Running Wild (15 page)

“Nicholas McGraw,” Melinda interrupted, her tone turning
severe. “Jim has been working this ranch since he was fifteen. He’s more than
capable of running it without you. Besides, you know full well that should
every last cow die tomorrow, we’d all have more than enough money to live
comfortably from now ‘til doomsday.”

“Ok,” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Maybe I oughta
study on it some?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly. “You surely could
put some thought into it.” And then, because over the years she’d learned a
mite of caution with her nagging, she turned to leave the room. He couldn’t
miss the lightness in her step, though. She’d been “encouraging” him to go for
months.

“Mel?” he asked as she reached the door.

Her hand on the knob, she looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“All that etiquette stuff. The table settings, and which
wine to drink, and what to do with calling cards, and what to wear to balls and
teas and such. I don’t know a damned thing about it. I’d most likely make a pure
fool outta myself.”

She dropped her hand and leaned against the door. “Well I
did spend three years in finishing school back East. I have several books on
etiquette for the girls as well.”

“Think you could teach me, then?”

She beamed at him. “I know I could. Your manners are already
very good, Nick. It’s a matter of refinement, that’s all.”

Refinement. Sure. He rubbed his neck, and grimaced. “And the
clothes, too.”

“We’ll take a trip to Denver. We found some very fine
tailors when we were planning Lee’s wedding. Even Port agreed that he could
find no better in New York.”

“If Port liked ’em, they’ll cost me a pretty penny.”

“You can afford it.”

He could. Hell, with Lilah’s advice investing in the stock
market, they could all afford it a couple hundred times over. “O.K. O.K., we’ll
do it,” he said, and even while his stomach clenched in anxiety, his heart
jumped and his blood started to sing.

Sextus Propertius, Elegies

Ten minutes outside of Boston, Nick finally gave up trying
to finish
The Bostonians
. His heart had started acting strangely just
east of Syracuse. He’d dismissed it until the porter announced that they’d
crossed the Massachusetts border. Since then he’d read the same five paragraphs
ten times over because thoughts of Star kept distracting him. Not recollections
of her letters, but of those weeks she’d spent at the Bar M. Of her smile, her
laugh, her scent. Her kiss. Especially her kiss.

Damn.

He’d thought he’d permanently demolished those memories.
Pulled them out, stuck them on a target and shot them to hell with his
Winchester. But an hour out of Boston the memory of her kiss whispered in his
ear like a ghost.

Ten minutes out of Boston it was completely resurrected.

He remembered the feel of her lips on his, remembered
drinking in her sweet, spicy taste. His body responded to both as it had months
ago, with a deep, pants-tightening hunger. From a kiss, for the love of God.
Just
a kiss.

One helluva kiss.

He hadn’t thought about kissing for years. In fact, he
couldn’t recall the last woman he’d kissed before Star. Not Eva or May for
sure. He went to them for a lot more than kissing; he paid ’em—and well—to get
straight to the good parts. After Star’d left, though, he’d thought maybe he’d
been missing something, maybe he should try kissing. But he’d been wrong about
that. Kissing Eva and May was nothing like kissing Star. It lacked excitement,
thrills, heat. The tonic of anticipation? He wasn’t sure, but after a couple
times he’d given up. Gone home, taken Star’s kiss out of his memory and shot it
to hell. Cool clear mind, once more.

Until he was an hour out of Boston.

He’d been a fool. He’d persuaded himself that his interest
in Star surrounded her lightning-quick brain and frothy wit. The truth was, his
interest went a whole helluva lot deeper than that. He didn’t want to just
talk
to her. He want to kiss her again, and follow that up with everything she’d
asked for but he’d denied, because a man didn’t fool with his friend’s
daughter. ’Specially not when she was sleeping under his roof.

Or the man was sleeping under his friend’s roof either, like
he’d be doing these next weeks.

The train came to a squeaking halt and Nick took a deep
breath. Time to face the music.

