He stared at her as if she’d grown another head. Was something wrong with her? Tears filled her eyes; she could not hold them back.
Confusion replaced the desire in his eyes. “I thought you’d been married.”
She looked at her feet; unable to meet the censure she knew would be in his eyes. “I was.”
“You liked kissing me.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She began to cry softly. “I’ve never felt anything so powerful before. I couldn’t think, couldn’t see. Everywhere you touched ached.” Too embarrassed to go on, she looked away from him.
He gently touched his fingertips to her chin and urged her to look at him. “Don’t you recognize pleasure when you feel it?”
“I enjoyed your kisses,” she admitted, “but the rest of it was too overwhelming.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “Pearl, how can I ask this without sounding like pompous ass?”
“Ask me what?” From the tone of his voice, she was sure she wouldn’t like his question.
“How long were you married?”
She knew she wouldn’t like where his questions were headed. “Five years.”
“I find it hard to believe that in all that time your husband never made love to you.”
She looked up at him. His brows were drawn together in frustration. Touching first one eyebrow, then the other, she traced the silky hair from one end to the other. The motion soothed the crease between them, softening it.
He sighed. “Well?”
“I’ve heard it called such, but I don’t think he ever loved me.”
“He never made you feel weak in the knees when he kissed you?” Davidson pressed his lips to hers and her legs went weak as water.
“No,” she rasped.
“His touch didn’t set fire to your blood, make your belly ache with need?”
His hands skimmed up and down her spine, then swept around the curve of her waist, coming up to brush her aching breasts.
She was bereft of speech. Putting thoughts into words was beyond her ability.
“You are a jewel beyond price.” He stepped back, brushing the hair from her forehead. “When we make love, you will enjoy every touch.”
She stared at his mouth, wondering what it would feel like if his lips touched the nape of her neck as she’d seen Bridget and Maggie’s husbands do when they thought no one was looking.
“Promise?” Had she just asked that?
“You have my word.”
Clearing his throat, he held out his hand to her. The look in his eyes promised more than she could comprehend, but she nodded, intending to learn exactly what promises lay in those dark-brown depths.
“I won’t rush you.”
“Thank you.” I think.
“But I do intend to make slow, sweet love to you, until your toes curl and your eyes cross.”
She couldn’t catch her breath.
His kissed her temple. “I won’t ever hurt you, Pearl.”
Walking back to the house, they heard shouts coming from over by the barn.
“We’ve got to catch them!” they heard Daisy yell.
“Wait here!” With a look that promised he’d take care of whatever lay ahead, Davidson sprinted toward the building.
When Pearl caught up to him, she swore. “How did the chickens get loose?”
Amy was shooing the last of them back into the small fenced in area with the coop. “I don’t know.”
Mary looked as if she were about to cry. “We were all inside tending to supper, when we heard them start to squawk.”
Pearl digested that bit of news and waited for more, watching Davidson secure the wire fence. “You didn’t hear or see anything else?”
“Not a thing.” Daisy’s face showed the concern they all felt.
“I know that fence was closed when I came outside to fetch another bucketful of water,” Nellie offered.
Davidson walked away from the barn, looking down at the ground. He knelt, touched his fingers to a spot, then placed his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet.
“Someone was here recently. These hoof prints are smaller than either of your horses. You had company.”
“But we didn’t—”
Davidson cut Amy off. “Go on back to the house with Pearl, girls, while I check the other side of the barn.”
“Be careful.” Pearl wanted to say more, but was still too shaken by the thought of what might have occurred while she had been busy tasting paradise in Davidson Smythe’s arms.
His head whipped around and his dark-eyed gaze met hers, “Always.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m not leaving.”
“But Davidson, you can’t stay here.” Pearl wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. “People will talk.”
“Damnation, I care more about you and the girls than I care what some bird-witted women in town will say about my being here to protect the lot of you tonight.”
A warm feeling stirred low in Pearl’s belly, spreading up to her heart and down to her toes. “But what about the girls’ reputations?”
Davidson stalked in front of the doorway to the kitchen and back again. Pearl wondered if the rag rug in her parlor would stand up to the beating.
He raked his hands through his hair and let out a huge breath of air. “If we were in Boston, I wouldn’t risk the possibility of slander against any one of your girls, but this is not Massachusetts, and the whole of society here consists of a handful of bitter, sharp-tongued women.”
She wanted to tell him that the girls’ reputations meant everything, but his next words had her biting back what she’d intended to say.
“I cannot countenance leaving all of you here unprotected when there is a threat of more than mischief in the darkness. Do you know for certain that whoever shot at you won’t return?”
“Whoever set the chickens loose is long gone.”
“How do you know they aren’t lying in wait, hoping we’ll think they’ve gone and let our guard down?” Davidson countered.
“How do you know they mean more than mischief?”
“Good God, woman! Someone shot at you, and someone was just here and not one of us noticed. Setting your chickens loose could be a ploy to make you think it is someone else, bent on only mischief.”
