Spirit of Love

by Duncan, Alice

  Pierce’s voice always reminded Ash of a gear that had recently been squirted with oil. It slithered and it flowed. Add to that the fact that Pierce was blamed near as tall as Ash himself, a good five years younger, good-looking, and a banker, and Ash could happily have shot the man if he hadn’t sworn to uphold the law.

  Miss Georgina Witherspoon’s reaction to him was something to behold. Ash watched, disgusted. If she’d simpered for the preacher, she was all but falling over in a maidenly faint now.

  “Oh, Georgina, I do so want you to meet Mr. Pierce. He’s our banker here in Picacho Wells, and we’re so pleased to have him singing in our choir. I wish we could get more men to sing with us.” Vernice beamed at the two of them. Ash frowned, wondering if she’d been referring to him when she’d mentioned “more men.”

  Vernice didn’t seem to notice. “Miss Georgina Witherspoon, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Payton Pierce. Mr. Pierce, my niece, Miss Witherspoon.”

  Georgina held out that delicate hand of hers, this time to Pierce. Ash remembered holding her hand, and he didn’t like the notion of Pierce holding it now. He told himself to stop being stupid. Pierce bent and deposited a chaste kiss on Georgina’s fingers, and Ash’s hands bunched up into fists.

  “How do you do, Mr. Pierce? Did I understand my aunt to say you’re a banker? My father is a banker in New York City. It’s so good to meet you.”

  So her old man was a banker, was he? Ash discovered he wasn’t surprised. Disgusted, maybe, but not surprised. Ever since a banker in Galveston had made off with a lot of his money, Ash hadn’t cared for bankers.

  “Miss Witherspoon, this is a delight. I am charmed.”

  He kept hold of her hand for so long that Ash cleared his throat. Blast the man, what was wrong with him? For that matter, what was wrong with her? Was she so taken with Pierce that she’d forgotten Ash even existed?

  Georgina seemed not to notice that Payton was holding her hand for an inordinately long time. She spoke to Pierce as if he were the only person in the world. “It’s so nice to see a man in the choir, Mr. Pierce. It is a shame more men don’t join church choirs. I suppose not many of them can sing.” Ash guessed she knew he was there after all, because she turned her head deliberately and gave him a superior smirk. Not as subtle as her aunt, the little baggage. “Or perhaps they aren’t moved to celebrate our Lord in song. Too few gentlemen are, I believe.”

  She placed special emphasis on the word gentlemen. Ash seethed.

  Frank Dunwiddy let out a series of “haw-haw-haws.” Until this morning, Ash had always enjoyed Frank’s laugh. It was rich, genuine, and it invited folks to join him in laughter, which was, to Ash’s mind, a good deal better than inviting them to do all sorts of other things he could think of. This morning, he wanted to shove Frank’s laugh down his throat.

  “If you’re a-talkin’ about Ash here,” Frank said slapping Ash hard on the back, “it’s a miracle he even come to church today. He ain’t a church-goin’ gent, most Sundays. I ‘spect his attendance this here Sunday might have somethin’ to do with the company.”

  Ash glowered at Frank, who grinned back at him, knowing full well exactly what he had done. Ash considered this base rebellion on Frank’s part.

  Vernice giggled. Pierce smiled his prissy smile and looked superior. Voorhees nodded genially.

  Georgina pretended not to notice the sideways compliment Frank had paid her. “That doesn’t surprise me at all, Mr. Dunwiddy. The sheriff doesn’t seem like the churchgoing type. I suppose he generally has other work to do. Chasing villains and so forth.” Butter wouldn’t melt in Miss Georgina Witherspoon’s mouth.

  “I’m as much of a churchgoer as most of the men in Picacho Wells,” Ash muttered. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut when he saw a look of triumph cross Georgina’s face. It was so quick, if he hadn’t been looking at her, he’d have missed it.

  Blast it, she’d deliberately goaded him, the little shrew. Well, she wouldn’t get away with it. He’d get even with her if it took him all week.

  “Please allow me to see you two ladies home.”

