by Judith Pella
Juana lifted a hand to gently caress Lucie, then drew it back when she appeared to remember it was covered with flour. She smiled sadly instead.
“I am also sorry, Lucie dear. I am worried and afraid as well—for both you and your papa. You should marry for love, but your papa should also be able to die in the peace of knowing you will be well cared for. I fear that neither will be possible.”
“Juana, I don’t think I need to marry in order to be happy or well cared for.” Lucie looked at the housekeeper, expecting to see shock at her unorthodox statement.
Juana’s smile only broadened. “Oh yes. I forgot what an independent soul you are. And I half believe you could find contentment without marriage. You could probably run this ranch better than any man. I’ve no doubt you could do whatever you set your mind to.”
“But?”
“But, mi pequeña, is that truly what your mind is set upon? To be alone, to never have babies of your own to love and care for?”
“I think I’d rather have that than be bound to a man I didn’t love.”
Juana sighed. “And you love this wild ranger of yours?”
Lucie’s cheeks burned at the directness of the question. She opened her mouth to respond, though she had no idea what she would say. She was spared by the sound of booted footsteps on the front porch, followed by a knocking at the door.
“I’ll get it,” she said, relieved the uncomfortable conversation had been interrupted.
CHAPTER
25
LUCIE’S RELIEF FLED ENTIRELY WHEN she saw the caller was Grant Carlton. She fought an urge to slam the door in his face.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carlton.” Her polite words came through gritted teeth.
“Miss Lucie.” He doffed his hat and gave a polite bow.
“What can I do for you?” she asked coldly.
“I’ve just come calling.”
“Well, you do have nerve, Grant Carlton!” she said. “Seems the last time you called, it was with a gang of others ready to all but tar and feather us.”
“Now, Lucie—”
“Miss Lucie, if you please. Or better still, Miss Maccallum!”
“All right, Miss Lucie. I can explain myself, if you’d let me.”
Lucie crossed her arms and nodded. “Go on.”
“Right here on your doorstep?”
“I’m certainly not inviting you in until I am assured your intentions are friendly.”
He shifted uncomfortably on his feet with his eyes focused on the hat in his hands. It was a hat of black felt, the brim new and crisp-edged still. Lucie found herself contrasting it with the grubby hat of Tom Fife earlier. And that made her think of Micah, who had probably never owned a new crisp hat. Micah, who, despite what Tom had said, was lost to her forever. Micah, who she feared still owned her heart.
“Won’t you give me a chance?” Grant finally said. His tone was contrite, but when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, there was something lacking in them. They weren’t burning with blue passion. They weren’t blue at all.
“Come in, then,” Lucie said. Despite everything, she had to think of her father.
True, Reid would probably have a fit if he knew she was letting a Carlton into their home, but if Grant could answer for himself. . . . Lucie had sensed before that he hadn’t been fully behind Axel Carlton. She supposed he deserved one chance. If he couldn’t satisfactorily defend himself, she’d happily toss him out on his ear.
She led him to the parlor and motioned for him to sit on the divan. She took an adjacent chair. She did not offer refreshment.
“Lu—I mean, Miss Lucie,” Grant began. “First off, I have to say I never supported the other ranchers.”
“What kind of person are you, then, Mr. Carlton,” Lucie said harshly, “that you would silently stand by while innocent folks are abused?”
“What could I do? It was my father, after all!”
“And why has it taken you this long to answer for yourself? It has been three months.”
“I was fighting with the army, don’t you know.”
“I didn’t know that.” But instead of being impressed, Lucie could only wonder if he had fought with Micah. And would he be able to tell her anything of the ranger? But she couldn’t ask, of course.
“We had a rough time of it, and I came down with the ague and have been recuperating since returning to the ranch.”
What must Micah have suffered? And knowing him, he had probably been at the forefront of the most dangerous battles. Her lip quivered as she thought of him wounded and suffering.
“I’m all right now,” Grant said tenderly.
Lucie realized he had noted her flicker of emotion and taken it quite wrong. “I’m glad to hear that.” She couldn’t very well tell him what was really in her thoughts.
“And this is the first chance I’ve had to come tell you how wrong I was about what happened a while back.”
He seemed sincere.
“We should never have questioned yours or your father’s loyalty. But you know how these things get out of hand. And you’ve got to admit how it looks, Joaquin Viegas being your close relation and all.”
“Have the other ranchers changed their minds as well?”
“I can’t speak for them. It wouldn’t be right. Just as it wasn’t right for me to let them speak for me before.”
It sounded reasonable enough. Lucie could easily see how a young man could be so torn in his loyalties. It was no easy thing to stand against one’s own father. Again she thought of Micah. For good or ill, he had stood against his father. Instead of submitting to the man’s beliefs, Micah had left home. It was probably more complex than that, but still, in comparison with Grant, it was clear that Micah was the more principled of the two.
But she had to stop comparing them! It served no purpose. She’d said good-bye to Micah. She must accept that. And perhaps she also had to accept the reality that she must go on with her life. For her father’s sake, she must!
