Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses Page 25

  “Well, thanks. You look real nice, too, Miss Porter.” For the first time he seemed to really take in her pale green muslin gown, the pearl drop necklace at her throat, and the dangling pearl earbobs that caught the light. “Real nice,” he said again, his eyes moving over the fullness of her breasts beneath the low-cut gown.

  “Do you think—just for tonight—you should call me Luanne? I mean, we want people to think we’re c-courting and all.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting.” He grinned, and suddenly reached out to brush a wayward curl from her cheek. For a moment his hand lingered alongside her face, then dropped to his side. “That was a great idea you had about my asking you to the dance,” he said quickly. “All those times I came calling, your aunt and uncle, the wranglers, anyone who knew, just thought I was sweet on you—not that we were learning my ABCs.”

  “Yes, it was a good plan, Jake.”

  Her eyes searched his. She took a deep breath. “I hope you’ll continue with your learning, Jake. The ability to read and write—to communicate—is a wonderful thing. You’ve come so far. A few more lessons would do you a world of good.”

  “Well, I have to admit I kind of like our lessons.” He frowned. “I hadn’t thought about stopping ’em.”

  “Of course, maybe if things work out with Caitlin, you’d want her to teach you.”

  “Maybe.” He spoke slowly. “The strange thing is, I’ve gotten used to having you teach me. Reckon I’d miss it if we stopped.”

  She smiled then, her eyes sparkling. In the glow of the lamplight that illuminated the parlor, Jake wondered at how brilliantly brown eyes could shine.

  “Do you want to practice the sonnet now, Jake?”

  “Not here.” He clasped her arm and tucked it in his. “Too many people around. Let’s go outside.”

  Wade danced with the brunette in yellow gingham. Twice. He danced with every young, pretty, unmarried woman in the room. He danced with Edna, with Winnifred Dale, and with Becky. But not Caitlin. Not once.

  It wasn’t that she lacked for partners. She was breathless by the time Jake Young led her to the refreshment table and handed her a glass of elderberry wine. But she was as miserable as if she were a wallflower left to wither and die.

  “Here you go, Miss Summers.”

  She accepted the glass of elderberry wine, drank it in one gulp, and requested another.

  Jake obliged.

  By then Wade was dancing with Hannah Wickes, the well-endowed daughter of one of Hope’s leading ranchers.

  Caitlin took deep gulps of the wine until the glass was empty.

  “Miss Summers, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—” Jake began, but at that moment, Caitlin made up her mind.

  “Excuse me a moment, won’t you, Jake?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “There’s something I have to do,” she murmured and started toward the dance floor. Her head felt light, her blood was singing. But her eyes were clearly focused on the tall, dark-haired man doing a do-si-do with Hannah Wickes.

  “Pardon me.” Caitlin tapped the girl lightly on the shoulder and squeezed out a tight smile. “May I cut in?”

  “Why . . . I suppose so . . .”

  “Thank you.” Caitlin grabbed Wade’s arm and tugged him toward her even as the song ended and the fiddle players shifted into another waltz. Wade stared at her in astonishment.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “Do you wish to dance with me or not?”

  His hand clamped around her waist. “Well, if you’re going to twist my arm.”

  “Obviously that’s the only way,” she retorted as they spun across the floor. Wade danced with the same assurance and easy strength with which he did everything else. “You obviously weren’t going to ask me.”

  “The night wasn’t over yet. I might have.”

  “You might have?” Her spine stiffened. “How very kind of you.”

  “I wouldn’t have done it to be kind.”

  Her eyes lifted to his, searching, searching for something she dared not hope to find. “Then why?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t answer, just held her tighter, and whirled her across the floor.

  “Wade. That night we . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ever since then, we haven’t even had a moment to talk.”

  “So?”

  Caitlin’s courage failed her. He looked so cold, so distant. Even though she wanted to take that lean, harsh face in her hands, to brush his lips with hers, she knew it was useless. Wade’s heart was closed to her—as it always had been, she reminded herself. He had offered her passion, and at times, patience and understanding, but nothing more. Except perhaps pity.

