by Sandy James
“Ask? About what?”
“Your brother... I mean, our brother.”
She’d assumed Matthew had returned to the ranch with Adam. “Matthew? I don’t understand.”
“He seems intent upon drinking the bar dry.”
All she could do was blink a few times as his words registered on her mind. “Matthew doesn’t drink.”
“He does tonight.”
She stood there, speechless in shock.
When their long drives were over, most of the cowboys would blow a good portion of their pay at the closest bar and brothel, but Matthew had never followed their example. If the siblings had been lucky enough to avoid Steven Shay’s attempts to find her, he usually bought a new book, a new shirt and pants, and saved the rest of his earnings. He’d been known to bed down with a welcoming widow or two, but drink?
If he was trying to tie one on, no doubt it involved Victoria. Grace needed to go to him, but she didn’t relish the catcalls and stares she’d get from the other customers.
Yet Matthew needed her, and Jake wanted her help. “Right behind you.”
“Thanks, Grace.”
She followed him down the stairs, quickly finding her brother in the crowd. A bottle of cheap whiskey sat on the bar next to his weathered hat.
Ignoring the crude remarks that followed her like a shadow, she reached his side and picked up the half-empty bottle. “Did you drink all of this?”
He downed a shot of whiskey, took the bottle from her, and splashed more liquid on the counter than in his glass.
Jake reached over and retrieved the bottle.
Matthew turned to Grace and shot her a smile. “Well, well. How ish my lovely shister this fine evening?”
Grace looked him square in the eye. “You’re drunk.”
“Not yet, but ‘men at some time are the masters of their fate.’”
“You’re quoting Shakespeare? Now? What’s wrong with you?”
Matthew scowled. “‘She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is a woman, therefore to be won.’”
“I am not in the mood to play our old game. Tell me…are you drinking because of Victoria?”
He pondered that one for a moment. “‘But love is blind, and lovers cannot see what petty follies they themselves commit.’” He pointed at his empty glass.
Jake shook his head in response.
An appeal to Will got the same reply.
“‘Though those that are betrayed, do feel the treason sharply...’”
She narrowed her eyes. “‘It will come to pass, that every braggart shall be found an ass.’”
Turning to his sister, he simply said, “Touché.” Looking down at Jake, he made one more plea. “What’sh a guy gotta do to get a drink ’round here?”
Jake shook his head again and tossed her an entreating look.
“Go home, Matthew,” she ordered. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Fine. I’ll go. Sheems my bushiness isn’t wanted here.”
Grace bit her tongue to keep from scolding him like an overprotective mother. He grabbed his hat and put it on his head, albeit in a crooked fashion. Heading toward the front door, he had some difficulty finding a straight path to reach it.
Jake walked back to her with a frown on his face. “You want me to follow him?”
She sighed. “No. He’ll just get mad. Sin will get him home.”
“Who’s Sin?”
“His stallion. I’ll go make sure he gets headed in the right direction.” At the entrance she pushed open the swinging doors and watched the spectacle that was her drunken brother.
It took him a few tries to get on his huge horse, but at least he was facing the stallion’s ears and not its rump when he was done hauling his way into the saddle. She should’ve taken Jake up on his offer, but when Sin headed in the right direction without any assistance from his rider, relief washed over her.
At least the horse seemed to know the way home.
Grace returned to the bar and stopped to talk to Jake. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Matthew’s never done anything like that before. He’s a good man. He’s not a drunk. Our father was a drunk, and Matthew wouldn’t—”
“Our father drank?”
She hadn’t meant to stir up questions. Since avoiding the topic now wasn’t an option, she spoke as if they shared a father. “Yes. He drank and gambled. He wasn’t…a good man. I haven’t seen him since before you were born, and I don’t care to see him ever again. Not even sure he’s still among the living.”
He gave her a brusque nod. “Adam thinks well of Matthew, so I reckon I’ll let this one pass. Man’s entitled to blow off steam now and then. What’s eatin’ him?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s got something to do with Victoria.”
“Reckoned.” Jake went back to work.
Grace made her way quickly back across the saloon, ducking the grabby customers to reach the safety of the stairs. She thanked God that she was going to be heading back to the ranch soon.
It appeared that she might be needed there.
***
Once he was back in the barn, Matthew dropped most of the animal’s tack on the ground instead of taking his usual care. He simply couldn’t find the will to work. Somehow, he managed to get Sin into a stall, but the horse had to take most of the credit for the endeavor.
Instead of going to the bunkhouse, he found himself standing at the back of the house, staring up at Victoria’s bedroom window.
What did she look like when she slept in a bed instead of on the cold, hard ground? Did that gorgeous mane of dark hair spread over her pillow? Was her nightgown as transparent as her wet camisole?
