Willow: A Novel (No Series) (24 page)

“Do you love Gideon, Willow?”

She raised swollen, miserable eyes to Dove’s face. “Yes, God help me. But you can see how he feels about me. It’s Daphne he wants.”

Dove was quiet and introspective for several seconds. “I think perhaps he was just trying to make you jealous. Worked, too, didn’t it?”

Willow flushed. She was so inexperienced in matters of the heart; the possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. “That doesn’t explain Daphne’s behavior,” she protested. “Why, that woman told me that she never wanted to marry Gideon in the first place, and the next thing you know, she’s throwing herself at him—”

“She may be in league with Gideon,” mused Dove, one finger pressed to her chin in speculation. “In any case, if you want Gideon Marshall, you’d better stop running off to your bedroom to cry like a little girl whenever you’re challenged. Believe me, with a man like that, you’ll have more than one Daphne to fend off during your lifetime.”

Willow stared at Dove, mouth agape. Was this woman turning on her now, too? “You make it sound as though I was the one who did something wrong!”

“You did,” Dove affirmed. “You should have walked straight up to Gideon and slapped that man silly, for a start.”

“I couldn’t very well do that when I was the one who started all this by leaving him!”

Dove smiled. “Exactly,” she confirmed, and then she
came and knelt beside Willow’s chair. “Sweetie, if you want to own that man more than the devil ever could, I can tell you how. And if you love him, then you’d better fight, because it’s plain that you love him in the forever way, and that means your life could be mighty long and mighty empty if you don’t do something.”

“Tell me,” Willow pleaded.

Dove explained, and Willow’s eyes widened as she listened.

*   *   *

“I don’t like this, Gideon,” Daphne said, wringing her hands as she looked up at the bright moon and drew the scent of Willow Marshall’s lilacs into her nostrils. “I don’t like it at all. That woman is my friend.”

Gideon was standing a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I don’t deserve any favors from you, Daphne,” he conceded gruffly, “but if you don’t help me, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Daphne was filled with frustration. She had hurt Willow, and badly, and she hated herself for it. “You know I’m not the type to hold grudges, Gideon, and it probably wouldn’t have been good if we’d married anyway. But I still think you should go back inside that house and tell your wife that you love her.”

His broad shoulders stiffened beneath his pristine white shirt, and the fabric of his silk vest strained across his back. “She wouldn’t care,” he said. “No one is more important to Willow than her thieving, murdering brother.”

“Oh, Gideon, don’t be such a
fool
. You
must
know how deeply Willow cares for you—it’s in her face, in everything
she says and does.” She paused, drew a deep breath. “Besides, she came right out and told me.”

“She’ll have to choose between Steven and me, Daphne,” Gideon broke in. “And I don’t mind telling you that my prospects aren’t very good.”

“You’re not going to increase them by flirting with other women under her nose, Gideon.” The mention of Steven Gallagher made Daphne uncomfortable; she’d visited him several times while he was recovering at Gideon’s house, attracted to him like filings to a magnet, and they’d laughed together in the quiet. Once, he’d drawn her down to lie beside him on the bed—he was that bold—and he’d kissed her. Daphne knew for a shattering certainty that if she hadn’t heard footsteps on the stairs at the very last moment, she might have given Steven Gallagher what she had never given to any other man—herself.

Gideon turned to face her, and she shuddered to think that he might know what she was thinking and feeling. “Tell me, Daphne, what’s keeping you here in Virginia City? You obviously know as well as I do that our, er, association is over.”

Daphne lowered her eyes. It wouldn’t be wise to admit that she hoped to see Steven Gallagher again, but she couldn’t lie, either. For that reason, she said nothing at all.

“It’s Steven, isn’t it?” asked Gideon, who could be damnably perceptive. “Christ in heaven, it’s Steven Gallagher!”

“Yes,” admitted Daphne lamely.

Gideon swore again and sat down on the marble bench beside her, taking her hand in his own. “He’s an
outlaw
,
Daphne. Life with him would be foreign to everything you’ve ever been taught, everything you’ve believed in—”

Daphne laughed, despite the tears sliding down her face. “Yes, Papa will—well, you can imagine how Papa would react, I’m sure.”

Gideon squeezed her hand. “Can
you
, Daphne?” he countered gently. “Can you even
begin
to imagine the way society would respond?”

Glumly, Daphne nodded her head.

In a brotherly fashion, Gideon took out his handkerchief, unfolded it, and dabbed away the tears that wet her cheeks. “Daphne, does Steven feel the way you do?”

Again, Daphne laughed, but the sound was one of anguish. “No, I’m sure he doesn’t. No doubt, I’m just another potential conquest to him.”

“Potential?”

Daphne swatted at Gideon in reprimand. “Yes,
potential
. I didn’t give in to him, if that’s what you want to know.”

Gideon gave a ragged sigh and released Daphne’s suddenly moist and quivering hand. “God damn. Now I suppose I’m going to have to do constant battle not only with Willow but with you, too.”

“If you mean to hang Steven Gallagher,” Daphne said bravely, “you’ll get no help from me. And that includes this silly charade you want to put on for Willow!”

“Daphne—”

“
No
. I won’t go to the supper dance with you, Gideon Marshall, and I won’t lie to Willow anymore, either. I’ve already told you—she’s my friend!”

Gideon stood up, looking hard and imperious in the
bright moonlight. “I’m your friend, too, Daphne, and I’m warning you. For your own sake, stay away from Steven Gallagher. Go back to San Francisco and marry someone—suitable.”