  Ash was so mad and so involved in imagining ways to get even with Georgina that he almost missed Pierce’s suggestion. He snapped to attention. “I rode to town with them this morning, Pierce. I reckon I can see them home again.” As soon as he’d spoken, he wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t the words so much as the tone in which he’d spoken them. Blamed if he hadn’t sounded jealous.

  “In that case, I’d say you’ve done your part, Sheriff. Please allow me to relieve you of the duty on the way back to the Murphy farm. It will be a pleasure to see your grandmother again, as well, Miss Witherspoon.”

  She got out a thank you before Ash spoke again. “Nuts, Pierce. I live out that way. It’s right on my way. It’s no bother at all for me to see them home.”

  “But you mustn’t be selfish, Sheriff.” Pierce gave one of his prim, slithery laughs. Ash couldn’t imagine why folks trusted him with their money.

  In the end, both men saw the ladies home.

  Georgina was feeling pretty good about church, her aunt, herself, Picacho Wells, and life in general. She believed she’d succeeded admirably in thwarting Sheriff Ashley Banat’ s underhanded attempts to show her up as a good-for-nothing city girl.

  She almost wished she hadn’t been so successful when dust from Mr. Barrett’s and Mr. Pierce’s horses fluffed up on both sides of the buggy and made her sneeze. On the other hand, dust was only one more aspect of the territory that she aimed to conquer. Or at least learn to live with.

  “Don’t you think so, Georgina?”

  Georgina realized Vernice had turned to look at her as if she expected an answer to some question or other. Blast. Georgina wished she’d been paying attention.

  “I beg your pardon, Aunt Vernice?” She gave her aunt a gracious smile so Vernice wouldn’t think she was deliberately ignoring her.

  “I asked if you didn’t think Mr. Pierce is a handsome man, dear.”

  Georgina had been so caught up in reliving her encounter with Ash Barrett outside the church that Vernice’s question caught her by surprise. “Handsome? Er ...” In truth, she hadn’t thought about Mr. Pierce in terms of handsomeness. She hadn’t thought about Mr. Pierce at all really. She’d only used him as a way to dig at the sheriff.

  She turned in her seat and looked at him now He smiled at her and she smiled back. When she turned around again, she said “I suppose he is handsome.” He reminded her of Henry Spurling, actually, but she guessed Henry was handsome. In a way. If you cared for that smooth-faced, thin, pallid, city-dwelling type.

  Because she couldn’t seem to help herself, she turned the other way and glanced at Ash Barrett. He gave her a ferocious frown in return, and she whipped her head back around, piqued with herself for looking. For one thing, she didn’t want the sheriff to think she was interested in him For another thing, she was annoyed to discover that she found him infinitely more appealing than Payton Pierce. Or Henry Spurling for that That matter.

  “Yes,” she said at last, lying through her teeth. Mr. Pierce is a very handsome man “

  Vernice sighed happily. “Yes, all the ladies in town think so. Why, he’s a topic of conversation at all the quilting bees.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “I believe he’s taken a fancy to you, dear.”

  Georgina stared at her, not having considered females in Picacho Wells as the types who would giggle over men. Perhaps they weren’t so different from their eastern sisters after all. Well, except that they had to work a good deal harder. Her blistered hands took that opportunity to throb, as if to remind her of the latter point.

  It was fairly appalling to think she’d taken Pierce’s fancy, though. Except that it might irritate the sheriff to know a man—and the local banker, at that—appreciated her. Georgina grinned to herself, glad she’d thought of the latter point. It made any possible interest Pierce had in her much more tolerable.

  “Of course, many of the ladies prefer the sher
iff.”

  Georgina stopped herself from gaping at her aunt, because she knew gaping was an unladylike, undignified thing to do. “Do they? You astonish me.”

  Vernice shot her a surprised glance, and Georgina wished she’d not sounded so sarcastic.

  “Why, Georgina, don’t you think he’s a handsome man? I certainly do. And Mother does, too.” Her voice dropped in volume, even though there was no way either of the men could possibly hear her over the rumble of the wheels and the clatter of the three horses’ hooves. “In fact, she doesn’t care much for Mr. Pierce.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  She says he’s oily.” Vernice gave Georgina a diffident smile. “You know what Mother’s like.”

