Kitabı oku: «Gerrity's Bride»
Gerrity’s Bride
Carolyn Davidson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Penny Bice, who has given of her talents with true generosity of spirit.
My world became a better and brighter place the day we met.
And to Brenda Rollins, for allowing me the benefit of her skills and vivid
imagination. I appreciate all you do. Thank you, my friend!
But most of all, to Mister Ed, who loves me!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Chapter One
Miss Emmaline Carruthers
Rawlings Farms
Lexington, Kentucky
It is my sad duty to advise you of
the death of your father, Samuel
Carruthers, who perished in a flash
flood, along with his wife, Arnetta,
on Tuesday last. We await your
instructions as to your interest
in their daughter, Theresa, five
years of age. Please advise as soon
as possible.
I remain your humble servant,
Oswald Hooper
Attorney
“Surely even Hades could not be as miserable as this godforsaken place.” The whisper was spoken into the wind. The words were gone as quickly as they were uttered, and the disappointment inherent in those whispered syllables might never have been, except for the slender figure of the woman who still gazed with incredulous eyes at the barren landscape of Forbes Junction.
The train bearing her had stopped for a few moments to allow for her departure, then left her behind with a doleful blast of its whistle. Now it was but a dark stain against the horizon, its smoke trail dissolving into wispy tendrils in the still air.
The sun rode high in the sky, its rays reminding her of the unrelenting heat that had been her companion for the past hours. Since shortly after daybreak, she had alternately fanned herself with a folded newspaper and mopped her brow with a dainty handkerchief. Still, the dry, breathtaking heat had penetrated her traveling costume, leaving her with but a trace of her usual vitality.
“Arizona... Even the name sounds hot,” she muttered as she lifted one foot to view the dust clinging to her fashionably booted foot. She stamped it against the wide wooden boards of the platform beneath her and surveyed the choices she faced.
A dusty road ran between a row of buildings, houses and business establishments, built along a fairly even line, for three hundred yards or so. Then it gave way to a sandy expanse that stretched to the horizon, broken only by scattered shrubs and a few stunted trees. The narrow road continued on, running in a straight line as far as she could see. It was less than inviting, she decided quickly.
Directly before her, an unpainted wooden door stood ajar. Beyond it lay a shadowed room, which appeared to be her most likely chance for shelter from the sun. The train station was small. Probably didn’t get much use, she decided, bending to lift her carpetbag, leaving behind the trunk that held her clothing. The weight of the carpetbag dragged at her arm, reminding her of the books she had stubbornly packed within its voluminous depths.
“Why you want all those along with you is beyond me,” Delilah had muttered. “You won’t be there long enough to read them, anyway,” she’d predicted.
“One can only hope!” As fervent as any prayer she’d ever uttered, the words fell from her lips and were wafted away on the hot wind that blew in unrelieved measure. With a sigh, Emmaline Carruthers squared her shoulders and lifted her feet, moving briskly through the open door.
The room was shady, and that was about all that was to be said for it. Small comfort, she thought as she stood in the center of the dingy station. An open window allowed a bit of cross-ventilation, and she took advantage of the moving air, such of it as there was. Her hand lingered over the top button of her suit, her fingers sorely tempted to loosen it. But better sense prevailed, and she approached the window with all her ladylike decorum intact.
“I beg your pardon.” Such decorum, she had decided, was her only defense against the situation. It would sustain her now, as it had for the past hundreds of miles. Once she reached the boundaries of true civilization, she had recognized that only her status as a lady would protect her from the vulgarities that surrounded her.
“Yup...just a minute.” The drawling reply came from beneath the counter, and she stifled the impulse to bend over the narrow ledge to seek out its source.
Two thin lines of perspiration ran down each side of her neck and settled against the white fabric of her collar, dampening it before it soaked through, cooling her flesh. She resisted the urge to brush at the drop that was even now making its way to her eyebrow, and stiffened her spine resolutely.
“What can I do fer ye?” The stationmaster rose to his full height, his stiff collar tight about his skinny neck. He peered at her through spectacles, which slid down his nose, then lifted one bony finger to settle them back into place.
“I’m expected,” she announced with brittle dignity. “There was to be a vehicle here to meet me from the Carrutherses’ ranch, but I don’t see anyone about. Have you any message for me?”
“Well, I might and I might not,” he quibbled. “Tell me who the message would be fer.”
“I’m Emmaline Carruthers.”
His eyes widened behind the thick lenses, and he pursed his lips as he took a renewed interest in her. Hesitating only briefly on her bonnet, his look roamed with admiration over her flushed features and paused with a trace of wonder as he viewed the curves that filled her dark dress.
“Yep, you surely are,” he allowed. “Got the look of yer pa about ye, through the eyes—not to mention the hair.”
“Indeed?” Her mouth pursed as she considered his assessment.
“Yep. Yer brother’s comin’ to pick you up.” He turned from the window, his duty accomplished with the delivery of the message.
Emmaline bit with vexation at the inside of her lower lip. “Who is coming?”
“Yer brother,” the stationmaster said again, and returned to his position beneath the ledge.
She glowered at his back, lifting on tiptoe to lean over the counter. “I don’t have a brother.” The words were clipped, her exasperation apparent. Surely he had mixed the messages. “I’m here to meet my sister, Theresa. I have no other relatives here,” she said emphatically.
But I have a sister, she thought with joy. Theresa. She whispered the name, savoring the syllables. Theresa. Five years old...daughter of Samuel. That definitely made the child her sister.
“Sorry to hear about yer pa,” The stationmaster said with a frown. “Don’t pay to get caught in a dry creek bed.”
She nodded her thanks. As much a surprise as the news had been, she’d wasted little time in sending her reply. It was difficult to scrape up much sorrow for the man who had fathered her. He was but a distant memory that had never been encouraged to flourish.
