Just Her Type (15 page)

Tossing his cards on the table, he ordered, “Deal 'round me next few hands, boys.” He gripped her arm and herded her ahead of him along the hallway. Ignoring her protests, he opened a door and shoved her inside a room which was empty save for an unmade bed. The stained tick was nearly the drab color of the unpainted iron bedstead. Leaning against the bare boards of the wall, he demanded, “What do you want bad enough to come here?”

“I had to come today to confirm a rumor that—”

“I know what you want to know, and it ain't no rumor.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It's true. Cam was alone when he came in here that night. He was alone when he left. Belinda didn't go with him. How she got to where he was—where he was found, I don't know.”

Mackenzie stared at the foreman as she realized what he was saying. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

He shrugged. “I didn't think you wanted to know. Then your buddy Bradfield starts asking questions. I figured you were having him find out because you wanted to keep you and the kid out of it.”

“You don't believe it was an accident?” She sat on the edge of the bed as her knees shook.

“An accident?” Boswell snorted in derision. “Don't you know how your own husband died? He didn't get drunk and break his neck when he tried to flee after he had Belinda and then killed her. Most ridiculous story I've ever heard, and I've heard some dandies. But I knew enough to keep my mouth shut when the sheriff tried to investigate.”

“But why? Why didn't you tell the truth?”

“And get myself killed, too?” He shook his head. “Sorry, Mackenzie. Your husband was a good man, but he's dead.”

“But you're saying my husband was—was …?” She could not say the word.

“Murdered? Yep. He didn't run nowhere. I was there when they cut him down.”

She fought to keep her stomach from lurching. “Cut him down?” She grasped his burly arms. “Are you telling me that my husband was hanged?”

“Among other things.” When she opened her mouth, he shook his head. “What happened to Cam ain't nothing a lady should hear or see. That's why he came back to Bentonville with the casket nailed shut.”

“Pa knew.” Turning away, she closed her eyes. “Pa knew, and he never told me. When Luke …” She halted herself before she said too much.

“Guess Mac thought you'd be safer if'n you didn't know.” Shuffling his feet, he mumbled, “That's why we all decided to keep it quiet.”

“How could you? If he was murdered—?”

With a growl, he caught her by the arms and pushed his face close to hers. “Look, Mackenzie, I don't know what Cam was doing out there in the middle of the night. Your pa let it be known that I came after—just after. I didn't want to end up with my neck stretched, too, by O'Grady's bully boys.”

“O'Grady?” She could not breathe. Aaron had done this?

“Who else? Wasn't Cam looking into the rustling? Heard he was doing work for an article for the
Bugle
that would name the rustlers once and for all, though we never read nothing 'bout it in the paper. He'd talked to me and some of the boys. I know he was heading to O'Grady's spread. Then I saw him at Stub's, and he was like a kid at Christmas. Said over and over that he had the goods on him.”

Stepping back a pace so the whiskey on his breath did not gag her, she whispered, “On him? On O'Grady?”

“Guess so.”

“Why not Connolly? Or Mr. Rutherford? Or that gang which was hiding up at the far end of the valley then?”

“Don't go snooping into it, Mackenzie,” he urged. “You being a woman and all, I don't think the rustlers would stretch your neck, but …” A flush of embarrassment came to his weatherworn face. “There're worse things they could do to you and young Douglas than hanging.”

She begged, “Tell Horace what you've told me.”

“No.”

“But, Boswell—”

“I ain't risking my neck on something that's long over. I liked Cam, and I'd be a liar to say I hadn't thought about calling on you before O'Grady started courting you.”

Fiercely she stated, “Aaron O'Grady isn't courting me!”

Boswell frowned. “He isn't?” With a curse, he slammed his fist against the wall. “I thought you two were getting hitched. I wanted you to know the truth before you bedded down with the man who killed Cam. Didn't seem right.”

“I'm not marrying Aaron.”

