“Why should keeping a man’s baby who didn’t want you matter at all?”
There was a deep curiosity behind his question, but Erin didn’t hear it. She heard only the harsh punishing voice that relentlessly stripped her.
“The baby is mine. I want to keep it. I need to give this child the love I never had.”
Truth, bright and blazing as only truth could be, sharpened the rawness of her voice. And there was something else, a desperation that Mace tried to ignore. But before he could continue his interrogation, she spoke.
“I wanted to tell you. I was afraid. When you wrote back, enclosing the bank draft, I thought we would have time to know each other.”
“Time to use every female trick created and passed down, you mean.”
“No. That’s not true. I was not going to marry you without telling you the truth.”
“Then why the hell did you!” he shouted, closing the distance between them until he planted his fists on either side of her, towering above her. But fury had taken hold and all he could see, all he could think of, was the seductive promise of her mouth parting for him, her sleek hot body pressed against his, the tiny sounds of wanting she made. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t give me the chance.”
Somewhere in his mind the words fell, but he wasn’t hearing them. Rage still clouded his thinking, the desire that had instantly burned inside him for her, for this…Suddenly he realized he was touching her. He looked at his hands squeezing the quilt and her flesh beneath it so hard that he could feel her bones. Mace snatched his hands away and backed off the bed.
“Christ,” he pleaded, throwing his head back. “What the devil should I do with you? I can’t take a whore back to raise my children.”
Whore? Erin felt a tiny spark of anger spring to life. She knew what a whore was. She could have become one. She tried not to answer him, bit her lip and told herself she deserved whatever he called her. But she found that she couldn’t let it pass.
“I never took any gifts from him or any man. I never took money, Mr. Dalton.”
Her whisper cut through him. “Lucky him. Unlucky me. You think that’s what makes you a whore?”
“No, Mr. Dalton. I am sure you could explain each and every way a woman becomes one.”
If there had been pride or sarcasm behind those words, Mace wasn’t sure what he would have done. But there was only her deadened voice, filled with the certainty that he wasn’t done with her.
“I need to think. Figure out a way—”
“No. I’ll leave. You can say whatever you please to those who matter. I won’t be here.”
“And what the hell do I tell people who know I married you? Should I say you’re as cold as the frozen river and I sent you back? Damn you! Don’t you understand? I married you!”
She flinched, hearing the condemning sentence he made of that fact. All she wanted was peace and a place to raise her child. Somehow she had to find a way to make that possible.
“Is an annulment expensive?”
“Annulment? What are you muttering about?”
“I don’t know when I would be able to pay you back for the trip,” she continued as if he had never spoken. “I still have twenty dollars left. Please take it. As for an annulment, we didn’t…I mean you didn’t…There are grounds for one.”
“I wouldn’t know about such things. I married my wife because I loved her. Unlike you.”
Erin thought the knife thrusts were finished. Now she knew he had merely sharpened his blade on her. He had loved his wife and she hungered to have someone to love her. It didn’t matter what more he said. The pain stopped hurting. All she cared about was giving this child life. Whatever the cost, she would pay it. She couldn’t fight him with words; he had all the right on his side. She had deceived him. Whatever was to be done would be by his choice. The vow to survive grew.
Lacing her fingers tighter didn’t stop their trembling. The waves of his savage masculine rage broke over her and nausea churned in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her body to stop the cold sickness from spreading. But she couldn’t warm her body, and she couldn’t make the bitter bile recede.
Dragging herself off the bed took every bit of her physical strength and sapped the little determination she had left.
“What are you doing?”
Erin shook her head, swallowing repeatedly, refusing to be sick in front of him. He had humiliated her and she wouldn’t add to it. She eyed the door on the other side of the bed, knowing she had to pass him to get to it.
“Where do you think you can run?”
Erin ignored him. She held tight to the edge of the high carved footboard with one hand and used the other to keep the quilt around her. Chills shook her body, but she had to get out of this room.
