When she churned butter on Tuesday, she recalled the first time she’d churned butter and discovered herself sighing and wishing ... Actually, she wasn’t sure what she wished for, but she was sure it had nothing to do with the sheriff.
On Wednesday when she and Vernice went to town to do some shopping before they attended choir rehearsal, she again failed to spot Sheriff Ash Barrett anywhere. In her estimation, this prolonged absence indicated a clear dereliction of duty on his part, and Georgina wondered why the citizens of Picacho Wells tolerated such slothful behavior from their sheriff. Her intensely crabby mood wasn’t improved during choir rehearsal, when Payton Pierce gazed moony-eyed at her the entire time
Her grandmother hadn’t helped her overall mood, when she chose to give Georgina some choice advice about her appearance.
“You’re looking peaky, girl. What you need is some good, hot, old-fashioned loving. You’ve got to cozy up to Ash Barrett some more. I’ll bet anything that man knows how to turn a girl into a woman, and I’ll bet even more that she’d enjoy every minute of it.” Then she’d cackled knowingly.
Vernice had cried, “Mother!”
Georgina had first had to repress a strong impulse to throw something at her grandmother. And then she had to repress an even stronger urge to agree with Maybelle.
She’d lain awake for nights now, thinking about how Ash had touched her. He’d kindled all of her feminine impulses, reactions, and sensations. They were feelings she hadn’t known she possessed until Ash Barrett had made her aware of them, the beast. Now she was frustrated all the time, had an awful time sleeping, and was forever squirming when no one could see her.
“You’ve got to get that man to make love to you, Georgina. You can do it yourself, of course, but it’s nicer with a man “
“Mother!”
Maybelle had huffed indignantly at Vernice. “Prude.”
Georgina had blinked at her grandmother and wondered what she was talking about. She could do it herself? Do what herself? Bother. She wished she wasn’t so innocent. She didn’t ask, and, as a result, her frustration grew in proportion as the week progressed.
On Thursday morning, Vernice woke up with a sniffle.
“But you go on to the quilting society, Georgina. There’s no need—you’re doing so well—I don’t want to be a nuisance—and the ladies do so love—you can bring me all the news—it’s such a bother to have a summer cold—but you go on. Please, dear. Anyway, you have to take the paisley calico to Betsy Bailey for me, because I promised her I’d bring it.”
She sneezed violently.
“Of course I’ll go to the quilting society, Aunt Vernice.”
Georgina hadn’t considered not going, truth be told. She never gave in to ill health herself, and was pleased that her aunt didn’t expect to be pampered. After all, it was only a little sniffle.
Georgina knew her eagerness to go to town had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Ash Barrett again—mainly because Ash Barrett seemed to have skipped town, the rat.
“And I’ll be happy to take Betsy your paisley calico. Oh, it’s very pretty, isn’t it? Is it from a skirt?”
“No. It was a dressing gown Devlin used to wear.”
“Oh.” Goodness, the fellow had been flamboyant, hadn’t he? Still was, for that matter. He’d about driven her mad the past several nights, pestering her about Ash Barrett. It seemed that as soon as she recovered from an indecent suggestion proffered by Maybelle, she received a barrage of unsolicited relationship advice from Devlin O’Rourke. For some unknown reason Devlin seemed to think that Ash was the perfect match for her. Georgina had had just about enough of the whole affair.
Georgina spent a lot of time wishing there was some way to get rid of the bothersome ghost. Unfortunately Maybelle continued to refuse to tell him she loved him. Impossible people, both of them.
“The paisley will look quite nice in a quilt.”
“It’ll look a far sight better in a quilt than it ever did on Devlin O’Rourke,” Maybelle said, then snorted.
Georgina sighed.
Devlin O’Rourke, who had been dangling overhead and staring with great longing at Maybelle, said, “Sure, and you don’t mean it, Maybelle. I was a handsome lad, I was.”
“You haven’t been a lad for twenty years and more, you ridiculous man.”
Georgina and Vernice exchanged a glance. Knowing by this time that the argument might go on for hours, Georgina took the piece of paisley cloth from Vernice and kissed her cheek, whispering, “Good luck,” into her ear.
