“Changing the subject, are you?” He sighed, then released her and turned her to face the pieces of lumber he’d deposited here, close to the back of her property. He was warm and solid against her back and she subdued the urge to lean against him. It would not do to press herself against that long, firm body.
“Ma’am?” His hands met at her waist and she looked down in surprise as he drew her back, fulfilling her longing. His voice was filled with amusement as he continued, as if he read aright her vacillating and had taken the responsibility upon himself to bring them into physical contact.
“I suspect I’d better let you be the judge of this,” he said. “I thought you needed a dog, Miss Augusta. This is the material for his house.”
“A dog.” She repeated his words, stunned by the idea. “I’ve never had a dog.”
“Well then, I’d say it’s about time you did,” he murmured, leaning to speak the words into her ear. “There’s a fella just outside of town with three pups more than ready to leave home. Thought you might like to take a ride and choose one of them for a watchdog.”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. “You think we need one?”
He shrugged. “You never know. And so long as he knows me, I can come visiting whenever I want without him causing a ruckus.”
“You cause enough ruckus on your own, without any help from a dog,” she said dryly. “And I suppose we could use a dog.” Her pause was long and then she repeated her earlier statement, the words soft and filled with a degree of longing that made her shiver. “I’ve never had a dog.”
Cleary felt a tug at his heart that made him want to envelop this woman in a more intimate embrace, one that would fill all the empty places in her life. Imagine never having a dog. Imagine never knowing the power of being a woman. For he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that until just days ago, Augusta McBride had never recognized her own body as being worthy of a man’s attention.
But she knew now, and he planned to enlarge her knowledge by increments, until she could no longer refuse his suit. If only he were able to spend more time with her, persuade her more quickly. But the message from Nicholas Garvey in his pocket meant his departure this very evening.
“Tell you what,” he said quickly, deciding to move on his instincts. “Let’s take a buggy ride and you can pick out your dog, and then I’ll build him a house this afternoon. What do you say?”
“I have responsibilities here this afternoon, Cleary,” she said quickly, looking aghast at his suggestion as she removed herself from his embrace. “I’m going to work with my ladies on some elementary recipes, those that need more instruction in cooking. Janine has the afternoon off, and she’s teaching some rudimentary sewing skills to the others.”
“They won’t miss you,” he said quietly, and then at her swift look of reproach, he revised his statement. “You can set things up and let them work on their own. They won’t always have you to lead them around, Gussie. They need to be given the chance to be independent.”
She looked thoughtful at that idea, and nodded agreeably. “You may be right. And if I’m to have a dog, I’ll want to choose it myself. And you understand, I can always change my mind, if what this gentleman has doesn’t suit me.”
“Absolutely,” he said, and then, with a sigh signifying the end of the discussion, he grinned. “Well, that’s decided.” He turned her toward the house and marched her quickly across the grass. She looked over her shoulder at the stack of wood and frowned, her expression dubious.
“Are you sure you can build a doghouse in one afternoon? It looks like a mishmash of lumber to me.”
“I can do anything if you stand by to cheer me on, ma’am,” he told her, his eyes savoring the look of rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes she wore so well. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes. That should be long enough for you to set things in motion here.”
He opened the door for her, nodding at the ladies who stood in various positions around the kitchen, as if they’d been leaning to look out the window and door just moments since and had scrambled to move from their observation points.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely, tipping his hat at them before he rounded the back corner of the big house and headed for the street.
The pups were spotted, black and tan on white, with legs too long and feet too big for their pudgy bodies. “Don’t know who the daddy was,” Carl Wilson said with a cheerful grin. “But the mama is about wore-out trying to keep up with these rascals.” He bent to pick up the nearest pup, and it dangled from his hand, obviously not afraid of heights. “My younguns play with them a lot,” he said. “They’re friendly little fellas.”
Cleary watched as Augusta reached for the pup, her movement impulsive, her mouth curving in a smile. “May I hold him?” she asked, even as the farmer placed the wriggling creature in her outstretched hands.
“Don’t put him near your face,” he warned. “He’ll lick you to death if you give him the chance.”
And as if he’d been given permission to do that very thing, the pup leaned toward her and Augusta’s arms bent to ease the youngster against her bosom. He lifted his head, propping his oversize feet against her, and a long tongue went into action.
Augusta laughed aloud, a sound that brought an amused grin to Cleary’s lips. “I think he likes you,” he told her, reaching to ruffle the short hair atop the pup’s head.
“You want to take a look at the others?” Carl asked.
“Maybe,” Augusta said, looking down at the frolicking, spotted creatures who were taking hold of the hem of her dress. A ferocious growl from one caused her to erupt with laughter again, and she bent to tug her clothing from his mouth. Off balance, she tumbled backward as he released his hold, and Cleary found himself squatting beside her.
“You all right?” he asked, peering down into her face.
“I’m fine. Just clumsy,” she told him, her grasp on the puppy in her arms still firm. She tucked her skirts under her knees and placed the pup on her lap, where he was joined within seconds by his littermates. They bit and chewed on each other, climbing to lick at her rosy cheeks, falling from her lap to the ground and then regaining their chosen spot with a great wriggling of hind legs and wagging of tails.
