The Courting of Widow Shaw

by Charlene Sands

  Glory remembered what he’d told her days ago. She offered him a small smile. “But not too much.”

  He blinked hard, as if recalling his own words. “You can trust me in all regards, Glory. We’ll be living out here, pretty much secluded, all alone, but you have my pledge that you’ll never have anything to fear from me. And as soon as we find a way to get you out of this mess, you’ll be free to do as you please.”

  Glory couldn’t get that thought out of her mind as they approached Steven’s house. She didn’t fear Steven as much as she feared herself. Feelings rushed in as she glanced at the man sitting by her side on the wagon seat, guiding the horses and taking her away from trouble. She wondered how much longer she’d be able to deny what those wayward feelings meant. She’d admitted time and again she’d hated him, but hatred wasn’t an isolated emotion, as she’d once believed. Along with that sentiment came dozens of others to perplex and confound her.

  And the thought of being free again was a dream she didn’t dare indulge at the moment. There had been so many things she’d wanted to do, but not one held appeal now. Her life was a puzzle and about as muddied up as a streambed after a hard rain.

  “We’re home,” Steven announced, pulling up on the wagon’s brake.

  Home? Glory hadn’t felt at home anywhere but with her father in the house where she’d been raised with love and kindness.

  Steven’s ranch wasn’t her home. It was her refuge, her sanctuary.

  It was the outlaw woman’s hideout.

  Steven helped Glory down from the wagon and glanced at the house they’d be sharing. “I know it isn’t much right now. There’s still some work to be done. You’ve got no cupboards for the kitchen and you’ll have to watch your step. I haven’t gotten around to building the porch along the front of the house yet.”

  The truth was Steven had been dreaming of a place of his own since he’d worked his first round-up at the age of fifteen. But his plans had never included a woman living here. He supposed he’d never thought of himself as a man to take on a wife, so the place he’d built reflected that. His home wasn’t large, just one bedroom, with a decent enough kitchen area and a parlor one might call homey. The house had plank floors and real windows and there was plenty of room to expand, but Steven never believed he’d have the need.

  The only woman he’d been smitten with had been Reverend Caldwell’s daughter, a girl whom he’d admired from a distance. And now, Steven thought with wry amusement, he’d be living with her and trying his darnedest not to let whims of fancy distract him from his duty to protect her.

  Glory put a hand on his arm. Tingles of awareness from her soft touch coursed up and down his body. The solitude of the midnight hour and the soft glow of moonlight on her face only helped to illuminate his desire for her.

  “It’s a lovely house, Steven. I bet it’s even finer-looking in daylight.”

  Steven smiled at her generous offering. “You must be tired. Let’s get you settled and into bed.”

  Glory hesitated, her eyes wary as if she just realized her living conditions. This wasn’t Rainbow House with a multitude of rooms and floors where one could pick and choose. Steven wouldn’t be leaving her to her privacy, as he had so often when she lived in town. No, they’d be confined now to close quarters, living in this small ranch house together.

  “You’ll take the bedroom,” Steven announced, attempting to alleviate her fears. “I’ll sleep in the parlor.”

  Glory drew in her lower lip, a move that tended to fascinate him usually, but he halted that way of thinking. He couldn’t afford those lusty thoughts. “I’d sleep in the barn if you’d like, but it’s far enough away that I wouldn’t hear you, if anything happened.”

  Glory shuddered, her body flinching with a tremor. “What would happen?”

  He shrugged, reluctant to frighten Glory with the gloomy possibilities. She was a wanted woman. No telling what might happen if Ned Shaw showed up, looking to avenge his brother’s death, or if the sheriff got wind of Glory living here. “Anything could happen. We’re pretty far from town.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” Glory asked, her light-blond brows lifting in puzzlement.

  “Yeah, that’s the point—to hide you away. But there’s dangers on a ranch, regardless.”

  Glory peered out, seeming to note the empty corrals and the ranch pretty much uninhabited. “I don’t see any animals. Are there any in the barn? I didn’t notice any cattle grazing, either.”

  Steven had planned to have his ranch running by now. He’d planned on buying stock horses for his ranch and begin breeding, but weeks ago, he’d come upon a lovely young woman who’d nearly perished in a fire. Coming upon Glory had sidetracked all of his plans. There were some animals on the ranch. He’d built a coop just behind the barn and filled it with two dozen squawking chickens. Inside the roofless barn a milk cow named Greta resided. Steven hoped to finish building the roof soon, then Greta would enjoy the company of the livestock he planned on raising.

  “This isn’t a cattle ranch, Glory. I’m gonna breed horses here. There’s a big market for them with all the folks pouring into Virginia City. There’s also a need for good cow ponies in the ranches south of here. I figure to have a good-size herd this time next year. Now, about the sleeping quarters—”

  “I wouldn’t put you out of your own house.”

  Steven nodded. “Fine, then. Let’s both get some rest. The sun’ll be up before we know it.”

  Making sure she stepped up carefully, Steven ushered Glory inside and lit several lanterns. Picking one up, he handed it to her then led her to the bedroom. She glanced around, taking the room in as well as one could in the middle of the night.