Mace repeated his demand. She couldn’t have paled beyond the whiteness he had seen. But that’s the message his eyes gave to him. Her unfocused gaze revealed eyes as terrified as a stalked fawn’s. But his rage hadn’t run its course. He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm.
“You’re not escaping. I’m not done with you.” He was shocked to feel the coldness of her flesh seeping through the cloth to the warmth of his hand. Now he saw the tiny beads of sweat on her skin.
Cursing, he let her go long enough to grab the washbowl and bring it to her.
Erin glanced from the bowl to his face, then away.
“I’m bigger, stronger and harder than you. I’ll keep you here until you use it or choke. The choice is yours.”
There was shame and then there was shame. Erin had known too much of the first, and now found it had another, deeper level. She couldn’t be sick in front of him. She just couldn’t.
She begged. Silently. With her eyes, with the tears that involuntarily came, blurring her vision. She found that Mace Dalton described himself perfectly. He was bigger, stronger, and filled with a hardness that she couldn’t hope to match.
He lifted her, sat her on the bed, placing the bowl on her lap, then crowded her with the heat of his body.
“Go ahead. It won’t be the first time. And as sure as the devil’s laughing at me, it won’t be the last.”
Erin gagged. She stared at the bowl, then his face. Shame was stacked against the survival price of keeping her child. Her shame didn’t matter, she told herself. Nothing he did to her would ever matter.
Chapter Seven
The morning had long since stolen the night when Erin finally awakened. She lay with her eyes closed, wishing she had been able to steal away, as well, but Mace Dalton had effectively put an end to the thought. He placed the overstuffed wing chair in front of the door and spent the remainder of the night sprawled in it. Erin had not wanted to sleep in the bed, but he didn’t offer her a choice.
Maddie had been so wrong in thinking that once he had seen her, it wouldn’t matter to him about the baby. And Erin was the bigger fool for wanting to believe Maddie.
Sunlight streaked across the bed, forcing her to feel its warmth and open her eyes. Erin fought it off a bit longer. It was frightening not to know what Mace would do. He had said nothing more once her sickness had passed, gave no indication of what his decision would be. Erin, however, was sure that whatever it was, she would willingly do it to keep her baby.
The sun’s warmth beckoned her. She tried to shake off the stupor from last night’s emotional storm. She opened her eyes and cautiously gazed around the room, realizing that she was free of his dark, overpowering presence.
Having no idea how long Mace had been gone, or when he would return, Erin forced herself out of bed.
Heated water was in the pitcher, the washbowl gleamed, and fresh linen towels were set in a neat pile on the washstand. She glanced at the door. Luck, if there was such a thing, didn’t seem to be holding for her. She did not want him walking in on her.
But at the door, Erin stared down at the empty keyhole. Twisting the doorknob, she found she
couldn’t lock Mace out, for he had locked her in.
She had been soundly asleep when he had left. Other guests of the hotel, a maid, anyone could have entered the room. Common sense beat back the initial panic she felt. Mace had not imprisoned her, he had protected her privacy.
Erin didn’t waste another moment. She would be dressed and composed by the time he returned. But for all her hurry to wash herself, brush out her travel suit, don it and pin her neatly braided hair into a thick twist, she found herself pacing the room waiting for him to come back.
Countless times she stopped by the window, watching as people below hurried about their business. The wind was strong; women were holding their hats with one hand, coats billowing out. A farm wagon pulled up across the street. Erin watched a lanky man step down, hurrying around the wagon to help the woman from the seat, before he lifted two chubby little girls from the back. She couldn’t hear them, but the smiles they exchanged told their own story. The woman held each girl by the hand, close to her side, accepting the kiss the man pressed to her cheek.
They presented a charming picture. A family, and one Erin saw that shared a great deal of love. The man had stepped away, but at a gesture from one little girl he went back to give each of the children a kiss.
Erin let the curtain fall into place. She envied them. Was what she longed for never to be hers?
