Her heart beat as quickly as a bird’s as he gripped her arm and reeled her in toward him. In the surprise of the moment, she didn’t think to resist; her own daydreams had been so focused on a moment such as this, both dreading it and dreaming about it, that she could hardly wait to feel the pressure of his lips against hers, to have his arms wrapped around her.
“Ellie, I know you’re grieving…”
She blinked up at him. Grieving? He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from his chest; they were just a hair away from an embrace, which is all her cloudy thoughts could concentrate on.
“Say any word and I’ll stop this right now.” The raw, husky whisper of his voice sent a shiver through her.
She wasn’t certain whether he pulled her toward him or she simply sagged into his arms, but within a hair of a second the desired moment of her daydreams was being fulfilled. Roy’s lips met hers, sending a wave of warmth through her. For an instant, she was terrified when she felt his bulk pressing against her and the strength of his arms, his chest, his legs’ pressure against hers. The man was all brawn. And yet his lips, his hands, were gentle. He coaxed her lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.
As she opened her mouth to him, she felt as if her whole body came alive. She shimmied closer and snaked her arms around his neck, itself a mass of corded flesh. His thick bristly looking hair felt surprisingly soft as she threaded her fingers through it, pulling him closer to her. She was shocked at her own boldness, and at the force of this mere kiss. In a book it would have taken place on a stormswept sea, or the rocky moors, or in a dark moonlit setting, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers. They were standing in the middle of a kitchen, the domestic air scented with nothing more romantic than baking cookies, and yet Roy’s kiss transported her to all of those exotic places.
His large strong hands managed to both hold her fast and caress tenderly—her arms, her back, her hips. Her breath came faster, her head spinning with the sensations he stirred in her, and she suddenly recognized the heat building in her.
Desire. It swirled inside her, tempting and taunting, an old enemy she longed to embrace. But this was different, her mind told her, dismissing all the qualms she’d had for the past weeks. What she’d experienced with Percy Sternhagen was rushed and ugly; paradoxically, the best thing to come out of her encounter with him was the child within her. That baby might have driven her from her old life, but it had brought her here. To Paradise. To Roy.
His hand, which had been nestled on her hip, moved around slowly, and the very core of her womanhood seemed to turn liquid. She moaned, then felt his hand stop and massage her just below the waist of her dress. Just where her tummy protruded most.
The baby gave a little kick beneath his touch and she gasped, pulling back from him, but another arm against her back pinned her to him. She looked up into blue eyes burning so darkly she thought she could hardly bear it.
“You know,” she said, wishing suddenly that he would stop, that he wouldn’t touch her there. Her face was flaming, she was sure of that. She felt she was going to die of embarrassment.
“I’ve known for some time,” he said, his voice still low, still husky.
Still seductive. She fought against a shiver moving through her and forced herself to meet his eye. “Ike and Parker?”
His lips turned down in a frown. “They know too.”
She couldn’t believe it! All of these weeks—probably from the very first—they’d known and hadn’t let on. Confused, she twisted to free herself; Roy held her arm.
“What’s wrong, Ellie? Don’t you enjoy this?”
All her runaway emotions froze inside her. A shudder seemed to wrack her body as memories of Percy came back to her. He’d wanted to know if she’d enjoyed it, too; she hadn’t, but she’d pretended to because she fancied herself in love with him. It didn’t matter. He’d still cast her off like so much rubbish.
Now she was far from Percy, yet she still felt like an upstairs maid. Is that how Roy saw her? A thing to be enjoyed? Or maybe he thought her supposed lofty position would free him from any obligation. She’d always heard that widows were easy targets for male attentions. Instead of the flattery Percy had used, maybe Roy thought he could seduce her with little furry creatures.
But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to discern whether Roy’s kisses were real expressions of affection or simply male play. Her attraction to Roy had nothing to do with her need to provide for her baby. If she was tossed out on her ear again…
Where could she go next?
