Her delicate brows shot up. “I’m sorry, I was only—”
“I was nineteen years old and scared spitless. What I did involved killing boys as young and scared as myself. I threw away the medal, and I’ve since done my best to forget the whole miserable experience. Is that entertaining enough for you, Arabella?”
Charlie had gone pale around the mouth. “Really, Stewart, Arabella was only trying to make polite conversation.”
“Fine. But let’s make polite conversation about something else.” He knew he’d been harsh, but of all subjects for Arabella to fix upon, that was the worst choice. Remembering the war was the last thing he wanted to do.
Stewart drizzled gravy onto his mashed potatoes. Without looking up, he could feel three pairs of eyes—Charlie’s blazing with proper outrage, Sally’s overflowing with dismay. And Arabella’s, most likely shooting daggers from their emerald depths.
“Since you had to go back to get your wagon, maybe you can tell us about the road,” she said. “As soon as it’s fit to travel, I mean to be gone from here.”
“Then you’ll have to wait for a while,” Stewart replied. “What I saw of that road’s not much better than a hog wallow. So you might as well settle in and enjoy your stay. Montana can be a pretty place in the spring when the wildflowers are in bloom. Have you had a chance to look around?”
“I’m still recovering from last night. So far all I’ve managed to do is sleep, bathe and dress.”
“I’m sure Stewart would be happy to show you around, Arabella.” Sally’s voice quivered with hope. Good Lord, was this his sister’s attempt at matchmaking?
Arabella’s silence expressed how she felt about Sally’s suggestion. Stewart breathed a sigh of relief. He’d already had enough of Miss Arabella Spencer.
“I’ll be busy rounding up spring calves,” he said. “If I took time off to play guide, I could lose a few of them.”
“I’d be happy to take you out for a ride.” It was Charlie who spoke up. “The sidesaddle I ordered is waiting in the barn. We could go first thing tomorrow morning.”
Stewart saw the hurt that flashed across his sister’s pretty face. At that moment he could have lunged across the table, grabbed his brother-in-law by the collar and shaken him until his teeth fell out.
Flashing Stewart a look of dismay, Arabella shook her head. “After last night, I’m so sore, I couldn’t ride a hobby horse. Don’t trouble yourself, Charles. I’ll see the country in my own good time.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite.” As if to punctuate the word, she jabbed a carrot slice with her fork. “And now, if you don’t mind, this delicious dinner is getting cold.”
She lowered her gaze and attacked her plate with the ferocity of a small red fox. The meal was finished in snatches of awkward small talk. Stewart was relieved when the last bite was eaten and the chairs were pulled away from the table.
He was about to take his leave of his sister and go when Arabella stepped in front of him. “I’m in need of some fresh air, Stewart,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to walk me around the yard? It’s dark out, and I don’t want to risk a misstep.”
“Certainly.” Stewart offered his arm and allowed himself to be led out onto the porch. He knew better than to expect a pleasant evening stroll. Arabella’s request had been more like a summons from the Spanish Inquisition. The little redhead wanted answers and would stop at nothing to get them.
Any way it went down, this was not going to be pretty.
Chapter Three
The night sky was a sea of stars. Arabella’s eyes traced the arc of the Milky Way, like a spill of crystal sand across the vast, dark bowl of the heavens. Boston’s misty nights were lovely in their way. But Montana’s dry, clear air sharpened the senses to razor keenness. In the chirr of tiny grass-dwellers she could make out individual voices. The wings of a nighthawk sliced the air above her head. Stewart’s horse, tethered by the gate, snorted in the darkness. Arabella could hear the sound of its teeth cropping the fresh spring grass.
Beneath her light touch, Stewart’s arm was as taut as steel cable. He was silent, waiting for her to speak.
She cleared her throat. “You might have told me,” she said in her sternest voice.
“It wasn’t my place to tell you. I agreed to meet the stage, in case you were on it, and give you a ride to the ranch, but after that, you were Charlie’s problem. It was up to him to break the news.”
