That night Miss Devlin stayed up as late as she could, toes tucked under her, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, rereading Romeo and Juliet in bed. It was both as romantic and as tragic this time as every other time she had read it. Despite the fact her eyelids were drooping, she forced herself to read on to the bitter end, reasoning that if she were sufficiently tired when she fell asleep, she wouldn't be plagued by the disturbing dreams of the past few nights.
When at last Eden finished the play, she pulled off her spectacles and wiped the dampness from her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Swallowing over the lump of emotion in her throat, she carefully set her spectacles on the bedside table, turned down the lamp, and pulled the covers up over her shoulder. Very soon she fell asleep.
And dreamed of a baby.
It had black hair and soft pink skin, and it suckled at her breast as its father looked on in approval, his coal-black eyes both tender and hungry for his wife. The scene was so vivid, Miss Devlin was surprised when she awoke to discover it had all been a dream. And appalled that her thoughts could run so rampant.
On Thursday afternoon when she returned home from school, Miss Devlin found a present wrapped in brown paper and tied in a beautiful blue ribbon on her front doorstep. Her first thought was that it had to be from Kerrigan. Then she remembered Felton had wrapped his present in brown paper too. Exasperation warred with anticipation, curiosity with trepidation.
Eden carried the package inside and set it on the kitchen table. If it was from Kerrigan, she didn't even want to open it. But maybe Felton had put it there. In which case she should be glad, because that would mean he was avidly pursuing their courtship.
Miss Devlin frowned. She didn't understand her feelings at all. Because she found herself feeling anxious no matter who had put the package on her doorstep.
Once Eden removed the brown paper she simply stared for a moment at what she found. Her astonished face reflected back at her in the polished silver. She smoothed her fingers across the shell pattern on the baby spoon. It was from Kerrigan, of course. He had seen her gesture as she touched her womb; he had glimpsed her dreams. Felton wouldn't have known how she wanted the tiny spoon, what it represented. And of course there was no question now that she must return it.
But not today. There was no reason why she had to do it today. She didn't have to give the gossips in Sweetwater another tale to tattle so soon.
She carried the spoon into her bedroom and opened the wooden “Wish Box” on her dresser. In it she kept certain things she had collected over the years that meant a great deal to her, because each one represented a wish she had for her future. She carefully laid the spoon inside.
When she finished her supper, Miss Devlin headed back to school, where she had unfinished business. She was glad, as she watched the sun begin its descencolorful wash of pinks and purples, that she had decided not to return Kerrigan's gift today. She welcomed even a brief respite from the gossip and innuendo that had followed her since that scoundrel had come to town.
On the other hand, she thought as she wiped the perspiration from her brow, she could use a little of that tall Texan's muscle right about now. The past half hour spent splitting kindling had been brutal, not that she had anyone but herself to blame for the situation. One entire side of the schoolhouse was lined with cords of firewood to heat the school through the winter. Each day, the boys took turns chopping kindling that she used the next morning to start the fire in the schoolhouse stove.
Today it was Hadley Westbrook's turn, but he was not back in school. By the time she realized no one had chopped any wood, it was too late to get a substitute. She could have waited until morning and had one of the boys do it then, but it was so cold lately, the children wouldn't have learned much bundled up in their scarves and overcoats waiting for the schoolroom to warm up.
She had worn her mittens to protect her from the cold, and realized too late that what she really needed was leather gloves to protect her hands. Miss Devlin hissed in a breath of air as her new-made blisters made contact once again with the hickory ax-handle.
“Got a problem?”
Miss Devlin nearly chopped her big toe off when she dropped the ax in alarm.
“Be careful there, you might hurt yourself,” Kerrigan said as she lifted the heavy ax from the dirt at her feet.
“Stop sneaking up on me,” Miss Devlin virtually snarled. “I don't like it!”
“You didn't return the spoon this afternoon.”
Miss Devlin stood stunned for a moment. “I will tomorrow.”
“You don't have to, you know. No one will know where it came from.”
“I'll know.”
Kerrigan hefted the ax and neatly split a block of wood into two even pieces. “You're much too hard on yourself, Miss Devlin. It's all right to dream.”
“Dreams are illusions. I prefer facing reality.”
“Even when reality is disappointing?”
“I can deal with disappointment.”
He set the ax down and eyed her speculatively. “I can see how well you've dealt with it.”
A flush of color rose in her cheeks. “I never said my life was disappointing.”
“So you're happy being a spinster”
Miss Devlin tilted her chin up. “Are you happy being a hired gun?”
