No Place for a Lady

by Vivian Vaughan

  His gaze held hers, refused to release hers. “What, Maddie?”

  Her heart pounded. Suddenly she knew if she didn’t get out of this dugout, she would end up in his arms. In his arms.

  Where she desperately wished to be.

  Pivoting, she exited through the improbable door and breathed in a lungful of dusty summer heat. Casting about, she searched for Morley. Where had he gone?

  Tyler caught her by the arm. “Can’t we talk?”

  Talk? “No.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, Maddie. About us. We can work things out.”

  Work things out? That confirmed her worst suspicions—he felt the same miserable way she did. “No.” She shook her head vigorously, as if to convince herself. “Never.”

  “Never’s a long time; I don’t think you know how long.”

  She recalled Goldie’s claim, that to deny love left one with a cold and lonely life.

  “Never means forever,” he said in a low, quiet, desperate voice.

  “I know what it means.” Frustration turned to anger. “You do, too. We pledged the same thing. That’s the reason, the only reason, it was safe for us…safe for us to—”

  “Safe?” He hissed the word. Tightening his grip, he drew her around to face him. “Pledges can be broken.”

  She refused to meet his eyes. “Spoken like a true man.”

  “I am a true man, Maddie. A true man who’s in love with you.”

  “Love?”

  “It isn’t the most horrible word in the language; it doesn’t even have to be frightenin’. Let me show you, prove to you—”

  “No.” Panic made her breath come short. “I’m going back to Boston. On the next train.” She felt him flinch. When he responded, his voice was barely audible.

  “Morley came through?”

  “No, but I’m going anyway.”

  “Why?”

  One word. One simple word, yet she felt as if the mountain had caved in on top of her. In one short, simple word he asked the impossible of her—the truth. Rather than lie, she refused to answer.

  “Why, Maddie?” he persisted. “Say it. You’re runnin’ away from somethin’. And you can’t do that. I’m here to tell you, you can’t run away.”

  At that moment Morley stormed back around the corner of the cliff. He stopped beside the wagon. “What’d you do, Grant? Take that little filly across into Old Mexico?”

  “I’m not thickheaded,” Tyler retorted. “’Pache Prancer’s safe an’ sound.”

  “And she’s mine. Where the hell is she?”

  “In due time, Morley. See what you can do about gettin’ Maddie that inheritance, then we’ll talk.”

  “Threaten all you want, Grant. You can’t win. Haven’t you learned that much about me?” Morley climbed up on the wagon seat, ranting all the way. “Should’ve learned that by now.”

  Suddenly Madolyn grasped the situation. Morley was leaving. “Wait.” She tore free of Tyler’s hold and ran for the wagon.

  But Morley had already released the brake and whipped up the team. Turning the wagon in a wide arc, he shouted over his shoulder. “I told you to ship her back to Boston, Grant. You’re the one chose not to, so you deal with her meddlin’ for awhile. Maybe then you’ll see the light about that thoroughbred.”

  Madolyn couldn’t believe what was happening. Desperation choked in her throat. Desperation, which she didn’t have time to analyze. Lifting her skirts, she ran faster, but succeeded only in catching her hem on a rock. She heard a rip, but kept going.

  Finally, Tyler’s firm grip brought her to a halt. Together, they watched Morley and the rented wagon disappear in a plume of dust. “He’ll come back,” she said, half to herself.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “But why?”

  “Why? Hell, Maddie, he’s a mean, ornery sonofabitch, that’s why.”

  “You mean he brought me out here to…to leave me?” She felt her voice tremble.

  Tyler caught her shoulder. Before she could object, he pulled her to his chest, where he cradled her head, crushing the brim of her proper black hat.

  “Why else would he have brought you all this way?”

  She sighed against his freshly ironed shirt. Without starch, it was soft. She liked it that way. He ironed it himself. She had never known a man to iron before. She was glad Annie hadn’t ironed it. She felt possessive of him, and that doubled her distress. But at the moment, here in his arms, she felt possessed by him, too, and heaven help her if she didn’t feel safe and secure.

