“You better vamoose, George. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, might be a few months, depends.” Johnny chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.
“When do you go?” she asked with forced cheerfulness, knowing how much he hated tears and other displays of feminine weakness.
“A couple of days, maybe tonight even.” He frowned as if something displeased him.
As she followed him out of the valley, several grazing mule deers twitched their black tipped tails and bounded off.
Finally, they reached the place where Brandy was tethered. She glanced around to make sure they were still alone. What an awe-inspiring experience, a whole mountainside with just two of them on it.
As she rode off, she turned around to give Johnny one final wave. He did not return her salute, and George carried with her the image of a young man standing alone against the rugged grandeur of the mountains.
If only Johnny would go to Tom, he could lead a normal life. It would be terrible not seeing him, but his safety would more than compensate for any feelings of loss she experienced. Maybe one day she could join him.
On arrival home, McGuire was sympathetic in his rough and ready way.
The only consolation he could offer was that Nelson was an old dog who had lived a full life. Strangely, it gave her no pleasure to see Billy upset. His remarks when Nelson first disappeared had been callous, but he was not normally a cruel person.
He wandered off outside. When she made to follow, McGuire gestured for her to leave him be. “Let him cope with his grief in his own way, he loved the dog, too.”
Chapter Five
Marcus boarded the coach for Deadwood, feeling annoyed with himself for not having accepted his uncle’s offer of a carriage and driver. He observed his fellow passengers without much interest.
A middle-aged couple sat next to him and opposite were two young men who, from the snatches of conversation he overheard, were on their way to Deadwood to live it up for a time.
He had found out from Kathryn the best place to go for Georgina’s gown. He had been loath to confide in her, but she swore not to tell a soul. Something special for pretty Georgina. It would be green to match those wonderful eyes. She would be the fairest at the party.
What a night it would be for her. The fact she had never owned even one gown horrified him. Most young women he knew had dozens in their wardrobe. The ride did not seem to be as bumpy as previously, and there would only be one overnight stop, thank God. He fervently hoped it would not be at the inn where he stayed before.
“Stick ‘em up.” The voice rang out loud and clear, and the coach lumbered to a halt, the driver immediately raising his hands above his head.
“Outlaws.” The middle-aged man fanned his wife’s face with his hat as he tried to keep her from fainting.
“We’ll all be murdered.” She wrung fat, bejeweled hands.
“Out of the coach. No harm will come to you if you do as I say. As for you.” The outlaw yelled at the driver. “Throw your rifle on the ground and stay where you are if you want to live”.
The married couple alighted first, followed by the young men, leaving Marcus last. Damn his impudence, he thought savagely, thinking of the full money belt he wore under his shirt. This lonely spot was miles from civilization. Sheer canyon walls soared upward on either side. A perfect place for an ambush.
“Hand over your valuables.” Marcus gazed into reckless, familiar blue eyes.
“You!”
“Well, if it isn’t the Englishman; so, we meet again.”
Marcus felt like knocking him down, but the colt in Johnny Valentine’s hand deterred him.
“Quickly, give me your valuables. It’s your money or your life.” The middle- aged couple, hesitated, although the young men readily obeyed him.
“Those rings, Madam, I want those.”
Anger darkened Marcus’ eyes. Insolent young pup, he was tempted to challenge him. He glanced at the driver who sat in his seat surveying the scene with an almost casual indifference.
“You.” Johnny poked his gun into Marcus’ stomach. “Move over here.”
“What!”
“You heard me the first time. I’m in a hurry. Don’t try anything,” he warned the others. “I’ll shoot you without a second thought. I’m Johnny Valentine, I’ve nothing to lose.”
The woman completely fainted away at this last piece of information.
“Silly old mauk,” Johnny muttered.
Marcus wondered why he was being singled out for special treatment, perhaps sensing him as a rival Valentine decided to get him out of the way - permanently. Strange, he didn’t feel afraid. Ones life could very well end within minutes yet he felt nothing. No fear. No anger, not even regret.
“I won’t take anything from you,” the outlaw lowered his voice so the others would not hear. “You’re George’s friend. Think yourself lucky she told me what you did for the dog. She means a lot to me and I don’t want her upset. If I don’t make it look as if you’re being robbed, too, the others might think you’re my accomplice.” He evidently found this amusing as he laughed heartily.
“You have a money belt?”
Marcus nodded.
“Give it to me.” The outlaw grinned. “Hurry up, you lily-livered Englishman, give me that nice fat money belt you’re wearing.” He raised his voice so the others would hear.
“I thought you weren’t going to rob me.” Marcus glared at him.
“I’m not, give me the belt, I just want it to look as if I am.”
He swung the belt around in one hand, making sure the others would see before pretending to take out the money. He handed the belt back with a grin.
“Better not let them know I didn’t relieve you of its contents or they might put you into the sheriff. An English dandy riding with the notorious Johnny Valentine, what a field day the papers would have with that, eh.” He laughed, as if enjoying every minute of the drama.