“No.”
Miss Devlin's mouth rounded in surprise. “Then why do you keep doing it?”
“Why aren't you married?”
“You answer my question and I'll answer yours,” Miss Devlin retorted.
Kerrigan turned and leaned a hip against a stack of firewood. “I started out seeking revenge. Once I had it I realized it didn't bring back what I'd lost.” He shrugged. “By then it didn't seem to matter so much what I did with my life. I had met a man who knew I was good with a gun and who needed my help. Word spread and pretty soon I had a reputation that brought me more work than I could handle.” He shrugged again. “I've just never had a good enough reason to quit.”
Eden couldn't get over how matter-of-fact Kerrigan's explanation was. Or how awful for him. Had that been what happened with her father? Had he so easily slipped into a life of violence? “Do you think you ever could?” she asked.
“Could what?”
“Quit. Put down your gun.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I think it's your turn to answer my question.”
Miss Devlin swallowed hard. “I don't know what to say.”
“Tell me why you never married.”
“I just never wanted to.”
He raised a brow in disbelief.
“It's true.”
“Why not?”
Eden could see he wasn't going to let her slide around the subject. But neither did she want to explain the pain of her past. “I never found a man I liked enough to marry,” she hedged.
“You mean loved enough to marry.”
“I meant exactly what I said,” Miss Devlin corrected in her best schoolteacher voice.
“I see.”
“Do you?”
Her chin was up again, and Kerrigan recognized it for the defensive gesture it was. “I see your nose is red. It's time you got in out of the cold.”
“Oh.” Miss Devlin quickly covered her red nose with a mittened hand, as though to make it disappear.
“Is there anything more I can do to help you finish up here?”
“I can handle it.” Miss Devlin let go of her nose so she could scoop up a handful of kindling to carry it into the schoolhouse. She was gently bumped aside by the gunslinger's hip as he relieved her of her burden.
“I'll bring that. Why don't you go open the door for me? If we don't hurry it'll be dark before we finish.”
That thought sent Miss Devlin scurrying for the schoolhouse door. She held it open while the gunslinger carried in the loa
d of kindling. The setting sun left the room in shadows. Kerrigan's eyes glittered in the dark as he stood, after depositing the load of kindling in the wooden box beside the stove.
“All finished,” he said. “Is there anything else you need done?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
“I'll walk you home.”
The look in his eyes made Miss Devlin exceedingly uncomfortable. “That won't be necessary.” She was suddenly conscious of being alone with him. And that his eyes were . . . hungry. Abruptly, she turned to flee, accidentally grabbing the bell rope as she yanked open the door.
The school bell clanged loudly.
Kerrigan grasped her hand to prevent her escape, causing her to wince and cry out in pain.
“What the devil? What's wrong with your hand?”
“Blisters.”
He yanked off a mitten, exposing several huge bubbled blisters on her palm. “Foolish woman!” He had her backed up against the door he had slammed closed again and could feel her trembling. “A dab of that cold cream would be good for what ails you.”
“I took it back.”
“I know. Guess I'll have to find another way to soothe these.”
Before she knew what he had in mind he lifted her hand to his mouth and his tongue touched the center of her palm. She could no longer feel the blisters for the startling sensation caused by his tongue on her flesh. The feelings were frightening in their intensity. More so because she wanted him to continue and knew she should not.
“Don't,” she said. “Please.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yes. No.”
He kissed each fingertip, and then her wrist
She shivered. “Why are you doing this?”
“You don't like it?”
“You must know I do,” she admitted bitterly.
Her tone of voice brought his head up and he stared into her defiant eyes. “I'm surprised to hear you admit it.”
“I'm human, Mr. Kerrigan.”
“I was beginning to wonder,” he muttered. He caught Eden's balled fist just before it reached his face.
“I hate you!”
“You hate what I make you feel,” he said.
“It's the same thing.”
“Is it?”
“Let me go.”
He released her and stepped back. “I'll walk you to your door.”
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “That isn't necessary.”
“It is to me.” He opened the door and gestured her ahead of him.
Miss Devlin marched in silence through the cold, gathering darkness toward her front door, knowing that a dangerous man trailed in her wake. Not a woman of faint heart, she nevertheless admitted she was afraid of what would happen when she reached her door. She was determined not to invite him inside. She simply couldn't stand such close proximity to so much . . . so much . . . man.
Suddenly she was home.
