Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (23 page)

Lucy nodded gratefully when he asked, “You good with that, Lucy?”

She leaned closer, drawing strength from him, suddenly frightened and overwhelmed by the press of people surging around them. She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling when she said, “Ambrose, I would like to leave now.”

They were almost to the door when someone grabbed hold of Lucy’s arm and squawked, “Missy, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Before Lucy could back away she found herself being hugged in a tight embrace by a big, rawboned woman dressed in country cotton and wearing a grin plastered to her face.

Ambrose relaxed and said, “Mrs. Carmichael, it’s good to see you.”

Lucy had no idea who held her so close, but the woman’s expression was one of joy. “Is it true you don’t remember anything about times before you disappeared, missy?”

Mrs. Carmichael pelted questions and answered them herself faster than Lucy could respond. Lucy didn’t know whether to laugh or run at the woman’s delight in seeing her return. For all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding Comfort Bailey’s acknowledgement, this was the one that warmed Lucy’s heart.

“They tell me you took up cookin’ in Buffalo Creek.” Mrs. Carmichael snorted indelicately and grinned at Ambrose. “I knew all those lessons in my kitchen stuck. She was a mighty fine hand as a pastry cook even back then.”

Her attention swiveled back to Lucy and she asked, “What’s your specialty?”

Before Lucy could answer, Mrs. Carmichael answered for her again. “I bet it’s apple pie. You already had that perfected and I was gettin’ your praise every time we served it.”

Lucy smiled at the woman’s obvious pleasure at fooling the Quince men. Ambrose looked puzzled than stunned. “You mean Lucy was cooking back then?”

“Shoot, yes. We kept it secret. She said if you knew she could cook, she’d lose me and have no one to gossip with.” She nudged Lucy conspiratorially in the ribs and said, “We fooled ’em pretty good, didn’t we, missy?”

It was unexpected support from unexpected quarters. Before Ambrose ushered Lucy away, Mrs. Carmichael said, “I’m housekeeping for Comfort Bailey now. She’s got running water in her kitchen.” She gave Ambrose a sly look. “You ever get your water hooked up?”

His gruff, “Nope,” brought a grin to her face and she chortled at Lucy, “Work on him, missy. We needed that done a long time ago.”

Ambrose was fleeing Mrs. Carmichael’s loud good cheer when he ushered Lucy toward the door and outside. At one point, he stopped to murmur assurances to Double-Q ranch hands and then to Hamilton. “We’re going to get a breath of air. Pretty close in here tonight.”

Once on the shadowed porch surrounded by night, Lucy clung to his strength as waves of laughter stole her breath. He held her tight, rubbing her back and chuckling with her at the previous encounter.

“Ambrose, I take it that was my housekeeper.”

He nodded and said, “Yep, and I’m finding out just how much you two connived together when she lived with us. So you could cook and I didn’t know it.” Ambrose frowned down at her.

Lucy pressed her face into his chest and tightened her arms around his waist, muffling her semi-hysterical giggles against his shirt. “Like I said, it appears you didn’t know me any better before than I know you now.”

His stern expression relaxed and he hugged her, his chest vibrating under her cheek when he growled, “You know me.”

She stopped laughing long enough to ask, “Well, did
we
know that awful woman who kept hissing insults at me during the reel?”

Ambrose shook his head. “Nope. That wasn’t anyone who would know a damned thing about you or us, so don’t give it another thought.”

But she did. The spiteful words had drawn attention in an attempt to further rumors. Lucy suspected Mrs. Carmichael’s unconditional approval had meant more than any other exchanges during the night.

“Everything okay out here, Pa?” Lucy burrowed deeper into her husband’s arms, reluctant to rejoin the people inside.

Ambrose’s words rumbled over her head. “Just looking at the moon with your mother. You need to give your old man some courting space, son.”

When Alex returned to the social, Lucy peered up at Ambrose and wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to go back in?”

“Huh-uh, not just yet,” he murmured right before he took advantage of her upturned face to capture her mouth beneath his.

It was a gentle kiss, feathering across her lips like a brush of hope. The press of his manhood against her skirt let her know his thoughts were in the same place as hers. “There’s an empty room waiting for us across the street.”

