Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (23 page)

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she hissed.

“I’ll talk to you any way I can to shut you up! We’re going back there; you’re going to eat and be decent. Understand?”

“Heavens! I’ll not be able to hold up my head if they find out—”

The marshal edged his horse up to the buggy and leaned from his saddle. “Sparks giving ya any trouble, Preacher?”

“None at all.”

“Yes, he did,” Mrs. Piedmont snapped.

“He did not!” The minister dug his elbow into his wife’s side. “He invited us for dinner.”

“Invited? It ain’t his place to do no invitin’.”

“He was extending the invitation from Miss McCall.”

Ace rubbed his chin thoughtfully and moved his horse up beside the wagon where Charlie and Emily waited. He had met the one-legged rancher and his near-blind sister in Laramie and had stopped by their place one time. As Mara approached, Ace quickly stepped down from his horse and waited to help her up onto the wagon seat.

“It was nice of you to come, Marshal.” Mara smiled. “You must stay and have dinner.”

“Thank ya kindly, Mara. Let me help you.” He placed his hand beneath her elbow when she placed her foot on the spoke of the wheel. Charlie reached for her hand and pulled her up to sit beside Emily.

Ace stood beside the wagon, unaware that he was staring. Mara was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but there was something about her that made him unable to drag his eyes away. Her hair was curly and shining like the coat of a young roan in the spring after it had shed its winter coat. Emerald eyes flashed at him when she became aware of his stare, and color flooded her face. He imagined that her eyes could turn as fierce as those of a treed wildcat when she was loving a man. By God, he would have her!

The wagon began to move. Ace chuckled and twisted the ends of his mustache with shaking fingers. Goddamn! Even at a funeral he only had to look at her to visualize having her naked in his bed. He mounted his horse and pulled his coat together to cover the throbbing length of his swollen manhood. She was everything he thought she would be. Sensible when it was called for, fiery when mad. Since the first time he had seen her he had wanted to throw her to the ground and satisfy himself right then and there. Mara Shannon was a woman worth waiting for. His time with her would come.

*  *  *

Tables were set up in the shade of the oak tree beside the house when the mourners returned to the homestead. Steamboat worked over the joint of beef, placing slices on a huge platter. Riley, the stooped old man who worked the garden and helped the bunkhouse cook, had built a fire in the yard and was boiling water for coffee.

After the preacher and his wife were seated in the shade, Mara led Emily into the house. They took off their hats, tied aprons about their waists, and began setting out the food they had prepared. Each time Mara carried a dish from the house to the tables she could feel the marshal’s eyes on her. She looked for Pack and saw that he was deep in conversation with Charlie and Sam.

“I’m surprised the marshal is here,” she whispered as Emily handed her a bowl of boiled eggs to take to the table in the yard.

“So am I. Charlie doesn’t like him. I don’t think Pack does either.”

“Then why did he come?”

“Maybe the preacher asked him.”

“He has a habit of staring that makes me uncomfortable,” Mara confessed.

“He stares at you? Oh, I hope Pack holds his temper.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that Pack . . . will feel responsible for you now.”

“I’ll not need protection from the
marshal,
for heaven’s sake!” Carrying the bowl of eggs and a pan of bread, Mara left the kitchen.

Mrs. Piedmont sat at the table beside her husband, and both ate a hearty meal. After several attempts to draw the preacher into a conversation, Charlie gave up and talked with the man who had driven the dray wagon. Aubrey and Cullen sat at the far end of the table. Aubrey ate with his head down, but Cullen watched the preacher and his wife as if having them there was a huge joke.

Mara cut the pie and filled the plates when they were passed to her. Each time she looked up, she caught Ace January watching her. After the meal when she carried the butter crock to the house, he followed. She set the crock on the counter and went quickly through the parlor and out onto the porch before he could catch up with her. After that she stayed beside Emily until the Piedmonts were ready to leave and then walked out to where the overweight preacher was helping his overweight wife into the buggy. Ace brought his horse from the hitching rail and stood waiting.

