The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “I told you before I’m not a virgin.”

  “That, my dear, has nothing to do with being innocent. You have a lot to learn about the giving and taking of pleasure between and man and a woman.”

  “Well then, it’s your fault that I didn’t do it right!”

  Crushing her to him, he dipped his head down until his lips were a breath from hers. “I have no intention of making love to you tonight.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.” She had wanted to ask, but didn’t have the courage. Lord, it hurt to be rejected by the man she’d trusted.

  “Not with words, but with the press of your lips, the sensual movement of your luscious body against mine.”

  “I—”

  “Pearl, a man can only take so much before he loses control and takes what is offered.”

  “Well, if it’s offered, why not take it?” she demanded, needing to know why he wouldn’t let her initiate the kissing.

  “You’ve four girls asleep upstairs and someone who shot at you still prowling around the area. I need to walk the perimeter and make sure no one is out there.” Davidson’s jaw was clenched so tightly, it was a wonder he didn’t break a tooth.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He let his chin rest on her head. “When I make love to you, Pearl, it will be in a bed, with no interruptions.”

  She didn’t try to hide the shudder that swept up from her toes. When his lips touched hers, she stopped wondering and focused on the sheer delight of his kisses.

  When he finally released her lips, he whispered, “I can’t let you keep kissing me like that, or I’d go back on my vow to go slowly with you, teaching you as you asked.”

  “Oh.” What could she say to that? “So you liked it?” Oddly pleased that he did, Pearl felt her smile blossoming from the inside out.

  “Do you have any whiskey left?”

  Startled by the question, she looked up at him. His eyes were so beautiful, still swirling with passion and desire for her, just her. “You want whiskey?”

  “If I can’t make love to you, I need to distract myself.”

  “Maggie dropped off a bottle a few days ago.” He followed her into the kitchen and Pearl opened the cupboard, pulling out a bottle. She uncorked it, and breathed in the scent of aged whiskey. “Mmmm.”

  “You sound as if you really enjoy it.” He set two short cups on the table, and she poured the amber liquid into them.

  “Slainte`.”

  Davidson paused, the cup resting against his bottom lip, “Isn’t that an Irish curse?”

  “No.” She giggled. “It’s a toast to your health.”

  He grinned at her, sipped and swallowed. “Ahh, it is smooth. I did hear a rumor that you used to serve the finest whiskey and chicken and dumplings in the territory.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but my dumplings are rather tasty.”

  He leaned toward her, let his gaze slip down and then back up. “They look delicious.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she looked away from his potent stare.

  The touch of his hand on hers startled her. “If you want me to continue teaching you about pleasure, you must allow me to tease you, so that you are thinking along the same vein I am.”

  She hesitated. “What are you thinking?”

  He groaned. “That I’m too damned honorable for my own good.”

  “Is something else wrong?” She reached over to clasp his hand. He looked down at their joined hands and nodded. “Can you tell me?”

  He patted her hand and pulled his free. “Maybe tomorrow, when I’m not still churned up.”

  “I don’t think I understand.” Frustration was eating away at her insides. She’d likely be mad by morning.

  “I know you don’t, Pearl.” He moved to stand. “Why don’t you get some rest while you can? I’m going to stand watch.”

  “Davidson?”

  He whirled around, reaching for her. Crushing her against him, he plundered her mouth. When he finally drew back, he ground out, “Does that answer your never-ending questions, woman?”

  Pearl stared at the man who’d kissed every last thought from her brain again.

  He swore, shoving his way out the door into the night.

  Reaching behind her, Pearl grabbed hold of the closest chair and sank onto it. “No. But it does bring a few more to mind.”

  * * *

  Smythe cursed all the way out to the barn. Each step cemented the feelings he had for the irksome woman. “I do not have the time, nor do I have the inclination, for a liaison. No matter how willing the woman.”

