Rachel Donnelly (19 page)

After helping her to step out of it, he tossed it over the dressing table chair.

“Thank God!” She plopped down on the bed to remove her white slippers and stockings. “I thought I’d never breathe properly again.” She flung her last stocking into the air.

She looked up to find Nat standing before her very still, staring at her knees with a frown.

She rubbed her hands over the ugly purple bruises. “It’s all right,” she told him brightly. “It looks much worse than it is.”

He rubbed one hand over his face as though he might erase the image. “You should have told me they hurt you.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She crawled beneath the bedcovers with a sigh. “No need to fuss.”

“I’m not fussing.” His tone came low and gruff. “I don’t fuss.”

“Good,” she breathed, closing her eyes. A moment later, she felt him tuck the sheets closer under her chin. The gesture seemed so tender — so out of character, she smiled, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

“Goodnight, Christie,” he whispered against her ear. Then, she may have imagined it, but she thought she felt his lips brush against her cheek as light as a butterfly.

• • •

“Gut shot by his own brother.” Nat leaned his shoulder against the veranda post and gazed up at the stars. “Seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?”

“One less Everett to hang,” Holt drawled from where he sat in a rocker behind him. “Hank went charging down that hill so fast, he tripped right onto Billy’s loaded gun.”

“Doesn’t take much for a gun to go off.” Nat took another long, slow swallow of brandy. Why didn’t he feel more satisfied? Hell! He should be celebrating. He should be happier than he’d been in three years. But he couldn’t bring himself to gloat. After tracking the Everetts for so long, he felt he knew them better than he’d known his wife. “If they’re headed east, they’ll turn up in Virginia City before long.”

“It’s a long ride,” Holt said. “We’d better get some shut eye.”

Nat pushed away from the post. “No rush.” He strode to the other rocker to flop down, legs splayed apart. “They’re never hard to find. Catching them is the problem.”

“What do you mean no rush?” He could feel Holt’s scowl in the darkness. “This is the perfect time to nab them — when they’re distracted by grief.”

“Too easy — like shooting buffalo.” He wanted Billy Everett to remember every minute of his hanging. “No sport in that.”

Holt grunted as though in agreement.

“A few days won’t matter one way or the other.” For the first time in three years, he felt no overwhelming urgency to be on the Everetts’ trail. “Besides, we both need a rest. I’m tired.”

“Tired?”

“Yes, tired!” Why did he sound so damn amazed? “Can’t a man get tired?”

“Normal men do.” Holt gave a snort. “I’ve never known you to stop to take a breath.”

“Well, I’m taking one now. Besides, I’ve got business to attend to here. This place doesn’t run itself.”

“Business?” Holt chuckled. “That business wouldn’t be sleeping upstairs right now, would she?”

“This has nothing to do with Christie.”

Holt chuckled. “Whatever you say. I’m not faulting you for it. A man would have to be blind not to appreciate a woman like that.”

Nat sliced him a narrow look. “It’s nothing a trip to Sacramento won’t cure.”

“Well, by the look of you you’d better get there fast.” Holt smiled wide. “Maybe after that, you can get some sleep.”

“Look who’s talking — you’re so horny you’re starting to twitch.”

Holt gave a loud hoot. “And you’re not!”

“At least I’m not calling out whores’ names in my sleep.”

“What names?”

Nat leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Suzanne, Yvette, Mable … mostly Mable.”

“Mable? I don’t recall any Mable.”

“Yes you do — red hair, big hips.” How could he forget? “The one down in San Francisco who liked to scratch.”

Holt leaned back in his chair, raising his arms to cradle his head in his hands. “Ah, yes, Mable … I remember her now.”

“Don’t get all dreamy eyed on me. San Francisco is too long a ride. You’ll have to make do with one of Maggie’s whores this time.”

“When this is over, I’m going to settle down and find myself a woman.”

Nat resisted the urge to laugh. Holt made that declaration on a regular basis, at least once a week, but he never expounded on the subject. Much like his plans to build a house on the property he’d purchased up in Montana.

“Have you answered your father’s letter yet?”

