Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (66 page)

“Like what? Blackmail?”

She shrugged and stepped away. “I don’t know. But when I refused to let Daddy annul my marriage, he vowed to disown me. I was young and naive. I turned my back on him and left with Jack.”

The despair in her eyes wrenched Boyd’s chest. “You loved your father,” he said.

“Very much,” she said softly. “When I was young, I imagined my father to be a strong, tall tree. I would swing from his arms like they were branches. His laugh was like a boom of thunder that shook the house and made Mama chastise us for roughhousing inside.” A bereft sadness dulled her eyes. “One day we both realized that I was too old to swing on his arms, that I was no longer his little girl. That’s when he arranged my marriage to his partner’s son.”

She looked up, her face filled with sorrow. “It was our first serious disagreement. I left the next morning for my grandmother’s house without speaking a word to him.”

“That’s when you met Jack?”

She nodded. “I eloped with him two weeks later. You know the rest of the story. I haven’t spoken to my parents since.” Her nostrils flared, but she bit her lip and lowered her face. “A hundred times I wanted to write to my father and tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and missed him. I’d have crawled back to him on my knees, but I was afraid Jack would try to take advantage of Daddy, or find a way to manipulate him. I couldn’t be responsible for causing my father any more pain, so I lied in my letters and said I was happy with Jack. I’ve hurt Daddy so deeply, he could never forgive me.”

Boyd slipped his arms around her and rubbed her back, wishing he could rub away her pain, that he could protect her from heartache. “I don’t want to see you hurt again, he said. “That’s why I want you to stop marching. I’m afraid for you.”

“I need to finish this.”

“Why?” he asked, struggling to hide his irritation.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because last winter I did something I’ll never forgive myself for.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, stepped away from him, and wiped her eyes. “We had a bad storm that covered the trees and streets and houses with ice. I heard a cat crying at our door, but I was afraid to let it in because Jack had been drinking, and he hated cats.”

Boyd didn’t know why she was talking about a cat, but he let her talk.

“I’ll never know if the cat found refuge, or if it froze to death because I was too frightened to take it in. I was a coward that night, and I regret it.”

“You probably saved the cat’s life by chasing it away.”

She shook her head as if she’d failed to do the decent thing and protect the cat.

“That’s why I can’t walk away from this,” she said. “I can’t be a coward. I need to do the right thing this time.”

He understood. But he didn’t like her decision. Not at all. “I’ll teach you how to shoot your gun tomorrow afternoon,” he said. Because he didn’t know what else to do to keep her safe.

“Thank you,” she said, but the deafening sound of hammers pounding against the house startled a gasp from her.

Boyd’s heart leapt and he bit back a curse. He was doomed to be forever on guard around her, looking out for bricks and bullets.

“Good heavens,” she said. “I forgot all about Mr. and Mrs. Ormand.” She wiped her eyes again and babbled about being a poor hostess, and that the Ormands would probably leave first thing in the morning because of this fiasco.

“Claire.” He caught her hands but kept his grip loose enough for her to pull away. “The Ormands are fine. Anna’s cleaning up the parlor. Your window is being taken care of. You can take a minute to pull yourself together.”

“I’m beginning to think that isn’t possible,” she whispered. Then she hurried from the room.

Boyd followed her to the foyer where Mr. Ormand was still sitting on the stairs with the revolver clenched in his hands.

“We won’t be needing the gun now,” Boyd said, taking the revolver from the young man. He clasped Mr. Ormand’s bony shoulder. “Good thing nobody tried to force their way inside.”

“I’d have blown a hole right through them.” Despite his bravado, Mr. Ormand’s legs seemed a tad shaky as he climbed the stairs and returned to the room with his frightened wife and child.

Boyd put the gun in the closet and turned to Claire. “I’m going to help the boys board up the window.” He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles over her soft cheek. “You know, cats are exceptional at finding shelter. I’d wager my saloon that your stray found a warm place to sleep that night.”

Her tremulous smile brought a deep and satisfying warmth to his heart.