Perished in a flash flood. The telegram’s wording had been most specific. Her father had died, along with his wife. Samuel and Arnetta Carruthers...strangers who had borne the same last name she did.
“Did you know him well?” she asked on a sudden impulse.
“Eh? What’s that? Do I know yer brother? ‘Course I know him,” the man stated with dour confidence. “Ever’body in Forbes Junction knows Matt Gerrity.”
“No, I meant...” Her voice trailed off as she backed away from the window. Tiny lines of consternation furrowed her brow as she considered the situation. Any more questioning on her part seemed a futile exercise, she decided with a sigh of frustration. Surely someone would arrive soon. She nurtured the thought. Soon...she thought. Soon, she’d meet the child. With anticipation, she straightened her skirts and adjusted the tilt of her bonnet.
“He’ll be here afore long, lessen he gets tangled up talkin’ with some female or another on his way through town. He draws them women like flies,” the man said, before he lowered the shade over the narrow window and effectively cut off the conversation.
“Like flies...” Emmaline repeated dryly. “That sounds—”
“Time fer lunch,” the now disembodied voice announced from beyond the barrier.
Emmaline sighed as her stomach notified her that breakfast had been too many hours ago. And not much to brag about, at that. The leftover bread from last evening’s repast had been a bit beyond stale, and the peach more than ripe. Train travel left a lot to be desired, she’d discovered long before she reached Kansas City.
A wavy mirror on the wall faced her, and she stepped up to it, glancing into its depths, in hopes her appearance would bolster her sagging spirits. It was useless, she decided mournfully. Violet shadows rimmed her blue eyes, and a smudge marred her left cheekbone. Not to mention the stubborn curls vying for attention beneath the brim of her bonnet. She pushed at them with one finger, subduing them only until they were released, to escape in a flyaway fashion.
She peered at herself, and her sigh was deep as she pronounced, “I’m a wreck!”
“Now, I wouldn’t say that.”
She spun toward the door, her mouth open in dismay, her eyes wide and indignant, and faced the man who loomed in the doorway.
“I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t manage haughtiness, not with sweat streaking her neck and forehead, and errant curls poking out every which way. She settled for arrogance.
He grinned while his forefinger poked back the wide brim of his hat, leaving a crease across the expanse of his forehead. The hand that lowered to his waist was brown, the fingers long and tapered. It rested against his belt, and then the fingers slid into his pocket, until only the thumb looped over the wide leather circling his waist.
Her eyes moved back to his face, and she glowered at him. That he’d caught her surveying herself in the mirror was bad enough. He didn’t have to be enjoying her discomfort.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He repeated his words in a raspy voice that held a trace of amusement. “I’d say that you’re the best-lookin’ wreck I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
She inhaled sharply, irritated at his impudence. Then, with swishing skirts and tapping of booted feet, she turned from him to face the shaded window.
“You don’t want to be rude to the man who holds the reins, ma’am,” he said softly into her ear.
He was right behind her. She felt the warmth of his body against her back, and she stiffened, her spine straightening imperceptibly. Ahead of her, the shade twitched to one side, and the stationmaster peered around the edge.
“Howdy, Matt. Yer sister’s been waitin’.”
She closed her eyes against his words, then opened them slowly. “I don’t have a brother.” Each word was spoken with the emphasis due such a denial. Her aggravation was plainly apparent to both men.
The man behind her had the advantage, and he took it. His hands lifted to rest on her shoulders, and he bent to speak once more, his breath warm against the side of her neck.
“Turn around, Miss Emmaline. I’m here to represent your family.”
Emmaline’s mouth narrowed, and she shrugged as if she would loosen herself from the fingers that even now were forcing her to face him, tightening her shoulders as he silently brought her about. Her eyes were dark with suppressed anger as he accomplished his aim, and she tipped her head back to meet his sardonic gaze.
“I don’t know who you are,” she snapped. “I’ve come from Lexington to meet my little sister, Theresa Carruthers, and I’m waiting for a ride to the Carrutherses’ ranch.” She took a deep breath, availing herself of a double lungful of hot desert air. “I am no relation of yours.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, ma’am,” he drawled, his brow lifting in an arrogant gesture. “I’m just a shirttail relation, so to speak. But genuine kin of yours. My mama was Arnetta Carruthers, and when she married your daddy, I became the most interesting part of the bargain.”
He released her and stepped back, then bowed in a parody of elegance. His next words were underlaid with an emotion she could not have put words to.
“Welcome home, Miss Emmaline Carruthers.” His eyes glittered with the intensity of his appraisal. “We’ve been expecting you.”
* * *
The buckboard wasn’t much of an improvement over the train, Emmaline decided before they’d traveled a mile.
“Do you ride in this thing often?” she asked, clinging to the edge of the seat.
His eyes swept her with a hooded appraisal. “Havin’ a hard time keepin’ your seat?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he slapped the reins against the broad backs of the two huge animals trotting in tandem. Accordingly, they increased their pace, and Emmaline gripped more firmly to the wooden board beneath her.
“Surely you have a buggy of sorts that would have been more suitable,” she suggested, her voice vibrating with the rhythm of the springless wagon.
“Buggy don’t hold much in the line of supplies,” he told her, casting a glance at her pursed lips and furrowed brow. It was really more of an initiation than he had planned. Piling discomfort on top of distress wasn’t exactly playing fair, he admitted to himself as he noted the paleness of her cheeks, flushed from too much sun.
Pulling back on the reins and bringing the team of horses to a halt, he sighed. “Look, little sister...”
Between gritted teeth, she spit the words, barely moving her lips. “I’m...not...your...sister!”
