“Oh, dear, honey. Whatever have I done?”
“Nothing. It…it would have happened anyway. It was…It was like being addicted, wanting more, always more. Then I got more and what did he do?”
Goldie sat wide-eyed across the table. “What did he do? Oh, honey, I was so sure he was a gentleman.”
“He called it love…making love.”
Goldie’s mouth dropped open. “Makin’ love?”
Madolyn nodded.
“That’s wrong?”
“No. It’s true. That’s what’s wrong.”
Goldie slumped back in her chair. “Let me see if I understand. You think you’re in love with Tyler?”
Madolyn nodded, her lips pursed, her eyes brimming.
“And that he’s in love with you?”
Again, she nodded, vigorously this time.
“And that’s bad?”
“It’s terrible.”
“Terrible? I have a houseful of girls who would give their eyeteeth for somethin’ so terrible as bein’ in love and havin’ that love returned.”
“But it can’t go any further. For either of us.”
“He agrees?”
“I don’t know. He did, but I’m not sure now. He was so…so tender…and kind…and loving.” The last word was lost, as Madolyn lost her battle with tears. She sobbed into her napkin.
Goldie rose to comfort her. “Now, now, honey. You just weren’t expectin’ it, that’s all. It’s a surprise, findin’ someone like that to spend your life with.”
“No.” Her head jerked up. “Oh, Goldie, I can never marry.”
Goldie pulled her chair closer, sat down, and took both of Madolyn’s hands in hers. “I think it’s time for you to talk about this, Maddie. Why can’t you marry?”
“Because I know how men are, what they do to women after they marry them.”
Goldie didn’t respond for a time. When Madolyn didn’t continue, she prompted. “How do you know all this?”
“I lived with it all my life. I heard my mother’s screams; I saw her bruises. He broke her arm one time. Many times, so many times I couldn’t count them, he bruised her face. Night after night I heard her screams. Sometimes I heard loud thumps, like she was being thrown against the wall. Chairs were always being broken mysteriously. For days at a time she wouldn’t come out of her room. After Morley left home, it got worse. I blamed myself. Until I met Miss Abigail and she convinced me otherwise. She said men are basically evil. She said their primary mission in life is to get back at Eve for tricking them into leaving the Garden of Eden. So, that’s why I will never marry, Goldie. That’s why.”
“A good reason,” Goldie soothed. “But I can’t see Tyler beatin’ you or anyone. I’ve known him a long time and he’s never shown a violent side.”
“They hide it. That’s what Miss Abigail said. I often wondered how they could trap women into marriage. Miss Abigail said they’re wily, like foxes. They woo women with weapons of the heart—that’s what she called them. I didn’t know what she meant until…until I took your advice and…and engaged in courtship with Tyler.”
“Now you know?”
“Yes.” Madolyn inhaled deeply trying to rid herself of the sweet longing that suffused her, just thinking about being in Tyler’s arms. “I suspected it that very first night when I…we…uh, kissed. I mean I began to suspect then, that the weapons of the heart Miss Abigail preached about were tenderness and gentleness and sweet fiery passion. Weapons of the devil, that’s what they are!”
“Maddie, honey, it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Madolyn stared across her untouched plate, out the window. Her gaze was snared by the intricate pattern of the lace curtains. “You’re suggesting I take a chance?”
“I couldn’t give you that kind of advice, could I? But I can tell you what your life will be like if you deny love. You’ll end up sleepin’ in a lonely bed with a cold heart for company.”
Madolyn couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m so frightened.”
“I know.”
“I have to leave here. On the next train, Goldie. But I can’t leave the women. They’re counting on me. Will you help?”
“Anything, just ask. But what about your inheritance? Don’t you still need Morley’s help?”
“I’ll go out there again. One last time.”
“What if he won’t agree?”
“Maybe I can persuade him to give me passage back to Boston, and enough to live on until I can find work.”
“I hate that it turned out this way. You’re a strong woman, though. Even if I’m wrong about Tyler, which I can’t see, but sayin’ I am, I’m sure you could hold your own.”
