Linda Castle (12 page)

“Why, what?” The misery in her face sent a hard shaft of pain through his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the money?” She inhaled a ragged breath. “Why didn’t you let me know that J.C. had left me nothing?” She shuddered, and a sob left her lips.

Flynn had the most overwhelming urge to gather her into his arms.

“Why did you let me think the money in the bank was mine?”

“Damn it, Marydyth, it is yours.”

Her features altered and something like wounded pride came into her face. “No it isn’t. Moze told me the truth. J.C. left me nothing. You opened that account, didn’t you?”

Well, you can lie but it won’t do any good.

“Yes.”

“Why?” In that moment between her hatred and confusion he wondered why he couldn’t think of anything but how pretty she was. And how much he wanted to hold her and tell her that it would be all right.

It was not an observation he was happy to make.

“The money isn’t mine—it
is
yours and Rachel’s. Spend it all on lawyers taking me into court, go shopping, go to the dressmaker—hell, I don’t care if you burn it. It is yours to do with as you want. I never asked for it.”
He turned and stomped away before he lost control and kissed her again.

Over the next two days Flynn made a real effort to stay away from Marydyth. But he always managed to keep a watchful eye on her and Rachel. It wasn’t difficult. More and more he found himself aware of her in ways that made his skin itch and his belly knot up. He knew when she was near without ever seeing or hearing her. All day long, everyday, she was
there,
battering his senses.

There was some sort of animal connection between them and had been since he kissed her. At night he lay naked staring at the ceiling and all he could think of was
her.

It sickened him. Never in his life had he been a man to think with anything but the head on his shoulders, and now—well now he was burning from the inside out over a woman he didn’t even like.

“Been cooped up too much,” he told himself as he adjusted his arm beneath his head. And maybe he had been. Maybe that was all it was, this strange awareness of Marydyth.

But he found himself rising from the bed and pulling on his Levi’s. He fastened only the two bottom buttons and stepped out in the hall.

The night was hot, sultry and still as death. He wished there was a breeze to cool the burning of his skin.

“Take more than a summer breeze,” he said to himself scornfully, and he knew that it was true.

The reason he was itchy and restless had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Marydyth Hollenbeck.

Flynn stepped out onto the porch. The boards felt
rough beneath his bare feet. He leaned against one of the tall posts that supported the little balcony from the second floor.

And then he heard a sound.

He held his breath and listened hard, but he didn’t need to. He knew exactly what it was he had heard.

It was Marydyth. She was standing on the balcony right above him.

His pulse quickened and his body hardened, nudging against the half-done-up placket of his Levi’s.

Without hearing it, he knew when she inhaled. He could practically feel her thoughts as he stood below her in the night.

Flynn closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander to her. She would be wearing that gown, the one that skimmed over her body in gentle folds when she moved. Her hair would be hanging in uneven curls around her face.

He gripped the wood on the posts and tried to focus on the sounds of the crickets and katydids but it was useless. His thoughts and his interest were focused on the female above him.

Marydyth could not sleep—rather, she did not want to go to sleep and be trapped with her nightmares.

She stood on the balcony staring out at Hollenbeck Corners. The flickering gas lamps made the main street glow. She heard a gleeful whoop and saw a dark shadow in the street A rowdy cowboy was enjoying the night—maybe he had just won a hand of poker—maybe Lady Luck had smiled on him.

Marydyth found her thoughts traveling backward in time. She remembered what it had been like to be with Blaine as he dragged her from one riverboat to the next, always sure that his luck would change the next time.
She had been stuck with a no-account uncle because she had no other kin and nobody to care.

She heard a sound and felt something on her bare toes. It was her own tears. She was crying in the dark.

Marydyth turned away from the balcony and went to her bed. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep, willing her mind to think of something else besides her past.

Flynn was aware of her leaving the balcony. He hadn’t heard anything, it was just a feeling of loss. He turned his head upward to the night sky, looking at the wash of stars that seemed close enough to touch.

Marydyth Hollenbeck affected him in a way that he could not understand. It was more than just being aroused—there was some sort of thread that seemed to tie them, and it went beyond the fact that they were bound by Rachel.