“I trust you’ll have a pleasant trip back to town.” It was all Mara could think of to say. She certainly wasn’t going to thank them for coming or say she was pleased to have met them, because she wasn’t. It would please her, however, never to see the pious pair again.

“The bill’s paid.” Pack’s voice came from behind Mara, and she turned to see him looking at the minister with hard cold eyes.

The minister’s grunt was noncommittal. He slapped the reins against the mare’s back and the buggy moved away, leaving Ace January standing beside his horse.

“Good-bye, Ace.” There was no mistaking the firm tone of dismissal in Pack’s voice.

Smoldering anger was reflected in the marshal’s face. His squinting eyes went from Pack to Mara. They were as cold as Pack’s, but there was a strange little sneer at the corners of his mouth.

“I want to speak to Mara—”

“Some other time,” Pack broke in.

Mara had to force herself to appear calm as the marshal took a second look at Pack. She was aware of Pack’s defiant stance, his possessive hand on her shoulder. She had to act quickly if an unpleasant encounter was to be avoided.

“Good-bye, Mr. January.”

“Some other time,” he echoed Pack’s words.

Ace glared into Pack’s face, his jaw muscles pulsing as he fought to contain his anger. He mounted, and as soon as he was settled into the saddle, he gigged his horse cruelly. The powerful hind legs bent, the front legs stretched out and he was off down the road in a cloud of dust. He passed the buggy and was soon out of sight.

“I want to speak to you.” Pack’s hand slid from Mara’s shoulder to her elbow. He swung her around and propelled her toward the porch.

“You too?” It was all she could think of to say.

Pack didn’t speak until they were in the darkened parlor. He turned her to face him and held her in place with his hands on her shoulders.

“Get your things together,” he commanded. “You’re going home with Emily and Charlie.”

ELEVEN

Mara’s mouth opened in astonishment. She had known that Pack would try to convince her to leave the homestead, but it had come so unexpectedly. He had not
asked,
he had
demanded
that she pack her things and leave . . . today! She was shaken, hurt, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

“Who are you to be telling me what to do?” Her voice shook with resentment and fury. “I like Emily very much, but I’m not going to be thrust upon her and her brother like a penniless orphan. I’m staying in the house my father built and left to me.”

“No, you’re not. Get up there and get enough together to last a day or two. I’ll bring the rest of your things over later. I’ve already told Charlie you’re going home with them. He has chores to do. He can’t be waiting all day while you lollygag around.”

“Then you can just untell Charlie, Mr. Know-It-All Gallagher, because I’m not going. I have a home and I’m staying in it.”

“Mara Shannon, I’ve told you that you can’t stay here, I’ve told you why, and that’s all there is to it.”

“And I’ve told you to tend to your own damn business. I’m of age and no longer need a guardian.”

Pack ran his hand through his dark hair. His face was tense with anger and frustration as he struggled to hold onto his temper.

“I can force you to leave, Mara Shannon. Don’t make me do it!”

“That’s nonsense! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.” Mara rubbed her hand over lips that had gone chalky with anger. “Why are you doing this to me, Pack? How are you going to benefit if I abandon everything my father worked for?”

“How am I going to
benefit?
” Huge hands grasped her shoulders and he shook her. “Damn you for a stubborn, stupid little fool! I’m not asking you to abandon it. You’ll be
paid
for every acre, every blade of grass, if I have to work my fingers to the bone.”

Mara took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “I want to be here!”

“You don’t want to face the fact there are things a woman can’t do alone. You saw the way Ace January looked at you. He was thinking about getting you in bed! And he’s only one of your problems. Cullen will crawl on you the minute my back is turned!”

“You’re being crude and hateful.”

“Crude and hateful won’t hurt you, Mara Shannon.
Rape
will! Do you understand what it means to be raped? A man will force entry into your body and you will feel pain such as you’ve never felt before. Pain and . . . shame. Once I saw a woman, a pretty young woman, after several men had been on her. She begged me to shoot her. Sometimes women are used so cruelly that they bleed inside until they die!”

“Stop it!” Mara squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to hear the words.

