Lips That Touch Mine

by Wendy Lindstrom

  "How could she not? You disowned her without a penny or even a wish for luck."

  Claire's father was every bit the arrogant rich man Boyd had imagined, yet Bennett Dawsen loved his daughter. When Boyd told him about the temperance marches and the danger Claire was putting herself in, Bennett insisted on taking the first train back to Fredonia.

  "You need to talk some sense into your daughter," Boyd said later that day as they crossed the Common in Fredonia. "I'm overhearing some nasty grumbling from my patrons." He told Bennett about some of the conversations he'd overheard in his saloon, and that the other saloon owners were reporting the same unrest from their patrons. "I'm afraid these men are going to start retaliating. I've tried to explain this to Claire, but she insists on marching."

  "Impulsive chit." Bennett shook his head. "She's been rash and reckless from the cradle."

  "She's certainly reckless. She and her friends are agitating every drinking man in town, and the liquor salesmen are furious over their lost income."

  "I don't blame them. They depend on those sales."

  "I'm afraid they care more about their sales than being gentlemen. They're too greedy, and that scares me."

  Bennett kept stride with Boyd without exerting himself. "Wanting to make money doesn't make one greedy. Desire can drive our ambition and help us achieve great things. Greed is when that desire gets out of control."

  Boyd cut his eyes to Bennett's chiseled face. "Greed can also cause a man to disown his own daughter.

  "I offered Claire the chance to stay," Bennett retorted. Boyd saw it as the confidence and arrogance of a wealthy man. "She chose to go with that wretch Jack Ashier instead."

  "You gave her terms she couldn't live with," Boyd explained firmly. "Jack isn't the only man who has hurt Claire." Boyd slowed his pace, needing to speak his mind before reaching her door. "Jack was an abusive son of a bitch. But you didn't help. You tore Claire's heart out when you disowned her."

  Bennett jerked to a stop and glared at him. Boyd didn't blink. He was prepared to go as many rounds as necessary with this man to get him to own up to the mistakes he'd made with Claire and with his mother.

  "Claire may have survived her mistake with Jack, but it's very possible this temperance nonsense could get her hurt. You need to talk to her, Bennett."

  "I tried to do that four years ago, but Claire was too damned hardheaded to listen."

  "Make her listen. You're her father. Your daughter thinks you hung the moon. She needs you in her life, and she needs your common sense to keep her from making another dangerous mistake. If you're going to worry about being right, or about protecting your pride rather than your daughter, then stay away from her. Because if you hurt her again, I swear I'll break your neck."

  Bennett's nostrils flared, but he didn't say a word. He faced Boyd man-to-man, eye-to-eye, seeming to study and measure him. Boyd stood unflinching and let him look.

  He didn't give a damn if Bennett approved of him. All he cared about was keeping Claire safe.

  What began as an amused chuckle in Bennett's throat grew into a robust laugh that forced his head back and echoed across the Common. "Where the hell were you when Claire was eloping with that wastrel Jack Ashier ?" he asked, slapping his hand over Boyd's shoulder.

  "Making my own mistakes, I'm sure."

  o0o

  Sailor's presence was a mixed blessing. The dog kept her company, but every time he curled against her, Claire thought of Boyd doing the same to Martha Newmaine.

  Why else would he have gone to Buffalo?

  Why else would his travel plans be uncertain?

  Maybe he was considering Miss Newmaine's suggestion to open a saloon in Buffalo. Maybe he was simply enjoying himself too much to return. He'd been gone five days, and it was killing her to think of him in Martha's arms.

  "What's bothering you?" Addison asked, lowering his hand of playing cards. "You look positively heartbroken."

  She was. Her life was empty without Boyd. Only weeks ago she would have given her last nineteen dollars to shut down his noisy saloon and get rid of the rakehell, but now, "despite being two dollars away from broke because of his saloon, she missed him so desperately it hurt. The irony made her want to laugh and weep at the same time.