“You want all three, ma’am?” Carl Wilson asked, leaning on the hitching rail. “Looks like they’ve taken to you in a big way.” He exchanged a glance with Cleary, and his approving nod was silent sanction of Augusta.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she exclaimed. “One is more than enough. I have to admit to a total lack of knowledge when it comes to training a dog or doing much other than feeding it.”
“Not to mention allowing it the privilege of making itself at home on your lap.” Cleary’s observation brought a resounding laugh from Carl, and that in turn brought two young boys running from the barn.
“You givin’ away the pups, Pa?” one asked, panting to catch his breath as he squatted next to Augusta.
“This is Miss McBride,” his father said. “She’d like one of your pups. Which one do you think would work best for her?”
Deep brown eyes surveyed her where she sat, and the youngster bit at his lip. “I think Henry likes her real well, don’t you, Joey?” He touched the pup who’d remained on Augusta’s lap, while the other two tumbled to the ground and wrestled in the dust.
His younger brother watched for a moment and then nodded wisely. “Yeah, I’d say so.” He reached to the chosen one and his fingers scratched beneath the wrinkles on the puppy’s throat. “He’s a good dog, ma’am. He pret’ near always comes when you call him,” he added as a final inducement.
“Henry?” Augusta said in a level tone of voice. It was obviously not her first choice as a dog’s name, Cleary thought, but she nodded wisely and looked up at the brothers. “He will do very well, I think.” She lifted him and handed him to the smallest boy. “Will you hold him while I get up?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the lad said, clutching the puppy against himself and
bending to kiss the top of his head.
Cleary reached quickly to lift Augusta to her feet and stepped aside as she brushed at her skirts. “Can I help?” he asked politely, and found himself the recipient of a warning glare from her blue eyes.
“I don’t think so,” she said firmly. And then she turned to regain possession of the chosen pet. He climbed within her grasp to lay his head against her shoulder and, with a sigh of obvious contentment, closed his eyes.
“What do we owe you?” Cleary asked Carl, and was waved away with an uplifted hand.
“Nothing. We’re glad to find good homes for them. The boys may be by to visit someday when we take a trip to town, ma’am, if that’s all right with you.”
Augusta shot a look at Cleary, then nodded politely. “I live in the large house next to Harriet Burns’s boardinghouse,” she said primly. “The boys are welcome anytime.”
“Next to Harriet’s place?” Carl’s brow furrowed a moment and then his eyes lit. “Ah, yes. I know the place. I’ve heard about your project there, ma’am. Hope all goes well for you. If you can use some extra tomatoes and cucumbers for the house, feel free to help yourself from those on the porch.”
Cleary held his breath. Augusta looked on the verge of tears at the offer, and he hesitated, lest he cause her to lose the rigid control she placed upon herself.
“Thank you,” she said, her chin held firmly, her smile properly appreciative. “That’s more than kind of you. My ladies will appreciate it.”
Carl nodded, and with quick movements provided a basket from the porch, filling it with the vegetables he’d offered. The oldest boy took it from his hands and slid it onto the floor of the buggy, then stood back, eyeing the pup Augusta held with a wistful expression on his round face.
Cleary lifted her over the wheel and onto the seat in an easy movement, his hands firm around her waist. He tucked her skirts in and resisted the urge to run his hand the length of her calf as he did so. Touching Augusta was at the back of his mind, it seemed, no matter what else he was occupied with. She was addictive, her scent luring him close, her smile bringing her lips to his attention, and he found himself craving her presence.
Marriage was the answer. Now to convince her of the notion.
The doghouse went together well, once Cleary got his mind off Augusta and onto the pile of lumber. She sat on a quilt beneath the nearest tree and watched as he sorted through the lengths of wood. “How about putting it in the shade?” she asked, absently petting the pup who’d taken up what looked like permanent residence in her lap.
“Whatever you want, honey,” Cleary said obligingly.
The ladies had all trooped out to inspect the pup, and he’d given each of them his approval with a tongue that seemingly never wearied of tasting feminine skin. Even Bertha took her turn holding the newcomer; then, as if she must draw a line, gave an ultimatum, limiting his presence in the house.
“I won’t have a dog begging at the table,” she said firmly. “He stays outdoors.”
“What if it rains?” Honey asked beseechingly, bending her head to nuzzle the damp, black nose that had sniffed out her plush bosom.
“He’ll have a fine house to stay in,” Bertha told her. “Mr. Cleary here is building a house big enough for two dogs, it looks like to me.”
“We aren’t sure how large he’ll get,” Augusta said.
“Well,” Pearl said wisely. “From the size of those feet, you’d better plan on a monster. We had a pup once when I was a youngster. Fella who sold it to us said it came from two small dogs, and he guaranteed it to be not more than a foot and a half tall, full grown. Ended up with a shepherd, longhaired at that, with feet like saucers.”
“We have a big yard,” Augusta said defensively. “I don’t care how big he gets.”
“For a woman who wasn’t at all sure about this whole thing, you sure are singing a different tune,” Cleary said, lifting a length of two-by-four.
