Linda Castle (13 page)

“That—that isn’t possible, Ted.” Marydyth fidgeted, feeling the burn of many pairs of eyes on her back. She had an overwhelming urge to run and hide. She took a step and suddenly found Flynn standing beside her. He lightly touched her arm with his wide, work-worn hand. A flood of deterrmined strength seemed to enter her body.

She glanced up at him.

He winked and grinned.

And suddenly she knew she would not run away. As long as that rough hand was skimming along her arm she knew that she could face the sharp tongues and stares of the town.

“Well, I better get going,” Ted said. “The mayor is going to give a speech before we start the picnic. Will you all be staying for the ice-cream social?”

Marydyth hesitated but then she felt a gentle pressure
from Flynn’s fingers. “We haven’t decided,” she said with a smile.

“Best of luck with the Lavender Lady.” Ted touched his index finger to the brim of his hat and sauntered away.

Marydyth turned to look up at Flynn. Their hat brims, her straw and his Stetson, shielded them from curious eyes. She took the opportunity to mouth the words.
Thank you.

“Hurry, Mama,” Rachel said over her shoulder.

An hour later Marydyth was struggling to keep up with her energetic daughter. Flynn was there, staying protectively near but far enough away for Marydyth to get to know Rachel.

It was one more thing she felt beholden to him for. It would take time to win her daughter’s love and trust completely but today was a good start.

And she owed a big debt to Flynn for the help he had given her. She realized today that he was not heartless. He had helped her when she silently begged him to keep quiet about the humiliation of J.C.’s will-and he had somehow sensed her panic and transferred some of his stubborn strength to her by no more than a touch and a smile. Something strange had happened to her heartbeat when he looked at her with those hard, agate eyes.

They caught up to Rachel and each grabbed one of her hands. Marydyth was glad that Rachel walked in the middle, because even at this distance she could have sworn she felt the sparking heat between her and Flynn.

“Looky, Mama, Unca Flynn got that thumper for the town,” Rachel said happily.

Marydyth looked up at the whitewashed building with double doors like a stable. Inside was a shiny brass and
red-painted contraption with knobs and hoses protruding from it.

“What did you call it?” she asked Rachel with a smile tickling her lips.

“A thumper.you know, to put out fires.” Rachel skipped along, jerking at the ends of their hands.

“She means pumper.” Flynn grinned over at Marydyth. “Rachel, honey, it’s
pumper,”
Flynn gently corrected. Marydyth had the notion it was not the first time.

“That’s what I said.a thumper. And you got it for me to be safe.”

Marydyth looked at Flynn and frowned. “What does she mean?”

A light stain of color crept up his neck from beneath the collar of his shirt. “There were some fires in Tombstone.a couple of children died.” He cleared his throat.

“I-I just thought Hollenbeck Corners needed one.”

Something like slow honey from a jar poured through Marydyth’s middle. Flynn O’Bannion had sides she had never imagined. A hot lump lodged in her throat.

“Thank you, Flynn,” she said.

He didn’t even look at her but the sound of her voice rubbed over his hide like velvet. His belly contracted and tugged in a way that made him want to squirm. When he finally did glance over at Marydyth, her jagged curls were bouncing beneath the brim of her hat each time Rachel skipped.

Either I’m going crazy or she is getting prettier.

He shook himself. This was a bad sign—a real bad sign. First he kissed her for some damn fool reason he couldn’t begin to understand and now he was noticing things about her. Like the way her clothes seemed to fit her better, or the way the skin at the corners of those lovely turquoise eyes crinkled when she smiled at Rachel.

Yep, this was a very bad sign.

Most of the crowd was at the picnic grounds listening to the mayor’s speech, but when they turned the corner by Fir Street a small group was gathered.

Marydyth swallowed hard, telling herself that she had to hold her head up and be strong—for Rachel.

Near the butcher shop she forced herself to smile when they encountered a portly woman. The woman was a stranger to her, but evidently Marydyth’s reputation had preceded her.

“I never…the nerve.” The woman harrumphed loudly and trotted across the street as fast as her short legs would carry her. “Indecent to be living under the same roof. Downright sinful.” Her words carried clearly on the dry summer air.

