Silver Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #1) (11 page)

             
He still watched me, amazed.  "I thought."  He didn't finish.

             
"That I'd want to go?  Because of money?  Because of – what?"

             
"I don't know," he said.  He stared down into my eyes.  "Seems I know very little lately."  He moved his head to look at me from another angle.  "Well.  I know this."  Gently, he tipped my chin up with his knuckle and his mouth came down over mine, hot, sweet, and chapped from the wind, the sun, and the desert. 

             
I returned the kiss, my tongue reaching for his, my teeth grazing his bottom lip.  My hands moved up his chest, feeling the muscle there, the heat and the heartbeat, before looping up behind his neck.  I went up on my toes, trying to reach him, laughing a little at the need to touch him.

             
His hands tangled in my hair, scattering pins, letting down the lengths of it and then making fists inside it as if he didn't want to ever let go.

             
When at last we pulled apart, it was only to move out the kitchen door into the garden, to the polished wood and iron bench that sat against the house.  Under all the hard desert stars, we sat pressed together, his hands on my shoulders, our mouths meeting again.  I touched his chest, his throat, his face, glorying in the feel of his skin so hot under my hands.  He tangled his hands in my hair, pulled my face hard to his, kissed me harder and deeper and whispered my name.

             
Slowly, his hands strayed, seeking my neck, my ears, moving down along my sides.  I gasped, nipped at his lower lip, let my head fall back as his mouth traveled down the length of my throat, down into the unbuttoned top of my dress.  His hands came up under my breasts, thumbs moving higher to stroke across them.  I sighed, moved so I could kiss him again and trail kisses from his mouth to his jaw, from jaw to ear, my tongue moving and teasing, my breath soft against his flesh.

             
There came a moment when the tension coiled between us caused us to choose: continue or wait until our union was legal, proper, and sanctioned, if not sanctified.  We didn't speak of it.  Instead, we slowed, both of us, kisses lasting longer, hands stroking less feverishly until we sat still, pressed against one another.  Hutch's arm lay close around my shoulder.  My head rested against his chest.  Overhead, the stars shined down, impassive.

              We stayed out for another hour, together on the bench, staring into the dark.  There was nothing to see.  The nearest house was far on the other side of a stand of poplar trees.  The garden was so dark, we couldn't see across it.  Nonetheless, we faced west, toward the edge of the property, not looking at each other, just together.

             
During that time, we talked in random bursts, about my mother and his, my father and his.  We talked about Annie and Virginia, and about my other sisters, and about his family in Alturas and the cattle ranch there.  I brought up more schemes for making money and helping out and he laughed at them as they became more farfetched.  He didn't believe I could forge my way into European royalty and claim a throne and a fortune with it.  He did believe I could teach, but none of the schools were looking for teachers who didn't hold a degree.  Midwifery, he said, might not be an appropriate subject for elementary school children.

             
He talked about the mine, about what he had hoped for and what had actually occurred.  When the ore had been plentiful and fortunes being made, he hadn't saved.  For the first time in his life, he was able to afford what luxuries he wanted.  He could send money to his parents, enough for the ranch they now owned, where before they had been caretakers.  He treated his wife to new dresses and increased her collection of tea pots.

             
"Tea pots?" I asked.  My first day, I had noticed one in the sitting room, delicate china with a pattern of roses but it was the only one.  Since then, I'd used the sturdy, everyday Brown Betty in the kitchen if I made tea.

             
"She collected them," he said, and his voice was easy, without a catch.  "I was terrified of breaking the damn things and they were everywhere."

             
I didn't ask where they had gone.  He would tell me some day.  Or I'd discover them unexpectedly, and hopefully without breakage. 

             
We talked about the mine, and the lien against it, and the house and mortgage and lien there, too. 

             
We talked about the future. About Nevada.  About us.  We talked about having a family.  We talked about having a future.

             
And then, we just watched the stars for a while. 

              The house was overheated and stuffy when we went back in.  The night was warm and gentle, the breeze moving in the corn.  I no longer feared or loathed the garden.  We'd passed a test, and come through a fire.  There was a future if we wanted to pursue it.

             
I slept in my room that night, and woke far more comfortable than I had at the table.  I woke just before dawn, having heard the rattle of a wagon passing by or some creature making noise.  For a few minutes, I lay warm and comfortable in the bed, watching the day gradually brightening outside the window.  The room was becoming familiar to me now.  I knew where to anticipate I would stub my bare toes on a chest of drawers, and had unpacked my trunk, storing it to the side of the chifferobe, where my clothes hung.  I knew the steps to the hall, the hall to the sitting room, the sitting room letting into the comfortable, wide kitchen.

             
I wanted this to be home and the night before had convinced me that, although there might be a battle to keep the house, there was the possibility that we would fight for it together.

