Short Straw Bride (16 page)

“Ouch!” Luke jerked back with a startled oath. His quick movement didn’t allow the kitten time to loosen her grip, with the result that she was jerked from Eleanor’s hold. She responded in the only way possible, digging her tiny claws deeper still into Luke’s shirt and, by sheer coincidence, into the skin it covered. Feeling as if a dozen needles were stabbing him in the chest, Luke grabbed for the kitten, who, thoroughly upset by now, dug her claws in even tighter and yowled her displeasure.

“Don’t hurt her,” Eleanor said, taking a quick step forward as Luke managed to wrench the kitten loose.

“Don’t hurt
her?
” he asked. “You’re warning
me
not to hurt
her?
Seems it ought to be the other way around. I think she just tried to kill me.”

“She was just scared,” Eleanor said in defense of her pet.

“She’s bloodthirsty.” Luke glared at the kitten dangling from his fingers by the scruff of her neck. She glared right back at him, her green eyes promising
future retribution. Remembering Daniel’s words of warning, he wondered if maybe he wouldn’t have been better off picking another bunch of wildflowers. At least they didn’t have claws.

Daniel hitched his horse to the rail outside the general store. Luke had smirked when he’d announced that he was making the trip into town for the second time in less than a week, but he was definitely here to get something and that something had nothing to do with Letty Sinclair. It was just that when he’d seen her walking into Webb’s, it had occurred to him that whatever he needed was most likely to be found in the general store.

He walked across the boardwalk and into the store, mentally mulling over the problem of just what it was about Letty Sinclair that had worked its way under his skin. She was pretty, but he’d known other pretty women. Maybe he’d even known some prettier, though he couldn’t swear to that. But there was something about the way Letty looked at him. There seemed to be a challenge in her dark eyes, one he just couldn’t ignore.

Daniel paused inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the light. At first the store seemed empty. His eyes skimmed over stacks of canned goods and shelves laden with clothes, looking for Letty’s slim
figure. She’d been wearing a dress of some rosy pink color, he remembered. He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined seeing her enter the store when he heard a soft, feminine laugh, blending with a deeper, masculine chuckle. The sound made his hackles rise.

Daniel started toward the back of the store with long, predatory strides. So, Luke hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Webb had his eye on Letty. The pasty-faced, underfed clerk actually thought he had a chance of drawing and keeping the attention of a woman like Letty. Well, he’d see to it that Webb was weaned from that notion.

Rounding a display of hats, Daniel nearly ran over Letty, who was walking toward the front of the store. He caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.

“Mr. McLain!” Letty’s voice was breathless with surprise.

“Mrs. Sinclair.” He let her go reluctantly and reached up to take his hat off. “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t see you. You’re not hurt, I hope?”

“Not at all, Mr. McLain.” Letty put her hand to her chest, as if to still the pounding of her heart. It was just that he’d startled her, she told herself. Her accelerated pulse had nothing to do with those gray eyes of his or the way his dark hair fell onto his
forehead in that little wave that made her fingers twitch with the urge to brush it back.

Better that her fingers twitch with the urge to smack his face, she reminded herself sternly. If not for Eleanor’s sake, then for her own. She hadn’t been a widow for three years without learning to recognize the look of a man with improper notions. And the fact that she’d had an improper notion or two of her own about Daniel McLain only made her more determined to keep her distance.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McLain.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Sinclair.” He stepped back with a polite gesture for her to pass.

His response was the epitome of gentlemanly courtesy, but there was something in his eyes that made a mockery of her careful formality. Letty’s back stiffened, her full mouth tightening with annoyance. Her skirts swished against the wooden floor as she swept past him, her chin thrust into the air. Andrew Webb followed behind her, his steps an anxious clatter. But neither the rustle of her skirts nor the sound of Andrew’s footsteps was enough to drown out Daniel’s soft, knowing chuckle.

He followed them to the front of the store. By tilting his head a little, he could look past Webb and admire the inviting sway of Letty’s skirts. Her spine was rigid as a poker and he was willing to bet that
her expression was just as stiff. He just couldn’t seem to resist the urge to ruffle her feathers.

He waited while she paid for her purchases, making no pretense of having any business of his own to transact. When she turned from the counter, Daniel was amused to note that she managed to avoid noticing him, not an easy task, considering he was standing right behind her. She strode briskly toward the door, and it took some quick footwork on his part to get there ahead of her.

“Allow me,” he said, bowing from the waist as he pulled open the door.

“Thank you.” Frost dripped from her voice and her expression was hardly indicative of gratitude. As she swept through the door, even the swish of her skirts sounded annoyed.

