Keegan's Lady (22 page)

Resisting the urge to capture her face between his hands and spout foolish promises, he thrust open the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

Clasping her hands over the tails of the shawl at her waist, she moved hesitantly forward, her eyes huge as she tried to see through the darkness. With a touch at her back, he urged her farther forward so he could close the door.

Blackness swooped down over them. Ace waited only long enough for his eyes to adjust, then moved to the table in the center of the room where a lantern was kept.

Groping for a match in his shirt pocket, he said, "Stand tight. I'll have some light in here in two shakes."

Striking the Lucifer on the side seam of his denim pants, he set flame to the raised lantern wick. The lamp huffed, and golden light flared, flickering over the log walls. As he replaced the fluted glass chimney, he scanned the room, trying to see it as she must. To put it mildly, the house needed a feminine touch. Log walls, plank floors, no knickknacks or doodads. Despite the gleam of varnish, a step up from what she was accustomed to, it wasn't the kind of place a woman was likely to find appealing. Someday it would be a pretty and welcoming home, if all went as planned, but for now, it was rather austere, and even that was being kind.

"We're still doing the finish carpentry," he explained. "And I'm afraid we weren't expecting any company when we left earlier so I hope you'll excuse the mess." He grabbed a shirt from off the table and tossed it in a corner. "My brother Esa thinks the dressing room is wherever he happens to be standing." He rapped his knuckles on the plank table. "We don't have much furniture yet. Just the essentials, and that homemade." Picking up the lamp, he said, "Come on. I'll show you around."

She moved toward him with about as much enthusiasm as she might have shown for a tooth extraction. He flashed what he hoped was a halfway normal-looking smile. He'd just used the last match in his pocket and tossed it somewhere on the table. Without something clenched between his teeth, he tended to look as if he were leering when he grinned.

"This is the main living area," he said, indicating the large, open-beamed room in which they stood. "I wanted it big so everyone in the family could gather in here. We hauled all the rock for the fireplace in from Golden Creek. You'll notice it's veined with fool's gold. I thought it was kind of pretty. Shines like a son of a— well, really bright—when there's a fire in the grate."

Rubbing one moist palm on his trousers, Ace cleared his throat, wondering why he was so nervous. Pointing to a wide archway, he added, "Right through there is the kitchen." Pressing a hand to the small of her back, he guided her forward. As if she couldn't tell it was a kitchen. God, he was rambling like an idiot. Hoping there might be a certain humor in his pointing out the obvious, he inclined his head and added, "That monstrous thing is our cookstove. There along the side wall is the kitchen piano. Like most folks, we keep all kinds of staples in it, sugar, flour, salt, cornmeal—" He broke off and tapped a toe. "Beneath us, we have a solid pine floor." He jabbed a thumb upward and winked. "That's the ceiling. How'm I doing so far?"

The corners of her mouth curved up slightly. It wasn't exactly what he would call a smile, but he'd take what he could get. Where his hand pressed against her back, he could still feel her trembling. Christ. He was starting to feel a little shaky himself.

Guiding her back to the main living area, he said, "To our left is the parlor and the study, neither of which is finished yet. There'll be another fireplace in each, and I'd like to build floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the study. I'm an incurable book hound."

He thought he glimpsed a spark of interest in her eyes. "Do you like to read, Caitlin?"

"Mmm."

Ace ground his teeth. Mmm? The girl wasn't helping him out much here. He cast another glance around the room, which seemed to look emptier by the second. "We'll ship all the furnishings in, of course. I hope you like to decorate. As you can see, there will be a lot of that to do." Holding the lantern high to illuminate the way, he turned her toward the rear of the house. "Back here are the bedrooms. Five, for starters. That should be plenty, though. My brothers will probably build their own places when they start their families, and my little sister Eden is already engaged to be married next June. That'll leave just me and my mother. And now you, of course." Ace nearly added, "And our children," but caught himself. "That's assuming that you like my mother and don't mind having her around."

"You have a mother and a sister?"

She sounded so amazed that he found himself smiling again. "No, actually, I hatched out under a cabbage leaf."

She gave a startled laugh. The sound was so welcome that, for the second time that evening, he nearly dropped to his knees and gave thanks.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I meant no offense. It's just that it's hard to picture a man like you with—well, with a mother."

"A man like me?" Ace wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What kind of a man do you think I am, exactly?"

She looked flustered by the question. "Well... a gambler." Her gaze dropped to his gun. "And a—a shootist."

"A shootist?" Ace chuckled in spite of himself. He'd been called a lot of things, but never quite so politely. "A gunslinger, you mean."

"Yes," she admitted, "a gunslinger."

"Which equates to scoundrel and killer?"

Her eyes widened. "I, um . . ."

"Do you know the main reason I've found it necessary to be so fast with a gun, Caitlin?"

