by Linda Broday
Glory flared. “Yes, let’s not forget to appreciate how he stuck his nose into our business.”
Cotton-pickin’! Luke scrubbed the back of his neck and forced a smile.
Mrs. Day’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “I won’t abide that kind of talk. You will be polite to our guest. Now apologize this instant.”
Luke had a sneaking suspicion hell would freeze over waiting for anything so unlikely. And in a way, she had a point. He had overstepped his bounds just a hair this afternoon. But damn, he hadn’t expected to see her on someone else’s arm.
The alluring Glory had quite a temper!
His grin broadened.
Sixteen
Beware Greeks bearing gifts. Or strangers in this case.
Whoever said that must’ve known McClain, Glory decided. He’d no more than stepped through the door when he presented a bag of licorice to Patience.
“For me?” Squirt giggled, dancing in a circle.
Didn’t the dopey girl know how silly she acted? All the more reason for her and Hope to refuse should he try to give them gifts as well.
“Miss Hope, for you a silk ribbon for your hair.”
“Blue is my favorite color.” Hope betrayed her by reaching greedily for the adornment.
“Mrs. Day, I have something here.” He rummaged in the worn leather bag he carried.
Ruth put her hands up to her cheeks. “Oh my goodness, I feel like a young girl at Christmas.”
“And look just as pretty.” He pulled out a lovely tortoiseshell comb. “Something to help you stay that way.”
“Young man, I don’t quite know what to say.”
A mist blurred Glory’s vision worse than it already was. She didn’t know when she’d seen Mama so happy.
In fact, she couldn’t remember this much excitement in the Day household since Papa left. The miracle almost washed away the fact that McClain probably purchased the gifts with stolen money.
Still, she’d not accept anything for herself. He’d not sway her with mere tokens of friendship, even if he came by the money honestly. He seemed hell-bent on stealing what she worked her fingers to the bone to maintain.
She turned her back to the scene, anticipating her name any second. Just let him try to win her over with a present. He could hornswoggle the rest. Not her. She had her pride. Didn’t matter. What she so desired he’d never give.
The seconds ticked by and nothing.
Did he possibly think to slight her? She frowned. Only the most despicable, high-handed man would ask for her hand, then trample on the feelings he’d stirred.
A sharp sting pricked her dignity. He considered her less worthy than Mama and her sisters.
The grandfather clock on the mantel, the wedding portrait of her parents on the wall became mere specks. Darn this sudden wrenching in her breast anyway!
A light touch on her shoulder gave her a start.
The hand surely belonged to Luke, for only he could loose this flurry inside. She blinked several times, cursing the inability to see what he held. At last the item came into view.
A toothbrush. A real one.
Glory whirled. Every well-planned, scathing remark vanished, not the mere footprint of one remained in her head. She cradled the treasure with wonder.
“You hankered for one of these the first time I saw you in the emporium. I also recall how you had to bite your tongue to keep from giving those girls their comeuppance.” Quiet challenge lay beneath Luke’s words. He dared her to refuse something she so desired. If she could.
Moral indignation that had burned so hotly before deserted her. “I thought you didn’t notice me that day. You appeared quite taken with the…other patrons.” She gave the turmoil inside a stern shake.
“Oh, I noticed all right.”
In a Monday that held more twists and turns than a dog’s hind leg, his barely audible reply and intent stare added yet more bewilderment. Why did he have to go and make her forget her outrage? Awfully difficult to harbor a grudge when he seemed intent on filling her head with nonsensical things.
She stared at the object in her palm, afraid it would fade into thin air as the genie in the Arabian Nights had. Fairy tales were for children, not grown women who knew better. McClain couldn’t be Aladdin—unless he whipped out a magic carpet. This night she wouldn’t rule out anything.
“Say something, Glory.” Hope gave her a sharp poke.
Patience grinned. “If you wanna kiss him, we’ll hide our eyes.”
Hell’s bells! Patience had managed to give her one more reason for a good talking to. If Glory didn’t die of mortification, it would be a sheer miracle. Everyone waited.
“I know you want to,” Patience persisted. “Leastways that’s what you wrote in your private book.”
Let her kill the meddler now.
“What kind of fool would pass that up?” Luke raised her chin with the lightest of nudges.
Her legs threatened to buckle. Powerless in the spell of his gaze, she marveled at the rakish curve of his mouth. The essence of him wrapped around, over, and inside her as she gladly stepped onto his magic carpet.
One more kiss wouldn’t hurt anything.
A sudden scurry of feet seemed in the distance. Glory’s ears pounded. His frenzied heartbeat jumped through the fabric of his shirt. She sank into the curve of his arm because he stole her will to do otherwise.
The kiss that began with tender softness deepened. She shuddered under his caress, a piece of clay in the hands of a master.
Her feverish skin throbbed with some strange need she didn’t comprehend. She only knew if she died in his arms this second, she would depart the world in a state of bliss.
When he lifted his head at last, she would have fallen without his steadying support. She rested her face on his broad chest for a moment to still the dizzying whirl.