“Look, Mackenzie, I don't care if you choose O'Grady or that penny-paper hero living with you. Just leave me out of it. I'm not going to get myself hanged for you. You'd make a nice armful of woman, but I ain't—”

“You've made yourself clear.” She took a deep breath. “Gil Chaffee told me some rustlers had been caught on Connolly's land.”

He lowered his eyes. “Don't know about that.”

“You don't?” Her voice strengthened. “Connolly just gave you a bonus out of the blue because he likes you?”

He squirmed. “I—”

“Boswell, don't lie to me. You know I won't put your name in the paper.” Her voice caught. “I just want to know the truth.”

Slowly he nodded. “Go ahead. I'll answer what I can.”

“All that you can?”

“What I can.”

It did not take Mackenzie long to discover Boswell would not—or could not—tell her much more than Gil had. As he opened the door for her, he put a hand on her arm. “Take it easy, Mackenzie. There are whispers of big troubles out on the ranges. This is no game for a woman.”

“Or for a man either!” she snapped. “After all, what can they do to me worse than they did to Cameron?”

“Just don't push …”

“Who?”

He shoved past her and stamped along the hallway. His curses echoed behind him.

Mackenzie hurried past the closed doors, not wanting to meet one of the whores and her customer. She rushed down the stairs and out of the saloon. If anyone called her name, she was unable to hear it past the thick beat of her pulse resonating through her ears.

Anguish trailed her into the print shop and up the stairs. Her hold on her pain slipped away like an avalanche as she saw the frosted cake with its gaudy decorations. Douglas's birthday!

Both Cameron and her father had lied to her. She had had no reason not to believe Cameron that night when he'd said he was going to check on a message at the telegraph office. Instead he had been involved in something he had not shared with her. Then Pa had lied in the wake of Cameron's funeral. She recalled ranting about how it was impossible that her husband could have killed himself.

“Who were you trying to protect?” she whispered as she stared at the cake. “Who? Me? Douglas? If you'd been honest, we might be able to protect ourselves. But now …”

“Why are you out here in the barn?”

Mackenzie turned at Luke's question. Patting the pony, she forced the uncomfortable smile she had worn most of the evening. “I thought Douglas deserved a night off from his chores on his birthday.”

He put a hand against the door, blocking her way back out into the night that was dusted with stars. “So you weren't trying to run away?”

“Run away? From what?”

“From whatever you found out at the saloon this afternoon.”

“How—?”

He chuckled, but without humor. “I'm a reporter, remember?” He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. “Your going into the saloon is big news.”

She drew away and wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess I should be careful what I say, so I don't see myself quoted in the
Independent.
”

“Mackenzie …” Sorrow lined his shadowed face. “You're right. I shouldn't have treated you like a source who means nothing to me.”

She walked out and stared up at the stars. “There's another difference between us. All my sources mean something to me. Pa taught me that they must be protected like innocent children, because a trust betrayed can never be earned back again.” She bit her lip. Was she speaking of Luke or Cameron or Pa or all three of them?

“I'm learning that.” He sighed. “I didn't realize that
this
would be one of the lessons I had to learn from you.” Turning her to face him, he whispered, “Can you try to trust me again?”

“You've lied to me no more than anyone else has.” She closed her eyes, swallowing the bitterness she had hidden while watching Douglas open his gift and eat his cake.

“Who's lied to you? The Terrible Trio?”

She laughed tersely. “I expect them to lie to me.”

He brought her back into his arms. “Who then?” he whispered against her hair.

Wrapping her arms around his hard body, she leaned her cheek over his heart. “Just hold me, Luke. Hold me all night.”

“Is that what you really want?” His thumbs tilted her chin up. “To have me hold you
all night
?”

“Yes.”

“Just hold you?” His fingers bit into her arms. “Mackenzie, what happened at the saloon?”

She frowned. “Do you want to jabber or hold me?”

“I want to make love with you.” Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. “But not tonight.”

“What?”

