Love's Silver Lining

by Julie Lessman

  “And if I refuse?” She steeled her shoulders for battle, employing the stubborn press of her jaw and that I-dare-you tilt of her head he remembered so very well.

  “You won’t,” he said in a nonchalant tone, rising to return the chair to the desk. He casually moved toward the door, tamping down a smile when she took several steps back. “Because if you do, there will be consequences, Libby, mark my words.”

  She slapped her palms to her hips. “Ha! My father already doled out the worst of consequences, Finn McShane, forcing me to stay here. So, I doubt there’s any threat left.”

  He stepped right into her space, his very presence forcing her to stumble against the open door. “Wanna bet?” A slow smile inched across his lips as she backed away, affording him the opportunity to cage her in with palms to the wall. “If you get my drift.”

  “I’ll scream,” she rasped, palms and body pasted to the wallpaper.

  “Go right ahead, Libs. You’re my wife and I guarantee there’s a whole houseful of people downstairs rooting for me.” His gaze drifted to her mouth and held. “Besides, darlin’,” he said in a husky voice meant to underscore his intent, “I’d just love the opportunity to silence any screams, defiance, and nasty comments or looks on your part in anyway, so please, Libby”—he pinned her with a faint smile—“go ahead, darlin’, answer my prayers.”

  Throat bobbing, she charred him with a look that singed his pride but not his humor. Her mouth instantly clamped shut as if to restrain any response that might trigger her worst nightmare.

  And my dream come true. He grinned. “Good, I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding. And in case you think that silence qualifies as compliance, Mrs. McShane, think again.” He hovered close enough for the scent of lilacs to trigger his pulse, making him wish she’d retaliate just once. “You will converse not only with the family but with me in a manner that is both warm and willing whether others are present or not, is that clear?”

  She gave a short nod.

  His grin grew as he leaned in.

  “Yes, it’s clear!” she said in a rush, her breathing harsh as she slammed palms to his chest.

  “Yes, it’s clear, Finn,” he emphasized with a calm smile.

  She swallowed again and lifted her chin. “Yes … it’s clear … Finn.”

  “Good.” He stepped away and offered his arm. “The family is waiting on us for dessert, Libby, so shall we go?”

  He could have sworn her body was trembling—with fury, no doubt—when he escorted her from the room. But taming of one’s temper was a good thing, he decided, especially for someone like Libby. Heaven knows she’d not learned to restrain it herself.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes, Finn.” She stared straight ahead, smile stiff.

  His mouth crooked. “You know, Libby, when I said fake it, what I really meant was the more you act like you’re enjoying yourself, the more you will. Which means, yes, I want smiles and sweet tones, but you’re free to speak your mind or the truth as long as it’s not too nasty, all right?”

  “Yes, Finn.”

  “So, now that we have that out of the way and you’ve been freed from your room, what do you want to do after dinner?” he asked, ushering her down the stairs. “Play charades, backgammon, or checkers inside? Or maybe a game of badminton or horseshoes out on the lawn? Just name your pleasure.”

  “Mmm … while all of those things sound lovely,” she said with a tilt of her head, apparently giving it some thought, “what I’d really love to do after dinner, Finn …” She turned to flash the first genuine smile she’d awarded him all week, along with a once-familiar spark in those twinkling green eyes. She fluttered her lashes. “Is target practice.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “You know, big brother,” Dash said, hands perched on top of his pool cue at the Ponderosa Saloon, “Rachel’s been pumping me for information as to why you haven’t been around.” Taking a quick swig from his mug of beer, he set it back down at the end of the long, polished wood bar where a bartender poured drinks for a noisy crowd of cowboys, miners, lumberjacks, and gamblers. He wiped his mouth with the side of his sleeve and glanced at the clock on the wall, his game of pool about to end with the start of his shift. “And I gotta tell you—it’s getting harder and harder to put her off.”

  Bent over the table, Blaze glanced up from the shot he was about to make, pulse catching as he stared at his brother through a haze of cigarette smoke. “You didn’t tell her about Maggie, did you?”

