by Jodi Thomas
“I don’t know him.”
“That’s because he has been gone a very long time.”
“Where’s Dillon?” Marilee asked plaintively.
The question again. The one that wouldn’t go away. The one she’d repeated at least once a day since she had started to talk again.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. She held out her hand. “Let’s go down to supper, then I’ll read you a story.”
Marilee finally stood and took her hand, following soundlessly as she allowed Elizabeth to lead her down the steps.
What was it about Seth Sinclair that frightened his sister? He had indeed frightened even herself this morning when he appeared. But later he’d been oddly protective.
But Marilee still feared him and that was enough to convince Elizabeth to keep her close.
She would protect Marilee. With her life, if necessary.
Chapter Six
IF DILLON WAS right about Delaney’s plans, then the McGuires were in trouble.
If they were in trouble, his sister was in trouble.
Seth told himself that was his only concern.
Yet the image of Miss McGuire standing in the doorway of his home with the damned rifle, then her attempts to stop a runaway horse and her coolness afterward had impressed him. She had courage, the kind that could get her killed.
He did not want her killed. Or harmed.
Her father, though, was an entirely different story.
Or was it?
Regardless, he knew he had to warn Elizabeth McGuire.
Would she believe him? Or would she feel that he was just trying to get her and her father off the land?
Even if he did, how in hell could he buy the land back?
A wave of hopelessness washed over him. He needed money. He needed it fast. He could see no way of getting it, not without breaking the law and that, he knew, would play into Delaney’s hands. He hadn’t left one prison to go into another.
He tried to brush away those thoughts as he used the trail he knew so well. He had stayed the night at the cabin, talking for hours with Dillon, catching up on all their old neighbors and even the newcomers.
Seth had the seeds of a plan in mind, but he didn’t tell Dillon. Not until he felt at ease in his own mind that it would work. He didn’t think even the Yankee army would tolerate theft on a grand scale. The question, though, was proof. Delaney would continue to blame the rustling on Dillon and his friends, on un-reconstructed rebels.
He rode by the old Keller place which Abe had said he could use. It had a sturdy ranch house, once well tended by someone who, like his family, loved Texas, loved the land. Now it looked like too many of the Southern soldiers he’d met on the long way home. It looked, in fact, probably as he had when he first met Elizabeth McGuire. Faded and dirty and most definitely having seen better times.
Would Marilee be happy there? Could she ever accept him? Perhaps if Dillon was with him.
He had to clear Dillon’s name first.
And Elizabeth? Damn it, but he wished she hadn’t touched a tender place somewhere deep inside. It was an emotion he thought long dead after the Wilderness.
Seth used water from the pump outside to wash, then changed into the one clean shirt he had left. He had purchased a change of clothes at the general store, a transaction that further depleted his already dismal purse.
There was an old mirror in one of the rooms and he used it to shave.
He barely recognized the man that stared back at him. His face looked gaunt, his cheeks hollow. His eyes were cold as they weighed the face.
No wonder he’d frightened his sister.
He didn’t look anything like his father or brother, and his mother had died at Marilee’s birth. He didn’t have Dillon’s light hazel eyes and dark hair, the same features their father had.
His face had hardened; the softness of youth gone. It came of commanding men, of sending them into battle where they might—and did—die. It came from leaving too many on the battlefield and in the prison, where hunger was a constant and fever took as many lives as bullets and cannonballs had.
Given that, could he ever provide the nurturing a small child required? The nurturing and sense of safety she deserved?
Would she be better off with the McGuire woman?
The thought was unbelievably painful, but it continued to play in his mind.
And his heart.
Perhaps today his sister would open up to him, or at least acknowledge him. Until she did, he would have a huge hole in his heart.
ELIZABETH slept restlessly. She had stayed at Marilee’s side until she had gone to sleep.
After leaving for her own bed, she still listened for the nightmares before drifting off into an uneasy sleep. At some time, she heard her farther come in the house. By the loud sounds, she knew he had been drinking.
She chose not to confront him tonight. When drinking, he promised the moon. He seldom kept—or even remembered—those promises.
She couldn’t really blame him. Not with failure riding toward them. No cattle, no taxes. No taxes, no land. . . .
Sighing, she knew there would be no talking to him tonight.
ELIZABETH rose at daybreak. Marilee was still sleeping. Perhaps yesterday had not been as frightening to Marilee as Elizabeth feared. That would make it easier for Seth and Marilee to make their peace.
Easier for her to lose the child that had become a daughter to her. Perhaps the only one she might ever have the chance to mother. A sickening sense of loss flooded her.
But then Seth Sinclair had his losses, too.
She felt small and selfish.
She had no doubt he would return. No doubt that he cared for his sister and her welfare. His leaving her here had convinced her of that.
She tried not to consider the fact that she wanted to see him again. She only wanted him to meet quietly with his sister. It was the right thing to do. At least, she hoped it was the right thing.