  “I’ve got some quilts and other female things in the wagon.”

  Glory’s face registered amusement. Her pretty mouth lifted and she turned to set the lantern down on the dresser. “Female things?”

  “Yeah, you know. Mirror, brush and comb, fancy soaps, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh? And where’d you get them?”

  Glory stood inches from him in the dim light, the faint scent of roses drifting up to tease his senses. It would be the first of many temptations he would have to deny, he was certain even with her blond hair disheveled from the wagon ride, and her dress wrinkled beyond repair, she was still the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. “You promise to accept them?”

  “I don’t know that I could promise that.”

  “But they are things you’ll need, right?”

  “Well, yes. I suppose.”

  “And I could lie to you and say I’d bought them at the mercantile.”

  “But you couldn’t very well do that without arousing suspicion, could you?”

  “No, I couldn’t. So, you’ll accept them without complaint?”

  “Steven, why would I ever complain about such lovely things?”

  Steven twisted his mouth. He wouldn’t lie to Glory. “Because they’re from my mother.”

  Glory’s face fell, her expression more than grim. “Oh.”

  “She says a woman needs female things around her. She wanted you to have them, Glory.”

  Glory nodded slowly, but the argument he’d expected didn’t come. Instead, Glory’s eyes swelled with unshed tears. Steven couldn’t take watching sadness, indecision and despair steal over her face. “I’ll be back, Glory.”

  Steven left Glory to her musings, wondering if she’d ever find forgiveness for the losses she’d had to endure. Hell, he didn’t know much about the Bible, but he was certain that forgiving past sins was a virtue to be highly regarded.

  He walked out to the wagon and lifted the gifts that his mother had sent, wrapping them in a quilt for Glory’s bed. All he could do was present them to her and hope she’d come around.

  And he’d not speak of it again.

  Glory rose early the next morning, her predicament weighing far too heavily to allow her restful sleep. She’d never been good with change, and these sleepin
g arrangements had disturbed her even more than her rather bleak circumstances at Rainbow House. Her life was in as much disarray as her mussed-up hair and wrinkled clothes.

  Those two things she could do something about. She’d smoothed out her dress last night and laid it across the dressing table. A glimmer of sunlight streamed into the window, brightening the room considerably. Glory peered at her herself in a tall mirror propped against the wall and immediately grimaced at the reflection staring back at her. “Mercy,” she whispered, then reached for the pearl-handled brush that Steven’s mother had given her.

  She sat on the bed and stared at the brush in her lap, her mind spinning with labored thoughts that were far too taxing for the dawning hours. “Mercy,” she repeated.

  What difference did it make if she accepted these things from Lorene Harding? She’d already been eating the woman’s food, living under her roof at Rainbow House and taking a host of other things offered. Would using these lovely, much-needed articles change her opinion of the woman? Would she love her father one iota less because of it? Surely she couldn’t be that big a fool to think so.

  Glory removed the pins from her hair, letting the tangled mess fall down past her shoulders. She lifted the hairbrush and began the ritual of brushing through until the knots were untangled and her hair glistened once again.

  She braided her hair and let it hang long, a much easier style for the ranch, one that wouldn’t have her readjusting pins and fallen tresses all day long.

  She donned the blue silk gown again, hoping that sometime today she’d have time to sew a new dress, one more fitting and far less revealing for her own sensibilities.

  Once dressed, Glory set out to make breakfast. She strode to the kitchen by way of the parlor and gasped, seeing Steven fast asleep on the horsehair sofa. His clothes shed, he lay there naked, but for the drawers he wore. She glanced away quickly, but not before noticing so many revealing things about him, like the peaceful look on his face, making him appear boyish. Yet in direct contrast, his burnished skin layered with a thin coating of spiral hairs upon a strong and powerful chest spoke only of his masculine appeal.

  Glory swallowed, recalling the tempting ways he’d touched her while they were trapped in that abandoned mineshaft. She’d always remember the tender-sweet words he’d spoken and the way he had of making her seem a cherished prize. Glory would never forget those sensations. She’d never once been treated in such a kind, yet pleasingly shocking way by a man.

  That Steven could charm her, she was certain. But she was just as sure that he could never be the man for her. No, not Lorene Harding’s son. She could never give her heart to him. To do so would be the greatest disgrace to her father…and to herself.

  Glory entered the kitchen and smiled with relief. It appeared Steven had a fully stocked kitchen, with supplies stacked up on the counter, along with a few dishes and cooking utensils. Glory could finally do something constructive with her time. At Rainbow House, she had to nearly beg Mattie to allow her to help out with even the tiniest chores. Glory had hated feeling useless there. Only after days and a good deal of persistence on her part, had Mattie finally relented in allowing her something worthwhile to do.

  Glory took out a large bowl, poured flour then added eggs and milk. She began stirring up the biscuit batter, all the while thinking about her shy friend Mattie and the other girls at Rainbow House. She wondered how Merry was faring, and hoped that she would truly leave Rainbow House to return to her folks’ farm. For Merry, it would be the best thing.

  And Glory now realized, perhaps for the others, staying on was best for them. Funny, how she’d judged them so harshly, not fully understanding their plight. Glory would never condone their way of life, but she understood them all much better now.

