Keegan's Lady (14 page)

"You don't happen to have a handkerchief, do you?" she asked Bess. "To cover my decolletage."

"Don't be silly." To be heard over the din, Bess leaned a little closer. "Half the necklines in here tonight are cut far lower than yours."

"But the women wearing them aren't being stared at by everyone."

"Not everyone is staring at you."

"Name someone who isn't."

Bess nibbled her lip as she scanned the crowd. "Mrs. Etler."

"Mrs. Etler can't see anything beyond the end of her nose."

Bess sighed. "I guess you probably do feel a little conspicuous. Patrick will be back soon. You'll see. He's probably just dealing with Hank."

Dealing with Hank? How, exactly, did one deal with a drunk? Caitlin had been trying for years, and look where it had gotten her. Men. At this point, she wouldn't have given a fig for the whole bunch of them.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her watch to check the time again. Eight-thirty? It seemed to her the minutes were crawling. She glanced over at Bess as she returned the watch to her pocket. "How time does fly when you're having fun."

"Thanks a lot."

Caitlin sighed. "Oh, Bess, you know I didn't mean it that way."

Tapping her toe in time to the music, Bess said, "You could dance, you know. You're getting even more invitations than usual tonight."

"And we both know why." Caitlin wrinkled her nose. "The way some of those men looked at me—" She broke off and shook her head. "I wouldn't dance with one of them if he paid me."

Bess's cheeks flushed. "I never thought about that being the reason." After considering for a moment, she patted Caitlin's arm. "Don't you worry. This too will pass. Rumors always do."

"That's my saying."

"You're rubbing off on me."

At just that moment, a couple swirled past, the young woman caught a bit too closely in her partner's arms, the tops of her stylish kid pumps flashing beneath the hem of her lavender dress. Caitlin couldn't fail to note the furtive way the man ran his hand up the woman's ribs, grazing the underside of her breast.

"Did you see that?" she asked. "Five minutes ago, that same fellow asked me to take a turn with him around the dance floor. Just look what I missed."

"There are a few rapscallions, and I admit, tonight most of them have gravitated toward you. But that doesn't mean every one of them is a rat. If you refuse to dance with anyone, how will you ever find Mr. Right?"

Caitlin and Bess had covered this ground so many times before it had almost become a joke between them. Only tonight, Caitlin didn't feel much like engaging in banter. "Maybe I don't want to find him."

"Come on, Caitlin. If not marriage, what do you plan to do with your life?"

Caitlin arched an eyebrow. "Enjoy it? I know that's a purely scandalous notion for a mere woman to have, but for the second half of my life, I'd really kind of like to do some of the things I want to do for a change. That will be out of the question if I'm stupid enough to let some man get me under his thumb again."

Before Bess could reply, a woman nearby said in a stage whisper to her husband, "Caitlin O'Shannessy is here! Can you believe her brass? If I were her, I'd be hiding my head in shame."

Two bright spots of color formed on Bess's cheeks again. She flashed the woman a derisive glance. "Don't pay any attention to her, Caitlin. She's just a mean-hearted old shrew with nothing better to do than pick on other people."

Ignoring the woman was easier said than done, and the worst of it was, Caitlin knew other people were whispering about her as well. She felt like hiding her head, all right. In fact, going home sounded better by the moment.

She was still wrestling with her embarrassment when the fiddlers ceased 'playing suddenly, and all present turned toward the front of the hall.

Her attention caught by the startled hush that fell over the crowd, Caitlin's head snapped up. She fixed her gaze in alarmed terror on the lofty, intimidating man dressed all in black who was stepping with deliberate slowness over the threshold. Coming in behind him were three of the men she'd seen in the barn the other night, all of them more slightly built than he, one a blond, the other two with sandy-colored hair.

They were an intimidating lot, well-muscled and exuding an arrogant self-assurance. Each of them wore a gun, but guns were a common sight in No Name and couldn't account for the threatening air that surrounded them.

The doorway was at least fifty feet from Caitlin, but when Ace Keegan came to a halt just inside the room, the crowd parted between them. In deference to the occasion, he had exchanged his black denim shirt for one of black silk, but his attire was otherwise unchanged, his well-worn black denim trousers hugging the powerful lines of his lean thighs, his pearl-handled revolver winking like a mirror in the lamplight.

Like shavings drawn to a magnet, his glittering dark gaze came to rest on her. Panicked, Caitlin grabbed hold of Bess's arm. "I believe we should start mingling," she said with forced gaiety.

Bess threw her a startled look. "It's him! Ace Keegan."

Because Bess had stated the obvious, Caitlin didn't bother to reply. Feeling like a rabbit caught in the open by a hungry hawk, she cast frantically about for an escape route. Ace Keegan. He was here, and he was staring straight at her. Oh, God.

He was every bit as tall and daunting as she remembered. The black silk shirt hugged his broad shoulders and muscular arms, the color complementing the glistening jet of his wavy hair and his darkly bronzed skin. Without his hat to shade his face, he was extraordinarily handsome, the scar along his left cheekbone enhancing his sharply chiseled features.

As he moved a bit farther into the room, he swung around to hang his black Stetson on one of the wall hooks behind him. While his back was turned, Caitlin drew Bess along with her into the encircling crowd. To her dismay, she realized that Bess's dress, a brilliant emerald green, acted as a flag wherever they went.

As Keegan turned back around, he scrutinized the room with piercing brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was obviously looking for her, she realized a little hysterically, her heart kicking so violently against her ribs, she feared she might faint.

"How dare he show up here," Bess whispered. "What with all the talk, that really takes some nerve."