She did not want him to meet her father. She knew her father’s quick temper. She’d also recognized the tense emotions in Seth Sinclair. He wore a gun like a man who knew how to use it. And after killing Northerners for four years, would he have any qualms about killing one who he believed was stealing his land?
She needed to keep them apart. As long as possible.
She didn’t intend to tell her father about their visitor.
As if summoned by her thoughts, he stumbled into the kitchen, his hair mussed, his face still ruddy from drinking, his eyes bloodshot.
“I waited for you last night,” she said.
He looked sheepish. It was an expression she knew too well. He always thought it would cleanse his sins. It no longer did, in her eyes.
“I was talking to Major Delaney. He invited me to dinner to discuss these cattle-thieving rebels.”
“Did he offer any help?”
“Well . . . not right now, but he promised he will.”
“And how will we repay the loan you took out if our cattle keep disappearing?”
“He will help us,” he said stubbornly. “And I asked him for supper tomorrow night. He was asking after you. He’s sweet on you.” He looked at her with his bloodshot eyes.
A cold chill shot through her. She had disliked and distrusted Delaney from the first moment she’d met him. For some reason, he was seeking her out. She’d found that strange, since few men had before. She knew she was no beauty, and she had never tried to improve her appearance for a man who repelled her.
“He is twice my age, and I have no interest in him. You know that.”
His face fell. “Every woman wants a husband and children.”
“Not without love.”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “I always disappoint you, lass. I never wanted to do that.” He dropped his hand. “Howie and I will go out and look for cattle. There’s bound to be strays. Enough to start a new herd. Perhaps I can borrow some money. We’ll make it.”
“And Major D
elaney?” she asked.
“It would please me if you would be pleasant to him tomorrow night,” he said, “but I expect no more.”
Her father rose wearily and he looked old. She’d never noticed that about him before. He was always so full of life, sober or drunk. But now he looked years older than his actual age. His face was pale, even gray looking.
“Are you ill?” she asked.
“Just the effects of last night.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. “I am sorry, lass. I truly am. I just want to know you will be taken care of.”
The way he said the words sent a chill through her. It was as if he knew something. . . .
“Is anything wrong?”
“Nay, Liz. I’m just getting old and I want to make sure you are safe. You would have a handsome future with the major.”
He had used her before. He had used her as bait, as a shill. But he had never tried to sell her. He wouldn’t do that.
Or would he?
As soon as the insidious thought came, she dismissed it. He would never consciously hurt her. He should know that one of the Sinclairs had returned to reclaim the land her father firmly believed was his. But if she told him now, he would stay. He would try to defend this land just as Seth Sinclair’s father had tried to protect what was his.
Elizabeth couldn’t stand it if the two men fought and one was killed.
She watched as he gave Marilee a huge hug when the sleepy child came into the room. She remembered those hugs, and how comforting they had been.
Marilee snuggled into his embrace for a moment, then looked up.
Elizabeth prayed the child wouldn’t say anything about yesterday, about her brother. Best that her father left before he knew about Sinclair.
And then . . .
She had plans.
They did not include Major Delaney. Compared to the rebel who had saved her life, he was certainly wanting in many aspects. Certainly appearance. She suspected in character as well.
She’d never thought she would—could—be attracted to a rebel, to someone who fought against his own country. And yet his devotion to his family and his courage in stopping the horse had more than impressed her. She was moved by his gentleness with his sister despite his obvious desire to grab her and take her away.
She had never been affected by a man as she was by him. His touch had been like a brand that seared through her blood. Her heart raced when she thought of him.
Elizabeth had never believed in love at first sight and of course, it hadn’t been at first sight. But she suspected second sight was just as risky.
Particularly when he wanted what her father had.
She told herself such feelings were fleeting. Love, if there was such a thing, was built on trust, and knowledge of each other and common interests. She had no common interests with an angry gun-toting rebel.
And he most certainly would have no interest in the daughter of the man he believed stole his homestead. She had no attributes to attract a man like him.
Still, she barely suppressed a heady anticipation as she thought about seeing him again.
Chapter Seven
SETH ARRIVED AT his old home about noon to find only Elizabeth McGuire and his sister at home. He had expected her father to be home after the mishap yesterday. He wore his gun, though he’d hoped after the war that he would never have to use it again.
Elizabeth opened the door, her face puckered in an uncertain frown. It caught him by surprise, confusing him. His heart kicked and his stomach clenched. She had always been so certain in previous encounters, even after being attacked yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as his gaze shot beyond her shoulder to the interior of the house. “Marilee?”
“She’s fine. I thought. . .” She shook her head and opened the door for him.
He entered, looking around for his sister. “Thought what?” he probed, even as his gaze continued to search for Marilee. “Where is she?”
“She’s . . . reluctant to see you. I thought perhaps a picnic would help. Marilee loves picnics. I . . . well . . . I prepared a few things. Not much. If you don’t want . . .”
A picnic, by God. The last one was the day before he’d left for war. The church had hosted a picnic to say good-bye to those going off to fight.
