"Jealous!" She gathered herself to her full height. "You told me to marry Seth."
"Mais oui, but I don't have to like it." The words rushed out before he could stop them and the two of them stared at each other in stunned silence.
Like a plant reaching for sunlight, Creed's gaze drifted to her breasts, which rose and fell rapidly beneath the blue gingham fabric of her gown. A fleeting memory of his fingertips drifting over those soft breasts tightened his groin and made him wish he'd never gotten this close to her again.
He looked at her, his face registering guilt.
Mariah sucked in a breath as his gaze took her in. As if she could hear his thoughts, she knew what he'd been remembering. She was remembering it, too.
What are we doing? she wondered. What makes us think we can leave each other and forget what was between us? There will never be another man who will make me feel this way.
Never.
Creed jerked away from her, pacing back and forth in the narrow hallway, grinding a fist into his palm. "Don't look at me that way."
Tears welled in her eyes. "What way?"
"I can't give you what you want," he nearly shouted, then braced his hands high up on the wall and hung his head between his arms. "But, goddammit, Mariah, I'm only human. You're tearing me apart."
"And you're alone in that, I suppose? As usual. Do you think I'm not hurting as well?"
"What we did was wrong. Dead wrong."
"Not if you love me." It was out before she could call the words back.
Creed's fists curled at his sides as he spun to face her. "Seth is like a brother to me. He saved my life. He trusted me with you. I betrayed him." He grabbed her upper arms and rattled her as if he could shake some sense into her. "Look at me. Take a good, long look at the man you see. A man who would betray a friend like I did. I have nothing to offer a woman like you. Seth can give you everything. There is no choice here, Mariah."
Her eyes flamed in the dim hallway light. "It's so easy for you to talk about choices. What choices do I have? Do you think I want to hurt Seth? Do you think I meant to fall in love with you? Believe me, it was the last thing I intended. But it happened, God help us, it did." Creed's eyes flashed up to hers as if to deny what she'd said, but she rushed on.
"Some things are out of our power to control. You of all people, with that gift of yours, should believe that. It's what brought us together." Her hands went to grasp his arms. "I love you, Creed. Damn your honor! I love you and you love me. Look at me and deny it."
Creed's mouth was only a kiss away, and his gaze searched hers the way a starving man would covet a crumb of bread. His breath, sweet and warm, whispered across her skin in uneven bursts. Reaching up, he slid his hands into her hair and raked through her swept-back tresses as if he were memorizing the feel of her, drawing her fractionally closer to his lips. But his eyes, dark as a wind-tossed sea, betrayed his turmoil. She felt herself drowning.
No. She was lost already. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see? None of those things he thought were so important to her mattered at all. But this... this did.
His thumb traced almost reverently across her parted lips before he shook his head and slammed his eyes shut.
"Creed." The word was a whisper, a plea.
"No." He wrenched himself from her arms, pushing her back against the hallway wall. "No, dammit. Forget me, Mariah. I have nothing to offer you. It's over."
Before she could reply, he turned and strode down the corridor. She watched him go, until he disappeared around the corner, until all she could hear was the sound of his boot heels ringing against the lobby floor and receding out the door.
Mariah sank back against the wooden door for support. Tears squeezed out under her shut eyelids and spilled down her face, unchecked. She could do no more.
It was over. All of it. Over.
* * *
Downing plucked a stem of hay from the haystack and picked at a piece of jerky stuck between his teeth as he watched shadows of evening creep up the barn's rafters. The two men Pierre had recruited into the gang from the Cottonwood Ranch, Quincy and Snake, snored quietly ten feet away, hands folded corpse-like across their chests.
The temperature had dropped with the sun, but despite that, beads of sweat glistened on Pierre's forehead and stained the front of his shirt. Downing wondered absently if Pierre's shoulder was festering. He found the possibility decidedly encouraging.