His grin was quickly covered by a swipe of one large brown hand, and he turned to her with a suggestion of his amusement still vivid in his narrowed eyes. “Whatever you want to call it, we’re related, lady. Now, since that’s been established, let’s get you a bit more comfortable. You can’t sit in the sun with all those clothes on, stranglin’ you and holdin’ all the heat in. You’ll have heatstroke before I get you home, and then what good will you be to that little sister of ours?”
She sat in a huddled lump of bedraggled dark linen and considered his words. Then, as he reached toward her, obviously intent on loosening the buttons that marched up the front of her suit, she moved quickly. Her hands were there before his, her fingers moving stiffly as she set free the plain black buttons and turned back the lapels to reveal her throat.
Her eyes closed in pure pleasure as an errant breeze cooled the heated flesh she had exposed, and she breathed deeply of the scent of desert blossoms that the southerly wind carried to her nostrils. Scarcely had she inhaled, barely had she stretched her slender neck from within its folds of fabric, when she felt his hard hands on her wrist.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the glare of the afternoon sun, to see him undoing the buttons that closed her sleeve. She watched in stunned silence as he rolled up the cuff as far as it would go, almost to her elbow, then reached across her to grasp the other hand and repeated the motion.
Emmaline watched, aware of the total lack of respect he was displaying, aware of the proximity of their bodies as he bent to his task, and more aware than she wanted to be of the rough texture of his fingers against her pale skin. She swallowed back the flood of saliva that rushed to fill her mouth.
For just a moment, a swirling sensation in her stomach prompted her to consider anew her refusal of his offer of lunch. That is, until she decided that it wasn’t simply pangs of hunger she was feeling, but rather an unusual awareness of the man who handled her so casually. And then, with a grunt that might have signified approval, he straightened and retrieved the reins.
“Feel better?” he asked as he once more set the team in motion.
“Ummm,” she managed to reply.
“Once we get to the ranch, you’d do well to get out of those stockings and whatever you’re wearin’ under all those layers of clothes,” he suggested in an offhand manner.
Emmaline straightened on the seat, oddly refreshed by the loosening of her jacket, but hovering on the edge of anger at his casual mention of her underclothes. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. “What I am wearing is no more or less than any lady would wear.”
“You won’t find any of those harnesses and piles of petticoats on a ranch, Miss Emmaline,” he said with dry precision. “The ladies wear light colors, and not too many layers.”
“I’m in mourning,” she announced primly, even as her honest heart prodded her. It was difficult to mourn a father she had little memory of, but she had dutifully donned the required black garb and yards of veiling on her hat. That the veiling had gone by the way after she discovered how hot it was behind the layers of gauze was not to be admitted, she thought warily. Now she’d allowed this...man, this ranch hand, to handle her clothing, and...
The memory of his work-roughened fingers against her skin was the final straw. He was bossy, she decided, not to mention arrogant, and she was still too hot. Her eyes blinked and narrowed against the unrelenting sunshine. Not only that, she was too tired, and sick of being jolted about on this sad excuse for a wagon, she thought as she fought the weary tears that burned behind her eyelids.
His voice saved her from the disgrace of tears. “We’ve arrived,” he announced as they passed beneath a sign proclaiming that they were on Carruthers land. But it was not to be a quick arrival, she noticed, watching the group of buildings in the distance. Indeed, it was another twenty minutes before the wagon halted.
As if it had sprouted from the desert, the house sprawled in several directions, its sand-colored walls dotted with windows and doors. A wide roof provided overhanging shelter, forming a shaded spot on the eastern side of the building. Appearing from the shadowed doorway, a woman stepped forward. Wiping her hands on the front of the white apron she wore, she smiled her welcome. Behind her, the open door revealed a dim interior, and Emmaline yearned suddenly to step within that shady area, out of the sun that beat upon her with unrelenting brilliance.
She shifted upon the seat, and, as if spurred by her movement, the man sitting next to her leaped to the ground and then turned, hands reaching to lift her from the seat. She moved nearer and then, fingers clutching his shoulders, felt him take her weight as he circled her waist with hands that held her firmly. He swept her to the ground, providing support while she gingerly tested her weight on limbs that were unaccountably shaky.
“Got the ground under you, ma’am?” he asked, his eyes mocking as he watched her closely. She was a slim little mite, he decided, flexing his fingers against the boning of the undergarment she wore. ‘Course, once she took off the corsets, or whatever it was they called those idiotic things women wore, she might spread out a little.
She stirred against his hands and he released her, his eyes hooded as he watched the sway of her skirt, the graceful steps of her slender booted feet and the tilt of her head under the bonnet she wore.
“Thank you, Mr....” She groped for a name as she stepped away from him.
“Just Matt,” he said bluntly. “We don’t deal in formalities around here, sis.”
She stiffened. “All right. Thank you, Matt,” she said, declining the argument he’d resurrected with his reference to their relationship.
“Come in, come in,” the woman on the doorstep said, stepping back to allow Emmaline room.
“Maria, this is Miss Emmaline,” Matt said. “Maria is our housekeeper, Emmaline.”
The woman nodded quickly. “I’ve been watching for you. You must be hot and tired. Hungry, too, unless this man fed you in town. From the looks of things, you need something cool to drink and a place to sit and rest a bit.” Maria bustled ahead, Emmaline trailing behind as she looked about the large room, drawn by the simple beauty of its furnishings.
Blinking against the dimness, she basked in the cooler temperature within the house. On the outside wall, the windows were covered with white curtains, sheer and filmy with deep ruffles that were held back at the sides. Large pieces of leather furniture sat about the room, deep chairs with reading lamps close at hand, and a pair of sofas that faced each other before an enormous fireplace on the far wall. A game table, surrounded by heavy wooden chairs, filled another corner. Whitewashed walls, dotted with paintings and an assortment of hanging rugs and tapestries, caught her eye. The floor beneath her feet was wooden, scattered with woven rugs across its wide planking.