The next morning, Boyd ordered a pane of glass for Claire’s parlor window and also the window above his saloon that he’d been remiss in fixing. Then he headed to Edwards’s Furniture store. All he could think about was Claire.

When he had stopped to check on her this morning, she assured him that her shoulder was fine and that she would be ready for their shooting lesson when he returned this afternoon. But it was frigid outside. Her shoulder must be stiff and sore. It might be best not to push her recovery, but he felt an urgent need for her to know how to handle her gun. After last night, there was no doubt she was in danger.

Because the woman was foolishly stubborn, determined to do herself in over a hopeless cause.

He tripped on the threshold to the store and stumbled inside. Addison’s showroom was empty, but the sound of angry voices caught his attention.

He peeked inside the large but unpretentious office where Addison was standing beside a mammoth oak desk. The old man leaned on his walking stick, his white hair mussed, his face red with anger as he waved his hand at his grandson Matthew. “I don’t care what they’re threatening. This is my store and I’ll operate as I please.”

“They will place their orders with our competitors if we continue to support these men,” Matthew said.

“Then let them.” Addison’s wrinkled jaw clenched and he turned away. When he spied Boyd standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with sympathy.

“What’s going on?” Boyd asked, sensing the argument had something to do with him.

“Nothing important.” Addison flapped a hand as if dismissing the conversation. “You boys get to work.”

With a sigh, Matthew headed to the workshop at the back of the store.

Boyd followed. “What’s going on, Matthew?”

The man stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets, his face grim. “The ladies are boycotting our store because of what happened at Mrs. Ashier’s house last night.”

“Why? Addison didn’t throw that brick through her window.”

“I know, but the women refuse to patronize any business that employs men who imbibe alcoholic beverages.”

Boyd smirked with disdain. “That’s preposterous. They don’t know who threw the brick. And Addison’s own wife is marching with those women.”

“I know. Addison is outraged with Desmona. He refuses to let her, or her temperance friends, dictate how he runs his business.”

“Good for him.”

Matthew frowned. “Mrs. Clarke stopped in this morning to cancel her order for that bedroom suite we were working on. Emil Cushing came in to say he wouldn’t be needing that hutch for his wife. Mrs. Barnes showed up ten minutes later to cancel her order for her dressing table.” Matthew began rolling his shirt sleeves up his forearms. “I signed their pledge this morning.”

A niggling dread crept up Boyd’s neck.

“I had to.” Matthew took his apron from a hook by the shop door and tied it on. “Addison can’t afford this. He’s too old to battle over the principle of a situation he hasn’t created or condoned. I’m going to ask the men who are working here to sign the pledge.”

Boyd’s gut tightened, but he gave Matthew a nod of acceptance. “I understand.” Matthew was doing what he felt was necessary to keep Addison’s business from suffering. Boyd respected that. But he sure didn’t respect Matthew’s kowtowing to a bunch of harpies. The women had gone too far. They’d crossed the line of fairness. Addison had nothing to do with this fight.

And it
was
becoming a fight.

Matthew held out Boyd’s apron. “Will you stay?” he asked, but he was really asking Boyd to lie down and give up everything he’d worked for.

He shook his head. “Sorry, Matthew.”

Boyd left the store without speaking to Addison. What could he say to him? Your grandson is spineless? Matthew was an honest, hardworking man. He was doing what he felt was right. That was no reason to malign his character.

But Boyd wouldn’t lie down and let a group of overzealous women dictate his life.

* * *

It was freezing outside, but Claire was glad to escape the house. The Ormands had decided to stay despite the incident. She was relieved not to lose her tiny income, but the constant tension that radiated between the Ormands was unbearable. They couldn’t spend ten minutes in their bedchamber without their intimate murmurs drifting into the hallway. Baby Emily was certain to have a sibling before long.

“Where’s Sailor?” she asked as she climbed into the carriage Boyd had brought for her.

“Home. I didn’t want him running around while we’re shooting.” He pulled onto Main Street, took a quick right turn onto Chestnut then a quick left turn onto Barry Road. “Did you know that your lady friends are boycotting Addison Edward’s furniture store?”

