Nora

by Diana Palmer

  He got a carriage to the Marlowe home, a big brick affair downtown with a big, private yard and a formal garden that was impressive even in the late autumn. It was the sort of house he’d have expected Eleanor Marlowe to live in.

  He was raising eyebrows already. He hadn’t bothered to change into his good suit. After all, he didn’t need to impress anyone here. He was glad that he was wearing his working gear, right down to the gun belt strapped around his lean hips that he’d been wearing to help the local sheriff hunt for two bank robbers. He’d just signed on as part of a posse when Eleanor’s telegram reached him in town. In his jeans and big boots and wide Stetson, his fringed leather jacket and gun belt, he looked like something out of one of Nora’s dime novels. The rolled cigarette between his teeth completed the picture as he used the door knocker. The butler who opened the door damn near passed out. Cal grinned at him.

  “Howdy,” he drawled. “Nora home?”

  The butler stared at him as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He stammered. “I—I—I—”

  Nora came to the door herself, looking pale and vulnerable, white-faced with fatigue and worry. “That will be all, Albert, thank you,” she said gently.

  The old silver-haired man nodded politely, fixed Cal with another shocked appraisal and went back the way he’d come.

  Cal stared at her with narrow, cool eyes, a contrast to the churning emotions that looking at her resurrected. She had been ill, that was evident, and the sight of her pale, worn face made him feel both guilty and protective. He forgot his anger when he saw her gesture with a thin hand that trembled.

  “Do come in,” Nora said nervously. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, but this was hardly the time to throw herself into his arms. “Please forgive me for involving you. I had no choices left.”

  His eyebrow arched. What a change this was; no comments about his manner of dress, and even an apology. She must be desperate indeed. He forbade himself to look too long at those soft lips as they moved. They reminded him of the last time they’d been alone together, and the memory was still haunting him every night. He had missed her more than he thought possible, despite his anger.

  “Nice place,” Cal commented as he looked around, pretending to be stunned by the luxury around him. “Damn, this is swell! You really are loaded, aren’t you, honey?”

  She ignored the banter. She wasn’t feeling at all well. She sank onto the sofa and folded her hands primly in her lap while Cal prowled around the room, looking at everything.

  Her eyes went to his caked boots, and she only smiled complacently. He hadn’t ever worn the gun belt before, and she frowned slightly at the worn handle of the six-shooter it contained.

  “They don’t have gunfights in Tyler Junction,” she reminded him. “You yourself told me so, once.”

  He turned, smoking cigarette in hand, a faint smile on his hard lips as he looked at her with something less than affection. “We were going out to track down two bank robbers when the cable came,” he replied. “They killed a woman.”

  “Oh. How terrible!”

  “They’ll be lucky if they make it to trial without being lynched,” he replied. “Now. What’s this deal about my being needed?” he added.

  Those glittery pale eyes made her heart race. He was looking at her with none of the concern she’d glimpsed when she opened the door to him. In fact, now he seemed amused and vaguely contemptuous.

  She looked toward the doorway to make sure her mother and father weren’t within earshot. It was Friday, and her father hadn’t left early as usual, alerted by her mother that trouble was brewing.

  “I—I—” she began, trying to form the words.

  “Catching, is it?” he drawled. When she frowned uncomprehendingly he added, “The butler had the same problem expressing himself.”

  She glared at him. “You are not making this easy for me.”

  “Should I?” he returned. His eyes narrowed. “Where is he?”

  “He?”

  “Summerville,” he replied, smiling when she started. “Did you think that news of his presence in your life would not eventually reach my ears?”

  “So you know,” she said heavily.

  “Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “It needs no genius to know that you are with child. Summerville obviously is in pursuit of you, since he followed you to Europe. I sense a connection between the events.”

  She glared at him. The insult made her angry. “He wishes to marry me,” she began.

  “Well, I don’t want a wife. So what is the need you spoke of when you cabled me? What purpose am I expected to serve in your complicated life if you have a fiancé already?”