  “Hmm. Yes, she does seem to be a woman of strong opinions.” Unfortunately, Georgina could see her point in this instance. She wished she couldn’t. She peeked again at Payton Pierce, and sighed. Grandmother was right—he did look oily.

  They arrived at the Murphy place shortly thereafter, and Georgina was spared further thoughts. She was not, however, spared further comparisons of their two accompanying protectors.

  She tried not to show it, but she was discomposed when she realized the two men who had seen her and her aunt home from church planned to stay for supper. In fact, she was hard- pressed to keep from snapping at her grandmother, who had invited them.

  “Why, thank you very much, Mrs. Murphy,” Payton Pierce said, his smile looking to Georgina every bit as oily as his voice sounded.

  “Thanks, Miss Maybelle. Don’t mind if I do,” said Ash, whose voice wasn’t oily at all. In fact, Georgina liked his voice, drat it.

  Maybelle cackled like a hen. Georgina got the feeling Maybelle knew Ash Barrett’s presence bothered her. She also got the feeling Maybelle enjoyed watching people who disliked each other trying to be polite.

  Her grandmother, Georgina concluded grumpily, might not be crazy, but she could be a very disagreeable woman without even trying.

  As Georgina helped Vernice get supper ready, she kept glancing over her shoulder, wondering if Devlin was going to show up. If he did while the sheriff and the banker were present, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Of course, she’d attempt with every fiber of her being not to indicate by so much as a flutter of an eyelash that she was seeing a ghost. But the phenomenon of Devlin O’Rourke was so unsettling, how would she be able to maintain her composure?

  All she needed, of course, was to give Ash Barrett a reason to consider her crazy. He already thought she was inferior and useless. If he deemed her a lunatic, as well, Georgina wasn’t sure she could bear it.

  Not, of course, that she gave a fig what Ash Barrett thought of her. He was an awful, dreadful, brutish fellow, and not worth her time. Still and all, it would be galling to know he thought she was crazy.

  Vernice had put a pot of stew on the stove before they’d set out for church. Now she and Georgina were making dumplings. Georgina had never made a dumpling in her life. Doubtfully, she eyed the one she’d just patted into shape.

  “My dumpling doesn’t look anything like one of yours, Aunt Vernice.”

  “Nonsense, dear. It doesn’t really matter what the dough looks like before you drop it in the pot. Dumplings always expand.”

  They expand?” In heaven’s name, how did they do that?

  “Oh, my, yes. Why, they’ll grow and grow until they cover the whole top of the pot. They’ll soak up the gravy and taste delicious.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  Back home in New York, only the poor ate dumplings. Besides, a kitchen was as new, different, and incomprehensible to Georgina as a jailhouse would have been. She wished her mother had taught her at least some kitchen skills when she was a child. But that was impossible since her mother didn’t cook, either. Bother. Sometimes being rich wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Vernice gave a complacent laugh. Georgina was glad somebody around here was complacent. She could hear the men and her grandmother on the front porch. It sounded to her as if all three of them were taking verbal potshots at each other, couching them in polite terms and tones. She’d never heard anything like it. And they were laughing all the while. She didn’t understand western sensibilities and wondered if she ever would.

  Don’t be silly, she chided herself. After all; she’d only been here a few days. One couldn’t learn everything there was to know about a place in only a few days. No one could. She wasn’t slow. Was she?

  “Why don’t you wash the dough off your hands, Georgina, and go out and ask the gentlemen if they’d like another glass of wine?”

  “All right.” Georgina wondered if her aunt was trying to get rid of her, but she didn’t ask. She felt discouraged this afternoon.

  Nevertheless, she found a tray, set the decanter of her aunt’s homemade dandelion wine—and how did one make wine from dandelions, anyway?—on a tray, and carried it outside. Someone must have said something awfully funny, because they were all laughing. Her grandmother slapped her knee and had to wipe her eyes, she was cackling so hard.

  They didn’t hear her at the door. Georgina heard them, though, and stopped as if she’d been shot.