Vernice smiled gratefully and gave Georgina a hug. “I’m so glad you came out here to us, dear. Life is so much more pleasant with you around “
That was about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
Even though she was a little late in leaving the house and would be late to the quilting society meeting, Georgina was in an almost-sunny mood when she got into the buggy’s driver’s seat, encouraged the horse, and set out for town. In spite of her grandmother and Devlin O’Rourke. And Ash Barrett, whom she couldn’t seem to forget no matter how hard she tried.
“It’s only glands,” she muttered, frowning against the bright territorial sunlight. Georgina had been to school. She knew about glands. They got people into trouble all the time, glands did.
But she was no innocent schoolgirl who could be swayed by her glands into indecent actions by a practiced and wicked seducer. She knew better. She had standards. Principles. Strong backbone and moral fiber.
Good heavens, she sounded like an advertisement for Quaker Oats. Did they have Quaker Oats out here? Now there was something to contemplate. Georgina managed to consider Quaker Oats for a good three seconds before her treacherous mind turned once more to the problem of Ash Barrett.
“He’s such a fiendish man,” she told the horse, who didn’t seem to care. “He’s sneaky. He creeps up on me until I don’t know what I’m doing, and then he pounces. It’s so difficult to keep track of him.”
She knew she was lying. She was falling into an infatuation with him, was the problem, and she knew it. What she needed to do was think about her home and family. Henry Spurling. She’d think about Henry Spurting.
Henry lasted even fewer seconds than Quaker Oats had, which Georgina considered a telling—and unfortunate—sign. Henry was so boring. Ash Barrett wasn’t boring. Far from it. Which was also unfortunate.
But the day was lovely—there was hardly any wind at all—and the sun was shining, and Georgina was looking forward to the ladies’ quilting society. She enjoyed chatting with the other ladies and learning all the latest gossip Anticipation, therefore, shortly made her mood bounce back from its Ash-induced funk.
She was about a mile from Picacho Wells when she saw a lone rider heading toward her. For a second she thought it was Ash, and her heart swooped crazily. It wasn’t long before she realized her mistake. Whoever that was riding toward her, his posture was nothing like the sheriff’s. Ash rode as if he’d been born on a horse. He rode easily. Beautifully, even. Georgina knew men in New York who would kill to have the expertise on a horse that seemed to be second nature to the sheriff of Picacho Wells. She sighed dreamily, then realized her thoughts had drifted back to Ash again. Drat!
In the meantime, the man had ridden close enough for Georgina, who had sharp vision, to discern his features. They were hard and mean, and he had little squinty eyes and a poorly shaven face. A spurt of alarm went through her. Dear heaven, it was the leerer. It was the same insolent man who had lounged against the saloon and ogled her as she drove past. The one with the big gun on his hip, and the air of somebody who didn’t care about the law or honest citizens or much of anything else but his own pleasure.
He was undoubtedly only on his way somewhere. He wouldn’t bother her. He was merely passing through the area. There was no reason for her to be afraid of him.
She didn’t believe it. Pulling her horse to a halt in order to better evaluate the situation, Georgina tried to get h
er heart to stop thundering. She would not show this fellow any fear. Trying to appear unconcerned, she glanced to her right and her left, and wished with all her heart that she’d arrived in Picacho Wells already. As much as she appreciated the emptiness of this unspoiled countryside, she had to admit that meeting strangers, on a New York City street, with hundreds of other people around, didn’t dismay her as much as meeting that man in this place.
This was all she needed. She’d spent the entire week in a state of almost unendurable stress, and who does she run into on her way to town? Could it have been Ash Barrett, the cause of her anxious state? Heavenly days, no. Why should he, who’d sworn to uphold law and order, patrol the area to ensure that delicately reared females were not molested by smirking evildoers? Georgina huffed. Ash Barrett was only the sheriff in Picacho Wells. There was no reason he should bestir himself to make sure women weren’t persecuted by leering beasts like this horrid, man, who was leering at her again today.
Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, oh, Lord, what was she going to do?