  Her eyes met his cold gaze. Hope died in her face. He did not care for her at all. He knew what Edward had done to her, and it did not matter to him. She wished fervently that she had never bothered to ask him for help. It was so obvious that he did not wish to marry her. He knew about the baby and he did not want it, either. She could have wept for her foolishness, for her dreams of their reunion. How sad, to love and be rejected so finally, in such a state.

  “Oh, there you are, Nora, I—” Her mother stopped dead in the doorway, an older version of her daughter with the same bright blue eyes. She took in the unkempt cowboy filling her living room with shock and then curiosity as she eyed the gun in his holster. “Are you a desperado?” she asked uncertainly.

  He nodded, lifting the cigarette to his mouth.

  “Have you come to rob us?” her mother persisted.

  He looked around with magnificent disdain. “Madam, you have nothing that I want,” he said carelessly, and looked right at Nora as he spoke. Her eyes met his bravely in spite of her hurt, and he fought down a twinge of guilt at the pain he saw in her wan face.

  Cynthia frowned. “Sir, you speak in riddles.”

  “A calling at which he is quite adept,” Nora said curtly.

  He glared at Nora. “Ask your daughter why I am here. It was she who sent for me.”

  “Mother, this is Cal Barton,” Nora said, and she didn’t look at him. “He… He is Uncle Chester’s foreman.”

  “Oh.” Cynthia, conscious of the need for manners even when confronted by a Texas madman, moved forward and extended her hand. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Marlowe,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips as if he’d spent his life in a front parlor.

  Nora was as shocked as her mother was delighted. She’d never seen Cal in a parlor before, except for her uncle’s. But he wasn’t at all intimidated by his surroundings. In fact, he looked right at home.

  Cynthia laughed gently. “Do sit down, Mr. Barton, and let me have some tea brought in. Unless you prefer coffee?”

  “I do, in fact,” he replied gallantly, and even removed his hat.

  Cynthia colored prettily at the gesture. “I shall be right back!” She left, so flustered that she forgot to ask why Nora had summoned him.

  Nora glared at him when her mother was out of earshot. “How gentlemanly,” she muttered. “Can you bow, as well?”

  “Only to a lady,” he returned with a cold smile.

  Her chest rose with indignation, but before she could find a reply, the door knocker sounded again and Albert went to answer it.

  “More company?” Cal chided, tossing his Stetson onto the sofa beside her as he hooked a wing chair and sat down in it, with a pretty candy dish in his lap to serve as an ashtray.

  Nora turned and looked worriedly at the front door as it opened to admit Edward Summerville. He looked immaculate in his suit and bowler hat. He removed the hat from his blond hair and moved into the living room after Albert grudgingly announced him.

  “Nora, my sweet,” he greeted, trying to catch her hand. She withdrew it out of his reach.

  “I am not your sweet,” she said coldly. “And I am not going to marry you.”

  “Why, yes, you are,” he replied, and cast a curious glance at the cowboy in the wing chair. “Who is this?”
/>
  “This is Callaway Barton,” Nora introduced. “And that is enough small talk. Shoot him, please, Mr. Barton.”

  Both men looked at her blankly.

  “You may shoot him in the foot, if you prefer,” she continued, talking matter-of-factly to Cal. “Through the heart would suit me better, but I am prepared to be lenient. Now, if you please,” she persisted, waving her hand toward Edward.

  Edward’s blond brows arched wildly. “Nora…!”

  Cynthia rejoined the group, laughing gaily at something Mary, the maid, had told her. But the smile faded when she saw the tableau before her.

  “Why, Mr…. Summerville,” she stammered, glancing from him to Cal Barton, who was sitting cross-legged in the chair.

  “Do close your eyes, Mother,” Nora said calmly, “while Mr. Barton shoots Edward for me.”

  Cynthia’s intake of breath was very audible. She sat down heavily in another wing chair. “Nora. My dear…”

  “I cannot shoot a man for no reason,” Cal burst out, dumbfounded.

  “I have a reason,” Nora said hotly, glaring at Edward. “He has insulted me, humiliated me, endangered my life, and just yesterday he attempted to blackmail me into marriage!”

