Ashes and Memories (7 page)

How dare he think he could control the press! His town indeed! Just because he owned the building where she printed her papers didn’t give him the right to tell her what to print. The press was the guardian of the people, and he had no right to interfere.

Of course, he could go up on her rent. Would he go that far? She remembered the fierce determination in his opaque eyes and knew the answer. Yes, he would go that far, and perhaps farther. Well, she’d just start looking for another building to rent. There had to be others in a town this size. She’d find a more benevolent landlord. No one was going to tell her what to print. No one.

“He sure must like to read,” Ralphy said.

“Who?" Emma asked, her mind occupied with plans for the future.

“Mr. MacBride. He bought every last one of them papers.”

CHAPTER THREE

Emma stopped at the saloon door, stamping her feet in a futile effort to dislodge the mud that stuck to her boots, pretending it was Reece MacBride’s face beneath her heels instead of a harmless doormat. Giving up with an angry growl, she shoved the door open and charged inside, buffeted by the fury roiling inside her.

Even though it was early evening, the saloon was filled with laughing, drinking men. Every one of them, to a man, turned to stare at her in varying degrees of surprise as she stood inside the door for one indecisive moment. She’d been in saloons before, and this one was not so different from any other. It was her mission here that caused the spark of uncertainty in her heart. She doused it, bolstering her courage with a deep, fortifying breath.

She gazed around the room from the rough plank floor to the risque artwork that adorned the walls. Across the room a man played energetically, if badly, at a battered upright piano. The smell of stale whiskey and unwashed bodies assailed her as she went to stand at the bar.

Activity resumed around her, and for that she was grateful. She had enough on her mind without having to cope with curious drunken men.

“What can I do for you, miss?” the bartender asked impatiently, wiping his hands on his apron.

“I need to see Mr. MacBride,” she told him with what she hoped was an arrogant glare.

The bartender placed his meaty hands far apart on the bar and leaned toward her. “Mr. MacBride is in his office and can’t be disturbed.”

“Listen!" She pounded her fist on the bar, her body shaking with fury. “I’m tired and angry, and I’m not leaving here until I speak with him.”

“I told you,” the bartender said with a casual shrug, “he’s upstairs in his office doing paperwork. He don’t like --”

Emma pushed away from the bar before the man could finish speaking. Upstairs, that was all she needed to know. She’d find him if she had to open every door in the house.

 “Come back here!" the bartender called after her. “Mr. MacBride won’t like being disturbed!”

“I don’t give a damn what Mr. MacBride likes or doesn’t like!" she shouted, bounding up the stairs.

She reached the top where two doors stood open off the landing to her right. The one straight ahead was closed, and it was toward that one that she marched.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs behind her, and she rushed to the door before the enraged bartender could thwart her. She banged so hard on the wooden obstruction her fist hurt.

“What the hell --” The door flew open and a grim-faced Reece MacBride stood before her. His fierce, angry expression turned to surprised recognition.

Emma took an involuntary step back, colliding with the bartender who had followed her up the stairs.

“Sorry, Mr. MacBride,” the man said, grabbing her by the arm.

Reece wore no vest, and his sleeves were rolled up above elegantly muscled forearms. His impeccably pleated white shirt lay open to the middle of his chest. Emma had to tear her eyes away from the hint of dark hair underneath, as she fought the sudden awareness that set her heart pounding.

“I have to speak with you,” she said, twisting in a futile effort to shake off the bartender’s hold.

Reece raised a hand, waving the bartender away, while his eyes remained fixed on hers. “It’s all right.”

 The pressure on her arm disappeared, and Reece stepped aside as the bartender’s footfalls faded. “Well, come in, Miss Parker.”

Rooted to the spot, Emma could only stare mutely at him. She moistened her suddenly dry lips and was immediately sorry. His gaze caught on her mouth and he smiled wryly.

