Scandal with the Rancher

by Julia Justiss

  To her surprise, Ronan laughed dryly. “She just accomplished that task, very neatly. She told Michael I’d tried to seduce her.”

  Ronan might have a reputation with the ladies, but Marguerite had never heard him accused of trifling with another man’s wife. “But that’s nonsense! Surely he didn’t believe her.”

  “I don’t think he wanted to. But the alternative was to admit she was lying—which he couldn’t make himself do.” Ronan sighed. “That’s when I knew I’d lost him. If he could accept that hog swill as truth, he’ll accept anything she tells him, no matter how outlandish. He means to cut all ties between us. All that’s left is for me to protect my investments.”

  This was going from bad to worse. Horrified at the way Lydia’s quarrel with her had escalated, she said, “Isn’t it possible, after he calms down, Mr. McCleary will reconsider breaking with you?”

  “You’ve seen how relentless his wife has been, trying to force you out of town. Over the years, I’ve steered Michael in directions she didn’t want him to go. You should have seen the triumphant look she gave me over Michael’s shoulder after he asked me to leave his office! Triumphant, and thrilled—like she’d just realized that in trying to make life difficult for you, she’d pulled off an even greater coup. She’d finally alienated her husband from the one person who’s consistently opposed her influence. Should Michael waver about breaking with me, she’ll push back with more outlandish accusations. I won’t have a friend—or a business partner—who doubts my word. I have to remove Michael from any control over my investments before she can try to sabotage them, too.”

  Stunned and sick at heart, Marguerite fell silent. At last, she said quietly, “What do you mean to do, then?”

  “I’ll stay in Whiskey River another few days and make sure my warning to Mrs. Allen gets around, so the people know they must deal with you, or go elsewhere. Then I’ll need to stop by my bankers in Houston and Austin to liquidate some assets so I can buy out McCleary’s shares.”

  He laughed bitterly. “I pushed hard to get Michael to establish a bank in Whiskey River, figuring if he settled here, I’d see much more of my friend than if he remained with his family’s firm in Galveston. And in the end, I’ll not see him at all.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He took her face between his hands. “This isn’t your fault, Marguerite-mine. I never wanted to come between husband and wife. But this time, Lydia gave me no choice. Neither of us can help it if he trusts her word too much, and mine too little. I won’t say that losing his friendship doesn’t cut deep, but he’s made his choice, so that’s an end to it. Now, did you have any more customers while I was gone? Did they treat you as they ought to?”

  Marguerite wished despairingly that she might do something to mend the breach between the two friends, even as she realized that repairing it was out of her hands. She also knew the ugly break with his friend had to trouble Ronan more than he was letting her see.

  “Mr. Blackman stopped in to buy supplies, as did Mrs. Everly—the mother of the little boy you rescued from the creek. She asked to be remembered to you, by the way, with her thanks. Two other ladies looked at bonnets and just before you returned, Mrs. Lowery came by to restock her larder—quite an impressive amount. I never realized how much we boarders eat!” She smiled bravely. “I’ve totaled up as many sales this half-day as the mercantile normally does in a full one.”

  He chuckled. “Not only does Eugenia Allen never think for herself, she can’t keep a secret. I’ll bet she told a few people, in strictest confidence, of course, that she intended to snub you. Once that news got out, those who don’t agree with Lydia’s persecution must have decided to come by and show their support. I’ll bet the mercantile does even better tomorrow.”

  “I hope so. After all the trouble I’ve caused, I’d feel better if it ended up bringing you some profit.”

  He gave her a quick hug before pushing her to arm’s length, as if he didn’t trust himself to keep her closer. “You’re going to bring me a good deal of profit, you’ll see. A lot of people in this town respect me and are outraged at Lydia McCleary’s behavior toward you. She’s been trying to lord it over folks for some time, and many of them are sick of it. I’d not be at all surprised if, after this latest trick, she ends up isolating herself instead of you.”

  Knowing what it was to go from pampered daughter and adored wife to alone and friendless, Marguerite shuddered. “I don’t wish that on her. Couldn’t we all go back to being civil to one another?”

  He gave her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “I hope so, but I wouldn’t count on it. Just remember none of it is your fault. It’s pure McCleary meanness that brought this about. Now, get back out there and make me some money.”

  With that, he turned her around, gave her a pat on the bottom, and aimed her toward the door. Her heart still troubled, she put a smile on her face and walked out to face the town.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ten days later, after seeing the last of his bankers in Austin, Booze urged his gelding into a trot, filled with a new sense of urgency to get back to Whiskey River. His financial dealings had been successful. After shuffling some properties, he’d raised the sum necessary to buy out Michael’s interests in their former partnership. Aside from the new mortgage on the mercantile that was needed to obtain the rest of the cash, he now owned all his assets free and clear.

  The fact both grieved and relieved him. Not until he’d finalized the transaction did he realize how uneasy he’d been about the future of their partnership. Ever since he’d discovered the true character of the woman Michael had married, he’d had to steel himself to the succession of problems she caused. Knowing he’d no longer need to worry about her interference eased much of the tension that had troubled him, leaving him with a new sense of optimism.