  Edward gaped at her. “You are unwell!”

  “I must agree,” Cynthia said, dazed. “Nora, would you like to lie down, dear?”

  “No, I would not,” Nora said shortly. “It is lying down that is the cause of my present predicament,” she added with a furious glare at Cal Barton, who ground his teeth together at the innuendo.

  “None of this makes sense to me,” Cynthia began.

  “What is all this racket?” demanded Nora’s father, joining the group. He looked even more irritated than usual, especially when he saw Cal. “Who is this cowboy?” he demanded. “And what is this scoundrel doing here, Cynthia?” he added, glaring furiously at Summerville.

  “Why don’t you ask me, Father?” Nora muttered. “Or do you think I haven’t enough brains to answer you?”

  “Nora, be quiet!” her father snapped. “Summerville…?”

  “I think the crux of the matter is that Nora doesn’t want to marry this fancy dude,” Cal drawled, gesturing toward Edward with his cigarette as he finally began to understand the situation.

  “No?” Edward asked haughtily, feeling brave. “Well, she will. Won’t you, Nora?” he added meaningfully, and the threat was in his very posture. Seeing it, Cal had to resist the urge to get up and punch him.

  Nora took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “I do not wish to marry you, Edward.”

  “You have spent weeks with me in England,” Edward said, making sure the others got the implication. “And,” he added smugly, “you are with child.”

  There was an outcry that could be heard upstairs. God knew what the servants would say, Cynthia was thinking.

  Nora’s father looked dangerous. He turned on her. “Is this true?” he asked with cold fury. “Answer me!”

  Nora sat up very straight, and it didn’t show that she was shaking inside. She looked up into her father’s eyes with the last of her courage.

  “Yes,” she said wanly.

  Her father’s open hand shot out immediately and caught her on the side of the face. The sound of the slap, along with her gasp of pain, echoed around the room.

  Chapter Nine

  BEFORE THE SOUND OF THE slap died, Cal Barton had erupted out of his chair with smooth grace and Nora’s father was lying flat on his back on the floor.

  “You son of a—” Cal bit off the rest. He stood over the older man, his big fists closed and waiting at his sides, looking every bit as dangerous as the desperado Cynthia had first mistaken him for. “You touch her again and I’ll break your damned neck!” He didn’t even raise his voice, but the threat in it was blatant. His posture alone was intimidating. Added to the cold menace of his pale eyes and the authority with which he spoke, even Summerville took a step back.

  Marlowe sat up slowly, incredulous, holding his cheek where his muttonchop sideburns stuck out. The man standing over him looked capable of any sort of violence with that low-slung gun belt. But he wasn’t threatening to use the gun. He seemed not to be aware of it. Marlowe struggled with a niggling respect for the man, despite his sore jaw. Not that he regretted his action; Nora had deserved that blow, he thought with remaining outrage at her scandalous behavior. The whole family would be disgraced because of her! He would never be able to face his social equals, and lurid tales of her would be told at local clubs. The thought was insupportable!

  Nora’s eyes brightened as she nursed her sore cheek. At least Cal cared enough not to let her be manhandled. That was something. And it didn’t offend her one bit to see her overbearing father sitting on the floor with that flabbergasted look on his face. Imagine, hitting a pregnant woman!

  “The child is mine,” Edward Summerville announced loudly. “I am willing to marry Nora, to make it legitimate.” He moved a little farther away from Cal as he spoke. The man looked vicious.

  Cal glanced at Eleanor, and what he saw in her face contradicted all the things he’d thought up until now. She might have been away with Summerville, he might have wanted to have an affair with her. But that briefly noticeable light in her eyes was unmistakable. Despite everything, she loved Cal Barton. And feeling that way, she was hardly likely to climb into another man’s arms. He knew it, deep inside himself, regardless of Summerville’s claims.

  “No,” Cal said quietly. He never took his eyes from Nora’s. “The child is mine. And Eleanor will marry me, as soon as I can arrange it.”

  Eleanor’s eyes softened as she searched his.