  How had he let his heart get so far ahead of his brain? What would he do now? They were no closer to finding her copy of the deed, or ferreting out the truth of the matter from the head of the committee. He suspected Sarah Burnbaum of lying and hiding some crucial bit of information about the entire matter, but he couldn’t wait much longer to find out just what that information might be.

  Leaning his back against the battered barn door, he crossed his arms and let his worries keep him company. After a few moments, he realized he was making a mental list of what he needed to do.

  Make love to Pearl.

  Send a wire to Runyon.

  Make love to Pearl.

  Have the marshal send another wire off to the possibly crooked lawyer, Samuel Jones, lately of Denver.

  Make love to Pearl.

  Running his hands through his hair until it stood straight up, he gave in to his disturbing thoughts. He didn’t just want Pearl in his bed; he wanted her at his side. In order to accomplish the first, he needed to do the second. In order to accomplish the second, he needed to send a wire to Boston to find out the latest news concerning his brother’s death. He also had to have the marshal wire Denver, hopefully locating the missing lawyer. Then, and only then, could he concentrate on convincing Pearl to let him stay on at her ranch.

  Damn the missing deed!

  Morning came all too soon, and with it a fierce need to hold Pearl in his arms. Pushing aside the need, he dug deep for control and made his way over to the house. When he was three steps from the porch, he heard hoofbeats echoing in the distance. Someone was riding hard toward the ranch. He turned around and headed back out to the barn.

  Marshal Justiss drew back on the reins. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Any word on who shot at Pearl?”

  The lawman shook his head. “None. But I do have other news.”

  Smythe wondered what the look the other man gave him was supposed to mean. “I’m headed inside right now. Pearl or one of the girls should be up.”

  Justiss nodded. “I’ll water my horse, and be right in.”

  Smythe crossed the distance between the barn and the house, wondering how to talk to the woman made his heart race and his head spin.

  By the time his boot heel landed on the first step, he’d changed his mind a half dozen times. He reached for the door, resolving to take his lead from Pearl. And then he saw her.

  Sunlight filtered in through the windows, illuminating her fragile beauty. Raven curls curved against the nape of her neck where they’d slipped from the topknot she’d pulled her hair into. Smooth, creamy skin beckoned him to touch, to taste. He bit back on the rising need spiraling through him.

  It was still early, but Pearl was busy at the stove. The mouth-watering scent of frying bacon mingled with freshly brewed coffee. Taking a deep breath, he noticed another smell, warm and yeasty. Bread.

  “Have you washed your hands?”

  Her question startled him. He stopped and looked down at them. They were clean last night. “Not since—”

  “Wash up, or no breakfast.”

  So that was the way of it. Rather than get in her way, he headed back outside to the well pump. Justiss walked toward the house, saw him, and grinned. “Guess I’ll just wash up before I head inside.”

  Smythe grunted. He desperately needed that cup of coffee he saw cooling on the table, and was afraid he just mig
ht have to hurt someone to get it.

  “Why weren’t you inside?”

  The question didn’t surprise him; the lawman was full of questions—just like Pearl. “I spent the night outside, keeping watch.”

  The other man nodded. “You really need that coffee.” Justiss’s understanding made it harder to justify taking a swing at his still-grinning face.

  “Tell me what happened last night.”

  Smythe’s gut clenched. Does he suspect something happened?

  Going over his words carefully before opening his mouth, Davidson was surprised when the marshal added, “Pearl would never let any man stay out here unless her girls were in danger, and even then it would have been cause for an argument.”

  Relief surged through him. “Someone was outside last night.”

  The lawman bristled. “Any sign of him?”

  They reached the porch steps at the same moment. “It’s a rather long story, but one I suspect Amy won’t want retold over breakfast.”

  “I’ve seen the way Samuel Burnbaum looks at her when he thinks no one is looking.”

  Smythe nodded and reached for the door. The marshal’s hand stopped him. “I think you should know about the gossip spreading through town.”

  Smythe shook his head and opened the door. “I’ll have the coffee first, the gossip second.”