Crossing his legs at the ankles, he watched LaRousse polish his precious Spencer for the fourth time today. Sucking at his teeth with his tongue, Downing shook his head at the half-breed's obsession with the weapon and looked down at his own sorry old Henry with a sharp twinge of resentment.
"There's another two dozen of them beauties back in camp, in case you forgot," he said, drawing a heated glance from Pierre. "I reckon as how Petey will figger us for dead by now. Might just take it into his head to sell them rifles himself."
"Saa-aa! You seenk too much, mon ami sans dessein. You talk too much, too."
Downing sighed, deciding it prudent not to take offense at being called stupid. He wasn't so stupid he hadn't picked up a few words of French from Pierre's ramblings. LaRousse could call him anything he wanted. He'd decided to get the hell out. He was sick and tired of waiting for Pierre to make his move. Finished with hanging around the Gulch like a tethered mallard, waiting for someone to take a potshot at them.
Hell, he couldn't even sneak into a brothel and take advantage of bein' in town, for fear of bein' recognized. No, Pierre had definitely gone over the edge with Devereaux, and he had no intention of followin' him.
"Maybe I should take a stroll outside now that the sun's goin' down. See if I can spot her."
"I know where she ees." His cloth glided up and down the gun's stock the way a man's hand would caress a woman's back. "I know where zey both are."
It shouldn't surprise him that Pierre had his ways of finding things out. He wondered for the first time if Pierre had picked up a fifth man without telling him. It was no skin off his teeth. He shifted tacks. "Well, I'm hungry, an' I'm sick of jerky," he said, getting to his feet in the steep-roofed loft. "I'm gonna go find me some-thin' to eat."
He heard the click of the Spencer's cocking mechanism and looked up to find the rifle pointed at his belly. "What the hell-?"
"Seet down and keep your voice down. No one goes anywhere tonight."
If he thought he stood a chance, Downing would have jumped the son of a bitch right then and there. After all, if he had a fever, maybe he was weak. Downing's gaze assessed the half-breed's blazing black eyes and decided against anything impulsive. He'd never seen a weak bone in LaRousse's body and he dared not assume a little fever might diminish him. He dropped back to the hay pile. "What are we doin' here, sittin' like a pair of fools up in this loft? Somebody's gonna find us here sooner or later."
"Later will be too late," Pierre replied.
Downing pounded his fist in the hay, sending up a cloud of chaff. "You know somethin' I don't know? Well, you just come out an' say it."
Pierre eased the hammer of his rifle back down and smiled. "Tonight, mon ami sans dessein, Étienne's death will be avenged."
Chapter 22
"Honey, yer as nervous as a cat teeterin' over the edge of a washbasin," Sadie told Mariah, and patted her hand. The woman gestured at the crowded hallway of Hasty's Livery which had been transformed into a dance floor for their party, complete with punched-tin candle holders hanging on long chains from heavy pine rafters. Brighter lanterns dangled from nails above the empty stalls. The stock had been moved outside for the party.
"It ain't all these people, is it?" Sadie asked over the din. "Shucks, these is just folks like you and me. And they're all here to wish you and Seth the best."
"I know," Mariah answered, playing with the silk-tasseled ends of the scarf Seth had given her tonight as a gift to match her new dress. Draped around her neck, the rust-colored silk felt smooth and soothing against her skin.
Some of them she'd met in Seth's store during the past week, others she had not. Sadie had said that Virginia City never let a good excuse for a celebration get by and their impending wedding was as good as any to turn an ordinary social into a party. Since nearly everyone in town knew the bridegroom-to-be, the place was packed to the rafters with men, noise, and music.
Mariah's throat tightened, watching Seth take congratulatory slaps on the back from the men near the punch table. Guilt tore at her insides. He looked so happy. She should be, as well, but she felt nothing that even came close.
She turned back to Sadie. "It's just... I don't know any of these people and Seth is so at home here. I wonder if I'll ever really fit in." She set her punch down on the plank table beside them, which was laden with fragrant desserts.