“I know,” Lucy agreed.

He deepened the kiss until she was so satiated with feeling she was oblivious to the people inside the building. Without releasing her or loosening their embrace, Ambrose lifted his head and gave a shrill whistle. Lucy turned her head into his chest, embarrassed to be seen hugging him so intimately but unwilling to step away from the safety of his arms.

“Lucy’s feeling under the weather. We’re going back to the hotel. Bring the young’uns in at a decent time.” After they both heard Hamilton’s grunt of agreement, they left Alex and Brody at the social, guarded by Roberta, Hamilton and the six Double-Q ranch hands.

Lucy whispered a request before they returned to the hotel and Ambrose said, Hamilton, make a list of all the people, men especially, who were jostling Lucy during her dance with Alex. Get Alex to help you.”

Ambrose escorted Lucy across the street to the hotel. Once in the room, he sat on the edge of the mattress, stroking his hand up and down her back, loving the way she moved into his touch. He murmured, “You called me Quincy.”

A puzzled expression flitted across her face.

Ambrose explained. “Quincy was
your
name for me. Everyone else took it up after we married. You said Ambrose was an old fogey’s name.”

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut as though the words pained her and said, “I was a spoiled child, wasn’t I?”

He pulled her closer. “The day you left, you told me I’d become a petty, small-minded, arrogant boor. You were right. I guess we both had some growing up to do but since I’m a mite older than you, I think I’ll claim that blame.”

Lucy composed herself. Her fingers pinching and kneading the bed cover were the only indication she was unsettled. She pulled away from Ambrose, sitting up straighter to say crossly, “I keep telling you I didn’t leave. I think one or more of those men at the dance tonight stole me away.”

Her bravado faded and Lucy trembled in his arms. “I knew it would be difficult,” she whispered, “but I didn’t expect to be terrified.”

Ambrose felt her breath hitch before her words tumbled out sounding panicked. “Someone jostled me from behind and…” Even the retelling had her struggling for air. “I can’t explain. It was as if…”

“Do you know which sonovabitch made you feel that way?” Ambrose was poised and ready to go back across the street to the dance and beat someone to death. When she shook her head he asked, “Have you remembered our time together before you left, Lucy?”

She touched her fingers to his jaw, sliding them down until she stroked his bottom lip. “I don’t remember most of the time, but sometimes, like when we were dancing tonight, it seems like I’ve been pressed up next to your heart so many times I’m part of you.”

Pink tinted her pale cheeks as she continued in a rush, “I think I don’t recall before because I’m afraid of what I’ll remember.”

She looked away from him and then back. “To remember is to know what happened to me. Maybe relive it. I want to go back to before, but it can’t be, Ambrose.”

“Luce, I’m damn near forty years old, and I can’t go back to twenty-eight and redo a thing either. Let that part of our lives be—we’ve got two fine young’uns and a ranch to run. Let that be enough.”

She reminded him grimly, “Somebody shot Roberta in Wichita. I can’t refuse to remember with my would-be killer still trying to finish what he started. If it all comes back to me—the knowing of what really happened—we might not do so well together anymore.”

“Why?” Ambrose wanted her to speak her fears, to trust him with her doubts.

“You were a jealous man, from all accounts. You still are. How are you going to deal with knowing that another man, maybe more, used my body?”

Ambrose snorted in disgust. “There’s a hell of a difference between you giving your affections and attention to another man and some miscreant taking what you didn’t want to give. You were under my protection and I messed up. That’s what I’ve got to live with. I didn’t take care of you.”

“It seems like we both made mistakes.” Lucy stared at the sheet, fingering it again. When she looked up her voice held resolve, stronger and determined. “I can’t live with anyone else stepping in the way of my hurt. Roberta came very close to being killed. I don’t want another such event. I want it over. And it seems like remembering is part of that end.” And then she frowned. “I’m not sure that Banker Pauley didn’t take himself off the suspect list tonight.”

Ambrose felt the clutch of old jealousy claw his insides. “You and the banker were friends. When you went to see him, were you really going to leave me?”

