Regan [The Sisters O'Ryan 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jenna Stewart

  “I’ll see Koda settled in, then.” Seth turned once more, this time toward the barn, and kicked the Appaloosa into a trot. With a jaunty salute, Hay followed, and within moments they disappeared into the building’s darkness.

  If only Regan could settle her racing heart as quickly.

  * * * *

  When Seth Pratt arrived at the Stone farm, hope filled his heart that he would win the position he’d heard about in town. The fields sat unplowed, though planting time neared. To his eye, the dark, rich soil waited only to be sowed with the right seed in order to blossom into life. The bottomland, especially, showed great promise. His past lay in farming, but the desire to see something more than west-central Texas, and a strike for independence had pushed him off the land and onto the range. Now, deep-seated desire to put down roots brought him full circle, back to farming, back to bringing new life from nothing.

  “Not quite full circle,” he muttered. “Not quite a whole one, anyway.”

  “Are you talking to that horse again?” Hay’s jacket and tailored vest lay over the wooden railing between the stalls where they groomed their horses.

  “None of your goddamned business,” Seth replied.

  “He thinks we don’t hear him,” Hay stage-whispered to his own horse.

  Seth shook his head and continued running the brush over Koda’s coat with long strokes. “Is there some handy Shakespeare line that means shut the hell up?” Hay’s laughter caused Seth to curse. Then he lowered his voice and placed his head close to the horse’s flanks. “I held the reins so tight you must have felt my shock when I saw who I was talkin’ to. I might not have recognized her right off, but I sure haven’t ever forgotten her, Koda,” he whispered. “She’s alone out here, and she needs help.” The horse nodded his head and then whinnied. “You’re right,” Seth conceded. “It’s too much to think there’s a place for me here.”

  Koda stomped his front left hoof and shook his mane, before calmly munching on another mouthful of straw.

  Seth clicked his tongue. “I know. There’s no need my arguing with the notion.”

  “So you do carry on conversations with your horse, Mr. Pratt.”

  Seth spun around, dropping the brush. “Mrs. Stone. I didn’t hear you.”

  She smiled. “I only came down to make sure you found everything to your satisfaction.”

  “The bunkroom is nice, and Koda is very happy with his stall.”

  She stepped forward and stroked the Appaloosa’s nose. “He’s beautiful. What does Koda mean?”

  “It’s Sioux for friend.”

  “Well named.” Regan took a carrot from her pocket and fed it to the horse. She gestured toward the pinto in the neighboring stall. “That’s Twinkle. It’s Carolinian for she makes my eyes shine. At least according to my daddy. He says when he gave her to me for my fifteenth birthday, my eyes lit up. He named the horse on the spot.” She strolled over to feed Twinkle a carrot, too.

  Hay came around the stall and leaned on the post. Seth didn’t care at all for the familiar way his eyes followed Regan Stone’s every movement. Then Seth leaned against Koda and gave in, watching her graceful walk. Her voice fell on his ears like a melody. Auburn tendrils escaped from a loose bun and framed her small, round face. Her father had named the horse aptly. Her eyes did twinkle, but not just when she looked at the pinto. Her height lent her a regal air. He longed to hold her against him. With her slender frame and unusual height, they would fit perfectly.

  Don’t think about it. It will never happen. Daydreams aside, the differences in their social stature and culture leapt out at him. Still, arousal struck just watching her stroke her horse’s nose. He imagined her stroking him and gasped at the flame of desire that struck. When she swung back toward him he thought she must have heard.

  “I almost forgot!” She smiled over Seth’s shoulder to the next stall. “Here’s a carrot for your horse, too, Hay.” Then she walked to the end stall where another horse stood quietly. “And one for you, Jethro.”

  Seth didn’t think to wonder about the fourth horse in the barn. His conscious thought stopped when she called Hay Hay. Seth knew her first, or knew of her, more accurately, and that scoundrel had worked his charm on her to the point she already used his nickname. Good thing he was leaving. The knowledge that Hay would soon be far from Regan took the sting out of the fact that he, too, had to go now that there was no job.

