Lauri Robinson (3 page)

Chapter Four

Close to midnight the last dance ended and people made their exits, thanking the hosts and announcing it was a party to remember. Garret had to agree, but he sure wouldn’t tell anyone. There’d be enough talk of how he’d spent the evening washing dishes and putting a stop to other men asking Rory to dance.

After settling his mother and Tilly—their cook—in the wagon and instructing two of his cowhands to see they got into the house, he went back to the barn.

Grady and some other men were pulling out the wagon, so Garret made his way to Rory’s table, where she carefully placed glass cups into boxes.

“I’ll empty these for you,” he said, lifting one of the two washtubs.

“No,” she said. “I can do it. You need to take your mother home.”

There’d always been a standoffish piece to her. One he’d never questioned broaching before. He shouldn’t tonight either but had already decided to. Throughout the evening, while Rory was serving punch and washing cups, her disposition had lightened. Her smile appeared more freely and was softer. Toward him.

“Art and Sam took her and Tilly home,” he said. “They’ll see she gets settled in for the night.”

Her smile was downright dreamy when she agreed, “Yes, they will. They’re good men.”

He lifted a brow. “Don’t be setting your sights on my hired men. They’ve worked for my family longer than you’ve been alive.”

She tried to give him a stern stare, but it didn’t work. A smile broke through as she shook her head. “Dump the water behind the barn, but be sure to empty the one with soap in the gravel. It’ll kill the grass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She giggled at his mockery. He too was smiling—a rarity, some might say—until Ray Ray met him at the doorway.

“I—”

“Get out of here, Ray Ray,” Garret hissed, glancing over his shoulder to discover Rory walking toward them with a box of cups. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

“B—”

“Get!”

Ray Ray left, and Garret, still standing in the doorway, said to Rory, “Just put that right there. I’ll hitch up your horse and pull your wagon around so you don’t have to carry everything through the dark.”

To his surprise, Rory agreed readily enough this time. It could have been because she was afraid of the dark, but he knew better. She’d traveled home from his place many times after the sun had set.

Before long the Campbells’ barn was in order, and after giving her little choice, Garret left with Rory, she sitting beside him on the seat with his horse tied to the back of her wagon. Empty bottles clanged together in the crates as much in tempo with the horse’s footfalls as the musicians had been with one another earlier.

“Fun evening,” he said.

The moonlight shone in her eyes as she glanced his way and Garret liked what he saw. Honestly, he’d liked a lot about the night. As unusual as that was. Growing up, he’d liked social events, but they’d lost their appeal at his homecoming party five years ago. Emily had been there. Told him she’d made a mistake. He’d told her it was too late. It was.

“Your mother will be proud of you,” Rory said. “And I’m glad to see it didn’t kill you.”

She would have to remind him of how he’d told his brothers going to the dance could be the death of him as they’d ridden away. That was like her, though, pointing things out to him.

“Washing dishes didn’t kill you either,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers.

Her playfulness had his mind spinning, and most every thought included finding out how sweet those lips of hers were. “If my brothers learn of that, I’ll never live it down.”

“I know,” she said, way too secretively.

“Blackmail?” he asked, attempting to sound surprised. “It’s not easy to keep secrets in Carson City.”

Rory refused to react at that bite of truth. She’d known this wasn’t a good idea, having him drive her home. The dance had ended, and she should have left it at that. At twenty-seven Garret was one of the younger ranch owners, having inherited it from his father, but he was well respected and revered when it came to his law knowledge. One more reason she shouldn’t be here right now, yet also why she wanted to be. It wasn’t right, but ever since Jim had announced he knew who she was, her saving grace had been the shelter of having Abigail McCoy as a friend. Garret would be beyond that. Jim wouldn’t dare defy him.

His gaze, somewhat serious, held hers for a few heartbeats. “I, uh—I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

She hadn’t forgotten he’d asked her to dance only because of Emily Harms, but she wanted to.

“I appreciate how much help you’ve been to Mother. They’re special people. Mothers.”

His sincerity surprised her. It stung, too. Her mother had been special, no matter what others may have said. “Yes, they are.”

