Megan

by Linda Lael Miller

  He scowled, flung his hat onto a chair. “Damn it,” he muttered.

  “It’s all right,” Megan said, though it wasn’t, of course.

  “It isn’t all right,” Webb argued. “And you know it.”

  “Webb—”

  “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”

  Megan sank into a chair. “What?”

  Webb thrust a hand through his hair, then strode over to the wash stand to roll up his sleeves, douse water into the basin, and soap up his hands. He looked back at her over one shoulder, his countenance as sober as that of a hellfire preacher. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how I feel, Megan.”

  She stared at him. “How do you feel?” she asked. Her heart was racing so fast, she thought it might leave itself behind, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath, either.

  “I’m—well—” He rinsed his hands industriously, dried them on the towel above the wash stand. “Attracted to you.”

  Attracted? Did that mean he cared for her as a woman, as herself and no one else, or did it mean that he simply wanted to lie down with her? She sank her teeth into her upper lip and waited.

  He faced her. “I’m not saying I love you, Megan, because I’m not sure what that means anymore. Maybe that’s what I feel, and maybe it isn’t, but I sure as hell feel something, and it’s driving me out of my mind.” He crossed the room, and by then he was standing so close that she could smell the piney wind in his clothes, along with trail dust and horsehide. “I’ve always fancied myself a pretty fair judge of character,” he said, “but you’ve got me in a tangle. Sometimes you seem as delicate as a blade of new grass. At others, you’re stronger than I ever imagined any woman could be. There’s so much I don’t know about you, and I figure it might take a lifetime to find it all out.”

  His speech had struck Megan to the heart. “I wish I knew what you mean by all this,” she said, somewhat lamely.

  Webb’s face was still serious, though there was a mischievous light in his eyes. “I mean,” he said, “that I want you to be more than my housekeeper.”

  There it was. Megan was dizzy with indignation and disappointment. “I may have been an actress, Mr. Stratton,” she said in a furious whisper. “Some people might even say I’m a fallen woman. But I assure you, I am not a prostitute.”

  He blinked, then a crooked grin broke over his face. “I was never real good at declaring myself,” he said. “I guess I thought you might be looking for a husband.” He paused, cleared his throat. His eyes were twinkling. “After last night.”

  Megan was very conscious of the hired men shouting to each other outside, some still attending to their horses, no doubt, while others were washing at the creek. If any one of them overheard this conversation, she would perish from mortification. “That,” she snapped, referring to the bathtub incident, “was an accident. I thought you were already upstairs asleep.”

  He chuckled, but there was something in his manner that both thrilled and alarmed Megan. Made her want to run, to him and from him, both at once. “It’s not such a bad idea, you know,” he said. “Our getting married, I mean.”

  Megan gaped at him. “M-married?” she echoed, utterly confounded. She felt like the last in a long chain of skaters, whipping first in this direction, then in that, never able to catch her breath or get her bearings.

  He glanced toward the door. The first men were about to come in and break the curious spell that had turned Megan’s reason topsy-turvy. “I guess we ought to discuss this later,” he said.

  Damn him, bringing up a subject like that and then just leaving her dangling. Megan could have strangled him, but she wasn’t about to let him see how badly he’d rattled her. She turned away and busied herself with the task of serving supper.

  Once the men were eating, she filled a plate for herself, carried it outside, and sat down on an upended crate to eat in some semblance of peace. The evening was cool, and, although the day had been a sunny one, there were clouds gathering on the eastern horizon, black and low-bellied. About to give birth to a deluge.

  Presently, Webb came out with coffee and pulled up another crate. Inside, the cowboys continued to consume their suppers, talking a little, not so reticent as they’d been before. They were beginning to feel at home at Primrose Creek, she supposed, just as she was.

  “Rain coming,” Webb said, nodding toward the clouds. “I reckon we’ll be up to our ankles in creek water come morning.”

