Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (5 page)

“Nothing to say, Sarah?” Juliana taunted.

Sarah glared at the smaller woman. Though she felt like crying, she refused to let someone like Juliana Tremont belittle her.

“Your manners are deplorable, Juliana,” she replied with a coldness that made the other woman gape. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have work to do.” She took up the notepad that held Mrs. Castor’s announcement and dismissed the three by turning her back.

A stunned silence followed, tension thickening the air until Sarah could barely breathe. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. For three years she had allowed these women to dictate her way of life. She had played by their rules, never once straying from the path of respectability they set forth, and all to make up for a single error in judgment. Despite years of impeccable behavior on Sarah’s part, they still turned on her at the first hint of impropriety.

No more.

The words seared her brain like a cattle brand. No more would she let others control her life. She reached for the tray of type, her movements pure reflex as she began to set the announcement for the mayor’s wife.

“Sarah Ann Calhoun,” Mrs. Castor finally said, her voice hoarse with shock. “I would not have believed such rudeness from you.”

Emmaline chimed in. “I take back my invitation to the sewing circle, Sarah, unless you apologize to my sister at once.”

“Yes, Sarah,” Juliana put in. “Do apologize.”

Sarah didn’t look up from her task. Juliana Tremont was free to speak of beds and mattresses with impunity while she, Sarah, could not so much as wear the wrong dress without being censured. She was tired of paying for sins she had committed three years ago. She had a new life now, and a purpose. She needed to concentrate on that and let the rumors slip past her like dandelion seeds on the wind. She needed to stop caring so much what people said.

But it was easier said than done.

Sarah dared a quick glance behind her. Juliana’s face was beet red, but Sarah couldn’t say whether it was from embarrassment or anger. Emmaline whispered in Juliana’s ear while Mrs. Castor patted the younger woman’s arm in sympathy.

“Come, sister,” Emmaline finally said. “We’re leaving.” The swift tap of footsteps and the scrape of the door punctuated her words. After a moment the slower treads of Mrs. Castor followed. Sarah looked up in time to see the three of them pass her window, heads bowed as they whispered amongst themselves. With a sigh, she put down her work and covered her face with shaking hands. Already she could imagine the rumors blowing through town.

In refusing to apologize to Juliana Tremont, she taken control of her life. She only hoped she would not regret it.

Late Thursday afternoon, Donovan rode into town, tired, dusty, and thirsty. As he passed the church, Mrs. Tillis stepped outside and rang the bell, dismissing the students from their makeshift classroom. Eight months big with child, it was obvious the blacksmith’s wife would not be able to teach for much longer.

The clanging of the bell was drowned out by the excited shouts of the children as they flooded from the church. Shrieking and calling to one another, they raced in all directions, some in groups and some alone. Beneath him, Donovan felt the gelding tense. He pulled up on the reins and patted the horse’s neck as a stampede of youngsters galloped past. The animal shuddered, tossing its head and snorting, but all four hooves remained on the ground. Compared with the adventurous ride he had just had, Donovan considered this a huge improvement.

Murmuring reassurances, he continued to stroke bay’s satiny neck. As the last of the children scurried past, the horse settled down, though his ears flicked back and forth as if on the alert for another invasion. Donovan set him to an easy walk down Main Street.

It felt good to have his own mount again. His last horse, Seven, had been a bay, and the best damned horse he’d ever had. They’d been through a lot together. But Seven was gone now, the victim of a bullet from a madman’s gun. So when Matt had told him about a homesteader who wanted to sell a spirited bay, he’d ridden for a full day to meet with him. And he’d come back with Senseless.

Senseless was exactly that. A beautiful animal, the gelding reminded him of Seven in a lot of ways, except for the fact that he was a lot more high-strung. The ride back had been an adventure, what with the darnedest things rattling the horse. But he was a fine animal for the most part, and Donovan was pleased with his purchase.