A quiet, cool welcome enveloped her as she stood in silence...a welcome she had not thought to discover in this place.
Behind her, she heard the murmur of voices and then the bustle of men carrying in the contents of the wagon.
“Take Miss Emmaline’s bags to the guest room,” Maria instructed the men from the doorway.
“I only have my carpetbag and a small trunk,” Emmaline said quickly. She’d trusted her trunk to fate when the train conductor deposited it on the platform earlier. There it had remained until Matt shouldered it easily and dumped it without ceremony in the back of the wagon.
“I didn’t bring much with me,” she added. Her smile was distracted as she watched Maria. The woman waved her hands at the men hustling to do her bidding, alternately scolding them and shaking her head at them.
“Will your other things be coming later?” Matt asked from the doorway.
“No.” Turning to face him, she slid the bonnet from her head and brushed at the curls that sprang to life, vibrant against the darkness of her mourning dress. “I didn’t plan on staying long enough to need many things.”
His brow rose, and he braced his feet apart, one hand resting negligently against his hip, the other holding the belt and holster he had just slipped off.
“Oh?” The questioning syllable hung in the air.
Her chin lifted a bit as she silently defied him, determined to set the pattern for their short future together. “I only plan on staying long enough to hear the will read and make arrangements to take my sister back to Lexington with me.”
Only the sharp intake of breath warned her of another presence, and that only for a second. Then a wail of anguish filled the air and set her in motion.
“Noooo...” cried a child from the far side of one of the sofas, where she peered over the high back. “I’m not going away! I’m not going to Lexing with her, am I, Maffew?” she wailed piteously.
“‘Course not, Tessie,” he assured her, reaching her in several long strides, his gun belt flung onto a peg on the wall as he moved.
Emmaline was right behind him as he gathered the child into his arms. The little girl wrapped herself about him, burying her face against his broad chest.
The look he slanted at Emmaline clearly told her she had made her first blunder in this place.
“This is your little sister. Too bad you couldn’t have made a better first impression,” he said bluntly.
Emmaline drew in a deep breath and considered the situation. Taking another step closer to where the child huddled in her brother’s arms, she watched the narrow shoulders shudder, her heart aching in quick sympathy.
“Theresa, won’t you look at me? I’ve come a long way just to see you,” she said coaxingly. She reached out to touch the fingers that lay against Matt’s collar, and the little girl shivered.
“No, I don’t want to see you! Make her go away, Maffew!” she demanded loudly.
“Miss Emmaline, why don’t I show you where your room is,” Maria suggested softly from behind her, and Emmaline turned quickly, thankful for the suggestion.
“That would be fine,” she whispered with a nod. With only one short look over her shoulder, she left the room, only to hear the words repeated in a firm, carrying voice from the child she had alienated so quickly.
“Make her go away, Maffew.”
His answer was delivered in a husky murmur. “She won’t be here long, short stuff. Everything will be all right. She’s just a citified woman come to look us over. She won’t be here long,” he repeated firmly.
Emmaline’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed at his words of reassurance to the child, and she spun on her heel toward the hallway where Maria was leading the way.
“A lot he knows about it,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Citified woman, am I? The man doesn’t know a lady when he sees one! And I didn’t come all the way to this blot on the desert for nothing. We’ll just see about that!”
Chapter Two
Warily eyeing the tortilla on her plate, Emmaline poked at it with her fork. As breakfasts went, it was definitely different from the usual ham and biscuits she was accustomed to at home.
“Eat, eat!” Maria urged her from her post at the doorway. “I put in plenty of eggs and meat for you. It gives lots of energy for the whole morning.”
Emmaline returned her admonition with a smile. Then, with determination, she cut into the strange offering that was called breakfast in this foreign place and ate the first bite.
“I just made fresh coffee,” Maria said from around the corner. Bearing the coffeepot, she bustled through the doorway. Emmaline nodded, her mouth full.
“Mr. Matthew finished up early this morning,” the rotund woman said as she filled Emmaline’s cup. “He’s gone out to check on the new foals.”
“Where is Theresa?” Emmaline asked, and cut with more enthusiasm into the breakfast she had almost scorned. Whatever it was called, the combination of ingredients was surprisingly good.
“With her teacher, doing schoolwork,” Maria answered, moving about the table as she cleared and straightened. For a moment, she hesitated, and her eyes were warm as they rested on the young woman before her.
Emmaline’s hair was brilliant, a golden red that haloed about her in a cascade of curls. Her eyes were blue, wide-set, and bright with unveiled interest as she took in her surroundings. Her features were strong and symmetrical, calling to mind the handsome man who had fathered her. And it was that thought that brought a sense of nostalgia to the Mexican woman who had managed this household for over a quarter of a century.
“Miss Emmaline, you make me think of your papa, you know,” she said with gentle yearning. “He had the same curls, so golden in the sunshine, so full of fire in the shadows.” Her sigh was deep. “I remember the day your mama took you away, how your papa held you in his arms. Your heads were pressed so tightly together, I couldn’t tell one curl from another, so alike they were.”
Emmaline looked up unbelievingly. “You remember me? From twenty years ago? I didn’t know you were here then, Maria.”
“Ah, yes. Your mama was so full of sadness, so unhappy with our sunshine and the dry spells and the spring rains. She said so many times how much she wanted to go where there was green grass and cool breezes.” Her ample breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply, as if she would express sympathy with the long-departed woman.
“Mama always shuddered when she spoke of this place,” Emmaline remembered as she propped her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand. Mama shuddered a lot, she thought with resignation. She picked up her cup and sipped at the hot brew within.