"Virginia City's got its wild side," Sadie murmured as she smoothed a hand down her Sunday-best black bombazine dress. "And it ain't fer everyone. But you'll do here, gal. This town needs women. You've got grit and that's what it takes. You'll settle in all right once you and Seth get hitched." She flashed Mariah a smile. "And don't forget, you got me fer a friend."
"Thanks, Sadie. That means more than I can tell you."
The candle holders cast star-shaped rays of soft yellow light across the crowded dance floor as Seth and Sadie's husband, Wade, made their way back to the table through the noisy throng.
Seth looked so handsome, she thought, with his dark blond hair swept back from his face and his new fawn-colored frock coat a perfect complement to his tight-fitting brown trousers. Seth Travers was any woman's dream.
Any woman but her.
Mariah forced her hands to her sides where they twined in the fine russet fabric of her gown and took a deep breath. I do love him, she thought, watching him approach her with that same emotion evident in his eyes. I love him for what he is, for the man he's always been to me. I love the kindness in his eyes and the way he has with people.
What about passion?
No, not passion. But a warm kind of—
Passion, the voice insisted. What about passion? The kind you feel when Creed is close. The kind that sends electricity rolling up from your fingertips at his touch. What of that? Is that warm feeling enough to make a marriage work?
What did it matter what she'd felt with Creed? She sighed deeply. He was walking out of her life and she had to let him go.
"Darling," Seth said, slipping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
She inhaled the clean masculine scent of him. His lips brushed her ear and he lowered his voice so only she could hear.
"My friends are all green with envy over you," he said, "but I didn't need them to tell me what a beauty you are, Mari. You look ravishing tonight." He dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek and a ripple of guilt rolled through her.
"Are you having fun?" he asked. "I didn't mean to neglect you. Some of the boys were just talking about Alex Davis' appointment as the new judge of the Virginia City Court."
"Your fiancé is being modest," Wade told Mariah as he wrapped an arm around his wife. "Now that Montana has been officially declared a Territory on its own, some have even been suggesting that Seth would make a good mayor."
Mariah forced back the emotions roiling inside her, emotions that had nothing to do with Wade's news.
"Oh, Seth, that's wonderful. You would. You'd make a wonderful mayor of Virginia City."
"He'd make a darn fine mayor if you ask me," Wade agreed, "and I'm not the only one who feels that way."
Seth frowned. "I don't know. It's never been a goal of mine. After all, I'll be plenty busy with the store, not to mention my new wife." He gave her a squeeze. "And I've talked to Creed about investing in some other business ventures up north. I'll have my hands full, I think. Speaking of Creed, where is he? He told me he'd be here tonight."
Mariah tensed and eased away from Seth. "I—I don't know. I haven't seen him since earlier this afternoon." Unconsciously, she'd been looking for him all evening, too.
"Oh," Sadie said, "he's probably primping that handsome face of his. He'll be along." Without a pause, she reached out and beaned her younger son, Jarrod, on the head with the flat of her palm as he snuck yet another sweetcake from the table beside them.
"Ouch! Ma!" He rubbed the spot with a frown and dropped the treat.
His mother shook her head in vexation. "Boy, you've got a leg as hollow as an old sycamore tree. Yer gonna make yerself sick eatin' all these sweets. And I reckon ever'body else here might like to have a taste or two."
Jarrod's charming grin mimicked his father's. "I'm a growin' boy, Ma. You say so yourself."
"You'll be growin' right outta this here barn if I catch you at that sweet table again," she warned with a threatening glint in her eye. "Now, I saw Jilly Stevens with her folks over by the other doors a few minutes ago. Why don't you go snag her for a dance?"
Jarrod sent Sadie a horrified look. "A girl? Yuck." He drifted off, mumbling to himself about the dangers of consorting with the enemy.
Sadie grinned at Seth and Mariah. "Goes by fast, don't it? Today, girls are the enemy. Tomorrow, he won't be able to live without 'em."
"Miss Parsons?"
