Sweetwater Seduction (6 page)

“What possible reason could you have for talking to that man about me?” Miss Devlin demanded when they were finally seated across from each other.

Eden waited while Felton cleared his throat, refusing all the while to meet her eyes. She suddenly found the sunshine uncomfortably warm, and the glare through the windows began to give her a headache.

At last the sheriff met her gaze and said, “I'm sorry if you was—”

“Were.”

“Huh?”

“The correct form of the verb is
were,
” Eden said.

“Uh. I'm sorry if you
were
embarrassed by what Kerrigan said. But I ain't—”

“I'm not.”

“You ain't embarrassed?”

“No! I mean, yes! I was embarrassed. I was correcting your grammar, Felton.
I'm not
is the correct form of
I ain't.
” Miss Devlin could see they might spend the whole meal misunderstanding each other if she kept interrupting, and vowed to bite her tongue at whatever grammatical irregularities there might be in the rest of Felton's confession.

“What I'm trying to say,” Felton continued doggedly, “is that I ain't—
I'm not
—always going to be just a sheriff. I got plans to buy me land and start a ranch hereabouts. One day I'll be a man of position in Sweetwater, and I'll need a woman like you by my side. What I mean is, I want to court you, Miss Devlin, with the intention of marrying you.”

Miss Devlin's instinctive reaction was to tell Felton Reeves in Big Words she had no interest now, or in the future, in his courtship. A day ago, even a week ago, the words would already have been out of her mouth. Now she forced herself to stop and consider his proposition carefully.

As far as she could tell, the two of them had nothing in common. From what she had heard of him, and in a small town that was a lot, Felton didn't like to read and he preferred games of sport, cards in particular. Significantly, she couldn't seem to stop correcting his grammar, which was embarrassing for them both

Staring down at her gloved hands, which were gripped tightly together, she admitted she wasn't getting any younger. With the shortage of single men her size in Sweetwater, this might very well be her one chance for the kind of marriage she wanted and, more importantly, a family before she was too old to have children.

To the good—considering she had vowed not to love the man she married—she felt no affection for Felton. But to her consternation, neither could she imagine allowing him to touch her as intimately as a husband must if they were to have a family. She thought that perhaps, with time, she might grow to like him enough to conceive of such familiarities between them. And, if he was willing, she could help him improve his grammar.

She was a little surprised he had waited so long to declare himself, but brushed the thought aside. His offer would allow her to be a wife and mother, goals she had feared beyond her reach. So, instead of the sharp setdown that had been on her lips, she found herself saying instead as she carefully tugged off her gloves, a finger at a time, “I would be pleased to accept your suit, Felton.”

The beaming smile on his face below his bushy mustache was reward enough for her generous response. He was so genuinely nice and thoughtful for the rest of their meal together that Miss Devlin began to think perhaps she might have an easier time learning to like him than she had presumed.

She was conscious all the while of the man dressed in black sitting across the room. It vexed her that she knew the exact moment he rose to leave. Instead of heading for the door, he turned in their direction. She quickly forked a bite of pork chop into her mouth and began chewing vigorously.

“I assume from the smile on your face, Felton, that congratulations are in order,” the gunslinger said.

“I ain't going—”

“I'm not . . . going.” Miss Devlin bit her lip, but the damage was done.

Felton's jaw muscles worked for a moment before he continued, “I'm
not
going to invite you to kiss the lady's hand if that's what you was—”

“Were . . .” Miss Devlin turned her head away, feeling a sudden, desperate need to investigate an interesting knothole on the windowsill.

“—
were
angling for,” Felton finished determinedly. “But I'm pleased to say Miss Devlin has agreed to see me with the object of marriage.”

Miss Devlin turned back to observe what effect Felton's words had had on the gunslinger. To her utter disbelief, and right before Felton's frankly challenging eyes, Kerrigan took Miss Devlin's hand anyway—the one not holding the fork—and raised it to his lips.

The instant his lips touched her skin it was as though a lightning bolt streaked up her arm. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he had a firm hold on her ann't be denied.

“May I wish you happy, Miss Devlin?” the gunslinger said, his breath warm and moist against her skin.

“It appears you're going to do so despite Felton's wishes,” she said.

“Felton knows me well enough to allow the familiarity,” Kerrigan countered.

“Well, I don't,” Miss Devlin said, recovering her hand from him at last. She opened her mouth to give him a sharp setdown for his audacity, but was interrupted by Felton, who saw which way the wind was blowing and wanted to avoid the scene he felt sure Kerrigan would be happy to create.

“You ain't—”

“Aren't!” Eden snapped.

Felton flushed and Eden could have bitten her tongue off in remorse. If it hadn't been for that awful gunslinger, she would never have lost her temper with Felton, who couldn't help his atrocious grammar.

“—
aren't,
” Felton continued doggedly, “welcome company here, Kerrigan. So I'll thank you to be moving on.”

Eden stared up into the gunslinger's eyes and saw the mocking humor was finally gone, leaving them cold and hard and not at all friendly. She wondered what she had ever seen in him to allow him to invade her dreams. She swallowed the masticated lump of meat in her mouth with difficulty and said, “Anyway, I'm sure my happiness is no concern of yours.”

If possible, his eyes were even colder when he replied, “Pardon my presumption, Miss Devlin. Felton.” He tipped his hat in a gesture that was insolent in the extreme before sauntering out the door.

