Montana Legend (Harlequin Historical, No. 624) (12 page)

Sarah fetched Ella's yellow calico from the hook in the closet. “Sure. It will keep you busy while I finish unpacking. What do you think of our room?”

“It's the best room ever.” Ella shimmied out of her good dress. “'Cuz it's ours.”

“That's what I think, too.” Sarah plopped the calico over Ella's head.

While Ella jammed her arms into the sleeves and buttoned up, Sarah removed the brand-new hair ribbons and stowed them on the bureau that came with the room.

Sunshine streamed through lace curtains, ones Sarah had made long ago. Other treasures dotted the furnished room—her wedding ring quilt, doilies her mother had crocheted and the quilted throw she'd made from scraps of Ella's baby clothes. Tears ached in Sarah's throat as she ran her fingertip across her jewel box.

It wasn't a house, as she'd wanted, but this did feel like home.

A quick rap on the door broke into her thoughts. She wasn't surprised to spy Gage in the mirror's reflection as he smiled down at Ella, who'd pulled open the door.

“Are you girls ready to go? Scout is down there
chomping at the bit.” He caught Sarah's gaze in the mirror and winked. “Go on, I'll catch up to you two.”

“You can't catch us, Pa! Scout's too fast.” Lucy appeared at his side and grabbed Ella by the hand.

The two girls raced off, the strikes of their shoes in the hallway growing more faint until there was only silence.

“Nice place you got.” Gage held his hat in his hands, scanning the room. “You and Ella ought to be real happy here.”

“It's a whole new start for us.”

“I hope it goes real well for you, Sarah. Is there anything more I can do? A trunk you need hauled up those stairs? You name it, I'll do it.”

His eyes grew dark. His gaze slid to her mouth. She noticed how fast his chest rose and fell, and a lightning-quick jolt of desire skimmed through her.

As wrong as it was. She was dreaming if she thought Gage desired her. One-sided, that's what this was, and she had to remember that. There was no double meaning behind his offer to do anything she wished.

“As you can see, I'm all settled in. I can't tell you how handy it was having the use of your buggy. I thought moving would take the entire day, but it didn't. I have spare time, and I hardly know what to do with myself.”

“Tell you what. Since your girl will be out at my place anyhow, why don't you come, too?”

There was no flicker of want in his eyes, no invitation in the crook of his smile. Just one friend asking another over to visit. It was as simple as that. “I suppose I could be talked into it.”

“Fine. Then I'll put some steaks on to grill—”

“You cook?”

“Sure. Some folks say I'm pretty good.” Dimples dug into his cheeks as he grinned. “Care to find out?”

“I'm not sure I should risk it.”

“Worried, huh? Go ahead, doubt my abilities. I'll prove you wrong.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“I'm good and I know it.”

The trouble was, that he did. “I wouldn't say good, exactly. More like pompous. Arrogant. Misguided.”

“Sure, that's what you think now. Wait until you taste my grill sauce.”

“Sauce? You mean, gravy.”

“You heard me.” He headed for the hallway. “You're in trouble now because I'm going to prove to you I'm a great cook.”

“There you go again. Overconfident. Too sure of yourself.”

“It's a gift, what can I say?” His wink made her laugh. “See you soon.”

She was still laughing as his boots rang in the stairwell. The warmth in her chest remained as she parted the curtains to watch him on the street below.

She couldn't help wanting him. What a sight he was, in denim and blue muslin, untethering his mare. The hardware store owner called out to him and they exchanged friendly words. No wonder everyone thought so well of Gage. He stood tall, unwavering, a man easy to look up to. And as friendly as could be.

Wasn't
that
the problem? Every time she was with him, he made her care for him more. What was she going to do?

She frowned at her reflection in the bureau's beveled mirror. She could see the years on her face. Her
dress was plain, the fraying at the cuffs and collar stayed by a careful use of needle and thread, but it was there.

It shouldn't matter how she looked. What mattered was providing a good life for Ella. The trunk tucked beneath the window held her few good dresses, saved over the past year so when she started back to work, she wouldn't need to spend precious dollars on clothes.