  She remembered the expression on his face when he’d heard about Alec—and about Dominic Trent. Wade would never treat a woman that way—and it had angered him, and made him feel sorry for her.

  She regretted telling him any of it. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel he had to look after her, as a means of carrying out Reese’s wishes.

  All along she’d mistaken those kind, decent honorable sentiments for more. She’d even mistaken the desire that had exploded between them for more. She’d hoped with all of her heart for more.

  Because she was a silly little fool.

  “I’m sorry.” She stopped dancing in the middle of the waltz. Edna and Seth Weaver bumped into them, begged pardon, and danced on. Wade’s hand stayed at her waist.

  “For what?”

  “For interrupting your dance with Hannah. You can go to her if you wish and finish your dance.”

  “Got your permission, do I?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I must find Drew and—”

  She gasped as he pulled her off the dance floor. Caitlin could hardly struggle without making a scene and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to find Drew Raleigh and ask him to take her home. No matter how many men she danced with, how many compliments she was paid, how many friendly conversations her women friends engaged her in, she felt only emptiness. And pain. A deep shattering pain splintered her heart.

  “Please let me go. I just want to—”

  “When I’m finished with you, you can go. Not a moment before.”

  “Wade!”

  He ignored her as he dragged her down the hall, into a small back parlor where a kerosene lamp sent an amber glow over the simple furnishings. Wade kicked the door closed behind him. He pushed Caitlin against the wall, seized her shoulders, and pinned her there before she could move.

  “What do you think you’re—”

  His lips closed over hers. It was a long kiss, not a gentle one. A kiss that made her heart stop, her blood burn, a kiss that sent slivers of heart-wrenching pain through her.

  When she was breathless and dizzy, he lifted his head. “How’s that for talk?”

  “It . . . hardly . . . qualifies,” she whispered. Her lips felt bruised. And warm. And lonely without his. Still she wouldn’t reach for him, wouldn’t let him know how much she wanted to kiss him again. Because this was lust. Nothing more. It had nothing to do with love.

  “Are you jealous of Drew? Is that what this little demonstration is all about? Afraid I’m going to kiss him good night, that I’ll enjoy it more than I enjoy kissing y—”

  He cut off her words with another kiss. This one was even hotter, deeper, hungrier than the first. When it was over, her knees were shaking, her heart was pounding, and she swayed in his arms.

  Wade held her close, his face only inches from hers. “Yeah, I’m jealous of Raleigh,” he said. “Jealous of every time he danced with you, touched you, got you to smile at him. Which was a helluva lot.”

  “M-men.” Trembling, she licked her lips and tried to speak firmly. “You fight over land, over gold, over women. Like dogs fighting over bones. It doesn’t mean anything, though. You couldn’t care less about me—”

  “You’re not listening.” His hands swept down, pinning her
arms at her sides, slamming her against his chest so hard she gasped. “Pay attention.”

  Again his mouth slanted across hers. This time the kiss was gentle. Gentle as a summer breeze. Tender as the dawn. Wade’s mouth explored hers, shaped itself to hers, tasted hers.

  “Elderberry wine,” he murmured at last. “For the lady who doesn’t drink spirits.”

  “I’m . . . not drunk,” she whispered weakly. Not on wine, at least. On love. Heaven help her. She’d rather die than tell him how much she loved him, how her heart yearned for what could not be. She struggled to regain the remnants of her pride, her only defense.

  “You must . . . let me go. We can . . . hardly . . . stay in here . . . all night . . .”

  “Too damn bad we can’t. It seems it’s going to take that long before you get it into your head that I care about you. Matter of fact,” he added darkly, “more than I should.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  His hand came up, touched her cheek, traced a light path along her delicate jaw and down her throat. Caitlin trembled all the way to the tips of her toes, fighting against the seed of hope trying to spring up within her.