It was lucky she had already swallowed the pork chop because Eden's throat closed so tight, she might otherwise have strangled. She set her fork down and hid her trembling hands in her lap. “Ooooh! That man! I'd like to shake him.”

“Don't let Kerrigan upset you, Miss Devlin. He's more than likely going to find himself jailed, or hanging from the business end of a rope, in the not too distant future.”

“Can't you arrest him now?”

“He ain't broken any laws in Sweetwater.”

Catching herself in the nick of time, she let Felton's poor grammar pass, but said, “You mean you have to let him kill someone before you can do something?”

“What would you like me to do?”

Eden felt an uneasiness around Burke Kerrigan—almost agitation, not quite irritation—that made her nearly desperate to avoid seeing him again. It was nothing she could explain with words, but shehave been quite happy at the moment to know he was confined anywhere she wouldn't accidentally run into him. Jail sounded pretty good, actually. But she could see Felton's point. He could hardly put Burke Kerrigan in jail simply for being annoying.

Eden drew her kid gloves on, anxious to make her escape. “I'm sorry, Felton. I took out my anger at that gunslinger unfairly on you. I hope you'll forgive me.”

Felton captured her gloved hand in his. “Certainly, Miss Devlin. Don't worry,” he reassured her. “I can handle Kerrigan.”

Miss Devlin noted she felt nothing remotely like the electricity with Felton that she had experienced with Kerrigan and felt relieved . . . but also somehow disappointed. She refused to think further on the matter. In fact, she couldn't sit still for another instant. “I have to go now. I have some papers to grade this afternoon.”

“I'll walk you home.”

“No! I mean, no thank you, Felton. I'd like to be by myself for a while, to think.”

“All right. Can I—”

“May I—Oh, I'm so sorry, Felton. I just can't seem to stop myself.”

“It's all right,” he said with a rueful smile. “So long as nobody else is around,” he hurriedly added.

Eden relaxed and smiled back at Felton, who then said, “
May
I call on you later this week?”

Miss Devlin hesitated so long, she wondered herself what her response would be. But her pragmatism got the better of her. Felton Reeves wouldn't be a bad husband. He was certainly attractive enough to face every morning across the breakfast table, with his wavy blond hair and light blue eyes. More to the point, he was not put off by her plainness, or her height—or the fact she felt compelled to correct his grammar. If she didn't enjoy his company, or if she discovered any disagreeable bad habits, there would be plenty of time later to cry off. “Of course, Felton. I'll look forward to seeing you.”

Miss Devlin used the solitary walk home to think about how she could help Bliss and Hadley, since dealing with the problems of others was infinitely preferable to dealing with her own. If only there were some way to end this war before it got started. If men would just learn the lessons history had to teach, they would know that violence never solved anything. It was seldom, however, that women were able to convince them otherwise—though they certainly had tried their best throughout the ages.

If only there were some leverage she could bring to bear to make the ranchers and nesters see reason. Women had so little ammunition they could use—tears and pleading exhausted her list. Unless, of course, she considered ridiculous options like the one used by the women in the bawdy Greek comedy
Lysistrata,
which she had been reading when the gunslinger interrupted her last night.

In the play, the women of Greece had all taken a sacred oath not to perform their marital duties until their husbands ended a destructive war. Amazingly, the women's ploy had worked. Miss Devlin grinned at the thought of Regina Westbrook or Persia Davis vowing to withhold the pleasures of the bedroom from their husbands until they agreed to settle their differences peaceably. Why, the very idea was—

Miss Devlin stopped in her tracks. She had to be out of her mind even to be considering what she was considering. The very idea was crazy!

Why not? she thought. Desperate situations required desperate measures. After all, men today weren't so very different from the men of ancient Greece, were they?

It would never work. How could she even broach such a subject to the rancher and nester wives?

The Sweetwater Ladies Social Club was meeting this very afternoon. Every woman in Sweetwater belonged, although lately, they divided into factions the instant they walked through the meetinghouse door. All she had to do was show up and . . .

And convince the wives to withhold S-E-X from their husbands? The very idea was absurd.

In the first place, how was she going to introduce such a delicate subject? It made her cheeks pink even to think about it! Although, what one must do, one could do.

In the second place, when the rancher and nester husbands found out what their wives were doing they would—When she thought about it, what could they do? It was hardly likely Oak Westbrook could intimidate Regina. And despite his size, Persia Davis was well able to stand up to Big Ben. Surely, if she could talk Regina and Persia into supporting her idea, the others would follow their lead. Miss Devlin felt a spark of excitement. The whole business was so farfetched, it might even work.

She reversed her direction and began walking back toward town so fast, she was practically running. The ladies of Sweetwater would—

Miss Devlin stopped again.

The ladies of Sweetwater would think she had lost her mind. They would tell her to go home and mind her own business. Or worse, she would find herself out of a job and run out of town. Besides, she wasn't even sure Regina or Persia still enjoyed conjugal relations with their husbands. And she would be too embarrassed to ask.

But unless somebody did something, there was going to be more suffering and bloodshed. Bliss Davis and Hadley Westbrook would never be able to get married and raise their child in Sweetwater. Her chin jutting in determination, Miss Devlin marched the distance to the combination town meetinghouse and church where the Sweetwater Ladies Social Club would just be gathering.