Sweetwater Seduction (13 page)

“I have no idea,” Miss Devlin replied.

“And of course you had no choice except to return it,” Amity Carson had whispered.

“No choice at all,” Miss Devlin said, her nose pinching.

She gratefully closed the door behind her at The Gold Shoppe, hoping for a respite from the curious eyes and probing questions that had followed her down the street.

“What can I do for you, Miss Devlin?” the jeweler asked.

“Can you fix my alarm clock, Mr. Gold?”

“Let me see, Miss Devlin. Ah . . . a Waterbury . . . very good clock . . . just take a second to . . .”

Eli Gold disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the shop, leaving Miss Devlin to wander around looking at the jewelry on and under the glass counters. A collection of silver baby spoons displayed on blue velvet caught her eye.

She picked up a tiny shell-shaped spoon and ran her fingers along its scalloped surface, imagining how the texture would feel to a baby using it for the first time. Her hand found its way to her belly as she imagined what it would be like to feel a life growing inside her.

“Friend of yours expecting?”

Miss Devlin froze. She recognized that drawl.

“No?” the voice continued. “Thinking of the future then? Toward the day when you'll need a spoon like that for your own child?”

Miss Devlin whirled in the direction from which the taunting voice had come, only to find herself staring out the plate-glass window of The Gold Shoppe into the interested face of Florence GradyMiss Devlin whirled the other way and encountered the white-toothed grin of the Texas gunman.

“What are you doing here?” she said. “I'm the talk of Sweetwater after what you did yesterday.”

“Your skin looks lovely.” His thumb brushed her cheek so quickly that her slapping hand missed his. “Did you use the cold cream?”

“You know very well that if I could have done so without causing even more talk, I would have thrown that cold cream right in your face. How dare you follow me in here!”

“Follow you?”

“Yes, follow me.”

“I'm here on legitimate business.”

Miss Devlin had already opened her mouth to contradict the gunman when Eli came back into the room with her alarm clock. She snapped her mouth shut and planted a beatific smile on her face. “Did you find the problem?”

“A broken spring. I fixed it.”

“What do I owe—”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Kerrigan,” Eli said, seeing Miss Devlin was not alone. “I have your pocket watch all ready, sir. A minor adjustment. Quite a unique watch. One of a kind. Beautiful couple pictured inside. Who might they be?”

It had been a friendly question, but Eli was reminded in the awkward silence that followed, as the gunslinger's dark eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek flexed, that while one might ask questions in the West, one did not always get answers. “Wait just a moment, sir, and I'll get your watch,” Eli said, making a hasty exit.

Miss Devlin refused to look at Kerrigan, so she missed the changes in his demeanor caused by Eli's unfortunate question. “It appears you do have business here after all,” she said, her body stiff with embarrassment.

“Forget it.”

“I shall be glad to forget ever having met you,” Miss Devlin said with all the disdain she could muster. “In the future, I would appreciate it if you do not find yourself compelled to offer any more tokens of . . . of . . .”

“Affection?” Kerrigan supplied.

“Irritation!” she retorted.

“You didn't like the cold cream?”

“It wasn't a matter of liking,” Miss Devlin said, gripping her gloved hands tightly together. “A lady does not accept gifts from a gentleman who is not . . . is not . . .”

“A gentleman?” Kerriganid with a sardonic twist to his mouth. “You're more of a prude than I thought, Miss Devlin.”

Eden opened her mouth to deny his accusation and snapped it shut when Felton Reeves opened the door—carrying a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with pink ribbon.

Felton pulled his hat off as he walked up to her, frowning when he realized Kerrigan was with her. He acknowledged the other man with a curt “Kerrigan.”

Kerrigan nodded and leaned indolently against the jewelry counter.

Felton turned his attention to Miss Devlin. “I heard you was in town, and wanted to give you this.” He thrust the package into Miss Devlin's hand, giving her no chance to refuse it.

“Why, thank you, Felton.”

He stood eyeing her expectantly, turning his battered hat in his hands. “Ain't you going to open it?”

“Now?” Miss Devlin caught a glimpse of Kerrigan's smirking face and said, “Yes, of course.” She laid the package on the glass counter and carefully unwrapped it.

When Miss Devlin said nothing, Felton blurted, “I hope you like chocolates.”

Miss Devlin opened the heart-shaped box and saw that indeed, it contained a dozen chocolate bonbons which, in fact, she liked very much. She turned and smiled to ease Felton's nervousness. “Thank you. I do like chocolates. I'm having Reverend Simonson and his wife over for dinner Friday night. Perhaps you could join us?”

“Friday night?” Felton stared at her blankly. “I . . . uh . . . can't Friday. I . . . uh . . . have to be out of town . . . on business.”

Miss Devlin repressed the notion that Felton's refusal sounded suspiciously like he didn't want to come. Why on earth would he bring her chocolates if he wasn't serious about courting her? “Perhaps another time, then.”

“Right. I'll be seeing you.” Felton slapped his hat on his head and a moment later was gone from the shop.

“I'm free on Friday night,” Kerrigan said, popping one of Felton's chocolates into his mouth. “I'll be glad to join you for dinner.”

Miss Devlin quickly slid the lid back in place on the chocolate box. “Hell will freeze over before I invite a hired gun to dinner, Mr. Kerrigan.”