“So you let me blather on about getting married, when all the time you knew!”
“What would you have done if I’d told you?”
“I don’t know. But at least I’d have been prepared.” She gazed past the fence, toward the hulking silhouette of the barn. “At least I know why you’ve been so hateful toward me.”
She caught the sharp intake of his breath. “Hate is too strong a word, Arabella. I don’t hate you. But I’m protective of my sister. Sally’s happiness means the world to me.”
“And you see me as a threat to her.”
“Aren’t you?”
The question brushed the hair trigger of Arabella’s temper. “What exactly are you implying?” she snapped.
“That you’re a beautiful woman who knows how to use her charms, and that you have everything to gain by doing so. I saw the moon-calf way Charlie was looking at you tonight. All you’d have to do is crook your pretty little finger, and—”
Arabella’s palm struck his face with a slap that sent a jolt of pain up her arm. It was like striking granite. “How dare you?” she gasped. “The very idea that I’d want Charles back, or that I’d plot to take him away from the mother of his child—”
His frigid expression silenced her. “That’s enough, Arabella. I’ll go now. You’ve made your point—but don’t forget mine. Hurt my sister and you’ll answer to me.”
He strode to his horse, untied the reins and swung into the saddle without looking back.
“Go, then!” Arabella hurled the words after him. “See if I care! I never want to see you again, Stewart McIntyre!”
Her words were lost amid the clatter of departing hooves.
* * *
Stewart took the tall buckskin at a lope, thundering over the two-mile trail that linked his ranch to Charlie Middleton’s. Arabella’s palm print burned like a brand on his face. Damn fool, that’s what he was. He should’ve been man enough to stay and smooth things over with her. At least her outrage showed she had no intention of getting in the way of Sally’s marriage. Maybe he should have apologized for offending her. Instead he’d bolted. But wasn’t that what he’d always done at the first tingle of attraction to a woman—thrown up a barrier and run like a scared jackrabbit?
Pretty little dolls like Arabella Spencer had always made him feel awkward and ugly. But Arabella wasn’t just pretty. She was smart, spirited and damned sexy in her ladylike way. Everything Charlie might see in her in her, Stewart saw, too. A man, even a married one, would have to be crazy not to want her in his bed.
Charlie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her all evening—it was clear to Stewart that his brother-in-law had every intention of winning back Arabella’s affection. And Arabella had loved Charlie—since they were children, if he remembered correctly. If Charlie used the days before the stage returned to woo her in earnest, would she be able to resist returning to his arms? Sally had certainly found those arms all too tempting.
The comparison brought him back to thoughts of his sister. Growing up, she’d been the baby of the family. As the firstborn, Stewart had always looked after her. She’d been fifteen when their mother died. By then Stewart had acquired his ranch, and he’d taken her in. He’d hoped one day to see her married to a good man. But he’d been unable to protect her innocence from the likes of Charlie Middleton.
Had he been wrong to force th
e marriage? At the time he’d thought it the only thing to do. Middleton had been responsible for Sally’s pregnancy. He had ample means to take care of her and the baby. And Sally had said she loved him.
Lord help him, had he ruined his sister’s life?
He’d honestly believed they had a chance to be happy. Then Arabella had shown up, with her delicate beauty, fine clothes and lively manner, to set everything topsy-turvy.
Arabella had insisted she didn’t want Charlie back. Stewart believed her. She’d been cruelly betrayed by the man and had every reason to hate him. But she could still be swayed by sentiment, and long-held feelings. It didn’t matter that she didn’t plan to steal Charlie away. After all, Sally hadn’t planned to fall into an engaged man’s bed. Things didn’t always go according to plan.
As he rode, the night breeze cooled his burning face. But lower down the heat smoldered, fueled by his imagination. Now he knew why Charlie had struggled so hard against the idea of wedding Sally. What man wouldn’t fight against losing the chance to see those russet curls tumbling over his pillow, those mischievous absinthe eyes, challenging a man to take her and ravish her ripe little body until she yowled like a cat in heat…
Damn!
