by West, Everly
And he thought she was attracted to him. Obviously, he’d been wrong.
JP plopped back into his chair. “What did she say?”
Mason paced, or maybe it was closer to a stomp, back and forth in front of the large, oak desk. “Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“She said ‘No, thank you’ and left.”
JP scrubbed his hand over his face. “Nothing else?”
“She said something about not really knowing her and doing both of us an injustice.” He stopped and faced JP. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
JP’s eyes rounded then his poker face slid into place.
Not that Mason cared if the man was happy or sad, tickled or tormented. His plans, his promises—his future—had crumbled around him.
Mayfield Freight Lines ran from California to New York. He controlled hundreds of routes and tons of freight on a daily basis. But he couldn’t convince one demure debutante to marry him.
He couldn’t fulfill his father’s dying wish.
Damn it to hell and back!
Mason banged the heel of his fist against JP’s desk. “Damn it, Wortham, let me buy Whispering Pines.”
“No.” JP exhaled heavily, slapped the arm of his chair with the flat of his hand and rose. “Let me talk to her. Maybe—”
“You’re wasting your breath.” Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “She was firm in her answer.”
Tonight had been the first time he’d seen the stubborn set of her jaw or the glimmer of obstinance in her eyes. JP could talk until he was blue in the face and his daughter wouldn’t change her mind.
“We’ll see.” JP moved to the door then turned back to face Mason. “Stay close to your hotel tomorrow. If I can get her to reconsider, I’ll send you an invitation for dinner.”
* * *
“Come in.” Sammie didn’t try to hide the quiver in her voice.
Her father stepped inside her bedroom, took one look at her and opened his arms. “Oh, pumpkin, come here.”
In a blur of blue wool and white petticoats, she ran into his embrace. “Papa.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked as she let her father’s comfort wash over her. Her bottom lip quavered. “I hurt Mason.”
“I know, sweetie.” Papa ran his hand up and down her back. “He told me.”
“I couldn’t accept. He would hate the real me and then he’d be stuck with a woman he couldn’t abide by the rest of his life.” Sammie laid her head against his shoulder. “It was the right thing to do.”
“So, why are you crying?” Papa kissed her forehead then eased her away from him. “Do you care for him?”
She took a deep, bracing breath and admitted to both her father and herself what she’d been denying. “Yes, I do.”
“I see.”
“It only makes it worse.” She wiped at the tears drying on her face. “Mason and I aren’t a good match.”
“I see,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, Papa, but I won’t ruin Mason’s life.” She moved to her dressing table on the other side of the bedroom. “Not for the bank, not for the Wortham’s financial wellbeing, not for you.”
“What?” Her father’s brow puckered in confusion. “The bank? Financial wellbeing?”
“I know you’re worried.” Sammie retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket. “We’ll figure something else out, but I can’t—”
“Oh, sweetie. You’ve misunderstood. The bank is sound and I’m not foolish enough to tie all our holdings to any one endeavor.” He moved to stand behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. “Now, dry your pretty eyes. Things seem to have a way of working out.”
“Not this time,” Sammie whispered under her breath as she watched her father leave. “Good night, Papa.”
* * *
“You Samantha Wortham?” the boy standing at her front door asked.
“Yes, may I help you?”
“A man at the hotel sent me with this note.” The boy fidgeted, shuffling from one foot to the other. “He said I could only give it to you.”
“Thank you.” She took the folded paper from the child. “Wait here and I get a coin for your trouble.”
“The man at the hotel paid me real good.” The boy paused, already halfway down the porch steps. “There was a ruckus at the hotel and I want to get back. I think maybe somebody got shot.”
Sammie watched the kid run toward the hotel. Surly, there hadn’t been a shooting at the Grand Union. It was one of the nicer businesses in Laramie. According to Mason, the accommodations were comfortable and spacious. The dining room served good food and the staff was friendly.
The Grand Union welcomed both businessmen and cowpokes. Heck, even the ladies’ club met in the Union’s private room for tea and devious plotting.
Sighing, she closed the door. Perhaps she’d stroll down that way later and see if she could find out what happened.
The note. She’d almost forgotten about the note.
Her heart froze as she read:
Samantha, I need your help. Hurry! Room 6
Several bright red stains spotted the paper. Was that blood?
Oh, God. Mason!
Mason was staying at the Grand Union Hotel. Was he hurt?
The boy’s words came rushing back to her. A shooting at the hotel.
Her knees wobbled. Her stomach lurched and her mouth turned to sawdust. She had to get to Mason!
Jerking the door open, she lifted her skirt to her knees and bolted out.
* * *
“Mason!” a woman screamed from the other side of his hotel door.
Startled, he flinched, nicking his chin with the straight edged razor he’d just slid down his cheek. A bead of blood dripped down his face.
“Mason, let me in!” the woman screamed again.
Samantha?
Toweling off blood and lather from his chin, he hurried to the doorway.
He jerked open the door just as the woman yelled, “I’m coming in.”
