“Will and Carrie are waiting for you inside.”
“I’m not staying.”
“We’re going? Tonight?”
He fought to keep his tone even. “I’m going. You’re staying here.”
“Staying? Why?”
“Because this is where you belong, Abby. You’ve made it to California. You’ve found your sister. Family. That’s important to you.”
“You’re important to me,” she said, feeling the panic rise. This couldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t leave her after all they’d been through.
“You think I’m important, because you’re grateful that I brought you here. But this is what’s really important to a woman like you, Abby. Home, family. Look at you.” His voice rose and he cursed himself. This was no time to get emotional.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. That’s just the point. You look so perfect, wearing a grand dress, standing on a porch. This is what you need. A home. A family. A white picket fence. With me, all you’ll ever get is moving on, looking for a better place. All I can ever give you is a hard trail and a cold meal.”
“I’ll settle for that.”
“No. Dammit, listen to me. You deserve the best. You deserve better than I can ever give you. That’s why I’m leaving. And that’s why you’re staying here. You deserve a whole man, Abby. One who isn’t haunted by the past. One who can give you a bright future. I’m only half a man. And I don’t think I’ll ever be whole again.”
“Rourke, I…”
He turned his back on her, cutting her off. He couldn’t bear to hear her speak words of love. It was like cutting out his heart to leave her. But it was for her own good. If he really loved her, he had to let her go. She would find a good steady man in this town and live like her sister. Like a lady. It was all he could give her.
Pulling himself into the saddle, he kept his face averted. He couldn’t bear to look at her. It would hurt too much.
Abby watched as horse and rider started along the street. She’d once told him she could take care of herself. And so she would, she thought, as tears threatened to cloud her vision.
Behind her the door opened. Carrie and Will, listening at the door, had heard everything.
It was Carrie who broke the silence.
“Are those tears?”
Angrily, Abby wiped at her eyes. “Of course they are. When I’m hurt I cry. What do you think I am, a mule?”
“I used to think you were,” her little sister admitted. “I used to think you and Pa were cut from the same cloth. But now I realize you’re a woman. A woman in love. Now what do you intend to do about it?”
“What can I do?” Abby moaned. “He’s left me because he thinks he’s only half a man.”
Carrie and Will shared a knowing look.
“I fell in love with a man who thought he was only half a man too,” Carrie said softly. “And I had to prove to him that I loved him so much, his missing arm made no difference.”
“And with Carrie’s love,” Will added, “I realized I was whole again.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with Rourke.”
“Don’t you?” Carrie smiled at her sister. “Maybe his heart is broken because you hold the other half. And if you’re the woman I think you are, you ought to be able to convince Rourke that he’s never going to be whole again without you.”
“But how?”
“That’s up to you,” Carrie said, kissing her sister’s cheek. “You’ll think of something.”
Abby watched as the shadowy figure of man and horse moved further along the street. Soon they would be leaving the town behind.
Grabbing up the hem of her skirt, Abby started running, and cursed her clumsiness. What she needed were her old britches and shirt and a sturdy pair of boots.
She shouted Rourke’s name, but he never stopped, never slowed down. Running faster, she passed the stable, the mercantile, the hotel, the saloon. As she passed the jail, she found herself running out of breath. Soon, very soon now, he’d leave her in his dust.
“Rourke.” She shouted at the top of her lungs, but the figure on horseback continued at a steady pace.
“Damn you, Rourke,” she shrieked.
Pulling the gun from her pocket, she aimed and fired, sending his hat flying.
Stunned, he wheeled his horse and drew his gun.
Everyone in the saloon came running into the street to watch the gunfight. From the jail, the sheriff came running, carrying a shotgun.
Seeing Abby, Rourke’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell’s the matter with you, woman?”
“It’s about time you called me a woman,” she said.
“You nearly killed me.”
“If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be lying on the ground right now. Next time, I’ll part your hair so neat you’ll never have to comb it again.”