He steered around a deep rut, but the wagon still jostled, had her grasping the edge of the seat, and the way he glanced her way, assuring she was safe, sent Rory’s heart ticking as hard as dancing with him had.

Thank goodness it was dark. Her cheeks were on fire and had to be bright red. Growing up as she had, Rory had often thought of kissing Garret and, well, the other things men and women do. Things a preacher’s daughter wouldn’t even know about.

Shortly before she’d turned sixteen, Reverend Boyle had been paid to take her away from Dodge. Away from the life she’d always known, away from her dying mother.

She hadn’t gone peacefully and in hindsight regretted the trouble she’d caused the reverend. He was a good man and only doing what had been asked of him. She now knew there hadn’t been anything she could have done to save her mother, and Captain Barnes had done what he’d thought was right. There, too, over the years, she’d grown thankful the man had cared so much for her. He could have put her to work, as he had many others, but he’d abided by the deal he’d made with her mother years before when, as a penniless widow with a child to raise, her mother had turned to one of the only professions open to women.

“Are you cold?”

The moon was but a sliver, and though a countless number of stars decorated the sky, it was dark. A shiver tickled her spine, telling her once again how very bad of an idea this had been—accepting his invitation to drive her home. She’d known better. When it came to men, Garret was the only one her inner forces disappeared around, and she was smart enough to know that was a problem.

“It’s late,” she said. Refusing to look his way, she tried not to think this may have been the best night of her life. “Morning will come early.”

“It always does,” he answered. “About the same time every day.”

“Yes, well,” she countered, “I need to have the church ready for services.” No, she didn’t. She did, but everything was ready. Fred Wainwright was giving the sermon since it was an off week. The circuit minister wouldn’t arrive until next Saturday.

Garret didn’t comment, actually didn’t say another word, which made things worse. Rory tried everything she could think of, counting the clip-clops of the horse’s footfalls, the clangs of bottles tapping into each other, but it didn’t help, and by the time they rolled into the church yard, she was as jumpy as a grasshopper.

“Hold up,” he said, when she almost leaped over the edge. “It’s dark—I’ll help you down.”

“I don’t need any help,” she insisted. “I do it all the time by myself.”

“Not tonight.” He grabbed her around the waist with one strong arm while setting the brake with his foot. “Tonight I’ll lift you down,” he said. “And then I’ll put your wagon up after I carry in your boxes.”

The way he was looking at her made something bold and untamed leap to life inside her.

“Right after I kiss you,” he whispered.

Too stunned to move or think, Rory stared, watched his lips come closer and when they touched her quivering ones, she gasped. His breath was warm, the pressure of his mouth against hers gentle yet firm, and a tiny whimper fluttered in the back of her throat.

He folded his arms around her and his lips floated over hers as smoothly as he’d glided her across the dance floor. She hadn’t forgotten why he’d asked her to dance in the first place and wanted to grab him by the shirtfront, tell him she could make him forget all about Emily Harms and then kiss him long enough, wild enough that he would do just that. Forget everything except her. She could do it—kiss him like that. A few of the girls back in Kansas had told her things she’d never forgotten.

She couldn’t use that knowledge, though, not while being the preacher’s daughter he believed her to be. Instead she curled her hands into fists when the kiss ended and Garret climbed out of the wagon before he lifted her down.

“I’ll get your jars while you go light a lamp.”

Shaking inside and telling herself she didn’t want more, Rory walked into the house and was still striking the match against the flint when Garret carried the first load of boxes in. By the time he carried the second set in, she’d lit the wick and replaced the glass chimney on the lamp sitting on the counter but was still a tangled mass of thoughts.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’ll go put your horse up.”

She’d moved to the doorway. “I can—”

He pressed one finger to her lips. “You can check to make sure nothing broke during the ride.”

The cups were packed well, and she doubted they’d been damaged, but inside her, things were still clattering together. Might be for days.

Garret returned shortly, stood in the doorway. “I’ll be leaving now.”

No!
Rory almost shouted, but with a nod she said, “Thank you for seeing me home.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the house, unless you need some help here now.”

“No.” She held a smile in place. “Have a good night.”