She wrenched away from him. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”
She shook her head, wanting to believe the darkness in his eyes was genuine caring for her, not just the annoyance of having his desires thwarted.
“I must go,” she said, spinning on her heel. Then, feeling foolish, awkward, and ashamed, she turned back to him. She wanted to ask him never to take her into his arms again, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she blurted out, “Please make sure the cookies don’t burn!”
Followed by her furry new dependent, she ran out to the chicken house to catch her breath and wonder just why she always wound up living around men she cared for, but shouldn’t.
The woman was making him forget the McMillan bachelor credo.
That fact alone was frightening. That Ellie reacted to his kiss much as a lady might react to finding a fuzzy black tarantula in her teacup only added to his chagrin.
Roy walked gingerly down the windy Paradise sidewalk, his footsteps taking him almost instinctively toward the Lalapalooza. Never mind that it was ten o’clock in the morning and he had no thirst for anything stronger than hot coffee. Never mind that it was too early for any of his cronies to be there and up for a companionable card game. Just breathing the heavy air of stale cigar smoke and spilled whiskey was sure to snap him out of the odd mood that had been plaguing him lately. Also, there was a pretty young thing working there, Flouncy, who had a figure certain to make him forget all about Mrs. Eleanor Fitzsimmons.
He nearly laughed. In fact, he gave himself permission to go ahead and whoop real good. He, Roy McMillan, chasing after an unwilling pregnant widow? Wooing her with cuddly kittens and stolen kisses in the kitchen? The notion was preposterous!
Let Parker have her, and good luck to him. As he always said, women were nothing but trouble. If he needed any evidence of how troublesome they were, he need go no further than the Paradise hotel, where his mother was staying. She hadn’t belonged in Paradise, but his father had married her anyway—and look what had happened! She’d run out on them. Who was to say Ellie wasn’t cut from the very same fickle cloth?
As if beckoned by the very word cloth, a bright bolt of fabric caught his eye. It was in the front window of Trilby’s Mercantile, and he gravitated toward it as if drawn by a magnet. The heavy wool was woven in a colorful plaid of green and blue; the brightness caught his eye, and he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful Eleanor’s hair would look against it—maybe done up in a scarf or a hat. Her scarf was such a drab gray, it depressed him just to think about it.
His footsteps turned toward the mercantile’s entrance, and when the bell jangled his arrival, he suddenly felt an excitement upon entering the establishment that he hadn’t felt since he was a boy buying sticky peppermint candy. His eyes feasted on the store’s contents as if they’d never seen the place before—so many different things, so much to buy! He headed toward the bolts of cloth only to be sidetracked by ribbons. Ellie didn’t have any pretty hair ribbons.
And then there were also a few ready-made items, like stockings, that Ellie could surely use. She would need some warm stockings for the fierce winter ahead, and maybe a sturdier pair of boots, too. Trilby also had a pair of green velvet slippers that might come in handy for her, too….
Though he stood transfixed by the slippers, something stirred in the corner of his eye. He suddenly felt the strange sensation he’d experienced once when he’d looked up from
working in a wheat field and seen a tornado bearing down on him; only this was no tornado, but Clara Trilby flying at him in a whirlwind of blond curls and frilly dress and heavy sobs. Too late, he stepped back. Clara launched herself at him and landed on his chest with a force that nearly knocked the stuffing out of him.
“Oh, Roy, oh, Roy!” she cried. “Isn’t it just terrible? Isn’t it simply tragic?”
He gasped for air. For a moment he thought he was wheezing; but that was Clara. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she could barely take in an even breath, she was so upset.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“That woman who’s got her hooks into Parker!”
Roy froze—or he would have if Clara’s sobs hadn’t been shaking him. Good heavens, Clara Trilby was annoying! He’d almost forgotten how much he disliked her, and now she was clinging to him like a slug on a rain barrel. “Ellie?”