  “I don’t know.” She tried to summon the gumption to tear herself away from him. “He tossed me on the wagon seat and said if I was so het up, those were his words, to see you, he would take me. He didn’t say he intended to leave me.”

  “So het up to see me?”

  She heard surprise in his voice. He drew her back and looked into her face, and she saw it—surprise, pleasure, triumph. He laughed.

  “This is a mighty interestin’ development, Maddie,” he drawled. “Mind fillin’ in the blank spots?”

  She took a deep breath, hoping to still the trembling in her chest. “I rented the rig and drove out to Morley’s to deliver some of the things I ordered for Carlita and the children, mostly books. I stored the beds at Goldie’s, since they don’t have room for them, yet.”

  “Beds?”

  “I took the plans for mail-order houses, though, so he and Carlita can choose which one they want.”

  “Mail-order houses?”

  “You’re the one who told me about the scarcity of lumber out here. And they have to have a place to live.”

  “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that they think they have a place to live?”

  “That hut? It isn’t big enough for a family of eight and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t know it. Neither do you. What’s big enough for them, doesn’t have to be big enough for us.”

  His choice of words stunned her, but he didn’t appear to notice. “So ol’ Morley got tired of your meddlin’ and brought you over here?”

  “Not at that point. Not until after I mentioned the parson coming out and you standing up and…”

  “Whoa, Maddie.” He placed an index finger on her lips, silencing her. For a long time he just stared at her, as if his mind were miles away. Finally he said, “You know, I’ve never cared much for meddlin’ women. Truth is, I never would have given you two cents for one…” His face dipped toward hers; he removed his finger; his lips brushed hers.

  She shuddered. His eyes held her so mesmerized that she could tell he felt it, too.

  “…until now,” he finished, closing his lips over hers.

  It was the most glorious kiss she had ever received. Possibly because she had thought she would never kiss him again, or maybe because this would in truth be their last time together, or possibly because the promise inherent in his wet, hot, stroking lips erased everything from her mind except the sensual pleasure of being with him. She felt like she was soaring among the clouds, pink, fluffy clouds that were tinged around the edges with gold from the setting sun and the gold was racing through her system.

  Relief became passion. She returned his kisses with an abandon she had rarely felt. The sweetness of it brought tears to her eyes; the passion it drew from her, drugged her with heady expectations.

  When he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the dugout, she clasped him tightly around the neck and tried to hold her fears at bay, bidding herself enjoy it, all of it, one more time. And when he kicked the door shut behind them, releasing all but her lips, she began to glow from the inside out with that special fire only he could light inside her. Her mind was filled with kissing him.

  Kissing and cuddling. And oh, so much more. When he began to disrobe her, she held her breath in eager anticipation. If her body could speak, it would be crying, pleading, beseeching him to hurry.

  He tossed aside the serape covering the bed, mumbling something about it being too scratchy.
She sank into the mattress, which surely was filled with the finest goose feathers. He stretched himself beside her. Close. Touching. Skin to skin. His lips took her breasts and a hand slid between her thighs, into the begging, weeping core of her, and she knew that she would not have to go through life without being loved.

  She might not have a life like Frances Arndt or Camilla Crane with husbands to share the day-to-day triumphs and tragedies. But she had been loved.

  She might not have a child, like Hattie Jasper, but she—A child! Oh, dear God, no! She sprang up, fighting his arms, pushing him aside.

  “Maddie?”

  “I can’t.” She scooted off the bed. “We can’t.”

  He grabbed her arm, bringing her up short. She sat on the side of the bed. Terror raced through her. He laid his face between her shoulder blades. It felt so good against her bare skin. So good. So right. So wrong.

  “Yes, we can, love.”

  The word seared through her. She felt as though he had touched her heart with that flintstone iron of his. “No.”

  “Why?” His demand was gruff. “Tell me why.”

  “Because I might…I might…What if I…I can’t have…your baby.”