He reached for the doorknob. “Lock up.”

Rory nodded, fighting the urge to cross the room.

Chapter Five

Garret arrived at his horse but paused before putting a foot in the stirrup. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Then the urge to do so again wouldn’t be gnawing at him like a dog on a bone. Desire this great would keep him up all night.

Spinning, he marched back to the house, took the steps in a single bound and threw open the door. She stood near the table facing him, and he grinned at the surprise in her eyes.

Without saying a word, Garret moved forward. So did she, meeting him midway. He grasped her cheeks and tilted her head to line up their lips as another spasm of longing flared so hot in his loins he moaned. This time he held nothing back, coaxed her lips apart and tasted her thoroughly. Her tongue met his swirl for swirl, stroke for stroke.

“What the hell was in that punch?” he asked, coming up for a breath of air.

“What?” she asked, breasts heaving.

He slid his hands down to run his thumbs over the peaks, rubbing the hard nubs beneath the material. “It had to have been spiked,” he declared. Something had to be making him this barmy.

He took her mouth in another frenzy of tasting, kissing. Control had never challenged him as it did now, and he picked her up, planted her bottom on the table. There he kissed her, over and over, while his hands explored her sides, her breasts. She hooked her heels behind his knees, and it was almost more than he could take. Overcome with need, he undid the buttons of her dress, untied her camisole and pushed the material aside. The lamplight bounced off her milky-white breasts, the darker skin of her nipples, and Garret groaned as his desire peaked.

He tasted one breast and then the other, suckling until his crotch throbbed painfully. He was about to lift her, carry her into the tiny bedroom beyond the kitchen, when some unfathomable ounce of common sense broke through. This was Rory Boyle. The preacher’s daughter.

His blood turned cold. He had no idea what to say, how to express everything going on inside him. He was a God-fearing man, but he wasn’t a churchgoing one, and he’d be the first to admit he’d done plenty of carousing out east—even before he knew Emily had married Harms.

He had broken almost all of the commandments—not the ones that were illegal, but that distinction wouldn’t matter to her. She was a preacher’s daughter.

Rory held her breath, waiting for Garret to say something.

Silent, he spun around, walked out the door and moments later rode away as if the devil was nipping at his heels.

Covering her face with both hands, Rory squeezed her eyes shut. If he hadn’t stopped... She drew a burning breath of air. Which didn’t help. The fire inside her, that which Garret had set to flame, might never go out. Her gaze settled on her bedroom door. She wouldn’t have stopped him from joining her in there. Maybe it didn’t matter if Jim told the entire town about her past. It was true. She was as far from a preacher’s daughter as they came. Growing up in a brothel left impressions on a person, and they’d broken loose tonight. Completely. While Garret held her, kissed her, touched her. He’d ignited a bittersweet pain deep in her most private region, and though she wondered at the intensity of it, she had no doubt what would satisfy it.

Garret McCoy.

Groaning, for she was in a far worse way than she’d ever been, Rory climbed off the table to make her way into the bedroom.

* * *

Garret kept his distance from the house for the next week, making sure Rory was nowhere near when he returned each night. Thinking about her constantly, as he was, had him waking up hard and walking damn near bowlegged.

“Garret!”

He stood from where he’d been nailing a new board to the bottom of the corral full of the mustangs he’d herded up that morning and dropped the hammer. Sam never rode fast.

“It’s your mother!”

Garret grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle while running and didn’t let the animal slow until they reached homestead. There he leaped from the saddle and bolted through the front door, running all the way up the curved stairway that led to the second floor.

Rory stood outside his mother’s door, and that was where he stopped. “What happened?”

“She was shaking and couldn’t talk,” Rory whispered. “Dr. Richardson arrived the same time I did.” She let out a tiny sob. “I thought she looked pale at church. I should—”

“Shh,” he said, wrapping both arms around her. Guilt churned in his stomach. He’d noticed his mother had been moving slower than usual this morning, but fearful of facing Rory, he hadn’t offered to drive her to church. “We’ll just wait to hear what Doc has to say. He’s been corresponding with others, trying to figure out how to treat her.”