He turned, intending to go and put his fevered body in bed when he felt her panic. The short hair on the back of his nape prickled and his breath lodged in his chest. She was frightened—he could feel the cold chill of it.

A soft whimper floated on the night air and he heard her mumble something that he could not make out.

She was dreaming. And, as Flynn stood there beneath the balcony feeling her presence as if she were beside him, he wished that it were he in her dreams.

The morning found Marydyth feeling depressed and empty. She had once again fought the guilt that consumed her at night.

When will it end?

She had suffered within the walls of Yuma—why couldn’t she forgive herself for killing Andre?

She went down to the kitchen and found Flynn already
there. His hair was tousled and his eyes red-rimmed, as if he had not slept well either. But the smell of wood smoke was coming from the Monarch and the aroma of coffee filled the room.

“Morning,” she managed to say as she eased her body into a chair. She was uncomfortable being in the kitchen where he had kissed her.

He turned to her with his lips parted, but before he spoke Rachel exploded into the kitchen. Her face was wreathed in a happy smile.

“Are you ready, Unca Flynn?” she asked as she scooted up to the table.

“Ready?” He blinked and stared at her.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“Naw, I didn’t forget. I just wanted to see if you remembered.” He glanced at Marydyth to see if she would challenge his lie but she only averted her eyes.

“Today is the ice-cream social and parade.”

Marydyth turned then and pinned him with a gaze. “You have plans?”

He studied her face for a moment, weighing his answer. Then he turned to the pump and filled a pan with water. He stoked the wood inside the Monarch and turned back to Marydyth. “Yes, we both have plans. We are taking Rachel to the ice-cream social and are going to watch the parade together.”

Marydyth’s eyes widened and she bit her lip. She wanted to go, but the idea of being with Flynn all day filled her with an unease that bordered on panic.

“Please, Mama,” Rachel begged.

Her heart melted at the sight of her daughter’s face. “All right, sweetheart.” She turned to Flynn and frowned at him. “For you.”

An hour later Flynn was ushering Marydyth and Rachel out the door of the mansion. The sun beat down on the town, heating up the day. He angled his Stetson and Marydyth adjusted the brim of her straw hat.

Flynn tried not to notice the way the blue-and-whitestriped summer frock brought out the color of her eyes or the way the low-cut neck skimmed just off the ridge of her shoulders. Or the way the soft mounds of her breasts showed when she took a deep breath.

He tried not to notice, but he did.

“Are you ready?” he asked them both as they stood on the steps of Hollenbeck House. The boom and trill of the Hollenbeck Corners Brass Band could be heard in the distance.

“It’s gonna be fun.” Rachel jumped up and down, causing her russet ringlets to bounce.

Marydyth cast a reluctant gaze down the hill to the gathering crowd below.

“I can bring a buggy back for you, if you’d like,” Flynn offered.

“No. We can walk.” She tilted her head.

Was that fear he saw in her eyes?

“You don’t have to do this,” he began. “not today—not this soon.”

“Yes, I do have to do it.” She looked down at Rachel who was almost vibrating with excitement. “For her.”

Flynn nodded, and tried to swallow the thick lump that had lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to feel compassion for Marydyth—hell, he didn’t want to feel anything for her—but how could he not when she looked like spring moonlight and had the courage of a mountain lioness?

They walked side by side down the winding drive. It
was hot and Flynn’s shirt was beginning to cling to his back by the time they reached the bottom of the hill.

He glanced over at Marydyth. She looked as cool as a mountain brook, and if she was fearful, she hid it well. She looked to the side and studied every storefront and new house as they entered the town.

“Changed a little, hasn’t it?” Flynn’s gravelly voice rubbed over Marydyth’s skin.

She forced herself to stare straight ahead. “It’s a bit bigger.”

A woman with two small children in tow nodded when Flynn helped Marydyth and Rachel up onto the boardwalk. There was a clutch of people lining the street in front of Cashion’s Bakery. The woman stared for just a moment but Marydyth saw recognition flicker in her eyes.

The woman seemed to melt into the crowd, yet within seconds she returned, pulling a stout woman in a flourcovered smock to the front of the bakery. They pointed in her direction.