  “Baby?”

  She could tell by his voice he had never considered such a thing. Gradually his grip tightened. When he failed at turning her around, he climbed off the bed and knelt before her, cradling his head against her stomach.

  “A baby. I never thought…” Shifting his face without losing contact with her belly, he looked between her heaving breasts to her face. “Are you carryin’ our baby, Maddie?”

  She shook her head. He stared at her for ever so long, solemn, serious, as though he had lost something of great value.

  After a while, he said, “Oh,” and twisted his face to kiss her belly. He pressed his face into it, and kissed her again and again.

  The sensualness of it, the intimacy…the sincerity…took her breath away. Despite her vow to remain detached, she clasped his head with both hands and held it against her. Oh, the beauty of it, of this moment suspended in time, committed to memory, locked inside her heart…

  But when his movements became not merely sensual, but passionate, she pushed him away. Lacking the strength to stand, she buried her face in her hands.

  Still kneeling, he pried them away. “I want you to have my baby, Maddie.”

  His voice was earnest, so earnest her tears spilled over at the sound of it. Have his baby? Oh, to have his baby!

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously, as if by her action, she could convince herself as well as him.

  “Why not?”

  “We…we would have to get married.”

  Against her struggles to prevent it, he pulled her face to his bare chest. She felt the soft hairs, tasted the salt of her own tears, heard his thrashing heart.

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Yes!” She struggled to escape. Gaining her freedom, she scooted off the bed on the opposite side and looked around for her clothing. She felt his eyes on her while she dressed, but she wasn’t embarrassed, only sad. Infinitely sad.

  And frightened. Of herself now. Of her waning ability to resist him. “Take me back to town. Please.”

  She heard him stomp into his boots, and when she turned he was fully dressed. “Have you ever ridden a horse?” His voice was normal, no longer thick with passion. Thank goodness.

  “A horse?” she asked. “No, but—”

  “That’s all I’ve got. I’ll take you back to town, but it’ll have to be astride a horse.”

  “I can do it.” And she could. She could ride a horse to Buck; she could ride a horse to Boston. She could do anything it took to get out of this dugout and out of this country.

  The door banged suddenly as someone tried to open it from the outside. The inside bar held fast.

  “Morley?” she sighed.

  “Jefe!” came a call from outside. “Open up. We’ve got trouble.”

  Removing the bar, Tyler greeted the vaquero with, “¿Qué pasa, Sánchez?”

  Madolyn slunk into the shadows, embarrassed at being caught inside Tyler’s dugout.

  “The Rurales,” came Sánchez’s reply, “they’re plannin’ a raid on Las Colinas.”

  “Damnation!” Tyler’s eyes sought and found her back in the shadows. “I’ve gotta ride, Maddie.”

  “Ride? Where?”

  “Mexico. Las Colinas.”

  Her heart thudded. Was he leaving her here alone? No. Tyler wouldn’t do that. He would send her back to Buck on a horse by herself. “You’ll have to show me the way,” she said.

  “Hell, Maddie, you’ve never even ridden a horse. You can’t ride twenty miles alone, over terrain that all looks the same. You’d get lost before suppertime.”

  She stiffened her spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it.”

  “You could lose control of your horse. You could fall off. Hell, the horse could step in a varmint hole. No. There’s no way I’ll let you ride twenty miles by yourself.”

  “But…” Madolyn stared around at the dugout. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Won’t know till I get down there an’ see what the difficulty is.”

  “I’ll stay here. You have books, food. I can bar the door and…” She strove to contain the panic that rose rapidly inside her, cresting in her chest in a stifling tidal wave of fear. She couldn’t let him see it, her fear. She couldn’t send him off on a dangerous journey with her to worry about. “I’ll be fine, just fine, right—”

  “I can’t let you do it, Maddie. This could be a trap. The Rurales could be trying to draw me away from here, so they can raid the place, reclaim my cattle.”

