Angel Creek

by Linda Howard

  “And just what would I do in town?” she demanded, getting to her feet and placing her empty bowl in the big wash bowl. “How would I earn a living? The town doesn’t need another dress shop, or another hat shop, or another general store, and the money from selling the land wouldn’t last forever. There’s nothing I could do except maybe take one of the rooms over the saloon, and somehow I don’t think I’d be a success at that.”

  Luke was jolted at the thought of her working as a, whore. No, he couldn’t see it either. She was too proud and independent. A man didn’t want a challenge when he went to a whorehouse; he wanted simple, unthinking relief. He pictured her taking her clothes off, her eyes flashing green heat in a dim room, and his blood started pounding through his body. Mounting this filly would take a strong man, but it would be worth it when he was locked deep inside her, feeling her heat, riding her hard and fast. Only a strong man would be able to handle her, keep her satisfied.

  He was a strong man, and he liked a challenge. His earlier thoughts hardened into determination. He was going to teach Dee Swann that she needed a man for one thing, at least.

  But because he was smart, he didn’t say anything on the subject or push her anymore to sell her land. He thanked her politely for the meal, offered his aid if she ever needed it, tipped his hat, and left like a gentleman. He didn’t feel the least bit gentlemanly, though, as he rode back toward the cut over the mountain. He felt tense and alive, his senses alert, his loins stirring with anticipation. No, there was nothing gentlemanly about his thoughts or his intentions; in both he was purely male, scenting female and wanting her. The only thing was, the female didn’t know yet that she was being pursued, so she wasn’t even running.

  Dee went to the door and watched him ride away. She felt strangely disturbed and too warm; she loosened the top buttons of her blouse to let the cooling air waft over her throat. So that was Lucas Cochran. That brief glimpse of him in the general store hadn’t prepared her for a face-to-face meeting. She hadn’t realized that he was quite so tall, or so strongly built, or that his iron will gleamed so plainly in his blue eyes. Lucas Cochran was used to getting what he wanted, and he hadn’t liked it at all that she had turned down his offer for the land.

  She would bet all the money she had that he would be back.

  3

  OLIVIA MILLICAN HAD SPENT HER ENTIRE LIFE BEING the perfect daughter and the perfect lady. It wasn’t difficult; she was by nature both kind and composed. Sometimes she felt guilty that she had had such an easy, privileged life when she could see how so many other people had to struggle to have even a fraction of the luxuries to which she was accustomed, but she was also intelligent enough to see that neither was it her fault. Her father had worked hard to make his bank successful; any child of his would have had the same comfortable life. She tried to do what she could to help with the few small charities around town, and she tried never to be mean or rude. Her rules of conduct were simple, and she truly tried to adhere to them.

  All she had ever wanted was to fall in love with a good man and have him love her in return, marry her, and give her his children. When she was younger she had never thought that it was such an unreasonable thing to expect from life; heaven knew it seemed an easy enough thing for most of her friends. She still didn’t see that it was anything but an ordinary wish, yet somehow it had never happened.

  She was twenty-five now, virtually an old maid, though there again her father’s money was shielding her. A poor woman of twenty-five would have been an old maid; a wealthy woman of twenty-five was still “a good catch.” Yet somehow, though there were good men in town, she had never loved any of them, and none of them had ever seemed to be wildly in love with her, and now just about all of those her age were married to someone else.

  Except Lucas Cochran.

  His name ran through her mind as she worked with her mother on the fine embroidery of a linen tablecloth, and she shivered a little. It wasn’t that she disliked him; he was handsome in a hard sort of way, wealthy, intelligent, well-mannered, and certainly eligible. It wasn’t her imagination that he had singled her out in some small way every time they had met since his return to town, for other people had remarked on it. He danced well and treated her with respect. Her feminine instincts also told her that after they had known each other a respectable length of time he would ask her to marry him. She was very much afraid that, because she was twenty-five and this would likely be her last chance at marriage and a family, she would say yes. But Lucas Cochran didn’t love her. Despite all of the little attentions he paid her, despite the faintly possessive expression in his blue eyes whenever he looked at her, as if she already belonged to him, she knew that she aroused none of the passionate emotion in him that she had always longed for from the man she would marry.

  And he was a hard man, hard in a way that her father, who had a forceful personality himself, couldn’t even begin to match. Lucas Cochran would never allow anyone to stand between him and anything he wanted. Olivia knew herself to be no more a match for him than her father was; far less, in fact. Oh, he would protect her as his wife, give her children, but she would never matter any more to him than any other woman he might have chosen to fill the position. She could expect consideration but not caring, physical attention but never love, protection but not devotion.

  But if she refused him, she would likely die without ever marrying and having her own family, and her woman’s heart cried out for children.

  “I’ve changed my mind about visiting Patience,” Honora Millican said in her soft voice.

  Olivia looked up, startled. Her mother had been looking forward to visiting her sister in San Francisco in the summer, and Olivia couldn’t think of anything that would have changed her mind. Truth to tell, she’d been as eager for the trip as her mother. They seldom saw Aunt Patience. It had been almost five years since their last visit, and other than visiting her favorite relative she had also been eager to visit the glorious shops in San Francisco again. “But we’ve been planning it for over a year now!”

