Linda Castle (3 page)

P
atricia might as well have been drinking muddy water for all the enjoyment the chilled punch gave her. Brooks had taken her aside and revealed his intentions to remain in the Territory. She sighed heavily and tried to wipe away the sadness in her heart. After all, Bellami was happily married to a man who saw beyond her scar to the beauty beneath, but Brooks…that was another matter altogether.

Patricia hadn’t interfered when he’d decided to come west. Violet Ashland had deeply wounded Brooks, and he needed time to heal. Patricia had hoped that the time he had spent here had accomplished that, but now she was beginning to wonder. Was he really intent on burying himself here in this cultural wasteland?

“My dear?” Donovan appeared at her elbow. His snowy brows were pinched with concern. “Are you ill, Patricia? All the color has drained from your face.”

Patricia glanced at Brooks, who was standing near the punch bowl. “No—no, I am perfectly fine.”

“Truly? You look so…worried. Surely you are not still concerned about Bellami. Trace O’Bannion is as fine and steady a man as I have ever met.”

Patricia tore her gaze away from Brooks. “No, it isn’t that. I am worried about Brooks.”

“Brooks?” Donovan said in surprise. “He is the picture of health!”

“On the outside, perhaps.” She turned to Donovan and frowned. “But I am worried about him all the same.”

“He is fine.” Donovan rubbed the backs of his knuckles over his wife’s cheek. “You worry too much. He is talking about buying some land to raise cattle here. That’s all.”

“Do you think it is really what he wants to do or is he still trying to get over Violet?”

At the mention of her name, Donovan’s face became a mask of disapproval. “That is a subject best left alone, Patricia.”

“But, Donovan…it would be a great mistake for him to stay here. Surely you can see that?”

“Patricia, what I see is a grown man. Whatever decision he makes and for whatever reasons, it is his business alone.” Donovan turned her to face him and cupped her chin in his palm. “And I don’t want you interfering.”

“Oh, Donovan, surely I could just—”

“No, darling.” He placed both hands on her shoulders and gently drew her closer to him. “Promise me, Patricia.” His voice was soft but stern. “Promise me this time you will leave things alone. You mustn’t say a word to the boy about this. And I think it is best if you don’t mention the fact that Violet has returned to New York.”

Patricia sighed and leaned into his hands. “Oh, all right. If you feel so strongly about it. I promise.”

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s my girl. Now let’s show these youngsters how to do a proper dance.”

* * *

Ellen was breathless from all the dancing as she approached the punch bowl where Rod and Missy were chatting.

“You know, cousin, if Mother notices the glow in your cheeks she will have you staying in bed tomorrow,” Rod warned Ellen as he nodded toward Patricia and Donovan on the dance floor.

“I suppose I should be sensible,” Ellen replied, sighing wistfully. A cowboy with a thatch of unruly blond hair asked for the next dance. Ellen glanced at Rod like a child who wanted just one more stick of peppermint. Finally she turned to the eager cowboy. “I fear I must decline. I am a little out of breath.” She smoothed the baby pink ruffles on her dress and sighed meaningfully.

The cowboy tipped his hat and backed away. “Maybe next time, ma’am.”

“Yes, next time.” Ellen’s eyes followed him until he disappeared into the crowd.

“Very wise, cousin.” Rod smiled. “You probably saved yourself a stern lecture and a full day in bed. “May I pour you and Miss O’Bannion a cup of punch?”

“Thank you.” Missy took the cup he passed to her.

“You are quite welcome. I should be thanking you, Miss O’Bannion. I have enjoyed myself tonight.” Rod poured a second cup of punch and passed it to his cousin.

“I’m glad you have had a good time, but I bet you have fancy parties all the time back in New York.” Missy watched the couples swirling by in front of her and wished this night would never end.

“They are rarely this much fun, though,” Ellen said softly. She fanned herself with a delicate, lily-colored hand. She smiled at Missy and batted brown lashes over eyes the shade of cornflowers.
How I wish I could wear
my hair loose and flowing and have sun-kissed cheeks and be the picture of health like Miss O’Bannion,
she thought.

“That is a fact,” Rod agreed. “New York parties are—stuffy.”