Rourke thought about Mordecai’s story around the campfire and felt the beginnings of a smile.
“All right, what is this about?” the sheriff called, running between them.
“Rourke says he’s leaving without me. I say he isn’t.”
“What do you intend to do about it,” Rourke asked, “hold me here against my will?”
“No. You’re taking me with you.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I love you. Because Aunt Vi said that when I found a man I loved, I should never let him get away. And because you love me too, Rourke. You’re just too dumb yet to know it.”
Everyone in the crowd began laughing.
Rourke’s eyes narrowed. Moving closer, he reached down and dragged her roughly into his arms. “Why would I love a woman with a hair-trigger temper who goes around shooting at me?”
“And why would I love a man who may never settle down? Who can’t offer me anything better than a cold meal and a rough trail?”
“Why?” he asked, drawing her closer.
“Because we’re both too dumb to know better,” she murmured, shoving the gun deep into her pocket.
“Looks like I’m stuck with you.”
“Stuck.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hell, Captain Daniel Rourke. We make a good team and you know it.”
He swallowed back the smile that threatened. “I know one thing. If you ever call me Daniel again, I’ll put you over my knee. The name’s Rourke.” He threw back his head and roared. “Just plain Rourke. And we’re changing your name to Abby Rourke just as fast as we can find a preacher. Then it’ll be too late for you to change your mind.”
Abby brought her lips close to his, feeling the familiar tingle that always began when he touched her. “I don’t care where we go, or what we do, Rourke, as long as we’re together. I’m never going to change my mind about that.”
His mouth came down on hers, hard, bruising. Everything he felt, all the love, all the longing, all the passion, were conveyed in that kiss.
The sheriff and townspeople watched as the two figures rode off into the darkness.
From their porch, two young people smiled, and watched until the figures disappeared. Then, arm in arm, they walked inside their little house.
Home, Abby thought, clinging tightly to Rourke, as the night wind tousled her hair. Home was just another name for love. And the three Market women had found enough for a lifetime.
The End
…
Ruth Ryan Langan Romance Classics
Now Available as EBooks:
Originally published by Pocket Books and Tapestry Books
Captive of Desire
Passage West
Nevada Nights
September’s Dream
The Heart’s Secret
Destiny’s Daughter
…
An excerpt from
Nevada Nights
…
When at last the wagon entered the gates of the convent walls, the late evening sun had cast long fingers of gold across the slate roofs and gleaming cross of the chapel.
A dozen sisters, with Mother Superior and the doctor from town in the lead, hurried toward the wagon. When the horse halted, the stranger eased his hold on the still form of Sister Leona, and stiffly, he climbed down. Cameron hurried to stand beside the wagon as the doctor knelt down next to Sister and began a brisk examination. He nodded in satisfaction and signaled for the stranger to carry her inside. The rest of the subdued crowd trailed behind.
The sisters, knowing they could do nothing for Sister Leona at the moment, moved off to find chores to occupy their minds until they could hear the doctor’s verdict. Many of the sisters hurried to the chapel, where they would keep their silent, prayerful vigil.
Cameron couldn’t tear herself away from the room. She stood just outside the door, watching as the stranger eased Sister gently onto her bed. By the time he had walked to the door, Reverend Mother and the doctor had moved to either side of the bed. The stranger closed the door softly and turned toward Cameron.
In a hushed voice, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be all right?”
She didn’t breathe as she waited for his reply.
He stared at her a long moment. Then he touched her arm and said, “You’re bleeding. Did you know? This should be looked after.”
The girl stared down at her arm in astonishment. Blood smeared her shirt and britches. She felt no pain, only warmth where his hand was touching her skin.
“It’s nothing.” She shrugged. “What about Sister Leona?”
“We’ll know soon enough.” He glanced around. “Where is the kitchen?”
She pointed behind her. “Down the hall.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her in that direction. “Come on.”
