Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (13 page)

“Maybe I didn’t understand you, Mr. Gallagher. Surely you didn’t say that I couldn’t live in my own home.”

“That is exactly what I said, Miss Mara Shannon McCall.” His dark brows were drawn together and his big hands lay palms down on the table as if he were going to stand. But he didn’t.

“My father would be terribly disappointed in you. He was fond of you and considered you a friend.”

“Aye, he did. It’s because of my love for Shannon McCall that I’m telling you that this is no place for you.” Shannon McCall had taken the place of the father he had barely known, and they had loved each other like father and son.

“And why is that?”

“I told you before. Ma told you. What’s the matter with you that you can’t see it? This is a hard, lonely land full of hard, impatient men without women. Who will stand between you and the ones who’ll have you when I’m gone? Sam’s a decent man. He’ll see that no harm comes to you while he’s here, but he’s a drifting man. Go back to town and get a teaching job. It’s what you were schooled—”

“Why don’t you like me?” Mara interrupted.

“Jesus! Godamighty! Holy sh— You didn’t hear a word I said!” Pack pushed himself to his feet. He was so tall Mara had to tilt her head to look into his furious eyes.

“I warned you about taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“You’re enough to make a preacher swear! Do you know that?” He was angry and his voice was loud.

“Don’t shout!” Her words came out in a throaty rush. “You know it upsets Brita. You’d best be paying attention to her. She’s not well.”

Pack swore under his breath. “Do you think I’m blind, girl? I know she’s not well. If I could get her away from here, I’d set the two of you up in a place in town. I’m not so poor I can’t take care of my own ma, for God’s sake!”

“She won’t go and neither will I. Brita feels her place is with her husband and the twins. She took Aubrey for better or worse. Vows are sacred to her.” Mara stared at his angry face, transfixed, literally shaking inside.

Pack stood in troubled silence. Mara remained stiff and proud, her fine-boned profile set, her clearly etched features perfectly composed and cold. The thought of leaving her here brought a dull ache that spread through Pack until it occupied every part of his body.

Small bits of things had been coming back to him.
Help me, you damned stupid dolt!
She had shouted the words while he lay in the dirt, and they had seeped into his dull senses.
What kind of man are you to sit there like a stubborn jackass
and not help yourself?

If he were a different type of man, Mara Shannon would be the woman for him. She was soft and feminine, yet she had a will of iron. She had gotten him moving and saved his life when he would have just as soon lain there and bled to death.

With anguish he realized that he was what he was, and she was what she was; there was no way on God’s earth he could have her. She had dominated his thoughts while he lay flat on his back, his chest tight, his face hot, and his manhood tenting the covers. Now that he was on his feet and could watch her moving about the house, he was aware of her every move, every glance in his direction.

Pack knew little about women, but he knew men and their ways. There wasn’t a man here except for Sam who wouldn’t have his way with her if given half a chance. The little fool had the face of an angel but the brains of Paddy’s pig! She hadn’t known when she was well off. Bedamned! How was he going to convince her that he knew what was best for her?

“Think about it,” he said gruffly. “Think about what can happen to you. There are men here who would use your body to satisfy their lust. You would be no more to them than a hunk of meat.” The talk was plain and he saw the color rise up her neck to her cheeks.

“I have thought about it.” She spoke in a kinder, more reasonable tone after she had swallowed several times. She was crying to herself inside that it was so hard to be a woman alone and to stand up for her rights.

“Then think about it some more,” he said harshly.

“I have to live somewhere, for heaven’s sake! My money wouldn’t last long in town, but it will see me through here for awhile.” She wanted to unload the heavy burden of fear that ate at her every night as she lay in her upstairs bed with the post wedged against the door, but it would just make him more determined to make her leave.

“You can’t live here alone! No!” He raised his voice when she would interrupt. “You’d be about as safe as a snowball in hell.”

“What do you mean alone? Your mother is here, for crying out loud! I’ve convinced Cullen and Aubrey that I’ve left everything to the school if something should happen to me. That should keep me safe for awhile.” Her cheeks, suffused with color, were the only indication that she was nervous. “I thank you for your concern; but I’m not your responsibility and you needn’t worry about me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then let his hard-held breath out in a long sigh.