  * * *

  “Marshal Justiss!” Pearl spun around, dropping the fork she’d been turning the bacon with.

  “Let me.” The lawman bent down and retrieved the utensil for her. “How do you feel this morning?”

  His green eyes never missed anything worth seeing. She knew he would realize that she’d barely slept a wink. She’d checked her reflection only minutes before Davidson came in the back door the first time.

  Dark rings circled her eyes, her skin was pale, and the still-raw wound on her cheek was definitely going to leave a scar. All told, she was not looking her best, but she’d be damned to eternal hellfire before she’d let either of the men staring at the coffee pot like it was a gift from above feel sorry for her.

  “Have you washed your hands, Marshal?”

  He grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Without thinking, Smythe told him, “Don’t call her that. She doesn’t like it.”

  She looked up from the open drawer, fork gripped tight in her hand and retorted, “Ma’am’s all right. It’s madam I don’t like.”

  So he remembered. Now that she thought about it, she mused, shutting the drawer and walking back over to the cookstove, he’d not called her “madam” after that first day. Miss Pearl quickly gave way to just Pearl. Well, all right then. She lifted the bacon from the pan, letting most of the fat drippings slide off, before placing the crisply fried strips onto the waiting platter.

  “I didn’t figure on guests for breakfast.” She was still unsure of how the marshal would react to her now that she’d hopefully set him straight, but one look in his direction satisfied her curiosity. He would not press his suit again. He was a good man. Why couldn’t she fall in love with him?

  Because you’ve fallen hard for a tall fair-haired man with shoulders just as wide and a heart just a big, who hides his troubles in the depths of his dark brown eyes. She was hoping he’d share those troubles with her over breakfast, but he wouldn’t now, with their unexpected company.

  Smythe reached around her for the coffee pot, snagging two more cups and filling them. He poured cream in one and handed it to her. “You look like you could use this.”

  Before she could thank him, he turned and offered the cream pitcher to the marshal. Justiss shook his head. “I’ll take it black, thanks.”

  Pearl took a sip and was hard-pressed not to groan out loud. Lord, that first cup had never tasted so good.

  “Why don’t you finish that cup, and I’ll start on the eggs.”

  She nearly dropped her cup. “You cook?”

  The marshal snorted, looked over the rim of his cup at the two of them and grinned before drinking deeply.

  “Not much more than eggs. I learned on the journey out here. At one of the stagecoach stops, the cook scalded her hand. She told me if I expected breakfast, I’d have to learn how to cook it.” He smiled. “I burned the bacon, but the eggs were perfect.”

  He pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit.

  “But I’ve got to check the bread,” she protested weakly. When had a man ever offered to help her cook a meal?

  “I can open the oven door, same as you,” he said. “Please sit?”

  She sat. Taking a long drink of the doctored brew, she watched him open the door and stare at the bread for longer than she would have. The marshal nudged her foot under the table, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out that the bread was done.

  While they watched, Davidson looked around for something to grab the bread pan with. Using two towels folded up, he pulled the steaming round of bread from the oven and placed it on the waiting wooden rack to cool.

  You’ll do, she thought, her heart lighter than it had been after he’d stomped his way outside last night, leaving her confused and wondering if she should trust him with more than her girls.

  “What brings you all the way out here this early in the morning, Marshal?” She sure hoped it wasn’t bad news.

  “I didn’t hear Smythe come back to the boarding house last night.” He took another healthy sip of coffee and added, “Rumor going round the dinner table last night said Sarah Burnbaum came out here yesterday. Twice.”

  She nodded. Would the head of the committee ever give up?

  Smythe cracked eggs into a bowl and began to stir them.

  The sight of his broad shoulders bent to the task of whisking eggs did something funny to Pearl’s heart.

  He looked over his shoulder at the marshal. “Don’t keep me in suspense, what other gossip did you hear?”

  Justiss placed his empty cup on the table in front of him. “It might ruin your breakfast.”