  “I’ve figured out that where men are concerned, you’re just prone to trouble,” Wade said. He took a deep breath. “And there’s only one solution for that. We’re going to have to get married so that I can—”

  He broke off as he saw all the color drain from her face.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “What the hell is wrong?”

  “Don’t say another word,” she gasped. “If you tell me you’re going to take care of me, I’ll scream.”

  “What’s wrong with that? You need someone to take care of you,” he informed her grimly. “Look at all the trouble you’ve gotten into since you got here—Otter Jones. Hurley Biggs and those rustlers. Not to mention any of those bastards you were mixed up with in the past. And then there’s Raleigh.”

  He grimaced and a set determined expression came over his face.

  “I am going to take care of you, Caitlin, that’s all there is to it. Reese would want me to—”

  “Let me go!” she cried. She pushed him away from her. “Don’t touch me ever again!”

  Wade was only glad that the fiddle music and talk and laughter coming from the big parlor was so loud it drowned out that scream. He grabbed her as she bolted for the door.

  “Caitlin, hold on.”

  Easily, he yanked her back, his arm snaking around her slender waist, hauling her close against him, so close her prim, pale chignon brushed his chin.

  “Running away again? You think that’s the answer to everything? Why don’t you just stay and fight this out?”

  “There’s nothing to fight about. I will not marry you.”

  “The hell you won’t. It’ll solve all our . . . ouch!”

  With no warning at all, her silk-slippered foot shot out and kicked him in the shin.

  Wade glared at her, though his fingers only tightened around her wrist. “What’d you do that for?”

  “I asked you before not to say another word,” she managed to say through the choking lump in her throat. “And you did. You keep talking, and everything you say just makes it worse!”

  “Well, how am I supposed to propose if I can’t say another word?”

  For a moment, Caitlin wished she’d brought her derringer so she could shoot him. Or herself. Through a haze of pain and rage she struggled to appear calm, struggled not to let him see the despair swirling like dark mist around her.

  “Tell me again, why exactly do you want to marry me?” Her face was as white as milk. “Because you promised my father you’d look after me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And because you always keep your word?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And because we have to stay on Cloud Ranch together for a time anyway?”

  “Yes, and—”

  “Because you don’t mind having me in your bed?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.” His eyes darkened to cobalt and he drew her closer. “It all makes perfect sense.” His hand moved up to cup her chin, but she knocked it aside.

  “Perfect sense.” Her voice throbbed. “That’s a reason to get married, isn’t it?”

  “Sure.” His jaw tightened. What the hell did she want from him? “If you just stop and think about it logically, like I did, you’ll agree—”

  “I would rather marry a dead, decaying, putrid, rabid skunk, Wade Barclay, than ever marry you.” Fury turned her eyes to sparks of brilliant green fire. Wade felt her whole body trembling.

  “Mind telling me why?”

  “Because I can think of only one reason to get married. Love. Do you hear me? Love! If we loved each other, then I’d marry you. I’d go through hell and back again to marry you. But I won’t marry you—or anyone—for anything but love. I won’t marry you because you feel sorry for me or because you made a promise to my father or because you think I need protecting—I love you too much to ever let you—”

  She broke off in horror. For a moment she could only stare at him. Dismay held her mute. Why, oh why, had she lost her temper, let loose her stupid tongue?

  If only she could snatch back those words . . .

  Wade looked dazed. Stunned. As if she’d cold-cocked him.

  “You . . . love me?”

  She clenched her fists as tears threatened. “Fool that I am,” she muttered, bitterness aching through each word. She had to get out of here. “Now let me pass—”

  But at that moment the door flew open and three small bodies tumbled into the room. “Hide—quick!” Becky cried, and then she and the Morgensen twins all stopped and stared.

  “Caitlin—Wade!” Her sister was flushed, laughing, her brown hair falling over her eyes. “We’re playing hide-and-seek!”