Lucy shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “That’s his story. I can’t say, but if it’s true, it doesn’t change things. If it were only the money missing, I would presume I was robbed and left for dead for mercenary reasons only. But the more we learn, it seems somebody took advantage of our discord to kidnap me and frame you for murder. When it didn’t work three years ago, they let it settle. But something spurred on their intent in this last six months.

“Could I not have gone to the bank to inquire about my horse funds?” Lucy’s question pooled silently between them as she reached over and picked up his hand.

It seemed upside-down, her comforting him this way, but the idea that she’d planned to leave him still hit him hard. She entwined her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze as she asked, “Did Mr. Pauley tell the sheriff about my visit when I came up missing?”

Ambrose shook his head. “Nothing official ’til a body was found this spring. Pauley made no secret with the merchants that your money was gone and the Double-Q owed for your bills. Most folks were content to think you left me rather than I killed you. But when Pauley came forward and identified the clothes on a dead skeleton as yours, saying you’d planned on leaving me, that was the final knot in the hangman’s rope.”

“Why did he wait three years to make his accusation?” Then she did a Mrs. Carmichael and answered her own question. “As long as I was missing he could control my funds. Ambrose, do you know anyone who would pretend to be a bank examiner?”

Ambrose said grimly, “Hell, we don’t need to get a fake. We can ask the State of Texas for an examiner to visit the Eclipse Bank.”

His conversation with Lucy was interrupted when Hamilton knocked on the door, warning them the family had returned.

The hotel was overflowing with strangers so Ambrose settled outside the women’s room. When Lucy opened the door to peer into the hallway, he was sitting in a chair with her Winchester laid across his thighs. He shoved his hat back and looked up at her, teasing her and reminding her of Wichita. “Goin’ somewhere? We could see if the kitchen is closed for the night.”

Lucy flashed him a grin. “Just checking the security in the hallway.” Pointing at the rifle she winked and said, “That’s a pretty fancy gun you’re holding.”

“Yep, Miz Quince loaned it to me for a spell. It’s got a nice heft to it. I’m thinking about getting one of my own.” Ambrose wanted to whisk her away to a private corner and savor every inch of her flesh. Instead, he hunched into his chair, pulling his hat back down, gruffly bidding her good night. “Best get along to sleep now. I’ve got the guard detail covered.”

He almost fell off the chair when Lucy leaned down and nipped his earlobe, kissing it before whispering, “A woman would have to love a man deeply to name her daughter after him. Good night, Ambrose.”

* * * * *

In spite of the tossing and turning of the other two females, Lucy slept well ’til she was roused the next morning by Hamilton’s knocking.

After he identified himself, Lucy opened the door to him. “Ambrose wants you women to get a move on. We’re fixing to eat breakfast at the restaurant next door.”

Hamilton was direct and abrupt as usual. Before Lucy could answer, Roberta rushed to the door, pink wrapper hugging her curves. “We’ll be right with you boys. Sugar, don’t you go without us!”

“Sugar?” Brody voiced the same surprise that marked Lucy’s face. It hadn’t looked as if Hamilton was her sugar when he’d been hauling her from one prospective male to another the night before.

Roberta just winked at Brody and urged them to hurry as they joined the males who were impatiently waiting in the lobby. Ambrose was shaved and looking no worse for his guard duty the night before.

As soon as the women joined them, Ambrose tucked his hand under Lucy’s arm and led her toward breakfast. Instead of eating in the hotel, they were going to the diner that sold half-baked pie. Lucy warned Roberta, “Don’t expect fine food in here. I told Ambrose this would be an excellent location for a good restaurant.”

That set Roberta off into enthusiastic suggestions for a sewing and pie shop, and she trilled her ideas at the rest of the group all the way to the fly-specked door of the eatery.

Lucy figured this was probably one of Roberta’s new schemes to land Hamilton, so when Ambrose signaled his disapproval with a tightened hold on her arm, she patted his hand reassuringly.

Breakfast was just as bad as Lucy had warned, and she looked regretfully at the nice set-up the proprietor was wasting. If he could make a living serving such poor eats, a place where folks could buy fine food would make a fortune. When she said as much to her breakfast companions, Roberta began a whole new discussion of business opportunities in Eclipse.

