Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (17 page)

“Easy there, Foley!” Shielding the action from the crowd, Donovan crushed Foley’s toes beneath his boot. The foreman yowled and stumbled, looking for all the world as if he were a bumbling drunk. Donovan tightened his grip on the man’s shirt. “You want to lean on me or something?”

Foley spat curses and tried to take a swing at Donovan.

“Now, that’s no way to treat someone who’s trying to help you,” Donovan said with a shake of his head. He shoved Foley away, hard enough that the foreman tripped over his own feet and crashed into a table, shattering glass and scattering poker chips. “Look at you. You can’t even stand.”

Donovan walked over and stopped beside Foley, then extended a hand as if to help the man up. At the same time he jabbed him hard in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “Come on, Foley. You’ve been telling the same lies for years now. I bet these folks are sick of it.”

Foley slapped Donovan’s hand away and slowly got to his feet, his cheek bleeding where a flying piece of glass had struck him. “Ain’t no lies,” he snarled. “Girl’s as good as a whore.”

A murmur of discontent rumbled from the crowd.

“You’d better watch what you say, Foley,” Donovan said, indicating the throng. “Folks don’t take kindly to a woman being slandered like that.” He fixed his gaze on the foreman’s face, letting some of the tightly controlled fury into his tone. “And neither do I.”

Foley flinched at the implied threat. Looking around for aid, he started to sweat as he noticed the hostility of the spectators. “But…but…everyone knows…”

“You hush now, Foley!” someone called from the crowd. “You’ve dragged that girl’s name through the mud for too long now!”

Foley gaped. “But—”

“She’s a respectable girl who’s had enough trouble,” someone else called out. “What with her pa getting’ killed by her sweetheart, she don’t need your lyin’ tongue to make it worse!”

“Let the gal alone!” a third voice chimed in.

Foley seemed to realize he had been branded a liar before the whole town. He whirled on Donovan. “This is your fault,” he snarled.

“Mine? I’m new here. I wasn’t even around when you started spinning those tales.”

“But it’s the truth!” Foley wailed.

The crowd stirred, animosity like a live thing among them. Donovan looked at the foreman in disgust. “You got something against women, Foley? How long has it been since you’ve been with one, anyway? Or has all your drinking dried up your pecker?”

“Lyin’ bastard!” Foley took a swing at him, but Donovan nimbly stepped out of the way.

“You’re a mean drunk, Foley,” Donovan said.

“I ain’t drunk!” Foley swung again. Donovan dodged the blow, then scowled at his opponent.

“Have it your way.” He jerked Foley up by a fistful of his shirt and landed three punches on Foley’s face in quick succession. A soft crunch and a spurt of blood had Foley howling in pain and stumbling backward, one hand clinging to the bar for support and the other cupped to his broken nose.

“You sober yet, Foley?” Donovan asked, his fists still tightly clenched.

“You broke my nose, you son of a bitch!” the foreman cried. Shoving away from the bar, Foley charged him, and Donovan spun out of the way. The foreman stumbled onward, driven by his own momentum, and Donovan helped him along with a boot to the backside. With a crash of discordant notes, Foley smashed into the piano, groaned, and dropped to the floor to lie unmoving.

Donovan gave a short nod of satisfaction. Retrieving his hat from where it had fallen during the fight, he placed it on his head and glanced at Harve. “Sorry about the mess,” he said to the saloonkeeper. “I’ll pay for the damage.”

Harve nodded, unperturbed, clearly well used to such happenings. The crowd shifted to let Donovan pass as he headed for the door amid claps on the back and the murmurings of the converted.

“Foley deserved it.”

“‘Bout time someone made him account for them lies.”

“That poor gal’s been sufferin’ all this time on account of him.”

Donovan stepped out of the saloon and stared up at the crescent moon, the sympathetic rumbles of the crowd following him into the night. Anger still licked at him, and he started walking fast to let off some steam. As much as he had wanted to kill Foley, he knew that what he had done was much better. He had rewritten history, even though he had revealed more about his violent side than was wise, considering this was where he intended to settle down and raise children with his sassy girl. Still, he considered it a worthy sacrifice.