“I don’t want a lifetime of fighting. I’ve already had that. But don’t worry about me. One day I shall be grateful for the experience. It’ll help me in my work. Now, I know firsthand about weapons of the heart.”
“I don’t think it’s that cut and dried, Maddie.”
“Maybe not. But I can’t take that chance.”
Tyler rode away from Buck, leaving his tophand in a state of confusion. What the hell? He was in a state of confusion, himself.
“You’re gonna run off an’ leave us in charge of the herd?” Raúl had questioned when Tyler rode into camp with word that he was headed north.
“You an’ Sánchez are able of mind and body, Raúl. No reason the two of you can’t drive this herd to the railroad trap, and when the train rolls in, load ’em up an’ ship ’em out.”
“Sure we can do it, Grant. That’s not the point. You’re the one needs to dicker with the buyer about prices.”
“Reckon el jefe’s been dickerin’ with that little filly,” Sánchez quipped.
“This may be about a filly, Sánchez, but not the one you think.” He tugged the brim of his Stetson low, pulled the reins around, and headed north, shouting a last command in his wake. “I’m off to see a man about a horse. Take care of the herd, and stay out of the cantinas until the train pulls out. I’ll meet you back at the dugout.”
The idea had come to him after he stormed out of Maddie’s room, his life in turmoil. That, alone, wasn’t such a surprise. Truth known, he’d seen it coming. Even though he had vowed not to act out his fantasies, he knew this relationship was developing into something akin to just that—a relationship.
But damned if it wasn’t her fault. All he’d intended was to knock on her door and see if she was still around. Hell, he’d come in too late the night before to disturb the house, or so he reasoned. To be honest with himself, he hadn’t wanted Goldie and the girls to know the extent of his turmoil. It wouldn’t have taken two words for Goldie to figure that he’d spent the last few weeks pining over Maddie Sinclair.
Pining over her. Agonizing over her. But he hadn’t intended to end up in her bed. Not by a long shot. Not until he opened that door and saw her standing there in all her glory and nothing much else.
One sight of her bending over that wash basin in her chemise and bloomers, and what little sanity he had left, fled. All he could think about was touching her, kissing her, filling her body with his, like his mind had been filled with her ever since he rode off and left her standing on that back staircase.
And before. Ever since that first day, when he stood across the tracks watching her tap that impatient toe of hers, he had been haunted by one thing—taking Maddie Sinclair to bed.
Well, damn him, now he had done it. And what had it accomplished? Besides a momentary relief—what sweet relief!—he had managed to snarl up the whole affair.
Not that she hadn’t asked for it. She had. She had been a willing participant in the lovemaking. And afterwards she acted like every other female out to snare a man.
I’m glad you haven’t done anything like this with Annie.
Glad, was she? Didn’t that tell the tale in a nutshell? If she didn’t have designs—long-term designs—on him, why would it matter whether he had bedded Penny-Ante Annie or any other woman in or out of the House of Negoti
able Love?
And damned if he hadn’t played right into her hand, which as things turned out, had been a mistake of gigantic proportion.
Even if I had…it wouldn’t have been like this…it wouldn’t have been makin’ love.
Making love? He had never seen two little words send a person into such a fit. Making love. Didn’t she know it was just an expression? A figure of speech? What had she wanted him to call it? Hell, he couldn’t talk to her like a feller’d talk to the girls downstairs. Maddie was a lady.
And therein lay the root of his dilemma. Buck or Horn, or both of them put together, was no place for a lady.
He had just proved that to the woman suffragette.
But it hadn’t ended there. The dilemma escalated with her shrill observation that love was the most horrible word in the English language. The fact that he shared that view didn’t make it any less troubling to hear the sentiment expressed by a lady of such tender and passionate sensibilities. What had caused her to take such a contemptuous view of a condition folks generally held to be wonderful, even necessary? That’s where he was headed—to get some answers. Morley Sinclair had some explaining to do.