“And what do you think of our sunshine?” Maria asked. “Perhaps you have some of your papa in you that craves the heat and the open spaces.”
Emmaline shrugged diffidently. “I haven’t given it much chance yet. Yesterday was a real experience, what with riding on that wagon and traveling in the hottest part of the day.” She slid a glance at the woman who was still considering her intently. “I suspect Matthew was trying to put me through a trial, perhaps seeking to discourage me from staying.”
Maria grinned. Her smile widened to express her agreement, revealing brilliant white teeth. “Sí...he may have set out on the wrong foot. Then, too, he did have to get supplies from town, and the buggy doesn’t hold as much.”
“Well, at any rate, I may not be here for long,” Emmaline said quickly. “I’ll make arrangements to see Mr. Hooper and find out what I need to do about the will, and then—”
“And then you’ll fold up your tent and steal away, I suspect, city lady,” said a husky voice from behind her.
Emmaline stifled the urge to toss her coffee at the tall man who stood in the archway, instead looking over her shoulder at him with disdain.
“I don’t steal away, Matt. When the time comes, I’ll leave the same way I came, only with my sister in tow.”
His snort of disbelief only served to bring her to her feet in a rush of movement. She spun to face him, and her skirts swished about her.
Matt’s gaze moved slowly from the tips of her neatly shod feet to the wide skirt of her dress, then across the fitted bodice to where the buttons marched up to fasten beneath her chin. Tilted at an angle, her head was like a bright blossom above the dark mourning colors she affected. The sight of such radiance, shimmering in the early sunshine, which poured through the unshaded dining room window, set his teeth on edge.
She was too good-looking for his peace of mind, he had decided last night. What with the sassy mouth pouting when she got aggravated and those eyes sparking fire at his teasing, she was more than he had bargained for.
“Thought you heard what Tessie had to say last night,” he growled at her. “She’s not about to go clear across the country with you. This is her home.”
“She’s my sister, just as much as she’s yours,” Emmaline reminded him firmly. “I didn’t come all the way out here to see her for a few days and then forsake her.”
Matt stepped closer, the smell of dust and horses and leather making her aware of where he had been this morning. “Don’t sniff your elegant nose at me, lady,” he said roughly. “What you smell is good honest sweat, and Arizona dirt. Not that you’d recognize it.”
“On the contrary.” Emmaline’s voice slid like silk over his irritation. “You have the distinct odor of a horseman, and that doesn’t change much between Kentucky and Arizona. I’m well accustomed to the smell of a barn.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse?” he asked bluntly, his narrowed eyes taking in her smug stance.
She smiled, and her expression was benevolent. “I’ve probably sat on richer horseflesh than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Too bad you won’t be here long enough to prove it,” he ventured.
“I’m being tolerant of you this morning, given that you know nothing about me or my intentions, save that of gaining guardianship of my sister. But don’t push me, Mr. Gerrity.” She clenched her hands and thrust them into the pockets of her gown, unwilling that he should know the extent of her aggravation.
He knew. His brow lifted, and a grin teased at the corner of his mouth. “Somehow I suspect you don’t have a tolerant bone in your body,” he drawled. “Especially when it comes to me.”
Her shrug denied him the satisfaction of a verbal reply, and she turned away. Suit yourself, she thought, then left the room, aware that she was too easily drawn into a war of words with him.
“Miss Emmaline!” he called after her, bringing her to a halt midway along the wide passageway that led to the living room. He’d followed her through the archway. She took a deep breath before she turned once more to face him.
“Yes.”
The word was terse—not much of an invitation, he decided. “Oswald Hooper will be here shortly. Would you care to join us in the library?”
Her nod was abrupt. Better that she knew right away just where she stood in the scheme of things here. The situation was far from what she had expected; certainly, the presence of Matt Gerrity had not figured into her plans. But surely her father’s will would effectively place Theresa in her care.
“Just let me know when he arrives,” she requested, striving for a gracious tone. Already her hands were damp with the sweat of anxiety, and her breath caught as she contemplated the issues at hand.
For too long she had yearned for the closeness of family ties. Her mother had been sickly, tending to stay close to her bed or couch, finally succumbing to pneumonia without a struggle. Her grandparents had been kind, in an aloof sort of way, providing her with all she required in order to become a lady and prepare for life as a wife and mother.
It had not been enough. The message from Mr. Hooper had opened her eyes to the solitary existence she had lived for so long. That she was bonded by blood to a five-year-old child, that the closeness she yearned for might be within reach, was the impetus that had brought her here. Even the rude welcome she’d received from the girl was not enough to discourage her. She would woo her and win her, Emmaline had determined during the night hours. She would make Theresa love her.
“Will you be in your room?” Matt’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. She’d been deep in thought. His words had shattered that privacy, and now she straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. With a tightening of her mouth, she nodded at him in silent acceptance.
“I’ll send Maria to fetch you.”
Once more she nodded and turned away, and he watched her walk down the hallway. He grinned unwillingly as he noted each twitch of her skirt, and the way the heavy fabric clung to the curves beneath.
* * *
“I don’t believe it.” Spoken in a whisper, Emmaline’s words hung in the silence of the library. Her hands clenched at her sides, she spun and walked to the window. Only the rigid strength she had willed to her spine held her upright, and she stared unseeingly out onto the small patch of grass that comprised the front yard.
The man at the desk watched her with concern. Emmaline was the daughter of his friend, and Oswald Hooper had predicted this very reaction. His smile was wry. Anyone with a grain of sense could have predicted her reaction. Samuel was probably well out of it, he decided shrewdly. If her father were here, Emmaline Carruthers would no doubt be more than indignant. As it was, she looked fit to be tied.
Her voice was jerky, and her words were abrupt when she spoke. “Was this your idea?” she asked.