  Smythe poured the eggs into the hot pan and continued stirring them, so they wouldn’t stick. “I doubt it.”

  The lawman nodded. “It might ruin mine.”

  Amy poked her head into the kitchen. “Morning.”

  Her cheerful greeting lightened the mood. Pearl looked over her shoulder at Amy and wondered why she was in such high spirits. She had her suspicions, but now was not the time to discuss them with the girl. She asked, “Would you call the girls? Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  Amy turned to go, then paused and looked back at the tall figure standing in front of their cookstove. “You can cook?”

  The marshal laughed, pushing his chair back from the table. He nodded toward Davidson. “Said he learned how on his way here from Boston.” He stood up, reached for the coffee pot, and carried it back to the table. “If you and the girls want breakfast, you might start by thanking him.”

  Amy blushed a becoming pink, then shyly looked at the man standing in front of the stove. “Thanks for making breakfast, Mr. Smythe.” Turning toward Pearl she added, “I’ll call the others.”

  When everyone had eaten their fill, the marshal pushed his plate to one side and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you ready now, Smythe?”

  Pearl watched the silent exchange of looks between the men and wondered just what had been said outside. Davidson nodded.

  “News from Boston has you labeled a killer.”

  Davidson’s face lost all expression. “I’m not.”

  “There have been a few inquiries as to your whereabouts.”

  “I’m not surprised. By whom?”

  But Pearl surely was. What had happened back in Boston? Who had died? Who thought Davidson capable of killing anyone?

  “Man by the name of Lincoln.”

  Davidson slowly shook his head. “His name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  Pearl’s heart flipped over in her chest when Davidson asked, “Am I under arrest?”

  It was the marshal’s turn to
shake his head. “No. Lincoln’s not a lawman. Just an interested party, so he says.”

  Pearl wondered about that. There was more to the story than a simple inquiry, and not an inquiry by the law back in Boston.

  “Is that all?” Davidson asked, rising to his feet to pace in front of the back door.

  Justiss looked first at Pearl, then at Davidson. “Speculation is that you two are carrying on out here.”

  Pearl felt the blood rush from her head. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? She’d never hurt anyone? Hadn’t she turned her life around enough for the townsfolk to accept her?

  A comforting arm wrapped around her, then another. A small hand patted one arm, while another patted the other. Her girls.

  Good Lord, where would she be without their undivided support?

  “You can tell Mrs. Burnbaum,” Amy said.

  “And Mrs. Peabody,” Mary added.

  “To—” Nellie began.

  “Go suck eggs!” Daisy said.

  To give both men credit, neither one laughed at Daisy’s crude expression, though both of them looked as if they’d swallowed their tongues along with their laughter.

  “Succinctly put, Daisy,” Davidson said at last.

  “What does ’sinctly put mean?” she asked.

  “It means you said it fine,” the marshal assured her. “Just fine.”

  “Oh.” Daisy blushed. “Well, she’s got no business minding everybody else’s business.”

  “But she’s the head of the com—”

  Nellie tried to speak, but Amy cut her off. “Self-appointed head. No one voted her in. She just stepped in, formed the committee, and started running roughshod over everybody in this town.”

  Pearl smiled at Amy. That was the longest speech she’d ever heard the young girl give. “She’s right, Marshal. What are you going to do about it?”

  “About the fact that she’s spreading rumors and bothering people?”

  “Not just about that,” Amy whispered. “About threatening to send Samuel back East to a boarding school if he…if he didn’t…”

  Amy fell to her knees and dropped her head in Pearl’s lap. “I’m so sorry, Pearl,” she sobbed. “I wanted to tell you, but Samuel made me swear I wouldn’t.”

  Pearl stroked Amy’s head. Whatever secret Amy kept close to her heart was tearing her apart. Reaching down, Pearl braced her hands under Amy’s arms and lifted her to her feet as she stood. “Tell me. It’ll be easier once you say it.”