.
“Does he work with you?”
Mr. Garvey looked out into the lobby through a window in his office, where two tellers tended to customers and another man sat at a desk shuffling papers. “Do you see him out there?” he asked, his mouth twitching as if he suppressed a smile.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” Augusta said firmly, ignoring his hand that waved at the elegant lobby. “I mean is he working with you on a series of…” How to say it? “Does he work for the banks or the government or…” She shook her head. “You know what I’m asking, Mr. Garvey.”
“And do you think I would give you an answer, ma’am, even if I had one to offer?” The man’s jovial, easygoing facade slipped, even as Augusta watched, and a firmness touched his jaw that had not been apparent before. His eyes narrowed and fixed her with a piercing look that seemed to see beneath her composure.
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But someone—that is, I’ve heard some gossip, and I want to be certain that my association with him is not likely to land me in trouble of any sort.”
“Who?” he asked shortly.
“Who mentioned him to me?” She lifted a brow, amazed at the change in Nicholas Garvey’s demeanor.
“Yes. Please be honest with me, ma’am. This may be important.”
Augusta clenched her hands in her lap. She shouldn’t have come here. She had no business inquiring about Cleary, not even here, where she was assured of Mr. Garvey’s discretion. “From a man I knew in Dallas. He’s been in town for a few weeks.” She looked up at the man across the desk. “Perhaps you know him? Roger Hampton.”
He nodded. “I’ve heard of Mr. Hampton. Spoken to him once or twice. I’m not sure I’d put much credence in his word, ma’am.”
Augusta felt a blush rise to cover her cheeks. “He said the sheriff had been making inquiries about Mr. Cleary, and advised me not to be associated with the man.”
“Why didn’t you ask the sheriff?”
“I intend to,” she said stoutly.
Mr. Garvey leaned back in his chair, his scrutiny beginning to make Augusta uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. “Is Mr. Cleary interested in you?” he asked quietly.
“Interested?” Augusta almost choked on the word.
“You surely know what I’m asking, ma’am,” the banker said kindly. “Does he have intentions where you’re concerned?”
“I’m sure I—” Augusta halted. Yes, the man had intentions, but none she was willing to share with the banker. And then she saw the man’s eyes shift, his gaze narrow as he looked into the lobby beyond his office. He rose abruptly, and at that, the door opened and someone entered the room behind her.
Cleary. She caught his scent, inhaled the aroma of dried grass and sunshine, and the smell she’d come to associate with the man. A blend of honest masculine sweat beneath clothing that had been exposed to the heat of the day. He hadn’t taken time to change before he followed her here, she thought.
He followed me here. She stiffened in her chair, at once embarrassed and, at the same time, aggravated.
There was an edge of anger in the words he spoke. “I thought you were going to help me rake the grass, Miss McBride.”
It wasn’t at all what she’d expected, yet he’d seldom done as she’d thought he might, throughout their whole relationship.
She rose on unsteady legs and turned to face him. “I had business with Mr. Garvey,” she said quietly.
Cleary’s gaze shot to fix Nicholas Garvey in place, and his uplifted brow asked a silent question.
The banker cleared his throat. “Miss McBride asked about you.”
Cleary’s eyes never faltered from the man’s face. “Well, why didn’t Miss McBride come to me with her questions?”
“I think you’ll have to ask her that.”
Augusta blew out a mighty breath of air and lifted her chin for battle. “Miss McBride came to you with questions, sir. And you put me off with nice words and…and…”
“Do you think I’m a train robber, Augusta?” he asked quietly, turning his attention to her face, repeating the question he’d asked once before. His eyes lit with tenderness as he watched her and she knew, deep in her heart that he was remembering the things he’d done to put her off track. The kisses, the warm embrace, the words about marriage.
She shook her head. “No, I suppose I don’t. I’m not sure what I believe, Mr. Cleary.”
“Can you trust me?” he asked, standing before her with none of the accoutrements of a gentleman to plead his case. He wore no suit coat, no hat, no tie or any semblance of prestige except for the simple dignity of the man himself. His eyes dark with a plea she could not den
y, he waited for her verdict.
“Yes, I suppose I can,” she said finally. “I don’t see that I have a choice, sir. Mr. Garvey has not denied your reliability.” She shot the banker a sour look. “Of course, he hasn’t assured me of it, either. Only wanted to know what your intentions toward me consisted of.”
