Gerrity'S Bride (9 page)

He was right, he discovered as the meal progressed. Emmaline spoke with Miss Olivia about Theresa’s schooling, suggesting the use of a book she’d brought from Kentucky with her and agreeing to show it to them both at breakfast. She was gracious to Maria, complimenting her on the meal and the bread pudding that was served for dessert. She told Theresa a story about a dog she’d had as a child and agreed to show her a picture she had in her carpetbag that included that very animal.

But for the man who sat at her right, she had only silence and guarded glances. By the time he’d finished eating, Matt was on the verge of dragging her from the room and shaking some of that arrogance from her.

He settled for gripping her by the right wrist as she rose to leave the table when everyone finished their meal. With a nod, he excused Miss Olivia and Tessie, and then, picking up his parcel with his other hand, he led his reluctant bride to the big bedroom at the end of the hallway in the north wing of the house.

He opened the door and ushered her into the room. With a well-placed heel, he closed the heavy door behind them.

Emmaline glared at him scathingly. “It is not considered proper to be alone in a bedroom with a woman who is not your wife,” she announced primly.

“I was alone in your bedroom with you just a few days ago, when you got bucked off that horse you’re so crazy about,” he growled as he bent over her. His face was just inches from her own, and he saw the apprehension that darkened her eyes just before she lowered her lids and looked down at the floor.

“That was different. I was not myself.”

“No, you sure weren’t. You were almost nice to me.” He turned away and then spun back to her, hands on his hips and eyes blazing with more anger than he’d felt in a month of Sundays.

“Just what has your bustle in an uproar?” he shouted.

Her head lifted quickly and her eyes were wide with astonishment. “What a horrendous thing to say to me!” she snapped, her hands pushing at his chest as she sought to make room between their bodies.

It was somewhat like pushing at the side of a mountain, she decided. He didn’t budge, and wasn’t about to, if she was any judge of it. She might as well speak her piece and have done with it.

“Maria told me you went into town to make plans for our wedding.”

He straightened and looked down at her with astonishment. “Is that why you’re mad?”

Her mouth opened and closed and then opened again. “Yes, that’s why I’m mad.” She spouted the words with a volume that almost matched his own.

“I did it for you!” His answer was a muted roar. He ran his hands through his hair to keep them from gripping her shoulders, and mumbled beneath his breath.

“Well, thank you very much!” she snapped. “I might have wanted to have some say in my wedding plans, don’t you think?”

“Why?” He was astounded. “What is there to plan? We’re gonna go to town and see the preacher and he’s gonna marry us. I wanted to get the details out of the way. I was tryin’ to do you a favor.” He was blustering now, aware finally that he had stepped on her toes in the worst way possible.

Her look was unbelieving. “Marrying me is just a detail in your life?”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Awww...come on, Emmaline. Don’t be mad. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I guess I just didn’t think about you wantin’ to go along.”

“You were afraid I’d want a real wedding, weren’t you?”

He was silent.

The color left her cheeks as she endured the few moments of silence, and her voice quavered as she asked the question that had been born in her mind during that time. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Hell, no!” The words burst from his lips, and Emmaline had no doubt as to the truth of his vehement reply. She was quietly relieved, but not entirely so. She pressed her lips together and stepped back from the towering man who stood before her. His hands were clenched into fists against his hips, and he leaned forward a little, his jaw jutting angrily, his eyes narrowed and flashing darkly.

“Please do not curse in my presence,” she said with precise enunciation.

“You sure manage to pull my cork, Miss Priss,” he growled. “And if you think that was cursing, you oughta hear me when I really get fired up.”

She flared her nostrils delicately and retreated another half step. Matt Gerrity in a royal snit was a sight to behold, she decided. Even his scent was threatening—masculine and musky, overriding the dusty outdoor aroma he wore like a second skin.

“Don’t do that again!” he roared. “You sniff at me like I’m fresh from the barn and stick that little nose of yours up in the air like I’m not good enough for you!”