  Megan’s heart was skittering. He’d probably forgotten all about asking her to marry him, while she’d hardly been able to think of anything else besides matrimony, ever since he’d proposed the idea.

  “It makes sense,” he said, as though the conversation had never been interrupted. “Our tying the knot, I mean. You’d have your land back, legal as church on Sunday, as a wedding present.”

  Megan nearly fell off the crate she was sitting on, and she’d forgotten her supper completely. Just when she thought he couldn’t surprise her, he did it again. “You’d give me this land, when you refused to sell it outright?” she marveled. “Why?”

  “Because I want something in return,” he said. He spoke quietly.

  She swallowed. “What?” she dared to ask, though she was sure she knew.

  Not for the first time, he surprised her. “A wife. A child. A family,” he said. “That’s the deal. You share my bed until you’ve conceived. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. After that, you can sleep in your own room again—if that’s what you want. If we decided not to go on living together as man and wife, then I’d build another house, up in the high meadow.” He nodded in that direction, toward the land bordering the tract Megan’s granddaddy had left to her.

  “You cannot possibly think,” she said, “that I would let you or anyone else take my child.”

  “I feel pretty much the same way about the matter, as it happens,” he replied reasonably. “Guess we’d just have to try to get along, wouldn’t we? Either way, the land would be yours, not just on paper but in reality.”

  “Why—why me?” Megan asked, after a long and awkward silence.

  He grinned. “Well,” he said, “you’re right here handy.” He glanced around, as though looking for a bevy of women, just waiting to marry up with a high-country rancher. “And I don’t see anybody else in line for the job.”

  Megan was glad she was sitting down, because if she’d been standing up, her legs probably would have given out. She stared at Webb. “Are you insane? Getting married is not the same as hiring a cook or somebody to punch cattle!” Inside the house, a sudden lull descended, alerting Megan to the very real possibility that their conversation might be overheard, and she lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t marry anybody unless you love them, or at least think you could love them, and from what I hear, the woman you love is already married to someone else.”

  The coffee mug stopped halfway to Webb’s mouth, and the grin faded away like the last light of day. He got up, took Megan lightly but inescapably by the arm, and double-stepped her toward the banks of the creek, where wildflowers bent their heads to sleep. The occasional rainbow flash of a trout shimmered beneath the surface of the water, and the grass, bruised by their passing, perfumed the air.

  “What the devil are you talking about?” Webb demanded. He’d let go of her arm, but he might as well have been a barrier, standing in front of her the way he was, because she knew there was no way past him.

  “We’ve already discussed this,” she reminded him tersely. “Her name is Ellie, and she’s married to your brother Tom.”

  Pain flickered in Webb’s eyes, was quickly subdued. “Exactly,” he said. “She’s married to my brother.” It was neither a denial nor a declaration, but it was enough.

  Megan knew what it was to watch a dream die, and she longed to put her arms around him, though she refrained. She had pain enough of her own; if she drew Webb close, she might absorb his as well, and the burden would crush her. She wanted to ask if Ellie had loved him back, but sh
e didn’t dare.

  Unexpectedly, Webb cupped his right hand under her chin, raised her face, and bent to touch his mouth to hers. At first, the kiss was not a kiss but a mere mingling of breaths. Then he kissed her without reservation, and Megan’s heart leaped into the back of her throat and swelled to twice its normal size. She rose onto her toes, and her arms found their own way around his neck, and she felt something like lightning run the full length of her body and reverberate in the ground beneath her feet.

  When their mouths parted, the world around her had hidden itself in a pulsing haze, and Megan had to blink several times before things came back into proper focus. The first thing she saw was Webb’s dear, earnest, handsome face.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he confessed, his voice gruff.

  Megan felt a smile land on her lips as lightly as a butterfly. “How long?”

  “Since you got off the stagecoach the other day,” he said, and the grin was back.

  Color climbed her neck. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”

  He brushed a tendril of hair back from her temple with the tenderest motion of his fingers. “And there’s plenty you don’t know about me. With any luck, we can spend the rest of our lives getting acquainted.”

