Running Wild (14 page)

Although in truth, she’d wept almost every night since her
attempt to seduce Nicholas had met with that terrible final, rejection.

Too forward. Too tall. Too strong. Not delicate or sweet,
lacking modesty and decorum. She’d thought Nicholas would appreciate that.
She’d been wrong.

She’d stayed in her room that first night with the headache
and would have kept to herself for the remainder of their visit had Father not
summoned her two days into her self-imposed exile. Discrete as he was, he’d
made only enough inquires to apprehend a basic understanding of the situation.
Afterwards he had, gently but firmly read her a lecture on good manners and the
importance of feigning delight with her hosts, even if she could not feel it.
Which, in the end, she did. She’d even managed, after a few stilted attempts,
to converse with Nicholas again, and finally to re-establish their easy,
flirtatious friendship, complete with occasional bantering, and nothing,
nothing personal.

“And you and Jim and the rest of the family will come East
this summer for a visit, correct?” Father was saying, his hand upon Nicholas’s
shoulder. “We should love to have you all, children included.”

Nicholas grinned back, twisting Star’s heart. “Boston would
never recover.”

Mother smiled. “Which would be the most diverting part of
all,” she said, amusement turning her speech deep and throaty. Normally it
would have touched Star, who, like most of the family, relished her mother’s
shallowly hidden rebellious tendencies. “It has been quite some time since the
Montgomerys have set the town on its ear.”

“I reckon since Lee was last living there,” Nicholas
answered, although his eyes flickered over Star, no doubt wondering what sort
of scandals she’d created.

“Aye, Lee’s departure did silence quite a bit of
speculation,” Father answered with a tense smile.

“Promise us, Nicholas, that you shall at least consider a
visit with us,” Mother said.

“Put so pretty, ma’am, I’d be a cad not to.”

“Excellent,” Father said, taking Mother’s elbow. “And now,
Morgan, if you would be so obliging my dear, as to join me, it’s time to make
sail.”

“So soon?” she asked wistfully, her eyes straying over the
prairie and along the ridge of the mountains in the distance. “I shall miss
Colorado, you know. It is so—free.” She sighed. “But I suppose we must leave
eventually. Star, come along.”

“In just a few moments, Mother,” she replied. Nicholas
shifted his gaze to her, his eyes dark blue and solemn today, not gleaming with
mirth nor glittering with anger and grudging desire. For almost a fortnight,
she’d counted the days until she’d escape the pride-destroying agony of his
company. Suddenly however, leaving seemed so much more painful than staying.
She might never see him again. The tears she’d thus far revealed only to her
pillow at night welled up in her eyes.

“You’ll miss the train, Star,” Mother said. As if on cue,
the train whistle cut shrilly through the dull winter air, and the conductor
walked past them calling, “All aboard!”

How, oh how could Nicholas be satisfied leaving her with a
short, public goodbye? After all they had shared, he must have something
personal to say, mustn’t he?

In the end, though, they’d actually shared very little.

Out of the corner of her eye, she marked Mother’s wary
expression. She didn’t approve of Star’s attentions to Nicholas, but had yet to
reproach Star. “She has five more minutes, Morgan,” Father said, firmly
grasping Mother’s arm and guiding her down the platform. As they walked, he
whispered something in her ear, and Mother’s answering chuckle floated back to
Star.

Star focused on Nicholas again. The tightness in her chest
and burning in her eyes threatened to overwhelm her.

“Your Ma’s right,” Nicholas advised in a low, harsh voice.
“You don’t want to miss the train.”

Not a personal farewell or even a cheerful
bon voyage
.
More like
Good riddance, ma’am, glad you’re leaving
. Essentially the
same response as when she’d offered herself as his lover. Contrary to the
words, though, his throat worked, as if trying to dislodge a lump.

She held out a gloved hand. “It’s been a pleasure and an
experience, Nicholas,” she said, trying to keep her sentiments from her voice.
A wasted effort, for it emerged high and pained, and she blinked several times
to force back tears.

