Straight For The Heart

by Marsha Canham

  Her eyes rolled back and she crumpled, like a wilting flower, onto the floor of porch.

  Ryan’s patience snapped. “Well I don’t have to accept it,” he stated flatly. “And I won’t.”

  He strode angrily down the steps and started walking away from the house.

  “Ryan!” Amanda called after him, but he did not stop. She sprang up from her knees and tried to run after him, but Michael reached out a hand to stop her.

  “Let him go,” he murmured. “He’ll cool off faster if you leave him alone.”

  “You don’t know him,” she cried. “I have to go to him and try to explain. Please.”

  He nodded, gave her a little smile of encouragement then let her run after her brother.

  Ryan was at the stables before she managed to catch up to him, preparing to mount a horse that was already saddled and waiting.

  “Ryan! Please wait!”

  He barely glanced at her as she came breathlessly up behind him.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said brusquely, “I have work to do.”

  “Ryan, please don’t do this. Don’t ride away angry.”

  “Am I supposed to ride away in the throes of delight?”

  “If you would just let me explain—”

  “What is there to explain? You met the Yankee bastard in a poker game and fell madly, passionately in love with him? What else is there to know? Why else would you have married him?”

  He said the word as if it was laced with poison and he had to spit the taste of it from his mouth.

  “Ryan …”

  “Surely not for his money? You would never marry a man strictly for his money, would you? That would be low and callow … and it would make you not much better than Alisha, who, as we all know, never feels the need to explain her motives either.”

  “Or like you, stubborn and pig-headed, and too blinded by his own stupid pride and nobility to allow anyone else to do what had to be done in order to save this family.”

  “Allow you?” He gripped the leather saddle as if he would crush it. “Allow you? Good Christ, Amanda, what haven’t I allowed you to do? I’ve stood by and watched you dress yourself like a whore and gamble your own pride away on the riverboats. I told you it was dangerous. I told you something—a million somethings—could go wrong, but you begged and pleaded and threatened to do it on your own if I didn’t allow you to go, so I did. How noble did you think I felt then? How much blinder do you think I should have to be to stand by and watch my own flesh and blood being pawed and ogled by river scum night after night?”

  “Ryan, we’ve had this argument a thousand times. And won’t you please look at me? I can’t talk to your back.”

  “Why not? You don’t seem to mind going behind it.”

  She sighed and tugged at the ribbons that were dragging the weight of her bonnet down her back. She untied them and removed the hat, suppressing an urge to throw it on the ground and grind it under her heel.

  “If I did go behind your back, it was because I knew we didn’t have any time left to argue or debate what had to be done. It just had to be done.”

  “You didn’t have to sell yourself to the bastard,” he hissed.

  “No. No, I didn’t. And he wasn’t even my first choice. When I left the house Wednesday night, I left with the intention of meeting Wainright. I had gone to see him Sunday afternoon, you see, and I had groveled and pleaded for him to accept his terms for setting aside the debt on Rosalie. It was Wainright I had planned to elope with. Wainright I should have married that night if Michael had not stepped in.”

  Ryan turned around slowly, his face ashen.

  “That would have been a sacrifice worthy of all this outrage,” she added quietly. “If not for Michael’s intervention, I would be Mrs. E. Forrest Wainright right now and you would be having to extend a welcome to him as the newest member of the family.”

  “I would have killed him first,” Ryan said tonelessly. “And I may still kill Tarrington, unless you can give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because he is my husband,” she said simply. “And as you said yourself, I’ve been a widow long enough.”

  Ryan stared, the only movement being in a wisp of tawny hair that had fallen over his forehead.

  “Wainright came to Briar Glen yesterday,” she continued evenly, “angry and full of threats. Michael paid him off. He bought the notes on Rosalie, so it is yours again, free and clear.”

  “You mean it’s Tarrington’s, don’t you?”

  “No. It is yours. There was never any question of that.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “What did you have to give him in return?”

  “I am his wife.”

  “In name only?” he challenged.

  She hesitated and saw his jaw tauten even before she whispered her reply. “No.”

  Ryan’s shoulders slumped noticeably. “Damn,” he muttered. "Just ... damn."

  “He is Dianna’s cousin, you know. You probably would have become related to him eventually anyway.”

  Her attempt at humor fell flat as Ryan glared at her. “Yes, he is her cousin, and I asked her about him. Do you want to know what she said? She said he had been thrown out of nearly every school he attended—for gambling and womanizing, no less. She also said he had a reputation for being the black sheep in the family, and that even his father—who I gather did not exactly have a lily-white past himself—had threatened to disown him on an occasion or two. Being as loyal as she is, she didn’t want to share any of the details of his less palatable habits, but I guess you and I know most of them already, don’t we?”

  “As much he knows mine. I would say that makes us even when it comes to having secrets we’d rather keep to ourselves.”

  Ryan shoved his fists deep in his pockets. “It doesn’t make him any more palatable as a brother-in-law. He’s a gambler, a speculator, and a cheat. What makes you think he’ll be any kind of a good husband? And what about Verity? Have you thought about her at all? About what this farce of a marriage might do to her?”