She frowned. “Why would they do that?”

“Because I’m a saloon owner and they don’t want men like me instructing his help.”

“That’s ridiculous. We never discussed boycotting other businesses. “

“Well, your friends apparently decided to do so after hearing about your window being shattered last night.”

She tried to contemplate the impact such a boycott might have, but her mind kept returning to last night, and how Boyd had held her against him in a comforting embrace when she’d confessed about Jack.

“I don’t like what’s happening, Claire. Addison Edwards hasn’t done anything to deserve this boycott.”

The boycott might be an effective way to separate the liquor sellers and drinkers from the community, but it felt wrong. Their crusade wasn’t supposed to punish the local business owners. It was supposed to unite the community, not divide it. It was supposed to encourage the saloon owners and their patrons to become upstanding citizens, to do good for the community.

Boycotting wasn’t the answer in this situation. It was wrong. Boyd should be free to employ his talent at Edwards’s Furniture store regardless of his position on temperance. His work at Edwards’s had nothing to do with her temperance cause.

But if it pushed him to close his saloon, perhaps she should bite her tongue. It could serve her purpose—and, more important, it might force Boyd to realize his potential.

That wasn’t for her to decide, though. She shivered and tucked the lap robe around her legs.

“If you’re not feeling well, I can take you back home,” he said, glancing at her shoulder.

“I’m fine.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about the boycott. Anna and I will talk to the ladies at our next meeting.”

He nodded but didn’t comment.

She studied his handsome profile, wishing she knew him better. “Other than running a saloon and keeping your neighbors awake all night, what is your purpose in life? Is there anything you are willing to invest yourself in?”

“My purpose is to enjoy life.”

“I want to enjoy life, too,” she said, “but I also want to contribute to my community. I want to improve the lives of women and children who need help.” She wanted to connect with that other, more serious man inside him. “What’s most important to you?”

“To live my life on my terms.”

“That’s all?” she asked.

“That’s enough. Some men are as in love with vice as others are with virtue.”

“Unarguably true,” she said. “But after talking with you last night, I’m sensing you want more than your saloon has to offer. Why aren’t you using your talent? Why don’t you fill your hours with creative endeavors and spend your time with people you love? Don’t you ever get lonely living by yourself?”

He stared at her with suspicion in his eyes. “Are you perchance angling for a husband?”

She reared back against the seat, sending a spear of pain through her shoulder. “Of course not!”

He lifted one eyebrow, as if challenging her statement.

“Never,” she said. She would never marry again.

Irritated with him, and with her sore shoulder, she scowled. “I was trying to have an intelligent conversation with you, but I’m convinced it’s impossible.”

His chuckle drove her irritation a notch higher. She averted her face and let the biting wind cool her ire.

“Claire.” He covered her mitten-shrouded hands with his palm. “Why are you always so serious?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He gave her a coaxing smile. “What do you say we call a truce and simply enjoy the day. No talk of temperance or boycotts or the purpose of life. Imagine that I’m your friend and we’re on a grand adventure.”

“In the dead of winter?”

“Pretend we’re Eskimos.”

She laughed. “With your imagination you should consider writing a book.”

“There you go again, attaching a purpose to everything.”

“I wasn’t...” She sighed in acknowledgment. “All right, I was. But you have wonderful ideas and—”

He cupped his hand over her mouth. “If you say one more word, I’m going to kiss you until you can’t remember your name.”

She bit his finger.

He yelped and jerked his hand away.

“That was a warning.”

“I’m trembling in fear.” He winked and pulled the carriage to the side of the rutted road. “Ready for your lesson?”

“Not particularly.”

He sighed dramatically. “Poor Cold Claire. She has no sense of adventure.”

She lifted her mitten-covered fist to his nose, but he laughed and leapt out of the carriage.

“You shouldn’t tease me when you’re about to put a revolver in my hands,” she warned.

“Who said I was teasing?” He looked up at her, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his eyes sparkling with humor. He raised his arms. “Come on. I don’t want to keep you out in the cold too long.”