“You’re teasing me.” Missy felt a blush working its way up her neck.

“No, I am not. I leave that to my younger brother.” Rod placed his hand over his heart to emphasize his sincerity.

Ellen continued to study Missy’s face while a wild idea popped into her head. “Why don’t you come and visit? It would give me a perfect excuse to have lots of dances like this one.”

“Leland might have something to say about that,” Patricia told Ellen with a gentle smile as she and Donovan joined the group at the punch bowl. Patricia looked at the two girls standing side by side—near in age but as different as light is from darkness. Ellen looked frail and too pale, even by current fashionable dictates. And Missy…well, Missy was a little too wild, a little too exuberant, but the glowing picture of a woman in the bloom of youth. Clell had explained about her growing up without a mother. It did account for much of her behavior.

For a mad, impetuous moment Patricia wondered what it would be like to take the girl under her wing and help her become a proper lady…The idea was silly, and Donovan would have a fit.

“I would still like for Missy to come and visit,” Ellen said stubbornly. “Whether Papa would allow me to have a party or not. It would be fun to have someone my own age around.” Ellen smiled at Patricia as she spoke. Leland had kept Ellen somewhat secluded. Her cousins had been her major source of companionship. With all the girls married and gone, Ellen had been extremely lonely the
last few years. “And we could all go shopping together, Aunt Patricia. It would be fun, you know it would be fun!”

Patricia cast a sidelong look at her spouse. Ellen was right. It would be fun. Patricia had missed having Bellami to fuss over as much as Ellen missed their chats.

“I think it is a good idea, Ellen,” Patricia said suddenly. “We must do our best to persuade Miss O’Bannion to come as soon as possible.”

“Good idea, Mother,” Rod agreed, in spite of Donovan’s growing frown. He fussed too much over his wife and whether or not she was overdoing. “After all, Missy is family now.”

“It would be nice to be in a place where I could dress like this every day,” Missy said wistfully.

“You are charming no matter what you are wearing,” Patricia assured Missy. “Isn’t she, Donovan?”

“What? Oh, yes, charming.” Donovan replied absently. Patricia had purposely avoided his suggestion about interfering.

“Oh, do say you will come soon. You would have a lovely time in the city.” Ellen brightened with every word. “We could have some new gowns made. It would be great fun and I would love the company.”

“Yes, my dear, we insist.” Patricia smiled inwardly. The girl was always clomping around in men’s trousers and boots—she would be a challenge. But she did have good bones, and with a little work…

Curiosity nipped at Brooks as he watched his family. He allowed himself one more pull from Clell’s bottle before he started threading his way across the floor. He side-stepped to avoid dancing boots and whirling skirts and finally reached the other side of the room.

“That’s awful nice of you, ma’am, but…” Missy began.

“What’s going on?” Brooks whispered to Rod.

“Ellen has almost persuaded Miss O’Bannion to come to New York,” Rod answered. “I think it would be a marvelous idea for Ellen to have some female company.”

“What? You can’t be serious!” The loudness of his voice brought Missy’s head around with a snap.

“Is something wrong, Brooks?” She frowned at him. He swayed a little as she glared at him. It was obvious he had been sharing Clell’s bottle.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Brooks shook his head.

“Good. For a moment I thought you might have been upset about the invite.”

Brooks gave her a lopsided grin. “Nothing to be upset about. The whole idea is ridiculous. I know you are too sensible to even consider such a thing.”

“And just why is the idea of me going to New York so comical?” Missy pressed.

“What?” Brooks tried to listen to what she was saying, but Clell’s whiskey had brought a buzz to his head and a ringing to his ears. “Well, little lady, wearing boots and hats in New York drawing rooms is not the thing this year.” Laughter bubbled up in the back of his throat as he imagined Missy sitting down to tea in her form-fitting chaps.

“So you think I ain’t got sense enough to learn to act like a lady, is that it?” Missy’s dark eyes narrowed with anger.

“Not exactly.” Brooks blinked a couple of times and tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

“You learned to be a cowboy…”

“That’s different.” He blinked and steadied himself.

“What’s different about it? If you could learn to be a
cowboy, why is it so hard to believe that I could become a lady?”