“I suppose I should thank you.” Marcus knew he sounded surly, but couldn’t help it. The absolute insolence of this young wretch defied belief. It was insufferable for a man of his status to be humiliated by a common criminal.
“Don’t thank me, I did it for George. No other reason.”
“Listen to me, Valentine. What does Georgina mean to you?”
“Everything.” The reckless excitement faded in his eyes, and a bleak hopelessness replaced it.
Marcus could not utter a sound as the quietly spoken word shocked him into silence. There was no doubting the outlaw’s sincerity. He felt strangely sorry for this young man who had chosen such a way of life. There was only one way it could end. Although he thought of Johnny Valentine as a rival for Georgina’s affections, had they met in other circumstances they might well have been friends. The boy certainly had a presence about him.
“Back in the coach all of you.” Johnny brandished the colt again. Everyone did as they were told. It would be foolhardy to refuse. They all realized Johnny Valentine was a wanted man with nothing to lose. What was one more life against the number he must have already taken?
* * *
The weather became warmer over the next few days. Soon it would be summer time; even now, the blossoms were dying and the spring flowers were fading away. George felt sad because Marcus had not come to visit. He had obviously been so angry at her hurried departure last time they were together that he didn’t want her at his party anymore.
Billy told her Johnny had left the district. One part of her wanted him to go away where he might be safe, the other selfish part wanted him close so they could see each other. She had not strayed too far from the cabin in case Marcus called over. I’m a fool for worrying about him when he obviously has little regard for me. She despised herself for such feminine weakness.
Secretly, in her bedroom each night, she practiced putting her hair up just in case. The curls always tumbled down, no matter how firmly they were pinned into place. For the first time in her life she wished there was some
girl or woman she could ask for advice.
* * *
George almost dropped the bread she was lifting out of the oven when Marcus called out.
“Marcus!” She dashed outside to greet him. “Come in, come in.” She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but forced herself not to.
“How have you been, Georgina?” He strode into the kitchen carrying a large box.
“Good.” She pushed back the tendrils of damp hair clinging to her forehead, “I’m baking bread.”
He sniffed appreciably. “I could smell it as I rode up.”
“Would you like some? I could make us coffee. Is that the gown? Oh, please, can I look at it now?”
“I didn’t realize you were so domesticated. In that…” He gestured to the white apron she wore over her trousers and shirt. “You don’t look the least like my tomboy.” Only a little word, yet that my made her heart sing like a nightingale.
“I bought the gown as well as, um, a few other things to go with it.”
“Other things?”
“Evening slippers, gloves.” He shrugged.
“Thank you.” She took the box from him eagerly, and after lifting the lid tears filled her eyes. There in all its glory laid an emerald silk gown, floating with tulle trim.
“Are you pleased with it, Georgina?”
Her lips trembled with emotion. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
There were dainty satin evening slippers in a matching color, soft kid gloves. Heat fired her cheeks at the sight of lacy undergarments.
“Did you choose everything? I mean...”
He laughed softly. Lord, she was sweet. “Only the gown and slippers, the woman in the shop selected the rest.”
“It must have cost you a lot of money.”
“I can afford it, just so long as you like them.”
“What if they don’t fit?” she asked worriedly. It would be too cruel. She wouldn’t be able to survive such a bitter disappointment.
He rocked back on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back, obviously amused at her innocent question.
How foolish she was, a rich, handsome man like Marcus would have dressed any number of mistresses. He was probably quite used to buying women clothes. She hated these unknown females with a passion. He must have guessed the thoughts flitting through her head.
“Georgina, don’t say any more, everything will fit perfectly.”
Feeling young and foolish, she stared him straight in his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You were going to let me try some of your bread.” His smile changed the grim haughtiness of his features, making him seem younger. She noticed he had not seated himself. Of course, being a true gentleman, he would not sit down while a lady stood.
They always kept the coffee pot on the side of the stove, so it did not take long for it to heat. The tin mugs they always used would never do, so she reached into the kitchen dresser for Aunt Molly’s willow pattern cups and saucers.
Billy was too rough to use china, McGuire never worried about what he ate from, so it had not been used in years. Marcus’ eyes were on her, adding to her nervousness, but she managed to pour the coffee without slopping any in the saucer.
“Do you take milk?”
“Yes, thank you; one sugar, if you have it.”
Her head went back proudly. “We do have sugar, we aren’t that poor. Did you think we were?”
“I didn’t know whether you were or not.”
“Take your old dress back, I don’t want it. We might be poor, but we don’t take charity.” She hacked off two slices of bread and spread them thickly with freshly churned butter.
“We have butter, too, see.” She banged the plate down in front of him.
“Georgina, please.”
“Take the dress back.” She shoved the box at him. “I can’t go to your party. I’d make a fool of myself, probably end up tripping over.”
He rose from his seat and stepped over to her. “You’ll look beautiful.”
Up close, his skin was tanned to a light honey color, which emphasized the blueness of his eyes. He had a pleasant body scent. Some expensive soap, maybe?