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and she spun around in expectation, staring at the door, but they continued on.
Where was Mace? What was he doing? She had tried to keep the questions buried. Was he buying her a return ticket to San Francisco? Had he taken the balance of the money?
Reaching for her reticule, Erin opened it, relieved to find the twenty-dollar gold piece still there.
She didn’t understand why that reassured her, but it did. If she knew more about Mace Dalton, she could be prepared for his decision. But he had told her so little of himself and less of his children. His letters were in her valise, but she didn’t want him finding her with those. And she had read them so many times she knew their contents.
It was simply futile to speculate about him
But her thoughts strayed to last night when he brought her a fresh damp cloth to wash her face and hands. And a glass of water to rinse her mouth. When she was done, he had handed her the nightgown and turned his back while she put it on.
He never said another word about her or the child once he’d ordered her into bed.
She couldn’t give up hoping. Hope was all she had to cling to.
Mace ignored the brisk wind, watching the last of his supplies being loaded into the back of the high-sided farm wagon. He wanted to lift the hundred-pound bags of grain and flour himself. He needed a physical outlet, but Harry Tobin, proud owner of his new store, wouldn’t hear of it. He paid his sons to take care of customers. Two cases of canned fruits forced Mace back to the one subject he had avoided—Erin Dunmore.
These were to have been the last canned fruits ordered, the last of the jellies, and when he stopped at Otto Brechtel’s bakery, the last of the store-bought bread. He had believed he would have a wife to take care of these things. Riding into Walla Walla, he had made vague plans to take her out and show her where the wild fruit grew. The seeds for a vegetable garden of their own were already packed beneath the other provisions. Thinking of Becky’s excitement about a garden brought a frown to Mace’s lips. What was he going to tell his children?
“That’s the last of it, Mr. Dalton.”
“Thanks, Charlie. Split this with your brother.” Mace handed the boy a silver dollar, knowing Harry wouldn’t take offense for the tip. He walked inside to settle his bill, the rich aroma of tobacco melding with the brine of pickles and pickled beef. He had to wait while two women dickered with Harry over the eggs they wished to trade for tea and spices.
Mace didn’t see Flo Jamison until she placed her hand on his arm. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Her voice was as soft and sweet as her body. Lips a shade too wide offered him a smile that was reflected in the golden brown of her eyes. He thought about lying. God forgive him, but he thought hard about it. But he couldn’t lie to Flo. They had shared too many years between them. “Right. Congratulate me, Flo. But if you’d’ve said yes—”
“Oh, Mace, you know if I ever considered marrying again, it would’ve been to you.” Laughing with the same generous warmth she gave to everything and everyone, Flo glanced around the store. “Is your wife with you? I’d like to meet her. That is,” she added, looking at him, “if you won’t feel uncomfortable.”
“I’ve never been ashamed of you. Don’t see reason to start now.” He curved his left hand over hers, holding it in place on his right arm. “She isn’t with me. Tired from her trip and all.”
Mischief danced in her eyes. “I’d bet it’s more the ‘and all’ that’s keeping your bride in bed.” Her teasing, a natural part of their relationship, did not bring the satisfied smile she expected. His eyes darkened, his lips thinned beneath his silky mustache, and for a second his fingers tightened over her hand. “What’s wrong?” She knew he wasn’t going to answer her. But Mace Dalton was the most unbridled male she knew, in bed and out. There were shadows in his eyes and they weren’t from lack of sleep.
“I hope we’ll still remain friends. You know if you need to talk, Mace—”
“I know.” He removed his hand, leaving her no choice but to release him, as well. “You’re sweet as sunshine and twice as warm, Flo. But more, you’re an honest woman.”
“You’re not happy. No, don’t lie to me. But I’d hoped that you found someone to care for you and the children. Becky and Jake need a mother. Give her time, Mace. I don’t know what woman would refuse kindness and time.”