“Thank you.”
His murmur came faint as a breeze through willows. Her hair ruffled in his ragged breath.
A few seconds later, she remembered where they stood and the liberties she’d allowed. Never before had she been so carefree. Or so warm.
“Good heavens!” She patted her hair, giving the room a sweeping glance, relieved to find it empty. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Whatever it was, I hope it remembers the way back.”
“Don’t think this changes anything, McClain.” She prayed the stern warning would wipe the pleased smile off his face. It didn’t.
“Shoot, if I thought that, I’d have put my bet on the wrong horse.”
“I’m still furious. You owe me an explanation.”
“And yourself? Did the offer of my name mean so little?”
She groaned inwardly and lowered her eyes before he saw the answer. For the cost of a handful of wind she would stand before the preacher with him.
Darn him and his magic carpet!
Fact remained, no amount of wishing could erase the truth. Her father left…and so had her mother, though each in a different way. At the end of the day, she could put faith only in herself.
What hand of fate had flung him into her life? The man seemed to take extraordinary liberty in assaulting her with his presence at every turn with no intention of staying.
“I need to ask where you got the money to pay back our note and buy all this.” The pain inside made her voice sound cold.
“Will it matter?”
Glory wished for things that could never be. To stifle yearnings that swept her along like a dandelion in a sudden gust would take more will than she possibly had. And even more impossible…blocking the knowledge that she could forgive all else as long as he promised to never leave. She gripped the toothbrush. It took every ounce of strength to remember the answer she must give.
“I must know.”
“In my own time.”
He brushed her cheek lightly with a fingertip.
“Did—”
“Have mercy, woman! Did Gimble hire you?”
Only after she could do a sight more than melt did she dare raise her eyes. “You’ve involved us in whatever it is you do.”
“Fair enough. First tell me what you were doing with your esteemed Dr. Dalton.”
Anger put her on familiar ground. She rested her hands on her hips and jutted her chin defiantly. Magic carpet rides were for damsels without obligations and those who could afford to daydream. “He’s not my anything. And I don’t have to justify it.”
“Then why are you trying to nail my hide to the wall?”
“McClain, you’re bound and determined to stick your nose in where you have no right. Well, I won’t stand for it. I’m the one running this household. So don’t let us keep you from wherever it is you need to mosey on to.”
“Fire and damnation! I’m trying to help.”
“We don’t need your brand of that.”
Luke wished to high heaven he could make her understand that he had their best interest in mind. Unfortunately, logic and Glory would never wear the same shoes.
Hope chose that moment to step through the door. “I came to tell you supper’s getting cold. Draw a truce and let’s eat.”
“After you.” He offered his arm and was glad Glory didn’t argue about it, because in the next instant she stumbled into the door frame. His heart lurched against his ribs. Her vision was worsening. Damn!
If he did get a bit high-handed now and again, he only did it because maybe he cared. Because maybe he worried about what would come of them if she went blind. Or maybe it was because she helped him see what he wanted to be.
Luke couldn’t tell her any of that though. She had enough doubts already. His conscience gave him hell for not explaining about the money. But he just wasn’t ready to do that yet.
* * *
Luke couldn’t remember such an occasion. Everything a man could want—lively conversation, good food, and an audience other than Soldier for a string of stories he’d stored up.
Even Miss Minnie wore her best outfit of paisley and lace. She brought along her litter of kittens to join in the festivities. Discontented with Punkin’s lap, they leaped onto the table, sloshing the redeye gravy.
“Patience, put those cats outside,” Mother Day scolded. “I won’t have them on my good china.”
Luke contemplated the dishware while Punkin rounded up her brood. The set must’ve come from some war, maybe even the Alamo. His plate had more chinks and cracks than those walls after Santa Anna finished lobbing cannonballs at the Texans.
“Who wants dessert?” Hope rose. “Mr. McClain?”
“You betcha.” He winked up at Glory, who had stood to make room for the butter cake he’d heard about. “Now I know two good reasons for a man to take a wife.”
“You mean other than making her a slave to your kingly wishes?” she muttered.
He enjoyed the red flush. Raising her dander kept her blood pumping. At the very least he made it impossible for her to ignore him.
“Nope, that would make three. Glad you pointed that out. I’ll have to add it to my list.”
For a moment, the fine china appeared in danger of a few more cracks. If he meant to keep needling her, he’d better study up on ducking skills. After he left, though, he didn’t quite know how he’d practice without her.
His senses still reeled from the kiss. No complaints from him that the attempt for a quick, lighthearted peck backfired. Keeping him awake all night would pose the worst ill effect. And if it prevented her from thinking about Dr. Esteemed, he’d declare the goal a victory.
“Mr. McClain, will you do us the honor of reading tonight?”
He tried to drag his admiring gaze from Glory’s curves as she carried the dishes to the wash bucket. A pure sin for a woman to give a man these interesting thoughts.
Ruth Day cleared her throat delicately.
