Gerrity'S Bride (2 page)

Emmaline watched, aware of the total lack of respect he was displaying, aware of the proximity of their bodies as he bent to his task, and more aware than she wanted to be of the rough texture of his fingers against her pale skin. She swallowed back the flood of saliva that rushed to fill her mouth.

For just a moment, a swirling sensation in her stomach prompted her to consider anew her refusal of his offer of lunch. That is, until she decided that it wasn’t simply pangs of hunger she was feeling, but rather an unusual awareness of the man who handled her so casually. And then, with a grunt that might have signified approval, he straightened and retrieved the reins.

“Feel better?” he asked as he once more set the team in motion.

“Ummm,” she managed to reply.

“Once we get to the ranch, you’d do well to get out of those stockings and whatever you’re wearin’ under all those layers of clothes,” he suggested in an offhand manner.

Emmaline straightened on the seat, oddly refreshed by the loosening of her jacket, but hovering on the edge of anger at his casual mention of her underclothes. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. “What I am wearing is no more or less than any lady would wear.”

“You won’t find any of those harnesses and piles of petticoats on a ranch, Miss Emmaline,” he said with dry precision. “The ladies wear light colors, and not too many layers.”

“I’m in mourning,” she announced primly, even as her honest heart prodded her. It was difficult to mourn a father she had little memory of, but she had dutifully donned the required black garb and yards of veiling on her hat. That the veiling had gone by the way after she discovered how hot it was behind the layers of gauze was not to be admitted, she thought warily. Now she’d allowed this...man, this ranch hand, to handle her clothing, and...

The memory of his work-roughened fingers against her skin was the final straw. He was bossy, she decided, not to mention arrogant, and she was still too hot. Her eyes blinked and narrowed against the unrelenting sunshine. Not only that, she was too tired, and sick of being jolted about on this sad excuse for a wagon, she thought as she fought the weary tears that burned behind her eyelids.

His voice saved her from the disgrace of tears. “We’ve arrived,” he announced as they passed beneath a sign proclaiming that they were on Carruthers land. But it was not to be a quick arrival, she noticed, watching the group of buildings in the distance. Indeed, it was another twenty minutes before the wagon halted.

As if it had sprouted from the desert, the house sprawled in several directions, its sand-colored walls dotted with windows and doors. A wide roof provided overhanging shelter, forming a shaded spot on the eastern side of the building. Appearing from the shadowed doorway, a woman stepped forward. Wiping her hands on the front of the white apron she wore, she smiled her welcome. Behind her, the open door revealed a dim interior, and Emmaline yearned suddenly to step within that shady area, out of the sun that beat upon her with unrelenting brilliance.

She shifted upon the seat, and, as if spurred by her movement, the man sitting next to her leaped to the ground and then turned, hands reaching to lift her from the seat. She moved nearer and then, fingers clutching his shoulders, felt him take her weight as he circled her waist with hands that held her firmly. He swept her to the ground, providing support while she gingerly tested her weight on limbs that were unaccountably shaky.

“Got the ground under you, ma’am?” he asked, his eyes mocking as he watched her closely. She was a slim little mite, he decided, flexing his fingers against the boning of the undergarment she wore. ‘Course, once she took off the corsets, or whatever it was they called those idiotic things women wore, she might spread out a little.

She stirred against his hands and he released her, his eyes hooded as he watched the sway of her skirt, the graceful steps of her slender booted feet and the tilt of her head under the bonnet she wore.

“Thank you, Mr....” She groped for a name as she stepped away from him.

“Just Matt,” he said bluntly. “We don’t deal in formalities around here, sis.”

She stiffened. “All right. Thank you, Matt,” she said, declining the argument he’d resurrected with his reference to their relationship.

“Come in, come in,” the woman on the doorstep said, stepping back to allow Emmaline room.

“Maria, this is Miss Emmaline,” Matt said. “Maria is our housekeeper, Emmaline.”