“What was the matter with Mrs. Gerding, Unca Flynn?” Rachel asked as she stopped skipping.

“She…she was just in a hurry, punkin.”

“Oh.”

Marydyth felt a thickening of her throat. The town would view her as a murderess and a fallen woman. But what could she do? Flynn had the legal right to be in the house—and after spending time with him today she was finding that she was glad he was there—for Rachel.

“Oh, looky, Unca Flynn, it’s Mary Wilson and her mama!” Rachel pointed at a slender woman with a line of stair-step children walking behind her. “She has the new baby. Let’s go see if she liked my present.”

Before Flynn could react, Rachel had jerked her hands free and run ahead to see her friend. Mary and Rachel chattered loudly, looking at the new baby while one of the older girls held the basket steady.

“Mrs. Wilson.” Flynn touched the brim of his hat.

“Mr. O’Bannion,” Mrs. Wilson greeted him and allowed herself to glance in Marydyth’s direction.

“This is Rachel’s mother, Marydyth Hollenbeck.” Flynn introduced Marydyth.

“I know who she is,” Mrs. Wilson snapped. “Come along, children, we can’t be standing in the street with…with these
folks.”
Her eyes lingered on Marydyth for a moment. Flynn saw Marydyth go pale and a confused look pass between Mary and Rachel. Mrs. Wilson took the basket holding the baby from the older girl and turned away.

But Flynn had no intention of allowing the woman to escape so easily. He reached out and caught the handle of the basket with one hand.

“The baby looks mighty nice, Mrs. Wilson. Isn’t that Rachel’s baby blanket?” He looked her square in the face. Marydyth didn’t envy Mrs. Wilson for being the object of those stony brown eyes.

“That color pink is pretty on her. Rachel was mighty happy you had a girl so she could give some of her things to you.” The sound of anger was in his soft-spoken words.

“Uh…yes, it is,” Mrs. Wilson said while a stain of color crept up her cheeks. “It was a thoughtful gift.”

“Rachel and Marydyth thought it would suit.” Flynn lied about Marydyth’s having anything to do with it. “They thought you might appreciate it—being neighborly, I mean.” He fastened his gaze on her face. “I hope they weren’t wrong, Mrs. Wilson.”

“I do appreciate—the—kindness,” she stammered in a flustered voice. “It was a nice thing to do.” Mrs. Wilson turned to face Marydyth. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mrs. Hollenbeck.”

“It was nothing,” Marydyth replied. She had no idea
what was going on, except that Flynn O’Bannion was once again coming to her rescue, forcing a respectable woman to speak to her in public—trying to set the tone of what would be expected when she went out.

Flynn released his hold on the basket and managed a thin smile. Some of the tension surrounding the group seemed to evaporate.

“Perhaps you can bring Mary over to play with Rachel—real soon.” His words were pregnant with meaning.

“Perhaps.” Mrs. Wilson looked left and right like a cornered rabbit. Marydyth found herself in awe of his intimidating, masculine control. With his quiet voice and an easy smile, Flynn managed to get everyone to do exactly what he wanted.

“Good, we’ll be expecting you on Friday this week.” His smile widened but it did not warm.

“Friday, Mr. O’Bannion?”

“Uh-huh, Friday is good.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Friday. What time?” Mrs. Wilson was caught in his power as surely as if he were a great eagle with talons fastened around her.

“Two o’clock? The children will be ready to nap by then, and you and Marydyth can have a nice visit”

“Two o’clock it is.” Mrs. Wilson glanced up the street where a small clutch of women had gathered. They pointed, and Marydyth heard snippets of their conversation.

Black Widow. Murderin’ Mary. Living under the same roof without benefit of a preacher.
And other bits of whispered accusations.

Marydyth unconsciously squirmed. She felt a modicum of sympathy for Mrs. Wilson. It couldn’t do her reputation any good to accept the invitation to Hollenbeck
House. But when Marydyth glanced up at Flynn’s hard face and unyielding jawline she knew that Mrs. Wilson had no choice.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. O’Bannion—Mrs. Hollenbeck.” Mrs. Wilson stepped back, looking at the group of women down the walk.

“Of course, I am sure you and
your…uh…friends
have a lot to talk about. I hope you will share all the latest gossip with us when you come on Friday.”