  “I think of her safety and protection every minute of every day,” she said harshly. “And I believe I’ve made the best choice for her too.”

  “Tarrington relishes the thought of fatherhood, does he?” Ryan asked sardonically. “You can tell that by a basket of oranges and a goddamn doll? You say he knows all your secrets— does that mean you’ve told him everything about Verity?”

  She blanched slightly. “He knows he will have to be very patient if he wants to win her trust.”

  “That’s it? That’s all? You’re not planning to tell him anything else?”

  “There isn’t anything else to tell,” she said, chilled despite the bright heat of the sun.

  “You have more faith in Alisha’s ability to keep her mouth shut than I do. And more faith in a husband you don’t know either.”

  As if on cue, they heard the crunch of boots on the pebbled pathway and turned just as Michael Tarrington came walking around the corner of the house into view. His easy gait, the cut of the dark-blue broadcloth jacket, the fit of the stylish trousers, the expensive suppleness of the leather boots all grated on Ryan’s nerves and shored up his hostilities.

  “I hope I am not intruding,” Michael said smoothly. “I thought I should make certain you were both in once piece.”

  “We can settle our own differences,” Ryan said tightly.

  “So I see.” Tarrington stopped beside Amanda but wisely refrained from sliding a hand around her waist. “I trust I haven’t had too black a picture painted of me.”

  “My sister seems to think it could have been worse.”

  “But she hasn’t quite managed to convince you?”

  “I need a lot of convincing.”

  “I’m a patient man.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He could feel Amanda’s gaze imploring him to keep the peace and he did so with a considerable effort. “I suppose I should offer congratulations twice. I understa
nd you now own Rosalie.”

  “I own the note on Rosalie,” Michael agreed smoothly. “But I don’t need another farm.”

  "And I don’t take charity."

  Michael smiled and reached to an inside pocket of his coat. "Amanda warned me you would say that, so I have taken the liberty of having a new paper drawn stating the money is a loan to be paid back at some vague time in the future, whenever you can, however much you can per annum. There is also a note to my account manager extending you credit to cover any additional costs you might encounter to get the fields back into production."

  Ryan stared. His jaw was so rigid, the pale gold hairs of his beard stubble stood out like porcupine quills.

  “Take it,” Michael said quietly. “No strings attached.”

  Amanda held her breath. If Ryan refused—and he was just stubborn, proud, and pig-headed enough to do that— then she would have gone through all this for nothing. She would have become Montana Rose for nothing. She would have gone begging to Forrest Wainright for nothing. She would have married Michael Tarrington … for nothing.

  Ryan’s fingers curled and uncurled. His hand moved an inch. Then another. He took the folded paper from Tarrington and stared down at it for several more moments before looking at Amanda, seeing the tears that had flooded her eyes.

  "Please, Ryan," she whispered. "You can save Rosalie."

  He drew a deep breath and his own eyes grew red-rimmed. He carefully folded the paper again and looked at Michael.

  “There should be enough seed salvageable for a good crop next year, God willing. I can promise you a fair percentage of your money back by then.”

  Michael smiled. “I’m in no hurry. Use it for as long as you need it.”

  “At a reasonable rate of interest,” Ryan insisted, and extended his hand.

  Tarrington reached out and they shook formally, neither one wavering his eyes a fraction.

  “As I told Amanda,” Ryan said, breaking off the contact, “I was on my way out to the fields. You will have to excuse me.”

  “Of course. Your mother has graciously invited us to stay the night so perhaps we’ll have a chance to become better acquainted.”

  Ryan seemed to take the overture of friendliness in stride … at least, Amanda thought he did. His next words sent her heart sinking into her belly again.

  “I have absolutely no desire to become any better acquainted, Tarrington. In fact, I should say what I have to say now, so that we have absolutely no room for misunderstandings between us. I think you are a bastard. This”—he held up the loan papers— “doesn’t change that. Perhaps you’re not as blackhearted a bastard as Wainright, but you’re still a bastard nonetheless. And if you do anything to hurt Amanda—or Verity—or if you dare to mistreat them in any way, I swear to God I will personally tear the life out of you with my bare hands. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I would say we understand each other.” Michael nodded.

  Ryan cast a final glance at his sister before he swung himself effortlessly into the saddle. She watched him ride away, and when he was out of sight, she let the air escape her lungs on a sigh.

  "That went about as well as I expected," Michael murmured. "Better in fact. I'm told he has a damned good left hook."

  Amanda leaned into the support of the arm he circled around her waist “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. For taking his hand on the loan. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure he would do it.”

  “Pride is a pretty powerful obstacle to overcome.”

  “He’s worried about me —and about Verity.”

  “I don’t blame him. In his position, I’d be worried too.”

  “He’s good for the money,” she said, curling her lip between her teeth. “If he says he will pay you back, he will.”

  “I’m not worried about that, although I would have preferred to take repayment in terms of his expertise rather than see him squander another year on cotton.”

  “His … expertise?”