  “…I’ll see you then,” she said.

  What had she said? His indignation over her use of Hay had waylaid his mind. “All right,” he replied, hoping he wouldn’t end up making a damn fool of himself.

  With another smile, she strode from the barn leaving Seth in more emotional turmoil than he’d known in years.

  “Now there’s a nice lady,” Hay said.

  “She’s awright.” Seth vigorously set to work on Koda’s coat, not wanting to talk to Hay about anything right now, but especially not about Regan.

  “All right? Bullshit, my taciturn friend. Too bad there’s no job after all. I might have considered staying on for a while myself.”

  “Right, too bad.”

  Hay’s laugh came through the wooden slats. “I think she likes you.”

  “Sure. Talk about bullshit.” Since coming home from the war, Seth made a habit of not meeting people’s eyes. Pity filled others’ expressions all too often, and he didn’t like dealing with it. His heart had stuttered when he took a good look at the woman standing at the foot of the porch steps. Regan Stone had made an impression that one, brief time they’d met, but he’d kept his distance after that.

  “She remembered you. She didn’t remember me. We were on that wagon train together, weren’t we?”

  She had remembered him, hadn’t she? “Not hard to recollect a man with one arm. As for you, too bad you’re so damn forgettable.”

  Hay laughed again. His laughter was one reason Seth enjoyed his company so much. Though he rarely engaged in the activity, he couldn’t help thinking his soul benefitted from the sound.

  “You and I both know too many ladies along our path who disprove that theory,” Hay taunted.

  “You have left quite an impression on the women of the West. Not all of it favorable, I might add.”

  “Still, I wouldn’t mind rolling around the bed with our lovely widow. I wonder if she would consider—”

  Before he could utter another word, Seth had Hay pinned to the stall. “You will not touch her in a frivolous manner. She’s no light skirt, you bastard.”

  Hay’s face split into a wide grin. “I knew it. You like her, too.”

  “She’s a widda, for God’s sake. Not even out of mournin’.”

  “I know,” Hay said softly. “I was only shittin’ you.”

  Seth huffed and let Hay go. “Yeah, well, go to hell.”

  Hay slapped Seth’s back. “I think you have a touch of lovesickness, man. Maybe you should give up this idea of settling down and come with me to the coast. There’s bound to be something exciting for a couple of troublemakers like us that will take your mind off the beautiful widow.”

  “I think I’ll stick it out around here for a while. Maybe look in town for a job.”

  Hay shook his head. “She has you flustered. I can tell.”

  Seth went back to finish Koda. “How?”

  “You rarely talk to a person this much.” Hay chuckled and picked up his jacket.

  When Hay departed for the living quarters in back of the barn, Seth leaned close to Koda. “Is it wrong to hope for such a thing? She’s educated and genteel, more fitting for Hay than me. But I want her, just the same. This feels like home, boy. I wish it was.”

  Koda swished his tail and stamped his hoof, acknowledging Seth’s unreachable dreams. Being around her, feeling the fire she stoked in him with the simplest word or movement, irrationally wanting her yet knowing he could never have her, would be among the hardest things he’d ever do. At the same time, he both dreaded and couldn’t wait to sit at her dining table.<
br />
  “Fuck.” Hay was right, damn him. He had it bad for the widow Stone.

  Chapter Two

  Regan added a vase holding an arrangement of bright spring leaves to the table, removed it, and then set it back. She wiped her hands on her apron, obliterating a tiny patch of starched stiffness.

  “Mary, Joseph, and all the saints, I haven’t been this nervous since cooking my first meal for Davey.” And why? Seth Pratt impressed her, true. Joining the wagon train with only one arm showed real courage because the work had often been exhausting for men with two. She also heard he demonstrated a quiet kindness. But she had been impressed at a distance. If she were a romantic, she’d say she fell in love with the man’s reputation since she barely met him personally.