Rory went stiff in his arms. “You know she’s been ill?”

“For about a year now.” His gaze went to the door. “Dizzy. Shaky. Tired. Fainting spells.”

“I didn’t know you knew.”

He kept one arm around Rory but used the other to wipe a tear off her cheek. “Of course I knew. That’s why I agreed to stay home, let Toby and Jeb take the herd to market. Why I’ve appreciated you being here so much.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Garret didn’t have time to question what, because Doc Richardson opened the door and stepped out. After replacing his glasses along the permanent grooves on the sides of his round head and hooking the wires behind his ears, Doc pulled the door closed and gestured for them to move down the hall.

Garret held Rory to his side with one arm as they walked a few feet beside the doctor. “How is she?”

“Fine now. It’s called diabetes,” Doc said. “I just got the supplies to test her this week. She has a goodly amount of sugar in her urine. There’s no real treatment, but lately it’s been discovered diet has a lot to do with it. She said she’d skipped breakfast this morning in order to get to church on time.”

“She was too shaky to eat when I arrived,” Rory said.

As worried as Garret was about his mother, the misery in Rory’s voice tugged just as hard on his heart.

“When that happens, give her some of this,” the doctor said, handing a bottle to Rory. “That’s what I did. It’s mainly honey. Reports said it’d help, and it did.”

Rory took the bottle and sniffled. Garret thanked the doctor, told him he’d be downstairs in a minute and then, with his arm still around her, he led Rory back down the hall.

His mother was sitting up in bed and smiled brightly when they walked in. “Two of my favorite people,” she said.

“How are you feeling?” Rory asked, rushing forward to fluff pillows and straighten covers.

Garret took a moment to watch her and couldn’t help but remember how he’d questioned his mother when she’d first hired Rory. They had a cook, he’d said—there was no reason for her being here. He knew why now. He’d been afraid of seeing Rory every day. Ever since she’d moved to town, he’d been attracted to her, but because she was the preacher’s daughter, he’d shied away. Now he couldn’t imagine his home without her.

He moved to the bed, and after returning Rory’s wobbly smile, he leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Since you’re in good hands and looking as lovely as ever, I’m going to go see Doc to his rig. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Take your time, dear. Rory’s here.”

“I know,” he answered, glancing toward Rory again. “I know.”

Rory’s insides were spinning out of control. Seeing Abigail no longer in danger was a great relief, and she should be thankful Garret knew about his mother’s illness, but now that he knew, he might no longer want her to visit, especially after—

She’d been terrified of facing him after how she’d behaved last week, but she shouldn’t have been. He’d avoided her like the plague. Always had. But she couldn’t stay away. Though she was paid, working here wasn’t like a job. She enjoyed taking care of Abigail and the rest of the family. It was what she’d always wanted. And more.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, dear,” Abigail said. “Dr. Richardson said I shouldn’t go without eating. I do know better. I get the shakes when I do that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have gone without eating,” Rory answered. “I’ll go get your lunch right now. And tell Tilly you can’t go without breakfast.”

“Don’t blame her,” Abigail said. “She made breakfast, but I’d slept too late this morning.”

Rory shook her head. “She should have made you take it with you, then.”

Abigail grinned. “You are such a mother hen. You should be taking care of a bushel of kids, not an old woman.”

“I like taking care of you,” Rory insisted with burning cheeks. She’d been thinking along those exact lines lately. Not so much having children but making them. “I’ll be right back.” She left the room with dread making her ankles weak. Not because she was about to chastise Tilly but because she might run into Garret again.

Tilly was as upset as everyone else; therefore, Rory kindly reminded the cook how important eating several small meals a day was for Abigail. She was piling things on a tray when Garret entered the kitchen. It was horrific trying to keep her gaze averted while feeling his stare. Ever since he’d ridden away, left her half-naked sitting on the table in her house, she’d tried to be mad at him. Up until this moment it had been impossible.

He’d known all along his mother was ailing, yet he went right on doing whatever he wanted. Catching his mustangs. Leaving early in the morning and staying away until well after dark.

Without glancing his way, she picked up the tray.

“Rory.”