Marydyth shivered as they smiled and said something behind their hands.

“In ten minutes, everyone in Hollenbeck Corners will know that I am back,” she whispered more to herself than to Flynn.

“I ’spect so if they don’t already. I have a notion that Mrs. Young spread the word.”

She turned and looked at him, her eyes brimming with emotion.

“There’s no painless way to do it—but if you can think of some way to make it easier on Rachel, I’ll put in with you.”

Marydyth didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was
staring at him. He was serious; his face was etched with compassion and concern. And not just for Rachel.

It knocked her off guard that he cared so much for her daughter—and maybe a little for her as well.

“I—I appreciate that.” She swallowed, hard. She wanted to say more, wanted to admit she was terrified—afraid Rachel would be disappointed in her, afraid to face the townspeople—but those were thoughts she couldn’t share with anybody, especially Flynn O’Bannion.

The brass band began a rousing march, and, for the blink of an eye, everyone stopped staring at the trio. Flynn nodded toward a clearing on the board sidewalk. Marydyth picked up her skirt and quickened her step to keep up with Flynn and Rachel.

A little voice in her head told her this was a big mistake. But when Rachel had turned that blue-eyed, angel’s face to her and asked, she couldn’t have refused her anything.

“Whoa, what’s the hurry?” Ted Kelts’s voice managed to find Marydyth above the din of the band. She stopped and from the corner of her eye saw Flynn, a few feet away, do the same.

“Ted?” Marydyth tilted her head so she could see him from beneath her straw brim. “How—how are you?”

He smiled and slipped his hand around her waist. “The question is, how are you?” He looked around and made eye contact with a handful of people who were openly watching.

Marydyth refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her quail before their disapproval. “Fine. I am just fine.”

“Where are you headed?” He slipped a careless gaze in Flynn’s direction to include him and Rachel in the question.

“To Palson’s. Rachel wants a hoarhound stick,” Marydyth explained.

“I’ll walk with you. Maybe we can talk about my offer again,” he said as he urged Marydyth down the boardwalk. “Come on, O’Bannion, let’s get the little lady a peppermint.”

Flynn felt something tight and burning in his gut when he saw Ted Kelts escorting Marydyth down the boardwalk. It was more than his refusal to take no for an answer about the Lavender Lady—but Flynn wasn’t quite sure why he suddenly had the urge to knock Ted Kelts flat.

When they reached Palson’s store Flynn took Rachel inside and lifted her to sit on the top of a closed-up pickle barrel. Her legs dangled over the edge of the staved and banded barrel where she kicked her shoes against the wood.

“Hoarhound?” Flynn asked with a lift of his brow.

“Please, Unca Flynn.”

He turned to get the candy from the glass jar on the counter and found Ted Kelts with his hand already in it. “Here you go, Rachel.” Ted handed her the candy.

Rachel looked at Flynn. He nodded, and she took the candy from Ted Kelts.

“Now, Marydyth, let’s talk about the Lavender Lady,” Ted said.

Marydyth’s breath lodged in her throat. Learning of J.C.’s will had been hard news to take, and the thought of everyone finding out made her stomach lurch. She found her gaze slipping to Flynn while she silently prayed that he would help her.

“Marydyth and I are talking about getting the mine fit to be reopened,” Flynn said abruptly. He did not miss the look of relief that flitted across Marydyth’s face.

“Marydyth?” Ted mugged a face. “I didn’t realize you two were on a first-name basis.”

“I owe Flynn a great deal, Ted. He has taken admirable care of Rachel while I—was—gone.” She could not bring herself to say the name of Yuma when she was sure the other patrons in the store were listening to every word.

“I see.” Ted studied her face for half a minute. “Reopening the Lady, eh?”

“Uh, yes.” Marydyth once again looked at Flynn.

“Lot of men have been out of work since the strike. I saw how Tombstone is coming back—the Lavender Lady would help Hollenbeck.” Flynn watched Ted’s face for a reaction.

Ted shrugged. “I suppose you are right. Actually, I was planning on doing the same thing if you sold her to me.” He directed his comments to Marydyth.