  And then there was Haywood Lawrence. Such a charmer, and a real change from most of the men she met on the trip west, including her husband. With his polished speech and well-tailored clothing, Hay was surely accustomed to much better tables than she could lay here, though she had used her mother’s lace tablecloth. Now she nervously smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle. The two men had her in a dither.

  “Mrs. Stone?” Seth’s soft voice penetrated the wooden barrier of the front door.

  “Holy mother of God, give me strength to remember my good upbringing,” she whispered. “And not to make a fool of myself.” She swiped her hands over her apron once more and patted her hair before taking a deep breath.

  Three steps took her to the door. “Good evening, Mr. Pratt. Hello, Hay.”

  “Hello, ma’am.” Hat in hand, Seth held the brim in a tight fist against his leg. His hair glistened with droplets of water, and his face was clean-shaven. Though he wore the same clothes in which he arrived, not a speck of road dust remained. His expression held decided discomfort. Could it be he felt nervous sharing a table with her? She thanked God quickly for the pot of stew she had to serve instead of a piece of meat that required cutting.

  Hay squeezed past Seth, holding a small bunch of leopard’s-bane. “I don’t know this flower, but ‘That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.’”

  “Thank you. I’ll add them to this arrangement for some color.” Seth seemed to hang back when Hay came into the room. Why? Did the other man intimidate him in some way? “Come in, please. I’m sorry dinner isn’t anything grand. Had I known you were coming I would have prepared something different than stew. Or tried to. I bought only enough supplies to feed myself for now.”

  “It smells good,” Seth said.

  Hay nodded. “It does indeed. To paraphrase, if food be the music of love, eat on.”

  Seth sighed. “For God’s sake—pardon, ma’am—please stop, Hay. With all your fancy education, can’t you carry on a normal conversation?”

  Hay burst into laughter. “That’s about the longest sentence I’ve heard him utter in the many years we’ve partnered.”

  Calming her trembling hands took effort, but she managed not to spill the thick stew while filling the ironstone bowls and carrying them to the table. She gave quick thought when preparing the table to using her good wedding china. She had coddled the delicate dinnerware across plains and mountains. In the end she decided that while the gold-rimmed plates with pastel floral patterns might fit Hay, Seth Pratt wouldn’t be comfortable with fine porcelain.

  “You’ve been together that long? But that means…” She cocked her head to study Hay. “Were you on the wagon train with us?”

  “I’m hurt that you don’t remember me, Regan. May I call you Regan?”

  “You may not,” Seth growled.

  “Please do,” she said simultaneously. “And you, too, Mr. Pratt.”

  “Seth,” he said, head down. His permission to use his given name sounded reluctant and gave the impression he would rather be anywhere but here in her cabin having dinner.

  “You had no reason to remember me from the trip, Regan. I stayed mostly in the rear with the single men.”

  “Gambling,” Seth muttered.

  Hay grinned. “A hand or two of poker, perhaps.”

  Seth harrumphed.

  Regan wrinkled her brows at the men’s banter. It reminded her somewhat of the way Davey interacted with his brothers—heated words without the heat. “I’m afraid all I have to drink is water, but I think you’ll find it sweet. I carry it up from a pool off the Umatilla. It’s as clear as a Carolina summer day, and well worth having to bring it up the hill.”

  The men stood as Regan came to the table, and Hay helped with her chair.

  “You’re right. This water is sweet,” Seth admitted after a sip. “Carrying buckets up that hill is quite a chore for you. Isn’t there someplace closer, maybe up here on the rise?”

  “It’s possible. The family who sold us the land and cabin didn’t find a good water source, though, from what they said. Carrying water might be one of the reasons his wife wanted to leave.”

  “It’s too bad we’re off tomorrow.” Hay used his spoon to point across the table. “Seth here is a master at all things natural. If water flowed anywhere on the rise, he could find it.

  “Could you really, Seth?”

  “I wouldn’t want to say.” Once more he looked uncomfortable. “At any rate, I couldn’t promise it or how long it would take.”

  “I’ve seen him work wonders,” Hay assured her. “And once he found a water source, with the right equipment the two of us could have a well dug in no time.”