Caitlin thought Ace Keegan would probably dare almost anything. To her relief, she saw his gaze move past where she stood. Then it sliced back, coming to rest on her like a lethally sharp dagger. He began to make his way through the crowd, his gaze still fixed on her. There was no longer a doubt in her mind. He had come here looking for her. Since she'd already made one payment to him for his bull, and well before the designated month had elapsed, she could think of only one other reason why he might wish to speak with her—to make arrangements to collect on his raincheck.

Not here. Caitlin had already made up her mind that she would do whatever she must in order to keep her brother from being hurt. But to have the entire town witness her humiliation ...

"Your dress," Caitlin whispered. "It's so bright!"

Bess glanced down and understanding dawned in her green eyes. Giving Caitlin a nudge, she said, "Go! I'll find you later."

Caitlin needed no further prompting and once again turned to flee. Only there was nowhere to go. Keegan was blocking the only exit. Thinking fast, she descended upon another group of young women, hoping to melt into their midst. No such luck. The knot of females dispersed like a flock of startled ducks the minute they realized who was standing with them. In a matter of hours, it seemed, Caitlin had gone from being one of the most highly thought of young women in town to a pariah.

The fiddlers began playing another number, and several couples moved to the center of the room to dance, forcing the majority of the crowd to bunch up at the perimeters. Left abandoned near the punch bowl, Caitlin turned to face her pursuer. He was easy to spot as he shoved through the crowd toward her. Her heart caught at the determined expression on his darkly bronzed face.

***

It didn't take any particular genius for Ace to figure out that Caitlin O'Shannessy was doing her damnedest to avoid him. Every time he moved toward her, she darted away into the crowd, the alarmed expression on her face unmistakable. Not wishing to frighten her any more than he already had, he drew to a stop and tried not to stare at her, no easy task.

She wore a rose-colored gown, the low-cut neckline edged in feminine lace, the pleated bodice nipped in at her slender waist to set off her figure to perfection. With her hair brushed to a russet sheen and piled in loose curls atop her head, she was, without question, one of the loveliest women he'd ever seen. She was also the palest, her skin so white he couldn't be sure where she left off and the poster paper behind her started.

Ace couldn't help but want to get this apologizing business over with, but he couldn't ignore the fear in Caitlin O'Shannessy's eyes. The girl seemed terrified, and he supposed she had good reason.

In yet another obvious attempt to avoid him, she went to stand near the punch bowl table. As if she had some sort of communicable disease, the people gathered there for refreshments fell away, leaving her to stand alone, looking wan and forlorn. The anguish on her face made Ace's gut knot and filled him with an awful suspicion.

His temples throbbing in time to the music, he went in search of Joseph, whom he found outdoors with some other ranchers. As inconspicuously as possible, he drew his brother aside. "What the hell's going on with Caitlin O'Shannessy?" he asked. "Everybody at the social seems to be shunning her."

Even in the darkness, Joseph's blue eyes glinted, "Word has leaked about what happened. I was just fixin' to come tell you. Folks are saying that she—well, you know—that she traded her favors to you in exchange for her brother's life."

"Christ." Ace was so furious he wanted to put his fist through something. "Who talked? I swear to God, before I fire him, he's going to wish he were dead."

Even as he made that vow, Ace knew that taking his frustration out on someone else wasn't the answer. The largest chunk of the blame for Caitlin O'Shannessy's troubles rested on his shoulders.

Joseph shook his head. "It wasn't one of our men who opened his yap. It was that old fellow in the barn, the one she called Hank."

To Ace, that seemed even worse. Poor Caitlin. It would have been one thing to have had her good name destroyed by strangers, but to be betrayed by a longtime employee? He turned back toward the community hall.

"What are you going to do?" Joseph called after him.

Ace never broke stride. Some questions had no simple answers.

When he reentered the hall, he was sadly amused to find that Caitlin had worked her way through the crowd and was about to escape out the front door. The instant she spotted him, she spun about like a small creature of prey searching for a bolt-hole. Unfortunately, everywhere she chose to run, people fell away from her as if she had the plague. One old battleaxe even had the effrontery to brush at her skirt as Caitlin passed, as if the girl's touch had soiled it.

Since she obviously realized he wished to speak with her and was none too thrilled at the prospect, he elected to put her suffering quickly to an end. He slipped through the crowd, clamped a hand over her wrist and spun her toward him. Startled blue eyes looked up at him from a face so pale her features might have been carved from alabaster.

"Miss O'Shannessy," he said, trying for a low modulation that wouldn't scare her half to death, "how nice to see you again."

Her colorless lips quivered as she replied, "Mr. Keegan."

In that moment, she made Ace think of a frightened child, though the ample curves of her slight frame proclaimed her to be anything but. Her voice was tremulous and barely audible over the buzz of conversation around them. It didn't escape his notice that the pulse in her fragile wrist was leaping wildly under his fingertips. He felt badly about that. But not so badly that he intended to let her go.

He couldn't help but recall how she'd entered the bam the other night, the ominous click of a well-oiled rifle punctuating her forceful demands. Was this even the same girl?

Fiddles whined as the musicians on the dais sought a common note. He could only hope their next number would be slow, something that would allow him to hold her close so they might converse. "May I have this dance?"

Ace expected her to decline. But despite the fear in her eyes, she nodded. Why he felt surprised, he didn't know. From the instant he'd first set eyes on her, this remarkable girl had been doing exactly the opposite of what he expected.

As carefully as he might have handled egg shells, he guided her onto the dance floor, one hand at her wrist, the other settled at the small of her back. A lilting waltz began. When he turned to take her into his arms, her wary expression made him cringe. A head taller than most men, Ace knew he must look huge to someone of her slight stature.

"Caitlin . . ." He searched her gaze. "May I call you Caitlin?"

She shrugged a shoulder, the gesture eloquent. Ace curled a hand over her hip and drew her into the waltz, his guts knotting at how small she felt. Even her hand seemed tiny.