The ladies had drifted back to the house, deeply involved in their projects for the afternoon, and Cleary had bent to his task. Now he sorted the widest boards and placed them on the ground.
“Is that the side?” Augusta asked.
“Hmm,” he answered, his mind figuring the measurements he’d planned. There was enough ten-inch stock to put together the sides and rear of the house, and pieces to form the roof. He glanced up at her, aware that his reply had been vague, unwilling to ignore her presence, lest she wander off to the house. It had taken some fancy footwork to persuade her to remain with him, and he wasn’t about to ruin his afternoon by neglecting her.
“I’m thinking, Gussie. Help me here. I don’t want to go to the lumberyard unless I have to. There should be enough wood here to piece things together.”
She rose quickly, placing the pup on the quilt and petting him a moment to encourage the continuance of his nap, then moved to where Cleary squatted. “How about this?” she asked, lifting and rearranging several pieces of lumber to form a rectangle. “I think there’s enough to make two this size, and they can be the sides. Then the ends can be a bit narrower and you can just put on a sloped roof. What do you think?”
“Smarty,” he said accusingly. “You let me think you were sitting over there playing with that dog, and all the time you had this thing figured out.” He tugged her down on the ground beside him and bent to drop a kiss on her cheek. “You’ll come in handy once we get married and start looking for a place to build our home,” he told her.
“Married.” She stilled, and he felt her shiver.
“I’ve already told you, sweetheart. I’m planning on marrying you. We’ll work things out in the next couple of weeks or so. You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”
She lifted stricken eyes to meet his gaze, and he felt a pang of remorse at whatever he’d done to cause her pain. “I can’t marry you,” she said quietly. “I told you that before, Cleary. I don’t know why you’re interested in me as a wife, even with all the folderol you spouted earlier today. I have a commitment here, and things in my past that make it impossible for me to marry.”
“Has someone hurt you?” he asked, smitten with the thought that somehow, somewhere, a man had caused her to feel less than worthy of his proposal. “Did anyone force themselves on you, Gussie?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Just a family background that will not bear exposure. And I won’t say more than that.”
“Your brother?” Should her scalawag brother be causing her to hesitate over his proposal, he’d set that right in moments.
Hesitating, she bit her lip and then, in a gesture that implied having made a choice, she shook her head again. “Not Wilson, although his being in prison doesn’t say much for my background, does it?”
“You’re not responsible for his actions, Gussie.” And he thought of the man he’d sent to prison in Colorado, his mind accepting the possibility that there might be a connection with Gussie.
The young man’s name was Gus, back there in Wyoming where a bullet from one of the band of rustlers had almost put Cleary in a grave. He’d considered the idea before and dismissed it as too much of a coincidence. Now, it struck him with the force of a blow. She’d never be able to forgive him if he turned out to be the man who’d jailed her beloved brother.
“I’m only responsible for myself,” she agreed. “But when there are things in the past that rise up to haunt you, a choice must be made. And I’ve made one in this case.”
“Can you talk about it?”
She was so vehement yet so quietly determined, he felt the same cold chill run the length of his spine as she shook her head and tears sprang to her eyes. “Not now, Cleary. Not today. Maybe another time.”
He would not argue. The doghouse was yet to be built, and he was scheduled to leave town by dark. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Let’s get this thing put together. What do you say?”
“All right,” she agreed, and set to with a will, placing boards and handing him nails as he hammered the p
up’s new dwelling together.
Supper was cold meat, bread and thick slices of cheese, with cool glasses of lemonade to sip as they leaned against the tree trunk and took stock of their miniature mansion. Working together, they’d put it together in less than two hours, and with a piece of old carpet inside and a metal ring for Henry’s rope, the place was ready for occupancy. Tar paper applied with a generous hand would keep the roof from leaking until Cleary could pick up some stray shingles, and now they faced the task of acclimating the dog to his new abode.
“It’s getting late,” Cleary said, glancing at the sun, just above the western horizon.
“Do you have plans for the evening?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and succeeding not at all. She wiped her mouth on a linen napkin and folded it judiciously as she awaited his reply.
“I’m afraid I’ll be gone for a couple of days,” he said quietly.
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her head bent to examine the bits and pieces she’d left on her plate, and her voice was without expression. “I see.”
“No, you don’t,” he told her. “And I can’t help that.” He reached to tilt her face up, daring her to struggle against his firm hand. “It won’t be long, Augusta. I’ll tell you everything soon.”
“I’ll still be here when you get back,” she said, her eyes flashing her frustration.
“I don’t understand you,” he told her, his own level of aggravation fast approaching the boiling point. “You don’t want me, yet you get angry when I stay away. I don’t know what you expect of me.”
Tears rushed to her eyes and she pressed her lips together, trying to curb the flow that threatened to reveal her weakness. She could only shake her head. If she spoke even a single word, the tears would be released and she would be mortified.
“Do you care for me?” he asked roughly. “I won’t ask if you love me. I know better than that. But you must care a little, Gussie, or you’d not have allowed me to touch you and kiss you in the parlor the other day.”
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