Rocky Mountain Marriage

by Debra Lee Brown

  Chance grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

  She whirled on him.

  Suddenly he was at a loss for words.

  “Well?”

  Looking into her eyes, he felt a burning in his gut he hadn’t felt in…hell, maybe never. “I’m sorry. I was just joking.”

  She held his gaze, her face flushed, her nostrils flaring prettily, then all at once the fire in her eyes died. “You’ve made that quite clear, on more than one occasion.”

  The most glaring evidence being that night in the hallway when he’d kissed her, then had made light of the whole thing after Lily caught them together. Remorse twisted inside him.

  “You…think I don’t want you?”

  “Of all the ridiculous—” She wrestled out of his grasp and fled toward the barn.

  Gus and Rowdy were inside, watering the horses. The two ranch hands exchanged looks as Dora shot past them toward the last stall, nowhere else to go.

  “Give us a minute, boys,” he said.

  “Sure, Chance.” Rowdy set his bucket down, and he and Gus retreated outside, leaving them alone.

  “These stalls are filthy.” She made a show of inspecting them, kicking up soiled straw with a booted foot, and furiously making notes in her diary. He noticed her hands were shaking.

  “You think I don’t want you,” he repeated, moving toward her.

  “Mr. Wellesley, our conversation is over. I have work to do.”

  “Dora.” He placed his hand over hers, stilling her pen.

  She wouldn’t look at him. So he looked at her, seeing beyond the dowdy gray dress and severe bun. Underneath she was a woman on fire.

  “You’re wrong,” he said.

  She dropped the pen and the diary and spun toward the last stall, where Silas stood watching them. The horse approached her and she reached out to him, stroking his face and neck.

  He did want her, more than he’d ever wanted any woman. It was the damnedest thing. He couldn’t explain it to himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to explain it to her. But if he stood there a second longer, this close to her, he was going to take her in his arms and show her he hadn’t been joking at all.

  Don’t do it, Wellesley.

  “Good boy,” she said to the horse, continuing to stroke him.

  If things had been different, if he’d been different, he could tell her right now who he really was and why he was here. He could tell her how he felt about her. But that wasn’t an option. There’d be no happy ending to look forward to, even if she did return his feelings.

  It took every ounce of will he could muster to turn away from her. He plucked her diary and pen from the ground and handed them to her. She glanced at him only briefly, then dusted them off and dropped them into her pocket.

  “You may have your card game,” she said quietly, continuing to stroke Silas’s neck. “But once it’s done, I’d like you to leave.”

  If things went the way he expected them to go, if Wild Bill’s partner showed himself, he’d be leaving anyway, one way or another.

  “Ma’am,” he said formally, then headed for the door, which Rowdy had left open.

  Word of the high-stakes card game spread fast. By midweek there wasn’t an extra bunk to be had within ten miles of the Royal Flush. Delilah had crowded all six girls into one room for the week, to free up a few extra beds at the saloon for high-paying customers.

  For days Jim had been busy behind the bar and in the kitchen in preparation. Dora had hired extra help from town to ease his workload. Three wagon loads of groceries and liquor had been delivered already, and Jim expected more. Dora checked off the supplies as they arrived, and had Jim keep a careful watch on inventory.

  The local merchants with whom the Flush did business, and who were still owed thousands of dollars, suspended their “no credit” policies in honor of the festivities, after Dora had promised to pay each of them an equal share of her profit for the week toward her father’s outstanding debts.

  The town was alive with new business, and everyone was in a good mood. Everyone except Chance.

  Dora had thrown herself into the preparations, working night and day, determined to keep her mind on business and off the things Chance had said to her last Friday in the barn. It didn’t work. He was on her mind more than ever, and as she spent more and more time in the saloon, helping out, there’d been frequent opportunities to exchange the odd greeting or look.

  You think I don’t want you. You’re wrong.

  Nothing he could have said to her would have stunned her—or thrilled her—more than those words. At night in bed when her mind drifted, she replayed the scene in the barn over and over, only her actions, and the outcome, were different. She’d recognized the look in his eyes when he’d made that declaration, she’d known that with the slightest encouragement from her he would have taken her in his arms.

  In her nighttime fantasies she’d given him that encouragement—a look, a touch, a word—and he’d kissed her just as he’d kissed her that night in the hallway. And she’d kissed him back.

  “Miss Dora?”

  Jim’s voice jolted her back to the present.

  “Um, yes?” She closed the icebox door, which she realized she’d been holding open for the past few minutes, staring blankly at the contents in cold storage.

  “Mr. Gardner’s here to see you.”

  She wasn’t expecting him, and yet she wasn’t surprised. He’d come calling twice since their supper last week, and each time she’d had Delilah or Jim make some excuse as to why she couldn’t see him. She knew she couldn’t put him off forever. He needed to know whether or not she’d accept his offer of financial help. She was ready to give her answer.