He also had a habit of sticking his nose in other people’s business to avoid his own problems. Nat kept his tone calm but firm. “No.”

Holt shrugged. “No need to bite my head off.”

Anger sparked in his chest. “You know what the answer is, so why do you keep asking me?”

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“Of course I haven’t changed my mind.” Nat took another drink. “I married once to please someone else. I’m not doing it again. Hell, every time I come home my father tries to hitch me up.”

“Could turn out different this time.”

“If you want a wife so bad, marry her yourself!”

Holt grinned. “I might consider it if she looks like Miss Wallace.”

“It’s not her looks you should be worried about. It’s her constitution. A delicate socialite like her wouldn’t last two weeks out here.”

“Obviously, Miss Wallace isn’t as delicate as she looks. And for all you know, neither is this woman your father has in mind.” Holt rose from his chair. “It couldn’t hurt to meet her.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Well, I’m turning in.”

Before Nat could comment he’d disappeared inside the house.

Couldn’t hurt to meet her … ha! That’s what Holt thought. Nat knew better. He’d started out feeling that way about Heather, only to discover how fragile she was, and how much gentle care it required to keep her happy.

At first, he’d enjoyed being needed. But eventually her clinging ways took their toll — burrowing under his skin like a sharp thorn. Thinking back now, that was probably the reason he left her with Aunt Carolyn and traveled out West to try his luck mining on his own. It wasn’t the money he was after, but the freedom.

He’d never tie himself to a woman like that ever again.

Christie wasn’t the clinging type, but she was an Easterner. That was enough for him. She belonged in a drawing room, not out here in the wilderness where her elegance and grace would go to waste. Besides, this was a dangerous place. If she stayed here, she was likely to end up just like Heather.

All of the painful arguments and his father’s meddling had been for nothing. He’d failed them both in the end. Now his father thought he could somehow make amends by finding him a new wife.

Nat rubbed his fingers against his temple and groaned.

Why couldn’t his father just leave it alone?

Hadn’t he done enough?

• • •

Christie woke to the sound of birds singing outside her bedroom window. Their chirps and twitters echoed like an opera in her head. The pulsing throb in her temple made her grit her teeth. She tunneled back under the covers with a moan.

When she came to again, the world had descended several octaves. She could raise her head without sharp stabbing pains shooting out the back of her head.

Egads!

Had she really drank that much wine? The awful taste in her mouth told her she had. What a fool she’d made of herself. Nat must think her completely lacking in self-control, or at the very least — a terrible lush.

A hesitant knock on the door brought her upright. “Come in.”

“
Buenos dias
, Señorita Christie.” Inez tip toed into the room, carrying the blue gown Christie had worn the night before. “You will not be squashed again. I have let out the seams a good inch for you,” she said, heading for the wardrobe. After hanging up the gown, she pulled forth another. “This was easy to alter as well. Señorita Heather’s seamstress allowed generous seams in all of her gowns.”

“Thank you, Inez. You don’t know how grateful I am. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be reduced to wearing rags.”

“Oh no, you are very beautiful.” Inez blushed. “Señor Randall would never allow that. He has an eye for fine clothes.”

Christie was about to say that he was unlikely to notice what gown she wore unless she was threatening to burst out of it, but pride kept her from proclaiming his obvious disinterest. Besides, why should she care? What was this unholy attraction she had for the man?

Dangerous, that’s what it was — like him.

No good could come of it.

But, when Inez laid the sea-foam green day dress across the bed, Christie couldn’t help but picture herself gliding into the dining room. The sheer gathered bodice and undershirt, held in place with deep green braid, matched the covered buttons on the hemline to perfection.

After Inez helped her into it, the looking glass revealed how it flattered her golden tan, picking up the green flecks in her eyes.

“Magnífico!” Inez declared. “It’s a shame brides must wear white.”

“When is the happy day?”

Inez shook her head. Her huge brown eyes misted over. “Heriberto and I had hoped for a summer wedding, but Mama will not ask Señor Randall’s permission. It is always the same.” She threw her arms in the air. “Each time he comes home. She does not wish to burden him. She thinks news of our wedding will make him feel sad.”