The voice from behind her made Mariah turn around. Standing there beside a few other men was Nate Cullen, one of the passengers on the fateful stage from Fort Benton.
"Mister Cullen, how wonderful to see you again."
He tipped his hat and squashed it to his chest. "I was about to say the same, ma'am." He reached for Seth's hand and shook it. "Howdy, Travers. Your lovely fiancée and me met aboard the A.J. Oliver mud-wagon that was to bring us down here. As you know, we didn't make it the whole way. I reckon we was all lucky to get out of that mess alive, considerin' how it ended."
"Yes," she answered, her smile faltering. "I suppose we were."
Nate chuckled at the memory and rubbed his jaw. "Truth be known, I'm surprised you and that feller Devereaux didn't kill each other on the trip down the way you two was at odds."
Mariah forced a smile. "Yes, Mr. Devereaux and I have certainly had our differences. But they're... they're behind us now."
Seth's expression grew serious and he tightened his arm around her. "Creed's been a good friend. The best. He went far beyond what he had to, to get Mariah home to me. I'll never be able to repay him."
Nate shook Seth's hand again and offered his congratulations, as did several others. Mariah plucked the fabric of her gown away from her throat, wondering if she were the only one who felt overly warm. Her smile seemed frozen on her lips and panic began to finger along her spine.
Everyone had expectations about her and Seth, and seemed so certain they were the perfect couple. Even Seth seemed to have forgotten the misgivings she'd had. He'd never brought it up again and neither had she—nor had she forgotten his vow to forgive her whatever had come between them.
But could he?
More to the point, should he?
The grizzled fellow on the mouth harp whined out the tune to "Red River Valley." Soon the concertina, saw, and guitar players joined him, sending the strains of the bittersweet song up to the rafters. Finally, Seth leaned in to her and grabbed her wrist.
"C'mon, darlin'. If they finish this song before I get you in my arms, I'll have to make them play it all over again."
He drew her out onto the dance floor and enfolded her in his arms. She tried her best to block out everything but the dancing. She'd already noticed the difference in the Territory's version of a waltz. It was nothing so stilted as was practiced in Eastern
salons, but a flowing, loose-limbed movement that seemed to lift hearts and ease spirits.
To her dismay, the dance did none of those things for her. Instead, she found herself comparing the smoothness of his palm to the roughness of Creed's; the firmness of Seth's chest with the steely strength of Creed's. The gentleness of his touch with the possessiveness of the bounty hunter's. She felt as if she were dancing with a brother, not a lover. And suddenly, she knew that was all she would ever, could ever, feel for Seth.
Mariah dropped her forehead against his shoulder trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. It was impossible. Impossible. She couldn't do it to him. She couldn't marry him when she loved Creed.
Oh, Seth, Seth, I'm so sorry.
Misinterpreting her movement, Seth drew his arm tighter around her waist and soothed it up and down her spine. "Ah, Mari. I can't wait until Tuesday. Have I told you today that I love you? I know I've told you how beautiful you look." He tipped her chin up so she'd have to look at him. "Hey, what's this? Tears?"
She shook her head. She couldn't tell him now. Not tonight, among all these people. She'd wait until tomorrow. It would be time enough. Still, she had no idea what she'd do, where she'd go. Back, perhaps. Back to Chicago. She could get work in a hospital, maybe working in one of the factories. A knot formed in her throat.
"Mari?"
She looked into his serious gray eyes and her heart tore. "I'm sorry," she said just loud enough for him to hear, but she meant it for everything she'd done and hadn't done.
She cleared her throat. "It's nothing. I'm just a little overwhelmed by all of this. Meeting all your friends. Don't mind me, Seth." She tightened her hand around his and pulled him closer. "Let's just dance. Just for tonight. Let's dance."
And they did. For the next hour they hardly missed one. As the evening wore on, Creed's absence became more conspicuous. She found herself wondering if he would stay away completely because of her. Perhaps he hated her after all. And why not? She'd come between two men, good friends. How could any of them ever be the same again?
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