  Sadly, the break with Michael didn’t cut as deeply as he’d expected. Apparently he’d been distancing himself from Michael for years, so gradually he hadn’t been aware of it.

  Now that he’d finished reordering his finances, he ought to complete the restocking of the mercantile before returning to Whiskey River. But he felt compelled to see Marguerite first.

  He told himself he needed to allay any worries she might still harbor about the damage ending his partnership had caused his business interests. But in reality, it was his strong desire to see her again that propelled him back to town.

  Just the thought of being near her excited him. He’d been gone less than two weeks, but already he missed her lovely face, her quick wit and the no-nonsense way she faced up to problems. The ever-present pull of attraction between them drew him to her like a magnet to the north. The impossibility, at the moment, of acting on that attraction both frustrated him and sharpened the need.

  He also wanted to consult her about the mercantile and get her opinion on what new items to stock. Find out what display materials—shelving, tables, mirror for a dressing room—she needed to implement her plans for reorganizing the store and making it more appealing to their customers.

  He wished he could take her with him on the buying expeditions. She would enjoy looking at the array of goods available, evaluating whether her neighbors in Whiskey River would find them tempting, and envisioning how and where she would display the items they would ship back.

  He’d enjoy even more taking her to Galveston. Her beauty would enchant Papa, her sharp mind and clever ideas would please practical Mama, and he could just see his little brothers falling all over themselves, trying to impress her.

  He was chuckling at that thought as he guided the gelding up the ridge into the setting sun, heading west from San Marcos into the Hill Country. He had enough daylight to make Devil’s Backbone before dark, and the full moon tonight should give him a panoramic view as he camped on its heights.

  She’d love the site, he thought, adding that to the list of places he’d like to take her. Then he thought of sharing a bedroll with the passionate Marguerite, and
his always-simmering desire fired back white-hot, making the saddle a good deal more uncomfortable.

  Dragging his mind from that glorious but unattainable delight, he wondered how things were going back in Whiskey River. He figured there were more who would side with her than with Lydia McCleary, but there was still a chance she might face some unpleasantness. In happier times, he would have asked Michael to watch out for her while he was gone...but that ally was lost for good now.

  Remembering their angry exchange brought back the one accusation whose truth had struck him on the raw, making it impossible for him to dismiss the charge.

  If she’s not your kept woman, you’ve sure done a good job of making it look like she is. Though it was Lydia McCleary’s vindictiveness that had pushed the matter out of control, the persecution of Marguerite McMasters really was his fault. Ridiculous as the charges were, if he’d not ridden by her ranch and kissed her in front of the boarding house, Lydia would have had nothing with which to accuse her, and Marguerite would still be teaching.

  The fact that what they had done at the ranch would have been grounds for dismissal, had anyone learned of it, didn’t make him feel any better.

  He’d never paid such marked attention to any woman in town. Lydia might not be the only resident who questioned just how innocent the relationship was. Regardless of what anyone suspected, he was not taken to task for it. Right or wrong, it was Marguerite’s reputation that had suffered, more because of his actions than her own.

  The truth of that didn’t sit well with him. He was accustomed to taking care of the people who mattered to him, not injuring them.

  How could he make up for the harm he’d done?

  Probably only by marrying her. When the gent a lady had raised eyebrows with put a ring on her finger, the world usually forgot about any questionable activity before the wedding.

  Never before had he seriously contemplated marrying. The very idea of wedlock generally set with him as comfortably as a bridle on an unbroken colt, and not just because Lydia McCleary gave the institution a bad name.

  But there could be a whole passel of pleasant consequences from marrying Marguerite McMasters.

  He fully intended to make love to her again—he hadn’t yet figured out when, and how, to do so without further compromising her position in town. But if they married, the passion between them could be given full rein.

  He imagined undressing her slowly, using lips and hands and body to cherish each inch of naked skin he revealed. Tracing his fingertips down the silk of her arms as he suckled first one breast, then the other. He’d smooth her hips with his hands, parting her thighs to stroke the little bud hidden within until she was hot and wet and breathless. Then he’d taste her lingeringly before riding her, or letting her ride him, into the ecstasy of release.

  They’d rest afterward with her pillowed on his chest, before beginning again and again. As often as they wanted. Whenever they wanted.

  That in itself would be inducement enough for most men. When he added in the benefits of being able to travel with her and show her all the places he loved, bring her into the heart of his family, share her ideas and invite her opinions... She was, he realized, a woman who could interest and delight him for a lifetime.

  Rather than a burden to be endured, marrying Marguerite would be more like...a drink of water from a cool stream on a hot day. A soft bed on a cold night after a long, weary ride. She promised more fire than a bottle of his finest Irish whiskey, more pleasure than the most inventive and beguiling lover he’d ever known.

  Would she marry him?

  She liked him, he knew, and the passion between them was unrivaled. Marriage would be a good solution to her problems—advantageous, even. With his resources, they could pay off her ranch and she could start working her horses. He could buy land nearby to run cattle, and they could manage their enterprises together. They’d hire someone to clerk at the mercantile, but she could still oversee the planning and operation of the store.