  “Nope.” Dash pushed off from the edge and circled the table, finally leaning a hip against the far corner, cue straight up in his hands. “Figured it was your place, not mine. But you need to tell her soon because it’s not fair to Rachel.” His pale blue eyes, usually glinting with humor, tended toward somber gray as he pierced Blaze with a calculated look.

  “I know. Four ball, far right.” Blaze executed a shot that should have put a smile on his face as a loud crack sent his last two solids swishing into the far pocket. But all he could do was scowl, the tinny sound of piano music suddenly getting on his nerves as much as Dash’s conversation. “Look, I’m just trying to be hospitable like Uncle Finn asked, that’s all.”

  “Sure you are.” Dash eased onto the corner with cue in hand, one leg dangling.

  Blaze chalked his cue, his scowl growing. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” He glared, wishing Dash had opted for their usual game of Faro before work rather than a friendly game of pool, where the conversation seemed anything but “friendly.”

  “It means you’re spending all your time with Maggie when Rachel is supposed to be your girl.” It was one of the rare times his brother didn’t sport a smile.

  “Oh, you’re loco,” Blaze said, the pinch of his brows planting the seed of a headache. He leaned back over the table, positioning his cue. “Uncle Finn charged me with teaching her how to drive the stupid wagon, that’s all. Side left pocket.” With expert aim, he promptly buried the eight ball. Like I wish I could do to this conversation.

  “To and from the hospital, Blaze, but not every single night, taking her on private fishing outings, picnics, playing checkers, or what-not.”

  Strolling around the table, Blaze emptied the pockets and set up once again, rolling the balls until the cluster was nice and tight. Like his jaw. “Maggie and I are just friends, Dash.”

  “Is that so?” Perched on the corner of the table, Dash folded his arms, cue tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  Annoyance itched hot beneath Blaze’s wingtip collar, forcing him to loosen his four-in-hand tie, making him wish he hadn’t worn it. But he liked the feel of being clean and well-dressed after a grueling day on the ranch, so he always dressed for town. And for Rachel. “Yeah, that’s so, Hash,” he said, emphasizing the nickname he’d given his brother during fistfights as boys, when Blaze threatened to parse him down to size, like Angus’s hash.

  “Yeah, well no man spends that much time with a friend, especially one of the female persuasion … Hotshot.”

  Hotshot. Hunkered over the table with cue firmly in hand, Blaze winced at the nickname his uncle’s friend Sir Alec Bentley had coined when Finn gave Blaze his first gun at sixteen. He’d nearly blown Dash’s toe off in a taunt one day. Heat braised the back of Blaze’s neck even now at the Brit’s definition of a nickname Blaze now despised: “a reckless person and trouble-maker, overeager to fire a gun.” From that moment on, Blaze had taken great precaution and care, not only with his weapons, but with his words and his actions. His eyes shuttered closed.

  Till now.

  Sucking in a harsh breath, Blaze bowed his head, suddenly aware Dash was right. He was being reckless with Maggie—that had been more than obvious when he’d all but forced her to slide down the front of his body in slow motion, igniting feelings—and desire—he’d tried so hard to deny. Heat flashed at the memory, and he quickly fumbled with the buttons of his scarlet brocade vest, desperate to allow him and his once crisp white sh
irt to breathe.

  “You know I’m right, don’t you?” Dash said quietly.

  Blaze huffed out a noisy sigh. “Yeah, I know you’re right, but even so, Maggie and I have already established that we are nothing more than friends.” He bent over the table once more, sliding the cue between his fingers while he squinted at the triangle of balls. He shot, and an explosion of cracks erupted, balls ricocheting everywhere except into the pockets.

  Foolish shot.

  And foolish friendship?

  Dash moseyed over to take his turn, bending low to blast the triangle of balls and bury two. “Maggie may feel that way, maybe,” he said, straightening to his full height, which matched Blaze’s six foot two to an inch. He peered at Blaze beneath thick dark brows bunched low. “But I see how you look at her sometimes, Blaze, like you’re dying of starvation and Maggie’s a holiday feast.”

  He ignored the fire that torched both his guilt and his body. “Oh, you’re crazy as a loon, Dash. Maggie and I have a lot in common, and we make each other laugh, so what’s wrong with that?”