“And if I don’t heed your advice?”

Gideon sighed. “Despite what I’ve done, your father will listen to me, Daphne, and if I wire him that you’ve taken up with a man who makes a habit of robbing Central Pacific trains, he’ll be on his way here within the day.”

“You would do that to me, after humiliating me in front of the whole city of San Francisco?”

“In a heartbeat,” replied Gideon, and then he disappeared into the shadows of the garden, leaving Daphne alone with her very disturbing thoughts.

*   *   *

Gideon stood at the base of the stairs, his hand gripping the newel, and stared up into the shadows of the second floor. Watching him from the doorway of his study, Devlin knew that he should be bone-angry with this young rascal, but the truth was that he was amused instead. Any fool would have seen through that act he’d put on at dinner.

“Problems?” Devlin intoned, with a grin. He had long since removed his dinner jacket and now, to make his comfort complete, he was rolling up his sleeves.

Gideon flung him a look and tore himself away from the newel. “Just one,” he answered caustically.

“About so high?” jibed the judge, holding one hand, palm down, to Willow’s approximate height.

“I need a drink,” said Gideon, with a distracted shake of his head.

“Nope,” countered the judge good-naturedly. “What you need is to march up those stairs and make some kind of peace with that wife of yours before it’s too late.”

“Are you crazy? She’d probably shoot me on sight.”

“Can’t say I’d blame her much, the way you behaved at dinner tonight.”

“The way
I
behaved?” growled Gideon. “What about
her behavior
? She left me!”

“That she did. But you’re not going to get Willow back by carrying on like a road-show Romeo, my boy. She’s too proud to take that, and if I know my daughter, she’ll give as good as she gets if you try.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you aren’t the only young fellow around these parts with eyes in his head. Willow is a beautiful young woman.”

Gideon laughed, though he didn’t sound too amused. “Are you telling me that she might take up with Norville Pickering again?”

The judge indulged in a slow smile. “Never. But your brother, Zachary—now there’s a possibility, though it would probably take some time. He’s good-looking, and he’s a hand with the women, from what I’ve seen. Seems to me that if you didn’t want Willow, he’d be more than happy to take her off your hands.”

Gideon’s jaw clamped down like a vise, and his eyes once again were fixed on the top of the stairs. A visible tremor went through his frame before he bolted up them, taking three steps at a time.

11

The knob on Willow’s bedroom door turned sharply. With her heart in her throat, she snuggled down deeper in the blankets, waiting, her eyes on the brass key jutting from the lock.

“Open the door, Willow,” Gideon commanded evenly, from the hallway.

“No,” replied his wife, in a clear voice.

“Do you want me to kick it in?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I, Willow?”

“My father would—”

“The hell with your father! Besides, he’s the one who sent me up here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine,” he answered, from beyond the sturdy barrier
that separated them. “Do you believe this?” There was a short, ominous silence, followed by a thundering crash that sent the door rattling against the inside wall, hinges whining.

Willow sat up in bed, her eyes wide. “Gideon!” she gasped.

He executed a mocking bow. “Good evening, my dear,” he said.

Despite the violence of his action, Willow was not afraid of her husband. No, if she was afraid of anything, it was of her own vulnerability to him. “How dare you?” she breathed.

Gideon shrugged, a shadow-draped giant, and began undoing the string tie he had worn to dinner. Then he unfastened the top buttons of his shirt and shrugged out of his suit coat. “How dare I what?” he asked, with a gruff insolence that chafed Willow’s pride.

Willow ignored the question, since the answer was so obvious. “Get out of my room,” she said, through her teeth.

As though she had not spoken, Gideon closed the door, walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, and began pulling off his boots.

“Gideon!”

He smiled at her, his teeth gleaming winter white in the thick shadows. “Yes, dear?” he asked pleasantly.

“I told you to get out!”

“I know what you told me, hellcat,” he replied, without a whit of concern. “Move over, will you? I’m especially tired tonight.”

“I will
not
move over. If you think you’re going to touch me, Gideon Marshall, after what you did tonight—”

“I’ve no intention of touching you,” Gideon interrupted. “But I’m not going to ride out to the ranch tonight, either. Nor do I plan to sleep on that damn settee in the sitting room again.”

“Sleep in one of the guest rooms, then!”

“I’ll sleep here, thank you very much. Now, move over.”

Outraged, Willow untangled herself from the covers and made to scramble off the bed, muttering about audacity and people who thought they ought to have their own way no matter what.

Grinning, Gideon caught her arm in a light hold and eased her back onto the pillows.

Willow glared up into his handsome face, her shoulders imprisoned beneath his hands. “If you don’t let me out of this bed,” she warned, on a hissing breath, “I will scream for my papa!”

“That would be embarrassing for everybody,” crooned Gideon, his eyes twinkling with quiet merriment, “wouldn’t it?”

“Most of all for you, I think!”

Gideon arched an eyebrow. “Nothing embarrasses me, Willow,” he said. “And kindly stop acting as though you were still in pigtails.”

Recalling Dove’s gentle reprimand concerning her tendency to behave like a little girl, Willow subsided. She rolled away from Gideon, pulled the covers up over her head, and bit back the screaming tantrum that was brewing on the tip of her tongue.

Calmly, Gideon finished undressing and crawled into bed, stretching out beside Willow with a contented, husbandly sigh. “Good night,” he said.