Miss Devlin turned so abruptly, Kerrigan ran right into her and had to grab her to keep her from falling. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her belly shoved up hard against his. Her head was flung back so her face titled up toward his. His hands tightened on her shoulders. For a horrified moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
But he didn't.
“My fault,” he said brusquely, releasing her.
She stepped back to regain her balance and pulled her shawl more tightly around her. “I just remembered I have laundry hanging inside,” she prevaricated. “I think it would be best if I said good night here.”
She saw the glint of humor in his eyes and knew she hadn't deceived him for an instant. Or maybe he was picturing her bloomers hanging from a clothesline in the middle of her parlor. Miss Devlin gritted her teeth in chagrin.
“Good night, Miss Devlin. 'll look forward to dinner tomorrow night. That is, if you think your laundry will be dry by them.”
“Don't you dare come here tomorrow night. You're not invited! Don't you—”
He had disappeared into the night, but his echoing laughter remained to haunt her.
Chapter 7
You cain't never tell which way a pickle will squirt.
KERRIGAN WASN
'T SURE WHY HE HADN'T TOLD MISS Devlin he was thinking seriously about quitting the work he'd done for the past fifteen years. Maybe he resented the way she made him feel like his life was a waste. He hadn't built a cattle empire like Oak Westbrook or etched out a farm on the landscape like Big Ben Davis, but it didn't mean he couldn't have if he'd wanted to. Kerrigan snorted in disgust. Who was he trying to fool? He hadn't even managed to settle down in one place for more than a year. Even Felton Reeves had managed that. His one consolation was that he was good at what he did. Which reminded him he had a job to do. Kerrigan had found enough signs to make a guess where the rustlers might strike next. They seemed to be working in and around a canyon that ran along the northern border of the Solid Diamond, where it edged a couple of the smaller spreads, thus giving access to several different herds of cattle at once. The area consisted of grassy hills and valleys, with a lot of dips and gulleys where the rustlers could hide if they were pursued. Then there was the rocky canyon itself, with its twists and turns, leading to a dead end where he suspected rustled cattle had been secreted in the past. He planned to set a trap there to catch the rustlers the next time they showed up.
He could be wrong. The cow thieves might have moved on to another territory. But his instincts told him he was right. Kerrigan lived on hunches. The life of a hired gun was a contest of wits and skill that he took pride in winning; losing could be deadly.
Kerrigan let his mind wander as his paint gelding picked its way down through the canyon in the dark. Sure enough, like a tongue drawn to a sore tooth, his thoughts ended up on that spinster schoolteacher.
Kerrigan wasn't sure quite what to make of Eden Devlin. She wasn't a garden of delights, as her name might suggest. More like a forest of briars. She was prickly, all right. Yet he felt certain that if a man could ever get past the thorns, there was a rose of great beauty to be found. Not that he had the time, or the interest, to plumb Miss Devlin's depths. No, he had a job to do, pure and simple. He was bound to seduce her. And Kerrigan intended to succeed.
Which left him wondering why he hadn't kissed her tonight when they'd been thrust together at her doorstep.
He remembered the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his chest. And how surprised he was to realize that her extra height caused her hips to cradle him in just the right place. She had been pliant, soft, as she never had been before. It was the sudden look of fear in her eyes that had stopped him.
His brow furrowed. There had never been a time when he'd used force with a woman. There hadn't been the need. He found himself bemused by the spinster's reaction to him. Perhaps the simple fact that she was a spinster explained everything. Miss Devlin obviously had no experience with men. Maybe he needed to slow things down a little bit. Take it one step at a time. As with any campaign, strategy was everything. But he wasn't going to back off too far. He didn't have much time to do what had to be done.
Kerrigan saw the paint's ears pivot forward and tensed in the saddle. Then he heard iron-shod hooves on stone. Another rider was coming up the canyon toward him. He slid out of the saddle quietly, pulling his rifle out of the scabbard. He left the reins trailing and slipped into a crevice along the canyon wall to wait.
It wasn't long before the rider came into sight. The man was easily identifiable when moonlight caught the star pinned on his cowhide vest.
Kerrigan stepped back onto the trail, the rifle held easily his hands. “Howdy, Felton. Surprised to find you here.”
The sheriff halted his horse. “Just checking things out. You?”
“Thought I'd check things out
too.”
Felton frowned, then spoke. “One of the nesters, man named Pete Eustes, got shot and killed today. A fire near where he was found still had a hot running iron in it. Wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Nope.”
Felton took off his hat and forked a hand through his hair. Having both hands busy at once was a gesture intended to show he trusted Kerrigan, and Kerrigan duly noted it.
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