Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (13 page)

“Going once…”

“Two dollars, Sarah!” June exclaimed, her eyes bright. “That’s a fine donation.”

“Going twice…”

“Thirty dollars.”

The crowd gasped.

Ross turned pale.

June squealed.

Sarah stared at Donovan.

The preacher cleared his throat. “Did you say two-thirty, Mr. Donovan?”

“No, Reverend. I said thirty dollars.” Donovan held Sarah’s gaze. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she heard the howl of a lonely wolf.

“Thirty dollars. My goodness.” Awed by the bid that amounted to a month’s pay for most people, Reverend Westerly edged a finger along his collar and cleared his throat. “The bid is thirty dollars,” he said loudly.

“Thirty dollars,” Ross whispered. He swallowed, glanced at Sarah, then shoved the money back into his pocket. “I don’t even have that much with me.”

“Going once…”

Ross wasn’t going to bid any more, Sarah realized.

“Going twice…”

He could have put his word on it and matched Donovan’s bid, but he didn’t.

“Sold to Mr. Donovan, for the price of thirty dollars!”

Sold to the devil for thirty dollars.

Sarah stepped forward, prepared to do her part to help the school fund. Ross grabbed her elbow.

“Sarah Calhoun, I hope you don’t intend to go through with this!”

Sarah tugged her arm free and frowned at the red-faced rancher. “I have to go through with it, Ross. Even though I didn’t make the basket”—she sent a sharp look at her mother, who ignored her—”I still have to do this, for the school.”

“Sarah, I will not have you make a laughingstock of me. You will
not
go off alone with Donovan, and that’s that.”

She clenched her fingers as her temper sparked to life, but she made an effort to remain calm. “I must go. Our neighbors expect it.”

His face grew even redder if possible, but he had no answer. Appearances were everything to a man like Ross. Sarah turned her back on him and started walking toward Donovan, who had the basket in hand, a grin on his face. She pasted on a false smile for the sake of the crowd, all the while plotting to give Jack Donovan a piece of her mind.

And nothing else.

Chapter Nine

“The nerve….the utter gall…!” Sarah spluttered. “Who gave you permission to interfere in my life?”

“I’m not interfering. I only bought your basket.”

“It’s the same thing.”

Donovan sighed. He walked with Sarah through the meadow, looking for a place to sit and eat the dinner he had just purchased for thirty dollars.

Thirty dollars, he thought with a shake of his head. He could have bought a brand new saddle for that money! But it was worth it to get Sarah to himself. And it hadn’t hurt to beat out Ross Turner, either. But he didn’t think Sarah agreed with him.

Given her current temper, he decided to wait until she settled down before he mentioned the change in their relationship.

“I don’t see why we have to go so far from the others,” Sarah carped, stomping along with her sturdy brown skirt clenched in furious fists.

“Because I want to talk to you,” Donovan said. “And I really don’t want any of those busybodies to get wind of what I have to say. Do you?”

Sarah snorted. “The last thing I want is gossip, but you and your grandiose gesture have assured that the rumor mill will be working nonstop for the next week.”

“Well, if I hadn’t bid that much money, Ross Turner would be the one carrying this basket.” He grunted and shifted his grip. “What the heck is in here anyway? Enough food to feed the whole town?”

“I have no idea what’s in there,” Sarah replied primly. “I didn’t make it. My mother did. And as for Ross, why should the prospect of a picnic with him disturb me?”

“Because he’s wrong for you. Look at the way he took off when I won your basket.” Donovan stopped beneath a shady tree and behind some bushes that would hide them from curious eyes and prying ears.

She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Why Ross left is none of your business. Besides, who are you to say who’s wrong for me and who’s right?”

He put down the basket and withdrew a checkered table cloth, then handed her an edge. “I’m your friend. We are friends, aren’t we?”

Sarah sniffed in disapproval as she helped him spread the cloth over the ground. “Friends don’t embarrass friends.”

“I wouldn’t know. As you’ve pointed out, I’m a little short on social graces.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “I don’t know what sort of people you’re used to, Mr. Donovan, but in most social circles, friends help each other.”

“I’m trying to help you. I need to talk to you alone, and this was the only way I could do it.”

She sighed again and shook her head. “Mr. Donovan—”

“Jack,” he murmured with a warm, intimate smile. “We’ve surely known each other long enough.”

She eyed him warily, then nodded.

“Now sit down so we can eat.”

She sank down onto the blanket as he started unloading the picnic basket. She watched his lean, competent hands and wondered what he wanted to talk to her about.

Donovan sat down on the blanket across from her and took off his hat, placing it on the ground next to him. His black hair was slicked back from his face, casting the sharp blade of his nose and his angular cheekbones into prominent relief. Sarah curled her fingers into her palms and fought the urge to touch him as he took an apple from the basket, pulled out a knife, and began to peel the fruit.

“What did you want to discuss?” Sarah asked, trying to distract herself from her own sensual thoughts. “The school project?”

“Nope.” The red skin fell away from the apple in one long coil. He held the freshly peeled fruit out to her. “Apple?”

Sarah blinked at the speed with which he had pared it. She took it from his hand and stared at the smooth surface. Any other man would have left nicks and jabs in the fruit, but Donovan had sliced the peel off in one, quick, clean motion that left a smooth path from the knife. She glanced up at him, but he was peeling another apple with the same easy skill.

She wondered where a man learned to use a simple blade with the proficiency of a master wood carver.

He glanced up as a second long curl of red peel dropped to the blanket. “What’s the matter?”

She answered his question with one of her own. “Isn’t it the woman who’s supposed to tempt the man with an apple?”