He regarded her hand as if it was a snake waiting to spring.
Then he drew a deep breath, took it, and reached for the other as well. Even
through the leather of his gloves and the cloth of her grey gloves, she could
feel his heat. Thrills flew across her skin, warming her against the winter
chill, while simultaneously every fiber in her being wailed, mourning the loss
of that remarkable touch. For a short spell, he stared down at her hands, a muscle
jumping in his cheek. When he raised his head to hold her gaze, she found
longing in those beautiful eyes. Her heart leapt, then started to flutter. That
emotion was far too deep to be sudden. He’d hidden it from her.

“Yes, ma’am, it has been a pleasure and an experience, and
an honor too. You are. . .” He swallowed, while a wry smile twitched on his
lips. “One of a kind, and that’s a fact.”

She tilted her head, instinctually resorting to flirtation
to ease the heaviness falling over them. “One of a kind? You know, I am not at
all certain that’s a compliment. And really Nicholas, you ought to know better
than to insult a woman as she is leaving you.”

He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and then dropped them.
“It’s a compliment. Seen some things in my life, ma’am, but never anybody like
you. Not too many people can surprise me.”

“Then you must come East as Mother requested, for I assure
you we are near to bursting with surprising women like me!”

Smiling, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his black
leather duster and shook his head. “Not hardly likely. Reckon the Northeast
couldn’t take more than one Star Montgomery. I’m gonna miss you.”

A sob rose in her throat, and she swiped at a wayward tear
as her composure began to crumble. Oh, but she couldn’t leave! This was far
more painful than any unrequited emotion. “I’ll—” Her voice cracked. “I’ll
write.”

He sucked in his breath. “I’ll answer,” he replied in a low,
harsh voice.

A kiss, a hug, anything!

The train’s whistle blew and the conductor yelled “Last call!”
He turned to her. “That means you too, ma’am,” he said kindly.

“Thank you,” she answered. She looked back at Nicholas. “I
must go.”

He nodded. “Take care of yourself.” Something dark flickered
in his eyes. He frowned. “And if that Romeo hombre keeps at you . . . . Well
you just watch out for him, you hear? Talk to your Pa, he’ll handle him.”

“Romeo’s merely an admirer. Nothing to—”

“Just do it,” he said. “Now go on.” He nodded to the train.
“Quick, the conductor’s climbing aboard.”

The conductor was, in fact, extending his hand to her as the
train started to move. No more time—she ran and climbed the steps. On the top
step, she turned to wave one last time, but Nicholas was already gone.

***

Nick reviewed the letter spread across the polished surface
of his desk. Ward’s careful handwriting, once again requesting that Nick and
the family come East for an extended visit. It was, Ward wrote reasonably, the
least they could do after Nick had so obligingly offered them his hospitality
and saved Lee’s life. An exaggeration that, but Nick understood that a man
needed to pay his debts, especially a man like Ward.

Nick sighed and, running a hand through his hair, leaned
back in his chair. For all that, he’d rejected the idea several times over the
last few months. He’d never been wild about travel, and when Melinda had
announced that she was in the family way it’d pretty much put the kibosh on
travel plans. It’d been a brutally cold winter, too, killing who knew how many
head of cattle. Granted, matters were a helluva lot worse in Kansas after the
January blizzards, but all of cattle country had suffered. It looked like
prices might take a dive, too, crowding the mourners. No, he’d explained to
Ward, he couldn’t leave all of that on Jim’s doorstep, even though Ward knew
full well that Nick didn’t have much to lose. A few years back Lilah had
predicted the drop in cattle prices, and both he and Rick had been cutting back
on their stock. Ward never pointed that out, though, just kept repeating his
request with the greatest civility. And Nick kept denying him, with equal
civility.

Lately, though, Nick had started reevaluating his decision.
Lately the quiet peaceful life he’d spent so many years fighting for had felt
dull. And his books, which had taken him all over the world, seemed flat.
Literally. His mind had been everywhere; his body hadn’t followed. He could
picture the ocean’s rolling waves clearly, but he’d never heard it, smelled it,
touched it or tasted it. Reading and experiencing, he acknowledged grudgingly,
were entirely different things.

His eyes drifted to the books and magazines at the corner of
his desk, sent by Star. Could she be the cause for his change of heart? If he
were contemplating touring the East without seeing her, would he still want to
do it?