Mrs. Wilson paled, then she nodded and hurried up the street with her children trailing behind her.

“Why did you do that?” Marydyth whispered. “Why did you force her to talk to us and accept the invitation?”

Those hard eyes sent a chill marching up her spine when he turned. He leaned close enough for her to smell him—a blend of man and Arizona sunshine. “Because Rachel has to live in this town, and I’ll be damned if they will shun her—not while there is breath in my body.”

In that moment Marydyth knew she could never hate Flynn O’Bannion with the same kind of passion again.

M
arydyth sat in her room nursing a headache, with a cool damp cloth on her head, trying to forget the humiliating afternoon. Everywhere they had gone, people pointed, stared and whispered.

Until Flynn O’Bannion turned his chilly wrath upon them. He had bullied, intimidated and coerced everyone into behaving themselves—to a point.

Marydyth sighed and tried to erase the whispering voices from her head. She had been so grief-stricken over J.C.’s death and then charged with murder and put on trial, that she had never considered what had happened to the town. Hollenbeck copper mining had brought settlers to this part of the Territory. With J.C.’s death, the mine never reopened after the strike. A lot of men had gone without work. Another sin laid at Marydyth’s feet if the whispering of the townspeople could be believed.

But Flynn had taken care of that, too. While they walked through the streets he had let it slip several times that
they
were considering getting the Lavender Lady in shape to be worked again. He was a puzzle.

A knock on the door brought Marydyth to her feet. She held the damp cloth in her hand. “Come in.”

She expected to see Rachel’s sunny face, but it was Flynn who stood at the door with a tray in his big hands. He looked naked without his Stetson and more than a little uncomfortable to be standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Rachel made tea for you. She thought it would help your headache.” He looked down at the tray. For the first time Marydyth noticed two cups. “Can I come in?”

She realized that she had never moved since she opened the door. “Yes, come in.”

He moved past her with a masculine grace that made her pulse heavy. In seconds he had the tray on the table by the balcony window and was pouring the tea.

“You don’t mind if I join you?” He was polite to ask, but it was obvious the answer was unnecessary.

“Be my guest.” She left the door open and moved to the balcony window. The sun was dipping low, and at regular intervals the sound of fireworks in Hollenbeck Corners below could be heard.

“What is Rachel doing?” Marydyth asked as she stared out the window.

“Playing with a book of paper dolls.” Flynn said with a lopsided grin. “I…well…there are some things I leave her to herself about—paper dolls is one of them.”

Marydyth found herself smiling at the mental image she got of rangy ex-marshal Flynn O’Bannion retreating from the scene of a little girl playing with paper dolls.

“Here’s your tea.” He gestured toward the steaming cup.

“Thanks.” Marydyth picked up the cup but she didn’t take the chair opposite Flynn by the round marble-topped table. She continued to stare out the window.

“It will be night soon,” she heard herself say. There was a thready catch in her voice.

“Marydyth—I—I heard you last night.” Flynn concentrated on the cup of tea even when he felt the burn of her eyes upon him.

“I’m sorry that I disturbed you,” she finally said, wondering how much he had heard.

“I would be willing to listen—that is, if you want to talk about—anything.” He glanced up and met her eyes. “I’m here.”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it—I don’t want to
think
about it. I wish to God I could forget it all.” She stared at him for three full heartbeats. “But…thank you.”

He shrugged and let his gaze slip away. “It was nothing—just an offer. Sometimes talking things out gets rid of them.”

Her face burned with heat. She hated the nightmares and hated it even more that Flynn was aware of them. She felt vulnerable.

“Rachel has nightmares too, but then, you know that, don’t you?” he said softly while his finger traced the edge of the delicate china cup. Marydyth stared at his hands. Such big, rough, sun-browned hands, but they touched the china cup with a delicacy that made her shiver involuntarily.

Would his hands feel like that on her skin?

She shook herself to banish the thought. “Has she—has she had them for a long time?”

“Since she started talking.” Flynn grimaced as if the memory caused him pain. “I never know what to say or do, so I usually just talk nonsense and wait until it passes.”

“That’s all you can do,” she said softly. “Until the nightmare lets her go she can’t hear you anyway.”

