No Place for a Lady
Page 2
“Miss Sinclair?”
She stopped, again eyeing the round little man sharply.
“That there feller yonder’s Tyler Grant, your brother’s business partner.”
Business partner? Madolyn turned back. This time she allowed herself a better look. He wasn’t quite as large as she had thought, probably no more than a head taller than she. It was his shoulders; or maybe the vest he wore broadened his shoulders, lending him a presence that was at first glance disconcerting.
Morley’s business partner? The idea fluttered like a trapped bird in her stomach. On further consideration the man didn’t have the appearance of one given to sloth. At least, he looked well-kempt. His clothes were of a sort she had seen before, as one cowboy after another boarded the train: brown duck britches tucked into knee-high black boots, leather vest, Stetson. But unlike the others, Mr. Grant looked almost like he belonged in a suit and tie, not that he could buy one at the local haberdashery, were there a local haberdashery. It would take an expert tailor to fit those shoulders.
Lord in heaven! What was she thinking? Brushing a curl off her wind-stung face, she dragged her gaze away from the man, but not before one last glance revealed a shirt that actually looked white and rather crisp, like it had come fresh from a laundry.
She cast her gaze from side to side. As if anyone this far from civilization knew what a laundry was. When she looked back, Mr. Grant had pushed off the wall, an action that elevated him to well over six feet. He was smiling again. A gasp stuck in her throat; twice he had caught her staring. How utterly coarse of her! She turned abruptly away.
“What kind of business?” she questioned through tight lips.
“What kinda business?” Rolly squinted from his round face. “Don’t’cha know your brother’s a rancher?”
A rancher? She wanted to say she hadn’t known anything about her brother since he left Boston at sixteen years of age. At that time she doubted Morley had known any more about the ranching business than she knew at this very moment. But one could learn a lot in twenty years.
Such as the danger posed by arrogant, prepossessing men. She gathered wits that seemed suddenly scattered by the relentless wind. The devil, that’s what each and every one of them must be considered. The devil in britches.
As if reading her mind, the pudgy little man continued to press Tyler Grant’s case. “He’s a proper gentleman, miss. Any lady on either side of the tracks’ll vouch for that.”
I’ll just bet, she thought.
“Don’t know of an unmarried lady in either town who’d turn down an offer to ride out into the country with Grant. He’s far an’ away the best catch aroun’ these parts.”
That did it! She couldn’t go. Not with a known philanderer. Fortunately, she had learned in time. “Point me to the livery, Mr. Rolly.”
“I can’t point you to the livery, miss, on account of it’s on the other side of the tracks. I already explained that.”
As far as Madolyn was concerned, Rolly had explained nothing, except that she would put her reputation on the line, and possibly more, should she be foolish enough to venture into the country with Tyler Grant. She squinted toward him again, careful to avoid eye contact.
“Besides that—” Rolly’s words were effectively cut short, when Madolyn gathered her skirts and stormed off the platform. “Miss Sinclair?” he called.
Indecision was not one of Madolyn’s shortcomings. With a couple of hours, no more, to secure the signature she had come all the way from Boston to obtain, she would not allow one surly brother and his cowpoke partner to stand in her way.
It wasn’t as if the town were deserted. Low-roofed adobe stores ran perpendicular to the depots along both sides of the road that crossed the tracks not twenty rods away. Although she didn’t see a lot of activity up and down the street—not a single woman was in sight—a number of men milled on both sides of the tracks. But to a man of them, everyone in Buckhorn ignored her. Everyone, that is, except this Rolly fellow and Tyler Grant.
Well, devil or not, she didn’t appear to have a choice. She wasn’t getting anywhere with Rolly, and certainly, she had tangled with worse rogues than a rangy cowpoke who was her brother’s business partner. She tried to take solace in the claim of an elderly gentleman on the train.
“Don’t go to worryin’ about your safety, Miss Sinclair, you bein’ alone an’ all. Womenfolk are held in high regard in the West. Penalty for accostin’ a lady is death by hangin’, same as for stealin’ a horse.”