“An unattached woman in this country attracts men like flies on a honey pot,” Pack continued doggedly. “A
pretty
unattached woman living out here by herself is enough to cause a shooting war among the men who want her, especially if they think she’s got money or land.”

She glared up at him, dry-eyed and furious. “If you don’t get your hands off me I’m going to—to kick you,” she said between her teeth.

“I mean what I say. I’m responsible for you.”

“You’re not! You’re not even blood kin!”

“You haven’t got the brains of a buttercup if you think old Aubrey would stand between you and Cullen. Trellis and Travor will try. One or both of them will get killed. Be sensible and go home with Emily until I can find a place for you in town. You can teach school and make friends among your own kind.”

“No! No! No!” Her voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch. Her color was vivid, her eyes as sharp as polished emeralds. “I’ll not live in a rooming house, sleeping on someone else’s bed, eating at a community table with a bunch of dullards. I won’t do it, Pack. My roots are here. I’m staying here on McCall land. It’s my right, by damn, and you’re not taking it from me.”

“Damn you for a stubborn
baggage.
” He said the word deliberately. “You can’t stay here without a man—a husband to protect you!” His voice rose with every word. “Are you so wrapped up in the possession of this land that you can’t understand that?”

His hands, rough and calloused, were like vises on her arms. He held her so close she could feel the heat of his anger.

“If I’ve got to have a husband in order to live in my own home on my own land, I’ll get one.”

“Who do you think will come courting you out here?” he demanded. “Cullen will shoot the first man that comes calling. Or did you have the marshal in mind?”

“I had
you
in mind, Pack! Are you man enough to marry me, stand up to Cullen and protect what is mine?”

The words were out before she realized what she was saying. Her breath was coming fast, her upper lip glistened with sweat. She would have snatched back the words if she could, but when she saw the look of horrified surprise on his face, she was glad she had said them, and it goaded her to say more.

“You’re like a stray dog that’s all bark and no bite, Pack Gallagher. You’re great at telling me what to do, but you’ve not got the guts to make a decent life for yourself. Most men would be glad to settle down on a piece of land as fine as this and build something to leave to their children as my father did. You’re satisfied to float over the surface of the land, living in a freight wagon going from one mining camp to another.”

“Damn you for an educated fool with more temper than is good for you. You don’t know a damn thing about me or what I do. It’s true that I’m a teamster, but it’s honest, hard work. I’ll not always
float
over the land. I’ve got dreams of my own.”

“I just bet you have. Dreams of whores and barroom brawls?” she jeered. “Let’s see what you’re made of, big, bad, teamster Gallagher. My father was fond of you, but for the life of me I don’t know why. Half of this land will belong to the man who marries me. Have you ever had a better offer?”

Pack’s eyes narrowed to blue-black slits. An inarticulate sound came from his throat, breaking into the charged silence that held them after her words.

“You’d marry a man, any man, to stay here?” His voice was controlled yet savage. It curled around her like a whip, hungry to bite into her flesh.

“Not
any
man. You’re not choice husband material, but better than Cullen. And being Brita’s son, along with the fact that my father saw something good in you, is in your favor. You may be rough around the edges, but you can’t be
all
bad.” Her smile was like a slash across his throat. The emerald blaze in her eyes told him that she was sure she had backed him into a corner and he would retreat.

“Think twice, my girl,” he snarled. “Marriage is forever.”

“Not necessarily. Only until one of us dies,” she responded casually, shrugging his hands from her shoulders.

“All right!” His voice roared in her ears as his patience snapped. He shoved her down in a chair and stood over her. His hands balled into hard fists and he swore. “Don’t ever forget, Mara Stubborn McCall, that this was your idea!
You
asked
me!
And don’t forget another thing: I’ll not be lashed by that sharp tongue of yours and slink away like a whipped dog. You need a strong hand, by God, and you’ll get it.” He turned to leave, then turned back. “Don’t move out of that chair.”

Quick steps took Pack to the door and out onto the porch. “Sam!” he bellowed.

Sam, squatting on his heels, was talking to Charlie. Emily sat on a stump nearby. Sam turned at the sound of urgency in Pack’s voice and hurried to the porch.