“Um…happy to read, Mrs. Day.”
“Wonderful.”
A proud glow covered Hope’s face when she set the confection in the middle of the worn tablecloth. “Mama, I can’t recall when I’ve seen you in such high spirits.”
“Nor I.” Glory delivered small plates and forks.
“We must celebrate like this when your father comes home.”
“Papa’s coming home?” Patience asked, returning from evicting Miss Minnie and babies. “When?”
A dark cloud squashed the joyous mood. Luke caught the hopeless stare Glory exchanged with Hope before she drew a curtain over her features.
“Patience, do wash your hands before you sit down,” Ruth said vacantly.
“When, Mama?”
“Darling, your papa will be here the minute he finishes his shopping trip. And when he rides through our gate and climbs down, I can simply imagine the joy.” Ruth Day dabbed at the corner of her eye.
“I’ll make Papa’s rice pudding, and we’ll hug him and laugh. Yes, we will.” Hope cut the dessert into portions.
An uncomfortable pall fell over them. The knife clinking on the plate seemed louder than a dropping anvil. Luke silently accepted the thick slice of warm cake.
“Mama, I heard you ask McClain something a few minutes ago.” Glory refilled her mother’s glass with cider.
“He’s agreed to read tonight.”
Shocked panic hadn’t exactly been the reaction he’d hoped for. He hid the ache it brought. He returned the startled look with another wink.
* * *
Luke’s deep baritone didn’t surprise her, for Glory’d long known of that. It was his education. No mispronunciation or stuttering. He skimmed over the hardest words with ease. His voice lured her down a sinful path.
Glory rested her head on the high-backed chair and closed her lids, letting her thoughts meander.
The quick blaze of passion appeared to have knocked her moral compass out of whack. She couldn’t distinguish up from down, left from right, or beginning from end.
Dear heavens! She wasn’t some mindless Amelia.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from lingering over the episode like someone too long without food. This afternoon was one of those events divided by a before and an after—too innocent before and too hungry afterward to mend the errors of her ways.
The snap of the book yanked her back to the parlor. She jumped, wondering if anyone noticed her inattention.
“Ladies, I’d best make it back to town or I’ll have to bed down on your doorstep.”
“Aw, don’t go,” Patience begged. “You can sleep in the hayloft. Can’t he, Mama? Please?”
Mother Day hid a yawn behind a lace handkerchief. “It seems a fair enough exchange for his generosity.”
Just dandy! They’d never get him out of their lives if they let him keep hanging around. And when he left, which was an eventual reality, it would bring deeper pain than she ever could imagine.
“Glory, dear, will you see to our guest’s needs?”
Seventeen
Glory had to set some rules. Especially since the man spent every waking moment thinking up new ways to bother her.
August fireflies darted close to her head, mere specks against the darkness. Pretend everything was fine. Whatever she did, she couldn’t afford to stumble over a rock, a sprig of dead grass, or step into a gopher hole. Luke would not use her problem to excuse his behavior.
She forced every ounce of concentration on the ground’s shadows. And tried not to think of the man beside her.
It didn’t take her memory’s gentle prodding to recall how casually he’d draped Soldier’s reins over one arm and how his saunter emphasized the carefree manner about him. Locked in a battle to preserve both her dignity and self-respect, she jumped when he suddenly burst into a whistle.
&nb
sp; “Is that the only music you know?”
Luke stopped. “Does it irritate you?”
Everything about Luke McClain pestered her. Of a surety, his presence held the number one spot. Had she shown even a shred of inclination toward forgetting, the tenderness of his touch rekindled the fire. In another lifetime she could reach for what he offered.
“I can’t see you have anything to be that pleased about.”
“Depends.”
He broke into a more lighthearted song and this time hummed instead.
Familiar agony pierced her soul. The melody was one her father used to sing while he did his chores. But that seemed eons ago…
When she didn’t know about injustice or that joyous times could end in the blink of an eye.
When she clutched her childhood and entertained thoughts of being a lady.
And when she didn’t know the bittersweet pain of true love and realize it came with a price.
“What’d I do now?”
“Papa…sang that.”
“Didn’t mean to dredge up sad memories. Have you gotten word from him lately?”
“I expect a letter any day informing us of his passing.” She swallowed hard.
“Just tell me what and I’ll do something.”
“You can’t! Stay out of our business.”
A dozen more steps to the barn and she’d make it. Full of confidence, she advanced—and slammed into the corral fence post.
Darn, she’d forgotten the corner stuck out that far.
“Watch it, darlin’.” Luke caught her before she landed in the dirt.
For a brief second, she let him hold her fast. A safe warmth engulfed her. So wonderful to rest. No need to struggle against the helpless fight. Locked in familiar arms, she could let go and relax for a moment.
“Let me help you,” he murmured into her hair.
His tortured voice was strange to hear. No mistaking his message though. She steeled herself, retreating behind the armor that kept out hurt and betrayal.
“Help?” She pushed him away. “You’ve butted in enough.”