Tyler watched from the opposite depot with growing concern. Rolly must not be doing a very good job of explaining things, for Maddie didn’t appear inclined to accept his offer. Not that she was likely to receive a better one.
His first sight of her knocked him for a loop. He was expecting features worthy of a persimmon, but when she turned his way, it was to reveal fair, smooth skin and lips that looked soft and full, before they tightened in a grimace at his tipped hat. Following which, she executed an about-face that would have done General Lee proud.
He was on the verge of losing patience when she turned around and gave him another once-over. Obviously, Rolly continued to press the matter, although Tyler had issued specific instructions to Cryer not to mention the difficulty between himself and Morley.
Then of a sudden her mood seemed to change. Just like a woman! She stomped off the platform, skirts hiked to her shoe tops, headed directly for him, and he saw nothing for it, but to meet her halfway.
Stepping off on his side, he intercepted her at the edge of the rails. His sudden approach took her aback, he could see that in a glance. He also saw that she was much prettier than he had thought from the distance. She didn’t smile—from the starch in her carriage, he doubted she knew how—but her black eyebrows had a lovely arch to them and her lips were naturally rosy and full.
He figured she had intended to bypass him and his approach caught her off guard. She stopped abruptly at the rails. They surveyed each other from the expanse of mere feet. What he saw was not what he had expected. Morley’s little sister had grown up. Lordy, had she ever! A full head of black ringlets, he recalled Morley’s description.
Loosened by the wind and what had no doubt been a harrowing journey, straggling black curls blew enticingly around Maddie’s oval face. Few in number, they incited a man’s interest in the rest of that thick black hair, which was secured in a tight bun at her nape. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to speak first, he removed his hat and introduced himself.
“Miss Sinclair, I’m Tyler Grant, your brother’s ranchin’ partner.”
“I’ve been told.” Her clipped tones gave no hint of softness.
“I’m here to drive you out to Morley’s.” That got her attention.
“He sent you?” She cast a wild glance back over her shoulder. “Then who was that dreadful man who told me…”
Tyler heard the hysteria in her voice. Likely the truth was just now setting in, the truth—that she had come all this way and her brother refused to see her.
“That was Jed, Morley’s foreman.” He softened his tone, conscious now of not causing her more pain. “His business in town was to pick up ’Pache Prancer.”
“’Pache Prancer? Oh, the horse?”
Tyler nodded, trying to capture her gaze. Her eyes were green, like Morley’s, but infinitely more appealing. Unshed tears glazed their surface, but their core was hard as emeralds, bespeaking determination and grit. Or plain old stubbornness.
“Oh,” she was saying. “You mean Morley sent that Jed fellow for the horse, and you for—” She ducked her head before finishing. “—for me.”
“In a manner of speakin’.” He motioned over his shoulder. “I’ve called Raúl to bring the wagon. We’ll load your belongin’s and be on our way.”
Relief vied with terror. Madolyn’s heart raced. Up close there was no denying Tyler Grant’s size. She had to look up to him, which said it all in a nutshell; she rarely encountered men she had to look up to
. Or around. When she tried to look beyond him, his shoulders blocked her view of the opposite depot.
Her gaze darted across his face. He wasn’t exactly handsome she saw now, but his features were strong and bold. Small lines etched the corners of his mouth and eyes. He looked rugged, like the country; like he had been born in this land of wide open spaces and towering mountains and was a part of it. He emanated strength and a sense of masculinity that was at once comforting and unsettling. Dragging her eyes away, she glanced up the tracks, to where a man had backed a wagon up to the railroad.
“Rolly an’ Ol’ Cryer will help Raúl load your trunks,” Tyler drawled in a calm, matter-of-fact tone that should have put her at ease but didn’t.
When she glanced back at him, she was again unable to meet his gaze directly. That appalled her. Few were the men she could not intimidate with a cold, unwavering stare. Along with her parasol and an imperious tone of voice, learned from Miss Abigail, Madolyn’s direct gaze was a valued weapon against members of the opposite sex.