  She had given him her heart. Every aching inch of it. She wanted him to be her lover, but he wasn't her lover. He was a rake who was in Buffalo with another woman. He was a handsome man, bent on seducing her. She'd known that. And yet, she had fallen in love with him anyhow.

  How pathetic.

  How stupid.

  How typical of her.

  "Do you want to call the game?" Addison said.

  "Would you mind?" she asked, knowing she couldn't keep her mind on it. She was at a crossroads with Boyd, and she didn't know which way to go.

  "Of course not." The old man tossed his cards onto the sofa cushion between them. "Truth is, I'd rather pester you with more questions."

  Since Addison had read the journal, he'd visited each day, asking about Claire and her father and Marie. "What do you want to know?"

  "Why you're pining over that young fella across the street, for one thing," he said, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

  Claire adored her grandfather, and thoroughly enjoyed his company, but on this cold, dreary day, her heart ached too deeply to appreciate his teasing. She longed for Boyd, needed him, missed him so deeply she wanted to curl up in bed and sleep until he got back.

  The knock on the door made Sailor yelp and scramble to his feet. Claire's heart leapt, and she followed the dog to the foyer, praying it was Boyd who was knocking.

  Would he stay for a while? Would he allow their friendship to continue? Would he finally close his saloon and give her business a chance to flourish? Or was he only here to take Sailor?

  When she opened the door, she gasped in shock.

  Her father stood on the porch, a tall, imposing man with silver sideburns and salt and pepper hair, handsome despite the telltale signs of age in his face. The blue eyes that had once looked at her with pride were filled with sadness.

  "Why didn't you tell me about Jack?" he asked, his strong voice wobbling. To her shock, he stepped into the foyer and pulled her into his arms with a gentleness and compassion she hadn't felt in a very long time.

  After so many years of missing him, Claire burst into tears. She clung to his broad shoulders as he rocked her and let her cry like the little girl she'd left behind so many years before.

  "Oh, Daddy. I'm so sorry. I made a terrible mistake when I turned my back on you."

  "I didn't know you were unhappy," he said, his voice gruff. "Lida said your letters were filled with joy."

  "They were." Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I couldn't tell anyone the truth." She searched her pocket for a handkerchief, but came up empty-handed. "I'm sorry I broke your relationship with Grandmother. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

  He retrieved a crisp monogrammed handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Your grandmother acted irresponsibly. I trusted her to chaperone you and keep you safe. Instead, she let you run off with a wastrel and ruin your life. How can I forgive her for that?"

  She'd forgotten how unrelenting he could be, how stubborn and unforgiving. She slipped his damp handkerchief into her pocket, then curled her fingers around the carving, needing Boyd's comforting presence. "What brought you here?" she asked, feeling the distance grow between them.

  "Your young man paid me a visit."

  She looked at him in confusion. "What young man?"

  "Your suitor. Mr. Grayson. He's a bold rapscallion, but I rather like him. He told me I'd better take care of business with my daughter before she got herself into trouble again. "

  She stared in disbelief. No one told her father what to do, not even his business partner.

  "I believe that boy would have spoken as frankly to our good President Grant without batting a lash."

  She didn't doubt it. Boyd was like her father in tha
t way. "I'm sure he didn't mean to insult you, Daddy."

  "That boy meant every word he said. He suggested I've been acting like a pompous ass. I'm afraid there's some truth to that." He caught her hands and squeezed them. "Why didn't you tell Lida you were unhappy?"

  "What good would it have done?"

  "I would have brought you home."

  "You disowned me. You told me I was no longer your daughter." Tears flooded her eyes and spilled over her lashes. "You stopped loving me."

  "Never." Regret filled his eyes, and he pulled her back into his arms. "I never stopped loving you. I only wanted what was best for you, sweetheart. I'm sorry I hurt you."