“I suppose so,” she said halfheartedly.
“Confound it, Lucie!” Grant blurted, then jerked to his feet. “How long you going to make me suffer for one mistake?” He strode across the room, agitated.
“It was a serious matter, Grant.”
In three strides, he returned to her, grabbed her arm, and tugged her to her feet. “What I feel is a serious matter, too!” He pulled her into his arms.
She struggled, but his hold was firm. “Mr. Carlton!”
“I’ve about lost patience with your teasing and your fickle behavior,” he said. “It’s time you accepted what is bound to happen.”
“Bound—?” she gasped hotly, but he cut her off.
“Yes! I’m willing to accept plenty about you,” he said.
“No one has asked you to accept anything!”
“You are not going to find better than me.” He dodged her remark. “I’ll be able to give you all you need and deserve. And together our two ranches will make us the most powerful family in Texas—”
“What? I thought it was me you wanted.”
“Of course I do. But it doesn’t hurt that land and power will be thrown into the deal.”
She made the mistake of looking into his eyes just then. Now there was passion in them, but she sensed it came less from her than from the prospect of riches and power.
She pulled away from him. “I don’t consider marriage some kind of deal.”
“Everything is a deal, Lucie. But have no fear. I want you just for you. I want you so much I am, as I have said, willing to overlook the fact that you are half Mexican and that your brother is a notorious bandit. I want you so much I am willing to defy my father to have you. I should think for that some recompense is due me.”
Her mouth fell open. “Due you?”
“Be reasonable,” he said. “You shall have security, protection, and the love of a good man. Your father will have peace of mind. I will gain a beautiful wife who is the heir of a fine ranch. We shall both benef
it mutually. That’s what makes this such a perfect match.”
Aside from the fact that his words made her skin prickle, she had to admit the truth of them. Hadn’t she said as much to Juana just a few minutes ago? She would never marry for love. So why not consider all the other beneficial elements? Grant was a cool, calculating man but he wasn’t vicious. He wouldn’t hurt her. He might even love her to some extent, probably more than she would ever love him in return. He had much to offer her—why shouldn’t he expect something in return?
She must be calculating as well, and there was more to think of than her own desires. Still, she could not make herself capitulate entirely to necessity.
“I don’t know, Grant,” she hedged. “I suppose it all does make 192 sense.”
“Of course it does!” He drew her once again into his arms.
She tensed but not because of the forwardness of his actions. It was hard to accept the fact that she felt nothing in his arms, or that, if Grant had been captured by the enemy and she did not know whether he was alive or dead, she would be alarmed but would not feel the wrenching loss she’d felt when Tom Fife had given her the news about Micah.
“I must have time to think, Grant,” she said.
“I’m willing to allow you some time.” His arms tightened about her. “But not too much.”
“Ow! That hurts, Grant.”
“I’m so sorry. I just got carried away with my affection.” He grinned.
“I’ve waited a long time for you, Lucie. I can wait a little longer for you to be mine.”
Lucie wasn’t sure she liked the way he intoned that final word, “mine.” It made her already shaky resolve even shakier.
“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t love you?” she asked, not knowing why she felt the need for such destructive honesty. Yet she knew exactly why. For her father’s sake, she would consider Grant. But if he withdrew his interest, she would be freed of responsibility.
“It is not as if you love another,” he said tightly.
She did not refute him. What was the use?
Then he grinned again. “You will come to love me. I have no doubt of it.” His fingers pinched her arm possessively. “I will see to it,” he added.
She backed away. “When my father is feeling better, I will speak to him.”
“I think I should speak to him.”
“All in good time.” She tried to smile in a coquettish manner but could only manage a glib twist of her lips.
“I will consider that we now have an understanding, Lucie.”
“I only said I would think about it.”
He dropped his hand from her arm and plucked up his hat from where he had set it on the divan. “I must go. Why don’t I come to dinner tomorrow night? Make sure your father is there.”
He then strode from the parlor, leaving Lucie with her mouth gaping, her head practically spinning. What had she done? An understanding? What did that mean? And whatever it meant, could she go through with it? Could she marry a man in a cold, calculating manner for “mutual benefits”? Could she marry one man while she loved another? Did her father expect it?
Of one thing Lucie was certain, her father must never know of her sacrifice. If she did this thing, no one would ever know how she really felt.
If . . . ?
Then all of her doubts and questions and fears spilled over her like a summer downpour. And the imagined wetness turned real as tears once again coursed from her eyes. Tears for what her life was suddenly becoming—out of control like a spooked stallion careening wildly across the prairie. Would only crashing over the beckoning cliff stop it? Or was there some other way?
She sank down on the divan, wringing her hands and looking helplessly about for a handkerchief. But she had none with her. She caught the flow of tears with the back of her hand, then simply covered her face with her hands.
That’s how Juana found her.
“Lucie, what is the matter?” The housekeeper sat beside Lucie and put an arm about her heaving shoulders.
Lucie succumbed to the embrace and cried into the woman’s shoulder. “Everything is so confusing.”