The woman nodded quickly. “I’ve been watching for you. You must be hot and tired. Hungry, too, unless this man fed you in town. From the looks of things, you need something cool to drink and a place to sit and rest a bit.” Maria bustled ahead, Emmaline trailing behind as she looked about the large room, drawn by the simple beauty of its furnishings.

Blinking against the dimness, she basked in the cooler temperature within the house. On the outside wall, the windows were covered with white curtains, sheer and filmy with deep ruffles that were held back at the sides. Large pieces of leather furniture sat about the room, deep chairs with reading lamps close at hand, and a pair of sofas that faced each other before an enormous fireplace on the far wall. A game table, surrounded by heavy wooden chairs, filled another corner. Whitewashed walls, dotted with paintings and an assortment of hanging rugs and tapestries, caught her eye. The floor beneath her feet was wooden, scattered with woven rugs across its wide planking.

A quiet, cool welcome enveloped her as she stood in silence...a welcome she had not thought to discover in this place.

Behind her, she heard the murmur of voices and then the bustle of men carrying in the contents of the wagon.

“Take Miss Emmaline’s bags to the guest room,” Maria instructed the men from the doorway.

“I only have my carpetbag and a small trunk,” Emmaline said quickly. She’d trusted her trunk to fate when the train conductor deposited it on the platform earlier. There it had remained until Matt shouldered it easily and dumped it without ceremony in the back of the wagon.

“I didn’t bring much with me,” she added. Her smile was distracted as she watched Maria. The woman waved her hands at the men hustling to do her bidding, alternately scolding them and shaking her head at them.

“Will your other things be coming later?” Matt asked from the doorway.

“No.” Turning to face him, she slid the bonnet from her head and brushed at the curls that sprang to life, vibrant against the darkness of her mourning dress. “I didn’t plan on staying long enough to need many things.”

His brow rose, and he braced his feet apart, one hand resting negligently against his hip, the other holding the belt and holster he had just slipped off.

“Oh?” The questioning syllable hung in the air.

Her chin lifted a bit as she silently defied him, determined to set the pattern for their short future together. “I only plan on staying long enough to hear the will read and make arrangements to take my sister back to Lexington with me.”

Only the sharp intake of breath warned her of another presence, and that only for a second. Then a wail of anguish filled the air and set her in motion.

“Noooo...”
cried a child from the far side of one of the sofas, where she peered over the high back. “I’m not going away! I’m not going to Lexing with her, am I, Maffew?” she wailed piteously.

“‘Course not, Tessie,” he assured her, reaching her in several long strides, his gun belt flung onto a peg on the wall as he moved.

Emmaline was right behind him as he gathered the child into his arms. The little girl wrapped herself about him, burying her face against his broad chest.

The look he slanted at Emmaline clearly told her she had made her first blunder in this place.

“This is your little sister. Too bad you couldn’t have made a better first impression,” he said bluntly.

Emmaline drew in a deep breath and considered the situation. Taking another step closer to where the child huddled in her brother’s arms, she watched the narrow shoulders shudder, her heart aching in quick sympathy.

“Theresa, won’t you look at me? I’ve come a long way just to see you,” she said coaxingly. She reached out to touch the fingers that lay against Matt’s collar, and the little girl shivered.

“No, I don’t want to see you! Make her go away, Maffew!” she demanded loudly.

“Miss Emmaline, why don’t I show you where your room is,” Maria suggested softly from behind her, and Emmaline turned quickly, thankful for the suggestion.

“That would be fine,” she whispered with a nod. With only one short look over her shoulder, she left the room, only to hear the words repeated in a firm, carrying voice from the child she had alienated so quickly.

“Make her go away, Maffew.”

His answer was delivered in a husky murmur. “She won’t be here long, short stuff. Everything will be all right. She’s just a citified woman come to look us over. She won’t be here long,” he repeated firmly.

Emmaline’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed at his words of reassurance to the child, and she spun on her heel toward the hallway where Maria was leading the way.

“A lot he knows about it,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Citified woman, am I? The man doesn’t know a lady when he sees one! And I didn’t come all the way to this blot on the desert for nothing. We’ll just see about that!”