“I very much doubt that. His wife has been dead three years. After so much time a wedding should give him pleasure — inspire hope for the future. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Oh, I could not.” Inez’s bottom lip quivered at the suggestion. “I will wait.”

“But that’s ridiculous! You can’t wait forever. Perhaps Heriberto would speak with him.”

Inez’s eyes grew as big as chestnuts. “Oh no, he would not wish Señor Rañdall to think him bold.”

“Why should he think that?”

“Señor Rañdall warns all of his vaqueros when they are hired, if they should come near me or even speak to me, he will kill them.”

“I’m sure that was just for your protection.” Christie smiled in reassurance. “He’s not going to kill him for falling in love with you.”

Inez looked fearful. “No, but he will be very angry if he thinks Heriberto disobeyed his orders.”

“Perhaps I should speak with him,” Christie said as much to herself as Inez.

Inez’s eyes lit with hope. “You would do this for me?”

“Certainly. As soon as he returns, I’ll explain the entire situation.”

“But he has not left.” Inez beamed from ear to ear. “He is downstairs working in his study. Oh! Heriberto will be so happy.” She flitted across the room in a happy dance. “No more waiting!”

Christie watched her, too stunned to reply. Thankfully, Inez was so distracted making the bed, she didn’t notice Christie’s jaw come unhinged. When she’d offered to help, she hadn’t realized Nat was still here. She assumed she’d have time to rehearse a speech — think up some plausible excuse to hurry the match without making it seem like she was interfering.

But it was too late.

She couldn’t back out now.

Inez would be devastated.

Christie procured directions to the study, then hastened downstairs to find Nat.

She knocked twice on the solid door then listened.

No answer.

Perhaps it was just as well. She wasn’t certain if she had the strength for a spirited debate after last night. It wasn’t only the state of her recovery, but the possibility of his displeasure. She loathed to destroy their fragile truce by meddling in his personal life.

“Come.”

Damn!

So much for a reprieve.

Christie sashayed into the room.

Nat stood at the window dressed in snug black trousers and a blue linen shirt, gazing out over the landscape. It was disconcerting, if not strange, to find him looking just as comfortable in the grandeur of this house as squatting by a campfire — as though he was two entirely different men. Even his speech seemed to change.

She stood with her hands clasp under her breast feeling like an intruder in the dark-paneled room. “Good morning.”

He turned from the window to give her a long lingering look. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

By his half smile, she gathered he referred to the copious amounts of wine she’d consumed. Her face went hot to the roots of her hair, then she collected herself, saying primly, “Yes I did, thank you.”

“Good. If there’s anything you need Li Ling or Inez will be happy to help you.”

“I’m not sure Li Ling likes me very much,” she said, remembering the large bone in her soup.

Nat smiled. “She’ll get over it.”

“If you say so.” She clasped her hands in front of her, rocking back on her heels. “I expected you to be gone by now.”

He lifted one dark brow. “I see.”

“No, I mean … I wasn’t sure.”

He smiled as though enjoying her discomfort. “There are things requiring my attention, I must attend. We’ll be leaving in a few days, when Holt returns from Sacramento.”

“How do you manage such a large property when you’re never here?”

“Iago manages quite well.” Nat’s features had a closed look, as though he didn’t wish to discuss it.

“You must trust him a great deal.”

“I do.”

Christie blundered on, determined to keep her promise to Inez. “You’re very close to him and his family.”

“We met in the Sierras mining gold. We’ve been together ever since. Dos Almas was the name of the rancho he grew up on in San Benito. It means — ”

“Two souls.” She sent him an apologetic smile. “Inez told me.” At the time, she’d assumed Dos Almas held some special significance for him and Heather. For some reason she felt inordinately pleased to discover she was mistaken. To cover her confusion she asked, “You named your ranch for him?”

“I wanted Iago and his family to feel comfortable here.”

Well, that explained the Spanish name, but it didn’t explain why the house looked like a Virginia plantation. Given enough time, perhaps she could work that into the conversation. Although conversing with Nat Randall was like dancing without a partner. “Does he resent the fact that you struck it rich?”