Even in his half-looped state, Brooks was intelligent enough to recognize a loaded question when he heard one. “You just can’t go. Now let’s stop all this silly talk.”

“I
can’t?
Did I hear you right?” Missy shook her head in disbelief. “Did you just tell me that I
can’t
go to New York?”

Brooks sucked in a breath, tried to catalog his own thoughts into a proper order while he looked at Missy. Indignant fire burned in her brown eyes. She had lovely eyes when she was spitting mad. A part of him wanted to tell her that, but that kind of talk was the sort of thing that got men tangled up. He bit back the compliment, not wanting to do anything that would upset his plans of having no entanglements, no commitments. He had to keep a cool head. Then he could remain free as the wind. “Now, Missy…”

“Don’t you ‘now Missy’ me. And just when, oh-so-mighty Mr. James, did you start tellin’ me what I can or can’t do?” She advanced on him, and to his utter astonishment, he retreated a step. She raised herself up on her slippered toes, but even then the top of her head barely reached his chin. She was narrow eyed with fury now.

He felt the current of excitement arc between them. This was what he wanted, what he liked—a hot channel of interest running between them like a river of fire.

“I know you have an overblown notion of your importance, but I didn’t think it went so far as to include the whole of New York City!”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Brooks began, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The whiskey was dulling his senses and slurring his words, but he was still acutely aware of
her.

She would be bored in a brownstone instead of under a wide, azure sky. Patricia and Ellen, and especially women like Violet, would never—could never—understand the restless energy of Missy. He wanted to tell her that her spirit would wither without the wind in her face and a gallop each morning.

You would be unhappy.

“I should’a known you’d have something nasty to say.” Missy inhaled a long breath. “Thank you for invitin’ me, Mr. and Mrs. James. I’d love to come. Right now.” She lowered herself back to the soles of her feet and glared at Brooks again.

“I was goin’ to say no, but since you seem so all-fired determined that I
can’t
go, I have changed my mind.” She turned once again to face his parents. “I’ll start packing and will be ready to leave with you at the end of the week.”

Brooks frowned and tried to steady himself. Until this moment he had not realized how many toasts he had drunk to his sister’s marriage. But the shock of Missy’s words had begun to sober him up—real fast. This whole thing had gotten out of control.

“Now, Missy, calm down a minute.” He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “I meant to tell you—”

“Don’t you touch me, you sidewinder.” She shrugged his fingers off, turned on her heel and stomped away in a flurry of peacock blue satin.

Brooks stared at the rigid set of her shoulders as she left. He made no attempt to go after her. The best thing he could do was wait until she cooled off before he tried to talk to her. Besides, she would be her old self in the morning. By noon they would back to their usual thrust and parry. There was nothing to worry about.

He had it all figured out. He had the perfect arrangement.

Missy tore at the tiny buttons running down the front of her dress. The touch of the beautiful fabric against her flesh was suddenly hateful to her, reminding her of the disdainful look in Brooks’s crystal blue eyes.

Tonight when he had held her close she had allowed herself to think there was a feeling of tenderness between them. Now she realized it had been the whiskey, the sound of fiddles and the allure of the firelight.

Damn him.

The expression on his face when he’d heard she had been invited to New York had told her the truth. He considered her an embarrassment. It was obvious he thought his mother was setting herself up for humiliation by inviting a bumpkin from the Territory into her home.

Missy unlaced the hard-boned corset and flung it into a corner. The springs creaked and groaned as she flopped down on her bed.

Her pride had been badly bruised. She had tried to wear the clothes like a lady, and act like a lady, yet it had not been enough.

For him.

“Why do I let him get to me?” she asked aloud. “He’s nothing but a greenhorn, a dude. His opinion isn’t worth a hoot in hell. Not to me.”

But in her heart she knew she lied.

He had become more than a greenhorn, more than a dude. He had set out to prove he could ride shoulder-to-shoulder with any man jack on the Circle B.

And he had succeeded.

That was the hell of it all, she realized with a ragged sigh. He had been able to do it.

Could she?

Could she do what he had done? Was Missy smart enough and determined enough to learn to be a proper lady?