  “I thought you shipped all—I mean…” The only thing she knew with any certainty about his activities in Buck was what happened inside her suite, in her bed…

  In her heart.

  “They don’t know that,” he was saying.

  “Don’t worry.” She was encouraged, knowing she had been saved from herself by this unexpected turn of events. Knowing, too, that she sorely regretted it. “I’ll bar the door.”

  “That wouldn’t stop ’em. I can’t leave you here alone; and you can’t ride back to town alone. Damn Morley Sinclair’s hide!”

  “Go ahead, do what you have to. I’ll be fine.”

  “Damn, Maddie, Indians even come this way time to time.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she repeated.

  “No. There’s only one solution. You’ll have to ride with me.”

  Fifteen

  “Damnation, Maddie, with all those trunks, valises, bandboxes and hatboxes, you oughta have some kind of clothes that wouldn’t spook a horse.”

  “I didn’t expect to find myself riding a horse today,” she retorted, struggling to conceal her mounting terror.

  “You haven’t, yet.” Tyler’s drawl wavered somewhere between amusement and aggravation.

  She had tried three times to mount the skittish mahogany-colored horse, but it sidestepped and snorted more with each attempt. “Especially not one as temperamental as this.”

  “Temperamental? Now that’s the pot callin’ the kettle black.”

  “I am not temperamental…Ahhh! What are you doing—ahhh?”

  While she was distracted, Tyler caught her around the waist and heaved her into the saddle, or tried to. But her bustle had no more than collapsed, when the horse reared on its hind legs and nickered loudly. She grabbed for the saddlehorn.

  “Don’t drop the reins!” Tyler shouted. But too late. In her panic, the reins slipped from her hands.

  “Whoa, there, boy, calm down.” His tone was anything but calm. “Grab him with your knees, Maddie.”

  She tried to obey, but just when she thought she would slip backwards out of the saddle, the ornery critter changed directions, bringing its front legs down with a wallop that slung her face-first across its neck; her bustle sprang up in back. Terrified, she grabbed two fistfuls of mane and held on, until Tyler
finally managed to drag her off the animal’s back and out of range of its kicking hooves.

  “Stand over there out of the way,” he ordered, “while I figure out what to do.”

  She dusted off her skirts and readjusted her bonnet with trembling arms, wishing all the while for her parasol. If she’d had her trusty parasol, she could have shown that animal a thing or two. A few good whacks of that parasol had subdued ornery critters of the two-legged variety; no reason it wouldn’t work on four-legged ones. But her parasol had gone the way of the rented wagon, and she was caught in the worst predicament of all her thirty years.

  She was going to Mexico. A foreign country. She was going to Mexico—with Tyler Grant! Lord in heaven she needed strength. Tons of strength.

  Tyler headed for the dugout. “Come on, Maddie.”

  She shook herself to regain some of her wits and held her ground. Tapping one foot absently against a rock, she watched him turn and beckon to her from the doorway.

  “I’m fine out here.”

  He beckoned from the door. “Come on. We have to find you some clothes that won’t spook the horses. Time’s wastin’.” He disappeared into the side of the hill, leaving her to wonder what in the world he meant by such clothing. Before she could decide exactly what to do, he stuck his head out the door.

  “Get a move on, Maddie. Those Rurales won’t wait for you to make up your mind about comin’ back into this dugout with me.”

  Casting about, she saw Raúl, who appeared to mind his own business over by the water trough. He could hear, of course, and she had heard him speak enough English—he probably understood. Her face flamed—she felt it, every heated inch of embarrassment that raced up her neck and flushed her cheeks. Sánchez had already set out for Mexico, or he would be enjoying her discomfiture, too. Just what Tyler Grant liked, an audience to witness their battles.

  “What kind of clothes?”

  He dangled a baggy pair of brown duck britches. “Duckins. Mine,” he added with a grin.

  She glanced down at her skirts, dirty by now, and tattered. A hunk had been ripped off the hem when she caught it on that rock. No, she would never make it on such a trip in skirts.