  “I know, dear, but I really don’t think we should leave town for several months just now.” Honora smiled sweetly at her daughter, the smile that Olivia had inherited.

  Olivia was both confused and disappointed. “Why ever not?”

  “With the attention Mr. Cochran has been paying you? It wouldn’t do to be gone so long and let some other young woman gain his attention.”

  Olivia bent her head over the embroidery to hide her expression, which she knew must reveal the leap of panic she felt. Had she also been hoping against hope that this time she would meet someone special in San Francisco? “You talk as if it’s a foregone conclusion that he intends to propose,” she said, though she thought it was herself.

  Honora said placidly, “Of course he does. Why, everyone can see it in the way he looks at you.”

  “He isn’t in love with me,” Olivia said, raising troubled eyes to her mother.

  But Honora didn’t look in the least disturbed. “I admit Mr. Cochran isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve. But why else would he pay such attention to you?”

  “Because I’m the banker’s daughter,” she replied. “I’m presentable, and I was schooled back East.”

  Honora put down her needle and frowned, her interest now wholly engaged. “That’s a remarkably cynical outlook, dear. What makes you think Mr. Cochran isn’t interested in you for yourself? You’re a beautiful young woman, even if I do say so myself.”

  Olivia bit her lip, knowing that she didn’t have any solid reasons she could put forth for her statement, only intuition. She didn’t want to cause Honora any worry. Her mother tended to fret to excess if any ill wind of health or humours blew on the two people she loved most in the world, her husband and daughter. It was both a source of security, knowing herself so well loved, and a sense of responsibility that she should do whatever she could to keep Honora from being upset.

  So she made herself smile at her mother and say, “All
the same, I’m not certain it wouldn’t do Mr. Cochran some good to think about me meeting so many good-looking men in San Francisco.”

  Honora’s face cleared, and she began to chuckle. “I see. You don’t want him to feel too sure of himself. Wonderful idea! But all the same, I don’t think we should go off for the entire summer this early in the relationship.”

  Olivia stifled a sigh. She had hoped that Honora would think it such a good idea that the decision not to go to San Francisco would be reconsidered. Now she knew that she would have to tell her mother all of her fears and uncertainties in order to change her mind, and Olivia wasn’t willing to do that. For one thing, she wasn’t certain that she wasn’t simply being foolish, fretting over “love.” No other young woman in town would hesitate a minute if given the opportunity to marry Lucas Cochran—well, except for Dee, but Dee was different. Another reason was that Olivia was a naturally reserved person, respectful of the privacy of others simply because she needed it so much herself. Not even to her mother could she reveal her inner fears, because Honora would then find it necessary to confide in Olivia’s father and perhaps even in certain of her friends in town; in short, it would soon become common knowledge.

  Both of her parents would become so upset and make such a fuss that she simply couldn’t face it. She was their only child, having been born after Honora had miscarried twice, and they had showered her with all of the devotion that should have been shared with a houseful of children. They wanted only the best for her; nothing else, in their eyes, was good enough. She would do anything to keep them from knowing how unhappy she was.

  So she bent her head over the embroidery and said nothing else on the subject, pushing her unhappiness to the back of her mind as she listened to Honora’s placid chatter about the upcoming social. Prosper had a rather active social life for a town its size, with various small parties and entertainments arranged throughout the year. Late each spring the women of the town put on a large picnic and dance, and everyone in the area was invited. The women in town took turns organizing the affair, and this spring was Honora’s turn. The older woman was in her element, planning and organizing, delegating, double-checking and triple-checking each detail. For weeks her conversation had consisted of how well or ill things were going, and today was no exception. Olivia listened patiently, offering advice whenever asked but for the most part providing only an audience, which was really all Honora wanted.

  As often as not, when Honora began reviewing her plans and accomplishments she eventually remembered some little detail that had to be taken care of immediately, and that day was no exception. She abruptly dropped the embroidery hoop to her lap and said, “Oh, dear.”

  The moment of crisis was so predictable that Olivia smiled with gentle amusement even as she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “I completely forgot to arrange with Beatrice Padgett for us to use her punch set! I can’t believe it slipped my mind like that.”

  “I’m sure she takes it for granted that her punch set will be needed,” Olivia comforted. “After all, she’s the only person in town who owns over three hundred punch cups.”

  “Still, it would be terribly rude not to ask her, just to assume that her possessions are available for our use. I’ll write her a note right now,” Honora said, putting the hoop aside and rising to cross to her writing desk. “Do you have a moment to spare to take it to her, dear? I simply have too much to do this afternoon, though I’d love to visit with Beatrice, but you know how she talks. It’s practically impossible to get away from her once she gets started.”

  “Of course,” Olivia said, gladly putting her own embroidery hoop aside. She was very good at needlework, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. “I think I’ll go for a ride while I’m out.” She wanted to be alone for a while; maybe a brisk ride would banish her melancholy, which lingered as a hollow feeling deep inside despite her efforts to push it away. Or maybe she would visit Dee. As soon as she had the thought she realized that was exactly what she needed. Dee’s implacable logic always went straight to the heart of a matter, and she always said exactly what she thought. Olivia needed that kind of clear thinking right now.