“You may be the prettiest woman in all Wyoming Territory and maybe the smartest when it comes to school learning, but you’re also the most mule-headed, unreasonable female I’ve ever known. You don’t know anything about life in this country. A pretty woman without a man beside her is considered fair game by every horny drifter that sees her. Men from miles around will be camping on your doorstep with two things on their minds: getting your land and getting under your skirts!”

Her face flamed. “You needn’t be so crude! You think I’m mule-headed because I don’t do what you want me to do—pull out and leave my inheritance to Aubrey and Cullen to manage. Surely you’re not so blind that you can’t see what they’re doing here.”

“And what is that?”

“They’re not living off the land. It’s just sitting here. Where do they get money? Why were they nervous when the marshal was here? Now you get this straight, Pack Gallagher, I’m not a complete idiot, and I’ll not let you ramrod my life!”

“I’m trying to help you, Mara
Stubborn
Shannon!” His eyes battled with hers. He wanted to shake her. “Ah hellfire! You’re naught but a scrap of empty-headed
baggage!
” He headed for the porch.

Mara followed him through the parlor. Somehow she wanted to cry but fought back angry tears. She had tried to be civil and what had it gotten her? She saw that he was still standing at the edge of the porch. Empty-headed baggage was an insult she couldn’t ignore. It goaded her to throw angry words at him.

“I’m not empty-headed, Mr.
Loose-mouth
Gallagher. I want you to know that my high marks in school set a record. And I deeply resent being called a baggage which, according to Noah Webster, means an unchaste woman, a trollop, hussy, or slut. In other words a bad, loose, easy woman lacking moral goodness. Don’t you dare refer to me in those terms again.”

He turned and looked at her outline in the doorway, unable to see the stricken look in her eyes.

“Is this Webster fellow your beau?”

“Damnation! Holy Saints preserve me!” The unguarded words burst from her mouth. “He’s a dictionary! Oh! You make me so angry that I don’t even know what I’m saying!” She darted back into the darkness of the parlor.

Wearily Pack sat down on the edge of the porch and watched the moon come up over the treetops. One dismal truth stood out above the others; his hands were tied because of his mother. She would not abandon her husband and the twins. He rested his elbows on his thighs and cupped his chin in his hand. What to do? He had his freighting business in Laramie to see to. He had no doubt that old Willy was taking care of things, but there was just so much the old man could do. The paid thugs who jumped him were long gone by now, but the gamblers who worked the Kosy Kitty Saloon were still there; and he would not rest until they paid for what they had done to him.

Pack sat with his puzzled thoughts long after the light disappeared from Mara’s upstairs room. He felt like the restless lobo who howled his frustration into the night and was answered by his own kind. One unwelcome fact stuck in his mind: Mara Shannon should be in town, living in a fine house with all the conveniences, with someone like that Webster fellow who knew the meaning of words. It was what her father had wanted for her.

Recognition of how hard Mara Shannon had worked to clean up the house came to Pack’s mind. She had toiled from morning until night and seemed to be content while doing so. He had even heard her singing while she worked. But she would soon get tired of scrubbing, washing, doing without, and fending off women-hungry men. After one long, cruel, lonely winter she would be sorry she ever came to this place, and then it might be too late.

It seemed to Pack that every time he opened his mouth he made her angry. He had not meant to insult her when he called her baggage. Hellfire and brimstone! He hadn’t known it meant all the things she’d said. He had thought it meant a package . . . an empty package. He had heard women called baggage, and they hadn’t made such a to-do over it.