Grinning, Daniel followed her out. He couldn’t say just what it was about her that made him want to rile her, but the urge was irresistible. Two long strides took him to her side.

“Allow me, Mrs. Sinclair,” he said, reaching for the parcel she’d carried from the general store.

“That’s quite all right, Mr. McLain. I can carry it myself.”

“I won’t hear of it,” he said with exaggerated gallantry. A brief tug-of-war ensued, with Daniel finally gaining control of the paper-wrapped package.
He smiled at her, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Really, Mr. McLain, it’s not at all necessary,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Nonsense, Mrs. Sinclair. A lady should never carry her own parcels when there’s a gentleman nearby.”

“If there were a gentleman nearby, Mr. McLain, that might be relevant,” she snapped, driven beyond endurance.

Daniel laughed aloud. Letty tried not to notice how attractive he was, but it wasn’t easy. It simply wasn’t fair that one man—one incredibly annoying man—should be so wickedly good-looking.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d just insulted me,” he said, grinning down at her.

“Please give me my parcel and let me go on my way,” she said, her voice strangled. She was aware that they were receiving interested glances from passersby. “We’re starting to draw attention.”

“No one would look twice if you would simply allow me to walk you to your destination,” he observed in a tone of such innocence that Letty’s fingers curled into her palm against the urge to smack him.

Without a word she spun on her heel and stalked off down the boardwalk. Daniel was beside her
every step of the way, looming over her, seeming to cut off the very air she was breathing. At least, she assumed that was why she felt so breathless. They walked in silence for a few yards. She was determined not to speak another word to the wretched man, not even if they walked from here to Denver.

“I guess I should apologize,” Daniel said after a moment. “I just can’t seem to resist the urge to ruffle your feathers. It’s just that you—” He broke off as Letty stopped abruptly, rounding on him with a look in her eyes that spoke of violence to come.

“Mr. McLain, if you tell me that I look pretty when I’m mad, I’m afraid I just might forget that I’m a lady and attempt to enact a violence upon your person.”

Daniel was so surprised that he actually took a step back, eyeing her warily. “I wasn’t going to—”

“Yes, you were. Believe me, Mr. McLain, there isn’t a clever line I haven’t heard. In the three years since my husband’s death I’ve had any number of gentlemen—and I use the word lightly—express their sympathies over my loss, tell me that they understand the loneliness I must be feeling and make a gracious offer to alleviate that loneliness. I neither need nor want that sort of assistance. I do not understand why men assume that when a woman
loses her husband she also loses her morals. I assure you that I have not done so, so you can stop wasting your time and leave me in peace.

“Good day, Mr. McLain.”

She wrenched her parcel from his suddenly slackened hold and nodded briskly before spinning on her heel and walking away, her heels clicking on the boardwalk, the sound as hollow as the empty feeling in her chest.

Daniel stared after her. She was prickly as a damned cactus but he was uncomfortably aware of the element of truth in her accusations. It
had
occurred to him that, being a widow, she might be open to a less than proper suggestion or two. His conscience nipped uncomfortably. Underneath the prickliness he’d seen something that looked suspiciously like hurt. He’d never meant to hurt her. Dammit all, he
liked
her.

Cursing under his breath, he strode after her. Catching up with her in front of the newspaper office, he reached out and jerked the parcel from her hand, the brown paper crackling in protest at his roughness.

“I said I’d carry your parcel,” he snapped when she opened her mouth to protest.

“Your excessive graciousness makes it difficult to feel grateful, Mr. McLain,” Letty snarled in return.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a temper like a catamount with its tail caught in a trap?”

“Why, no.” She widened her eyes in mock pleasure and gave him a smile that carried a cutting edge. “Coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as such.”

They stood in the middle of the boardwalk, glaring at each other, oblivious to the curious glances being cast in their direction.

“What is it with you?” Daniel asked, his tone filled with frustration. “No matter what I say, you poker up like I’ve just insulted your mother. Are you still mad about those blasted straws Luke and I drew? That didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“A man who’d draw straws to decide a lady’s future is not likely to inspire great trust in a woman.”

“We weren’t drawing straws to decide anybody’s future but our own.” He all but shook her abused parcel in front of her nose as he tried to make his point. “Luke didn’t decide on Eleanor until after that.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Seems to me that it’s
exactly
the point,” he said. He’d never in his entire life met such an exasperating woman. “Since we didn’t know Eleanor, we weren’t drawing straws for her.”

“But if you hadn’t drawn straws, Luke wouldn’t have decided to marry Eleanor. And what made him pick on her, anyway?”