A feral smile slowly spread across his face as he remembered the satisfaction of hearing Foley’s nose break beneath his fist. Hellfire, it had felt
good
.

“More lemonade, Ross?” Sarah asked, interrupting the rancher’s dissertation on the merits of cross-breeding cattle.

He scowled, obviously not pleased that she had broken into his lecture, but he held out his glass anyway. “Thank you kindly, Sarah.”

Sarah lifted the pitcher and poured. Once the glass was full, Ross nodded at her, gulped back half the lemonade, and then continued on with his oration as if she had never interrupted.

Sarah sighed and stared out at the starry night. She had to admit it; she was bored. Ross had shown up unexpectedly this evening, and she’d had no choice but to sit with him for a spell on her front porch. Her mother was working on Betty Ames’s wedding gown in the parlor, far enough away to allow a certain amount of privacy to Sarah and her suitor, but close enough to qualify as an appropriate chaperone.

She glanced at the rancher sitting beside her. Ross was good-looking enough and certainly a prime catch for an unmarried girl, yet his conversation centered around himself and his cattle—morning, noon and night. Never once did he ask about her: what her dreams were, what she liked to do. It was if she existed just to be an extension of him, someone to bolster his ego and add to his consequence. She imagined it would only get worse if she became his wife.

Could she really marry such a man? Could she give up
all
of her dreams to make just one of them come true?

“Evenin’, Miss Calhoun,” a male voice called out from the darkness.

“Oh, no,” Sarah murmured. Ross spluttered to a stop as two cowhands rode up to the picket fence, rifles resting across their saddles.

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m done with my shift, ma’am,” said the rider who had greeted her. “This here is Sam Watkins. He’s takin’ over until I come back at sunrise.”

“Evenin’, ma’am,” Sam said.

“We didn’t want you to be worried when you saw a fella that wasn’t me hanging around outside your house,” the first man continued. “I’ll be back to relieve Sam in the morning.”

“Thank you, Clem.” Sarah ignored the look of growing outrage on Ross’s face.

“You have a nice evening, ma’am.” Clem tugged his hat brim, as did Sam, and both riders disappeared into the night. A few moments later hoofbeats faded into the distance, though Sarah knew Sam now watched over the house from a short distance away.

“Would you care to explain?” Ross asked with pointed sarcasm.

Sarah stared into the ruddy face of her almost-fiancé and suddenly knew she couldn’t do it. She could never marry a man as hidebound as Ross Turner, even if he was her last hope to have a family.

“Those men are watching the house,” she explained. “With an escaped convict in the area, it seemed like a wise precaution.”

“Those are
Donovan’s
men,” Ross snapped. “If you need protecting, why didn’t you come to me?”

“I didn’t ask him to post a guard on me,” she protested. “But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I’ll handle Donovan,” Ross replied, rising to his feet. His entire body radiated with anger.

Sarah rose as well. “What do you mean, you’ll handle him?” she asked, carefully keeping the annoyance from her tone. “He was only trying to help.”

“You don’t need help from his kind, Sarah.” Ross shoved his hat on his head. “I’ll put a stop to his interference once and for all.”

“Ross, I think you’re taking a neighborly gesture way too seriously.”

“Neighborly! I know what he’s up to, and let me assure you, being your neighbor has nothing to do with it.” He sneered. “Even if you can’t say no to the man, I can.”

The insinuation hung between them for a long, charged moment.

“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked quietly.

He looked uncomfortable. “Nothing, Sarah. It’s just talk.”

No one knew more than Sarah Calhoun how severely
just talk
could wound. “Ross, if you’ve got something on your mind, you’d best say it now.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to bluster some more, but a glance at her face apparently changed his mind. His tone grew placating. “Well heck, Sarah, how does it look, having Donovan’s men watching your place when everyone knows you and I are courting? Donovan showed up out of nowhere, flaunting his money like it grows on trees. Anyone who looks at him can see he’s not one of us, but those idiots still listen to him like he was some sort of god. And it’s no secret he’s had his eye on you. Well, he’s not going to have you.”