With the sorry meal behind them, the ladies waited on the sidewalk in front of the café for Alex to bring up the buckboard. Lucy had donned a split skirt, prepared to ride Sheba back to the Double-Q, but she waited alongside her daughter and Roberta for the ranch wagon.

Several of the ladies who had been reluctant to greet her the evening before spoke to her as they walked past the Quince family. When the second woman had mumbled, “Good morning, Mrs. Quince,” and scurried past, Roberta elbowed Lucy and said, “I told you so.”

Clayton Howard appeared on the boardwalk, giving a courtly bow to the women. “Morning, Mrs. Quince, Miss Harris, Miss Quince. Good to see you again.”

Several more Eclipse citizens nodded at Lucy as they scurried past before Iris Howard joined her husband where he stood chatting with the Double-Q ladies.

Iris arched her brow and nodded approvingly as she said, “I’m so glad to see you taking your rightful place in Eclipse society, dear. You are perfectly right to ignore the town gossips still holding you suspect. We who have been exposed to more civilized climes need to mingle with the less privileged whether they appreciate our presence or not.”

Lucy looked at her twice just to make sure she’d understood the condescending comment. Ambrose resolved the issue of answering when he rode up leading Sheba. Lucy turned her back on the Howards, taking up the reins and preparing to mount.

The Howards appeared to be in a fencing match for Lucy’s attention. Clayton nodded toward her horse and said, “It’s a shame you never got to breed that Morgan to the wild stallion you found. Your mare is a fine-looking piece of horseflesh.”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder in time to see Iris Howard dig her nails into her husband’s arm and protest. “Really, Clayton—that is such an indelicate topic for ladies.”

Ambrose rode his horse between her and the Howards and asked, “Ready, Luce?”

She swung onto Sheba, ignoring both Howards, eager to join the Double-Q riders heading for home. Ambrose rode close to her and asked about her frown but she shrugged it away, deciding to organize the information she’d gathered once back at the ranch. Maybe it would begin to make sense if she compiled her questions, even if she didn’t have the answers to them.

* * * * *

Lucy’s feelings of anxious vulnerability receded when they rode through the gates of the Double-Q. Ambrose meant it when he swore to protect her always but life had already demonstrated in a harsh manner that she needed to guard herself as well.

Once home, she felt secure and ready for anything but her friend’s nosiness. Roberta watched the comings and goings of the men from the front-room window, viewing the drovers much as if she were an army procurement officer assessing the value of cattle.

She said she kept a file in her head assembling facts about every man on the ranch or near vicinity. Her information included his age, predilections—as she called spitting and such—and his prospects.

However, her endless quest for knowledge respected no boundaries, including inappropriate curiosity about Lucy’s marital relations.

Although Lucy tried to steer Roberta clear of questions, especially in Brody’s presence, her friend was not one to respect limits set by others.

Two days after the social, Lucy worked at the stove fixing supper and Roberta sat in her sewing rocker finishing a dress. Without warning, Roberta mumbled around the thread she was cutting with her teeth, “I certainly hope there’s pillow talk going on at night between you and your husband. You don’t say anything but ‘pass the potatoes, please’ when in company.”

Lucy felt two sets of eyes following the blush creeping from under her new dress. “Roberta Harris, you are shameless. I’ll thank you to keep your interest in my personal life to yourself.” It was true. Lucy was almost shy with Ambrose now. In the bed, after dark had fallen and others in the house slept, they held each other, their encounters quiet, sensuous couplings. Through the day, though, she couldn’t look at him without remembering the night before.

“It’s a good thing someone is taking an interest in your personal life. Do you know it’s your husband’s birthday?” Roberta scolded her.

Lucy stuttered out an embarrassed, “No.”

Roberta patted her arm and assured her, “Brody remembered, told me and I decided we’d make something for both of you.”

“What kind of gift would suit both Ambrose and me?” Lucy asked, turning from the beef stew she’d been stirring. Holding the spoon aloft she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have made a special dinner for him.”

Roberta rolled her eyes suggestively. “Oh, Lucy, all your dinners are special. You can give him extra dessert later.” With a flourish, she shook out what she and Brody had been working on in secret and held it up to her shoulders, daintily modeling Ambrose’s birthday gift. It was a nightgown.