W
arily eyeing the tortilla on her plate, Emmaline poked at it with her fork. As breakfasts went, it was definitely different from the usual ham and biscuits she was accustomed to at home.

“Eat, eat!” Maria urged her from her post at the doorway. “I put in plenty of eggs and meat for you. It gives lots of energy for the whole morning.”

Emmaline returned her admonition with a smile. Then, with determination, she cut into the strange offering that was called breakfast in this foreign place and ate the first bite.

“I just made fresh coffee,” Maria said from around the corner. Bearing the coffeepot, she bustled through the doorway. Emmaline nodded, her mouth full.

“Mr. Matthew finished up early this morning,” the rotund woman said as she filled Emmaline’s cup. “He’s gone out to check on the new foals.”

“Where is Theresa?” Emmaline asked, and cut with more enthusiasm into the breakfast she had almost scorned. Whatever it was called, the combination of ingredients was surprisingly good.

“With her teacher, doing schoolwork,” Maria answered, moving about the table as she cleared and straightened. For a moment, she hesitated, and her eyes were warm as they rested on the young woman before her.

Emmaline’s hair was brilliant, a golden red that haloed about her in a cascade of curls. Her eyes were blue, wide-set, and bright with unveiled interest as she took in her surroundings. Her features were strong and symmetrical, calling to mind the handsome man who had fathered her. And it was that thought that brought a sense of nostalgia to the Mexican woman who had managed this household for over a quarter of a century.

“Miss Emmaline, you make me think of your papa, you know,” she said with gentle yearning. “He had the same curls, so golden in the sunshine, so full of fire in the shadows.” Her sigh was deep. “I remember the day your mama took you away, how your papa held you in his arms. Your heads were pressed so tightly together, I couldn’t tell one curl from another, so alike they were.”

Emmaline looked up unbelievingly. “You remember me? From twenty years ago? I didn’t know you were here then, Maria.”

“Ah, yes. Your mama was so full of sadness, so unhappy with our sunshine and the dry spells and the spring rains. She said so many times how much she wanted to go where there was green grass and cool breezes.” Her ample breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply, as if she would express sympathy with the long-departed woman.

“Mama always shuddered when she spoke of this place,” Emmaline remembered as she propped her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand. Mama shuddered a lot, she thought with resignation. She picked up her cup and sipped at the hot brew within.

“And what do you think of our sunshine?” Maria asked. “Perhaps you have some of your papa in you that craves the heat and the open spaces.”

Emmaline shrugged diffidently. “I haven’t given it much chance yet. Yesterday was a real experience, what with riding on that wagon and traveling in the hottest part of the day.” She slid a glance at the woman who was still considering her intently. “I suspect Matthew was trying to put me through a trial, perhaps seeking to discourage me from staying.”

Maria grinned. Her smile widened to express her agreement, revealing brilliant white teeth. “
Sí...
he may have set out on the wrong foot. Then, too, he did have to get supplies from town, and the buggy doesn’t hold as much.”

“Well, at any rate, I may not be here for long,” Emmaline said quickly. “I’ll make arrangements to see Mr. Hooper and find out what I need to do about the will, and then—”

“And then you’ll fold up your tent and steal away, I suspect, city lady,” said a husky voice from behind her.

Emmaline stifled the urge to toss her coffee at the tall man who stood in the archway, instead looking over her shoulder at him with disdain.

“I don’t steal away, Matt. When the time comes, I’ll leave the same way I came, only with my sister in tow.”

His snort of disbelief only served to bring her to her feet in a rush of movement. She spun to face him, and her skirts swished about her.

Matt’s gaze moved slowly from the tips of her neatly shod feet to the wide skirt of her dress, then across the fitted bodice to where the buttons marched up to fasten beneath her chin. Tilted at an angle, her head was like a bright blossom above the dark mourning colors she affected. The sight of such radiance, shimmering in the early sunshine, which poured through the unshaded dining room window, set his teeth on edge.

She was too good-looking for his peace of mind, he had decided last night. What with the sassy mouth pouting when she got aggravated and those eyes sparking fire at his teasing, she was more than he had bargained for.

