Ashes and Memories (15 page)

“
You weren’t destroyed
." Emma’s words had sounded like an accusation, but she was wrong.
 

Something inside him had been destroyed, as surely as her father had destroyed himself. There were a lot of ways to die and keep on breathing.

His experience paralleled her fathers more closely than she would ever know. Had her father broken where Reece had not? Had they managed to find the one thing inside Mr. Parker that he could not live without, the kernel of identity and dignity that sustained him? Had Mr. Parker found that once they’d stripped him of it he could not go on living? Or had Parker broken before it could be taken away from him? Had he lived all that time with the thought that if only he could have held out a little longer, just a little longer, perhaps....

Reece grasped the edges of the wash stand, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. The eyes that stared back at him still burned with purpose and determination, but if he looked closely, he could also see a glimmer of doubt, of weakness that hadn’t been there in a very long time.

It was all Emma Parker’s fault, this weakness, this sudden, unbearable vulnerability that threatened his control. He tried to remember how he’d put himself back together in the first place. Part of the process had been forgetting. And he’d learned never to examine himself this closely.

He had to think about the town, his domain. It wouldn’t be long before the railroad surveyors came to call, and he had to be ready. He’d staked everything he had on this venture, and he could not afford to become distracted, not by Emma Parker and not by ghosts from a past he’d left behind long ago.

Clenching his jaw, he called on the anger and the tenacity that had saved him before. His eyes hardened, turned to marble, and the raw emotion that had peered back at him only a few moments ago faded, leaving behind the impenetrable mask he’d worn for nearly thirteen years.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction and relief, he turned away, ready to face the day now that he’d regained his perspective. Miss Parker had caught him unawares with her tears. The danger she posed for him came not from her newspaper but from the soft vulnerability she tried so hard to disguise. If she were wiser, she would realize what a powerful weapon that vulnerability could prove, but her artlessness had nearly been his undoing.

He felt more than a little foolish for letting her unbalance him as she had. He swore it wouldn’t happen again.

#####

Reece was finishing his breakfast in the hotel when he looked up and saw Miss Parker step through the door, her eyes ablaze with purpose.

An immediate reaction coursed through him at the sight of her and the memory of this morning’s wakeful dream. He remembered, too, the soft yielding of her lips beneath his, the feel of her in his arms.

Reece scowled darkly and turned his thoughts away, remembering his resolve to keep Miss Parker at a distance.

She was back in her breeches again today, and though they displayed her curves to perfection, he was almost sorry. In a dress she was an alluringly feminine woman.

Then again, maybe he should be glad for the masculine attire. The last thing he needed right now was anything that might enhance her natural beauty and thus weaken his resolve.

He pushed his plate away. Bracing himself mentally for another confrontation, he gazed up at her with a calculating smile and calmly drank his coffee.

“They’re still building the gallows,” she told him, as if he couldn’t hear the hammering from everywhere in town.

“Yes, they are,” he agreed. They’d have finished them yesterday if not for a cold, icy rain. Even the weather seemed to be conspiring against him.

Emma hesitated, his words and manner deflating her as he’d known they would. He almost regretted the hurt and confusion that flashed across her countenance.

“But I thought --”

“Thought what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what she thought. She innocently believed that what had passed between them last night had changed things, that the fact that he’d kissed her, comforted her, gave her some degree of influence with him. How very wrong she was.

“You said --”

“I said I would take care of it and I am." His voice sounded brusque and harsh to his own ears, and Emma reacted as he’d expected. The fire went out of her eyes and a deep blush suffused her face.

“Yes, but --” she stammered.

The sound of defeat and disillusionment in her voice pricked his conscience, but he forced himself to ignore it. Right now it was more important that he establish the rules and boundaries of their relationship.

“I thought I’d made myself clear on this matter,” he told her emphatically. “The man is guilty and he will hang.”

If his ultimate goal where Miss Parker was concerned was seduction, he knew his tactics were all wrong. But he needed to show her that he would not be swayed by tears or kisses, almost as much as he needed to prove it to himself.

Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes told him she hadn’t slept well last night, and a part of him wanted to ask if she was all right, if she’d eaten last night or this morning. But he repressed the urge, maintaining his distance and his insolence.

Her lower lip quivered slightly, but her proud bearing never faltered. He admired her far too much -- her courage, her stubbornness, her unwavering dedication to her convictions. But his own convictions were just as sacred to him, and they were in direct opposition to hers. Someone had to lose, and it would not be him.

“Was there something else, Miss Parker?” he asked.

Last night he’d called her Emma. He’d held her and comforted her and kissed her. And now his callous indifference wounded her deeply, so deeply she almost crumpled under the pain.

Her gaze swept the crowded dining room, and to her further mortification, she realized everyone’s attention was riveted on her. Trembling with rage and unshed tears, she turned back to find Reece MacBride calmly sipping his coffee, a triumphant smile curving his lips, the lips that had possessed hers so ardently last night.

She wanted to slap the smile from his face, to shake him until he admitted that something important had happened between them. But it would be as futile as trying to move a mountain with a soup spoon.

Instead she forced all memory of last night from her mind, but not in time to stop a wave of humiliation from stealing over her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so mortified in her life.

“No,” she said past the lump in her throat. “No, there was nothing else.”

Her back straight, Emma strode from the room, careful not to look at the other occupants. Once outside, she released the breath she’d been holding and allowed her posture to relax. She stood in front of the hotel for a few moments, gathering her composure, wiping angrily at a stray tear that trailed down her cheek.

How could she have been so naive as to believe that a single kiss could soften a man like Reece MacBride? It had meant nothing to him. Had his tenderness been a ploy? Had he intended to lull her into trusting him, caring for him, so that he could destroy her pathetic, childish fantasies and assert his control over her?