Flynn looked up. Marydyth was staring out the window
at the setting sun. The vermilion streamers turned her blond hair to copper—like Rachel’s. Her face was tense with pain. Flynn had the urge to hold her and talk nonsense until the haunted look was erased from her face.

He shoved the desire to the edge of his consciousness and stood up. “I better go downstairs.”

“Flynn?” Her voice reached out and touched something deep within him.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if—well, if you would do me a favor?” She stared at her hands while she spoke.

“Name it.”

He didn’t even ask what it was.

“It is a lot to ask.but would you help me cut my hair?” She finished the last in a rush before her nerve failed her.

Flynn rocked back on his heels. He had expected her to ask him to leave the house, or that he let Rachel go away with her. But this.

“Cut your hair?” He looked confused, befuddled.

“Yes. This—” she pointed to her hair “md;happened when one of the other prisoners.” Marydyth shuddered. “If we’re going to have company on Friday I would like to look presentable. I doubt anyone else in town would do it for me.”

Flynn studied her for a long time, and then he lifted his hands. “I am big and clumsy as an ox, Marydyth. I know how to dress and skin a deer, but—your hair?”

This time the smile was warmer. “I’ll tell you how to do it and watch you in the mirror.”

“I might make matters worse.”

“I trust you.”

I
trust you.

The words echoed in Flynn’s head. She had gone from
hating him to trusting him in less than a week. He picked up the black-handled dress shears and squeezed his fingers into them.

When he looked down at the looking glass he met Marydyth’s reflection.

“I washed and rinsed it. Now just run your fingers through it and hold it up.”

Flynn swallowed hard and did as she instructed. He splayed his fingers and laced them through the strands of wet hair. He lifted a tress and looked at her questioningly.

“Like this?”

“Uh-huh. Just cut the ends where they are all ragged.”

He put the long, sharp shears against the silken strands and snipped. The hair slid through his grip and tumbled down.

“That’s right. Now just do that all over.” She gave him what he thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

Flynn pulled his gaze away from her reflection and concentrated on her hair. It wasn’t easy. The hollow at the nape of her neck kept drawing his attention. He wanted to touch it—to put his lips on it. He wanted to nuzzle the soft spot beneath her ear and see if it felt like velvet.

He wanted…

Flynn forced himself to pick up a strand of hair, hold it up and snip at the ends. Over and over he repeated the procedure while his Levi’s got tighter and more confining in the crotch.

The smell of her wet skin, mingled with the musky, subtle odor of
her
swirled around his head. He inhaled deeply and felt himself becoming drunk on the fragrance.

Having Marydyth this close, touching her and holding her, was ecstasy. But when she closed her eyes and
leaned her head back against his turgid sex it was pure hell and pure delight. While she was in that position—her head tilted back and her eyes closed—Flynn did something that he knew was loco.

He spread his hands and gently held her slender neck. It was a crazy thing to do; his hands were too big and rough and looked out of place against the creamy whiteness of her flesh but
it felt
right.

He had never touched a woman like this. Oh, he’d bedded so many he couldn’t remember their faces. Like any man old enough to shave he had undressed them and explored the mystery of the female body, but this was different.

In some strange way it was almost better.

Maybe it was because she had said she trusted him. But the instant that thought came into his head he drew back and clenched his hands into hard fists like the knot in his gut.

She trusted him, but he couldn’t quite trust her.

When he was finished with the cutting he took both of his hands and cupped her head. He wove his fingers into the strands and held them there.

Their eyes locked in the mirror. Hers were wide and questioning. His were hard, and held a trace of suspicion and a full measure of lust.

Flynn couldn’t allow himself to lose his judgment with Marydyth. They were immobile, staring at each other in the glass, until the sounds of childish footsteps broke the magical spell that bound them.

“Mama! Unca Flynn! When is dinner? I’m hungry!”

Flynn stepped back and cleared his throat. “I’m going to throw some steaks in a pan and fix some gravy. Too bad there aren’t any of Mrs. Young’s biscuits.”

Marydyth ran her fingers through her hair and smiled up at him. “I’ll be happy to help—if you will let me.”

His heart nearly stopped.