A short time later, he stepped onto the platform and peered
through the crowd of passengers, moving in a myriad of directions, all looking
like they knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t know what to do next.
He’d taken the time to send a telegram from Syracuse, but who knew if the Montgomerys
had received it. Would they meet him, or should he find his own way to their
house? He had the address, but how a man got around a city as big as Boston,
he’d no notion. Walk? Hire a hansom cab? He didn’t―

The crowd parted suddenly and there she was. The world went
silent as she walked toward him with that floating grace he recollected so
well, as if her feet never touched the ground. She smiled and his heart
stopped. She was perfect. Perfectly beautiful, with that lush body, those
brandy-gold eyes, that bright smile. He’d traveled a thousand miles, sitting
stiff and unbending for hours on end, wondering why in hell he was doing this.
Then Star smiled and just like that, it was all worth it.

Halting in front of him, she extended her hand. “Nicholas!
How splendid to see you again.” Her voice was the same too, deep yet feminine,
cultured and worldly but laced with singsong merriment. Lord almighty, how he
loved that voice.

“Nicholas. You look wonderful.” Morgan Montgomery’s voice.

His heart started again as he turned to look at her. The
noise of the depot rushed at him. Sonuvabitch, what was wrong with him? Star
was just a woman, he reminded himself, clutching at the reins of reason. A
woman who liked playing games, too, and months of letters didn’t change that
fact. He hadn’t come a thousand miles to be some cat’s mouse, even if that cat
was the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d come as her friend. He’d
for come Ward and Morgan too, who reminded him so much of his parents sometimes
it hurt, and for Lee and Jess and Port, and for experience, and because even
after a winter of crippling cold, he had more money than he knew what to do
with.

“How was your trip?” Morgan asked. “I daresay the trains run
so well these days that sometimes traveling is truly enjoyable! Oh, here’s Gus.
Gus, can you take Mr. McGraw’s bag there? Do you have a trunk as well?”

“Yes, ma’am, two, in the baggage car,” he said. “Sure is
good to see you again. And you too, Miz Montgomery,” he said tipping his hat.

She lifted one delicately arched eyebrow. Her eyes gleamed
with that familiar carnal promise, grabbing him down below. “Is it really? I
see your manners haven’t improved any. I’ve requested several times, Nicholas,
that you address me as Star. I shall look the perfect fool in front of all my
friends if you don’t. They’ll no doubt accuse me of putting on airs.”

His fought for, and managed, a grin. “Well ma’am, I reckon I
just don’t feel comfortable speakin’ to you that way. Your friends’ll no doubt
put it off as my odd Western ways.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “What a stubborn man you are. I
suspect they’ll thoroughly enjoy your odd Western ways, at all rate, and if
they don’t, I shall thoroughly enjoy watching them try to make heads or tails
out of them. Come along, then, the carriage is this way.”

He fell in step behind her, his heart lurching to life with
every seductive movement of her hips. Yup, he could deny it from now ’til
doomsday, but he’d missed more than her mind and her laugh. He’d missed it all,
including her persistent, wanton attempts at seduction.

He was a dead duck.

***

“Thank you so much, Margaret,” Star said to her maid after
she finished securing a simple gold locket around her neck. “That should do
until bedtime. I expect it won’t be a late night since we’ve no plans other
than dinner. You may sleep in tomorrow, as well. I’ll be taking a morning row
on the Charles and not require assistance until mid-morning.”

Margaret, niece to her mother’s much-beloved maid, Maeve,
was a pretty, Irish girl with dark hair and rosy cheeks. She caught Star’s eyes
in the mirror and several thin lines creased her brow. “If you’re sure, ma’am?
We do have Mr. McGraw staying.”

Star smiled back reassuringly while reaching for her jewelry
box to find her emerald earrings. Her hands were shaking, drat it all.
“Regardless, I should never wish for tight lacing for my morning exercise. Get
some extra sleep, by all means, for you know that now he’s arrived, our
schedule shall be hectic.”

“Yes ma’am,” she said. She left as Star clipped on her
second earring. Rising, Star surveyed her image in the full-length mirror
across the room. For her first night with Nicholas, she’d chosen a simple green
silk with no train and a modest bodice. The locket hung low enough on her neck,
however, to draw a man’s eyes to those curves. The gentle up sweep of her
chignon allowed an ample view of her earrings, dangling just low enough to
emphasize the slim line of her neck. The effect was, she hoped, seductive
without being brazen. Nicholas had made his view on wanton displays perfectly
clear, and yet she could not resist trying to whet his sensual appetite. Not
after meeting him at the train depot, not after he had looked at her like
that
,
his gaze feasting upon her person like a starving man at a banquet.