  She went upstairs to change into her riding habit while Honora set about writing. By the time she came back down the stairs Honora was folding the note.

  “There,” she said, tucking the paper into Olivia’s pocket. “Take your time, dear, and do tell Beatrice that I’m sorry I couldn’t come myself, but I promise to visit her soon to go over all the plans for the social.”

  The Millicans kept their two horses in the livery, so Olivia walked first to the Padgett house, which took only five minutes. But it was the truth that Beatrice Padgett liked to talk, and it was over an hour before Olivia was able to leave. Beatrice insisted that she come in for tea to the point that continued refusal would have been embarrassing, so Olivia found herself once again sitting and listening, with nothing more required of her than an occasional nod or comment.

  It was an enjoyable hour, though, because Beatrice was a genuinely likable woman, friendly and without malice. Olivia had often thought that Beatrice and Ezekiel Padgett were something of a mismatch. Beatrice, in her late forties, still retained enough beauty for one to see that she had once been quite something. She was a warm woman given to hugs and pats, freely affectionate and exuding a soft, rather voluptuous sensuality. Ezekiel, on the other hand, was tall and dour, seldom smiling, his face too rawboned for handsomeness. Olivia had wondered how they could live together in any sort of harmony, though she had once seen Ezekiel look down at his wife’s face when he thought them unobserved, and his expression had softened almost to tenderness.

  So love did grow even in unlikely marriages, perhaps had been there from the beginning, at least on Beatrice’s part, for why else would such an affectionate woman have married such a dour man? It was plain to anyone why Ezekiel would have married Beatrice, even without love, so Olivia didn’t consider that.

  Perhaps she was foolish to worry about marrying Lucas. Maybe they would grow to love each other as much as Beatrice and Ezekiel did, as much as her own parents did.

  But no matter how she tried, she simply couldn’t imagine such a look on Lucas’s face as she had seen on Ezekiel’s.

  Dee looked out the window when she heard someone riding up and smiled when she saw it was Olivia. It had been too long since they’d had a chance to chat, but now that the weather was better Olivia would come to visit more often. She poured two cups of coffee and walked out on the porch to greet her friend.

  Olivia dismounted and took the coffee with a smile of thanks as they sat down on the porch. “I thought winter was never going to end,” she sighed. “I’ve wanted to come out several times, but the weather never cooperated.”

  “From what I heard in Winches’s store, Lucas Cochran’s courting you.”

  That was Dee, going right to the point. Olivia’s tension eased a little. It was a relief to talk to Dee because there were no social inanities with her, no need for a polite social mask or worry that Dee might be shocked at anything she said. Not that she was likely to say anything shocking, Olivia admitted ruefully to herself. It was just that it was nice to know one could.

  “It seems so,” she said.

  “Seems? He either is or he isn’t.”

  “Well, he hasn’t actually said anything. It’s just that he’s paid attention to me.”

  “Enough attention for people to start talking about a wedding?”

  “Yes,” Olivia admitted, unable to hide the misery in her eyes.

  “Do you love him?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t marry him,” Dee said with a finality that suggested the matter was closed.

  “But what if he’s my last chance?” Olivia asked softly.

  “For what?”

  “To get married.”

  Dee sipped her coffee. “Do you really think you’ll never meet anyone else?”

  “It isn’t that. It’s just th
at no one has ever fallen in love with me, and maybe no one ever will. If I can’t have love, I’d still like to have a family. He truly may be my last chance.”

  “Well, I’m probably not the best person to come to for advice,” Dee said, and she chuckled. “After all, I’ve already turned down three men. He came out here the other day, by the way. Cochran, that is. He wanted to buy Angel Creek.”

  The thought of that was interesting. Lucas was accustomed to having things his way. Olivia could just imagine what he’d thought when he’d met Dee, who could be as intractable as a rock wall when she chose.

  “What did you think of him?”

  Dee grinned. “That he’d make a dangerous enemy. And that no one tells him ‘no’ very often. He doesn’t take it well.”

  “And you enjoyed telling him.”

  “Of course I did.” Mischief gleamed in her green eyes as she glanced at Olivia. “He could use taking down a peg or two.”

  “I don’t think he’ll give up,” Olivia warned.

  “No, he won’t.”

  Dee looked as if she positively relished the thought of thwarting Lucas, and not for the first time Olivia wished she could be more like her friend. Dee wasn’t intimidated by Lucas, or by anyone. There was a kind of inner strength to her, a surety that most people didn’t have. Olivia didn’t feel certain of anything, with her longing to have a family at odds with her fear of marrying someone she didn’t love. She couldn’t imagine Dee ever feeling that kind of uncertainty. Dee would simply make up her mind one way or the other, and that would be that.

  “I think Lucas would ride roughshod over me if I married him,” Olivia said, and she bit her lip.

  Dee thought about it, then nodded. “Probably.”

  That blunt assessment startled Olivia into a spurt of laughter. “You didn’t have to agree!”