  She was tempted, so very tempted. She felt a powerful attraction to Webb Stratton, it was true, but what about love? She’d thought she loved Davy, and in the end, she’d come to despise him, as well as herself. That particular mistake had cost her dearly, and she couldn’t afford to make another one like it. “I’m scared,” she said with real despair.

  He was holding her shoulders now, and behind him, the vanishing sun raised a spectacle of crimson and gold. “Don’t be,” he replied.

  “It wouldn’t be right. I’m not—there was—”

  Webb’s expression was so tender, so patient, that tears burned behind Megan’s eyes. “There was another man?” he asked quietly.

  She tried to speak, but in the end she could only nod.

  He sighed, bent his head, kissed her again. “I’ll make you forget him.”

  Megan realized she was gripping the front of his shirt in both hands, clinging to him. She forced herself to let go, because she’d made a vow long ago to stand on her own two feet, always. “That’s not what worries me.”

  He drew her close, held her, and she felt his breath in her hair. Felt his heart beating against her cheek. “Then what does?”

  She allowed herself to be held, and the sensation was like drinking cold, clear water after a long and parching thirst. Augustus had joined them at some point, and he whimpered, perhaps sensing powerful emotions, seeking reassurance. “Trusting again,” she whispered. “Believing again.”

  He kissed her forehead. “That will come with time,” he promised.

  Augustus whined, still troubled.

  “I’m all right, Augustus,” Megan said, her voice muffled by Webb’s chest.

  Webb laughed and held her at a very slight distance. “If you won’t say yes for my sake, say yes for my dog’s,” he said.

  She touched his cheek. She wanted to give a husband what her sisters gave to theirs, and receive what they received in return. They loved their men passionately, all of them. Megan did not know if she loved Webb at that moment, or if she ever would, but she wanted to take the risk. She wanted a chance to have what Bridget, Christy, and Skye had, and here it was, but the stakes were high, and she didn’t want to lose.

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “It will,” he said.

  “But what if you’re wrong?”

  He sighed, but his expression was gentle. Amused. “Then you’ll have your land back, and we’ll have at least one child together.”

  “I’ll never give up my baby,” she reiterated.

  “Good,” Webb said. “Then maybe you’ll never give me up, either. Say yes, Megan.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Louder.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes!” he yelled.

  “Yes!” she shouted, and then they laughed like fools, the two of them, there beside Primrose Creek. The cowboys had gathered in the yard, and when Webb lifted Megan off her feet and spun her around in celebration of their agreement, they cheered and hooted and whooped.

  Megan glanced at them, noticed that Jesse stood a little to one side, neither smiling nor clapping. A sense of foreboding shadowed her hopes briefly, like a cloud passing overhead, but she’d forgotten it a moment later. She had only to look at Webb again to lift her spirits.

  He took her hand. “When?” he asked.

  She wanted to go out and beat the brush for a preacher right then, but she had her family to think about. She would get married properly, wearing a decent dress, with her sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews, and Caney all in attendance. The whole town—the whole world—would know that she was Webb Stratton’s wife. “Soon,” she said. “I want to do this right, make proper arrangements.”

  He heaved a great and beleaguered sigh. The cowboys, except for Jesse, had lost interest in the scene and headed for the bunkhouse, where they would probably play cards, smoke tobacco, and swap tall tales. Augustus was busy chasing an invisible rabbit through the high grass, barking as though he were truly fierce. “All right,” Webb said. “I’ll bunk with the boys until you and I are legally hitched.”

  Megan was touched by his chivalry, even though she would miss his presence in the house. She understood his reasoning, though: by tomorrow, everybody for miles around would know that they were engaged, and he didn’t want people assuming they were already sharing a bed. Of course, there were bound to be those who would think precisely that, no matter what precautions they might take.

  Side by side, hands loosely linked, they started back toward the house. Jesse was still there, smoking and leaning against the outside wall, braced with one foot. He smiled, but she glimpsed both anger and sorrow in his eyes.