Her legs turning to jelly, she sank back into her dressing
table chair. She hadn’t expected that reaction. Or hers. From the moment their
eyes locked in that station, she’d felt slightly feverish and her stomach had
been alive with butterflies. Madness, for the months of correspondence between
them ought to have guaranteed a comfortably platonic friendship. She had
tried
to get up a flirtation via the U.S. mail, but he’d answered her attempts in
such a dry, even tone that she’d abandoned it after a few letters.

From that point on, most of their correspondence had
centered on the movement. Although certainly misguided, Nicholas stated his
thoughts with such clear logic that it forced her to sharpen her arguments. So
well, in fact, that Alicia Blackwell, noting the change, had given her a weekly
column in the
Woman’s Journal
. Additionally, Blackwell’s mother, famed
reformer Lucy Stone, had sent Star several speech writing requests, along with
an invitation to speak at Saratoga Springs in June. Since everyone knew Star
was a mediocre speaker, she took the invitation as it was meant, a token honor
for her hard work, one she’d not have received without Nicholas to refine her
points.

He’d also shared anecdotes about the Bar M. His wry,
self-deprecating humor often caused her to laugh out loud. His gift for
description had made her homesick for the crackling heat of the huge stone
fireplace and for evenings spent in Melinda’s parlor, with the children
nattering while Jim and Melinda bickered good-naturedly. She’d missed Colorado,
although now, with summer approaching, her blood had started bubbling with the
anticipation of taking
The Princess
out for a sail through Newport bay.

Tonight, though, her blood bubbled for Nicholas.

It was worse than at the Bar M. In Colorado she’d only been
fighting passion. Now the added bond of friendship brought that passion to new
heights. If he refused to return it . . . well her sanity would surely not
survive these next few months.

She glanced at the clock. Drat, but she was late for dinner.
Rising, she took one last look at herself in the mirror and smoothed out
non-existent creases in her dress. Still shaky, she left the room to join her
family in the parlor. As she entered the room, Father and Nicholas rose, but
her eyes rested longest on Nicholas in black pinstripes and silk waistcoat,
with a silver and black patterned tie, perfectly knotted. He smiled at her.
Bright admiration warmed his gaze, leaving her uncommonly lightheaded.

“Star, you look marvelous,” Father said. Dressed impeccably
in charcoal grey, he bestowed his slight smile upon her, while giving her hands
a light squeeze in greeting.

“Well there you are, honey,” Mother said, from the sofa,
where she sat in a violet taffeta gown. “We were wondering what might be
keeping you. You’re never late for dinner.”

“As it is so rare to have such an honored guest for dinner,
I took some extra pains in my wardrobe. It is so gratifying to have you here at
last, Nicholas. You cannot imagine how much Mother and Father have wished for
your visit.”

A gleam entered his lovely blue eyes. “Reckon I’ve got some
notion, ma’am. Made it clear often enough. Now that I’m here, though,” he added
with a sweetly affectionate smile at Mother. “I can’t figure why I waited so
long.”

To drive me to distraction
, Star thought as her heart
fluttered. He was as handsome as ever, although in a more sophisticated way.
His clothes were expertly tailored, the cut and style fashionable without
pretention. If Melinda had prepared him for Society as well as she had dressed
him, none of them would have cause to blush. Yet for all Nicholas’s newfound
urbanity, the attractive aspects of his cowboy roughness remained: his tanned
skin, his calloused hands, the directness of his gaze and speech.

“Perhaps we can make your stay even more comfortable,” Star
said and crossed the room to a corner to retrieve a long oblong box, wrapped in
brown paper and string. She held it out to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking it.

Goodness, but he still smelled of pine and leather and gun smoke.
The scent rose from his skin and floated under nose, then flowed across her
nerves like a warm breeze on a cold winter morning. “It’s a gift,” she said.