There was no doubt in his mind. Matt knew she was speaking to him. Leaning negligently against the wall, he ran one thumb across his bottom lip while he considered her. Her silhouette was dark against the brilliant sunlight that filtered so easily through the white curtains. The slender length of her was garbed in black, the fabric heavy against her layers of petticoats. Only the glimpse of small, fisted hands and the pale line of her cheek and forehead brought relief to the somber costume covering her.
Shaking his head and silently cursing the man who had brought about this situation, Matt straightened and approached the silent figure. “Your daddy didn’t need any help from me, Emmaline. He dreamed this up all on his own.”
Her lips barely moved, and Matt tilted his head to hear the words. “I can’t do it.”
His shrug was eloquent. “Then don’t. Just get yourself on that wagon and I’ll cart you right back to Forbes Junction, and you can catch the next train headed east.” His drawl had become more pronounced when she turned to face him.
He said with innocence, “Why, I’ll bet you could be in Lexington before the sun rises on Sunday.”
“Wouldn’t you just love that!” she said through clenched teeth. “Wouldn’t you just!”
“Why, no, ma’am.” He slowly rolled the words, as if he were jesting with her. Truth to tell, he’d been enjoying the faint accent she placed on each syllable as she spoke. The contrast of her soft, cultured voice and the anger flashing from her blue eyes pleased him.
“I suppose you’d prefer the alternative,” she suggested scornfully.
For just a second, his eyes glistened with unholy glee, and she inhaled sharply.
“Well, ma’am,” he drawled, “I’d say that I’m not in a position to decide that, one way or the other. I’m willing to go along with your wishes.”
It was so tempting, Emmaline thought. He was so close she could see the tiny squint lines beside his eyes. She could stamp her foot or swing a closed fist at him or spout the swear words she’d heard the trainers use back in Lexington.
She swallowed the words, and kept her hands tightly clenched. Her feet were another matter. Her toes were twitching inside the slender boots she wore, so badly did they want to deliver a punishing blow to the instep of the arrogant man who taunted her.
She moved quickly, fearful of revealing the anger bubbling in her depths. He lifted his brow in surprise as she spun to face him fully, and hid a smile as her feet sounded firmly against the carpet.
“My wishes are not the issue here, Mr. Gerrity,” she said with biting sarcasm. “My late father has shown no regard whatsoever for my needs or desires in this matter.”
“Miss Carruthers,” the man at the desk said mildly, anxious to turn this conversation back to the matter at hand. “We need to hear the rest of the will before you make a hasty decision.”
As if she had forgotten his existence, Emmaline’s eyes widened in recognition. “There’s more?”
Since the terms of the will had been read, just minutes ago, she’d been thrown into a state of shock, she realized. That her father could have tied up this ranch, the money in the bank and the fate of her sister with such horrendous terms was unbelievable.
As legal documents went, it was quite simple, really, she thought glumly, remembering each word.
It is my decision that my daughter, Emmaline Carruthers, join with Matthew Gerrity, my stepson, in a marriage that will ensure the heritage of my father being passed on to coming generations. Therefore, I grant joint custody to Emmaline and Matthew, in the case of my beloved daughter Theresa, so that she may be raised with the influence of both her brother and sister. So long as Emmaline and Matthew live on this property, they will be joint owners and joint caretakers of my daughter, Theresa. Should they decide not to enter into such a marriage, neither of them will inherit from me anything other than personal items which shall be listed below.
The lawyer cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “Yes, there is more.” His face became suffused in a rosy hue, and Emmaline’s eyes sharpened as she sensed his discomfort. As though he were sending her a silent apology for what was to come, he glanced at her somberly.
“Allow me to continue,” he said.
However, if they decide to abide by the above terms, and should there not be issue from the above described marriage within two years, I declare that neither Emmaline Carruthers or Matthew Gerrity shall remain as owners, but said ownership will revert at that time to my daughter Theresa. Matthew Gerrity will remain in his present position for as long as he desires. A suitable guardian shall be appointed for Theresa and the property held in trust for her until the age of twenty-one.
“He can’t do that!” Emmaline’s words were anguished.
Oswald Hooper looked at her sympathetically, as if he could not bear to deny her claim.
Matt had no such compunction.
“Looks to me like he did do exactly that,” he said with a humorless smile.
“There’s not much more,” said the lawyer. “Just some bequests to the people here, and some legal processes to take place, ensuring the rights of the child. Other than that, you’ve heard the gist of it. Once you two are married, the deed will be changed to include both of your names.”
“Matt Gerrity has no right,” she blurted. “He’s no blood relation.”
“Your father chose the terms, Miss Carruthers,” the lawyer reminded her gently.
“I won’t do it,” she vowed with whispered determination.
“Don’t be so quick to decide, Emmaline.” Matt’s voice was deep, demanding her attention. She looked up quickly to meet his gaze. “If you turn down the terms of the will, I’ll have no choice but to send you on your way. You’ll lose contact with Tessie.”
“And what about you? What will happen to you?”
His shoulders lifted once more, negligently. “Well, I suppose I’ll just stay on here as ranch foreman. The will gives me that option, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It could be interpreted that way,” Mr. Hooper said, prompted by Matt’s questioning look.
“And you’ll have Theresa,” Emmaline said bitterly.
He nodded as he repeated her words. “And I’ll have Theresa.”
“I won’t allow that to happen,” she declared, her chin lifting another notch. Her nostrils flared delicately, and her eyes shone with barely repressed fury. “I’ll do anything I have to.”
She was a fighter, Matt decided, watching the lines of her face firm up before his eyes. Her jaw was clenched, and her lips tightened as she awaited his reply.
With an edge of anger, he accepted her challenge. “So be it.”