She shook her head.

"Because I never draw unless another man goes for his gun first."

"I've offended you." She looked honestly distressed, whether it was because she was afraid she'd hurt his feelings or because she feared some sort of retaliation, he didn't know. "I'm sorry."

"No need. I'm not offended, just clarifying things. I won't lie to you and say I've never shot a man. But I'm not the cold-blooded killer my reputation paints me to be, either. I sure as hell haven't ever taken any pleasure from it."

Their shadows, cast every which way by the shifting lantern light, leaped over the pine walls as they moved farther down the hall. He stopped to throw open one door. "Just to give you an idea of the size of the bedrooms. The master bedroom, which is quite a bit larger, is the only one finished so far. It's at the back of the house." He drew her along to another doorway. "This is my pride and joy. Or at least it will be when it's done, a full-fledged water closet. I put the windmill up last month and got the pipe all in. We're hoping to get the plumbing in working order sometime next week. You'll have running water, gravity-fed from the attic, just like they do in the city."

He nudged her farther along to the back bedroom. After opening the door, he handed her the lamp. "Wait here just a second," he said and left her standing at the doorway. “I’ll light this lantern in here for you. Then I'll bring in your bags and get a fire started. I imagine you're cold and exhausted."

"A little cold," she admitted, tugging her shawl more closely around her shoulders. Holding the lantern aloft, she darted a nervous gaze around the room, her cheeks turning a pretty pink as she took in the adjoining dressing room and the colorful quilt his mother had made for the bed. "But I'm not at all tired."

Ace knew damned well that had to be a lie. After the evening she'd just been through, she had to be so exhausted she could scarcely see. She had obviously concluded, and correctly, that with only one finished bedroom in the house, the two of them would have to share a bed.

Under any other circumstances, Ace would have sympathized and done everything in his power to make the situation more palatable for her. After all, the girl had been thrust into a marriage against her will with a virtual stranger. No matter how kind or understanding he tried to be, the situation was bound to be difficult.

Unfortunately, the long and the short of it was that fate had not dealt them another set of circumstances, and while he was prepared to cut her a wide berth, he wasn't of a mind to sleep in the barn or on the floor in another room. No matter how you cut it, that was no way to begin a marriage.

As if she read his thoughts, she pressed a hand to her waist, cast about the room as though searching for words, and finally said, "Mr. Keegan, I, um, have a request to make."

Ace knew what was coming. He pretended to be preoccupied with the lamp.

"Since there are several bedrooms—" She broke off and let the words hang between them. “Well... you know. Could you—that is, would you consider . .." Her voice trailed away.

Ace met her worried gaze. "We are legally married, Caitlin," he reminded her gently. "No matter what arrangement we may make between ourselves, for appearances, it's pretty much a given that we have to share a bedroom. If we sleep apart, there's bound to be speculation. I think there's talk aplenty circulating about us already, don't you?"

"Your own brothers would spread gossip about you?"

"I do have hired hands around the place. They would get wind of our sleeping arrangements sooner or later."

"But surely you intend to give me some time to get to know you."

Ace resisted the urge to walk back over to her. As forlorn as she looked and as badly in need of comfort as he sensed she was, he knew she wouldn't welcome any attempt on his part to provide it. "What better way to get acquainted than by sharing a bed?"

Clearly at a loss, she curled her slender fingers so tightly around the base of the lantern that her knuckles turned white. "I see."

Only, of course, she didn't see. Not at all. Right now, she clearly viewed him as a heartless monster. The quavery faintness of her voice nearly made him relent. Only the shadows in her eyes forestalled him. No simple case of nervous jitters, this, but a deep-rooted, bone-shaking fear. In his experience fears, great or small, were always best dealt with head on. She had to learn to trust him sometime, and sleeping with him would be a damned good way to start.

The light from the lamp etched her delicate features in shadow, casting them into sharp relief against the pale planes of her face. For an instant, she looked almost skeletal, a lifeless caricature instead of a flesh-and-blood woman.

"Caitlin," he said softly, "I have no intention of hurting you. If you can believe nothing else I say to you, please try to trust in that."

Her mouth quivered as she replied, "My worry is that you may have an entirely different definition of the word 'hurt,' Mr. Keegan."

"I'll tell you what," he said, striving for a friendly, matter-of-fact manner. "Let's take things one step at a time, hm? Even the worst situation looks a little less daunting after a good night's sleep."

She didn't appear to be reassured. He finished lighting the lamp on the bedside table, then rejoined her in the doorway to reclaim the other lantern.

Inclining his head at the bed, he said, "Why don't you go ahead and make yourself comfortable while I bring in your bags and start a fire?"

Judging by the look she gave him, you would have thought he'd just invited her to jump into a pit of vipers.

CHAPTER ELEVEN