Closing his eyes, he imagined covering her small frame with his own body as he slowly sank inside her welcoming warmth. Damn, but just the thought of her made him hard as a rock.
Why couldn’t the whiskey drown her out of his mind? What kind of spell had this woman cast?
Memories assaulted him with everything about her—her scent, her face, her laugh. He’d never be able to escape his own mind.
Watching her window, he wished she would magically appear. Then a notion hit him.
He bent over, picked up a pebble and tossed it at her window. When there was no immediate response, he repeated the action. Several times.
The window finally opened.
Victoria pushed her head outside to find out why it sounded like a hail storm when the night sky was clear enough to see stars. Seeing Matthew grinning up at her, she had no idea what to think. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
He put his hand over his heart. “‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.’”
She could only gape at him, her heart hammering as she wondered if the man had lost his wits. When he took a couple of stuttering steps closer to the house, she realized he’d been drinking. “Go to bed.”
“‘She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! For thou are as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven…’”
The man’s drunk, she warned herself. The words he chose made her ache to hear more affectionate quotes, even if he was too deep in his cups to know what he was saying. He might not truly mean any of it, but she needed to hear him anyway.
Before she could think too hard on why she was doing something so foolish, she gave him what he wanted. “‘What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?’”
His grin was wide enough to reveal the sparkle of moonlight on his white teeth.
He took a quick, stumbling step before he spoke again. “‘By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am; my name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word.’”
With a shake of her head, she laughed. “Yo
u really should go to bed.”
Matthew put both of his hands over his heart and grimaced as if wounded at her words. “‘O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’ Come down, Victoria. Come down to me, my fair Juliet. Come meet your Romeo.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But I love you!”
A gasp escaped, loud enough it had to echo off the distant mountains. “You love me?” Tears welled up in her eyes when she heard the words she feared she’d never hear from a man—especially the one she loved with all her heart.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.
She glared at him, angry that the alcohol was making him speak of love when he couldn’t possibly have those kinds of feelings for her. “Don’t you say that to me! Don’t you dare say that to me!”
He dropped to one knee and placed his right palm over his heart. “Victoria Morgan, I love you! Come down to me and let me show you how much!”
***
Having been awakened by the pebbles that missed Victoria’s window and hit his own, Adam had been patiently taking in the whole exchange from his bedroom.
Matthew was clearly sotted, and Adam hoped for a moment that the cowboy didn’t find himself in that state often. It wasn’t as if he showed an inclination toward being a drunk, so he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He was more concerned at his daughter’s response to Matthew’s enthusiastic pleas, especially when the admission of love spilled from his lips. Sensing that this situation was getting entirely out of hand, Adam would have to bring the curtain down on this impromptu Shakespearean performance before either of them did something they might regret in the morning.
Yes, there was love between them, but coming together because of a drunken confession wasn’t a good way to start any relationship.
He slipped on his pants, hurried downstairs, and went out the kitchen door to give the inebriated cowboy a proper escort to the bunkhouse.
When he caught up with Matthew, he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Come on, Romeo. It’s time for bed.”
Matthew grinned like a simpleton and waved at Victoria.
“Goodnight, Juliet,” Adam called up to his daughter. She started to stutter a protest, but he held up a hand. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. Go to bed.”
She nodded and slowly shut her window.
Matthew let Adam push him toward the bunkhouse, but then suddenly stopped and turned back to glare. “‘Et tu,’ Adam?”
“‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ Now go to bed, son.”
***
Matthew woke up to a painfully loud beat throbbing in his head. He raised his hand to shield his bleary, watery eyes from the far too bright light streaming through the window.
A shuffling noise from the adjacent room drifted into the sleeping quarters. He groaned and tried to pull his blanket over his head, but he wasn’t even under the covers. He’d slept on top of his bedding, still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before, right down to his dirty boots.
Searching his fuzzy mind, he remembered talking to Jake at the Four Aces. Then the rest of his memories of the night just…stopped.
Had he seen Grace?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
His head seemed destined to explode. He facetiously thought about searching for his gun simply to end his misery. Rolling to his side, he hid his face under his pillow. His mouth felt as though some small, furry animal had crawled inside and died.
The door to the room opened and closed with a bang.
“You miserable son of a bitch, if you don’t—” When he opened his eyes, Adam was standing there. Matthew immediately shut up.
“Miserable son of a bitch, huh? No witty Shakespeare quotes this beautiful morning?”
“Shakespeare? What the hell are you talking about?” Matthew tried to search his hazy memory, but the effort hurt his head too much.
“Get up. We need to brand the new horses today. It’s hours past dawn.”
He’d forgotten about the branding.
How in the hell could he possibly brand horses when all he wanted to do was die?
“You want to tell me what you intended last night?” Adam asked.