He had intended to hitch up outside the saloon, but one glance at the crowded hitching post changed his mind. He saw a good place a couple of doors down, just outside the mercantile and across the street from the newspaper building. As he dismounted and looped the reins around the post, he couldn’t help but glance over at the office of the
Chronicle
. He wondered if Miss Sassy Calhoun was still put out with him. He grinned. The woman had a fire burning inside her. He just couldn’t help stoking it now and again.

“Well, hello there, Mr. Donovan.”

Senseless snorted and shifted at the unfamiliar voice. Donovan patted the bay reassuringly and turned to see the Turner twins, Minnie and Mabel, standing just outside the mercantile. As usual, they were dressed identically, today’s ensemble consisting of blue sprigged muslin dresses with matching flower-decked bonnets. The pretty blondes were barely sixteen, but since they were the daughters of Ross Turner, one of the wealthier cattle ranchers, they already had a flock of suitors around them. Even so, Donovan hadn’t bothered to add their names to his list. Out west many girls married at a young age, but he wanted a woman who could pull her weight, not a schoolgirl who would cry for her papa when the going got rough.

Besides, the Turner sisters tended to do everything as a set. And he didn’t even want to think about what that might mean.

“Well, hello to you, Miss Minnie, Miss Mabel.” He reached up and touched his hat brim. The two girls beamed at him with identical smiles that bordered on adoring. He slowly lowered his hand, puzzled by their behavior.

“We were hoping to see you, Mr. Donovan.” The speaker—he thought it was Mabel— fluttered her eyelashes at him in an unmistakable attempt at flirtation.

He blinked, unable to believe that had just happened, and glanced at the other twin. She fixed him with worshipful blue eyes and stated proudly, “That’s right. I made Papa bring me to town just so I could see you. Then
she
decided to come along.”

“Is that so?” He tried to glare—the same expression that had made armed men back away with shaking hands. But the girls appeared oblivious to the subtle shift. Reckless youth, he thought with a sigh.

“It was my idea.” Minnie attached herself to his arm, and he glanced with shock from her small fingers gripping his shirtsleeve to the look of ardent admiration on her face.

“No, it was
mine
.” Mabel leaped forward and latched on to his other arm. “I would make a better wife than you, anyway.
She
always burns the biscuits when it’s her turn to cook supper.”

Minnie glared at her sister. “Well, at least I don’t giggle all the time. You’d probably drive him crazy with all your little girl antics.” Giving Donovan a look from beneath her lashes, she said throatily, “She’s just a child.
I’m
all woman.”

He was out of his depth. He knew it and had no idea what to do about it. “Where’s your father?”

“Oh, he’s down at the bank.” Mabel sighed and linked her elbow through his. “He’ll be there for
hours
.” She smiled meaningfully.

Donovan cleared his throat and took a step away. Unfortunately, that brought him into contact with Minnie, who was on his right. He flinched as he felt her press her budding breasts against his arm. Jerking his head around, he grew even more alarmed at the blatantly passionate look the girl gave him.

“I sure wouldn’t mind a closer look at that gorgeous bed of yours, Mr. Donovan,” she murmured.

Mabel gaped at her sister, blue eyes wide with shock. “Minnie Jean Turner!”

Minnie cast her twin a superior look. “Oh, go play with your dolls!”

Enough was enough. Donovan slipped from Minnie’s grasp and dodged out of the way as Mabel surged forward, face red.
 

“You take that back!” Mabel yelled.

“You’re such a child.” Minnie sniffed.

Unsettled by the commotion, Senseless chose that moment to shift and bumped Mabel. She squealed as she tripped and flew into her sister. The two of them landed in the dirt in a flurry of petticoats and screeches. Senseless snorted, further startled by the noise, and tossed his head. At that moment, Donovan could have kissed the animal.

“You ladies had best get out of the way,” he said, moving to help first one, then the other, to her feet. “Senseless here gets a mite riled at loud noises.”