She couldn’t try to outrun him For one thing, he actually might not have any evil intentions and she’d feel stupid if she ran away from an innocent man. For another, she’d never get away with it. Her buggy and horse could never outrun a lone, rider on horseback.
She felt in her pocket for her derringer, and was relieved to find it there, small, slick, and lethal. Perhaps her grandmother wasn’t so crazy after all.
For insurance’s sake, she plucked the buggy whip out of its holder. She’d known how to use one since she was a girl, and, quite frankly, she was a little more confident of her ability to inflict damage with the whip than with her derringer. She hoped she’d be able to demonstrate her skill on the approaching villain. If he was a villain. Oh, dear, this was so confusing.
Georgina tried to pray, but her nerves were crackling, and she didn’t have much luck.
Georgina realized that perhaps her plan of stopping to collect her thoughts might not have been the best; the man was coming toward her even, faster now and she was just sitting there, waiting for him. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She clicked to the horse, and the buggy started rolling again, toward town.
Where in the name of mercy was anybody? Every now and then she encountered people on the way to Picacho Wells. Why couldn’t she encounter somebody today? Somebody besides that man, of course.
Her heart, which had been’ hammering in spite of her efforts to steady it, sank like a rock as the man rode even closer. His leer for her today appeared much more deadly, and infinitely more triumphant, than any of the other leers he’d thrown at her. It boded ill. She knew it. Good heavens, he was huge. Georgina knew that if it came to a struggle, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She laid the buggy whip across her lap and reached into her pocket for her derringer as he drew up next to her buggy.
“Well, hello there, miss.” His voice sounded as if it had been ruined by tobacco and strong drink, and Georgina shuddered when she heard it. He had a terrible face; terrible because it held not a trace of human kindness. He reached out and grabbed the horse’s bridle, thereby making the animal, a placid creature who preferred stillness to activity anyway, stop moving.
Her throat constricted and her ears rang as the blood in her veins pumped wildly, but she gazed at him without wavering.
“Please release my horse, sir.” She’d never seen a more ruthless-looking individual, even as illustrated in the New York Times.
“Please release my horse, sir,” he repeated in an affected, high-pitched simper. Then, in the low, gravelly Voice that was his naturally, he said, “Hell, lady, I’ll release your horse. Then I’ll take over the drivin’ for you. How’d you like that?”
“I wouldn’t like it at all,” Georgina said stiffly. “I have business in town. Now go away.” To emphasize her statement, she pointed her derringer at him
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face when he saw the gun. “Hell, lady. what do you think you’re going to do with that peashooter?”
She’d been hoping to frighten him with it, actually. Before she had a chance to say so, or to pull the trigger, he jerked the horse’s bridle, making the buggy shimmy and Georgina lose her balance. His hand came down, hard, on her arm, and the derringer fell from her grip. She gasped in terror and pain.
“That wasn’t a nice thing to do, lady. I think I ought to teach you some manners.” And with that, and with an evil smile that made Georgina’s insides shrivel up, the rogue drew a long-barreled Colt from a side holster, and aimed it straight at her.
Chapter Eleven
Confound it, where was she? Ash drew the curtain back from his office window and glared into the sunshine-speckled street outside. She and Miss Vernice were supposed to come to town on Thursdays at elevenish to participate in the ladies’ quilting society. All the other ladies were, already here. Where were they?
He’d managed to avoid being seen by Georgina all week long, and it was about to kill him. He wanted to see her so badly he ached, but he wouldn’t admit it to a soul—particularly not his own. He’d been hiding out in his office all morning, most of the time standing and looking out the window. Looking for her.
Lord, he was an ass. It was a warm day, and he was all but stifling in the office because he didn’t want her to see him today, either. But she was late, and he was worried. Hell, she was a woman. Women were always late. Look at Phoebe, for the love of God.
But Georgina had never been late to one of her silly meetings since she’d come to Picacho Wells. She’d never been late to choir practice, either. Blast Payton Pierce to pieces. As if on cue, Pierce emerged from the bank and stood on the boardwalk, alternately looking up the street and eyeing his big silver pocket watch. He was waiting for her, too, damn his eyes.
But Pierce had already seen her once this week. Hell, they’d sung together at choir rehearsal, if you could call what the choir did singing, for an hour or more last night. Greedy bastard.