“Why would anyone do that?” Amy said.
Daisy moved to stand on Pearl’s right while the other girls moved to stand on the other side of her. “Pearl, I think we should listen to Mr. Smythe. ’Sides, people will talk anyway.”
She cleared her throat and added, “Isn’t that what you taught us when you opened your home to each one of us? That it doesn’t matter what people say, ’long as we know the truth in our hearts?”
Tears stung behind Pearl’s eyes. She had said that. “Well…” She struggled not to let her emotions take hold of her; there was too much happening, too fast. “We’ll not worry what the committee will say.”
Turning to face the one man she hadn’t thought to be placing her trust and that of her girls in, she smiled. “How about another slice of Mary’s butter cake?”
Though an unknown threat still lurked outside, the group gathered around the kitchen table. Smiling as she served each one in turn, Pearl marveled at what an odd group they made: a former saloon owner, an equal mix of runaways and orphans, and a wealthy aristocrat from back East added to the brew.
She marveled at how well her girls accepted the man. She turned, hearing her youngest charge’s lilting laughter. Nellie’s eyes lit up as she basked in the glow of Davidson’s undivided attention while she shared her latest tale of woe, the job of keeping the wild rabbits from eating their precious herbs in the side garden.
Pearl’s mind slipped easily into the past. Grandma stood with one hand in the air, shaking it at the furry varmint’s backside as it hopped toward the dip in the ground and small hole in the fence.
She smiled.
“Pearl?”<
br />
The timbre of Davidson’s voice broke through her reverie and did odd things to her insides.
“Hmmm?” Her belly tightened, thinking about the way his gentle touch had made her breath hitch. The memory of his soul-searing kisses made her knees weak and had the blood rushing to her cheeks.
Her hands lifted to cover the flushed skin, hoping no one would notice.
“Are you ill?”
Too late. Her eyes met his before she looked away. “No.”
How could she tell him what she had been thinking while he’d sat listening to her girls telling stories that would have another man groaning in boredom? Could she confess that she’d been wondering how it would feel to have his beautifully sculpted lips touch the hollow at the base of her throat? She shook her head. Not now, but maybe later.
Her eyes drifted back to his lips. How could a man have such a lovely mouth? She could stare at it all day.
“You’re right, Mr. Smythe, there is something wrong with her.”
A strong arm supporting her back eased her from the chair before she could gather her want-witted thoughts.
“Let me help you upstairs.” The concern in his voice wrapped around her like a hug.
“I’m fine, just woolgathering,” she insisted, letting him help her to her feet. When they were face to face, she wondered why the Lord had thrown this man into her path and into her life.
Transfixed by the intensity of his penetrating gaze, she knew she had to touch him. Just a brief touch. Placing a hand to his chest, she felt the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her hand.
His eyes mirrored his thoughts. He was concerned, and that knowledge warmed her heart. She wouldn’t be facing this latest challenge alone. Encouraged, she pushed to reassert her independence. “I want to check out by the barn.”
Pearl sensed he wanted to refuse, but how could he, really? He was a visitor on her land. Though in her heart he’d earned the right to stand beside them, a tiny scrap of uncertainty plagued her. Would he stake the final claim that would force her and the girls to leave?
“Daisy, go and get the Colt for me, please.”
Too shocked to countermand his request, Pearl followed along behind the two of them. Awe had her tongue-tied as she watched the ease with which he loaded the weapon and lifted it high, aiming down the length of the barrel.
“You know how to fire a gun?”
His laugh sounded rueful. “I have been known to fire one on occasion.”
“Why don’t you have one of your own?”
“It is a long story, but suffice it to say, I prefer the stiletto.”
“The what?” Thankfully, Amy asked the question.
“A long, thin-bladed, rather deadly knife.”
Somehow that seemed to fit with everything else she’d learned about the man so far. And so far, not one thing she had discovered made a lick of sense.
“I’m still going with you.” She looked up at him, thinking to glare him down, but he nodded.
Not wanting to give him the chance to change his mind, she rasped, “Let me get my rifle.”
Armed to the teeth, she and Davidson walked to the barn, their steps illuminated by the soft light of a full moon. His pale hair, silvered by the light, only added an air of further mystery to him. With his height, broad shoulders and chiseled jaw clenched, he looked like a warrior from the past.
All he needed was a kilt and claymore or mail tunic and lance. Pearl marveled that either would fit him perfectly.
With each passing moment, her worry that he would force them to turn over the ranch dissolved.
As they rounded the barn with Davidson in the lead, she wondered about his past. Why had he come all the way from Boston? What had happened back home to send him clear across the country in search of a new beginning?
She was dead certain he was running from something, but how to ask without having him turn the tables and ask her the same? Her stomach clenched, the memories never far below the surface, simmering there, just waiting to be let loose. No. She would not ask him—not yet.
“Wait here,” he ordered, not looking back to see if she would. Damn the man.
Davidson opened the door to the barn and slipped inside, and unease had her calling out, “I’m coming with you!”