The answer came quickly.
Yes
.

And just as quickly.
No
. Not as much. What good was
knowledge without somebody to share it with?

It’d been enough before. Nick had long ago accepted that
people out West would never much credit book-learning. It sure wasn’t the kind
of thing a man talked about over beer on a Saturday night. Nick loved reading
and learning; one of the first things he’d ever learned was to keep that love
to himself.

Until Star had come along. That woman kept nothing to
herself and demanded his knowledge and opinion as well. Before her, he’d never
much talked to women because they’d never much interested him. With Star,
though, conversation flowed like a mountain stream, sometimes in rushes of
enthusiasm and discovery, like when the spring was swollen by melting snows,
and sometimes easy and comfortable, like on a lazy summer day. She was never at
a loss for words, always had something to stir his interest or tug at his funny
bone. In talking with Star, he discovered bits of wit, wisdom and silliness in
himself that he’d never known existed.

He focused again on the reading material she’d sent him:
The
Bostonians
by Henry James, a serial in
The Century Magazine
, and the
latest book by Robert Lewis Stevenson,
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde
. The latter, she said, was for “light” reading, to balance out his
Platonic studies. He’d finished the book in two days, but he wouldn’t call it
light, more a study in the different sides of human nature. Smiling, he reached
for one of the magazines and opened to the front page where she’d scrawled a
note. “I cannot own to liking the ending, or James’s caricature of my fellow
reformers, but it is certainly worth the read.” Smiling, he ran his fingers
over the words. Over the months, he’d begun looking forward to her letters and
packages almost to the point of obsession. Every word brightened his day. Her
personality came through in her writing—strong, bold, and marbled with her
irrepressible humor.

He missed her.

He missed Ward, too, whose letters touched Nick in a
different way altogether, and brought a different kind of longing, an ache for
a long-lost fatherly bond. He wanted to go to Boston for Star, but also for
Ward and Morgan and Lee and Jess, and even Port.

A rapping on the door rang out and Melinda entered, carrying
a tray. “I brought you some coffee and cake, Nick.”

As usual, Nick’s heart warmed at the sight of his
sister-in-law. True, most days her chatter drove him into his library, but she
made Jim the best of wives and happy as a lark to boot. For almost ten years
she’d cared for Nick, too, without a thought of complaint, never mind any
actual words. “Sure, Mel. What kind of cake?”

“Pound cake,” she said, laying the tray on the edge of his
desk.

As he made room for the tray, his stomach took a joyous
leap. Melinda made the best pound cake this side o’ the divide, from a recipe
passed to her by their former cook, Barbara. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.
She handed him a cup of java, stomach-burning strong, mixed with plenty of
cream and sugar. Most of the time he took it black as sin, like a man and
rancher ought to. Melinda, though, knew how he really liked it—sweet and
creamy. It was their secret.

“My monthly quilting club came this morning,” she said. “Is
that a letter from Ward?”

“Yup,” he said. He took a bite of cake. The first taste was
all sugar, which slowly melted into butter, coating his tongue. Nothing better
in the world, except to chase it with coffee. He sighed in pure gastronomic
delight. “It’s like pieces of heaven, Mel. Barbara couldn’t have done better.”

“Why thank you, Nick! That what she said at the meeting
today. I didn’t tell her I’ve added a little something special to the recipe.”

Another miraculous bite, and he closed his eyes to savor the
moment. When it melted away, he focused on her again. “Marvelous. How’s
Barbara?”

“Her joints still pain her, but Lilah’s remedy helps enough
so that she gets around. What does Ward have to say?” Her hand rested lightly
on the desk as she looked at him with bright, curious eyes.

“Same ol’ thing. Askin’ me to come visit.”

“And your answer will be the same old thing too, I expect.”

Leaning back in his chair, he narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t
feel right leavin’ with you in the family way.”

She patted her belly and smiled down at it gently. “It’s
still early, Nick. At any rate, Jim and I can handle it just fine. I’ve
delivered three babies with no difficulty.”

“True. But there’s the ranch to run and it’s been a
miserable winter. Doesn’t seem fair leaving Jim to manage that load too, with
cattle prices dropping and—”