  “Tell him to wait in my father’s study.” She checked her reflection in the small mirror over the kitchen sink. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Jim shot her a blank look, tossed his bar towel onto the counter, then quit the room, presumably to do as she’d asked.

  Ever since the night she’d discovered the secret staircase leading down to the basement, she’d had an uneasy feeling about him. All along she’d suspected that some of the staff knew about the money hinted at in her father’s letter, but not until that night had anyone spoken openly to her about it.

  Since then, she hadn’t had a good opportunity to explore the underground storeroom, and with the upcoming card game Jim had packed it full of liquor and other supplies.

  “Oh, yoo-hoo…” Lily arched a thin dark brow at her from the kitchen doorway. “Lover boy’s here, and dressed to kill.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

  Lily shook her head, surveying Dora’s hair and outfit. “He come with flowers, too. God knows why.”

  She’d had just about enough of Lily’s ill-mannered taunts. The girl was so uncivil, she didn’t know why Delilah kept her on. Out of all of them, Lily was the smartest and had the most business sense. Maybe that’s why they all suffered her bad behavior. Dora was inclined to boot her, too, as soon as the week was over.

  She’d had a flurry of second thoughts after she’d given Chance his notice in the barn, which was absurd. Whatever he might have been in his old life, he was a gambler in this one, and she’d been acting like a smitten schoolgirl instead of a schoolteacher.

  All of it ended, now.

  She patted her hair, smoothed her dress, and brushed past Lily without so much as a nod.

  Dora marched down the hall toward her father’s study. The man waiting for her was a gentleman, she reminded herself. He deserved her full attention. Chance Wellesley was hereby banished from her mind.

  “Dora.” John smiled as she entered the room.

  “Oh!” Lily was right. He did have flowers, the most beautiful roses she’d ever seen. She wondered where he could have gotten them this time of year. It was still early spring in the high country and too chilly for them to bloom.

  “These are for you.”

  “They’re lovely.” She took them and set them into a porce
lain vase on her father’s desk.

  She’d learned over the past weeks that her father had been fond of Chinese art and artifacts. His study was peppered with small collections of figurines and porcelain.

  “Thank you. You’ve been too kind.”

  John took her hand and guided her to the Queen Anne chair by the window. “It’s not kindness. It’s…”

  She sat down, noticing his agitation. He looked around the room, distracted, and his cheeks were flushed, as if he’d been out riding on the range. She knew for a fact he’d come in the buggy.

  “I would have asked your father first, had he been alive, but he’s not.”

  She wished more than anything he was alive. She realized, these past few weeks at the ranch, that her mother had completely misrepresented the kind of man her father had been. She didn’t know why. But she was sorry she hadn’t had the opportunity to know him.

  “Asked him what?”

  To her utter astonishment, the banker dropped to his knees. When he took her hand and looked into her eyes, she knew instantly his intent.

  “Marry me, Dora.”

  A little squeak escaped her throat.

  “Marry me now, today.”

  She could hardly breathe. “I—I thought you were just being friendly, making me the offer of the bank loan.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter. “You won’t need the loan if we’re married.”

  “I…don’t think I need the loan anyway.” She shrugged, surprised at her own feelings, or rather, lack of them. “This card game will bring in enough business that I’ll be able to catch up on my father’s interest payments to the bank. I think I can stay current until a buyer’s found for the ranch.”

  “Forget the loan, then. I want you with me, in town.”

  “I can’t move to town. Not yet.”

  “Why not?” He brushed his thumb over her open palm, much as Chance had done almost on this very spot, not so long ago.

  She hadn’t shared with John her feelings about her father, her need to discover what he was like, why he and her mother had been estranged all these years and yet he’d continued to watch over her as she’d grown up.

  She poured it all out now to him, and he listened attentively, kneeling there on the Persian carpet before her, holding her hand.

  “A lot of people cared for my father, don’t you see? He was a good man. I know that now. I didn’t before. There’s more I’d like to know, I just need time.”

  “How much time?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Somebody killed him,” John said. “That somebody could come after you. Have you thought of that?”

  She hadn’t thought of that, likely because it didn’t make any sense. She told him so.

  “He’s right.”

  Both of them turned at the sound of Chance’s voice. He stood just inside the room. Dora was certain she’d closed the door behind her when she’d come in.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  At first she thought Chance’s comment was directed at John. She was wrong. He was looking directly at her.

  “We agree on something at last.” John got to his feet, but didn’t let go of her hand.

  She pulled hers away, uncomfortable under Chance’s dark scrutiny. “You said no one knows who killed my father.”

  “That’s right.” He flashed his eyes at the banker. “No one does.”

  “So how do you know I’m safe in town?”

  She had both of them there. They didn’t answer.

  “Besides, I have nothing to do with why my father was killed. How could I? I wasn’t even here. Why would this person come after me?”

  Chance eyed John. “Maybe you have something he wants.”

  “What could I possibly have that—” Then it dawned on her. “You mean his money. That’s why he was killed.”