  Glory lit the cast-iron stove and set her biscuits to cooking. She found a sack of coffee and proceeded to fill a pot with water. Once done, she cracked eggs into a skillet and added a few strips of pork rind for flavor. She also added herbs that she’d found, pinching off a few tiny leaves and mashing them up into the mix.

  “Something smells awfully good.”

  Steven’s voice startled her. She turned to find him leaning against the doorway, smiling at her. “Morning.”

  “G-good m-morning.” She busied herself with the meal, ignoring Steven’s smile, the lean of his body and the way he’d only half dressed, his pants and shirt not yet buttoned up. Heavens, he appeared handsome with mussed-up hair and that sleepy-eyed look.

  Why was it a woman couldn’t do the same? If a woman came out looking like that, one would think she’d fallen off a wagon into a cow-chip pile. “Will eggs and biscuits do?”

  Steven entered the kitchen. “Honey, your cooking’s got to be better than anything I could whip up. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  She nodded, feeling his overwhelming presence in the room. He stood close by, watching her.

  She ignored him.

  “I reached for my gun when I heard noises out here,” he said.

  She whirled around to face him. “Should I have wakened you?”

  He chuckled and his dark eyes gleamed. “You did. Only once I realized it was you making a ruckus out here, I didn’t mind. I sort of liked waking up, having you here.”

  “Steven,” Glory said, putting warning in her tone. He’d promised last night she’d have nothing to fear. “Don’t say those things.”

  “You don’t want the truth?” he asked, reaching for two plates from the counter.

  “I—I, no. Not that kind of truth. My truth is far different. I’m wanted for murder, Steven. I don’t know what will become of my life.”

  “You still don’t remember anything?” he asked, setting the plates on the table, but keeping a vigil on her face, his expression now somber.

  “No, I can’t recall. I close my eyes at night and pray for something, anything to come to me. But nothing does.”

  “Maybe, now that you’re out here, away from town and all the bad memories, maybe something will come to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  Steven scratched his chest. Her gaze fastened to that area, where his fingers pulled taut the hairs, making them curl up. Glory found it hard to tear her eyes away. A lump formed in her throat when he caught her staring.

  “You should button your shirt, Steven,” she announced boldly. Mercy, how did she ever find her tongue enough to say such a thing?

  He glanced down at his unfastened shirt and something profound seemed to dawn in his knowing eyes. “Seems to me, I got myself in a haystack of trouble for asking the same of you.”

  “Oh,” Glory gasped, her hand covering her chest.

  He grinned, an all-out wide opening of his mouth that befuddled her mind. “You do like me, Glory.”

  Mortified, Glory closed her eyes and whirled around. “No, I don’t Steven. I don’t like you one bit.”

  Steven didn’t relent. “Some truths are harder to bear, Glory. You don’t want to, but you do like me.”

  Glory piled his dish with food and set it in front of him. “Think what you want, Steven. Only I know what’s in my heart.”

  He glanced at the food and took up his fork. “Your head says you hate me, but your heart, now that’s a different matter.”

  Glory took her plate and sat down to face him. She’d not allow Steven to win his point. They had to live here together, for however long, and the rules had to be set down. “You promised last night that I’d have nothing to fear from you. Was that the truth or a lie?”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “You’ve lied many times, Steven. To the sheriff. To people in town. You’ve lied to shelter me.”

  “That’s different. I won’t lie to you.”

  “Fine then, no more talk of such matters.”

  Glory was about to take a bite of her eggs when Steven stated quite bluntly, “The truth is you won’t ever have anything to fear from me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, Glory. It doesn’t mean I don
’t crave your body next to mine at night. That’s one truth that I’ll have to bear. And it won’t be easy, so maybe it’d be better for you to hang on to your hate, honey. It’d be better for us both.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Glory spent the day inside the house, happy to have a plan in mind to keep from thinking about Steven’s declaration this morning. No matter what he claimed, Glory had to hold firm to her resolve. Steven Harding had been brutally honest. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d warned her outright, but his warning did nothing to quell her burgeoning curiosity.

  It doesn’t mean I don’t crave your body next to mine at night.

  A shudder ran through her. She recalled those bold words and the look in his eyes when he spoke them to her.

  Steven made her feel things she thought she’d never feel again. He made her wonder if there could be more between a man and a woman than what Glory had come to know with Boone. Something inside told her Steven was a much different man than Boone. Sadly, she realized, she could never truly find out exactly what those differences were. She couldn’t and wouldn’t explore her feelings for Steven.

  Glory kept busy and tried to forget her plight for the time being, pouring her concentration into something far more productive. She made curtains for the kitchen using the blue patterned material that Lorene Harding had given her. It had taken her only half the day to fashion them to fit over the window. There were no curtain rods in Steven’s ranch house, so she’d tacked the material up and made ties that could be pulled back and hooked to allow sunlight in. Standing back to gaze at her creation, she decided she liked the afternoon light coming in from the west window.

  The rest of the day, she worked on a dress for herself. Finally, she’d have a practical dress to wear that covered her decently from neck to ankles.