“You’re beautiful.” He crushed her against him and his lips closed over hers. “Georgina. Georgina.” He released her mouth to groan, before his lips claimed hers once more.
She felt the thrust of his darting tongue as it explored her mouth, deeper and deeper until heated delight swirled through her. Tentatively, she entwined her tongue with his and he trembled.
“No.” Only when his fingers kneaded her breast through the thin cotton of her shirt did she try pushing herself away.
“Yes, I’m mad for you.”
She kicked out at his legs until he let her go. “Get out.” Tears of anger and fear coursed down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I…I lost my head, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Yes, you did,” her voice sounded dead. “You bought me clothes. Now you want me to pay for them. I’m not a whore, so don’t treat me like one.”
An angry breath hissed from between his clenched teeth. “I didn’t want payment. I just wanted to kiss you a little.”
“That’s all?”
“All right, I’m sorry, I went too far. Will you forgive me?” His mouth twisted. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I feel despicable. Keep the gown and wear it to my party.”
She hesitated. “I do want to go to your party and wear a beautiful gown. I’m sorry I kicked you, but you frightened me.”
“You were frightened of me? We only kissed. What I mean is, well, you and Johnny Valentine…”
“Johnny and I do what?”
“Well, he must have kissed you sometimes.” He felt like a gauche schoolboy fumbling for the appropriate word. He could hardly ask her outright whether she was his mistress. He didn’t think she could be, not in the usual sense, yet he would have given anything to know for certain.
“Johnny wouldn’t do anything like that; he cares for me too much.”
“He cares for you, yet he doesn’t…? Oh, what’s the use, our coffee must be getting cold.” He waited until she sat down at the table before doing likewise himself. He would never understand these people, even if he stayed out west for a hundred years.
“Mm, you make good bread, nice butter, too.” He ate with enjoyment, deliberately trying to lighten the tension between them.
She reached across the table to stroke his cheek. “You still like me?”
“Like you?” What an understatement. He was besotted, and positively loathed himself for treating her like a dockside harlot. Her eyes, staring into his were almost childlike, so trustingly honest his heart constricted.
“Yes, I still like you, Georgina,” he answered softly. She smiled, happy because they were back on their previous friendly footing.
“Tell me about you and Johnny Valentine?” he asked suddenly, hoping to catch her off guard.
“Johnny? How do you mean?”
His lips snapped together. “Come on, a blind man could see there is something going on between you. I want to know what it is.”
Tension twanged between them now, instinctively he felt it, and he cursed his stupidity for mentioning the young outlaw.
“I can’t tell you, Marcus, I promised. Please don’t ask me.”
Her distress was genuine. What hold did that young wretch have over her? Could he be bought? He would spend a fortune to have Georgina for himself.
“Let’s forget about it, shall we?” Only for the present though. “I had no right prying into your personal affairs.” He stood. “I should be going, it isn’t proper for us to be here together when you’re alone. The party is Saturday. I’d like to come over for you myself, but it won’t be possible. You understand, I must be at the house to receive my guests. I’ll send someone to pick you up.”
“I’ll be nervous without you.”
“There’s nothing to be nervou
s about, I’ll be waiting to receive you, my sweet Georgina.” He gave a slight bow then left.
Through the window she watched him ride away, straight backed and proud in his rich man’s finery. She picked up the box and carried it to her room. Taking the gown out, she held it against herself. The temptation to try it on proved almost irresistible, but being hot and sticky from baking she could not risk soiling it.
When McGuire and Billy arrived home she excitedly told them about Marcus’ visit.
“The gown is so beautiful, I’ll feel like a fairy princess.” She dashed into her room, and returned a few moments later holding it out for their inspection.
“How do you like it?”
“What do you want to wear a sissy thing like that for?” Billy scowled. “And letting a lily-livered English dandy pay for it. Don’t you have any pride?”
“Enough, boy.”
“Yeah, well, George never bothered about dresses and stuff before meeting him. You’re in love with him,” he jeered.
She could not deny the accusation, because she suddenly realized it was true. She had fallen in love with Marcus. The son of an English Lord was so unattainable, it would be easier to reach up and pluck the moon from the sky.
“Shut your mouth, boy.” His father glared at him, while George stood motionless, unable to move. At this precise moment, she came close to hating Billy.
McGuire carefully lifted the dress from her lifeless hands.
“I do love him, that’s why I accepted the dress. He asked me to go to his party and I didn’t have anything to wear. He offered to buy me something as, as a present, because of losing Nelson.” She bit her quivering bottom lip. “I thought if I could wear a fine gown he might think I’m beautiful like the other women he knows.”
“Like Miss stuck up Stanton,” Billy sneered.
“I warned you.” She watched horrified, as McGuire advanced toward Billy.
“Stop it, please. I can’t bear to see you fighting.”
“It’s a beautiful gown.” McGuire handed it back to her. “Put it away, gal, it’ll get dirty out here. Let’s eat.”
Gunslinger's Daughter Page 6