The name brought a fresh wail from his slug. “Oh, that awful woman! What on earth could Parker see in her? She’s so old!”
Roy was so confused he could barely take it all in. “She’s twenty.”
Clara looked up at him with distrustful blue eyes, her lips in a pout. “Well, she looks older from a distance. And she’s a widow!” Clara stomped her foot. “Why would Parker want a widow when he could have…well, someone young and unspoiled?”
Roy bit his lip to keep from barking out a laugh. Young Clara might be; unspoiled, however, was not the word he would have picked to describe her. In fact, she might be the single most pampered woman in Nebraska. Of course she might have used the word unspoiled in reference to her state of pristine virginity; he couldn’t speak to that issue, thank heavens.
But he did feel an instinctive anger kicking in to hear Ellie maligned—not to mention coupled inseparably with his brother. “You’ve got it all wrong, Clara. There’s nothing definite between Ellie and Parker.”
For a moment a flicker of hope lit her eyes; but it was extinguished just as quickly. “But there will be, won’t there? They’re out there together in that little house of yours. That’s what the doctor said. He said the two of them seemed real companionable.”
Did they?
She clucked her tongue, and was unable to keep a fresh tear from dripping down her cheeks and spilling onto his coat. “That’s just what Parker always said he wanted—a companion.” She spoke the word as if it were a curse. “And now he’s got one in his very own house! It’s not fair!”
Roy’s mind was racing, trying to remember just how companionable they were. Of course they talked together, and read, and played chess, and…
He gulped. Good lord—they were companionable!
Parker always said he wanted a companion? What an idiotic thing to look for in a woman!
Clara nodded miserably. “I’m sure Parker’s going to marry her.” Her chin wrinkled and quivered as she said the terrible words.
“That’s preposterous!”
Unthinkable, even!
Clara looked up at him, blinking hopefully. “Am I wrong, Roy? Oh, please tell me I am!”
He frowned down at her. “You might be if you decide to do something about it.”
“I’d do anything! Do you mean that Parker still cares for me?”
He tried to weigh his words carefully. “I believe he might still have a…yen.”
She was jumping with excitement; unfortunately, she jumped right onto his sore toe.
“YEEEEOOOOOOOWWW!”
Clara’s hand lifted to her bow lips. “I’m sorry—did I hurt you?”
Roy hopped frantically backward—away from the blond menace—and at one point caught a glimpse of his purple face in a mirror. He grimaced in agony. “Oh no,” he gritted out. “You just crushed my already broken toe.”
What an awful creature! Whatever could Parker have seen in her?
Clara fluttered forward, grabbing his arm. He had to keep from flinching away. She was fickle; she was vain and spoiled; she was in every way a complete ninny. But this female of his nightmares was also his one weapon against a romance between Ellie and Parker.
“Oooh, poor Roy,” she cooed. “I’m so sorry. Would you like to sit down?”
He bit down on his lip—transferring a little of the pain from his toe northward—and leaned against the candy counter. He didn’t know where the older Trilbys were, but he was grateful for this time alone with Clara, something he never thought he would be.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Do you still have feelings for Parker? Genuine feelings for him?”
The question was absurd, of course. He couldn’t imagine this woman loving his brother any more than she would love a new dress or pair of earbobs—but he had to at least make the effort to convince himself he wasn’t acting completely out of self-interest.
She clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes! I love him!”
He had to keep from rolling his eyes. And yet he did feel a little sympathy for her. In fact, he was beginning to sympathize with all the hard-luck heartbroken sucker stories Ike was always dredging up on cold winter nights. He just hoped he wasn’t about to become one himself.
“All right then. I’ve got a plan.”
Her blue eyes widened, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Roy, how wonderful. I always knew you were more clever than everyone said you were!”
He twisted his lips, wondering one last time whether he could stand this woman as a relative. What if they had to live in the same house together? Were there especially stiff penalties for killing one’s sister-in-law in the heat of anger?