They’d all thought they would be back before year’s end.
It wasn’t nearly five years ago. It was a lifetime.
Elizabeth McGuire continued to watch him with an uncertain expression. She obviously expected him to turn her down.
A picnic with his sister—and Miss McGuire—suddenly sounded very good. “Thank you,” he said simply, humbled suddenly by her attempt.
He glanced at a basket that was sitting on a table just inside.
“Where’s your father?”
“He and Howie are looking for strays. We’ve been losing cattle.”
“Does he know I’m back?”
“Why should he care?” The lie was in her eyes. She had not told him. She had probably even encouraged him to leave today. She had guessed far more than he’d realized. He had been in the mood to confront McGuire if he had tried to keep him from his sister.
Her gaze met his. Damn but her eyes were pretty. Appealing in their uncertainty. He had learned she was not an uncertain woman. Something intense flared through him. A combination of desire and attraction.
Hell, she was the last woman in the world that should arouse such a reaction.
“I’ll hitch the buggy,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her.
Moments later, Elizabeth McGuire emerged from the house, one hand holding Marilee’s, the other holding the basket and a blanket.
He took the basket and blanket from her, placed them in the buggy, and went to swing Marilee into the buggy. Instead, she shied away. At least, he comforted himself, she didn’t run from him in terror.
He steeled himself against the hurt and moved away. He’d already decided to ride Chance. Now he knew it was a good decision.
Elizabeth helped Marilee into the buggy. Then Elizabeth accepted his hand in stepping up. A pair of very shapely legs showed as her dress hitched up. Her hand felt warm in his.
Warm, hell! It was burning.
He stepped away as if burned. She looked just as startled.
He mounted Chance and followed her as she drove to a spot along the river. The water was down now, barely more than a stream, but it was shaded by cottonwoods and spotted by wildflowers.
He knew every foot of this bank. He and his brothers used to swim here when it was swollen, and fished when it carried only a trickle of water. For a moment, those scenes flashed back. He saw Dillon teasing the twins, daring them to swim across. They tried, and he had to jump in and keep them from being carried downstream. He had given them only a few more years.
He dismounted and hobbled Chance. This time he didn’t try to help either Marilee or Elizabeth McGuire down. He’d realized he couldn’t force himself on Marilee. He might lose her forever if he tried.
Instead, he stood aside until they were both down, then he reached in the buggy and picked up the picnic basket and blanket. He found a spot under a cottonwood and spread the blanket on the ground.
Still, Marilee looked at him suspiciously.
He knelt in front of her, so his eyes could meet hers. He did not want to be a giant. “I’m Dillon’s brother, you know,” he said.
Marilee looked at him with wide eyes. “Dillon went away.”
He wanted to say he had seen Dillon, but he couldn’t. Not in front of the woman.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I’m here. I used to hold you when you were a baby. I used to sing you songs.”
Marilee backed into Elizabeth McGuire but her gaze didn’t leave his.
Progress.
“What songs?” she finally asked.
He hummed a lullaby he used to sing to her, then voiced the words, feeling them strangling in his throat. He had loved music. His entire family had. How man
y nights had they sat together, he and his father playing their guitars, his brother a harmonica. He hadn’t seen that guitar in almost five years. It was something else still at the home which had been his family’s.
He finished the song, a French lullaby his mother had taught him.
“Dillon used to sing that to me,” Marilee said slowly. Though her body still leaned into Elizabeth’s, some of the reserve had left her expression.
He looked up at Elizabeth and saw tears hovering in her eyes.
Those eyes were so clear, so damnably honest.
The tears weren’t there for herself. Certainly not for him. They were there for his sister.
He sat down on the blanket. “Your mother used to sing it to Dillon and me,” he said. “She died not long after you were born.”
“Where are my other brothers? Papa said there were four.”
“Two died. They are in . . . heaven.” He didn’t really believe in heaven. Not after visiting hell on earth. “But they loved you. And they are looking after you.”
“Why didn’t they look after Papa?”
“I don’t know, sweetpea. Maybe it happened before they could do anything.”
She looked at him with skepticism, even as she kept as close to Elizabeth as a shadow. “Dillon called me sweetpea,” she said.
“We all did,” he said gently. “We all loved you.”
A rustling sound came from the trees beyond. He spun around, rising to his feet in one fast movement, his hand going automatically to the gun in its holster.
He heard a child’s scream behind him.
But he couldn’t holster the gun. Dillon had warned him. Delaney’s men were not above an ambush. They had not been above frightening—perhaps killing—a woman by making her horse bolt.
No one was going to harm one of his again. No one!
“Mr. Sinclair?”
Elizabeth’s soft voice was full of questions. He hadn’t realized how soft it was.
“I heard a noise,” he said as his gaze moved around the brush and trees. He heard another sound, this time more of a whimper.
He moved forward slowly, keeping the gun in his hand. Another sound. Something moving through the underbrush. He didn’t think it was a man now. An animal of some kind. Perhaps a wounded one.