The truth of it was, he wanted her. How could any man with fire in his belly not want her? But he couldn’t let desire cloud his judgment. He’d be better off without her around. They all would. When the next stage pulled out of Buffalo Bend, it would be his sworn duty to make sure Arabella Spencer was on it.
Any way you looked at her, the woman was trouble.
* * *
Arabella lay awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. The memory of Stewart’s words and the scorn in his voice stung like lye. It was bad enough that he viewed her as evil and conniving. But what galled the most was his notion that she’d be stupid enough to want Charles back.
She should have hit him even harder.
From the other side of the wall came the rhythmic creak and thump of shifting metal bedsprings. Merciful heaven, couldn’t Charles and Sally have put her in a different room? Arabella knew little more about marriage than what she’d read in her aunt Pearl’s doctor book. But she could guess what was going on.
Charles had said he still loved her. But that didn’t stop him from taking his pleasure with his wife. Surely he would know that Arabella could hear them. But maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was even trying to make her jealous.
She should get down on her knees and thank the good Lord she hadn’t married the jackass. Poor, sweet Sally had done her a favor.
Hurt my sister and you’ll answer to me.
Stewart’s threat came back to her as she slipped out of bed, pulled on her light woolen robe and pattered down the stairs. For a moment, she envied Sally. As an orphan and an only child, Arabella had always felt that she was largely on her own. Yes, she’d had the doting aunts who’d raised her, and plenty of friends, but she’d never had a protector, a hero willing to go to battle to defend her from harm. Yet her brother’s protection wouldn’t be enough to shield Sally in this case. Unless something changed, Sally was liable to get her heart broken.
She was a lovely young woman in her own way. But she’d grown up on the frontier in a log cabin, and it showed. She needed someone to take her in hand, someone to help her be more of a lady.
Sally needed a friend.
Opening the front door, she tiptoed across the porch and sank onto the top step. The air was cool and fresh. A sliver of crescent moon hung above the distant hills.
Don’t get involved, her sensible side argued. Mind your own business and leave as soon as you’re able.
Sound advice. Charles and Sally had created their unhappy situation. Her meddling could make it even worse, especially if Stewart saw it as an attempt to break up his sister’s marriage.
Blast Stewart!
He’d deserved that slap for judging her so harshly. Arabella wasn’t accustomed to being judged. After the death of her parents in a tragic accident, when she was little more than a baby, two maiden aunts had taken her in and raised her with all the tender pampering a girl could want. She’d had friends, clothes, parties, dancing and riding lessons. Everyone had loved her—especially Charles Middleton. True, she might have been spoiled, but not in a bad way. What had happened to make her the villainess in this melodrama?
She felt so utterly alone. Coming to Montana was supposed to open a new chapter in her life—a chapter that would be filled with the family she’d always longed for. Instead she was left with nothing.
A touch against her arm triggered a start. Her muscles tensed for a sprint to the door. But it was only a dog, a shaggy mutt that looked to be part collie, working its damp nose
beneath her hand. Arabella liked dogs. This one smelled of wet grass and probably had ticks, but at least it was friendly. She scratched its ears and was rewarded by the vigorous thump of its tail. Even a scruffy dog was better than no friend at all.
“Where did you come from, boy?” Her fingers found a worn leather collar, its strap molded to its rusty buckle. The dog appeared well fed. Most likely it belonged here.
Stretching out at her side, the dog laid its head on its muddy paws. Lost in thought, Arabella gazed up at the vast expanse of stars. Her aunt Phoebe had always said that everything happened for a reason. Could that be true? Arabella thought she’d come to Montana to marry Charles. But maybe she’d been brought here for an entirely different purpose.
It was a deep thought—too deep for tonight. She yawned, suddenly tired. Surely by now Charles and Sally would be asleep.
The dog had begun to snore. Easing to her feet, Arabella crept back into the silent house and closed the door
behind her.