  Her father was outraged again. “My child, marry a common cowboy?” Mr. Marlowe burst out. “Why, I won’t have it!”

  “What will you have?” Cal asked coldly. “This dandy as a son-in-law?” He jerked his thumb toward Summerville. Summerville bristled, but he wasn’t quite brave enough for a comeback. The man was wearing a big pistol, after all, and he was no fool. Summerville had no wish to join Mr. Marlowe on the floor.

  “Edward has no income,” Nora added. “He told me that his father has gambled away his fortune. He had in mind marrying me to regain it through you, Father,” she said brutally. “The child is not his. I would never allow such repulsive hands to touch me!”

  Edward colored. He glared at Nora. “You would marry this beggar? A man who dresses like a tramp on the streets, who does not even know to clean his shoes before he enters a decent home?” he taunted. He moved back another step, just in case. The cowboy looked vaguely murderous. “And where will you live, Eleanor, in a tiny shack? You will have to cook and clean. You will have no servants, no money.”

  Nora’s face had gone a shade paler, but she didn’t say a word. She just sat stiffly on the edge of the dark blue velvet-covered sofa, staring into space, unmovable. She had thought of those same things, but she really had no options left. Cal did believe her. That was all that mattered just now.

  Cal watched her expression closely. The child might be his. She might even love him. But she was still high society, and it was all too obvious that she didn’t think he was good enough for her. She wasn’t alone. Her parents were looking horrified as well. He smiled coldly. Well, Miss Eleanor Marlowe could marry him and come back to Texas, but not to the wealth of Latigo, the family ranch near El Paso. Oh, no, there would not be that elegant, monied setting for Miss Marlowe of Richmond. She could come and live with him in the foreman’s cabin on the Tremayne ranch and learn how to become a human being and stop looking down her nose at people she considered to be her inferiors. If he had to be robbed of his freedom because of their mistake, she would have to give up her life of luxury. It would be an even trade.

  He was taken back to his own childhood as he stared at the older man, remembering one brief setback in his wealthy life when his father had very nearly lost everything. The family had been, just briefly, poor. A wealthy family in El Paso, the Tarletons, had been puppy-friendl
y while the Culhanes were powerful. But that attitude had changed abruptly when they were approached for a loan by a stiff-necked Brant Culhane when his fortunes sagged. Their attitude, though rare for El Paso, had left a deep scar on Cal’s young emotions. The youngest Tarleton boy had been friends with King and Cal. But soon after the financial blow suffered by the Culhanes, he told them that he had no desire to play with poor children. He made fun of the boys at school and generally made their lives miserable for the two years it had taken Brant to recoup his losses and regain his wealth.

  Even now, remembering the taunts and gibes made Cal bristle. He had taken them to heart even more than King. When the Culhanes were wealthy again as the cattle market improved, the Tarletons found themselves the outsiders at local social gatherings. They were never again invited to Latigo. The youngest Tarleton boy was automatically excluded from any of the boys’ parties. But it was little recompense for the humiliation the Culhane boys had suffered at his hands.

  While Cal was reminiscing silently, Nora’s father got to his feet at last. He glared at Cal, but he walked well around him. “I shall not countenance such a marriage,” he said curtly. “If you marry this ruffian, I wash my hands of you forever!”

  “Oh, no, my dear, you can’t,” Cynthia wailed, finding her voice all too late. She had paled and started forward when he struck Nora, but she was much too intimidated by her husband to protest anything he did very strongly. She always had been.

  “I can, and I shall,” her father said uncompromisingly. He looked at Cal with cold eyes. “I shall not allow my daughter to marry so far beneath her. She will marry a man of our own class and social level.”

  Cal lifted an eyebrow at Nora. “So that’s where you learned it,” he murmured. He looked at her father. “It seems to me that it’s a little late to be so choosy. In another month or so, her condition is going to be very noticeable indeed. In fact,” he mused, noticing the faint thickening of her waistline, “it’s beginning to show already.” He found it amazing that he should feel a skirl of pride at the sight of her belly.