Cameron was too exhausted to argue. In the kitchen, he filled a pan with hot water from the kettle and rummaged in drawers until he found a towel.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She sat on a kitchen chair and watched dumbly as he began washing her bloody arm.
The man was tall—so tall she had to tip her head back to see his face. His hair was dark and thick and curled slightly around his forehead and neck. As he bent over her, it spilled across his forehead in a shaft of black silk. His eyes were dark, nearly black, with long sooty lashes. His jaw was firm, and he had an air of authority about him, as though he were accustomed to giving orders and having them followed without question.
Cameron had never been this close to a man before. She had lived all her life in a world of subdued, overly modest women. And this man was still naked to the waist. She stared fascinated at his powerful shoulders, the muscles of his arms flexing and unflexing as he moved. Her senses were assaulted by the strange, raw, masculine scent of him, which oddly stirred her blood.
What must it be like to be held in those arms?
she wondered. Blushing furiously at her thoughts, she tore her gaze away from his arms.
She stared at his hands, so large that he could easily hold both of hers in one of his. Then she noticed the scar on his left wrist. It was large, knotted almost like a cord, and encircled the wrist like a bracelet. He must have nearly severed his hand to have sustained such a scar. Without realizing it, she reached out her hand to touch it.
“An old wound,” he said, his voice so near her ear that she jumped.
He paused a moment, then continued washing her wounds. As he leaned across the table to reach a dry towel, his hand brushed her hair, causing a ripple of new sensations along her spine.
Her hair, he realized, smelled of bayberry soap. Her flawless skin glowed with health. Her cheeks were kissed by the sun.
She glanced up at him and found, to her dismay, that he was staring boldly down at her face. She lowered her eyes and felt the heat burning her cheeks. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Recognizing her confusion, he began to speak softly to calm her.
“What is your name?”
“Cammy—short for Cameron,” she said haltingly.
“Are you going to become a nun, Cammy, short for Cameron?” he asked teasingly.
She grinned at his humor. “No. I just live here.”
“You live here. Why?”
“My father sent me here when I was born. For my safety, Reverend Mother says. And I’ve been here ever since.”
He cocked his head to one side and regarded her. Was it her imagination, or had he stiffened slightly when she mentioned safety? There was a moment of awkward silence.
Then she asked, “And what is your name?”
“Michael. Michael Gray.”
She licked her dry lips and wondered how much longer she could endure being so close to this overpowering man.
His deep voice forced her thoughts back to mundane things, and soon his simple questions had her caught up in an animated conversation.
“How did your island get its name?” The question was intended to soothe her tension.
She smiled, recalling the history lessons of her youth. “It’s named for the reeds growing in the area, which are used for matches.
Allumette
means match in French.”
His lips quirked in a half-smile, as if he may have already known this.
“And did you know that Champlain actually traveled as far as Allumette Island in 1613?”
He nodded. “Interesting.” All the while, his gaze roamed appreciatively over her animated features.
At ease now, she prattled on. “Did you know we’re in the path of the ice age? Reverend Mother said that upstream from Pembroke and below Des Joachims is one of the few remaining valleys resulting from the stresses of that era. She saw a plateau of granite which juts hundreds of feet above the valley floor. She said it’s—spectacular.” She hesitated, realizing how silly she must sound to this stranger.
“Yes. I’ve seen it. And it is spectacular.” His lazy smile caused her heart to tumble wildly in her chest. “Haven’t you seen it?”
Cameron shook her head, causing her silken hair to drift softly about her neck and shoulders. “I’ve never left this island,” she admitted softly.
“Never? This little strip of land is all you’ve seen?” He studied her intently, loving the color which flooded her cheeks at his scrutiny. “There’s a big world out there to explore someday.”
“Someday,” she echoed wistfully.
Reverend Mother scurried into the kitchen and skidded to a stop at the sight of the two of them. Then she held up a rough, homespun shirt, which she had obviously borrowed from one of the stable hands.