“He what?” Cleary’s voice rose with the question, and his dark glare pinned Nicholas Garvey where he stood. “You’re treading on shaky ground there, Garvey.”
“I suppose I was wondering how centered you were on the project you’ve undertaken,” the banker answered, his jaw firm, his eyes shuttered as if he would nudge Cleary into anger.
“I’ve never failed before. I don’t intend to now,” Cleary told him. “My personal life is my own. Miss McBride is none of your concern.”
“She made herself my concern when she walked in that door.” Garvey sat down in his chair, leaned back and smiled. “She’s a lovely lady. If your intentions aren’t honorable, I’d like to know.”
Augusta’s face felt like molten fire as she backed from the men who’d chosen to speak of her as if she were not present in the room. “I don’t think I want to hear any more of this conversation,” she whispered, wishing with all her heart she’d never initiated her early morning mission.
“You’ll hear it,” Cleary snapped. “You won’t know everything you set out to discover, but Mr. Garvey here will assure you of my trustworthiness. And I, in turn, will assure him of my honorable intentions where you’re concerned, ma’am.”
Augusta clapped her hands over her ears. “I’ve heard enough already. I told you last night I don’t intend to get married, ever. And I meant it. Honorable intentions or not, if that’s the reason you’ve been working around the shelter, you’re wasting your time, Mr. Cleary.”
“Ever, or never, however you say it, is a long time, ma’am,” Mr. Garvey said, his look solemn though his eyes sparkled with humor.
“Oh!” The sound exploded from her lips, and her skirt swirled around her legs as Augusta spun in place and then turned to the door. She opened it with a rattle of glass, rocketing through the portal like a ship with sails unfurled. Her shoes made unladylike noises on the marble floor as she headed for the tall front doors of the bank, and she totally ignored the sidelong looks of two customers who watched her progress across the lobby.
The heat hit her like the blast from a cannon as she found herself on the sidewalk. Flustered, she stood looking across the street to where the sheriff’s office sat, its door open to catch any wayward breeze. And then, with a sharp toss of her head, she turned back to her house. The visit with the sheriff could wait, she decided. And whether or not he would be of any assistance was doubtful.
It seemed that Jonathan Cleary had the banker in the palm of his hand. What assurance was there that the sheriff would not be in the same location? Indeed, Cleary seemed to have tied the banker up in a neat package and tucked him in his pocket. She stalked rapidly down the sidewalk, and then, as her feet touched the sandy path beyond the edge of town, her paces slowed and she began breathing more deeply.
If the banker was to be believed, Cleary was on the up-and-up. She’d been wrong, perhaps, to doubt his word. Yet exactly what had he given her to go on? Only a few half-truths and some sweet talk that had curled her ears and made her heart turn over in her breast.
And a mention of marriage, surely an honorable proposal.
“Wait for me, Augusta,” a voice called from behind her, and her steps halted. He grasped her arm as he reached her side, and she was hustled unceremoniously toward home. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice rough, his fingers holding her as if he had no intention of losing his grip anytime soon.
“If you didn’t trust me, you should have made it clear,” he said, his voice grating like two pieces of iron scraping together. “My work here is dependent on secrecy, Augusta, and half the town just watched me burst into the bank like a bat out of hell.”
“What was your rush?” she asked pertly. “I might have been going to see Mr. Garvey for a draw on my account.”
“Not likely. I knew you were up in arms last night. Then, this morning, when you didn’t come out in the yard and no one knew where you’d gone, I had a notion you were sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong. I saw you going into the bank as soon as I left your front yard. I had to hustle to catch up.”
“My nose doesn’t belong in anything to do with you, I take it,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t say that. It’s just that there are certain areas—” A sound of exasperation halted his words, and he growled beneath his breath, a phrase she ignored, considering it beneath herself to pay any mind to foul language.
Her gate swung open easily under his hand, and she was escorted with a firm touch onto the front porch. He’d pushed her just about far enough, she figured. Enough was enough. Turning to him, she jerked from his grasp.
“Are we having a confrontation right here in front of the whole neighborhood?” she asked, glaring at him, taking note of his flaring nostrils and ruddy cheeks.
“Wherever you’d like, lady,” he told her. “But for your own sake of propriety, I think we need to go indoors.” Hands on hips, he nodded at the screened door. “Lead the way, Miss McBride.”