“I’m sure my belly would be damned grateful,” he said around the tightness in his throat.

They shared the kitchen from that moment on. Meals were a hodgepodge of whatever they could whip up together. Flynn and Marydyth would work around each other, occasionally finding their hands on the same knife or picking up the same onion. When that happened, they would freeze and stare at each other in silence while a hot ribbon of desire bound them together. There were even times when Flynn found excuses to go into the pantry when he knew she was there, just so he could feel her nearness and let the soft feminine scent of her engulf him. He was playing a dangerous game and his instincts told him that if he didn’t stop he would be sorry—they would both be sorry.

But mostly it was good. Flynn noticed that Rachel laughed more often and had fewer nightmares. And he couldn’t ignore the way Marydyth’s eyes sparkled and danced when she and Rachel sat down opposite each other to eat.

But Marydyth still had her nightmares. They were getting worse, and he wondered if it was because of him.

One night while they were washing and drying dishes he heard his own voice. “It must be hard for you—coming home to find—well,
me
in your house.” He shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marydyth said. “All that matters to me is Rachel. She loves you and she wants you here.” She stopped to look at Flynn but he surprised her by grinning in a boyish lopsided way.

“She’s kind of special to me, too.”

A strange, itchy feeling rubbed over her flesh. Her gaze focused on the little weathered lines at the corners of his eyes—eyes that were the color of rain-slicked sandstone. He had splashed water on his shirt, causing it to cling to his hard chest and drum-tight belly like a second skin.

She looked away, fighting the emotions that were bubbling and simmering inside her. “I want to thank you for trying to make people accept me.”

“They’ll learn.” His voice was clipped.

“Maybe, but they won’t ever stop talking.” Marydyth sighed. “And now they have new fodder for the millwith us living under the same roof. They’ll think the worst and say even more than that.”

“They will only say it once within my hearing.” He scowled.

Unconsciously she reached out and trailed her fingers over his hard jaw. The contact made him stiffen, and her nerves prickled. “I wanted to talk to you about that, Flynn.”

Suspicion sizzled through him. “Stop right there. Gossip be damned, Marydyth, you and I are stuck with each other and there isn’t a thing either one of us can do about it.”

Though she didn’t want to believe it, there was a small part of her that was ridiculously happy that he said what he did. There was a strange security in knowing that Flynn O’Bannion was here, would always be here. For Rachel and for her.

“I understand,” she said. “And I don’t blame you a bit.”

His brown eyes searched her face—made her feel hot and itchy beneath his scrutiny. “You do?”

“In your place I am sure I would feel the same way.”
She finished drying the plate and put it in a stack. “But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

All Flynn could do was stand there with his hands submerged in soapy water and wait. He didn’t understand a damn thing about Marydyth Hollenbeck, not a single damned thing. And the more time he spent around her the more confused he was getting.

“I’ve been thinking about the Lavender Lady and—”

His face turned to a thundercloud.

“No. I won’t put the Lavender Lady up for sale. Ted Kelts is a sidewinder. He thought he could weasel his way round me by warming up and flirting with you.”

She wasn’t sure when he did it, but he had closed the small distance between them. His fingers grasped her upper arms and bit into her flesh. She could see the shadow of his heavy beard and the gray specks in his brown eyes. A wavy strand of his auburn hair caught the afternoon light spilling through the chintz curtains on the kitchen window.

He was handsome as a morning sunrise.

It had been so very long since she had been in the company of a man who wasn’t carrying a club and treating her like an animal. It was only natural that she should be aware of him in that way. Or at least that was what she kept telling herself as her eyes swept over his rockhard jawline and wide chest.

“Do you hear me, Marydyth? The Lavender Lady is not for sale.”

“I don’t want to sell it. I wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re going to reopen it,” she said with a trembling smile. Strange things were happening to her middle. She felt hot and cold all at once, and an age-old thrumming had started in her veins.

“What?” Flynn released her arms and staggered back an inch or two.

She was sorry he let her go. For one crazy minute she had thought he might kiss her again, and she had wanted it. Oh, she had wanted him to.

“You are? You are in agreement with me?”

She nodded. “If the townspeople see that you—
we
—are trying to restore jobs, maybe it will be enough to make things a little better for Rachel.”