Mabel clutched her skirts and scrambled for the walkway. Minnie brushed off her dress, then leveled a contemptuous look at the bay. “When we get married, that horse is going to
go
.” She shifted her glare to Donovan, then stalked after her sister, who had fled toward the bank.

Donovan took off his hat and combed his fingers through his hair. “What the heck was that about?” he muttered. With a shrug, he replaced his hat, patted Senseless on the flank, and slipped him a piece of carrot from his pocket. “Thanks, pal. I think you just saved me from a heap of trouble.”
 

Still bemused, he set off for the saloon. It had been a long dusty ride, and now he
really
needed a drink.

By the time Donovan got to the saloon, two more marriage-minded females had accosted him. One had offered to cook him supper; the other had offered something of a more intimate nature. And both had remarked on how much they liked his new bed. What the hell was going on?

Stopping outside the swinging doors, he took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh to shake the dust loose. The checker players, sitting in their usual spot outside the Four Aces, looked up from their checkerboard.

“Hey there, Donovan,” Mort called.

“Mort, Johnny, Gabriel.” The latter two nodded in greeting and went back to their checker game, but Mort tilted his chair on to its hind legs and gave him a wide smile.

“Haven’t seen ya around.” Mort clenched a toothpick between his teeth, his blue eyes twinkling. “Heard ya were on the market for a prime filly.”

“Actually I just bought a gelding.” He indicated the bay, whose ears twitched as a wagon rumbled by.

Mort squinted at the horse, then chuckled. “Well, that’s not what I meant, but that’s a fine piece of horseflesh, Donovan. It surely is.”

“He’s a beautiful animal,” Donovan agreed, admiring the way the sunlight played over the horse’s coat. “He’s a bit high-strung, though. I’m gonna have to work with him.”

“That so?” Mort chewed on his toothpick and grinned like he knew some secret.

Donovan replaced his hat and gave the oldsters a nod. “See ya around.”
 

The two men engrossed in the checker game grunted in response. Mort touched his hat brim, still wearing that all-knowing grin. Donovan shook his head and went into the saloon.

The squeak of the doors swinging behind him melded with the familiar sounds of cards being shuffled and bottles clinking against glasses. Conversation hummed steadily, like a heartbeat, and cigar smoke tinged the air with wisps of gray fog. For a moment he was fifteen years old again, watching his mama all done up in satin and feathers, singing songs that no one could hear.
 

He closed his eyes against the painful memories. The liquor. The men. The murder. It was a time in his life he preferred to forget, though those incidents had led him to where he was today. His entire identity had been forged from spilled blood and steel-edged lust.

“Hey there, boss!” Amos called out to him.

The past dissolved into the present.

Donovan made his way across the room and edged up to the bar next to Amos. “Everything all right at the ranch?” he asked.

“Yep.” Amos tossed back a shot of whiskey and reached for the bottle.

“Must be, if you’re here instead of there.”

Amos grinned as he poured another shot. “Right as rain, boss. Get yer horse?”

“I did.” Donovan signaled the bartender. “He’s got a lot of spirit.”

Amos smiled, a gleam in his eye. “Betcha he does.” He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey.

Coralee, one of the saloon girls, sidled up to Donovan and smiled with blatant invitation. “What’ll ya have?” she purred, pressing her scantily clad bosom against his arm.

“Harve’s getting it.” Unlike many of the girls, Coralee was actually pretty, with big brown eyes and bouncing chestnut curls. Any other time, Donovan might have considered taking her up on her unspoken offer. But he was plumb fed up with women for the day. “Another time, maybe.”

She drew a slender hand across his chest. “I’ll hold ya to that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Maybe we can have a tussle in that purty bed of yours. I sure would like that.”

Before he could respond, Harve brought Donovan’s usual bourbon and shooed Coralee off with an impatient hand. “Get off with ya, Coralee. This one ain’t interested.”

With a pout, Coralee turned on her heel and stalked off in a flurry of satin and feathers. Despite himself, Donovan enjoyed the view of her retreating rump. Then he turned to Amos. “Something going on around here I don’t know about?”