Robin Lee Hatcher (7 page)

One of the men who stood nearby said, “Go on, Hawk. Don’t disappoint the lady. Ask her to dance.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. What if he refused? She would die of mortification.

His dark eyes seemed to bore into hers, warning her of something she didn’t understand. Then he took her by the hand and led her onto the floor.

Bethany had been introduced to society two seasons before her family left Philadelphia. She had danced beneath glittering crystal chandeliers to the music of full-piece orchestras. She had glided in the arms of handsome young men from the finest families in the East. Clad in yards and yards of satin and lace, she had whirled past walls lined with gilded mirrors. But never could she remember an evening so brilliant, a moment so wonderful, as the one she knew now, dancing in the arms of Hawk Chandler.

She wished the music would go on forever.

Hawk sensed people watching them, could feel the disapproval. There were those who thought him not good enough for a young lady like Bethany Silverton. Maybe they were right. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. But he didn’t want to stop dancing with her. Not yet.

It was the cessation of music that made the decision for him. He stepped back and reluctantly released her. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Silverton.”

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “It was my pleasure.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the fullness of her bottom lip. A mouth made for kissing.

But not by me.

He placed a hand beneath her elbow and steered her across the barn toward her parents. After a slight nod to her father, he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Warily, he turned.

“I . . . I hope we’ll see you on Sunday.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “In church, I mean.”

With a noncommittal nod, he turned and left the barn.

EIGHT

Bethany awoke long before the sun was up on Sunday morning. The moment her eyes opened, she thought of Hawk.

Would he come to church as she’d asked?

She slipped from her bed and padded on bare feet to the window. Sweeping aside the lace curtains that her mother had brought with them from the East, she looked outside. Her father’s white tent reflected the last traces of moonlight. A gentle early-morning breeze ruffled the canvas flaps and stirred the buffalo grass. Overhead, a canopy of fading stars filled the lead-gray sky.

She leaned her elbows on the windowsill and cupped her chin in her palms as her gaze moved past the tent toward Spring River. Her thoughts returned to the moment when Hawk had pulled her from the water. No man had made her feel this way before. It was a terrible and wonderful ache that wound around her heart and tumbled her stomach. In Philadelphia, boys and young men had surrounded her even before she was of age. She’d loved to flirt and laugh with them. It was great fun to be the center of so much male attention. But no one in her past had come close to making her feel the way Hawk Chandler did with nothing more than a glance or a touch.

Certainly not Martin Phillips, who had kissed her when she was thirteen. She hadn’t given him an opportunity to do that again.

Certainly not Stephen Patrick. She was sixteen when he asked her father for permission to come calling. Their families, the Patricks and the Silvertons, were longtime friends, and everyone thought Stephen and Bethany would make a good match. But as nice as Stephen was, Bethany was always glad when his visits ended. No, Stephen never made her feel the way Hawk did.

Nor Harold Masters, her constant suitor while the Silvertons resided in Denver. Harold’s family had made their fortune in the gold and silver mines of Colorado, and he was building a fine mansion at the time they met. His proposal came as no surprise to anyone, but her refusal astonished them all. No, Harold never made her feel the way she felt now.

Only Hawk did that. Just his name made her skin prickle with gooseflesh. She scarcely knew him, and yet she could think of little else.

Am I falling in love?

She turned from the window and sat on the floor, back against the wall, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown as she hugged herself, hoping to calm the wild sensations inside her.

She couldn’t be in love. Mother said love needed time to grow. Her parents had known each other a number of years before her father approached her mother as a suitor. Surely that was the way one fell in love. It couldn’t happen so quickly. Not with a stranger. And a non-Chris tian at that — at least as far as she could tell.

She closed her eyes and pictured him once more, standing beside the corral at the Circle Blue. His face was dusty, his shirt sweaty, his hair tousled. His expression was stony, eyes unreadable. And then she imagined his rare smile, and she went weak inside.

Could this be love?

“I’m going to church,” Rand said. “You comin’?”

Hawk peeled another strip from the wood he whittled. “No. You know how I feel about church.”

“Yeah, I know. Just thought you might change your mind.”

“I can worship God easier on horseback.”

“Miss Silverton will be disappointed.”

Hawk grunted without looking up and was relieved when he heard Rand leave.