“And leave the house open for attack once we are both inside?”
Good point, Mr. Smythe.
“Why are you going in the barn?” She hated standing alone, exposed in the moonlight, more than she would even admit to herself.
“I’m going up to the loft to get a better view of the road and that stand of bushes by the curve of your lane.”
“You could have gone up to the attic for that.”
His answer surprised her. “I intend to. We can reconnoiter after we have a look at the open land beyond the back of the house.”
What in blazes did reconnoiter mean? Pearl didn’t try to stop him. She was too busy trying to decide what he meant. Before she had figured it out, he was back at her side.
“It’s quiet now. Let’s go back inside.”
Grumbling all the way, Pearl followed. “If I had known you would only order me around, I might not have let you stay the night.”
“Why did you?”
She bumped into his back as he stopped. Rubbing her nose, she snapped, “You made me worry about the girls’ safety.”
“What about yours?”
“I’m not as important as they are.”
He looked down at her and rasped, “You are to me.”
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t rightly remember anyone else ever saying that to her.
“Isn’t there any other reason you agreed to let me stay?”
She swayed toward him.
* * *
Unable to stop himself or refuse the tempting gift she offered, Davidson reached for her. Grabbing her upper arms, he pulled her flush against him and groaned aloud as her curves fit themselves to his body once more. It hadn’t been his imagination; they were a perfect fit. Mindful of the rifle she held, he eased his grip and slid his hands up and down her arms, the motion releasing the faintest scent of rose. “How can you doubt your worth, Pearl?”
She wouldn’t look at him.
The snap of a twig off to the left brought him sharply back to his senses. Keeping her behind him, he whirled around to face whatever threat waited in the darkness.
No other sounds reached them. “We’d better get you inside.”
The girls were waiting on the porch and he hurried them inside. “You were gone a long while.” Amy sounded worried.
“I went up to the hayloft.”
“Did you see anything moving down by the bushes?” Daisy demanded.
Pearl wondered why the young woman asked. “What made you think of the bushes?”
“That’s where Samuel hides sometimes when he waits for Amy.”
“He does not,” Amy sputtered before falling silent.
“I was afraid this would happen.” Pearl sighed.
No one spoke for the longest time. Pearl seemed to simmer, her temper too close to the surface to ignore, while her girls alternately looked at their feet and the shotgun over the kitchen door.
Smythe looked from one girl to the other and knew there was far more to this story. Amy looked guilty, but he sensed it had to do with more than just being found out. He’d have to pursue those thoughts later. Right now he needed to get to the attic.
“I’ll be right back.”
The stairs leading the attic were steep and winding. “If I had Runyon’s appetite, I’d never fit through here.” Thoughts of his loyal friend haunted him, their last conversation still fresh in his mind: “You need to stay here and find Michael’s killer.”
With each step up, he remembered more.
“You’ll never find out who cut the cinch if you leave.”
“I’m counting on you to keep digging for clues while I’m gone.”
In the end Runyon had promised to keep searching for the
answers they sought, while Davidson had come west to start a new life for himself. It was easier than staying on in Boston, dodging the never-ending stream of questions, dark looks of suspicion, and being snubbed by the society he’d grown up in. The worst of it had been his mother’s shell-shocked image retreating further from him with each new dawn.
His friend had promised to keep in touch and send a wire if anything new was discovered, or if his mother’s health changed one way or the other. It had been nearly a month since their last communication and that of the private physician he’d hired to care for his mother.
She hadn’t spoken a word to him since he’d carried the body of his dead brother into their parlor. Her look haunted him. Although she never said the words, he wondered if she too had condemned him without proof. Davidson would give his life to discover the identity of the man who’d killed his brother and forced his mother to lose her belief in him.
“Runyon knows where to find me,” Smythe muttered, catching the tip of his boot on the edge of the last step. Stumbling, he caught himself before planting his chin on the oddly dust-free floorboards.
Pearl must be a fastidious housekeeper. Looking around him, he did not see one stack of boxes. No storage trunks. Oddly, the attic was cleanly swept with a narrow iron bed in one corner. Walking over to it, he touched the thin wool blanket covering it. The fabric was well worn, but soft and dust-free. A table by the bedside held a cracked dish with the stub of a melted candle in it.
“Does someone else live here?” How could he have missed the fact that Pearl had one more person living in her house? Because there were no signs anywhere else, his brain reasoned. He’d never seen or heard more than the four girls he’d already met.
“A lover?”
He shook his head. It did not add up. Worse, it had his gut clenching in agony to think of someone sharing the narrow bed with Pearl. It would be a very snug fit, but it could be accomplished easily. All she would have to do is lie beneath her lover.
“Damnation!”
Stalking over to the tiny window, he forced thoughts of her rose-scented skin and curvaceous body from his tortured mind. A movement down by the pond caught his eye. Squinting to better see, he watched, waiting for whatever it was to show itself.
The Irish Westerns Boxed Set Page 57