“He thought she’d be biddable.”

The sentence seemed to hang in the air between them. They both considered how biddable Eleanor had turned out
not
to be. Despite her annoyance, Letty’s mouth twitched.

“Biddable?”

“That’s what he thought.” Daniel had a sudden image of his sister-in-law standing over the table like an avenging angel, spoon in hand and fire in her eyes, and felt his mouth curve in a reluctant smile. “Guess he got a bit of a surprise.”

“I’d say so.
Biddable
isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind when I think of Eleanor.”

“I think Luke’s figured that out.” Remembering his brother’s frustration with his bride, Daniel chuckled. Letty joined in, the anger evaporating from between them.

“Perhaps there’s a greater justice at work here,” Letty said, still smiling.

“Maybe.” Daniel found himself wondering if her skin could possibly feel as soft as it looked. He didn’t want to talk about his brother’s marriage any more. “If I asked, very politely, would you allow me to carry your parcel for you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Seeing the warmth in his eyes, Letty felt her cheeks flush. He really was impossibly good-looking. If she had the sense God gave a gnat, she’d rebuff him politely, reclaim her battered parcel and go on her way. Daniel McLain was trouble, even when he smiled. Most especially when he smiled.

“You may, Mr. McLain.” Smiling up at him, she was aware that trouble had never looked quite so inviting.

T
he summer sun floated low on the horizon, its light softer than it had been earlier in the day, its brilliance drained by the approach of darkness. Eleanor pushed her toe against the porch floor, setting the rocker in motion. The ranch house tended to gather the day’s heat and hold it inside, like a miser hoarding coals against the threat of winter. As the light faded and the prairie cooled, so would the house. But at this time of day there was no more pleasant place to be than the front porch.

A basket sat on the floor next to the rocker, filled to overflowing with a tumble of colorful fabric scraps. On Letty’s last visit she’d brought the latest issue of a popular ladies’ magazine. In it had been a picture of something the editors called a crazy quilt “an amusing trifle with which a lady might choose to fill her idle moments. Sure to add elegance to any home.” Eleanor suspected it would
take more than a silk-and-velvet throw to add elegance to the plain ranch house, but the picture in the magazine looked appealing.

She’d completed the first block, covering the muslin foundation with random shapes cut from the rich scraps she’d found in the attic, mute evidence of her mother-in-law’s frugal nature. Her embroidery needle slid in and out of the fabric, leaving delicate trails of featherstitching along each seam. She smoothed the thread into place with the edge of her thumbnail and took a moment to admire her efforts.

At her feet, the kitten wrestled ferociously with a strip of lustrous emerald green velvet. The battle was fast and furious, the combatants tumbling back and forth across the floor in a titanic struggle for supremacy. Eleanor watched for a moment, interfering only when it began to look as if the fabric was getting the upper hand. She unwound the narrow length of fabric from the kitten’s body and then twitched the end of it and Rascal promptly dived back into the fray.

“Makes a pretty picture,” Daniel said, coming up behind Luke, who stood in the doorway of the barn.

“It does.” Luke didn’t shift his eyes from the porch. Eleanor had picked the kitten up and was
holding it in front of her face, talking to it. He couldn’t distinguish words, but the warmth of her tone carried easily on the evening air.

“She seems to like that mangy cat,” Daniel said. “But I guess she didn’t like it enough to let you back into the house. Maybe you should try a bigger bribe. A horse, maybe.”

“Go to hell,” Luke said, without heat.

“Course, it’s going to be damned awkward having a horse in the house,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “And there’s going to be no end of trouble if she wants to let it sleep on the end of the bed. But the way it stands, I guess that won’t make much difference to you, will it? Unless maybe you’re hoping she’ll let
you
sleep on the end of the bed.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Luke turned a cold gray glare in his brother’s direction. It was Saturday and, generally, the cowboys all went into town.

Daniel grinned. “I was going into town with the rest of the boys but, if you’d like, I could stay here and keep you company.”

“No, thanks.”

“I hate to think of my older brother spending another long, cold night alone.” Daniel managed an expression of solicitude that was at odds with the wicked sparkle in his eyes. “We could play a few
hands of poker. We don’t have to play for money, of course. Maybe we could play for broom straws.”

“I doubt the widow Sinclair would take kindly to you playing with broom straws. She wasn’t much amused the first time around.”

“What I do is none of her concern.” Daniel shrugged to show his indifference, but Luke was not fooled. He knew his brother too well.

“I thought you were escorting her to the Fourth of July celebration next week.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s got a ring through my nose,” Daniel said.