He paused in raising the fruit to his lips. “I don’t know about apples, sassy girl, but you sure tempt a man.” He bit deep into the juicy pulp and paused, taking what seemed to be an indecently long time to finally scoop the bite into his mouth. The glint in his dark eyes made her shiver.

She cleared her throat. “I…um…I thought we had agreed that you weren’t going to tease me anymore.”

“I’m just giving you a compliment. You’re a pretty woman, Sarah Calhoun.”

She blushed. “Thank you. You’re a very attractive man.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss Sarah.” He grinned, stretching out to lie on his side, his lone dimple easing the hawk like sharpness of his features. He propped his head on one hand and bit into the apple again with strong white teeth. The other men attending the box social had come dressed in their Sunday best, but Donovan had chosen to wear black pants, a white shirt and a leather vest. He looked nothing like one of the wealthiest ranchers in the area. At first glance she would have mistaken him for a cowhand or a drifter.

Or an outlaw.

Sarah averted her gaze from his lean body, so close and warm, and tried to ignore where her thoughts led. But she had to admit the idea of Jack Donovan as an outlaw definitely appealed to her. Even if he’d never broken a law in his life, he had that element of danger about him that secretly thrilled her. Determined to regain control of her wild fantasies, she bit into her apple. The tart sweetness of the fruit exploded on her tongue.

“You realize if we keep this up, we might actually get along,” he drawled.

“I don’t like to fight,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” he replied with a grin. “It keeps life interesting. Besides, it’s your nature.”

“It is not!” she responded hotly. He burst into laughter, and she gave him a sheepish grin. “All right, so maybe it is. It must be the Irish bloodlines.”

“I’d say it’s just you, Sarah.”

She sighed. “It’s not very ladylike, is it? This temper of mine.”

“I don’t know about ladylike, but I’d rather be with a woman than a lady any time.” He bit into the apple and chewed, his movements lazy, his gaze watchful.

“Ladies
are
women.”

“There are women who are ladies, and then there are women who are women. Ladies bore me. They’re always fainting and blushing and worrying what everyone else thinks about their hair. Women, on the other hand, aren’t afraid to just be. They don’t get caught up in all that nonsense.”

“Whether that’s true or not, a woman must watch out for her reputation,” Sarah said. “I’ve seen what happens when that reputation is a bad one, and it’s nothing to laugh about.”

He shrugged. “A woman should worry more about what she thinks of herself than what others think of her.”

“Easy for a man to say,” she scoffed. “It’s usually a man who ruins a woman’s reputation to begin with.”

“Sometimes,” he conceded.
 

“Most of the time,” she responded bitterly.

He stopped eating and pinned her with that wise, dark-eyed gaze. “Something you want to talk about?”

“No.” She brushed away his concern with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard the whole story by now.”

“Some people don’t pay all that much attention to gossip,” he said quietly. “And maybe everyone isn’t talking about you as much as you think they are. There
are
other things going on in this town.”

She flushed. “You think I’m self-centered, don’t you?”

“No, I think you’ve been hurt. But it really doesn’t matter what I think, sweet Sarah. It’s your opinion of yourself that matters.” He bit off the last chunk of apple and tossed the core into the basket.

“I like myself,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, most of the time. I like what I’ve built with the newspaper.”

“You picked yourself up from a fall and got right back on the horse,” he pointed out. “That takes a lot of guts. A lot of women might have just given up and let someone else take care of them.”

“I guess that’s where my temper proved an asset,” she mused. “I got mad, and I was stubborn enough not to let them beat me.”

“Atta girl.” He sat up and rummaged in the hamper, pulling out two thick ham sandwiches. “Too bad you’re thinking of giving all that up.”

She took a sandwich from his hand. “I’m not giving anything up.”

“You’d be sacrificing the newspaper for a wedding dress,” he said, unwrapping his sandwich. “And that would eventually eat away at you. You deserve better, Sarah.”

“Ross is a good man. And it’s my choice.” She started to eat her sandwich, thinking the matter finished.

“I just want you to make the right choice. Who’s to say that Ross will be the only man to ask you to marry him?”

She frowned. The man was like a dog with a bone. “I’m getting on in years, Jack, and there are very few men who would look beyond the…troubles…in my past like Ross has done.”

“Getting on in years?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “How old are you, Sarah? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Don’t you know better than to ask a woman her age?” she snapped. “Never mind—obviously you don’t. I’ll have you know that I turned twenty-three last month.”

“I’m thirty-one, sassy girl, and believe me when I tell you, you’ve just begun to live.”

“No one can predict the future, Jack Donovan. I’m certain you felt older than your years at my age just like I do.”

He sobered. “It’s true that I grew up long before I should have. Take my advice, sweet Sarah, and enjoy your youth. Life has a way of taking it from you, whether you like it or not.”

The raw emotion in his voice stirred something in her. She touched his hand. “Where are you from, Jack? You’ve never said.”

He looked down at her fingers on his, then glanced up at her face. “Kansas.”

“You have family there?”

“No.” He shook his head. “The only family I ever had was my mother, and she’s been dead for years.”

“Oh, how sad. It’s devastating to lose a parent.” She hesitated. “How did she die?”

He paused, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “She was murdered.”

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“My father was murdered, too.” She gave a wry smile. “I guess that gives us something in common, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Did they ever catch who did it?” she asked finally.

“Yup.” He glanced at her, and she shivered, seeing the wolf looking out of those deep brown eyes. “I caught him, and I killed him. Guess that would be called justice, wouldn’t it?”