Angel Creek (5 page)

They were sitting alone in her cozy cabin eating food she had prepared. The conversation had without effort become far more personal than it ever should have been on first meeting. An aura of intimacy wrapped them, making him think of reaching out for her and drawing her onto his knee, the way he would if she were his woman. It was a fantasy, though, because her composed green gaze invited nothing more than conversation. It irritated him, because he was used to women paying him more attention than that. Even Olivia, with her perfect manners and composure, responded to him in the way he expected.

It was probably the last thing Dee Swann intended, but her disinterest provoked the opposite reaction in him. Lucas had always enjoyed a challenge, and she was certainly that; any woman who used a shotgun to discourage suitors was bound to keep him on his toes. Maybe she didn't need a man to work her land, but a woman sure needed a man to take care of her other
needs. It was fine with him that she didn't want to get married, because she wasn't the type of woman he would ever select to be his wife. Dee would, however, he thought, make a fine bed partner.

Lucas had gotten out of a lot of tight situations by using his head, and he was too smart to let any of his thoughts show. He knew that if he even hinted at anything sexual between them right now she'd have that shotgun pointed at him faster than he could blink. Let her get used to him first, accept him as a friend, then they'd become really
close
friends. So he kept his face blank as he turned the conversation to his original reason for being there.

“You've gotten by okay because so far all you've had to deal with are a few liquored-up cowhands with nothing more than hoorahing on their minds. But let a man come up on you without all the yelling and shooting to warn you, and he'd be on you before you could get to your shotgun. Or a bunch of them could decide to get even with you; there's no way you could guard both doors and every window. It's dangerous for you out here,” he said persuasively. “With the money you could get for this land you could set yourself up in town in any kind of business you wanted, and you'd be safe. Think about it. I'm willing to give you more than a fair price.”

“I don't have to think about it,” she said. “I don't want to sell. This is my home; I like it here. I tend my garden and sell vegetables in town and get along just fine. If I'd wanted to sell, I could have sold to Mr. Bellamy a long time ago.”

He frowned. “Bellamy's offered to buy you out?”

“Several times.”

“You should have taken his offer. You're a woman alone.” He didn't like the idea of Bellamy owning Angel Creek, but he was serious about the potential danger she was in. A good-looking woman living by herself like this was just asking for trouble from any no-good passing through.

But Dee only shrugged, dismissing his warnings. “So? I'd be alone no matter where I went, so I might as well stay here.”

“You'd have other people close by if you lived in town, in case you needed help. You'd be safe instead of working yourself half to death out here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except Lucas Cochran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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