Deciding it was a risk he would just have to take, he nodded ruefully. “Save your flattery for Parker.”
Her eyes glistened. “When can I see him? Soon?”
“Is tomorrow soon enough for you?”
He was expecting her to squeal with joy; instead, she howled in outrage. “Tomorrow? I couldn’t possibly!”
He was nearly dumbfounded. “Why on earth not? You just said you wanted to see him soon.”
“But not tomorrow! I’m making a new dress and there’s no hope of having it done by tomorrow. I’ve ordered the lace especially, and it won’t be here till next week at the earliest.”
Of all the cockeyed reasoning! Roy crossed his arm and shot her a warning glance. “And what if Parker and Eleanor elope before your lace gets here?”
She lifted her chin. “I do suppose I have some nice things Parker hasn’t seen on me before.”
“Good. Gussy yourself up and be sure to be at Whitman’s Pond tomorrow at noon.”
She frowned. “Whitman’s Pond? That’s in the middle of nowhere!”
“But, it’s secluded. Private. You might even say, romantic,” he told her.
Her lips slowly twisted into a grin. “Oh, Roy—you are smart!”
She hurled herself at him once again, and he squirmed uncomfortably to untangle himself from the horrible woman he was now praying would become his brother’s wife.
Love must be in the air, Isabel decided as she peered into Trilby’s Mercantile and saw her son embracing pretty Clara Trilby. What a bold lover he was! She hadn’t pegged Roy for the overtly affectionate type, but you never could tell about these things. The two of them looked happy—that was the important thing.
She had honestly thought that Roy would favor Ellie, with her wonderful flaming hair. So dramatic! But it just went to show, didn’t it, that love was unpredictable?
If anyone should know that, it was her. Her first husband she’d married young, for love, but it seemed that virtually overnight their marriage had turned sour. Fights broke out over matters large and small. The farm was isolated, and she felt, despite the fact that Abner’s brothers lived with them, so alone. She was impatient and restless, but tried to make the best of things…until Abner turned violent.
First it was a slap. Or a shove when no one was looking. But his nastiness escalated.
Even then she’d stayed as long as she could. She’d blamed herself for angering him,
for not being able to please him. But finally she’d had to face the fact that the man she had thought was so gallant and handsome was a wife-beater, and wasn’t going to change.
Leaving had been the hardest decision of her life, especially since he wouldn’t let her take the children. There were no courts to speak of in Nebraska at that time, and in any case no one would side with a woman who wanted to abandon her husband. If it hadn’t been for Abner’s brother, Ed, and his assurances that he would look after Roy and Parker, and keep them safe, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to leave.
Of course, it had also been because of Ed, and because of her growing affection for him, that it was especially imperative that she leave Nebraska. Ed, so young and handsome, yet sensitive and sympathetic to her, had been her champion. He had made her smile on days when she didn’t think she could get up in the morning. And he had made her feel appreciated, cherished almost, when Abner made her feel worthless. She’d fallen in love with him, and she half suspected he returned her love.
But to declare her feelings would have torn that house apart, and pitted brother against brother. Even if she and Ed had wanted to run away together, Abner, both for spite and because he seemed to genuinely care for his sons, wouldn’t have let them take Roy and Parker. It was only the prospect that the boys would be under Ed’s supervision that had made her able to leave them with Abner.
And so she’d left, and steeled herself to accept her hard choice, and tried to make the best of her life. But for years every morning she awoke wondering if the bargain she’d made—living without her sons and Ed, yet living—was worth its tithe in sorrow.
Her second husband she had cared for deeply but married for security, but after he was kicked by a horse, an accident that paralyzed him, she’d spent years supporting both of them, both in body and in spirit. Through the constant effort of trying to cheer him, to console him, she’d learned patience, and how to find reasons to be happy even when the reasons weren’t always in evidence.
Liz Ireland Page 10