“I need to take this to your mother.”

He followed.

Rory clamped her lips together at how his nearness affected her. Attempting to maintain her anger, she reminded herself of all the nights he’d let his mother sit home alone. He followed her all the way into Abigail’s room, where he sat on the edge of her bed as if he was the most dutiful son ever born.

Close to fuming, Rory waited until Abigail had eaten a good portion of the soup on the tray. Then she turned. “I’ll go get your embroidery. A day of bed rest is in order for you.”

Abigail said it wasn’t necessary. Insisting it was, Rory left. She was in the back parlor gathering Abigail’s items when Garret walked in.

“I’ve had Dr. Richardson consulting with some of the best doctors out east, and—”

“And that’s supposed to make it all better?” she snapped. “Make it so it’s just fine and dandy for you to leave her alone?”

“She’s not alone.”

“Yes, she is,” Rory insisted. “Every evening when I leave here, you are—”

“In the barn, watching you leave.” He stepped closer. “I make sure she’s never alone.” He took ahold of her upper arms. “I even took her to Grady Campbell’s barn dance. You do remember that, don’t you? The night you danced with me, the night—”

She couldn’t think about kissing him, not right now. “You only asked me to dance because of Emily Harms.”

He frowned. Shook his head. “Emily Harms? She wasn’t even there.”

“Yes, she was.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

The frustration inside her boiled over. “The entire town knows Emily would leave her husband in a heartbeat for you. How she’s regretted marrying him while you were at school. How you hate all women—”

“I didn’t ask you to dance because of Emily.” His hold on her arms tightened, and he pulled her closer. “And I sure as hell didn’t kiss you because of her.”

His mouth met hers with such force she wobbled. Or maybe it was just her knees going weak. She dropped the embroidery, wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him back with all she had. The kiss turned wild, the air hot, and Rory pressed up against him, thrilled by the unexplainable fire that raced through her body once again. His hands were tugging at her hair, squeezing her backside, and she loved it.

He lifted her, pressing her lower body against his. She knew what the hard bulge in his pants was, and that thrilled her far more than she’d ever admit, even to herself. Her back hit something solid. The wall perhaps. She was too focused on her front, where that bulge was touching her. A fascinating heat consumed her right there, throbbing with a sweet ache that was downright primal.

When Garret abruptly stopped kissing her and stepped back, she grabbed the wall to keep from slithering to the floor. He reached out and ran a finger from her chin down between her breasts, causing her nipples to sting.

“Remember that,” he said, “the next time you think I was thinking of another woman while kissing you.”

Spinning around, Garret willed his legs to work despite his throbbing loins. If he had been anywhere but his mother’s parlor, he’d have shown Rory just how deeply his thoughts about her ran.

He marched straight out the front door, slamming it.

If Emily had been at the dance, he sure hadn’t seen her. How could he with Rory before his eyes? He hadn’t even thought about Emily, not in that way, since...

“Aw, hell.” How had he let that happen? Let another woman get under his skin. It couldn’t get worse this time. Rory was mooning for Houston. The entire town knew that.

Garret swung onto his still-saddled horse and rode away, letting his ire grow, stew into a good steam that had him driving nails into the corral with a single blow, and he kept right on working until well after dark. He made sure he was home before his mother went to bed, and checked on her again in the morning before he left. She was feeling better, yet guilt filled him. He should spend some time with her, but Rory would be there; therefore, he couldn’t be.

He was at the corral again the next day separating the mustangs when Sam rode up. The man’s horse was moving slow this time, so Garret knew the message wasn’t urgent and finished ushering a mare and her colt out of the gate.

“Your ma wants you,” Sam said, tilting back a tattered hat that was about as old as its owner.

“Is she feeling poorly again?” Garret moved toward his horse.

“No, just worried,” Sam answered. “Rory never showed up. Your ma wants you to go make sure nothing happened to her.”

Hearing that didn’t help Garret’s mood at all. Rory’s anger at him didn’t give her the right to ditch his mother. “Nothing’s happened to her,” he growled. “Tell Mother I’ll get her, and make sure she’s not late tomorrow morning.”