“I saw Señor Carlton leave. Did he do something . . . ?”
“He wants to marry me.”
“But you do not cry tears of happiness, do you?” cooed the housekeeper.
“Oh, Mama—I mean, Juana!”
“I wish your mama was here for you now, sweetheart.” Juana gently stroked Lucie’s hair.
“I do, too, but you are almost as good—I mean—oh, you know what I mean, don’t you? I am so thankful for you, Juana!” Lucie sniffed but still could not stop the tears.
“There, there. Somehow we will work out your problems.” Lucie felt Juana shrug. “I don’t know how, but we will.”
Lucie didn’t know how either, and at the moment she had little hope that the solution would make her or anyone happy.
CHAPTER
26
A FEW DAYS LATER LUCIE was doing her chores in the stable. She’d always had her share of work to do on the ranch because neither she nor her father believed anything was gained by her learning to be a pampered belle. But since the trouble with Mexico, with all but a few of their hands going off to join the army, her labors had been more than a matter of principle. Neither Pete nor her father had permitted her to go beyond the immediate ranch compound during the worst of the trouble, so she, with the help of young Pedro, had almost complete responsibility for the stables. Though the trouble was over and the men had returned, she kept up most of her duties. She was still needed and, in truth, needed the distraction of work.
She was forking fresh hay into the stalls when Pedro called her. “Señorita Lucie, there is a stranger in the yard asking for you.”
“A stranger? For me?” She straightened her back in time to see the object of her query appear at Pedro’s back.
“I thought he wanted me to follow him,” the man explained with an apologetic smile.
He was a tall, sturdily built man with pale hair and striking blue eyes. He appeared to be in his early forties. He was handsome and vaguely familiar, though Lucie was almost certain she’d never met him.
“I don’t usually receive visitors in our stable,” Lucie said. “Please excuse me.”
Though the man was dressed simply in twill work trousers and a brown cotton shirt with a homemade leather coat, there was something rather formal in his bearing that made Lucie acutely aware of her coarse woolen work skirt and smudged muslin blouse. She had no doubt her face was smudged as well, and her hair had escaped the confines of her chignon and was trailing in her eyes. She brushed a strand away with her gloved hand, and then noticed the stained leather glove. She probably smelled like horses, too.
“Forgive me for coming unannounced,” he said. His eyes, so blue, so vivid, emanated a warmth that immediately put her at ease. “Let me introduce myself. Benjamin Sinclair.”
“Oh my!” She couldn’t help gaping. If she had ever imagined meeting Micah’s father, she was certain she would have come face-to-face with a monster. This man was hardly that. But perhaps looks could be deceiving. Perhaps she was deluded by his now obvious striking similarities to Micah.
“I see you never expected your letter to prompt a personal visit.”
“I . . . I don’t know what I expected.” Then remembering herself, she added, “I am pleased to meet you, Reverend Sinclair.” She held out her hand, saw the glove, and quickly removed it.
He took her hand politely and bowed with a formality that conveyed at least one thing that set him apart from his son.
“I am very happy to meet you,” he said.
His deep resonant voice was full of earnestness. She caught hints of Micah in the timbre of his voice, but Reverend Sinclair’s was far more practiced and refined. He was either a born preacher, or he had spent much effort honing his voice to reflect that calling.
“And I you, Reverend.” She meant her words, too, with all sincerity. No, she hadn’t expecte
d her letter would have brought the man himself to her doorstep, yet now she was pleased that this had been the result, if for no other reason than that his presence seemed to bring her closer to Micah. That is, she would be pleased if his visit didn’t indicate something was wrong. “I must know, Reverend Sinclair, is . . . is Micah all right?”
“As far as I know, yes. I spoke with President Houston two days ago. I thought you might be interested in my news.”
“I am!” She tried to subdue her relief, but it was difficult when she only now realized what a burden she had been carrying in her fear for Micah. She set the pitchfork she had been holding in her other hand against the wall, then removed her second glove, laying both on the ledge of the stall.
“Please, won’t you come to the house,” she said. “I’ll fix something to drink. I’m sure you have had a long ride to get here.”
“I’d like that,” he said. “I am rather parched.”
She led him to the house and bid him to settle in the parlor while she excused herself to get refreshments, to clean up a bit, and to see if her father felt up to joining them. Juana took care of refreshments while Lucie went to her room and quickly changed her clothes and repaired her unruly hair. Then she spoke to her father, who seemed to perk up more than usual when he heard about the visitor.
“Yes, I want to meet that man!” he said enthusiastically.
Lucie laid out his clothes for him, then left while he dressed. These days he usually only rose from his bed for meals, insisting that he’d rue the day when he had to eat in bed. Two or three times a week he’d go to his office to do paper work, and on rare occasions he would venture to the stables to check on his favorite horse and simply inhale what he felt was the best perfume around. He seldom received visitors—not that there had been many since the trouble with Mexico. He had reluc.tantly joined Lucie and Grant for dinner the other evening and just as reluctantly let go of his animosity to give Grant permission to court his daughter, and that only because Lucie didn’t protest.
