Betina Krahn (11 page)

“She’ll write ye out a bank draft, and our worries’ll be over.”

The sun stood high overhead by the time Bear McQuaid drove his rented buggy down the road leading to Diamond Wingate’s home. He was already hours behind his self-appointed schedule of “first thing Monday morning” … the result of having to haggle over unpaid buggy rental fees at the livery stable. Worse still, he had been forced to use his very last resource, his lucky twenty-dollar gold piece, to settle the mounting debt and couldn’t help feeling that it was a bad omen for the day’s business.

He spotted the sprawling estate—“Gracemont,” the stableman had said—as he crested a gentle rise and had a fleeting urge to turn the horse around and head straight back to the city. Only the memory of Halt’s stubborn cheerfulness as he wolfed down a couple of stale biscuits and headed off in search of manual labor to put food in their bellies, kept him from calling the whole thing off.

He had spent the last two nights tossing and turning on his narrow cot, plagued by the tactile memory of Diamond Wingate’s voluptuous body lying limp and pliant in his arms. Worse, with the slightest bend of thought he was
revisited by certain untenable urges toward her … a sort of emptiness in the middle of him, a gripping desire to step in front of her and …

And what? Take on all comers? Her problems were none of his concern, he had told himself so often that it now droned like a chant in his head.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking about her reaction to those three local fortune hunters. She knew what they wanted from her and wasn’t having any part of it. On one level he had to respect that. And on another level … he had to pray she’d forget all about those scruples when it came to
his
need for cash.

He reined up, pulled off his hat, and wiped his damp forehead as he stared at the huge set of iron gates that marked the entrance to Gracemont. There were at least a score of people milling about in front of those brick pillars and that iron scrollwork. Uneasy at the prospect of stepping into the middle of something he knew nothing about, he scowled, flicked the reins, and drove on.

The people outside her gates were nothing short of destitute, he realized as he drove into the stares of ragged men, women, and children. They carried their possessions with them in worn satchels and old gunny sacks, and he could see that down the road, they had built fires and made a crude camp.

As he looked past them, through the gates, he spotted a fellow sitting in a chair that was tilted against the side of a stone gatehouse. The man’s hat was propped over his face; he appeared to be having a nap. Bear called to him, but succeeded only in rousing the attention of the people waiting outside the gates. They collected around him, watching keenly for the gatekeeper’s response. From their comments and behavior, he realized that these people were waiting for something from Diamond Wingate. A handout.

He climbed down from the buggy and made his way through the expectant crowd. “Hey! Gatekeeper!” he called.

The man looked up, gave the gate a passing glance, and lowered his chair as he spotted Bear in the forefront of the crowd. He rose and sauntered over.

“I’m here to see Miss Wingate,” Bear said uncomfortably.

“Yeah—us, too!” came a voice from the crowd, touching off a din of shouted demands and pleas.

“You got an appointment?” the gatekeeper demanded, ignoring the others.

“No,” Bear said, humiliated by the realization that no matter how much better clothed he was, he was truly just one of the needy throng at her gates.

“I am a social acquaintance of Miss Wingate’s.” He glanced at the others pressing around him. “I had no idea I would have to ask for an appointment to call upon her at home.”

The gatekeeper appraised Bear’s gentlemanly clothes and craned his neck to inspect his buggy, then nodded. “A’right. Ye can come in.” He addressed the others, who began clamoring for admittance, too. “Only him, ye hear? I’m only openin’ the gates for him. You lot—stand back. They’ll bring out yer dinner soon enough.”

Being admitted to the place was almost as unsettling as being denied admittance. Leaving the other supplicants to her good graces behind, he felt like a damned fraud. So much for his determination to make this visit professional and purely business.

The house at the center of the sweeping circular drive was a sprawling brick Georgian Revival structure that centered around a large white portico and a formidable pair of black lacquered doors. The road leading to those doors was lined with beautifully groomed lawn and arcs of neatly
trimmed hedges. Every part of the place, from beds of tulips and newly planted roses to the shining brass work of the coaching lamps on either side of the door, was lovingly tended. It was an estate, an heiress’s home, a place wrapped in an aura of money and privilege. It brought back such a wave of memories that he had to summon every ounce of his nerve in order to climb out of the buggy.

The door swung open before him as if by magic, and he was welcomed into a spacious entry hall appointed in black-and-white marble and richly polished mahogany. He had just given his name to the butler, when a voice hailed him from the top of the stairs. “McQuaid? Is: that you?” He looked up and recognized Diamond’s guardian, Hardwell Humphrey.

“Why, it is McQuaid! As I live and breathe.” Humphrey and the genteel-looking older lady at his side hurried down the steps toward Bear. “My dear”—he patted the hand nestled in the crook of his arm—“this is the fellow I told you about from the Vassars’ party. The one who rescued Diamond. McQuaid, this is my wife, Hannah.”

“What a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McQuaid,” Hannah Humphrey said, offering him her hand. “Hardwell told me all about you and your heroic deeds. Unfortunately, we are just on our way out … a standing engagement …”

“But Diamond is here,” Hardwell declared with a wave toward the rear of the house. “Out in the stables, givin’ Robbie his first ridin’ lesson. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” He turned to the butler, who stood close by waiting to receive Bear’s hat and the roll of maps under his arm. “Jeffreys, take Mr. McQuaid out to see Miss Diamond.” He turned back and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, McQuaid. You’ll have to come to dinner with us soon.”

That was all there was to it? Bear thought incredulously, as he watched the pair exit and climb into a large,
elegant coach. He just walked in, was recognized, and was shown straight into her presence? Relief rolled through him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult, after all.