He helped her out then led her into a wide field surrounded by dense woods of maple, beech, oak, and conifer trees.

“Step in my tracks if you can,” he said, leading her several yards into the field. “I want to move away from the horses.”

She followed slowly, struggling to stay upright in the knee-deep snow.

“Wait here.” He walked a long distance away before dropping a wooden keg on the snow.

“Don’t tell me that’s our target.”

He grinned and headed toward her. “I thought you’d be delighted to blow holes in one of my kegs.”

She propped her fist on her hip. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about temperance.”

“Did I say anything about temperance?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and pulled off her mittens.

He took the revolver out of his pocket and slipped it into her hand. “Step over here and I’ll help you aim the first shot or two.”

Fear rushed through her as she clenched the loathsome piece of frigid steel. “I’d rather that you shoot it first,” she said, thrusting the gun back at him. A horrendous explosion blasted through the air, wrenching her arm and blowing a spray of snow in all directions.

Boyd locked his hands around the gun and angled it away from his legs. “Claire, honest to Pete, you terrify me.”

The shock on his face wasn’t humorous in the least, but a sense of hysteria snaked through her and made her snort.

“You could have shot my foot off.”

“I... I just wanted to give the gun back to you,” she said, her voice shaking from fear and laughter.

He blew out a breath. “I’m beginning to think this was a dumb idea.”

“You told me not to be so serious.”

“That didn’t mean I wanted you to shoot me.”

She grinned. “I’ll try not to.”

“Then release your grip.” She let go, and he took the gun away from her. “Your first lesson is how to hold a gun.”

He spent several minutes explaining how the revolver worked, how to handle and load it safely, and how to aim and shoot. Finally, he turned her toward their target and stood behind her. “Raise the revolver, and sight the target.”

She lifted the gun with both hands, but it hurt her injured shoulder. “It’s too heavy.”

He moved behind her and put his arms around her. He cupped his hands beneath hers and lifted the gun to her eye level. “Can you see the target?”

“I could see it from home,” she said, staring at the fat brown keg squatting in the middle of the white field.

“I meant through the sights.”

“Oh. You mean those pointy little things that are getting in my way?”

“Wiseacre.” He nipped her earlobe with his teeth.

She jerked away and the gun exploded, kicking her back against him.

“Claire...”

“Don’t blame me!” She tipped her head to see him. “You bit me!”

“I did not. That was a nibble.”

“Whatever. Your horseplay caused me to pull the trigger.”

He rubbed the end of his cold nose against her ear. “Maybe we should forget about shooting the gun.”

“Maybe I should use you as a target.”

“Vicious woman.”

“Reprobate.”

“Guilty.” He kissed her neck.

She longed to turn and kiss him, to savor his touch, his mouth, but she drew away because it was safer than where they were headed. “If we’re going to shoot this thing, kindly remove your finger from behind the trigger.”

His chuckle warmed her. “Just protecting myself.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

He acquiesced without argument and helped her steady the revolver. “Sight it at the center of the keg.”

She aimed and fired, but the shot missed the target. “I can’t do this. It nearly knocks me over when it fires.”

“Spread your feet, keep one slightly behind the other, and lock your elbows.”

Maneuvering in the deep snow was nearly impossible, but she managed to steady herself.

“I’m going to brace you with my body,” he said, fitting his chest and hips against her.

“If I don’t hit that target, Mr. Grayson, I’m going to know this was a ploy.”

He laughed and nudged her hands up. “Come on, before you freeze to death. You’re shaking.”

“I’m exhausted. This gun weighs more than I do.”

“Quit stalling.”

She pulled the trigger and hit the top of the keg. “Good, but aim a little lower next time to allow for the concussion.”

His instructions came on warm breaths of air that caressed her ear and made her shiver. It would be so easy to turn around and kiss him. Maybe she should. Maybe she should admit her attraction and... no... no it would be foolish to give him that power. He was already bending her to his will. But it felt divine to be held against him. It would be heaven to be kissed and caressed and...