“Intended?” Matthew cringed—the sound of his own voice reverberating through his skull.
Adam tried not to get too angry, but it had been his daughter being wooed by this erstwhile Romeo. “Don’t remember, do you?”
If Matthew forgot what had passed between him and Victoria, then she was bound to get hurt. She had seemed very pleased with last night’s little balcony scene.
“Any of it coming back, Romeo?”
“For Christ’s sake, keep your voice down.”
Adam folded his arms over his chest. “You put on quite a performance last night.”
“Performance? Adam, I’m dying here. Please stop. I can’t brand right now. If I get anywhere near that smell, I swear I’ll–I’ll—” Hand over his mouth, Matthew ran out the back door.
Adam headed back to the kitchen to talk to Victoria, wanting to smooth some of the rough edges before she saw Matthew.
After hanging up his hat, he said, “Morning, princess.”
“Good morning, Daddy.” She hummed as she cooked.
Damn. His daughter thought that she and Matthew had finally found some common ground upon which they could build a future.
“Matthew coming in for breakfast?” she asked.
“Doubt it.” What could he say to her? “He’s feeling mighty poorly this morning.”
She flipped the eggs in the skillet. “I reckoned. He was drunker than a skunk last night. I’d be surprised if he remembers anything at all. I’ll have to take him some strong coffee and toasted bread later.”
“You’re not upset he might not recall the little…show he gave you? You heard what he said, that he loved—”
“Stop!” She took a deep breath. “Just stop. I know he didn’t mean it.”
“Victoria…You said—”
She wouldn’t let him finish. “I know what I said. I know what he said. But it really doesn’t change anything, does it? Drunk or sober, we don’t suit. It was flattering, but that’s all. You want some eggs before you head out?”
“Thank you, princess. If I don’t say so often enough, you’re mighty special.”
“Thank you, Daddy. You are too.” As an afterthought she added, “Please don’t tell Matthew what he did or–or what he said. He’d be horribly embarrassed, and I wouldn’t want that.” She went back to humming as she finished breakfast.
Then he heard the quote uttered so quietly that she probably figured he wouldn’t hear. “‘He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.’”
His daughter really was in love with Matthew Riley
But would the stupid cowboy realize how she felt—how they both felt—before it was too late?
Chapter Fifteen
Grace smoothed the dollop of white icing over the middle layer of her wedding cake.
Her wedding cake. What a strange notion.
She’d never thought the day would come that she’d agree to become the property of some man—especially after living through years of being Stephen Shay’s obsession. Although she’d eluded him, there had been times she’d felt as though her life was more under his control than her own.
She’d never wanted to belong to some man.
Adam Morgan wasn’t just some man.
Her heart was near to bursting with love for him, and how that had happened so quickly and so completely still remained a mystery. It was as if all the walls she’d carefully built to shield herself had fallen like the ones that had once surrounded Jericho.
Oh, yes, she loved him. More than was probably prudent.
What would he think of her if he knew the truth, the whole truth she’d hidden for so long?
The terror Stephen ignited in her had died with the man, but another fear remained, every bit as frightening as what S
hay might have done if he’d captured her. Would someone come looking for her one day to make her answer for her crime? Would they haul her back to San Francisco for a trial? Or would they bring a noose and string her up in the nearest tree? She shuddered and told herself she wasn’t a murderess. He’d been attacking her. Surely it would be seen as self-defense.
Who was she trying to fool? The Shays were a powerful, vengeful family full of politicians and businessmen. No one witnessed the attack. No one would ever take her word, not if the Shays had other opinions on what happened. If they found out she’d killed Stephen, the Shays would make sure she hanged.
Why hadn’t someone come after her already? She’d been in White Pines for almost a month. Shouldn’t the Pinkerton detectives the Shays always hired have already found her trail? Matthew had followed it easy enough. Shouldn’t the San Francisco police be hunting her down?
Maybe no one was looking for her. Maybe no one connected her with Stephen’s death. Maybe she didn’t truly have a death sentence hanging over her life.
Maybe she could finally be free!
Two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a muscular body she’d grown to recognize. Lips brushed her ear before teeth gently tugged on the lobe, sending a shiver of delight over her.
How quickly she’d learned to love the feel of Adam close to her—to enjoy the wonderful sensations only he could inspire. His lips touched her neck, kissing the sensitive skin and pulling a contented sigh from her.
“Oh, Gracie. I want you so bad.”
His words made delicious heat pool between her thighs. She’d never played little love games before, and she wasn’t sure what to do to let him know she felt the same.
Putting down the knife, she swiped a finger across it to pick up some icing. She turned in his arms and held up the finger. “Would you like a taste?”
He smiled, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. Then he slowly licked the icing from her finger. “Delicious.”