“Miss Parker,” he said, still holding the door open. “Would you care to come in? Or did you come all this way just to stand outside my door?”

An aura of the forbidden clung to him like the scent of honeysuckle on a hot summer day. It stirred something in her blood, something frightening and thrilling at the same time. She shouldn’t have come here, she realized belatedly. What could she have been thinking to confront him in his own lair?

“I promise not to bite." A lazily seductive smile curved his lips as his gaze caressed its way down her body and back up again. “Surely you had a reason for coming here beyond interrupting my work and forcing me to open my door.”

She felt as if she had been touched, as if he had stripped away her clothes and she stood naked before him. It occurred to her that he likely knew much more about what her body would look like than she did his by virtue of experience alone, and the realization left her feeling weak and exposed.

 And thoroughly annoyed with herself for ever thinking such a thing! It was his fault, him and his... his.... She couldn’t even think, damn him.

With a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold, averting her gaze from the devilish gleam in his golden eyes. Gazing down at the expensive oriental carpet, she started to check her boots for mud but decided he deserved a muddy rug for what he’d done.

“Shall I leave the door open?” he asked.

Emma turned to face him, her heart catching in her throat. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped so close to him, so close the power of his virility overwhelmed her.

Somehow he’d seemed larger out in the open, bulkier. In fact, he was lean, his muscles long and smooth.

His tousled hair made him look younger, as did his relaxed features. Perhaps it was the dim lighting that softened the lines of his angular face. Whatever the cause, the result was a rakish beauty that stole the anger from her heart and rendered her incapable of responding for an instant.

Suspenders disappeared over his broad shoulders and held the dark gray trousers that hugged his lean hips and strong thighs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.

Emma shrugged in a feeble attempt to appear calm, hoping he couldn’t see the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. “Suit yourself,” she managed to say.

 Reece laughed and stepped away from the door, leaving it open. She had moved as far into the room as she dared. The thought of him standing between her and the door unsettled her, though she couldn’t say why. Despite the amusement he was enjoying at her expense right now, he had always behaved like a gentleman, at least on the surface.

“Please sit down,” he said, indicating a straight-backed chair beside the desk.

“I’d rather stand,” she said, struggling in vain to ignore his magnetism. There was a certain comfort in standing, as if she hadn’t committed herself to being here yet. She could still leave, run away.

“Very well,” he replied, moving to the sideboard she hadn’t noticed before. “May I offer you a drink?”

 His flawless etiquette clashed with the shabbiness of his room. He acted as if they were in the drawing room of a grand house like the huge columned mansion in the painting that hung over his desk instead of a stark room in a muddy mining town.

With an effort, Emma reminded herself of the danger lurking under his polished surface. It radiated from him like heat from an open fire. She needed to say what she had come here to say and leave as quickly as possible.

“No, I don’t want a drink!" she snapped, resurrecting some of the anger that had brought her here. It had evaporated like early morning fog in the heat of the sun the minute he’d opened the door.

“Do you mind?” he asked, indicating the bottle in his hand.

“Always the consummate gentleman, aren’t you?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She watched his hands, so strong, so sure, as he uncorked a bottle and poured whiskey into a glass. And she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to be touched, caressed by those hands. Shocked by her own thoughts, she averted her gaze with an inaudible gasp.

 “Well, this place may be rough and uncivilized, but I try to maintain a degree of refinement. I prefer to change the environment to suit me rather than allowing the environment to change me." He turned to face her, leaning back against the sideboard as he turned the glass up and drank. “But I do not believe you came here to discuss my social skills.”

“You bought all the newspapers." Her accusation lacked the vehemence she wanted to convey as she fought for calm, fought against the dark attraction she always felt in his presence.

A shrewd smile touched the corner of his mouth and lightened his eyes. Not only was he not remorseful over his actions or embarrassed that he’d been found out, he seemed proud of what he’d done.