Pack ran his fingers through his dark hair and massaged the back of his neck. Life was not simple when it involved a woman. At times, when he looked into Mara Shannon’s emerald green eyes that so clearly reflected her feelings, he felt as if he had been run through one of those fancy clothes wringers that fastened to a washtub. He was a man with urges like any other, he thought now, and sometimes he ached to have a woman, not just any woman, but his own woman who wanted him and only him. He’d had a strong yearning for a permanent home for a long time—had dreamed about it at night when he lay alongside his wagons in some remote mountain pass and wondered how it would feel to be lying in his own bed with his own woman beside him, coming eagerly into his arms when he reached for her. It wasn’t that he just wanted a woman to satisfy his lust; there were whores for that. He yearned for something more, a commitment to a good woman who would be the heart and core of a family. He wanted
this
woman, he told himself harshly, but she wasn’t for the likes of Pack Gallagher, teamster, prizefighter, brawler.

Pack cursed himself softly. One thing was certain: he had to think of something. Cullen and Aubrey were just waiting for him to leave before they made their move. Perhaps they were going to let her stay and try to force her to marry Cullen, thinking to get control of the ranch that way. She would resist, but Cullen would go to any length to get what he wanted. He might decide to get into her room some night, rape her, and shame her into marrying him. Pack’s jaws tightened and he ground his teeth in frustration.

At length Pack stretched wearily, feeling an ache in each and every muscle, a stiffness in his bones, and a heaviness in his heart as he wrestled with the problem. He was unaware of it, but within a very short time the decision would be made for him.

*  *  *

Morning came and with it Ace January. Brita was sleeping and Pack and Trellis were hunting in the hills behind the house. Mara Shannon saw the marshal ride up to the hitching rail, dismount, and tie his horse. She went to the door, stepped out onto the porch and called a greeting.

“Morning, Mr. January.”

“Mornin’.” The marshal stepped up to the porch. He removed his hat. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Miss McCall. I thought you’d be back in town by now.”

Her smile turned into a puzzled frown. “Why would you think that?”

“Town girls don’t usually like livin’ away from town.”

“I’m not a ‘town girl.’ This is my home and I’m here to stay.” Irritation stirred within her, making her welcome a trifle cool.

“I’m right glad to hear it.”

“Come in and have a cool drink, or coffee if you prefer.”

“I’d be pleased to have the coffee, ma’am.”

Ace followed Mara Shannon through the parlor and into the kitchen. She was even prettier than he remembered. She was all woman. He liked the way she looked and the way she smelled—like freshly baked bread. Her dark auburn hair curled about her face and stuck to her cheeks that were flushed with heat. He especially liked her full mouth that tilted at the corners when she smiled. The wide band of the apron tied about her small waist showed the curve of soft, full breasts. He pulled his gaze away from them and mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It’s goin’ to be a hot one.”

“Would you like a drink of water first?”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d be obliged for a drink of water.”

Mara Shannon took the ladle from the pail, dipped it into the water bucket and handed it to him. He drank the water with his eyes on her face.

His eyes were such a light gray they appeared almost colorless. The look in them was frank admiration and something more that implied . . . intimacy. Mara Shannon knew instinctively that it had been a mistake to look directly into them. She moved to the other side of the room, took a cup from the shelf, and filled it with coffee from the pot on the stove. Her mind would have frozen had she known what he was thinking.

Ace was wondering how she would look naked, stretched out on a soft bed, her legs and her mouth open beneath him, his hands full of her breasts, hers on his bare buttocks. He pictured her naked in the kitchen cooking a meal for him, naked in front of a fire, naked running through tall grass with her hair streaming behind her like a banner.

He wanted her.
Her wonderful woman’s body was made to cushion a man, to ease his impatient body. The feeling was ten times stronger than when he’d first felt it that day he rode in with the posse. He pulled his mind back when he felt desire so potent that it threatened to embarrass him. He lowered his hat to cover the sudden bulge in his britches. It would not do to scare the hell out of her now. He’d have to go slowly, be patient. His facial features reflected none of his thoughts after he returned the dipper to the pail.

“Sit down, Mr. January.” Mara Shannon indicated the place where she had set the cup of coffee. “Pack and the boys will be back soon.”

“Is Gallagher still here?”

“Yes. His mother is very ill.”

“I’m sorry about Mrs. McCall.”

Mara Shannon sat down at the far end of the table. “Are you on official business, Marshal?”