  “You have to be on your way, Francis. You have plans for a new scheme on the coast.”

  The friendly disagreement between the two seemed not to faze Hay at all. He waved away Seth’s comment. “Oh, nothing that can’t wait. And besides, helping with the well is one way we can repay Regan’s hospitality. This stew is delicious, by the way.”

  Seth hadn’t taken a bite, another indication that being with her discomfited him. All of her worry about pleasing him, all of her nervousness over being with him, of embarrassing herself, had been for naught.

  Finally he lifted a spoonful to his lips. The way he closed his eyes, inhaled, and slowly let out his breath as he chewed spoke volumes about his pleasure. The stew had been nothing more than a couple of turnips, carrots, an onion left in the root cellar behind the cabin, and some beef pieces she had purchased. She made up for the meager ingredients with a fine gravy infused with dried thyme. That Seth enjoyed such a simple meal showed how long he had been without home cooking.

  Opening his eyes, he caught her attentive look.

  “I apologize, Seth. I shouldn’t have stared.”

  His smile struck her as sad. “No need to apologize. I’m used to folks staring at my arm.”

  She bristled. How shallow did he imagine her? “I was not staring at your arm. I admired the way you seemed to enjoy the meal.”

  His cheeks flushed with color. “Then I must apologize to you. I just assumed that…Well, it’s commonplace for people to be curious.”

  Hay’s voice was low but firm. “Seth.” For the first time Regan caught a sense of his serious side. She couldn’t tell if his one word represented a rebuke or concern.

  Tearing her gaze away, she forced herself to sample the meal knowing she wouldn’t find it half as appealing as Seth had. Her heart broke for him. He felt the loss of his arm far more than she noticed it, yet he had smiled gently and understandably when he thought she regarded him as less for his deficit. He touched her with his quiet dignity.

  Then there were his looks. Her priest at home in Asheville would assign at least three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers as penance should she confess the sinful thoughts she harbored for Seth while they traveled in the same wagon train. Before her marriage night, she might not have understood the tingle between her legs or the breathlessness that caught her unawares when she chanced a surreptitious glance at him as he went about his duties. But on the wagon train she had been married and recognized the feelings all too well. The ring on her finger said she had no right to harbor such desire for a man to whom she h
ad not made vows.

  Seth’s light-brown hair was much shorter now, but then it hung below his ears and curled on his collar in back. Every woman who saw him close-up commented on his blue eyes, and she confirmed their brilliance the evening she tagged along with Davey when he had reason to ask Seth’s help with one of their horses. For a few moments she stood two feet from the man the whole train talked about. He had regarded her for a moment and then politely nodded, as he might to any married woman, and promptly focused on Davey. That single meeting had been enough to scorch him into her mind, however.

  Regan glanced at Hay. “Hay, I wonder why none of the single ladies gossiped about you. With your looks and silvered tongue you should have been all the talk over the nightly campfires.”

  His smile dispelled all signs of his previous seriousness. “Why, thank you. To tell the truth, I purposely kept my distance from all those single ladies. I doubt many people noticed me at all on the trip, and that’s just as I wanted it. I heard about you, Regan.”

  Shocked, she said, “Never!” Then she leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “From whom?”

  “Several men commented on your beauty and intelligence. I’m very happy I had the chance to confirm both as true.”

  Regan laughed. “What a flatterer. Good thing you kept your distance from the single girls. It wouldn’t take much for a papa to see you as marriage material for his daughter.”

  He laid his hand over his heart. “My dear, you have struck on the truth. I try hard not to be fortune’s fool.”

  “Do you know everything Shakespeare wrote?” she asked in amazement.

  “He knows enough to make the days very long,” Seth muttered.

  “I’ve provided you with an education in literature, and you know it,” Hay answered.

  The men’s barbs were pleasurable distractions, but Regan hung on Hay’s comments regarding Seth’s abilities. Butterflies took flight in her stomach. “I wonder,” she began, “if you really could find a source of water up here, Seth.”