* * *
She woke at first light the next morning. A quick glance from between the drapes showed mauve ribbons of cloud above the distant hills. The crystalline warble of meadowlarks greeted the prairie dawn. It was going to be a beautiful day. But the prospect of dealing with Charles and his marriage was enough to curdle Arabella’s mood like vinegar in milk. She felt like a prisoner. If only she could escape, even for a few hours…
The notion came in a flash. Charles had mentioned the sidesaddle in the barn. Where there was a saddle, there was bound to be a bridle and a spare horse. She would slip out of the house and go for a morning ride.
Her spirits rose as she turned up the bed, splashed her face and dressed in her smart new riding habit and boots. Secrecy was vital. If Charles knew where she was going, he’d insist on going with her. Since Sally’s pregnancy made riding a risk, she would be alone with him. That was the last thing she wanted.
Twisting up her hair, she pinned it in place and topped it with a rakish straw hat. The hat was new, with a long, curling feather tucked into the brim. Arabella had bought it especially for riding on the ranch. With a final, satisfied glance in the mirror, she closed the door behind her, stole down the stairs and crossed the porch. The dog was still there. It raised its head, shook its tangled coat and followed her toward the barn.
The only other sign of life was a thin curl of smoke from the bunkhouse chimney. Charles had mentioned last night that most of his hands were out on the range rounding up calves for branding. Only two men remained here to take care of the chores. Neither of them was in sight to help her.
The saddle and bridle were easy to find, and the dappled gelding in the second stall seemed docile enough to ride. Straining with effort, Arabella hefted the new saddle onto its back and tightened the cinch. Minutes later she was stealing out the back door of the barn.
The horse seemed nervous, snorting and dancing as if to rid itself of an unaccustomed weight. Maybe the animal wasn’t used to a sidesaddle. But never mind, it would settle down before long. Arabella urged the gelding to a trot, putting distance between herself and the ranch. The dog loped along be
hind, ignoring her attempts to send it home.
At the top of a rise, she reined in to get her bearings. By now the sun was up. Rolling plains, carpeted with wildflowers and glistening with morning dew, spread around her in all directions. To the far west, snowy peaks jutted above the horizon. The vastness boggled Arabella’s imagination. She had never seen so much land or so much sky. The beauty of it almost brought her to tears.
Looking back the way she’d come she could still see the ranch, but from this distance the buildings looked like toys. She willed herself to memorize the lay of the land and note the position of the sun. It wouldn’t do to get lost in this wild country where so many places looked the same. Maybe it was a good thing the dog had come with her. At least the shaggy mutt seemed to know its way around.
Nudging the horse to a trot again, she headed west, with her face toward the mountains. Damp earth, fresh grass and wildflowers perfumed the air. The sun climbed the sky as she rode. A herd of pronghorn antelope raced over a hill and out of sight. High overhead, a golden eagle circled on outstretched wings. What glorious country this was. It was almost a shame she’d soon be going back to Boston.
Her aunts and her friends would wonder what had happened. Arabella detested lies and liars, but the truth was so humiliating. Maybe she could just say that Charles had changed and was no longer the man she’d fancied herself in love with. That was close enough to the truth, wasn’t it?
Glancing back, she could no longer see the ranch. Never mind, she was sure she could find it again. All she had to do was turn around and ride with her back to the distant peaks.
But which way were the mountains? She turned the horse one way, then another. Rolling hills blocked her view in every direction. And the sun was at the peak of the sky.
Could she be lost? Certainly not, Arabella told herself. She was just…disoriented. She would find her way again in no time. All she needed to do was head for higher ground.
Mounting a ridge, she gasped in wonder at the sight below. Buffalo—hundreds, perhaps thousands of them—were pouring out of a hollow and spreading onto the plain. She’d glimpsed the huge animals from the train and from the stage, but never so close or so many. There were great lumbering bulls, and cows trailed by gangly brown calves. The earth rumbled beneath their pounding hooves.
Weddings Under a Western Sky: The Hand-Me-Down BrideThe Bride Wore BritchesSomething Borrowed, Something True Page 4