“Thought you heard what Tessie had to say last night,” he growled at her. “She’s not about to go clear across the country with you. This is her home.”

“She’s my sister, just as much as she’s yours,” Emmaline reminded him firmly. “I didn’t come all the way out here to see her for a few days and then forsake her.”

Matt stepped closer, the smell of dust and horses and leather making her aware of where he had been this morning. “Don’t sniff your elegant nose at me, lady,” he said roughly. “What you smell is good honest sweat, and Arizona dirt. Not that you’d recognize it.”

“On the contrary.” Emmaline’s voice slid like silk over his irritation. “You have the distinct odor of a horseman, and that doesn’t change much between Kentucky and Arizona. I’m well accustomed to the smell of a barn.”

“Do you know how to ride a horse?” he asked bluntly, his narrowed eyes taking in her smug stance.

She smiled, and her expression was benevolent. “I’ve probably sat on richer horseflesh than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Too bad you won’t be here long enough to prove it,” he ventured.

“I’m being tolerant of you this morning, given that you know nothing about me or my intentions, save that of gaining guardianship of my sister. But don’t push me, Mr. Gerrity.” She clenched her hands and thrust them into the pockets of her gown, unwilling that he should know the extent of her aggravation.

He knew. His brow lifted, and a grin teased at the corner of his mouth. “Somehow I suspect you don’t have a tolerant bone in your body,” he drawled. “Especially when it comes to me.”

Her shrug denied him the satisfaction of a verbal reply, and she turned away. Suit yourself, she thought, then left the room, aware that she was too easily drawn into a war of words with him.

“Miss Emmaline!” he called after her, bringing her to a halt midway along the wide passageway that led to the living room. He’d followed her through the archway. She took a deep breath before she turned once more to face him.

“Yes.”

The word was terse—not much of an invitation, he decided. “Oswald Hooper will be here shortly. Would you care to join us in the library?”

Her nod was abrupt. Better that she knew right away just where she stood in the scheme of things here. The situation was far from what she had expected; certainly, the presence of Matt Gerrity had not figured into her plans. But surely her father’s will would effectively place Theresa in her care.

“Just let me know when he arrives,” she requested, striving for a gracious tone. Already her hands were damp with the sweat of anxiety, and her breath caught as she contemplated the issues at hand.

For too long she had yearned for the closeness of family ties. Her mother had been sickly, tending to stay close to her bed or couch, finally succumbing to pneumonia without a struggle. Her grandparents had been kind, in an aloof sort of way, providing her with all she required in order to become a lady and prepare for life as a wife and mother.

It had not been enough. The message from Mr. Hooper had opened her eyes to the solitary existence she had lived for so long. That she was bonded by blood to a five-year-old child, that the closeness she yearned for might be within reach, was the impetus that had brought her here. Even the rude welcome she’d received from the girl was not enough to discourage her. She would woo her and win her, Emmaline had determined during the night hours. She would make Theresa love her.

“Will you be in your room?” Matt’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. She’d been deep in thought. His words had shattered that privacy, and now she straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. With a tightening of her mouth, she nodded at him in silent acceptance.

“I’ll send Maria to fetch you.”

Once more she nodded and turned away, and he watched her walk down the hallway. He grinned unwillingly as he noted each twitch of her skirt, and the way the heavy fabric clung to the curves beneath.

* * *

“I don’t believe it.” Spoken in a whisper, Emmaline’s words hung in the silence of the library. Her hands clenched at her sides, she spun and walked to the window. Only the rigid strength she had willed to her spine held her upright, and she stared unseeingly out onto the small patch of grass that comprised the front yard.

The man at the desk watched her with concern. Emmaline was the daughter of his friend, and Oswald Hooper had predicted this very reaction. His smile was wry. Anyone with a grain of sense could have predicted her reaction. Samuel was probably well out of it, he decided shrewdly. If her father were here, Emmaline Carruthers would no doubt be more than indignant. As it was, she looked fit to be tied.

Her voice was jerky, and her words were abrupt when she spoke. “Was this your idea?” she asked.

