In Your Arms (6 page)

Shirley tried to corner him every so often, talking about nothing in particular--the weather, the goods, or Mr. Patrick’s barn dance at which she made it quite clear she would be free to dance with whomever she pleased. Marcus cringed at the thought, but he knew propriety demanded that he at least give her one dance.

Truth be told, he dreaded the occasion. Knowing Melissa was his to dance with for the evening gave him a heady feeling. He tried not to think about it much, but just the image of having her in his arms again made him tense. And more often than not, he was in a bad mood around the shop because of it.

Marcus also made sure he was at the store just before dawn so he could carry the heavy buckets of water to the trough so Melissa wouldn’t have to. Every morning he saw her go outside to fill it, and every morning he watched her trudge back inside with a scowl.

~ * ~

Melissa knew it was Marcus who’d filled the trough, but she still refused to confront him about it. It was hard to keep the hurt of his rejection from her face, but she avoided him as best she could, staying inside whenever he was out and finding something to do outside when he happened to be in. To keep herself busy, she’d polished the entire store from top to bottom, doing just about anything to keep her thoughts from straying to the impossibly sexy man helping her father re-hang the back door on its hinges.

The memory of his lips against hers, of his arms crushing her to his body, made her shiver even in the heat of the day. More often than not, she felt her nipples tighten just as they had the night she and Marcus had kissed, and her thoughts would stray to those big hands and what they might feel like on her heated skin.

Swallowing hard, she rose from the stool she’d been sitting on and marched toward the front door. It was a slow day, and she knew her father or Shirley could handle any customers coming in.

“Where are you going, Lissa?” Chuck called out as Marcus opened and shut the rear door a few times, smiling at his handiwork.

Glancing over his shoulder with a grin, Marcus’s eyes locked with hers, and a jolt of electric heat spread through her. Her body came alive, and she could see nothing but him as he held her gaze, his smile slowly fading. An ache settled between her legs, and she pressed her hands to her belly as if it could calm her raging heart.

“I’m going for a walk,” she replied. “I’m not feeling well.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and marched out the front door. Striding up the boardwalk, she gasped to catch her breath and balled her hands into fists. What was wrong with her? Marcus hadn’t even touched her, yet she’d flushed on the spot, almost swooning right then and there. She had to remember he wanted nothing to do with her.

Ever since their kiss, he’d given her a wide berth and had taken pains not to talk to her directly. She knew why. He was ashamed and probably a little disgusted. He’d kissed her for Heaven’s sake! It had simply been a spur of the moment thing, something he’d done on impulse rather than actually thinking it out. And he’d said it had been a long time since he’d kissed a woman. Perhaps she was just convenient and the talk of bathing in the creek had done him in.

Whatever it was, Melissa didn’t want it repeated. If Marcus kissed her again, she wanted it to be because he wanted to, not simply because she was there.

Before she knew it, she’d reached the livery stable and entered with a smile at Butch. After a few minutes of friendly chatter, she grabbed a bucket of oats and wandered to Pete’s stall. She knew taking care of him was only going to make her ache for Marcus that much worse, but Pete was a fine horse and she couldn’t resist saying hi.

He nickered in greeting and sniffed at the bucket. Taking a handful, Melissa reached over the stall door to let him eat them from her hand. His soft lips tickled her palm, and she giggled at the contact.

“Good to see you smiling again.”

Whipping around, she almost spilled the oats until Marcus reached out to steady her.

“What are you doing here?” she scolded, sounding not the least bit intimidating.

“Pete’s my horse, ain’t he?” Marcus nodded his head to the stall.

“That he is, Mr. McCaide.” Handing him the bucket, Melissa lifted her skirts and moved to walk past him.

He stood in her way. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

“You know what about.”

“If you want to break off going to the dance, that’s fine with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To go with my sister, of course.”

“You think I’d leave you high and dry just so I could go with Shirley?” He sounded shocked, but she couldn’t imagine why.

“What’s wrong with that? It’s what most men would do.”

“I’m not most men, Lissa.” He scowled, his eyes shooting sparks.

She couldn’t look at him and expect to stand under such intense scrutiny. Dropping her gaze, she tried to go around him once again, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her into Pete’s stall. The horse looked at them with mild interest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

“Keeping you here with me until we settle this.” Dropping the bucket, he crossed his arms on his chest and blocked the exit with his large body.

“What do you want?” Her voice shook, and her eyes were wide. If he didn’t get out of her way and let her leave, she might shame herself by begging for him to kiss her once again.

“If you knew the answer to that,” he said, grinning wickedly as a fire suddenly lit behind his eyes, “you’d slap me senseless and jump on Pete to escape me.”