She opened the door, hearing the spring expand, and marched into the hallway. Behind her the door slammed closed and a warm hand pressed against her back, squarely between her shoulder blades. “Into the parlor, please,” Cleary said, his words sounding as if they were forced between clenched teeth.
She walked through the arch, across the room to where a window looked out upon the side yard, and lifted one hand to brush at a speck on the glistening glass surface.
The parlor door closed, the latch catching firmly. And then he spoke. “Turn around and look at me.”
She shivered at his words, aware of his body inches from her back. He would not hurt her physically. Of that she was certain. But pain might come in a variety of forms, and she was more vulnerable to this man right now than to any other human being in her life.
Jonathan Cleary had the ability to break her heart, and that knowledge stunned her even as she accepted it as truth.
He didn’t wait for her obedience, but, instead, placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her to face him. She would have toppled to one side, but his firm grip held her steady, and she felt the flex of strong fingers against her flesh. He was angry. More than angry, she decided. Fury filled him to overflowing, and her heartbeat was heavy, causing her body to shudder beneath his touch.
“I’ve spent long weeks in this town, recuperating from an incident that should never have happened. During those weeks, I made up my mind that nothing would ever again take my mind from the job at hand.” He loosened his grip and the touch became a caress.
“I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?” he asked, and she could only shake her head in a silent denial. “Yes, I have. I forget how fragile you are sometimes. The way you work around here and carry the load of this house and its occupants is too much for a woman on her own.” He looked upward at the ceiling, as if he searched for words. “Damn it all to hell, Augusta. You’re a little bit of a thing, taking on the cares of the world, and I’ve spent too much time thinking about you, and too many nights walking the floor because you haunt my dreams.”
“Me?” she asked, unable to accept his words as truth. “I’ve never haunted anyone’s dreams in my life. I’m an old maid, Cleary. I’m a woman past her prime, with more responsibility than I bargained for. But I’m not a quitter. I’ll handle whatever comes my way, and I don’t need you worrying about me.”
As if his mind snagged on one phrase in the midst of her diatribe, he snatched at her again and lifted her, until her toes barely touched the floor. “Past your prime? What fool ever told you that?” he asked. “Did that horse’s arse from Dallas feed you that story?” His eyes searched her face. “You’re about as far from being an old maid as any woman I’ve ever known. Hell, August
a, I want to marry you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
She nodded and, then in a swift change of mind, shook her head. “Yes, well, no,” she said quickly. “Of course it means something to me. And no, Roger didn’t say anything of the sort.” She dangled there, fearing the onset of weeping if she didn’t manage to escape him. Totally mortified by the sum total of the past half hour, she knew that tears were on their way, and crying in front of a man was the last thing on God’s green earth she wanted to do.
“Please put me down on the floor,” she whispered, holding her eyes wide to halt the onset of moisture.
He looked stunned at her words, and glared down to where her toes touched the faded piece of carpet. “Yes, of course,” he muttered, lowering her carefully to stand on her own. And then he slid his hands into his pockets and bent his head to meet her gaze. “Are you going to marry me, Gussie?”
She thought he held his breath as she formed a reply. Yet, surely, a man like Cleary would not die of a broken heart should he be rebuffed. He could seek and find another woman faster than she could murmur her denial of his proposal. Well, maybe not quite that rapidly, she thought, but certainly a man as handsome and appealing as he would never have to spend time alone unless it was his choice.
“I told you last night, Cleary,” she said quietly, her insides trembling as she prepared to tell a blatant lie. “I don’t want to marry you.”
His lips curved just a bit and she wondered at his humor. Surely the man had heard her aright. Rocking back on his heels, he shook his head, and his words were mocking as his hands slid from his pockets and lifted to circle her waist.
“Gussie, Gussie,” he said, admonishing her as if he scolded a child. “I told you before, you don’t do well at telling falsehoods. And the words you just spoke were about as far from the truth as anything you’ve ever said in your life.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said sharply. “I have too much to do right here to be spending my time on a husband.”
“Maybe so,” he said agreeably. “But what you said was that you don’t want to marry me. And honey, you may not know it, but marrying me might be the best thing for you right now.” He inhaled deeply. “You need me, Gussie. And I need you. And I’m not about to walk away from you.”
The Texan Page 10