There was no doubt in his mind. Matt knew she was speaking to him. Leaning negligently against the wall, he ran one thumb across his bottom lip while he considered her. Her silhouette was dark against the brilliant sunlight that filtered so easily through the white curtains. The slender length of her was garbed in black, the fabric heavy against her layers of petticoats. Only the glimpse of small, fisted hands and the pale line of her cheek and forehead brought relief to the somber costume covering her.

Shaking his head and silently cursing the man who had brought about this situation, Matt straightened and approached the silent figure. “Your daddy didn’t need any help from me, Emmaline. He dreamed this up all on his own.”

Her lips barely moved, and Matt tilted his head to hear the words. “I can’t do it.”

His shrug was eloquent. “Then don’t. Just get yourself on that wagon and I’ll cart you right back to Forbes Junction, and you can catch the next train headed east.” His drawl had become more pronounced when she turned to face him.

He said with innocence, “Why, I’ll bet you could be in Lexington before the sun rises on Sunday.”

“Wouldn’t you just love that!” she said through clenched teeth. “Wouldn’t you just!”

“Why, no, ma’am.” He slowly rolled the words, as if he were jesting with her. Truth to tell, he’d been enjoying the faint accent she placed on each syllable as she spoke. The contrast of her soft, cultured voice and the anger flashing from her blue eyes pleased him.

“I suppose you’d prefer the alternative,” she suggested scornfully.

For just a second, his eyes glistened with unholy glee, and she inhaled sharply.

“Well, ma’am,” he drawled, “I’d say that I’m not in a position to decide that, one way or the other. I’m willing to go along with your wishes.”

It was so tempting, Emmaline thought. He was so close she could see the tiny squint lines beside his eyes. She could stamp her foot or swing a closed fist at him or spout the swear words she’d heard the trainers use back in Lexington.

She swallowed the words, and kept her hands tightly clenched. Her feet were another matter. Her toes were twitching inside the slender boots she wore, so badly did they want to deliver a punishing blow to the instep of the arrogant man who taunted her.

She moved quickly, fearful of revealing the anger bubbling in her depths. He lifted his brow in surprise as she spun to face him fully, and hid a smile as her feet sounded firmly against the carpet.

“My wishes are not the issue here, Mr. Gerrity,” she said with biting sarcasm. “My late father has shown no regard whatsoever for my needs or desires in this matter.”

“Miss Carruthers,” the man at the desk said mildly, anxious to turn this conversation back to the matter at hand. “We need to hear the rest of the will before you make a hasty decision.”

As if she had forgotten his existence, Emmaline’s eyes widened in recognition. “There’s more?”

Since the terms of the will had been read, just minutes ago, she’d been thrown into a state of shock, she realized. That her father could have tied up this ranch, the money in the bank and the fate of her sister with such horrendous terms was unbelievable.

As legal documents went, it was quite simple, really, she thought glumly, remembering each word.

It is my decision that my daughter, Emmaline Carruthers, join with Matthew Gerrity, my stepson, in a marriage that will ensure the heritage of my father being passed on to coming generations. Therefore, I grant joint custody to Emmaline and Matthew, in the case of my beloved daughter Theresa, so that she may be raised with the influence of both her brother and sister. So long as Emmaline and Matthew live on this property, they will be joint owners and joint caretakers of my daughter, Theresa. Should they decide not to enter into such a marriage, neither of them will inherit from me anything other than personal items which shall be listed below.

The lawyer cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “Yes, there is more.” His face became suffused in a rosy hue, and Emmaline’s eyes sharpened as she sensed his discomfort. As though he were sending her a silent apology for what was to come, he glanced at her somberly.

“Allow me to continue,” he said.

However, if they decide to abide by the above terms, and should there not be issue from the above described marriage within two years, I declare that neither Emmaline Carruthers or Matthew Gerrity shall remain as owners, but said ownership will revert at that time to my daughter Theresa. Matthew Gerrity will remain in his present position for as long as he desires. A suitable guardian shall be appointed for Theresa and the property held in trust for her until the age of twenty-one.