Samantha stumbled forward, her momentum flinging her against Mason’s bare chest, knocking both them off their feet. Instinct kicked in. He twisted his body then banded his arms around her.
They hit the floor—hard. Breath whooshed out of his lungs. Still, he held her safe in his embrace.
Samantha raised her head from his shoulder. Her eyes widened, tears rolled down her face. “You’re bleeding!”
“Are you hurt?” Mason asked at the same time. He skimmed his palms over her back and neck, searching for injuries. Then he gently rolled her onto her back and ran his hands over her arms. Still, he kept her tucked against his body.
“Mason!” she snapped, pulling his attention from his search. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.”
“No, you’re not,” she insisted. “You’re bleeding.”
Mason grinned, keeping his gaze on her face as he bunched her skirt upward so he could check her legs for broken bones. She dragged her fingers over his face and then pulled them back to show him the blood. He shrugged his shoulder. “I cut myself shaving.”
Samantha ran her hand over his arm, up his neck then cupped his cheek in her palm. “So, you’re not hurt?”
“No.” He turned his face and kissed her palm. “Are you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Then why are you crying?” he murmured, not wanting to fracture the sudden poignancy of the moment.
Tears flowed faster down her cheeks, her bottom lip quivered and her voice trembled. “I thought you were in pain, or worse, might die.”
Mason touched his forehead to hers. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care,” she whispered against his lips.
“Thank God,” he murmured then covered her lips with his in a forceful kiss of unleashed passion. He licked the seam of her mouth, begging for entry. Her lips parted as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She tasted of heated honey and p
assion. Desire blurred his senses until there was only their bone-melting kiss left on the face of the earth.
“Get your hands off of my daughter!” JP bellowed from the open doorway.
Mason jerked his hand from beneath Samantha’s skirt like he’d touched the business end of a red-hot branding iron. Damn!
Samantha scrambled out of his embrace. “Papa! Mrs. O’Brian! This isn’t what it looks like.”
Yes, it was. And we’ve been caught well and good. Mason scrubbed his hand down his face as the realization of their situation came rushing at him.
The gray-haired woman standing beside JP frowned and turned to face Samantha’s father. “I’ll get the preacher.”
* * *
An hour later, Mason found his new father-in-law huddled up with the three men they’d played cards with that fateful night at the White Buffalo Club. “Gentlemen, I see you’ve done your duties as witnesses.”
The four men standing in a semi-circle around Mason gasped at the mention of the wager.
“There’s no need to be crude, Mason.” JP ground out through the clenched teeth of a feigned smile. “They would have attended Samantha’s wedding no matter the happenstances.”
“Happenstances?” Mason folded his arms over his chest. “I doubt that.”
JP glanced around the parlor. Probably nervous someone would overhear the extent he’d go to, to get his daughter off his hands. “You agreed to marry my daughter. The manner in which you got her to the altar is an insignificant detail.”
Mason frowned. “I’m sure my wife would disagree.”
Seth stepped into the circle of men. “Gentlemen, may I borrow Mason for a quick word?”
“Of course, we weren’t talking about anything important.” Relief tingled JP’s words.
Oh, yeah. The man reeked of wrongdoing. Whether the source of his guilty conscience stemmed from the bet or today’s events was the question.
JP and his friends moved to the other side of the parlor, giving Mason and Seth their privacy. Mason cocked an eyebrow and waited for Seth to say his piece. It didn’t take long.
“What the hell?” Seth seethed. “I don’t know whether to welcome you to the family or wring your neck for having your way with my sister. Sammie is not your whore.”
Every muscle in Mason’s body stiffen. Fury boiled his blood. Fists balled at his side, aching to punch Seth until he was a bloody pulp on the floor. Somehow, he held himself in check, but only by the thinnest thread.
“Samantha is my wife,” Mason growled. “The only reason you’re still standing is because that makes you my brother-in-law. But if I hear you or anyone else speak ill of her again, I won’t be so merciful.”
Seth grinned. “That’s what I needed to hear. Welcome to the family.”
What? Seth had been testing him? Testing his loyalty to Samantha? Anger slipped away just as quickly as it had erupted.
Mason smiled as broadly as Seth. “You have no idea how close you were to meeting your maker.”
“Neither do you.” Seth slapped Mason’s back playfully. “Now where is the new Mrs. Mayfield?”
“Upstairs. Packing a bag.” Mason inwardly groaned. Now was as good of a time as any to tell Seth. “We’re going to Whispering Pines.”
Seth looked stunned. “Really?”
“It’s early still. We’ll be there before dark.”
“No, I mean, Whispering Pines? How?”
“A wedding gift from your father.” Mason fought to hide his emotions.
He hated to lie, especially to a friend. But he had no choice. The less people who knew about the bet, the less likely Samantha would hear about it. Nothing good would come from his wife learning the truth.
JP had said he intended Whispering Pines to be a wedding gift. So, he’d go with that story. But there was no “gifting” involved.
Mason had paid dearly for the title of his ancestral lands.
Chapter 6
Twisting in her seat, Sammie watched Laramie grow smaller in the distance. Her previous life was gone. Her future awaited her.