  Dash burned him with a silent gaze for several seconds. “Nothing,” he finally said in a tone as sober as Blaze after three mugs of root beer. “Long as you don’t break Rachel’s heart.”

  Blaze studied his younger brother, wondering for the hundredth time if Dash had romantic feelings for Rachel other than friendship. He always denied it vehemently, of course, but the two of them were as close as foam on beer. Not just because they worked together night after night, but because Rachel’s Uncle Clyde owned the Ponderosa, the very bar Dash hoped to buy one day.

  From the moment Rachel had arrived in Virginia City two years ago penniless and alone, somehow Dash had taken on the unlikely role of guardian over Clyde’s niece. His fierce protectiveness had even pitted brother against brother when Blaze laid claim to Rachel’s affections, resulting in a fistfight that had required Uncle Finn’s intervention.

  Upending his sarsaparilla, Blaze clunked the mug down. “Don’t plan to, Little brother.”

  “Then act like it, confound it,” Dash bit out, detonating a cluster of balls so hard, all but one found a pocket, neatly confirming that Blaze wasn’t the only cowboy who could whip hide in a pool game. Eyes fixed on his brother, Dash rounded the table to take his last shot. “She acts like it doesn’t bother her, Blaze, but I can tell she’s hurting inside, and I’m telling you right now, I don’t like it.”

  His gaze suddenly flicked over Blaze’s shoulder, and Blaze knew Rachel had entered the room for her shift. Both brothers watched as she mingled with the crowd, hair the color of winter wheat piled high while one silky curl trailed a knee-length scarlet dress trimmed with black lace.

  Easily the most popular girl at the Ponderosa, Rachel clearly earned her wages. She entertained with singing, sometimes with the other girls, sometimes alone, but either way, she was always a rousing success. Even so, most of the profits came from dancing with customers—as many as fifty men a night—who gladly paid a dollar for a ticket to hold her in their arms, Blaze included.

  The bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey that Blaze knew was only tea, and she thanked him with a generous smile, laughing and teasing with every man on her way to where the Donovan brothers stood. Several cowboys halted her with a loop of her waist, trying their darnedest to win her affection, but Blaze never worried. He downed the rest of his sarsaparilla as she approached, well aware she’d be all his by the end of the evening.

  “You’re on the clock, Donovan,” she said as she plucked the pool cue from Dash’s hand, turning to give Blaze a smile that warmed as much as if he’d downed a keg of real beer. “Both of you.” She perched on the corner of the pool table with cue in hand, black lace stockings accentuating the casual cross of long, shapely legs. Her blue eyes homed in on Blaze with a sultry look that won the envy of every man in the room. “Especially you, Blaze Donovan, since you owe me a rematch from your last thrashing in pool.”

  Dash hooked an arm to Rachel’s waist and pressed a kiss to her head, his dangerously direct gaze at Blaze a clear signal. “You’ll be happy to know I just delivered a thrashing to him, sugar pie, and I’ll gladly mete out another if he even comes close to thrashing you again.”

  “Oh, I think I can hold my own with your brother, Dash,” she said with a glance behind the bar where her uncle was, no doubt, eyeing them both. She held out her hand to Blaze. “You up to the challenge, Mr. Donovan? Because Clyde is waiting for the money to hit my palm whether it’s dancing or playing pool, and I’d much rather spare my feet.”

  Pulling a couple of silver dollars out of his pocket, Blaze slapped them into Rachel’s palm with a half-lidded smile. “Better your feet than your pride, ma’am.”

  “Gotta go to work.” Dash grabbed his beer from the bar and emptied the mug, sidling past Rachel with a casual air that didn’t quite match the intensity in his eyes. “Burn him, darlin’,” he said with a wink before slapping his brother on the back, the warning in his face more of a challenge than Rachel was likely to be. “Before he burns you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “It sure is a beautiful night,” Rachel whispered from the front seat of Blaze’s wagon, parked in front of their favorite lake for moonlight picnics, talks, or otherwise. Her profile glowed in the moonlight as she stared up at stars that glittered more than the sequins on her dress. Burrowing into his hold, she rested her head on his chest while she circled a lazy finger on his vest. The ripples of heat shuddering through him rivaled those of the ribbon of moonlight shimmering over the water when her hand dropped to his thigh. “Or it could be.”