But this man was different. Although she had seen handsomer, it had been a city-sort of handsome and could not compare with the rugged, raw appeal of this Western man. She had never been comfortable around ladies’ men. Philanderers they were, each and every one of them. Oh, he sounded harmless, to be sure, friendly even, but Madolyn knew from experience that gentlemanly behavior could be feigned.
On the other hand, he was Morley’s partner. Morley wouldn’t take a partner who wasn’t a gentleman. Surely.
“How long have you and my brother been partners?” She chanced another peek at him as she spoke. A shock of thick dark hair fell over his broad forehead and he smelled of bay rum, as though he had come straight from the barber.
Tyler studied her, contemplated his response. She was as skittish as a fawn, he could see that. One wrong word would scare her off. “A while. We’ve been friends for twenty years.” Her countenance brightened; rather, the frown that creased her brow like a piece of corduroy relaxed.
“Best o’ friends,” he added, truthfully, if one omitted the last six months.
Best of friends. Memories rushed to the fore of Madolyn’s brain, taking her back twenty years to when Morley was at home. Unlike a lot of older brothers, Morley had never objected to her tagging along with him and his friends. She smiled, remembering Morley, how he had made her life bearable. How she cried when he disappeared, mourned him when their father told her he died at sea. Morley.
She remembered her joy and confusion when, only one month ago, she discovered he was alive and living in Texas. Questions assailed her, overriding enough of her trepidation that she was able to peruse Tyler Grant a bit closer. Morley’s best friend. Did Morley dress in boots and tight-fitting britches? Did he wear a Stetson? Were his shirts crisply laundered?
But this wasn’t Morley. This man was a stranger. Her trepidation returned. “I’d thought to hire a carriage and drive myself to Morley’s.”
“It’s a piece, Maddie.”
Maddie? Her head jerked up. Her eyes alighted on Tyler’s. They were warm and brown, she noticed for the first time. Her heart thrashed wildly. Maddie? She glanced from side to side, disconcerted. Here in the middle of a railroad track that ran from civilization to nowhere, this stranger had called her by a name she hadn’t heard in twenty years.
Yes, he must be Morley’s friend. His very best friend.
“You’re surely tired from your journey,” Tyler was saying.
His soft drawl flowed over her like spilled honey. Tired? She was that. Exhausted. In the misunderstanding with Morley’s foreman, she had forgotten how tired she really was. And how dirty. She wiped her brow with a mitted hand, but resisted running a finger beneath her sticky collar.
Tyler watched her consider. When she wiped her brow, she left a smudge of black coal dust, like a streak of war paint, above one eyebrow. He lifted a hand to brush it off, caught himself midway to her face. What the hell? She was skittish enough already. If he touched her, she would bolt, for sure.
And she probably should. Already he was questioning his intentions to use her as a pawn in his quest for revenge against her stinkin’ brother. What he would rather do—
Tyler’s brain skidded to a halt when he realized that he was standing here in the middle of this damned divided town, thinking seriously about kissing Morley Sinclair’s sister.
“Tell you what.” His tone was more brusque than he intended, but he forged ahead. “I’ll drive you over to the, uh, hotel. You can rest up, get a good night’s sleep. We’ll head out for Morley’s first thing in the mornin’.”
“The morning? Oh, no. I—”
“It’s a long drive, Maddie. If we start at daybreak, we can make it there by dinnertime. That way we’ll be able to return to Buck before supper.”
Madolyn considered reminding this overly friendly stranger that she had not given him permission to address her by a familiar name. Then again, he was Morley’s best friend. “I don’t plan to return to Buckhorn, Mr. Grant. I’ve come to visit my brother.”
Tyler didn’t miss the chill in her tone. Her emphasis on Mr. Grant left no doubt how she felt about him calling her Maddie. But by damn, he gave up formalities—and a lot of other conventions society deemed necessary—twenty years ago when he fled to this land of the free, and he didn’t intend to pick them up again, certainly not to please Morley Damn-his-hide’s sister. He watched Raúl and the roustabouts, directed by Rolly and Ol’ Cryer, load the last of Maddie’s baggage onto the wagon bed.