Old Samuel had had the last laugh, he thought grimly. He had always told him he’d like to see the day Matt met his match. And this daughter of his damn sure looked like it.
Chapter Three
“Saai, Mr. Matt has been in charge here for two years. And every unmarried woman in the territory has been making eyes at him,” Maria added for good measure.
Emmaline’s mouth pursed as she considered the statement. “I’ll bet he eats it up,” she said finally.
Maria shrugged and smiled. “What young man wouldn’t? The ladies have always taken to Mr. Matt, and now...” Her shoulders lifted once more.
“And now?”
“Everyone will be thinking he has been left the ranch. A man with property will not go unmarried for long.”
“Does he have...” Emmaline paused delicately, unwilling to ask such a question.
Maria frowned at her. “If you had come to breakfast earlier, you might have been able to ask him yourself,” she said firmly, as if that would settle the matter.
Emmaline smoothed her fingers over the hem of her napkin once more. True, she’d appeared for breakfast just as Matt and Miss Olivia were leaving the table. At home, meals had been served at more civilized hours. Surely no one had an appetite at dawn.
Then, too, in her experience, servants were not as outspoken as Maria. But things were done differently here, she reminded herself. Lexington was a long way from Forbes Junction. Informality was a way of life. Why, Theresa and Matt didn’t even wear mourning, she realized, not for the first time, as she looked down upon her own black silk gown. She shivered, mutely deciding Arizona was a long way from civilization.
Annoyance was riding the edge of her voice when she finally managed a reply. “It isn’t a question a lady can ask a man. Besides, I asked you, Maria. All else aside, Mr. Gerrity is not the easiest man in the world to talk to, you know.”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Since he is to be your husband, you have the right to ask him anything you wish.” Her sparkling eyes belied the prim pursing of her mouth as she tossed a quick look at Emmaline. “I owe as much allegiance to Mr. Matthew as to yourself.”
Emmaline cast her an unbelieving look. “I doubt if I will ever be given as much,” she muttered beneath her breath.
The husky voice from the doorway cut with precision into her thoughts.
“Just ask away, Emmaline. My life is an open book,” Matt said with deceptive softness. “Don’t make Maria feel uncomfortable. She’s loyal to the family, and that splits her between us.”
Emmaline’s brow raised as she turned to face him. “You consider me family?”
He hesitated only a moment. “Maria does,” he said flatly. “That’s all that matters.”
“Sí,” the older woman said quickly. “You are your father’s daughter, Miss Emmaline. You are family, as if you had never left.”
The words touched Emmaline more deeply than she wanted to admit, and she smiled with trembling lips as she rose from the table. “Thank you, Maria,” she murmured quietly, one hand lifting to rest for a moment upon the housekeeper’s shoulder as she paused by her side.
Her head bowed for a moment as she considered her position here. When the only truly friendly face she’d come across in the past two days was that of the housekeeper, it was difficult to feel at home. Matt’s words of welcome had been flippant, and his manner had run the gamut from mocking to moody, especially during the session in the library. Since then, he’d retreated into a shell that bespoke his feelings eloquently.
His eyes had been upon her more than once, but the message they conveyed was guarded. He’d be happiest if she hightailed it out of here, she thought.
“Emmaline.” His voice brought her back from her meanderings.
He stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into the slits of his pant pockets. “What do you want to know about me?” he asked, with a taunting grin that made her clench her jaw.
She shook her head mutely, unwilling to allow her irritation free rein. Where he’d been and what he’d been doing for all his life was none of her business, she decided swiftly. Better that she tend to today’s business and forget his yesterdays. She might find out more than she wanted to know. And besides, she probably would soon be learning more about him than she had ever planned on.
With long fingers, he set his wide-brimmed hat upon his head, covering his dark, glossy hair and tilting the brim to shade his eyes, hiding their expression from her view.
“You missed your best chance,” he said evenly. “See you at supper time.” With a nod toward both women, he left the room, and Emmaline was left to wish she’d asked him just one question.
How did Matt Gerrity feel about entering a forced marriage?
Her heart pounded in an accelerated rhythm as she considered the thought. Somehow, Matthew Gerrity didn’t appear to be the sort of man who would take kindly to being forced into anything, she decided. Especially something as final as a marriage. A marriage that would, by necessity, involve the birth of a child.
* * *
Bathing every day was a habit deeply ingrained in Emmaline. She had responded to Matthew’s suggestion that she take a dip in the shallow creek several miles to the north with utter silence. His mocking grin had infuriated her.
The alternative was a procedure involving pails of hot and cold water, and the aid of others. There was no help for it, she’d decided by the third day. Sponge baths in her room were inadequate, and she yearned for the luxury of being wet all over.
The tub was large, sloped at the back, and longer than the one Emmaline was accustomed to. “I can almost lie full length in that,” she said to Maria as the housekeeper supervised its filling. The bathing room was just off the kitchen—a rather primitive way of doing business, Emmaline thought privately. Two of the hired hands carried brimming pails of hot water and dumped them quickly into the tub. Then Maria pumped cold water in the kitchen and sent two buckets along to lower the temperature to Emmaline’s liking. Another pail of steaming water was left next to the tub, should the bath cool before she finished.
“Your papa needed a big tub,” Maria told her with good humor. “He was a large man, and didn’t like to have his knees poking out of the water.”
“I remember him a little, you know,” Emmaline said wistfully. “He seemed a giant of a man to me—all legs, in fact, until he picked me up. I remember him holding me, and then sometimes I wonder if it might be just wishful thinking on my part. Maybe my memories and dreams get all tangled up in my mind.”
Maria moved behind her to plait the abundance of hair flowing to the middle of her back. “I’ll pin this up to keep it out of the water,” she offered, her fingers quick as they formed the loose braid and attached it to Emmaline’s crown with a bone hairpin. Her hands dropped to the younger woman’s shoulders, and she sighed, shaking her head at the memories Emmaline’s words had brought to life.