His words only made her heart beat faster. He wasn’t wearing his guns at the moment, but Marcus was a dangerous man, with or without them.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m still taking you to the dance, sugar,” he whispered. “I don’t… want… Shirley.” He paused after each word, as if to emphasize that what he spoke was the truth.

“Why are you telling me this?” She held up her hands to her face and felt tears sting her eyes. Steeling herself, she tried her best not to show them in front of Marcus.

“Look, Lissa,” he said, his tone gentler. “I’m sorry I kissed you the other night. I had no right or business to do so. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what, Marcus? For kissing me, or for regretting that you kissed me?”

“I don’t regret it.”

Sighing, Melissa shook her head and glared at the straw-covered floor.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you took advantage of the situation. If any other woman had been out there with you, you would have done the same. You might not regret kissing me, Marcus, but you regret it was me and not someone else.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Do what?” she said, on edge at his harsh tone.

“Feel sorry for yourself.”

Her cheeks pinkened with rage. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman--almost twenty-five--who’s never once been proposed to. I’ve never been courted; I’ve never even been kissed. Yours was my first, I’ll have you know. Men do not look at me. It’s a fact I’ve come to terms with--a fact I know to be true. All my life I’ve been the plain sister, the one everyone feels sorry for because all the good men get snared by Shirley. Didn’t you notice the townsfolk gawking at me the day I introduced you around? They had awe and wonder on their faces. Do you know why? Because… because…”

Unable to keep up her façade any longer, Melissa turned and leaned against the wall behind her. Tears poured out of her, and she couldn’t stop them. Her legs gave way and she fell, but not before Marcus’s arms curled around her, pulling her against his chest.

“Lissa…”

“They thought you were my
fiancé
.” Melissa curled her arms around his neck and sobbed pathetically into his shoulder. She could vaguely hear his soft, soothing words as he stroked her hair, rocking back and forth on the straw.

She was trembling as she held him, unwilling to let him go even for a second. It was rare that she sobbed her heart out. She felt as if she were falling off a precipice with Marcus her only anchor.

“I don’t want to feel sorry for myself,” she said. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”

“Why not?” His voice rolled over her, calming her somewhat.

“Because I don’t want your pity.”

Framing her face in his hands, he wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I don’t pity you, sugar. I admire you.”

“You do?” Her voice cracked in disbelief.

Giving her a grin, he nodded. “I do. You’re a strong woman who’s not afraid of getting your hands dirty. You aren’t afraid to butt heads with me, something not even a lot of men do. You work hard and expect everyone else to work just as hard. How can I not respect that?”

“Those aren’t exactly beautiful traits,” she said, sniffling.

“They are to me. True beauty is not in your face, Lissa. It’s in your heart. Right here.”

He tapped her chest, making her suck in her breath. His touch was innocent enough, but it snapped her back to reality. They were alone on the floor of his horse’s stall, and she was sprawled across his lap. If Butch or her father saw her in such disarray, there would be a lot of explaining to do. Letting go of him, she stood only a split second before he did. His hand shot out to steady her on her feet.

“You going to be all right?”

Melissa nodded with a timid smile. “I think so. I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He winked, making her blush. “Am I forgiven?”

“Apparently, there’s nothing to forgive, Mr. McCaide. But I do thank you.”

“For what?”

Standing on her toes, she leaned up and gave him a soft, lingering peck on the cheek. “For calling me beautiful.”

With that, she moved to the stall door and smiled at the sudden vacant expression on his face. She left him there alone to rub his cheek in wonder.

Seven

“You sweet on my daughter, McCaide?”

The hammer stopped in mid-swing as Marcus squinted up at Chuck Bloom leaning against the outer wall of the general store. The older man sipped a cup of cool water as he eyed him critically.

Marcus sat half-on, half-off the boardwalk in front of the shop, hammering the loose boards to cease their creaking. Laying the hammer down on the wood, he spat out the three nails he’d been holding in his mouth and wiped his brow with his bandanna.

“No, sir. Shirley’s got enough admirers, and she needs to learn some responsibility before she’d make a man a good wife.”

Chuck nodded. “That she does. But I ain’t talking about Shirley.”

Marcus blushed just a little, knowing full well the old man was fishing about Melissa. Just the thought of her made his mouth water, and he had to swallow a few times before he could answer.

“Well, Mr. Bloom, Melissa is a woman who has no idea how attractive she really is. I’d be lying to you if I told you I didn’t see her beauty.”

Taking another sip of water, Chuck hunkered down next to him and offered Marcus the cup. He took it gratefully, taking a few long gulps.

“Lissa is my oldest. Looks almost exactly like her mother. Sometimes when she smiles, I swear it’s my Betty come back to life.”

“Your wife must have been quite a sight then, sir.”