“I see. And when did you start making the decisions in my life, Ross Turner? We’re not engaged, and we’re not married. Why do you assume you can speak for me?”

“Now, Sarah, don’t get upset.” Ross gave her an indulgent smile. “Women need a man’s guidance. You just sit back and let me handle it.”

“No.”

Ross stared. “What did you say?”

“I said no, Ross. You’re not going to handle anything for me. And I’m not going to marry you.” She clenched her hands tightly at her waist. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you’re not going to marry me?” he snapped, amiability vanishing from his face. “Of course you are.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

“You little tease!” he spat.

“I’m not a tease.” She tried to keep her voice steady. She had expected that Ross would be stung by her decision, but she hadn’t expected him to get this upset. “I’ve been thinking about the situation, and I’ve come to the conclusion that we wouldn’t be a good match.”

“You don’t consider
me
a good match?” His eyes bulged with astonishment, then narrowed in hostility. “I was doing you a favor, Sarah. Before I started courting you, no decent man in town would have ever considered you for a wife!”

She flinched; she couldn’t help it.

Ross went on, his tone tight with animosity. “I was willing to put my reputation on the line and give you my name, despite your past. Not only that, I was considering not sending my girls back east like I had originally planned. I figured you might make an adequate mother after all. I even wondered if the stories about you had been exaggerated.”

“How generous of you,” she murmured through stiff lips.

He leaned closer, meanness underscoring his tone. “Tell me the truth, Sarah. Are you a decent, God-fearing woman? Or is it like everyone says? That you’re just a slut who can’t keep her legs closed, not even for the scum who killed her father?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Ross.” She met his eyes squarely. His accusation stung like a slap, and he obviously took pleasure in rubbing her face in the dirt of her past. But if he thought she was going to show him her pain, then he was in for a surprise.

Ross waited, but she remained impassive. With a curse, he shoved past her but paused at the steps. He whirled back. “It’s Donovan, isn’t it?” he demanded. “You’re throwing me over for that saddle bum!”

“This has nothing to do with Donovan.”

He laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “Well, Sarah, I wish you luck. I have a feeling there’s more to Donovan than anyone knows, and none of it good. He has the eyes of a killer, and you’re right in his sights.”

“Get out.”

“You deserve each other,” he sneered. “The saddle bum…and his whore.”

“I said get out, Ross.” His face flushed with increased temper and when he clenched his fists at his sides, she reminded him, “Don’t forget, the house is being watched. You just might get a bullet in your belly if I start yelling.”

His startled look indicated that he’d forgotten about the guard. She wanted to laugh at his expression, but she was afraid she would cry. For a moment, she had been afraid that he would strike her.

“Fine. I’m going. Just don’t expect me to come back once Donovan shows his true colors. This was your only chance, Sarah.” Turning, he stormed down the stairs and headed for the gate.

“If you come back,” she called after him, “I’ll shoot you myself!”

He stiffened but didn’t look at her, just headed around back to where his horse was corralled. Moments later he came galloping past the house at a breakneck pace. As Sarah collapsed down into her chair, she hoped he
did
break his neck.

Though it was a warm night, she was shaking as if it were the middle of winter. She folded her arms close to her body and hugged herself, trying to will his hurtful words away. But they lingered in her mind like cigar smoke at the saloon.

He hadn’t really wanted
her
, just a woman who would be grateful enough to live under his thumb for the rest of her days. He hadn’t even considered her fit company for his girls. And he had implied that he thought she was being intimate with Donovan. Wouldn’t he be surprised, she thought with a hysterical giggle, if he knew Donovan didn’t want her as a wife? She laughed at the thought of it, laughed until she started to cry, her dreams in tatters around her.