“I suppose Ralphy told you. That boy is incapable of keeping anything to himself." He gestured toward her with his glass, cocking his head to one side. “You would be wise to remember that yourself.”

“So if you don’t like what I print you just buy all the papers so no one can read it. Is that it?”

Reece placed his glass on the sideboard behind him. “It is my prerogative.”

“Your prerogative,” she parroted, surprised her voice didn’t shake. How could she dislike him and be drawn to him at the same time?

He’d helped her when she needed help, worked hard to bury her father, and for that she was grateful. But everything he’d done since then had shown him for the ruthless, conniving scoundrel he was.

 He shrugged. His nonchalant attitude bolstered Emma’s resolve and helped her overcome the war raging inside her between her righteous anger and her physical and emotional response to the man before her. That response could range in one single moment from fear to attraction to a deep abiding sadness that was more disturbing and more confusing than any of her other feelings.

Her gaze returned to the painting on the wall. She could well imagine Mr. Reece MacBride standing on the lawn in front of that house, walking its luxurious halls. The image pricked her temper.

“What if I print a hundred next time?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose I would be free to exercise my prerogative again."

He pushed away from the sideboard and walked toward her, stopping so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her flushed face. The musky masculine scent that always clung to him filled her senses as it had when he’d stood in her newspaper office earlier that day.

“Of course, there are alternatives for both of us,” he suggested.

 He was doing it again, damn him. He knew very well how his nearness affected her, and he used her weakness to his advantage. Emma fought the urge to back away, to put some distance between them, determined to stand her ground. But his eyes burned into hers with such unremitting force that finally, inevitably, she glanced away, unable to hold his gaze in spite of her best efforts.

“My offer still stands,” he told her with a hint of amusement. “I am prepared to contribute to your paper financially and to put all of my resources at your disposal.”

“I do not need or want your help, Mr. MacBride.”

He took her hand in his, and for the moment Emma was incapable of extracting it, mesmerized by the sensual feel of his warm skin against hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I could make things much easier for you here in Providence. I could open doors for you, make sure your paper gets the attention it deserves.”

“You wouldn’t make an offer like that if I were a man,” she accused, her voice surprisingly level and calm.

Reece laughed. “No, if you were a man you’d be living on the street by now.”

Emma withdrew her hand. “The quality of my paper will earn attention.”

 “You are an idealist, aren’t you Miss Parker?”

The hand he’d just held itched to slap him, but she managed to control the impulse, not entirely certain he wouldn’t return the gesture. “Don’t you dare be amused at me!" she ground out between clenched teeth. “Who do you think you are?”

She felt a brief satisfaction at the surprise that flashed across his face. He hadn’t expected her to stand up to him.

 “As I pointed out this morning,” he said, turning his surprise back to amusement with a smile, “I am the man who owns the building --"

“You can kick me out if you want, Mr. MacBride!" she shouted, incensed by his calmness in the face of her anger. “Because I’m sure there are other suitable buildings in Providence. Why should I take your word that there’s not another piece of property to be had in the whole town? I will still print my papers. Freedom of the press is very important to me and you will not take away my right to that freedom. I don’t care if this is your town or your state!”

“Please keep your voice down, Miss Parker, or I will be forced to shut the door. I cannot have you frightening my customers.”

His short laugh grated on her nerves. He treated her like a minor irritation, a mosquito or something equally inconsequential that he considered beneath his attention.

“I feel certain this is an isolated incident,” he continued, his voice soft and sensual. “I mean surely every paper you print will not be so controversial. There must be some common ground between us.”

 “Common ground is not the issue." Didn’t he realize the seriousness of what he was trying to do?”I shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not the paper meets with your personal approval.”

“You could always publish your paper in another town,” he suggested with a shrug.

He was right. She could pack her belongings tomorrow morning and strike out for the closest town alone. But what if there was no work for her in the next town? What if the next town was every bit as violent and inhospitable as this one? How long would she have to wander the West until she found a place to settle down?