She wouldn't lie to herself. It was her pride again, always getting her into trouble, but she wanted to wear something with a little color in it. Something that made her feel like a woman and not the poor relation the Owenses had taken in.

The snap of the buckles echoed in the quiet room and she lifted the trunk's heavy lid. The scent of dried roses tickled her nose as she reached in to lift back the sheets she'd used to wrap her most valued possessions.

There, on top, was her yellow gingham. Trimmed in lace she'd tatted and real satin ribbon. The dress she'd sewn to wear to her best friend's wedding two years ago, during much better times. The best dress she'd ever owned.

Where had the matching bonnet gone? She carefully lifted the hat partition from inside the trunk lid and spotted a yellow strip of matching ribbon.

“Sarah?” Mrs. Flannery, who owned the boarding house, poked her head into the room. “Was that Mr. Gatlin I saw leaving my establishment?”

“One and the same.” Sarah stood and shook the wrinkles from her gingham dress. “He was only here for a few minutes. If that's a problem—”

“Goodness me, no. Practically a legend, you know.
Several years back, he used to be in all the newspapers. Then again, you probably knew that.”

“I was in Idaho Territory then.”

“You didn't hear about the prison break, out Deer Lodge way?” Mary bustled inside the room, holding hard to her broom. “Ten men, some of the most barbarous murderers the West had ever known escaped the night before they were to be put to death.”

“Gage was one of the Rangers sent to find them?”

Nodding, Mary settled into the wing-backed chair by the unlit fireplace. “An entire fortnight the Riders hunted the convicted men, following a path of murder and ruination from Butte all the way to the Badlands.”

“And you know all this from reading the newspaper?”

“Who doesn't? Sarah, you ought to know this. Gage didn't tell you?”

“No. He doesn't talk about being a lawman.”

“Then you listen up. This is the man who's courting you.”

“He's not courting me.”

Mary waved her comments away. “Winter had set in with a vengeance that time of year, but the Riders refused to let up. Every day innocent people—entire families—were murdered in their beds for the little bit of money and food the outlaws stole from them. The toughest lawmen in the territory were on their trail, and killed one by one until only a single Range Rider remained.”

“Gage?”

“He was the only one who stopped them, but not before more innocent lives were lost. And nearly his own.”

“He was wounded?”

“Gravely. It was in all the papers, week after week, the reports saying they didn't know if he would live. He pulled through, but I never read his name again. He gave it all up, and to think he's come here to raise up his girl and marry you.”

“Please, Mary, don't start
that
rumor. Gage and I are not courting.”

“You were.”

“We're friends and nothing more. That's the truth.”

“If that's what you want to believe, dear. Now, here's an extra key for your little girl, just in case. I'll just put it right here on the mantel. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mary's story lingered, and as Sarah changed and replaited her hair, the tale troubled her. The image of Gage as a lone lawman tracking ten cold-blooded killers filled her mind.

“A legend,” Mary had called him.

 

“Pa!” Lucy shouted through the kitchen window. “Sarah's here. Quick. You gotta brush your hair or something.”

“I like looking disheveled.” He snatched the boiler pan off the stove. “The women like it.”

“Sarah doesn't like it.” Lucy scowled at him in that charming way she had that said she thought he was a lost cause. Then she bolted from the room.

He drained the potatoes, watching through the rising steam as Lucy, leading his mare, and Ella, on Scout, met Sarah on the road.

It was tough to see her beneath the shade of the buggy top. He couldn't see her face, and he still had to fight his attraction to her.

This wasn't going to be easy.

He set the fry pan off the heat and headed for the door. He ought to greet her, after all. They were friends. It was the friendly thing to do.

“Ma, look! I'm riding Scout all by myself.” Ella sat awkwardly in the saddle, a little unsure as the left rein slipped from her white-knuckled grip.

Lucy nosed the mare close and caught the rein. Pride filled his chest. No doubt about it, he had a good girl. She'd done a good thing, letting Ella ride Scout, who was as tame as could be.