She shook her head, her eyes widening at his words. “That’s not true,” she cried, aghast at his accusation. “I’ve never thought that. I’m not a snob, Gerrity! Not like you, certainly!”

“And just what does that mean?” he asked, his voice toned down to an acceptable growl.

“Just because I’m from back east, you seem to think I’m not fit to be a ranch wife. You’re planning to marry me in a hurry-up wedding, so your friends won’t have a chance to make fun of your bride.”

“Ah...hell!” With fierce intent, he reached for her. His hands were like iron bands that clamped her shoulders, dragging her forward the few inches it took to bring her against his chest. His grip loosened as his hands slid around her back, meeting at her waist and tugging her closer, until her slender body was plastered with indecent familiarity against his hard length.

She felt the heat of him through her clothing, felt the bone-melting, pulsating fever of his frustration burning between them. Her breasts were flattened, straining with a strange urgency against the ungiving breadth of his chest. Her belly was snug against his groin, soft cushioning for the hard evidence of his arousal, and she held her breath as she recognized what it portended.

His head was tilted, and his eyes blazed with frustrated anger. Yet the lips that touched hers were almost gentle in their taking, brushing against her softness, asking her compliance. She felt his intake of breath as he lifted from her, and heard the harsh, guttural words he spoke before he lowered to her once more.

“You drive me crazy, woman,” he muttered against her tender flesh, his mouth once more taking possession of her lips. Not so gently this time, he kissed her, branding her with the touch of his tongue at the corner of her mouth, edging it carefully along the crease of her resilient flesh until he found the opening he sought.

She took a shuddering breath, and his tongue slid to capture the ground she had unknowingly surrendered. Searing a path across the soft inner flesh of her lower lip, he measured the width of her mouth in a heated fashion that coaxed a small moan of surrender from her throat.

His grunt of satisfaction was galling, she decided with mute frustration. So easily he had forced her into his embrace. So readily he had subdued her body and brought about her acquiescence. Even the invasion of her mouth, the indignity of his tongue between her lips, had only served to meld her closer with his male form.

And she couldn’t even complain with dignity, she realized. It was hard to be ladylike when her whole body was in such close proximity to a man, when all her mind could concentrate on was the searing pleasure of his mouth.

His hands were gentle and his aggravation was spent as he set her away from him. His smile, however, hovered on the edge of victorious as he swept his gaze over the length of her trembling figure.

“Now, Miss Emmaline, do you have any doubts about my wanting to marry you? Do you really think you’re being judged on whether or not you’ll make a good ranch wife, whatever that’s supposed to be?”

She shook her head, not sure he expected a reply to his sardonic query. Her hands lifted to her face, her fingers flat against the warmth that had invaded her cheeks, cooling the heated flesh and then moving to pat into place the tendrils of hair framing her face.

His hands covered hers and squeezed them carefully, forming them into small fists, which he enclosed within his own.

“Leave those pretty curls alone,” he ordered her softly, his eyes moving with tender regard over the rebellious locks that would not remain subdued by pins and combs.

She met his eyes, intent on knowing the truth of his purpose. “If you want to marry me, you’ll wait until we can plan a decent wedding,” she announced stiffly, her chin jutting forward in defiance.

“If I want to marry you?” he ask unbelievingly. “I thought I’d made that clear.”

“Well, either I go into town and talk to the parson and make some arrangements, or—” She stopped, unsure what threat would hold water with this man, who stood and gazed at her with such apparent irritation.

“I’ll go with you.”

“We’ll see.” Her eyes lowered in a gesture of feminine capitulation...quickly, so that he could not take note of the determination those long lashes hid from his view.

T
he sky was turning pink outside her bedroom window, and Emmaline watched as the dawn chased the night from the sky. She’d felt beleaguered and bedazzled by turns through the long hours of darkness. Matthew Gerrity was a scamp, she’d decided. He held the reins and was tugging them with a vengeance, beguiling her with the power of his kisses and planning her future without a thought for her own wants and wishes.