  “And then the chicken’s neck snapped, like that.” Ash snapped his fingers, making a very loud noise. “And the bird was dead. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Grandmother Murphy’s chortle sounded like a chorus of rusty hinges. Even Payton Pierce, who Vernice believed rather fancied Georgina, laughed softly.

  “It’s a good thing Miss Vernice was thinking fast. She told her it was all right that she’d killed the chicken because she’d been going to have chicken for dinner anyway.”

  Maybelle cackled harder.

  “Then Miss Vernice picked up another chicken and wrung its neck on purpose. I thought Miss Witherspoon was going to lose her breakfast.”

  Maybelle whooped and Pierce’s formerly strained chuckle became a belly laugh.

  “You should have seen her face!”

  “Hee, hee, hee,” chortled Maybelle gleefully.

  “And then I had to finish the churning for her because her hands had blisters the size of baseballs.”

  “Har, har, har.” Payton Pierce’s eyes had started to water from so much gusty laughter, and he had to snatch his pristine white handkerchief from his coat pocket.

  “It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Ash was laughing so hard, he had to clutch his stomach. Georgina charged out onto the porch and slammed the tray down on the table next to him with a loud crash, and he jerked around.

  “Whoops. Didn’t know you were there, Miss Witherspoon.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” She smiled at him, lifted the wine decanter and pulled out the stopper. “Aunt Vernice asked me to bring you some more wine.”

  “Why, thank you very much.” Ash gave her a wide, beautiful smile and held out his glass.

  She ignored his glass, raised the decanter higher, and poured the wine out over his head.

  Georgina had the satisfaction of knowing her joke achieved a bigger laugh than his had.

  Chapter Six

  Ash’s hair was still wet when he rode home from the Murphy farm after supper. And the wine stains would never come out of his shirt and trousers, which were, at present, hanging on the Murphy clothesline after having been hastily laundered under the backyard pump.

  At this moment, Ash was clad in a pair of Devlin’s old trousers and one of his shirts, both of which were too small for him Dev had been a good five inches shorter than him and Ash knew he looked like a fool in the smaller man’s clothes.

  Damn the woman He’d practically drowned himself at the pump out back after she’d poured the wine on, him. It’s a blamed good thing the weather was warm or he might have caught his death, and then he could have arrested her for manslaughter. Except that he’d have been dead. Ash growled savagely into the afternoon sunlight.

  She wouldn’t get away with it.

  All the way home, Ash plotted revenge.r />
  “That was a mean trick to pill on the .sheriff, dearie.”

  Georgina had been lying in bed, her blistered hands cupping her head, staring at the ceiling, and savoring her victory over Ash Barrett, when the ghostly voice brought her pleasant thoughts to a brutal end. She groaned and shut her eyes. “Oh, no. Not you again.”

  “Aye, it’s me again. Devlin O’Rourke, at your service.”

  She opened her eyes and squinted at him “The only service you can perform for me is to go away and leave me alone.” Georgina felt no need to modify her curt tone for the ghost’s sake. While it was true he was older than she, it was also true he’d invited himself into her bedroom, and his behavior was not only impolite, but quite shocking.

  “Ah, child, you sound like your grandmother.”

  “I wish you’d go haunt her and leave me alone. I don’t want you in my room. I’m a young, unmarried female, and your presence in my room is scandalous.”

  “Pisht.” Devlin sounded disgusted. “Now you sound like that prim maiden aunt of yours.”

  “Aunt Vernice is a lovely lady,” Georgina said, defending her aunt with vigor. “Unlike some people I could mention, she takes her responsibilities to her family seriously. And she behaves with courtesy and propriety. If you consider that prim, so be it.”

  She wondered if there were some way to exorcise a ghost from a particular room in a particular house. She really didn’t think she’d mind Devlin O’Rourke hanging about if only he didn’t do it in her room.

  Good Lord, what was she thinking? Pressing a hand to her forehead, Georgina wondered if she might be ill. Could fever account for seeing ghosts? If it could, she guessed the whole western branch of the family had the same fever. What a depressing thought. She muttered, “Go away,” and closed her eyes again.

  “I’m not goin’ away, child, and you’re not crazy. For the love of Mike, dearie, haven’t you come to terms with me by this time?”