That Morley’s sister owed explanations of her own became clear as a summer sunrise, when one after the other of Morley’s sons challenged him. Each grinning boy wore stiff new boots and bright red calico shirts. Each one greeted him, not with a leveled shotgun, but with an eager question.
¿Donde está Tía Maddie?
All except little Jeff, who sounded like he might cry when he asked, “¿Donde está mi tía?”
Where indeed was his aunt? Did Maddie know how she had worked her way into the hearts of these children? Did she know what would happen when she left? Did she know—
What the hell business was it of his?
Tyler had barely stepped down from his horse, when Morley spied him. His irate former partner stomped up from the barn, barking orders. “Don’t you understand plain English, Grant? You ain’t welcome here. Git off my land.”
Tyler watched in disbelief. How could a man of such surly temperament be Maddie’s kin? Suddenly, beyond Morley, he spied Jed riding ’Pache Prancer out of the corral, and his morning’s worth of discontent jelled into a single mass of anger.
And energy. Stepping forward, he swung hard enough to fell a giant oak. His fist landed on Morley’s jaw, stunning the man; Morley stumbled backwards, lost his footing, and fell to the hard-packed earth. His head bounced once. He looked up at Tyler, blinking.
“What the hell was that for?”
“A lot of things.” Tyler grabbed a handful of Morley’s shirt and pulled him to his feet. Morley staggered a minute. Tyler could see his anger building.
“Maybe I’m just tired of bein’ bullied by you.”
Morley rubbed his jaw. “It’s that damned filly. I knew it’d get your goat, me buyin’ her like that. Why’d you think—”
“What happened in Boston, Morley? What happened to Maddie?”
“Maddie, is it?”
“What happened to her?”
“How the hell would I know? I’ve been gone from there for twenty years.”
“Why did you leave? Why won’t you have anythin’ to do with her? She came all this way and you won’t give her the time of day. Why?”
Morley eyed Tyler with fire in his eyes. “Never took you for the meddlin’ kind. She put you up to this?”
“Nobody fights my battles, Morley. And I usually don’t draw a hand in those of other folks. But this is different.”
“Yeah, I can tell. You got skirt fever.”
“We’re not talkin’ about me. We’re talkin’ about Maddie. What made her like she is?”
“How’s that?”
“She’s flat scared to death of anyone who wears pants.”
Morley’s mouth dropped open. His weathered face went slack. His gaze turned cold. “Leave it alone, Grant.” His voice was low this time, no longer blustering, deadly serious. “Send her back to Boston. Or keep her here. But stay away from me. I told her an’ I’m tellin’ you, I want nothin’ to do with that old man.” Dusting his hat, he crammed it back on his head, and turned to walk away.
Tyler caught him by the shoulder, and for the second time in their long friendship, he knocked his partner—former partner—to the ground. Looking down on the stunned man, Tyler barely resisted kicking him. “I don’t know what happened, likely I’ll never know, but you’re no better than the man you refuse to call father. You’re her brother. Her only livin’ relative. And damnit she needs your help.”
He turned to walk away. Jed sat ’Pache Prancer, watching his boss struggle to rise.
“Help him up, Jed. He’s not man enough to rise on his own.”
Jed dismounted obediently, and a sudden and wild sensation gripped Tyler. Taking the reins from Jed’s unsuspecting hands, he stepped up on the honey-colored filly and sank spurs. The thoroughbred sprung into fluid action.
“What the hell’re you doin’, Grant?” Morley bellowed.
“Takin’ what’s mine, Morley,” he called over his shoulder. “Takin’ what’s mine.”
Tired as she was, Madolyn could scarcely find the heart to sleep in her bed after Tyler left it. But she tackled that problem the way she tackled everything else—with gritty determination. No one would drive her from her bed. Least of all, a man.
Men! They were all alike—no damned good. She had known that before arriving in this barbaric land. She hadn’t needed Tyler to teach her that.
But he had taught her many things, and in her heart she knew they were far from disgraceful. The time she spent with him had been the most glorious time of her life, and would remain so to the end of her days. She would carry the memory of that morning on the long and lonely road ahead. However painful that memory was at the moment, it wouldn’t remain so.