Truth to tell, she’d about decided to postpone things until her head was back in control, instead of that treacherous heart of hers. Maybe she’d be better off—no, for sure she’d be better off—if all she had to think about was Tessie and her welfare. At least for now. The wedding could surely be put off for a while...or could it? Maybe there was a way out of the conundrum. Maybe the lawyer could find a loophole, even though he’d said she had no real choice in the matter.

It might be worth a try, anyway.

* * *

Sneaking out of the house had been the easy part. Saddling Brownie, riding from the barn toward town and convincing Tucker of the validity of her trip had taxed her ingenuity to its fullest.

Pangs of hunger were a silent companion as she rode, thinking of the breakfast Maria would serve. Then she thought of the man who would undoubtedly be fast on her trail, once her absence was noted. Her heels dug into the sides of the brown horse as she considered the consequences of Matt’s anger this time.

But she had to try. It was worth a try, and Oswald Hooper would know the answer...if there was one to be had.

The bullet had whizzed in front of Emmaline almost before she heard the sound of the gun firing. She flinched at the whine of its passing and heard the impact as it hit one of the small stand of scrubby trees she was riding past.

“Dratted hunter,” she snapped, glancing off to her right, hoping to catch a glimpse of the careless gunman.

The horse beneath her snorted and pulled at the bit in his mouth, dancing sideways as he responded to her hands on the reins. She relaxed her hold and reached to pat him, speaking soothingly as she looked behind her once more.

A flash of color caught her eye, and she squinted against the morning sun. Just past her field of vision, the figure of a horseman disappeared into a gully, and the blurred image struck her mind with force.

“Next time I see a man wearing a red shirt, I’ll be ready to tear into him,” she muttered, urging her mount into a lope. “The fool could have hit me instead of that tree.” She craned her neck to scan the horizon, her hand shading her eyes.

“I sure don’t see any game. Wonder what he was shooting at?” she puzzled. And then she shrugged as she settled into the saddle and rode quickly toward town.

* * *

Her chair was empty. Matt’s frown deepened as he considered the cushioned seat and delicately wrought wooden frame of the piece of furniture that should have been covered by the person of Emmaline.

“Where is she?” he asked abruptly as Maria placed his plate before him. Steam rose from the generous pile of scrambled eggs she’d prepared for him, and the steak that flanked them was still sizzling from the griddle.

Yet it was not enough to take his mind from the absence of the woman he’d expected to see next to him this morning.

Maria stepped back and wiped her hands against the white apron that covered her dress. “I’m sure she’ll be here in a few moments, Mr. Matt.”

“Have you seen her this morning?” he asked as he ground the pepper mill across the expanse of his plate.

She shook her head. “Not since I took a cup of coffee to her room an hour ago.”

“You have enough to do without carrying coffee to us in the mornings, Maria.” He grumbled the words, knowing they would fall on deaf ears. They’d had this discussion several times over the years.

She shrugged and allowed a benevolent smile to spread over her face. “Don’t growl, Mr. Matt. You know you enjoy your coffee before you shave.”

He gave in, allowing her to win this small battle once more. Maria was set in her ways, determined to care for her family as she pleased.

The eggs and beefsteak were hearty fare, and Matt tucked into them with zest. The day promised to be a long one, spent herding the cattle from the far western range back toward the barns to be culled and branded. He’d carried on with the Carrutherses’ tradition of growing their own beef and selling off the excess each year, holding the size of the herd to a manageable level. Cattle were a small part of the picture. Horses were the mainstay of the ranch.

Olivia and Theresa had joined him at the table and eaten their own meals before he sensed an uneasiness tugging at him.

“She should have been in here by now,” he muttered abruptly, shoving his chair from the table and rising.

“Emmie’s not comin’ to breakfast, Maff—Matthew,” his small sister announced with barely a stumble.

He glowered at her. “What do you mean, Tessie?”

She waved her hand in a nonchalant motion, and her voice matched the insouciant gesture. “She’s gone to town already. Real early.”

“To town?” he repeated. “To
town?
” The second time he said them, the words were a roar.