When he reached for her arm, her gaze darted to his, then away, like a water bug skittering across a clear green pond. But Tyler didn’t relent. He grasped her elbow in a firm grip, only to be startled when his hand grew suddenly warm, even through the heavy fabric of her sleeve. Ol’ Cryer must be right; he’d been spending too much time with his cows. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he escorted a lady, across the tracks or anywhere.
At Tyler’s touch Madolyn flinched. She tried to jerk free, but he held fast. He’s Morley’s best friend, she repeated. Morley’s very best—
“We’d best get off the tracks, Maddie. Train’s fixin’ to move on around the bend to the loadin’ pens.”
Drawing her wits together, she glanced down the tracks. Sure enough, the porter had lifted the steps and climbed aboard. As if on cue, the engineer blew his whistle. Propelled by the force of it, she scrambled across. Tyler steadied her, but the moment she gained her balance, she pulled free. Her skin still prickled from his touch—and his use of her childhood name. She couldn’t for the life of her decide why.
She was lonely for her brother, true, but she had learned to live with that long ago. On the other hand, she hadn’t been this close to seeing Morley in twenty years. With his foreman’s garbled message corrected, her earlier eagerness returned. She was on her way to see Morley. She could have skipped down the street from the sheer joy of it.
But she didn’t. Madolyn Sinclair never skipped. She squashed the fleeting reminder that Maddie did, or had. Twenty years ago.
Tyler crammed his Stetson on his head and ushered Maddie briskly toward the wagon, careful to keep his distance. It wasn’t as if he wanted to touch her. Hell, she was Morley’s sister. He started to tell her as much, but he couldn’t tip his hand before he used her to get back at Morley. First, he would settle her into snug accommodations on his side of town. The fact that the only hotel in Buckhorn was on the Horn side of the tracks—Morley’s side—didn’t make any difference. Tyler knew just the place to take the starch out of straight-laced Maddie Sinclair.
By the time they reached the wagon, she had regained her equilibrium. She shrugged off his helping hand again, gathered her skirts, and climbed up on the wagon seat unassisted. She didn’t need a man’s help. Never had; never would. Especially not that of a hulk of a man whose brown eyes were far too warm, whose touch peppered her insides with fiery sparks, and whose use of her familiar name brought an unwelcome longing to her lonely heart.
“References?”
“Character references. It’s obvious you think I crawled out of a hole in the ground somewhere.”
His claim startled Madolyn, until she realized that was exactly how she had been treating him. And would continue to do so. She dared not relax her guard. Not with a man like Tyler Grant. Something inside her argued against judging him too quickly. He was, after all, Morley’s partner. Surely she could trust him. Morley had sent him; Morley wouldn’t have sent an untrustworthy man to drive her to the ranch.
Pragmatic to a fault, Madolyn admitted that, regardless of whether Tyler was a gentleman or not, if she wanted to see her brother, she had no choice but to trust him to deliver her safely to Morley’s front door. She wasn’t being run down by offers to help. And, regardless of her earlier boast, she could not strike out on her own, for she had absolutely no idea which way to go. From the sound of things, Morley’s ranch was a bit farther than the outskirts of town.
No, her only recourse would be to follow Jed’s dictum and return to Boston without seeing Morley. Which she had no intention of doing. Until Morley secured her inheritance, she had nothing to return to. The moment he did, she would leave this godforsaken land with pleasure.
“I shan’t require references, Mr. Grant.” She strove to sound in control of her senses, but her voice shook and she knew it. Tyler Grant was right, she was dead tired. And he was an extraordinarily distracting man. It was his size, she decided. He filled the space around her. “My brother wouldn’t send anyone other than a gentleman to fetch me.”
Of course, she couldn’t be certain of that after twenty years, but saying it out loud bolstered her confidence. In Madolyn’s experience, one method that never failed to put a man in his place was to create an image for him to live up to. If she believed him a gentleman and told him so, he would be more likely to behave like one. She took consolation in the fact that she had only to ride to Morley’s in his company.