  “Marguerite-mine,” he called her, and so he’d thought of her for some time now. Though the notion of taking so irrevocable a step still spooked him a little, the idea of claiming her felt right.

  He wouldn’t camp on the heights tonight, he decided. Driven by eagerness and warmed by his desire, he’d ride straight through, down the starlit trail that lead back to the reunion—and a new union—with his Marguerite.

  In the late morning two days later, Marguerite looked up at the entry bell to see Ronan Kelly striding toward her. Surprised and delighted, she couldn’t help the smile of welcome that lit her face. A flutter of excitement swept over her, riding on a deeper current of desire, and it was all she could do to walk decorously toward him, rather than running over to throw herself into his arms.

  “Mr. Kelly, welcome back! I hadn’t expected you so soon. I hope you bring good news,” she added, her euphoria fading as she remembered the unpleasant necessity that had driven his journey.

  “All good news,” he affirmed. “It’s quite a deal I have to tell you.” Turning around, he switched the sign in the window from “open” to “closed,” and gestured toward the office. “Take a break, and we’ll have a talk.”

  Relieved, curious—and, as always, excited at the prospect of being alone with him, even in so public a venue as the store, she followed him in. Might there be a welcome-home kiss before the talk?

  To her delight, as soon as the office door closed, he swept her into his arms. “It’s that glad I am to see you again, Marguerite-mine,” he murmured into her hair.

  “And glad I am to see you, too,” she replied. Reveling in the strength of him, she rubbed her cheek against his chest, drinking in the scent of shaving soap, coffee, and irresistible male that was him alone. Ah, how much brighter the day seemed, how much more filled with promise, now that he was here!

  He tipped her chin up and kissed her. Starved for his touch, she opened to him immediately, passion firing as tongue caressed tongue in a kiss that promised so much more. Eager to claim that promise, she clung to him as he bound her closer, the hardness of him pressed against her belly, sending a spiral of warmth and wetness to the core of her.

  Ronan gently pushed her to arm’s length. “You’d tempt the pope himself,” he said, his breathing as uneven as hers. “No more of that—for now.”

  “Might there be more...later?” she asked, loving the response she drew from him. Each time she touched him and was denied completion, she felt herself drawing closer to the moment when the need for him would drive her to claim the pleasure she craved, regardless of the consequences.

  After all, what more could happen? She’d already lost a job, been snubbed by some of the town’s matrons, and had alienated Ronan’s oldest friend and business partner because of their supposed liaison. If she were already being blamed for straying from the straight and narrow, she might as well enjoy the sin.

  Perhaps when she next made a visit to the ranch? She would have to go soon and check on her horses.

  “I do hope for more,” he replied, turning her around and nudging her into motion.

  By the time he’d walked her to the desk and waved her to a seat, some of the fog of passion had cleared from her brain. “When did you get back?” she asked. “You can’t have been in Whiskey River very long, or someone would have told me.”

  “I rode in early this morning.”

  She studied him, noting the fresh shave and crisply pressed garments that indicated he must have recently bathed and changed. There were lines of fatigue by his mouth, however, and his eyes looked tired. “Did you ride through the night? Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, and I had coffee at the hotel. I was anxious to bring you the news. I can eat later.”

  “You said the news was good? You were able to raise enough money to dissolve the partnership without compromising your other assets?”

  He nodded. “I had to take a loan on the mercantile, but I see no trouble repaying that. There’s still enough cash for me to res
tock supplies; I’ll probably set out for Houston tomorrow. I have to admit I feel easier, knowing everything I’ve worked for is under my sole control, with no possibility that Lydia McCleary might someday find a way to compromise it.”

  She felt another pang of guilt. “I’m sorry for the loan, but I can understand your relief at having a free hand to manage things as you wish.” She hesitated, not sure whether or not she should raise what must still be a painful topic. “Now that his wife can’t complicate matters, do you think there’s a chance you might...repair the friendship with Michael McCleary?”

  To her relief, he didn’t seem disturbed by the question, but said matter-of-factly, “He would have to come to me, which would mean admitting that he and his wife had been in the wrong, and I don’t see that happening. I’m more concerned with how matters have progressed with you. Have there been any more...incidents at the mercantile?”

  She smiled. “The threat of having to travel as far as San Marcos or Austin to obtain their necessities was enough to persuade most of the town to continue doing business here. Several ladies were...standoffish, as if they wanted me to know they might be forced to shop here, but that didn’t mean they approved of me.”

  Ronan scowled. “Give me their names. I’ll have a word with their menfolk and remind them, if their women can’t treat you like the lady you are, they won’t be welcome here.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. Most of the customers were friendly and appreciative. Sooner or later, those who were not are going to be taken to task by their neighbors for their lack of charity, and isolated if they don’t change their ways. I’d rather they come back of their own accord, than because you strong-armed their husbands.”

  “Let public opinion strong-arm them instead?”

  “Exactly.”

  “If you insist, I won’t intervene.” He shook his head. “It rubs me wrong, though. What you’ve had to go through is my fault, but you’re the one paying the price for it.”

  “I do bear some of the blame,” she countered. “I could have turned you away at the ranch—or slapped your face in front of the boarding house.”