             
When a meadow lark set up an unholy racket outside my window and a scrub jay took up the challenge of making the most noise in the new day, I rose and washed and managed much more of my hair than I had the day before.  I hadn't heard Hutch's steps on the stairs, so hoped he was still in his room, to waken soon but not having left yet for the mine.  If I hurried, I could have breakfast ready for him before he came downstairs. 
No excuse not to eat it if it was ready,
I thought, a safeguard against my fears that our night before on the back porch had changed nothing.

             
In fact, I had time to prepare coffee and sweet rolls, to heat up the stove and clean up the last of the night's dishes before I heard his step on the stairs.  I was moving to intercept him, bacon on the pan ready to go to stove top, coffee hot, when I heard the sound of hooves pounding into the yard, and Hutch, just coming off the stairs, moving rapidly to the front door, and swearing.

             
I froze, confused.  It could be another birth and I was unwilling to refuse to go, which meant leaving him to cook his own bacon, and surely he'd done that a time or two in recent years but I'd looked forward to having this time together. 

             
I wiped my hands on my apron, started out of the kitchen at the same time someone knocked hard on the front door, banging it in its frame, and Hutch, still swearing, crossed the rest of the way across the sitting room and yanked the door open.

             
"Hutchinson Longren?" demanded a voice.

             
"You know damn well it's me, Sheriff," Hutch said, his voice raspy with morning.  "You were here not five days ago."

             
"Take it easy, Hutch.  I have protocol has to be respected."

             
"Not by me."

             
Standing at the edge of the kitchen, I could see the sheriff, his barrel chest, the gun on his hip.  Hutch seemed unsurprised by the visit, which made me wonder if there was something he hadn't told me the night before.  Which cast some doubt on our hour beneath the stars. 

             
Behind the Sheriff came another man, pushing into the house though Hutch stepped forward, imposing, as if to stop him.  I took a step forward myself.  The man with the Sheriff was the little man I'd seen on the street, the one with red hair and a squinting gaze, who had seemed to watch me so closely.

             
"I want that man out of my house," Hutch said in a level voice.  He didn't stir, didn't nod, didn't point.  Didn't need to.

             
"Too bad," the man said, laconically.  Then saw me, and grinned. 

             
"Sheriff," Hutch started and the lawman held up his hands.

             
"Give me a second, Longren.  This isn't easy.  I have a document for you and you have to take it."

             
Something in my stomach shivered.

             
"Why are you doing this, Bill?  I'm not the only one has fetched up against some bad luck.  Just need some time."

             
Time, and to be heir to a European throne, or marrying a dumpy dowager with a fortune, or a Fourth Ward School-approved teacher, any one of the things we'd discussed the night before, and I had a sudden, terrible idea I knew what the blue-backed document was the Sheriff was holding out. 

             
"Doesn't matter if you take it or not, Longren, the effect's the same; you've been served.  Thirty days."  He slapped the papers against Hutch's chest, prepared to drop them if they weren't taken but Hutch reached for them, taking them and bending them sharply in both hands, letting his hands fall back to his sides. 

             
"Why is he here?"  Hutch didn't address the small sallow man.

             
The Sheriff breathed out through his nose, loud enough to hear clearly in the mostly silent house.  He turned his head, shook it a little and closed his eyes, as if he hated to deliver the news.  "He bought the lien, Longren.  Not a surprise, is it?  But you've got 30 days."

             
The little red haired man had begun to smile, slow at first but by now, he was grinning.  Hands in his pockets, he walked through the sitting room as if he owned it, his head tilted to one side like a bird's as he examined everything he clearly thought of as his.

             
Which it could be, I realized.  With a sudden flash that had nothing to do with logic, I realized who the little man probably was.  In less than a week since I'd arrived in Gold Hill, he'd shot my soon-to-be brother-in-law, setting off a chain of events I was still trying to get beyond, and now he was here, trying to shoot another of the Longren brothers, though in a different way.

             
The little man had to be Jason Seth, and in 30 days, he could be the owner of both Silver Sky Mine and Hutch Longren's house.

              Hutch crossed the sitting room in three strides, cornering Jason Seth against the davenport where Matthew had slept.  I caught some of what he was saying before I moved to the Sheriff, took his arm, and more or less dragged him into the kitchen.  The Sheriff looked less than amused to be strong-armed by someone's fiancé.

             
"Why did you bring him here?" I demanded when we stood inside the kitchen. 

             
The Sheriff was staring around as if assessing the kitchen himself, and I barely restrained myself from thumping his chest with the back of my hand to get his attention.  I contented myself with following up with, "Well?"

             
His gaze turned back to me.  "Mrs. Longren.  No, wait, it
isn't
Mrs. Longren, is it?" 

             
No doubt about the contempt.  This was someone I didn't even know, a man I'd only seen on a few occasions and most of those versed with trouble.  He hadn't even been at the mine when Matthew was shot.  He'd come some time later, following up.  How very nice that today he'd been found so easily, and in time to hand-deliver the foreclosure documents himself and to bring the potential new owner with him.  Now he was treating me as if I were a soiled woman, somehow less than worthy in his view.