  It was the first time she, herself, had ever spoken openly of what her father had hinted at in his letter to her.

  Chance’s expression darkened.

  “That’s ridiculous,” John said. “Your father didn’t have any money. If he had, I would have known about it.”

  “Why you?” Chance said, moving closer.

  John shrugged, as if it were obvious. “I was his banker.”

  Dora stepped between them, just in case.

  “Is that all you were?” Chance’s eyes blazed murder.

  At first she’d thought his only reason for staying on was to find the money, or to swindle her out of it if she found it first. But some things didn’t make sense. His obvious affection for her father, his growing animosity toward John, the way he looked at her when they were alone…

  Why had Chance goaded her into keeping the saloon open all these weeks, but now suddenly wanted her gone, tucked safely away in town?

  “I think you should leave now,” she said to John, taking his arm and moving him toward the door. “I’ll see you Sunday at church.”

  “You’ll think about my offer?”

  “She doesn’t need a loan.” Chance glared at him.

  John paused in the doorway and looked at him. “That’s not the offer I was referring to, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Dora felt her face grow hot as Chance turned his gaze on her.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Do you?” John shot him a smile. “Good.”

  For a heart-stopping moment she thought Chance was going to lunge at him.

  “Sunday, then,” John said to her.

  She followed him from the room, her spine prickling as Chance’s gaze burned into her.

  His Colt was in pieces on the bed when a soft knock sounded outside his room. His rifle was handy, so he grabbed it before he got up to see who it was.

  “It’s me,” a small voice said on the other side of the door. “Dora.”

  Surprised, he turned the key in the lock and cracked the door.

  “Are you going to shoot me?” She looked pointedly at his rifle.

  “I don’t know,” he said, lowering the weapon. “Think it would do any good?”

  He was still irritated by what he’d witnessed between her and Gardner yesterday in the study. They hadn’t spoken of it since.

  “Probably not. May I come in?”

  Now he was doubly surprised. Dora Fitzpatrick, schoolteacher, entering a man’s room alone—his room—while the man himself was in residence.

  “Sure.” He pushed the door wide and gestured for her to enter.

  Her eyes registered first surprise, then suspicion, when she surveyed the weapons on his bed. “What’s all this?”

  He shrugged. “Just cleaning my gun.”

  “You mean guns. I count three. And two knives.” She moved to the bed and gingerly lifted his buck knife off the coverlet.

  “My father gave me that when I was a boy. It’s a good knife.” It was the first time in eighteen months he’d mentioned any of the members of his family to anyone.

  She studied the weapon with new appreciation, noting the carved ivory handle. “You knew him, then?”

  “My father? Sure.”

  “I wish I’d known mine.”

  They could hear the sounds of Tom’s piano and men’s voices below them in the saloon. Lily’s seductive laugh was like a melody. Dora’s expression darkened when she heard it. Risking her rebuke, he closed the door. She said nothing.

  He wondered why she’d come. He’d seen little of her since the incident in the study. It was better that way, for him and for her.

  Before he could caution her, she touched the tip of the knife blade with her finger. “Ow!”

  “Give me that.” He snatched it out of her hand and re-sheathed it, then noticed the drop of blood on her gray dress. “You’re bleeding. Here, let me see it.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, and sucked at the cut. “That’s a very sharp knife.”

  “Sit down.” The only chair in the room was heaped with clothing he hadn’t had a chance to cart downstairs fo
r one of the girls to launder. “Here.” He cleared a spot for her on the bed.

  She cast him a nervous look.

  “You’re already in here with me. If I’d wanted to do anything inappropriate, I’d have already done it. Go on, sit down.”

  For the first time since he’d met her, she did as he asked.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “No, it’s really—”

  He didn’t wait for her to finish. He grabbed her hand and peeled the fingers back to look at the cut. She was right. It wasn’t bad. “You ought to know better than to touch a blade like that.” He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to her finger.

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on.

  “You’d be better off in town for a few days. Even Gardner thinks so.”

  “I have a feeling his reasons for wanting me there are quite different from yours.”

  Recalling one of Gardner’s reasons, the one that made his blood boil, he let her hand go.

  “Who are you, Mr. Wellesley?”

  “You know who I am.”

  “I know you’re not just here to play cards.” Her steely eyes cut into him as neatly as his blade had nicked her finger.

  “I am here to play cards. Saturday night. There’s a thousand-dollar ante. Winner takes all.”

  “Why now? You could have held a card game like that anytime, long before I arrived here.”

  He leaned against the bureau and reached for his watch fob, twirling it as he studied her. “I didn’t have a mind to, until now.”

  “I see.” She rose from the bed and surveyed his room.

  “This is the first time you’ve been in here. Why now?” he said, repeating her own words.

  “Because now I have a mind to.”

  He knew she’d say that, and he laughed. She didn’t, but he could see the muscles in her jaw relax.

  “And because I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  She glanced at the guns he’d been cleaning on his bed and said, “What will you do with him once you find him?”