  Blaze released a silent sigh, not all that sure that bringing Rachel to their favorite sparkin’ place was a good idea, at least not tonight. He hadn’t seen her for almost two weeks now, and the citrus scent of her bergamot perfume was driving him crazy, along with the heat of her hand resting on his leg. But she’d pleaded, and he’d given in, guilt eating him raw that he’d caused her any pain.

  “She acts like it doesn’t bother her, Blaze, but I can tell she’s hurting inside.”

  Blaze could, too, by the neediness of her manner, and it made him feel like a low-down skunk. Of course, Dash’s overly protective attitude didn’t help, acting like Blaze didn’t care about Rachel when he and everybody else knew that he did. Blue blazes, she was the only woman he did care about, the only one he wanted to spend time with, and the only one who raced his pulse.

  Maggie’s face flashed through his mind and Blaze immediately scowled, determined to spend more time with Rachel in the weeks ahead. He closed his eyes to enjoy the closeness they shared, a connection that suited them both like a well-worn saddle. For pity’s sake, Rachel was the only woman he’d ever thought about over the last two years, the only one he ever craved to kiss, and the only one he wanted to talk to about his day. Almost like a marriage without the license or the bedroom, he decided, an arrangement that had truly served them both well.

  Of course, right from the start, he’d made sure Rachel understood he wasn’t a marrying man, leastways not for a good long while, and she always told him over and over that it didn’t matter. He’d even assured both Clyde and Dash he had no intention of taking advantage of Rachel in the Biblical sense. No designs on taking her to bed. Not only because he didn’t want to hurt her, Clyde, or Dash, but because he respected Uncle Finn too much. His uncle had pert near pounded morality into his and Dash’s heads, promising a horsewhipping if they even thought about bedding a woman without the benefit of marriage.

  But dad-burn-it, Rachel sure didn’t make it easy, luring him a number of times into the bed of the wagon for some pretty heated sparkin’.

  Just like she was trying to do right now.

  “Come here, darlin’,” he said, suddenly more interested in giving her the attention she seemed to need rather than satisfying his own desires. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger, gut clenching at the look of love in her eyes. “I’ve missed you, Rachel,” he whispered
, chastened when he realized just how true it was. He grazed his mouth against hers with a tender kiss that felt almost reverent, skimming his fingers down the silky curve of her face. “I’ve missed talking to you, laughing with you, and holding you like this, sweetheart, and I plan to make it up to you with dinner at The Gold Hill Sunday night, all right?” He deposited a kiss to her nose. “Forgive me for staying away?”

  “Of course I forgive you, Blaze.” She cupped his face in return, thumb rasping against the scruff of his jaw. “But I will admit, I’m a bit worried as to the reason why.” A lump dipped in the creamy column of her graceful neck. “Especially since hear tell one of the young nurses from St. Mary Louise is living at Silver Lining Ranch along with the O’Shea’s.”

  Blaze sucked in a harsh swallow of air, well aware there were no secrets in a town like Virginia City. Particularly when it came to the household of one of its most respected citizens, a citizen expected to run for mayor like Uncle Finn was planning to do.

  He bundled Rachel in his arms once again, tangling his fingers in the silk of her hair while he tucked her head to his chest. “No reason to worry, Rachel. Uncle Finn asked me to drive Maggie—she’s the nurse you mentioned—to and from the hospital every day and teach her how to drive the wagon on her own, so I’ve just been busy with that.”

  “Is she”—she swallowed hard, and he felt it clear to his gut—“pretty?”

  His eyes weighted closed, shame thickening the walls of his throat. He did a little swallowing of his own. “Not as pretty as you, Miss Dixon, guaranteed, and definitely not my type.”

  She lifted her head to search his face, her vulnerable look so at odds with the confident and carefree woman she seemed to be at the Ponderosa. “What exactly is your type?” she whispered.