             
"There is nothing untoward going on in this house, Sheriff," I said.  "I have my own room, and Mr. Longren and I are soon to wed." 

             
His gaze flicked over me again, dismissive and frankly unbelieving.

             
"Though if it will please you and your community – " I tried to give community the sardonic twist it deserved, but it came out wrong: I quite liked most of the people I'd met so far in Gold Hill.  It was the Sheriff – and Jason Seth, if that's who it was Hutch was about to accost in the sitting room –  I didn't like.

             
So, I said instead.  "No, I mean, should it please you and your
ilk
–" which gained me a dirty look, which meant I had it right.  "I will be happy to stay in the home of my future sister-in-law, Missus Annie Collins until such time as Mr. Longren and I can wed."

             
His expression was lazy now, indicating he owed me no courtesy.  "Inasmuch as there's no one at Missus Collins's home of present, I'm sure such an offer would not overly convince
my ilk
, and not overly inconvenience either of you."

             
It had been some time since I'd actually seen red, but I was coming close.  "If you have an accusation to make, Sheriff, perhaps you'd best make it.  Otherwise, you've delivered your message and brought a viper into our home and I'll thank you and the man I presume is Jason Seth to leave at once.  We have 30 days."

             
I heard the door open, saw a figure from the corner of my eye, but didn't know if it was Hutch or Jason entering.  My attention, and fury, were fixed on the Sheriff.

             
"I'll be on my way, Miss Lucas, you don't need to fear.  And Mr. Seth will accompany me, though he may pass by occasionally in the next month to check on his investment.  I'm sure you'll understand.  In the meantime – "

             
"There's no meantime, Bill," Hutch said.  "You've delivered your news.  I'd like you to leave."

             
The Sheriff waited for Hutch to finish, not bothering to turn and look at him, but focusing somewhere in the vicinity of my left ear, as if looking at either of us was now too much of a bother.

             
The red fury boiled a little higher.  My hands clenched into fists.

             
"In the meantime," the Sheriff said.  "There's talk in this town.  You should know that, Miss Lucas.  People talk.  You are not the first Mrs. Longren and you are not the present Mrs. Longren.  Please take care you understand that your presence in this house may be an offense to the kin of the first Mrs. Longren."

             
Breathing had become difficult.  Coming into our home, throwing Hutch's pain in his face, threatening us with foreclosure and to such a creature as Jason Seth, and then to add to that, using Ellie Longren as a weapon.

             
"Get out," I said.  My teeth were clenched.  I didn't raise a hand.  I couldn't imagine what would become of me if I so much as suggested I might threaten Sheriff Townsend.

             
He took his time taking his measure of me, then nodded and raised the hat he still insolently wore in what I now considered
my
kitchen.  "Good day, Miss Lucas.  I'll take my leave."

             
You can take your leave all the way to Hell
.  But I managed not to say a word.

             
Jason Seth had already gone out.  From the front kitchen window, I could see him climbing off the porch and heading for his horse.  I kept my back to the kitchen as the Sheriff walked past Hutch, who accompanied him through the sitting room, to the front door, which he shut firmly behind the Sheriff and locked.

             
I watched them climb onto their horses, Jason Seth laughing, but the Sheriff didn't laugh.  He looked once up into the window and nodded at me.  My fingers tightened around the edge of the bench there.

             
I heard Hutch come back into the kitchen as the two neared the end of the drive.  I didn't turn but stood watching them, gripping the bench, until behind me Hutch said, "Maggie."

             
My shoulders stiffened, and then I kicked the bench as hard as I could, making pans inside the cabinets jump.  Spinning, I faced him. 

             
"Jason Seth was Ellie's brother?"

             
He grimaced.  "Cousin."

             
My gaze flew around the kitchen.  I was looking for something that made sense.  Or something to throw.  "It never occurred to you to tell me that?  You told me I had full disclosure from you, when I chose to stay.  The man who shot your brother was related to you by marriage and you didn't tell me that?  Is he still upset over her?  Over the marriage?  Over her loss?"

             
Hutch sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.  "Jason Seth is a small man, Maggie.  He has big dreams but he wants them all to come easy."

             
I huffed out a breath.  "That's what you said before."

             
He looked up from his seat at the table.  "Would it have helped you to know he was Maggie's kin?  How?"

             
I threw my hands into the air, slapped them against my apron.  "He followed me, Hutch.  The other day on the street."

             
His expression hardened.  "What?  Where?"

             
I gestured outside, too mad to explain, acting as if he didn't know where the street was.  "He followed me on my way back from Annie's and I had no idea who he was.  If there's talk in this town, he's starting it because I've met very few people and no one has treated me the way the Sheriff and that – that
rat
have."