“We’ll see,” Emmaline had said, oh-so-compliantly, he remembered. And then she’d left him standing there. And he’d let her go, sure of his victory.

“Drat you, Emmaline Carruthers,” he growled, shoving his hat angrily atop his head.

* * *

“Confounded woman, you need a good trouncing,” he snarled, throwing the saddle on his horse’s back and tugging at the cinch with quick, hard movements.

“Did she go alone?” he asked Tucker, the hand who had been watching him from wary eyes.

“Yessir, boss, she sure did. I offered to saddle up and go along, but she said she’d be fine, so I didn’t argue with her.”

“Don’t let that woman leave this ranch alone again, do you hear me?” Matt said, in a deceptively quiet manner.

“Yessir, I hear you fine.” Tucker’s eyes were wide with trepidation, aware that Matt Gerrity in a temper was not a man to be messed with. “I’m sure sorry I didn’t tell you she was goin’ ridin’, Matt, but I didn’t know she was headin’ for town till she took off thataway.”

Matt’s reply was unintelligible as he swung into the saddle and turned his horse quickly, applying pressure with his heels in the animal’s ribs. He’d catch her, but not till she was already in Forbes Junction, he figured. She’d had too much of a head start.

* * *

Oswald Hooper was unlocking the door of his office when Emmaline slid from the brown gelding in front of the building housing the law office. He shielded his eyes against the bright sunshine as she approached.

“Well, good morning, Miss Carruthers. Sure didn’t expect to see you today.” He greeted her with a smile. “And I have to say you’re lookin’ a bit ruffled.”

Her own smile was forced, and she brushed distractedly at her hair, smoothing it back from her face.

“Well, someone took a shot at a rabbit or something a ways out of town, and the bullet went wild. Missed me by a bit, but I’ll have to admit—”

“Whoa! Back up there!” he exclaimed, reaching out to grasp her arm. “Someone shot at you?” He looked her over quickly, as if he might spy evidence of the bullet. “Missed you, you say?”

She patted at his hand, where it clutched her wrist, and shook her head. “No, no, I don’t think he was aiming at me,” she assured him quickly. “It was probably someone after game, and he missed his shot.”

Oswald Hooper swallowed and blinked twice. Then his fingers squeezed once more, reassuringly, against her flesh before he let go his hold.

“Well, I’m sorry you got such a fright,” he told her warmly. “And on such a beautiful day, too.” He beamed at her with sudden humor. “Sure didn’t expect to see you here this morning. Thought for sure you’d be home getting ready for your wedding.”

“Did you now?” she said with as much aplomb as she could muster. “It sounds like Mr. Gerrity has notified you of his intentions, then?”

“Well, he made the arrangements, I understand.” Oswald Hooper spoke slowly, aware suddenly that he was treading on dangerous ground. Emmaline’s toe was tapping a quick tattoo on the boardwalk before his office door, and he cast an apprehensive eye at that sure sign of feminine aggravation.

“Tell me this,” she began, one hand against her hip, the other clenched at her side. “Is there any legal way possible I can gain custody of my sister and not have to marry Matthew Gerrity?”

Oswald Hooper’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in disbelief as he considered the young woman who faced him. Then he shook his head solemnly.

“I’d thought you were set on getting married, ma’am. Is there a problem I can help with?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’ve just been thinking it might be wise to wait a bit and not rush into this.” Rushing her was not half of what Matt Gerrity was doing, she thought with a quick flush of anger. He’d made his plans and then expected her to just follow along like a well-trained pet, and she wasn’t feeling like anyone’s lapdog this morning.

“I’m surely surprised to hear that,” he said slowly. “But I can’t think of any way offhand that you can squeeze out of a wedding, Miss Emmaline.”

“No loopholes?” she asked hopefully, as if she must pursue any chance of success.

“Well, let me tell you this,” he said brightly as a thought occurred to him. “The circuit judge came into town last evening. He knew your pa and he knew about the will. Old Samuel talked it over with him a year or so back. It may be that he’d know something that I don’t about the law in a case like this.” He gestured toward the hotel across the dusty expanse of the road that ran through the middle of town. “He may still be over there, in the dining room.”