“Tonight you're coming to me to escape something. You've done that before. When you want to lose yourself in pleasure”—he kissed her with deep, slow yearning—“come to me and ask me to hold you all night, and you'll
find
that pleasure, sweetheart.”

In disbelief, she watched him walk away.

ELEVEN

Luke smiled when Mackenzie chided Douglas to wet down his cowlick. As she rushed back into the bedroom to get her shawl, not wanting to be late for the end of the term program at school, Luke gave the boy a broad wink and said, “All mothers are the same.”

“She treats me like a baby.”

“You are her baby.”

He snorted. “I'm ten. If she wants a baby, she should have another. I heard Mr. O'Grady say that yesterday.”

Luke rested his shoulder against the wall. “And what else did O'Grady have to say about your mother?”

“He thinks she should get married and settle down to raising babies. He thinks doing womanly things would make her happier than running the
Bugle.
”

“I'll bet he does.” When he saw Douglas's astonishment, Luke knew he must prevent the boy from guessing why O'Grady wanted Mackenzie to stop putting out the newspaper. Then everyone would forget her husband's unsolved murder.

“If Ma married him, I could work the roundup instead of doing sissy work like what I do at this newspaper. The boys at school say wrestling with a pile of papers isn't man's work like wrestling with a steer.”

“Is that so?”

Instantly Douglas was apologetic. “I didn't mean that like it sounded, Luke.”

“I know.” He hid his grin as Mackenzie came into the room. Her blue linen dress deepened the color of her eyes. Excitement glowed on her cheeks, tinting them a richer rose. As he admired the curves hidden beneath the demure gown, he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she melted against him.

When he smiled, the color deepened on her cheeks. He waited for her to speak, but she only urged Douglas to hurry down the narrow stairs. At the bottom, Luke offered his arm. As they followed Douglas toward the brightly lit school, he chuckled.

“Your son thinks you should settle down with some rich cattleman so he could ride during the annual roundup.”

“I'm surprised you don't agree with him.” Mackenzie laughed as she looked at Douglas talking with his best friend.

“You're going to rub my nose in my opinions of women's suffrage again, aren't you?” His other hand settled over hers and stroked her fingers. When she stopped and looked at him in surprise, he lifted her hand to his lips. With his hair combed and wearing his perfectly tailored wool suit, he did not look like the Luke who worked for her.

Again he raised her hand to his mouth. The teasing kiss vanished. Heat burned through her cotton gloves to sear her skin with the fire in his eyes. An iron bar against her back brought her to him. Only slowly did she realize it was his arm around her waist.

She shook her head as she saw his lips descending toward hers. “Luke, we can't be late for the exercises.”

“Can we continue this conversation later?”

She nodded and kept her hand on his arm as they walked into the crowded schoolhouse. Her neighbors' stares did not stop until she found a seat on one of the benches. Why shouldn't she bring Luke with her and Douglas? No one in Bentonville was going to force her into marrying one of the cattlemen.

When Miss Howland stepped up on the raised platform at the front, Mackenzie smiled. Tonight was for Douglas. She must not let the past—or the future—interfere. As the children recited the poems they had memorized, she applauded with enthusiasm.

Standing after the twenty students sang a last song, she said, “Luke, I want to ask Miss Howland a question for the article I'm writing about tonight.”

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, sending sweet warmth through her. “I'll wait outside for you. I need some fresh air.”

“I guess you're getting used to wide-open spaces.”

Luke did not have an answer as Mackenzie slipped through the crowd to speak to the teacher. He
was
getting used to living here. He was getting used to having Mackenzie near, and he wanted to get used to having her in his arms.

He pushed his way to the door. Was he out of his mind? He was leaving soon. When he had the facts for his story about Cameron McCraven's murder, Carter would have to give him that promotion. It was what he had come to Wyoming to get.

With a curse, he walked to the pump at the side of the school. Light splashed from a schoolhouse window, but the door was closed. Pumping some water into his hands, he took a drink. He needed something stronger, but even Stub's whiskey would not erase thoughts of saying good-bye to Mackenzie.