  Webb stopped to speak to his brother, and Megan went on into the house, closing the door behind her. As she was clearing the table, she heard the rasp of raised voices, although she couldn’t make out any of the words.

  She was washing dishes when Webb came in. He nodded to her, then went on up the stairs, presumably to gather his gear. As she was finishing up, he came down again, carrying a bedroll and some clothes. By that time, it was dark outside, and she had a lantern burning in the center of the table.

  “Those chickens of yours will be moving out one day soon, I hope,” he teased, watching her from over near the door.

  She laughed. The noise they made was incessant, and if she didn’t keep the straw bedding in the bottom of their crate changed, they’d begin to smell in short order. “About the time we get married,” she promised. “Provided the chicken coop is finished by then.”

  Webb smiled. “I’ll see to it myself,” he said. He’d started the project before leaving for Virginia City to hire ranch hands, but it was only partly complete.

  She simply nodded, and then he was gone. The house seemed vast without him, but she’d had a long day of hard work, and she was soon in bed and asleep, dreaming sweet, private dreams.

  She awakened to chirping sounds the next morning, well before the sun had risen. Smiling, she threw back the covers and got up. After dressing, making a visit to the privy, and washing her face and hands, she made a huge breakfast of salt pork and hotcakes. Soon the long table was lined on either side with hungry men, but Megan was aware only of Webb as she worked, pouring coffee, serving second and third helpings.

  When the meal was over and all the men had gone, including Webb, Megan put the dishes to soak and spent the next half an hour tending to the chickens. After that, she did some washing down at the creek, hanging sheets, shirts, trousers, and socks on various low tree limbs and bushes to dry. That done, she found a hook and line, dug up some worms, and she and Augustus went upstream to fish.

  They returned with enough for the midday meal, and the crisply fried t
rout and thin-sliced potatoes disappeared in short order. Webb had brought several rabbit carcasses, already cleaned and skinned, and Megan had a supper stew simmering on the stove before she’d washed the last of the dinner dishes.

  She’d just gone down to sit by the creek, with a book purloined from Webb’s fairly sizable collection, when a fancy surrey, drawn by two pure black horses, came over the rise on the other side, descended, and splashed across to stop perhaps twenty yards from where Megan sat.

  She would have known her caller by her grand hat, parasol, and ruffled gown, even if Diamond Lil hadn’t trilled a cheerful greeting.

  Megan was pleased to see her, and so, evidently, was Augustus, who came back from his travels to welcome the visitor. Lil laughed, spoke affectionately to the dog, and thereby assured herself of Megan’s lasting regard.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” the other woman said. She was wearing cosmetics, but they were artfully applied, and the effect was attractive. Megan, who had worn paint herself on the stage, did not miss the stuff.

  She linked her arm with Lil’s and started toward the house. “Come along. I’ll brew some tea.”

  Lil raised a perfect eyebrow. “Have any whiskey?” she asked. Then, at the look on Megan’s face, she laughed out loud. “Just joking,” she said.

  They entered the house, and the chicks immediately let their presence be known. Lil walked over and peered down into the crate. “Cute little critters,” she observed. “ ’Course, they’ll be mud-ugly in a month.”

  That was undeniable. Surely it was God’s plan for full-grown chickens to be ugly. If they stayed cute, no one would want to serve them boiled with dumplings. “I’ve decided not to name them,” Megan said, quite seriously.

  Lil’s expression was wry as she swept over to the table and gracefully installed herself in Webb’s chair. “I’d say that was a wise decision,” she said. “It’s pretty hard to eat anything with a name.”

  Megan put on the tea kettle. The rabbit stew was simmering nicely, and the aroma was pleasant. She’d make cornbread to serve with it at supper. “I’m interested to hear your plans for the playhouse,” she said. “Do you really think you’ll be able to make it pay? Primrose Creek is a pretty small place.”