Emmaline took a deep breath, snatching at this final straw. “Thank you, Mr. Hooper. I’ll just take a chance on catching him.”

She looped the reins of her horse over the rail provided in front of the office building and hurried across the road, waiting impatiently for several riders to pass midway across.

In a moment she was stepping up onto the wooden porch of the hotel, where early-morning loafers were assembled. Nodding, she passed them as she made her way inside. The open doorway of the dining room beckoned across the lobby, and she moved quickly in that direction.

“Do you want a table for breakfast?” a young woman asked her from just beyond the archway. Garbed in a prim uniform of black, with a heavily starched white apron pinned to her bosom, the girl watched her with sharp interest.

“No, thank you.” Emmaline glanced about the almost empty room quickly, wondering as she did just what a circuit judge would look like. Surely not that rotund gentleman with a bowler hat plopped next to his plate. Or either of the two dusty, denim-clad men who were shoveling biscuits and gravy down their throats with indecent haste.

She turned from the distasteful sight and centered her attention on the young hostess. “Has the judge had his breakfast yet?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. He’s long gone over to Katy Klein’s place.” The girl flushed. “I mean to say, the Golden Garter, ma’am. There’s gonna be court this morning. Those two over there—” she nodded her head in the direction of the busily eating cowhands “—they’re witnesses to a shoot-out. Probably be a big crowd there for the hearing.”

Only two words had stuck in Emmaline’s mind. “Golden Garter?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the biggest building in town. Till the courthouse gets built, that’s where they hold circuit hearings.” She nodded for emphasis, her curls bobbing about her face.

“Yes...well, thank you,” Emmaline said distractedly, turning about to cross the wide lobby once more. “Holding court in a saloon,” she muttered beneath her breath. “I’ve never heard such a thing!”

Once more on the porch, she looked up and down the street, her eyes drawn to the brightly painted signs that designated the two favorite haunts of the local menfolk. The Silver Bullet was at one end of the main street, the Golden Garter at the other. Over each establishment hung a colorful depiction of those more-than-colorful titles.

It was to the latter building that she headed, her eyes drawn by the glittering golden garter painted in minute detail on a wooden sign over the doors. Her booted feet kicked up small puffs of dust as she hurried to her destination, and her hair caught fire in the bright sunshine.

The doors were painted a bright red and hung just high enough that she could not see over them into the dim recesses of the saloon. If she bent just about double, she could look beneath them, but the indignity of that position erased the thought almost immediately from her mind.

Instead, she pushed with one palm against the center of the two doors, and they obligingly swung back as she shouldered her way between them. It was rather dark, she realized, only the shuttered light from the door and the two windows in front of the building spreading dim rays of sunshine across the cluttered room.

Tables and chairs were scattered about, the legs of the chairs poking into the air from atop the tables, while a young man energetically swept the floor. Motes of dust flew in profusion in the wake of his endeavors, and Emmaline squinted as she sought to locate the man who would make this barroom into a courtroom sometime today.

“Miss?” From behind the long, polished bar at one side of the room, a white-shirted man caught her attention. “Can I do something for you?” he asked gruffly as she turned to face him.

Emmaline approached slowly, uncertain now as to whether or not she should have ventured into this establishment. Grandmother would have a hissy fit if she could see me, she thought with trepidation. Although surely it was safe enough at this hour of the day, she decided stoutly. Later, the menfolk who patronized this place would make it hazardous for a decent woman to enter the door, she was certain.

The thought of the judge who might be able to answer her questions firmed her steps, and she stood before the bar with resolution in her gaze.

“Is the circuit judge here?” she asked quietly.

The barkeep nodded to a corner table just beyond the path of light that was shed through the doorway. “Over there, ma’am,” he directed her. “Judge Whitley’s his name.” His smile brightened suddenly. “Say, aren’t you old Sam Carruthers’s girl, from back east?” He leaned forward, his broad face easing into a friendly smile.