“I don’t think it’s a ring through your nose you need to worry about. It’s one on her finger.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got no plans to marry Letty Sinclair. Nor anyone else, for that matter.”

“I’m not worried,” Luke said cheerfully. “From what I’ve seen of Mrs. Sinclair, she’s got more sense than to marry a worthless cowboy like you. When the time comes for her to remarry, I’d guess she’ll be looking in other directions. That fellow Webb, for example.”

“She wouldn’t look twice at Webb,” Daniel snapped.

“Maybe not.” Luke’s smile grew wider still, his mood improving in direct proportion to his brother’s
annoyance. “But she strikes me as a practical sort of female and he’s got himself a fine business, a nice house close in to town—and there’s those children.”

“You keep mentioning them, but I don’t see why a woman would want to marry and find herself mother to a passel of kids she don’t even know.” But there was uncertainty in his tone—an uncertainty Luke seized on with affectionate malice.

“Women tend to take a different view of things,” he said kindly. “And when it comes to children…” He let his voice trail off and shook his head, at a loss to explain the way a woman’s mind worked. “Well, like I said before, they can be a powerful draw.”

There was a moment of silence. From the corral behind the barn came the sound of the hands talking as they saddled their horses. Luke couldn’t hear what they were saying but he knew what the gist of the conversation would be. Shorty would be boasting about his prowess with the ladies; Joe Small was undoubtedly claiming that he had a feeling in his bones that tonight was his lucky night and he was sure to make a killing at the poker tables. Luke didn’t know about luck, but he did know that Joe was the worst poker player he’d ever sat across the table from, which meant that, unless luck parked
itself on his shoulder and played the hand for him, he was bound to lose tonight, just as he did every night.

Gris and Slim wouldn’t be saying much about their plans, but Luke knew how their evening would go. Slim would settle himself at a table in a corner of the saloon, order a bottle and drink himself into a stupor, trying to forget the family he’d lost to Comanches over a decade before, and Gris would drink a little, play a little poker and end the evening by pouring his friend back into his saddle and making sure Slim got back to the ranch in one piece.

A few weeks ago, before his marriage to Eleanor, he might have been going with them. Luke sought inside himself for a feeling of regret, but found none. He liked things the way they were. Well, not
exactly
the way they were, he amended, returning his attention to where Eleanor sat on the porch, still playing with the kitten. The situation needed a few adjustments, but he had plans for taking care of that.

“A stick like Andrew Webb would never interest a woman like Letty Sinclair,” Daniel said, drawing Luke back to the conversation at hand.

“You’re probably right,” he said absently. He was losing interest in the game.

“Not that I care one way or the other,” Daniel said, his voice a little too loud. “It isn’t like I’m interested in getting leg shackled myself. If she wants to marry Webb, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“I never said it was,” Luke observed. “Like you said, you don’t want to get married, so why should you care what Letty Sinclair does?”

“Right.” Daniel looked less sure than he sounded and at another time Luke might have taken advantage of his brother’s uncertainty and continued his teasing. But he had other things on his mind tonight.

“Inviting a woman to go to a picnic with you isn’t exactly a proposal,” Luke assured him.

“No, it’s not.” Daniel seemed soothed by the thought. “The whole town will be there. We’d probably have bumped into each other anyway.”

“Probably.” Luke was relieved to hear Shorty call Daniel’s name, his tone impatient. Ordinarily he would have welcomed the opportunity to prolong the discussion of his brother’s intentions—or lack thereof—toward Letty Sinclair. After the way Daniel had been riding him about the situation with Eleanor, it would have been a pleasure to watch him squirm. But he had plans for this evening, and the sooner Daniel and the boys left, the sooner he could get started on them.

One thing he knew for sure—he’d spent his last night in this damned barn.

Luke entered the house with a carefully thought out plan of seduction laid out in his mind. His brother and the hands were on their way to town. He and Eleanor had the ranch to themselves and he was determined that this night would see an end to their current—unsatisfactory—sleeping arrangements. He’d worked out just the right approach, a masterful combination of reason and seduction. And the package in his hand might help to sweeten the pot a bit.

He’d expected to find Eleanor either sewing or reading but the sound of the piano, silent since his mother’s death, had drawn him to the parlor doorway. Outside, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the faint blue line of the Rockies, just visible to the west. The glow of a kerosene lamp cast a soft light in the room. The kitten was asleep on an embroidered cushion near the empty hearth, its tiny body curled into a perfect gray ball. Eleanor sat on the oak stool in front of the instrument, her fingers drifting lightly across the keys. She sang softly as she played, her voice low and a little husky, the words of “Shenandoah” a wistful lament drifting across the dimly lit room.