But for now she had enough to do to take her mind off her troubles, things that must be done before she returned to Boston. For that was her decision. Right or wrong, she had made it and would stick with it. She would return to Boston on the first train to leave this deplorable place—after she helped the women solidify their plans.
To that end Madolyn spent long hours instructing the women of both Buck and Horn in everything they needed to know to mount a successful demonstration.
She didn’t see Tyler again. He didn’t return to the house, unless it was to sneak in while she was away or asleep. No one mentioned him, especially not Goldie, who probably still felt bad about her part in the debacle.
When the train arrived, she wasn’t ready. So many things remained to be done before she could leave. Afraid she might run into Tyler at the station, she didn’t dare venture to the depot to see whether her order had arrived from Abilene.
He might be at the railroad trap loading his cattle. She might run into him like last time. Her heart pounded painfully, remembering the pleasure they had shared, imagining all the pleasures they would never share.
Night after night, returning from Horn, she lay awake reliving the hours she spent in his arms. If she had one regret it was that their lovemaking had occurred in the dark. She hadn’t seen his body. Not that she would have been able to make herself look. She would have been far too self-conscious. But, oh, she wished for that additional memory. The touch of his skin, of his muscles, of his hair was real to her and would always be. She would even remember the slightly salty taste of his skin. She wished she had a vision to carry away, too. Other than the one of Tyler and Annie. Her relief that he hadn’t slept with Annie was short-lived, for he probably would, now that she was leaving.
As soon as she was certain the train had departed, she forged ahead with her plans. Although she dreaded it almost as much as she feared seeing Tyler again, she had to try one last time to convince Morley to secure her inheritance. After all, that was the reason she had come to Buckhorn in the first place.
“Sure you can drive a rig like this, little lady?”
“Of course I can handl
e a team and wagon, Mr. Melrose.” She pierced the hostler of Buck’s only livery with an expression designed to intimidate, a lesson learned from Miss Abigail.
Determined to get a head start on her trip to the ranch, she had arisen early. Already beleaguered by tired muscles and a worried mind, she didn’t intend to allow this chauvinistic little man to stand in her way.
“Where’ll you be headin’?”
She started to retort that it was none of his business, but reconsidered, since he was already concerned about her ability to drive his wagon and team.
“Out to my brother’s.”
“Sure you know the way?”
“Certainly, Mr. Melrose. Now, if you please, the morning is wasting. I would like to complete my journey before the sweltering part of the day.”
“How long you aim on bein’ gone?”
“I shall return before sundown.”
“That’ll put you on the road in the heat of the day, sure enough, miss.”
“Be that as it may, sir, those are my plans. And they are carefully laid. If you will excuse me, I shall be on my way.”
The drive started out well enough, better than that, actually. It was a still morning, about eight o’clock by Papa’s watch when she set out. The sun had barely climbed over the far ridge of mountains. The coolness of evening lingered on the earth; sunlight glistened from scant dew-laden grass, and highlighted the few night blossoms that had tarried too long, as if in enjoying their freedom, they had failed to see the approaching dawn. A sobering thought.
One she feared might have some relevance to her own plight. Had she tarried too long in this wild country, and would her leaving be too late?
The question lost its rhetorical nature when Jorge jumped into the roadway, his eyes dancing.
“Hola, Tía.” The boy plucked at his red calico shirt. “Gracias.” He kicked one booted foot in the air, then the other, repeating as the chorus in a dance. “Gracias. Gracias.”
“De nada, Jorge.” The delight in her nephew’s eyes was worth every hour spent learning his language.
“Muy bien,” he complimented. “Hablas español muy bien.”
She probably didn’t speak Spanish very well, she thought, but she had learned enough to communicate with her family. Again, as on her first visit, she was struck by how much Jorge favored his father. And by the desire to jump off the wagon seat and hug him. She didn’t. On her return trip, she promised herself. Yes, she must gather courage enough to hug her nephews and nieces once before leaving them. Oh, my, yes. She must.
No Place for a Lady Page 24