Ash hadn’t seen her once all week, except to peek at from behind his curtained window. It was his turn today. He snorted derisively. What was he thinking? His turn? He was losing his mind.
But she wasn’t coming. Where in the name of holy hell was she? For crying out loud, anything could happen to a body out here. This wasn’t New York City, for the love of Christ. This was the New Mexico Territory. There were all sorts of things out there on the plains. Cougars. Buffaloes. Bad men. Coyotes. Flash floods. Lightning strikes. Hell, even a prairie-dog hole could cripple a horse, and then whoever was depending on the horse could cook under the hot sun or die of thirst or . . .
Aw, hell.
Ash’s nerves were all but jumping out of his skin when he saw a lone rider heading out of town. He frowned. That was a bad man, and Ash knew it. He’d even sent a telegraph wire to the authorities in Santa Fe, describing him and asking if he was wanted for anything. He hadn’t received an answer yet, but he anticipated his suspicions would be confirmed once it came.
His kind was not uncommon in the territory, although Ash did his best to keep them out of his town. They were a hardened lot who were eager to take whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences. If the rogue kept riding in that direction he’d run into Georgina, and Ash wouldn’t put it past him to try to assault her. His blood ran cold.
“She’d better have that blasted derringer with her,” he muttered, trying to ignore the worry that was quickly overtaking him. His stomach churned with worry. His nerves skipped. His skin crawled. His spine tingled. A derringer wouldn’t do her a hill of beans worth of good against that outlaw’s Colt, and Ash knew it. He also knew that if he rode after the man and intercepted him, there was a good chance the bastard would start a gunfight. The last thing Ash wanted was for Georgina to be hit by a stray bullet. Plus, the man hadn’t done anything wrong—yet.
On the other hand, he wasn’t about to quibble over details if Georgina’s life was in danger. His jurisdiction as sheriff didn’t cover arresting men because they had looke
d at Georgina lecherously in the past. Hell, if that were possible, Ash would have arrested Pierce a long time ago.
He had to know that she was safe. He hurried outside and unhitched Shiloh from the rail in front of the sheriff’s office.
“Where are you going, Sheriff?”
Ash looked up, scowling. That voice. That thin, squeaky tenor voice. Payton Pierce. Ash wanted to ask why the hell Pierce cared where he was going, but he didn’t. It was Ash’s responsibility to protect all the citizens of Picacho Wells, even the bankers. “Just going out for a ride, you know, to look things over.”
“Miss Georgina should have arrived for her quilting society meeting before this time.”
Ash wanted to shout at Pierce and ask him if he thought Ash didn’t know that already. He told himself to calm down. Pierce had as much right to worry about Georgina Witherspoon as Ash did, damn him.
“Yes,” he said, trying not to growl. “I know.”
“Are you going to look for her?”
What the hell business was it of his? Ash controlled himself and didn’t ask, which he considered rather noble under the circumstances. He ground out a brief, “Yes,” and mounted Shiloh.
With a little flutter of his hands, Pierce hesitated for a moment. Then he blurted out, “I’m going with you.”
Like hell he was. Ash didn’t say so. Instead, he nudged Shiloh around and kicked him into a gallop. He couldn’t see the villain any longer, and he wasn’t about to wait until Pierce got himself organized.
Dear God, he hoped Georgina was all right. Georgina had to be all right. He prayed hard as he rode out of town.
What on earth good was a teensy little derringer against a huge gun like that, anyway? Georgina felt her terror take a swerve into anger. If only Ash Barrett had taught her how to shoot a real gun, she might be able to help herself in this situation. But no. A derringer was a lady’s weapon.
A lot of good that did her now. If a so-called lady isn’t accompanied by a gentleman whose aim in life is to protect her, she’d be better off with a bigger gun. Bitterness ate into her stomach as she considered her options and came up with none. Wonderful. After this horrible man used her as she suspected he wanted to, he’d probably kill her. Then wouldn’t Ash be glad? She knew she was being unfair to Ash, but she’d have been less than human if she’d been able to be fair right then.
Spirit of Love Page 16