She glanced up and found Kerrigan's features taut, his eyes remote. She refused to say anything more, unsure what had caused his swift change of mood and unwilling to chance further antagonizing him. The instant Eli returned, she paid him what she owed him and raced from the store.

By dusk Florence Grady had passed on her opinion that there was definitely something going on between Miss Devlin and the gunslinger, and furthermore, Felton Reeves seemed to be involved.

That night Miss Devlin stayed up as late as she could, toes tucked under her, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, rereading
Romeo and Juliet
in bed. It was both as romantic and as tragic this time as every other time she had read it. Despite the fact her eyelids were drooping, she forced herself to read on to the bitter end, reasoning that if she were sufficiently tired when she fell asleep, she wouldn't be plagued by the disturbing dreams of the past few nights.

When at last Eden finished the play, she pulled off her spectacles and wiped the dampness from her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Swallowing over the lump of emotion in her throat, she carefully set her spectacles on the bedside table, turned down the lamp, and pulled the covers up over her shoulder. Very soon she fell asleep.

And dreamed of a baby.

It had black hair and soft pink skin, and it suckled at her breast as its father looked on in approval, his coal-black eyes both tender and hungry for his wife. The scene was so vivid, Miss Devlin was surprised when she awoke to discover it had all been a dream. And appalled that her thoughts could run so rampant.

On Thursday afternoon when she returned home from school, Miss Devlin found a present wrapped in brown paper and tied in a beautiful blue ribbon on her front doorstep. Her first thought was that it had to be from Kerrigan. Then she remembered Felton had wrapped his present in brown paper too. Exasperation warred with anticipation, curiosity with trepidation.

Eden carried the package inside and set it on the kitchen table. If it was from Kerrigan, she didn't even want to open it. But maybe Felton had put it there. In which case she should be glad, because that would mean he was avidly pursuing their courtship.

Miss Devlin frowned. She didn't understand her feelings at all. Because she found herself feeling anxious no matter who had put the package on her doorstep.

Once Eden removed the brown paper she simply stared for a moment at what she found. Her astonished face reflected back at her in the polished silver. She smoothed her fingers across the shell pattern on the baby spoon. It was from Kerrigan, of course. He had seen her gesture as she touched her womb; he had glimpsed her dreams. Felton wouldn't have known how she wanted the tiny spoon, what it represented. And of course there was no question now that she must return it.

But not today. There was no reason why she had to do it today. She didn't have to give the gossips in Sweetwater another tale to tattle so soon.

She carried the spoon into her bedroom and opened the wooden “Wish Box” on her dresser. In it she kept certain things she had collected over the years that meant a great deal to her, because each one represented a wish she had for her future. She carefully laid the spoon inside.

When she finished her supper, Miss Devlin headed back to school, where she had unfinished business. She was glad, as she watched the sun begin its descencolorful wash of pinks and purples, that she had decided not to return Kerrigan's gift today. She welcomed even a brief respite from the gossip and innuendo that had followed her since that scoundrel had come to town.

On the other hand, she thought as she wiped the perspiration from her brow, she could use a little of that tall Texan's muscle right about now. The past half hour spent splitting kindling had been brutal, not that she had anyone but herself to blame for the situation. One entire side of the schoolhouse was lined with cords of firewood to heat the school through the winter. Each day, the boys took turns chopping kindling that she used the next morning to start the fire in the schoolhouse stove.

Today it was Hadley Westbrook's turn, but he was not back in school. By the time she realized no one had chopped any wood, it was too late to get a substitute. She could have waited until morning and had one of the boys do it then, but it was so cold lately, the children wouldn't have learned much bundled up in their scarves and overcoats waiting for the schoolroom to warm up.

She had worn her mittens to protect her from the cold, and realized too late that what she really needed was leather gloves to protect her hands. Miss Devlin hissed in a breath of air as her new-made blisters made contact once again with the hickory ax-handle.

“Got a problem?”

Miss Devlin nearly chopped her big toe off when she dropped the ax in alarm.

“Be careful there, you might hurt yourself,” Kerrigan said as she lifted the heavy ax from the dirt at her feet.

“Stop sneaking up on me,” Miss Devlin virtually snarled. “I don't like it!”

“You didn't return the spoon this afternoon.”

Miss Devlin stood stunned for a moment. “I will tomorrow.”

“You don't have to, you know. No one will know where it came from.”

“I'll know.”

Kerrigan hefted the ax and neatly split a block of wood into two even pieces. “You're much too hard on yourself, Miss Devlin. It's all right to dream.”

“Dreams are illusions. I prefer facing reality.”

“Even when reality is disappointing?”

“I can deal with disappointment.”

He set the ax down and eyed her speculatively. “I can see how well you've dealt with it.”

A flush of color rose in her cheeks. “I never said my life was disappointing.”

“So you're happy being a spinster”

Miss Devlin tilted her chin up. “Are you happy being a hired gun?”

“No.”

Miss Devlin's mouth rounded in surprise. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

“Why aren't you married?”

“You answer my question and I'll answer yours,” Miss Devlin retorted.

Kerrigan turned and leaned a hip against a stack of firewood. “I started out seeking revenge. Once I had it I realized it didn't bring back what I'd lost.” He shrugged. “By then it didn't seem to matter so much what I did with my life. I had met a man who knew I was good with a gun and who needed my help. Word spread and pretty soon I had a reputation that brought me more work than I could handle.” He shrugged again. “I've just never had a good enough reason to quit.”