There was something so peaceful about the scene—something that spoke strongly of home and hearth, of love and comfort, of roots and belonging. Luke felt something tighten in his chest, a sharp twinge of near pain.
This
was the real reason he’d taken a wife. A son to inherit the ranch was only a small part of it. He’d wanted something more in his life than cattle and dust and worry about snow in the winter and drought in the summer.

He’d wanted a home.

Eleanor had given him that. She’d taken an empty house and turned it into a home again. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that particular thought, but this time it occurred to him that the house wasn’t the only thing that had been changed by her presence. He’d changed, as well. Proof of that was the fact that he was standing here instead of being on his way to town with the hands.

The last notes of “Shenandoah” faded into the warm evening air, soft and sweet and wistful.

“That was beautiful.”

The sound of Luke’s voice made Eleanor’s fingers jump on the keys, creating a discordant jangle of notes. She spun around on the piano stool, her skirts whispering against the floor. Luke stood just inside the parlor door. The lamplight didn’t reach
quite that far, making him visible only as a tall, broad-shouldered shadow.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said breathlessly.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Luke came farther into the room, stepping into the light. Eleanor felt her breath catch all over again. Surely there would come a time when just the sight of him would no longer make her feel as giddy as a girl meeting her first beau. “That was real nice,” he said, tilting his head toward the piano. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I haven’t played much in the last few years. I’m afraid I’m more than a little rusty.”

“Not from what I heard.” He was carrying a paper-wrapped parcel, which he set on the floor near the sofa before crossing to the piano. “Did you take lessons from that piano teacher from Boston, too?”

“Miss Brown?” Eleanor shook her head, surprised that he knew about the woman who’d spent several months in town, giving lessons to anyone who cared to pay her fee. “No. Anabel took lessons from her, though.”

“Your aunt said as much. From what I heard, either Miss Brown wasn’t much of a teacher or your cousin is tone deaf.”

Eleanor turned back to the piano to conceal a delighted smile at his summation of Anabel’s skills. “Miss Brown did her best,” she said, avoiding direct criticism.

“So, why haven’t you played much lately? Your aunt and uncle have a piano.”

“Yes, but I kept quite busy helping Aunt Dorinda. There wasn’t a great deal of time for playing the piano.”

“Treated you like a drudge, did she?”

The question startled Eleanor into looking up at him. “No, of course not. It was just that, after they were kind enough to take me in, I felt as if I should do as much as possible to repay their generosity.”

She’d offered herself the explanation so many times that she’d almost come to believe it. It had been easier to accept the endless stream of tasks if she convinced herself that she was doing it purely by choice.

“I’ll bet that pinch-nosed aunt of yours made sure to remind you of just how obligated you were,” Luke said shrewdly.

Familial obligation demanded a denial but Eleanor couldn’t get one out. She lowered her head, one finger picking out an aimless tune on the ivory keys. “They didn’t have to take me in,” she said, reminding herself as much as Luke.

“I suppose not.” Something in his tone suggested that he could have said a great deal more on the topic of her aunt and uncle’s charity but, to Eleanor’s relief, he didn’t add anything to that simple agreement.

“So, if it wasn’t Miss Brown from Boston, who taught you to play piano?”

“My father. After my mother died, we never lived in one place long enough to have a piano of our own. Not that Papa ever had the money for that kind of luxury,” she added. “But there was usually someone in each town who was willing to let me use their piano.”

“You moved around a lot?” Luke shifted position, leaning his elbow on top of the upright piano and looking down at her.

“We did a lot of traveling.” Eleanor picked out the first few notes of “Aura Lee.” “Papa couldn’t seem to settle in one place after Mama died.”

“Your uncle said he was a gambler.”

“He was.” Eleanor looked at him, her chin tilted up, as if daring him to say something critical.

“Can’t be many gamblers who tote a child along with them. Must have been hard to always be on the move.”

“I didn’t mind,” she said. It was a half-truth. She’d hated never having a home. It hadn’t taken
her long to learn that any friends she made would soon be left behind, so she’d stopped trying to make friends at all, preferring loneliness to the pain of saying goodbye. She’d longed for a real home and a chance to put down roots. But whatever roots Nathan Williams might have grown had been severed by his wife’s death. She’d sometimes thought that he was running from his grief, always moving on for fear that, if he stayed in one place, he’d have to face the depth of his loss. And much as she’d hated always being on the move, she would have hated being left behind even more.