  She could barely believe that her father was standing in her parlor, hugging her and apologizing for hurting her. But more unbelievable was that Boyd had gone to Buffalo to give her wealthy, powerful father hell.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Claire waited three days for Boyd to come by her house, but he didn't set foot on her porch. He'd answered her note with his own note of apology, and he'd paid the bill at the Harrison Hotel, and reimbursed her lost income without complaint. But the saloon remained open and Boyd stayed away. He hadn't been in the bar during Claire's marches. Claire and her temperance friends had pleaded their case with his bartender, Pat, who promised to give Boyd their message.

  Sailor ambled between their houses like a nomad, eating like a king, sleeping wherever he flopped down, and returning to the noise and excitement of Boyd's bar each night.

  She spent her time at the temperance meetings and marches, or with Addison and her father, watching them play chess and talk about politics. She hadn't worked up the nerve to tell her father about the journal or Addison yet. Addison was leaving the timing up to her, but he obviously wasn't about to miss the opportunity to spend time with his son.

  Claire left them to their chess game and went outside. The rhythmic chopping of an ax came from behind the Pemberton Inn. She crossed the street, hoping it was Boyd splitting wood.

  Her spirits lifted when she saw Sailor pawing through a pile of firewood, and they lifted higher when she saw Boyd raising a long-handled ax above his head. He brought it down with a smooth stroke that split a fat pine stump in half. She stopped and watched, admiring Boyd's strength and precision, the ease at which he worked. Sailor was too busy sniffing and digging in the chunks of wood to notice her.

  The dog and the man captivated her. After Boyd split a stump, Sailor would clamp his teeth around one of the chunks and carry it to the mounting pile as if he knew exactly what to do. Claire smiled at the silly dog, wondering how long it had taken Boyd to train him.

  Her attention swung back to Boyd, and her heart melted. Somehow he had gotten her hardheaded, stubborn father to forgive her, and even more surprising, to get on a train to come see her. Because of Boyd, she was slowly reuniting with her father, and hopefully would renew her relationship with the rest of her family in the spring.

  She waited until Boyd had finished splitting a stump, then crossed the yard. The instant Sailor spotted her, he tore across the crusty snow and lavished her with wheezy attention.

  Boyd looked up as if expecting to see Pat rounding the corner; then his nonchalant expression changed to surprise. He rested the ax head on a huge stump he'd been using as a chopping block, and watched her walk toward him, his gaze sweeping her from her eyebrows to her ankles.

  She liked that he was looking. It gave her the confidence to lift up on her toes and brush a kiss across his lips. "Were you planning to avoid me forever?" she asked, easing down onto her heels but not away from him.

  "I wasn't avoiding you. I've been working."

  "Sailor says you've been avoiding me," she said, hoping to tease a smile from him.

  Not a flicker of humor touched his face. His lips didn't quirk, his eyes didn't crinkle, he just stood stiff and unyielding in front of her. How could he be so cool? Had Martha reclaimed his full attention already?

  Desperate to keep his affection for herself, Claire boldly placed her palm against his heart, feeling the scratchy wool of his coat, wishing she were touching the smooth skin and springy hair on his chest. "Would you be interested in having a visitor late this evening?"

  He frowned and stepped away from her. "If you can't trust me enough to marry me, then you shouldn't be inviting me into your bed. It's insulting."

  She gasped as if he'd struck her. "You could have simply said no."

  "I don't want to have an affair with you, Claire."

  She never considered that an experienced man like Boyd might be insulted by her proposal. Of course, she'd never imagined that she would be proposing something so illicit.

  What had happened to her morals? What had happened to her desire for a simple and safe life? From the minute she first met Boyd he'd sent her into a spin, and now she couldn't tell north from south, or right from wrong, because with Boyd, it all felt right.

  "Why are you here?" he asked, his coolness cutting into her but reminding her why she refused to marry again. Right now she was free to walk away from his displeasure. If she married him, she would spend each day of her life striving to please him.

  She pushed her hands into her coat pockets and backed away from him, from another mistake. "I wanted to thank you for bringing my father to Fredonia."

  "He should have come on his own." Boyd yanked his ax from the stump.

  "I shouldn't have turned my back on him."

  He nodded, as if to agree with her. "Step back," he said, then raised the ax above his head.