  “We have to hide!” Katie Morgensen exclaimed.

  “From Jimmy Potter!” Bridget added.

  “Becky.” Caitlin knelt beside her sister as the twins scrambled behind the winged armchair near the window. “I have a headache, dearest. I’m going to ask Mr. Raleigh to take me home now.”

  “Oh, no, Caity—before supper?”

  “Yes, dear, but . . . but you can stay,” Caitlin assured her quietly. “Wade will bring you home later.”

  “Caity, what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to cry—”

  “Of course not, silly, I’m fine. I just need to rest. I’ll see you later, honey.”

  She gave her sister one quick hug and was out the door, running down the hall, fleeing as hot tears scalded her lashes. In her last glimpse of Wade, he’d still looked stunned, as the three little girls all jumped at him, begging him to hide them.

  Alice and Jim Tyler had just called their guests to the supper tables set out back. The house was crammed with people headed that way, laughing and chattering, drawn by the delicious aroma of fried chicken, pies, corn bread. There was no sign of Drew as Caitlin ducked into the spare bedroom behind the kitchen where all the shawls and jackets had been stored. She snatched up her shawl from the foot of the bed, but paused as something fell from its folds and tumbled to the floor.

  Kneeling, Caitlin gathered up a ribbon-tied packet. The sight of it penetrated even her pain and she stared in bewilderment. It was a packet of letters. Tied in pink ribbon. And it had been folded inside her shawl.

  Her heart began to thud. She moved toward the lamp, holding the letters near the light. With shaking hands, she slipped one from beneath the ribbon and turned it over.

  It was addressed to Miss Caitlin Summers at the Davenport Academy for Young Ladies. Written in black, in a man’s bold, strong hand.

  Quickly she scanned all the envelopes—until she found what she was looking for. One written in her own hand—a more childish hand. Addressed to Reese Summers at Cloud Ranch, Hope, Wyoming.

  And another. And another.

  Her knees shook. She clutched the letters. “Oh, my God.”

&n
bsp; Her father’s letters to her. And hers to him.

  Her mind couldn’t begin to fathom how this had happened, who had wrapped the letters in her shawl.

  She only knew she had to leave this house, go home, try to take in what had happened.

  And read the letters.

  Somehow she managed to stuff the packet into her reticule, stumble from the room, and find Drew Raleigh in the hall.

  “Caitlin, what’s wrong?” Instantly he was at her side as people hurried past them. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Can you take me home, please? I’m not feeling well.”

  “Of course. Let me help you with your shawl—”

  “No, it doesn’t matter,” she cried as he began to lift it from her arm, where she’d draped it in careless haste. “Please, let’s just leave!”

  “Whatever you say.” His head bent in concern, Drew took her by the elbow. “This way.”

  Chapter 26

  No wind stirred the trees as Drew Raleigh’s buggy rolled across the matted grass of the trail, crunching over twigs and rocks, bouncing over the occasional rut. Cool night air settled over Caitlin’s shoulders as her shawl lay draped, forgotten, over her arm. She stared down at her reticule through the faint light cast by the stars, and tried not to think about the letters inside it. About who had tucked them in the folds of her shawl. The same person who must have kept them from reaching her—and hers from reaching Reese.

  Someone at the May Day dance. Someone she knew. Someone who all along had schemed to keep her and her father apart . . .

  The pain of it wrenched at her, but it was better than the pain she would suffer if she dwelled on what had happened with Wade in that back parlor, better than remembering the stunned expression on his face when she’d said she loved him.

  Better than remembering that she’d made an utter fool of herself . . .

  A choked sound came from her throat, and Drew Raleigh, who’d been mercifully silent, broke the quiet between them.

  “Are you all right, Caitlin?”

  “I have a slight headache. It’s nothing serious.”

  “Don’t think I mind leaving early. It suits me just fine.”

  In the darkness, he sounded as if he was smiling. For the first time, Caitlin glanced over at him and peered hard through the dimness.