She glanced at Mason. He smiled and took her hand in his. Somehow, she managed to smile back with only the tiniest tremor in her bottom lip. She was scared.
No, petrified.
Not scared of Mason or their marriage bed. Although her mother had spoken about the duties of a wife, she had been vague on details. Surely, between her and Mason they’d figure it out. No, Sammie’s fear stemmed from the charade she’d been living the last six weeks.
Poor Mason didn’t have a clue who he’d married. And that had to change. She refused to live a lie. They both deserved better.
Still, a measure of caution should be used. She’d ease him into seeing her as her true self. Nice and slow. Let him adjust to her a little bit at a time. She owed him that much.
“Samantha? Is something wrong?” Mason asked. “You seem deep in thought.”
Yep, slow and easy. Starting with his insistence of calling her Samantha. She’d corrected him many times over the last weeks. Maybe he thought Sammie or Sam was too personal, too forward, to use at the time. Surely, he would use her informal name now that they were married.
“Mason?” She smiled. She wasn’t asking for much. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Of course.” Mason raised their joined hands to his lips, placing a tender kiss over her knuckles. “If I can.”
“Would you please call me Sammie or Sam?”
“No,” he said, releasing her hand.
“Why?” She tried not to whine, really she did.
“Because, it’s not your name.” He turned slightly and focused on the landscape outside the carriage window. “If your parents had wanted you to be called Sammie or Sam, they’d have named you such.”
Anger, sudden and intense, hit Sammie like a slap to her face. She scooted to her corner of the seat as far away from Mason as she could get and folded her arms under her breasts. “How very pompous of you.”
Mason turned to face her fully, seeming stunned she’d taken offense.
“I always got the feeling you didn’t care about my father or his wishes.” Sammie cocked a sarcastic eyebrow. “Why bow to his biddings now?”
“This is not about your father.” Mason shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the principle.”
“Just so you know, I’ll only answer to Sammie or Sam from this moment on.”
He studied her for a minute then grinned. “Why are you so insistent?”
Did he think she was joking? She shouldn’t have to explain herself over something so trivial. Logic told her there was a flaw in her thinking, but her anger wouldn’t let her see it.
She smiled sweetly at her husband and threw his words back at him. “It’s the principle.”
* * *
The next ten minutes passed in silence. Not an angry or tense silence, but not particularity comfortable either. Samantha seemed edgy, but then she probably hadn’t planned on being married today. Hopefully, once she saw Whispering Pines, her nerves would calm and she’d return to the docile, amenable woman Mason had come to know.
Yeah, it’d been a rough day for both of them. He wanted Samantha and everything she brought into their marriage. But forcing her into the union by compromise? What a dastardly way to start a marriage.
Poor Samantha might not ever get over the social fallout.
The marker Mason had been looking for the last few minutes came into view, pulling his worried thoughts back to the present. Grabbing Samantha’s hand, he pointed to the ten-foot carved post coming up on the righthand side of the road. “There it is.”
“What?” Samantha leaned across his body to get a better look. The carriage hit a deep rut in the road, causing the conveyance to rock violently. She fell against his chest. Instinct kicked in. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her safely against him.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her as he brushed a wisp of hair off her face. She smelled of heated honey and sunshine.
She wa
s his.
Time seemed to stop.
Samantha gazed up at him, a mixture of desire and uncertainty smoldering in her blue eyes. “Mason?”
“Wife,” he murmured then lowered his mouth to hers.
Layering his mouth over hers, he nipped and tugged at her lower lip. Slowly, very slowly, he licked at the seam of her lips, asking for entry. When she opened for him, his tongue played with hers. When she purred her pleasure, his body ignited.
He lost himself in the feel of her in his arms. In the taste of her. In the promise of things to come.
The carriage lurched, jerking him out of his passion-laced daze. Raising his head, he pressed a kiss on her forehead then repositioned her onto the seat beside him. He wasn’t a rutting adolescent with no control or finesse. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the passing landscape.
“We’re on the Whispering Pines ranch,” he announced. “We’ll be at the house in five minutes.”
Still looking a little dazed from their kiss, Samantha asked, “Do they know we’re coming?”
He nodded. “I sent a messenger earlier this afternoon.”
After a few minutes, Mason couldn’t stand the silence any more. “I know our marriage was sudden. And maybe not what you wanted, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
“I know you will.” Samantha squeezed his hand. “That’s all a woman could ask.”
Before Mason could say more, the carriage rounded a curve in the forest-lined road and came out at the edge of large clearing.
The stately white mansion stood in the center surrounded by a thick pine forest. Its majesty, a specter of serenity basking in the day’s soft rays of sunshine. The rattle of carriage wheels as they rolled over the wood planked bridge at the edge of the trees seemed to awaken the great white beauty from her docile existence.
The well-manicured clearing encircling Whispering Pines came alive with the scurrying of people anticipating their imminent arrival. A young stable boy and a footman stood eagerly as the carriage eased to a stop. Wide steps led up to the veranda that shaded the front of the house.