Resolutely she made her way back to her office, and once there, she slammed the door between herself and the world, or more precisely between herself and Reece MacBride.

Had he really been here last night, or had he been nothing but a figment of her imagination? Had he touched her tenderly and spoken to her gently about grief and survival and honor?

Maybe she was a foolish child. She felt very much like one right now. She’d known all along that her innocence was no match for his sophistication. What had she expected?

Any man who could take advantage of her grief, her vulnerability like that was beneath contempt and not worth a single tear.

She took off her coat and hung it on the rack just inside the door. The best thing she could do was concentrate on her newspaper and her belief that everyone deserved a fair trial, that tyranny in any form was evil and intolerable, and that was just what she intended to do.

Unless she intervened, a man would die unjustly tomorrow morning. It was late, but she could still have a newspaper done by noon. She had to try.

Rolling up her shirt sleeves, she went to her desk and began the slow, methodical task of typesetting. She’d kill any tenderness she might have felt for Reece MacBride. From now on, he was an adversary and nothing else.

And to think she’d begun believing there was something inside him worth saving. She’d been so sure his concern was genuine, so sure there was nowhere in the world quite as safe and soothing as his arms.

Her gaze settled on the crumpled handkerchief on the table where she worked. Yes, he’d been here last night. She hadn’t dreamt a moment of what had passed between them.

Tentatively she reached for the fine cotton cloth. It was no longer warm from the heat of his body as it had been last night, but if she held it to her face, she could still smell that unique musky scent that was his alone. Warmth infused her at the memory of his strong arms enfolding her, his ardent lips possessing hers, the heat of his body penetrating her defenses.

She remembered his every word, his every gesture, the sweet comfort he’d offered her. She remembered the depth of his understanding, and above all else, she remembered his gentleness.

A gnawing hunger settled in her heart, a yearning to feel those arms around her again, a need that would never be filled. The promise in his embrace was false. She would never be foolish enough to trust him again.

“
It’s the wounds you can’t see that destroy a man
,” he’d said, and the desolation in his voice and in his eyes had stirred something deep inside her, something that had made her long to comfort him as he had comforted her. She’d wanted to take away the pain and the darkness in his eyes.
 

Could she have been so wrong?

Yes, she told herself. He was very good at artifice, better even than she would have imagined. He posed and postured and manipulated people with his charisma and the power of his personality.

Could the torment she’d read in his eyes last night have been just another deception? Somehow she couldn’t believe it was, and she scolded herself for letting him cloud her judgment, even now, even after she’d felt the sting of his betrayal.

She’d already known how quickly he could change his demeanor to suit the situation. From elegant gentleman to implacable dictator to a man capable of brutal violence. Last night she’d seen one more mask he wore all too well -- cruel seducer.

And she couldn’t help wondering why. Why did he feel the need to wear those masks? There were so many things about Reece MacBride that didn’t make sense. Why was he so obsessed with controlling this town and seeing it prosper? He was no philanthropist. Yet he did look after the town, as long as his personal code was observed.

From what she had been able to gather, he was a wealthy man. He owned several businesses in town and a very rich gold mine. Why did he live over a saloon instead of building a home for himself? What was he hiding from?

That was it. Her questions always brought her back to the same thing. Reece MacBride was hiding or running from something. He wore his masks and he played his games of seduction and intimidation. And if need be, he conducted business at the end of a gun. Winning and preserving his position meant everything to him, even more than his precious money.

What dwelled inside Reece MacBride? Did he possess a soul at all? And if so, was it buried so deep it could never be reached again? Or was the darkness inside him so horrible it was best left undisturbed?

Emma looked down at the blocks of letters that were beginning to form words. A shiver of apprehension pulsed through her body and she mused that she just might be about to find out the answer to that last question. And she prayed God she wouldn’t regret it.

#####

Emma glanced up from her sweeping as the jingle of the bell told her the door had opened. Reece MacBride stepped across the threshold, buffeted by a blast of cold air that wafted the end of his duster around his booted calves.

A tremor of longing shot through her at sight of him. Even his cruelty that morning hadn’t wiped the memory of his tenderness from her mind. But the dark fury in his countenance sobered her and longing was quickly smothered by anxiety.

All the waiting and fretting she’d done during the past hours was finally over. He’d seen the newest issue of the
Providence Advocate
, and he was every bit as displeased with it as she’d known he would be.
 

Emma clutched the broom to keep from trembling. He’d never entered this office without removing his hat, and she wondered inanely if it were a measure of his fury that he did not do so now.

Fear raced along her nerve endings, but she mastered her weakness with an effort and challenged him, a brave smile plastered on her lips. She was determined to face his reaction without flinching.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his lip curling angrily, “but I have had enough of your games.”

“Mr. MacBride,” she said sweetly. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Slamming the door so hard the glass rattled, he advanced on her. Emma started, struggling for the courage to stand her ground. The usual cunning light was gone from his eyes, and the violent darkness in their depths chilled her. Anger drew his brows together in a sardonic scowl that would have frightened Lucifer himself. His nostrils flared with the force of his rapid, furious breathing.

There was no trace of the clever persuader who schemed and played games to get what he wanted. He was deadly serious.

Her heart pounding frantically, Emma glanced around for an avenue of escape. What would he do if she bolted as her every instinct told her to do? She would never know because her pride would not allow her to do so.

“What is this?” he demanded, holding a newspaper toward her.

“It’s a newspaper,” she couldn’t help retorting. She hoped her sarcasm would spark a light of amusement in his eyes. His amusement might annoy her, but it did not terrify her like this dark rage did.