“Got your bill total, Mace,” Harry called out, eyeing them.
Unwilling to have anyone gossip about Flo, Mace stepped forward, stopped and turned. “You’ll always be welcome at the Diamond Bar D.”
“I know.” Her smile was forced, but she turned away, looking at the dry goods stacked on the table. Mace was a good man, hard and strong, but there was gentleness in him, too. It wasn’t her place to tell his wife those things and a few more besides. But she did wish him to be happy.
“Now, Mace, you make sure to tell your missus that I can order anything she wants. Women up from the big city like Frisco’s likely to have fancy tastes.”
Mace nodded, ignoring the talk, paying his bill, wanting to escape.
Tipping his hat to Flo, he left the store. But there was no escape. The news of his hasty marriage had spread. He was angry that his pride kept telling him he had no choice but to take Erin home with him
And do what? he asked himself. Keep her hidden away until she had the baby? Claim it as his own? She couldn’t have more than five or so months to go. Dragged back to the memory of her face last night, he knew it was the first time she had felt the baby move. But he had no intention of letting that memory surface again. Rage had burned itself into a cold, hard knot in his gut and he meant to keep it there.
Feeling he was caught between a rock and a hard place, Mace drove the wagon to the hotel, steeling himself to face her again.
But first he had a stop to make.
Erin gave in to the overwhelming need to sleep. And that is how Mace found her when he unlocked the door, asleep in the wing chair. He set the small tray he carried on the dresser top, noting that her valises were packed, the bed linens folded and not a trace of her possessions was in sight.
Her head rested on one hand. The other was curled into her lap. Faint shadows were visible beneath her eyelashes and while her skin was still pale, there was color to the soft line of her mouth.
There was something childlike and innocent about her, something that begged for a response from him, but Mace turned away before he discovered what it was.
Unable to overcome his reluctance to touch her, he made unnecessary noise packing his bag, slamming each dresser drawer closed after he had empti
ed it.
Erin came to with a start, saw the uncompromising line of his profile against the light from the window and quickly sat up, lowering her feet to the floor. With hands laced together in her lap, she waited for him to notice her.
Mace tossed his shaving mug and brush on top of his clothes and closed the bag. He knew she was awake, he’d heard the catch in her breath. Even through his thickly lined sheepskin jacket, he felt her watching his back as he walked to the door to set the bag down.
“There’s tea and a corn muffin on the tray for you,” he stated without turning. “If you can eat more, I’ll go down to the restaurant and get it. “
Erin believed herself deadened to pain. He was so obviously ashamed of her that she couldn’t help feeling hurt. But not enough to reveal that it mattered. “Thank you, Mr. Dalton. This will be enough.”
Cold. Polite, but cold. Mace wasn’t sure what he expected from her, but it wasn’t this. He turned around and saw that her hand shook as she poured out a cup of the tea. The chair that left more of his body off than on it last night dwarfed her fragile frame. Her black hair, thick and tightly braided, almost seemed too much weight for her neck as she sat with head bowed, sipping repeatedly from the delicate china cup. She looked beaten. It was the only way he could describe her. Beaten and resigned.
He had sworn he wouldn’t, couldn’t feel pity for her. But even he wouldn’t kick a dog when it was down.
“You’d better eat that muffin. It’s a long ride out to the ranch.”
It was a long ride, Erin decided, long, cold and lonely. The blanket that Mace had taken from beneath the seat and handed to her without a word kept her hips and legs warm, but the wind cut through the thin cloth of her coat at her back and whipped around her feet. Her lips felt chapped, and her ears had lost all feeling a few miles back.
Sneaking a look at Mace, she wondered how he could stand the cold. His jacket was open just as his first two shirt buttons were. The gloves he wore were of a supple thin leather as he sat with one booted foot resting on the lower edge of the wagon frame. Feeling brave, Erin lifted her gaze to his face. The brim of his hat curled up at the side, the crown low, the color as dark as his hair.
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