  “The Judge—among others—has told me he bred and trained the finest horseflesh in these Confederate states.”

  “Oh,” she said, sighing. “Horses again.”

  He smiled crookedly and gave her cheek a little tickle with his lips. “Said with such charming disdain, my lovely. How is it you could have lived around them all these years without acquiring some small pittance of tolerance or understanding?”

  “I told you—”

  “They don’t like you, yes. Well, be that as it may, we already have several thousands of dollars invested on the hoof at Briar Glen, and it is my fondest wish to see that investment grow over the coming years. To do that will require special management skills and expert knowledge of stock, bloodlines, and breeding, all of which your brother possesses in abundance.”

  “You have invested in horses without knowing anything about them?”

  “I know enough to pick a winner at a race track, but there is a great deal more I would like to learn.”

  Her eyes narrowed down to slits. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have had that in your mind when you first proposed this marriage?”

  He gazed off over the field in the direction Ryan had taken. “You don’t think he would consider working for me?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think your General Grant would consider declaring he made an error at the Appomattox Court House and rescind General Lee’s surrender?”

  Michael laughed and glanced down. “As likely as all that?”

  “Probably less.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Then it should prove to be an admirable challenge.”

  “The challenge, sir,” she said testily, “will simply be to make it through this evening without being shot out of hand.”

  “Ahh, yes. This evening.” He patted his pockets for a moment, frowning as if he had forgotten something of extreme importance. “I meant to give this to you last evening, but … where the devil did I put it? … but we were a little preoccupied, as I recall. Ahh. Here we are.”

  Amanda was watching his face, not his hands, so her surprise was genuine and absolute when he emptied the contents of a small satin pouch into his palm and held the object out to her.

  It was a ring. The central stone was a sapphire, dark as ink and easily the size of her thumbnail, surrounded by a fiery circle of twelve diamonds.

  Amanda stared at the ring, then up at his face.

  “You don’t like it?”

  She looked down again. The ring was beautiful. Almost too beautiful.

  “I can’t wear that,” she whispered softly.

  “Why not? Your sister has things twinkling in her ears and glittering around her throat; I assumed all women endeavored to glitter and twinkle at great expense to their husbands. The greater the better, I thought.”

  “You thought wrong,” she said, and turned on her heel.

  "Hold up there a moment. What the devil is wrong now? It’s a ring, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yes, it’s a ring,” she agreed coldly. “My mother had one very much like it, but the Yankees took it, along with everything else of any value we owned whether it twinkled, glittered, or just plain caught their fancy. This”—she passed her hand over the rich velvet of her skirt—“is bad enough to rub in their faces, but since you burned or destroyed my other clothing, I had no choice but to wear it or ride naked in the carriage. I won’t wear that however. Not now, not ever!”

  She turned and started back along the path, her skirts belling out behind her with each angry step.

  Michael stood where he was and swore a softly under his breath. He hadn’t done anything fundamentally wrong. He hadn’t deliberately been trying to flaunt his wealth or embarrass her or her family. He had simply thought to give his wife a ring.

  He started back along the path, stopping again when he came alongside her bonnet lying in the dusty earth. He stooped over and picked it up, intending to take it back to the house with him, but on a se
cond thought, he swung his arm and sent it spinning away into the rosebushes, not even bothering to see where it landed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sarah insisted the newlyweds remain the night at Rosalie. She would not hear of them returning to Briar Glen any sooner, and, as she protested time and time again throughout the day, she would have preferred a week or even more to adjust to the idea of Amanda’s marriage and to become better acquainted with her new son-in-law. It was Michael himself, however, who insisted—gently—that a day was all they could spare at the present time. There was simply too much to be done at Briar Glen. Soon, though, he promised, they would come back for a longer visit and, of course, with the Glen only an hour’s ride away, Sarah and William were welcome to visit Amanda and Verity any time.

  Hearing the words said aloud, it occurred to Sarah that her granddaughter as well as her daughter would be moving away. It prompted a fresh flood of tears and a violent fit of prolonged sneezing after she inhaled too much hartshorn.

  William Courtland’s opinion of Michael Tarrington was fortified over the case of aged Kentucky bourbon the latter had brought with him from Briar Glen. William spent an amiable afternoon verifying the quality of the spirits as well as the mettle of both new sons-in-law. Amanda, meanwhile, spent most of her time with Verity, packing up her few meager belongings and explaining why they would not be remaining at Rosalie, but would be making their new home at Briar Glen.

  “You like Michael, don’t you?”

  The child’s huge, solemn eyes looked up at her. She clutched the doll he had given her and seemed to weigh it against the notion of actually living with him in a strange new house.

  Amanda talked for a full hour, extolling the virtues of Briar Glen, knowing she sounded desperate, even to her own ears. She promised they would come back to Rosalie so often it would not feel as if they had left at all. She promised (prayed) Ryan would visit the Glen with William and Sarah. She promised Verity her own pretty new room and a big, soft new bed stuffed with so many feathers it would take ten men to carry it up the stairs—a bed big enough to fit a whole family of new dolls.