The butler took Bear’s big black Western hat and roll of maps, but then returned the hat to him, saying that he might wish to keep it if he were going out to the stables. Bear nodded, took it back, and handled it a bit awkwardly as he fell in behind the dapper little servant.

On the way out, they passed through a series of rooms that surpassed what he had seen at the Vassars.’ The colors were richer and more subdued and the furnishings were mostly gracious mahogany pieces … a very restful and pleasing sort of environment that he sensed few were privileged to enter.

The grounds and handsome brick stables were equally well appointed and kept in immaculate condition. They traversed the length of the stable alley, between rows of box stalls, in which he glimpsed a number of fine-looking horses. As they reached the doors at the far end, he heard Diamond’s voice.

“No, no,” she was calling to someone. “Just stand there and let him get used to you. Keep your eye on where he is, but don’t move. Let him come to you. He’s just as curious about you as you are about him.”

He paused in the stable door.

Diamond Wingate, clad simply in a forest-green riding skirt, boots, and a white blouse, was standing on the bottom board of a whitewashed corral fence … looking as fresh as mountain laurel in morning dew. He forced his gaze to move along and observed that her ten-year-old cousin was standing in the enclosure with a small, untethered horse. The boy held an empty lead rope and looked as stiff as shirt board.

“But what if he bites or kicks me?” Robbie’s voice was thin and anxious.

“You’re not made of carrots or sugar,” Bear called out to him. “As long as you don’t make any wild or sudden moves, you’re plenty safe.”

Diamond turned abruptly, grabbing the nearest fence post to steady herself. “Mr. McQuaid.”

The sight of him in the doorway carried an all-too-predictable impact on Diamond. Her eyes widened, her cheeks reddened, and her breath stopped. For the past two nights she had tossed and turned and pounded down innocent pillows, trying in vain to banish the sight of him from her mind and telling herself that her reaction to him on the night of the Vassars’ party was simply a result of her predicament and his unexpected chivalry.

But gratitude, she knew all too well, did not account for the guilty excitement that seeped through her at the memory of his hand on her waist and the scandalous pleasure of being caught up in his powerful arms … held tight against his chest … his lushly muscled, hauntingly memorable chest. With the slightest slip of her vigilant sense of decency, the image of his naked torso crept into her thoughts.

Even now her gaze had migrated and fixed on the front of his shirt.

“Miss Wingate.” He tugged the brim of his hat and strolled over to her. “Mr. Humphreys said you were teaching Master Robert, there, to ride.”

“I am.” Two words were all she could manage as she forced her gaze up.

He leaned a shoulder against the fence post and glanced between the boards at the boy and horse. Why did he have to do that, she grumbled mentally … that insolent slouch that seemed to challenge the rest of the world to find something interesting enough to bring him upright?

“Interesting approach … teaching him to ride by having him just stand there.”

“He’s never been around horses.” She scowled, reminding herself that there was a good bit more inside those well-tailored garments than a naked chest and a scrap of chivalry. He was arrogant and abominably prone to— “I want him to get used to being around them before climbing aboard one.”

Watching Robbie, he lowered his voice. “He might feel better if he had more control … say … if he put the lead on the horse and walked him around.”

“I had planned to have him do that next,” she informed him shortly, then turned to her cousin. “Hook the lead on him, Robbie, and walk him around the fence. Go right up to him. Be businesslike and make sure he sees you coming.”

With a glance at Bear, Robbie squared his shoulders and made himself approach the horse. He fixed the hook in the ring at the bottom of the halter, and in moments was leading the little horse around the corral. He seemed more confident with each step, pausing now and then to give the horse’s neck a pat.

She flicked a look at Bear from the corner of her eye and couldn’t help noticing his tanned skin … the prominent line of his jaw … the tilt of his hat over his eyes. From his head, her gaze wandered down his shoulders, to where his big hands had pushed his coat back and were propped on his hips. Even in ordinary clothes, he still possessed a lithe, casual grace.…

“When the lesson is over”—he turned to her with another bit of advice and caught her looking—“you ought to have him brush down his horse and give it water. Make him responsible for the animal’s care. That’s a big part of—”

“I know what he needs to do,” she said, glaring, reddening at her own thoughts. “I have been riding and caring for horses since I was a young girl.”

“Oh? And how much do you know about boys?”

“Children are children, Mr. McQuaid.”

“Well, that could be your problem, Miss Wingate.”

“My problem?”

“In my experience, boys are more like horses than children. Training them right requires a strong hand and a strong stomach.”

“Just what sort of experience produced this fascinating insight on
boys
?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

He smiled. A smug, male, trump-card sort of smile.

“I was one once, myself.”

Diamond drew her chin back, feeling as if she’d been sucker-punched. The next instant she found herself visited by a spontaneous image of him as a young boy … shoulder high with cowlicks and missing teeth … dirt everywhere … probably an endless sweet tooth … big, lively copper eyes that would melt pure granite. He had probably wormed his way around and into the heart of his poor old mother. And every other female he ever met. No doubt he had left a trail of broken hearts from here all the way to Montana.

The sound of a horse fast approaching caused Robbie’s mount to jerk its head up and prance nervously. Diamond looked up, past Robbie and around the corner of the stables. “Hold on to him,” she called. “He needs you to be steady and in control. Show him it’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

Bear followed her gaze and they spotted the rider in the same moment. The same thought registered in both of their minds:
Oh, no
.

“There you are!” Morgan Kenwood called as he reined up by the corral and dismounted. She climbed down from the fence and turned, clamping her hands securely on a fence board behind her. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you out and about, my dear.” Then he spotted Bear,
looked questioningly at Diamond, and then nodded at Bear. “McQuaid, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”