The girls dashed away, showing off their riding skills to Sarah. The mares took advantage, frolicking a little in the knee-high grasses, fragrant with the first buds of wildflowers. The girls' delighted giggles lifted in the pleasant breezes.

“I brought dessert.” Sarah swept from the buggy seat with a basket in hand.

It wasn't the basket he noticed. It was the woman.

She was radiant in a dress the color of buttercups that skimmed her fine breasts and slim waist to perfection and whispered over her hips and thighs. Need knocked through him hard and fast.

He couldn't control it, couldn't extinguish it. It pounded through his blood as she swept gold curls from her eyes and presented him with the basket.

“If supper doesn't turn out as tasty as you claim, then at least we'll have cake.”

“So, you don't trust me.”

“Not a chance.” The twinkle in her eyes said otherwise. “You finished the house. It's beautiful.”

“The way Lucy wanted it. I've still got to put on the porch and paint it. Come inside and I'll show you the sights.”

“I'd love to.”

It was the pleasure of showing his workmanship to an appreciative friend, Gage argued. That's why he felt so…happy. Yep, that was the word. Happy. Not because Sarah was at his side, smelling like roses and sunshine. Nope, he was simply enjoying showing her his hard work. If a little voice in his head called him a liar, then that voice had to be wrong.

“A brick fireplace.” She ran her fingers over the real brick. “Folks around here use river rock, it's free for the taking.”

“Figure I'll carve a mantel when I get the time.”

“And look, a window seat. I've always wanted one.” She swept across the room to the white-paned window. “Let me guess. This was Lucy's idea.”

“She insisted.” And now he knew why. Window seats must be what women like, because Sarah lit up like summer as she ran her fingertips across the polished wood seat.

“You need a cushion so Lucy can sit here and read when it's too cold to go outside. And pillows with ruffles and lace. And you'll need curtains. Millie from the dress shop does custom sewing.”

“I'll keep that in mind. 'Course, I'll worry about that after I get some furniture.”

Sarah's heels echoed in the empty room. “You're too busy with your horses right now, is that it?”

“I confess, I have a weakness for them. Got the new colts to gentle and an order to fill for two dozen Arabians.”

“That ought to keep you busy and out of trouble.”

Trouble? He was in it up to his chin. He couldn't help noticing the sway to Sarah's walk as she moved ahead of him to view the empty dining room.

It was perfectly natural for a man to notice a
woman. Nothing to be concerned about. He had willpower.

Until he watched sunlight burn golden in her hair. Until he noticed the full curves of her breasts that pretty dress of hers seemed to accentuate.

“Oh, Gage. The kitchen. Everything smells so delicious. I take back every word I said about you being a bad cook.”

“I suppose I can forgive you.” Maybe if he did something that occupied his hands and his mind, he'd stop wondering what her breasts looked like beneath that cheerful checkered fabric.

Out of desperation, he grabbed the fry pan and dropped it to the stove with a clatter. “It hurts deep, Sarah, that you doubted me.”

She hid a smile as she opened the pantry door. “I may have to whip the potatoes to make it up to you.”

“Whip them? You look gentle as can be on the outside, but I know the truth. You're a brutal woman.”

“Well, I could beat them if you'd rather.”

“Beating vegetables.” He pretended to shudder. “No wonder all the town gossips are trying to pair us up. I'm the new man in town and innocent to your ways.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a horrible sense of humor?” She uncapped the butter crock.

“Never. What are you going to do now? Butter me up?”

“You're impossible. Where do you keep your bowls?”

“My one bowl is in the lower cupboard near your left foot.”

“You have one bowl?” She knelt, found the bowl and refused to let her heart fall any further.

“One fry pan.” He ladled his secret oil mixture into the pan. “First it was foaling season, and then I had to get the cattle to the stockyard. No time to shop.”

“Did you get a good price for them? I remember folks complaining this year.”

“I did all right.” He uncovered the meat and forked the steaks into the pan. “The whip's out in the barn if you need it.”