He wished his friend hadn’t mentioned Bethany. He’d managed to put thoughts of her out of his head for a short while. Now they returned in a rush.

“I make no apologies for my heritage,” he’d said to her.

“Why should you, Mr. Chandler?”

He couldn’t describe how those words made him feel, both the night she’d said them and now as he remembered them.

She’d invited him to church more than once. Would it be so onerous to oblige her?

His parents had been faithful members of a Chicago congregation when he was a boy. He’d spent most Sunday mornings of his youth sitting in a pew between them. He’d heard the preacher talk about the love of God — and then he’d seen church members turn their backs on his mother.

If that was God’s people in action, he could do without them.

“Why should you, Mr. Chandler?”

He remembered Bethany’s expression when she’d asked that question. Guileless. Earnest.

He gave his head a shake. It didn’t matter if she was different and without prejudice. There were a hundred other reasons why he needed to keep his distance.

Her father was not some itinerant preacher. He was a man of means and culture. Their home, though modest, was beautifully furnished. They had a housekeeper, brought with them from Philadelphia. The women in the family wore tailored gowns, not the sort one could buy ready-made from the mercantile.

And who was Hawk? Nobody special. He owned his land, and he had a good herd of cattle. But it was only a beginning. His cabin would never do for a girl like Bethany, a young lady of quality used to the finer things. She wouldn’t last one winter on a place like his. And while most folks in these parts accepted him and gave no thought to who his mother or father were, there were some who would disapprove if he had anything to do with Bethany Silverton.

He threw his pearl-handled knife at the cabin. Its sharp point slid with ease into the wooden door, the handle vibrating from the impact.

Women
.

He got to his feet, a scowl furrowing his brow as he jerked the knife from the door and slipped it into the sheath on his belt.

The last thing I need is to get mixed up with her or her kind
.

Taking her eyes from the hymnal, Ingrid cast a furtive glance toward the man at her side and found Rand watching her. He stopped singing and grinned. She dropped her gaze as the heat of embarrassment rose from the neckline of her gown all the way to the cowlick in the middle of her bangs.

She’d never before had a suitor, and it was beyond belief that any man would single her out when he could have chosen Bethany instead. Ingrid wasn’t pretty, and she was too tall and too thin. She had no family, no money of her own. Yet there he was, standing beside her, for all the world to see.

The hymn ended, and the congregation sat on the wooden benches. Reverend Silverton took his place at the makeshift pulpit. Ingrid tried to concentrate on his words, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying to the man seated on her right. Something told her the day would come when he would ask her to marry him, and she knew with equal certainty she would accept.

For the first time since her father died, Ingrid wasn’t afraid of the future.

Bethany was miserable. Not only hadn’t Hawk come to church, but for the second week in a row she was forced to sit beside Ingrid and Rand. Not that she begrudged Ingrid her happiness. Truly she didn’t. Still, if Rand was here, why wasn’t Hawk?

He must have understood how much she wanted him to come. She’d made it clear — and in front of half the town too! He could have done it to be polite, if for no other reason.

Oh, for pity’s sake. It didn’t matter to her if he came or not. She couldn’t care less. She wasn’t falling in love with him. She wasn’t interested in him. Not one little bit. Her competitive nature had gotten the better of her. That was all. So what if she lost that stupid wager? It was only a game, and Ingrid didn’t have five dollars anyway.

And yet . . .

Her father spoke the last amen, and Bethany rose from the bench, hoping to get away by herself so she could sort through the confusion roiling inside her.

“Good morning, Miss Silverton.” Vince Richards tipped his hat as he addressed her. “Wonderful sermon today.”

“Yes, it was. My father’s a fine preacher.”

“Miss Silverton, would you do me the honor of dining with me? I had my cook prepare a basket lunch, in case you were agreeable.”

“Well, I . . .” She glanced behind her, looking for an excuse to refuse. She didn’t feel like being with anyone. But when she saw Ingrid and Rand speaking to each other, smiling all the while, suddenly it seemed worse to be alone. “I will have to ask my father.”

“Allow me. We’ll picnic within view of the house, and if you or he would prefer, we can bring Miss Johnson along.”

She swallowed a sigh. “I believe Miss Johnson has other plans.”

A short while later, with her father’s blessing, Bethany walked beside Vince toward the river. She steered him away from the place where Hawk had pulled her from the water. She didn’t want any reminders.