“I think we have many pictures in our minds, Miss Emmaline. If you remember your papa at all, it is because his love for you was so strong. Don’t think badly of him. He only wished that you had received his letters and could have answered. But he never held it against you.”
“He wrote me?”
“Sí, every month he sent a letter. For years he hoped...but your mama or your grandparents... Well, it’s done now,” she finished briskly. Her face brightened. “When Arnetta Gerrity came here, his life changed. He decided you were lost to him, I think.” She bent to test the bathwater, dismissing the subject.
“I have left towels, here on the stool,” she said briskly. Quickly she patted once more at Emmaline’s hair, testing the security of the upswept braid, and her eyes were moist with tender feeling. “So like your papa,” she whispered, shaking her head as she left the small bathing room, pulling the door shut behind herself.
Emmaline’s movements were slow, her fingers deliberately undoing the row of buttons on her dress. That her mother had kept so much from her was almost unbelievable. If her father had truly written letters to her all that time, what had happened to them? Carefully she stripped her petticoats from her body, silently condemning them to perdition.
“You’re right, Matthew Gerrity,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “It’s too dratted hot here for civilized clothing.” The black dress, with its yards of skirt, received a baleful glance, and she stepped carefully into the tub of water. And then she sighed with contentment as the scent of lilacs wafted about her.
Bringing her own soap along had seemed a luxury while she packed for the journey, but now it was a dire necessity, she decided. The sudsy fragrance she used washed away her tension, even as it removed the dusty residue and perspiration from her body.
“Are you still here?” asked a small voice from the doorway, even as the knob squeaked at being turned by the child’s hand.
Automatically Emmaline slid beneath the surface of the water and turned her head to peer at the intruder.
Theresa watched her with wide, hostile eyes. “I thought you’d be gone,” she said, her chin jutting forward as she eyed the unwanted woman who’d taken up residence in the bathtub.
Emmaline chose her words carefully. “I came to see you, Theresa. I can’t leave till we get to know each other. We’re sisters, you know.”
The child sniffed and sidled into the room. She propped one hand on her waist and assumed a belligerent stance. “I don’t need a sister,” she declared firmly. “I have Maffew, and he’s my brother.”
“I know,” Emmaline answered softly, aware of how gingerly she must tread. “But all girls need a sister, you know. I’ve always wanted one of my very own. And now that I’ve found you, I really want to get to know you.”
“Why?” Theresa frowned, pushing her lips into a pout.
Emmaline hid her amusement at the look. “Because I’m sure you’re a nice girl and we’ll get on well together. I can show you how to play some games I know,” she added gently, coaxingly.
“Games?” Theresa’s eyes lit with interest for a moment, then the frown settled back in place and an uncaring gesture lifted the small shoulders in a shrug.
“I brought along some things I thought you’d like to see,” Emmaline said as she began once more to wash. She lifted one leg and used the cloth with long strokes, enjoying the sensation of the rough fabric against her flesh.
There was a long moment of silence. Then the child spoke, in a small voice that struggled to be offhand. “What kind of things?”
Emmaline cocked her head and looked over her shoulder, her mouth pursed as if in thought. “Oh...I have a set of jackstraws, and a skipping rope.” She slanted a glance at Theresa once more. “Can you skip rope?”
Theresa’s head shook as she took another step closer.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Emmaline said, as if in surprise. “There’s a package from France that I found in my room back home in Lexington that I thought you might like.”
“From France?” Her eyes widened as Theresa sank onto the bath stool, oblivious of the towels beneath her bottom. “My Miss Olivia says that’s a place across the ocean.”
Emmaline nodded agreeably and resumed her washing, donning a façde of nonchalance. “Of course, you might not like playing jackstraws. But...we could skip rope.” She dared another look at the child, who had leaned even closer. “But then, I’m really a very good rope skipper, and you might have a hard time learning.”
“Oh, no,” Theresa said quickly. “I can learn real fast. My Maffew says I’m smart as a whip.” Her mouth drew down suddenly as a new thought struck her. “You won’t be here very long, anyway. Maffew says you’ll be leaving soon.”
“Well...” Emmaline turned quickly to the child, but it was too late. She had jumped from the stool and, with only one backward look, was gone, slipping through the doorway and running through the kitchen.
“Where’ve you been, pigeon?” The deep voice sounded beyond the half-open door, and Emmaline slipped once more beneath the surface of the water, sloshing it precariously close to the brim of the tub.
“Talkin’ to that lady,” Theresa said. “She’s takin’ a baff.”
“With the door open?” Tinged with a trace of amusement, the voice came closer, and Emmaline reached for the towels Maria had left.
“Are you wantin’ more company in there?” Matt asked from around the doorway. “We usually keep this door shut when the room is being used,” he drawled.
“Please pull it shut, would you?” Emmaline held the towel in readiness as she bent forward in the water, her knees pulled to her breasts.
“Sure you don’t want company?” From just beyond the door, his voice reached her, tinged with taunting amusement.
“Please, Matt,” she whispered, her words wispy with embarrassment.
He reached one long arm within the room, his fingers grasping the knob, and deliberately closed the door.
“Don’t be late for breakfast,” he called to her abruptly. “Maria usually only serves once. After that, you’re on your own.”
“And I hope you choke on yours,” she muttered as she stepped over the edge of the tub and enfolded herself in the towel she still clutched.
* * *
The last rays of the sun set the sky aglow in shades of pink and orange contrasting with the darker bands of purple that chased the daylight below the horizon. The porch faced west, and Emmaline sat on the top step, her arms wrapped about herself as she watched in awe, her eyes wide.
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