  "Daddy wants me to move home with him."

  Crack! The chunk of wood split in two. "Perhaps you should go." Boyd's jaw clenched, and he kicked a thick piece of wood away from his feet. "You wouldn't have to worry about your income if you lived with your parents."

  "I'd go berserk within hours," she said truthfully. "Until this week, I didn't realize that Daddy and I are so much alike."

  "I knew it the minute I met him." He swung the ax and it connected with a hard crack against a round piece of pine. "You are both too hardheaded for your own good."

  "Exactly," she said, agreeing with him because it was the truth. She was every bit her father's daughter and she knew it. "Daddy and I would be at each other's throats if I lived with him."

  He stopped and propped the ax on his cutting stump, cupping his hand over the top of the handle. "Does that mean you two aren't getting along?"

  "We're doing as well as we can under the circumstances. Daddy is used to giving orders. I've gotten used to living my own life. That causes friction. But we love each other and are happy to be reunited." She slipped her hand over Boyd's cold knuckles, wanting to connect with the tender side of him. Even if she couldn't have him as her lover, she wanted him as her friend. "Thank you for bringing him back to me."

  He shrugged as if it were nothing.

  Yet, despite his present coolness, his thoughtfulness in visiting her father meant everything to Claire. "You must have had a devil of a time convincing Daddy to come here. Is that why you were gone so long?" she asked, wanting to know if he spent the time haggling with her father, or if he'd spent it with Martha.

  "When your father heard that you were putting yourself in danger, he insisted on taking the first train to Fredonia."

  Her stomach grew queasy. If her father had immediately agreed to come back with Boyd, what had kept Boyd in Buffalo so long? More important, why did Boyd tell her father about her temperance work?

  Her father had nagged her relentlessly since he'd arrived. She avoided the subject and talked about her mother and sister, but Bennett kept swinging their conversations back to her temperance work.

  Suddenly, Boyd's motivation in visiting her father seemed suspect. "Why did you tell Daddy about my marching?"

  "I'm worried about you."

  "Are you worried about me? Or your business?"

  He scowled. "How can you ask such a ridiculous question?

  "It doesn't seem ridiculous, especially since Daddy
has been nagging me all week to stop my temperance work."

  With a snort of disgust, Boyd turned and split another hunk of pine.

  "Did you ask Daddy to talk me out of marching?"

  "I was hoping your father could reason with you."

  A wrenching pain gripped her stomach. She once suggested to her fellow marchers that they find each saloon owner's weakness. Boyd had turned the tables on her. He found her most vulnerable spot and exploited it. "How could you do that?" she asked.

  "How could I not?" He slammed the ax into the wood, then whirled to face her. "You've been deaf to my warnings. You refuse to stop marching. And you won't marry me. What else was I supposed to do?"

  "Nothing," she spat. "Exactly nothing. You have no right to meddle with my life."

  "You're meddling with mine."

  "I'm trying to do something good in our town."

  "So am I," he said just as adamantly. "I'm trying to keep an overzealous woman from getting hurt or killed."

  "I am not overzealous."

  "Your father thinks you are, and so do I." The wind flipped his hair into his eyes, and he shoved it back with an angry swipe of his fingers. "Claire, your father supported saloons long before he met me. He told me he's a member at several clubs in Buffalo. Of course he's going to disagree with your temperance efforts."

  And Boyd would have suspected that and found a way to enlist her father's help. Her father was a man's man. He liked his whiskey and cigars. He liked Boyd. Of course he would give him support.

  Her throat closed, and she curled her fingers into her palms, digging her nails into her skin. Focusing on the pain there instead of the pain in her heart was the only way she could squeak out her next words. "You brought my father here for your own purpose."

  "I brought him here because you needed him, and because we both want to keep you safe."

  "Bosh," she said. "You asked me to marry you because you wanted to control my actions and decisions. When I rejected your proposal, you sought my father's help. Now that Daddy's here, he wants to control my life too."

  "You can't believe that."