Just Her Type (5 page)

“I know all of it and everyone who lives here.”

Luke let the boy babble on. It was good Douglas considered him a friend. He might be able to get the information he needed from Douglas instead of having to woo it from Mackenzie. She was going to be an irritating boss. He smiled as he thought how, more than once during the day, he had considered giving her what she wanted by taking the next train east.

He had changed his mind when he had read the latest edition of the paper at the telegraph office. The
Bugle
's four pages strained to hold the news of Bentonville and the outlying ranches. She needed more pages, and, for that, she needed more help. He intended to stay until she acknowledged that. And until he found out if she was as hard as her printing press or gentle as she was with Douglas.

Mackenzie sorted laundry and smiled. She had been pleased to overhear Douglas talking with Luke. He needed a man to talk to. She wondered how her son could think she was unaware of his problem with the bullies.

Maybe there were things a boy could discuss only with a man. She must remind her son that Luke was in Bentonville temporarily. If Douglas became too attached, he could be hurt again.

Putting Douglas's clean clothes by the foot of the ladder, she peeked into the pot simmering on the stove. The aroma of chicken sifted from it. She set it on the table.

“Supper!” she shouted down the stairs.

Boots sounded on the steps. Douglas burst into the room, flung his arms around her, and gave her a kiss.

Patting him on the head, she asked, “Where's Luke?”

“Washing up.” He peered into the pot. “Chicken again, Ma?”

“When we make the big time—”

“I know,” he said with a frown. “When the
Bugle
's as big as
The New York Tribune
, we'll have steak every night.”

Luke laughed as he came into the room. “Steak every night would become boring. That smells marvelous, Mackenzie.”

The excuse of pouring milk for Douglas and two cups of coffee kept her from admiring how Luke's new clothes suited him. With his flannel shirt open at the neck, she could not keep from thinking of his bare chest that morning. The denims were too deep a blue, but they molded to his legs, emphasizing strong muscles. His hair curled across his forehead, urging her to brush it aside.

During the meal, while Luke entertained them with stories of his life back east, Mackenzie watched her son's fascination with what sounded like a dream and let herself be drawn into the stories. Anything was better than thinking about how Luke's hands moved when he spoke and the quirk of his eyebrow just before he was going to laugh. Anything … even thinking about luxuries they could not have in Bentonville. She could not imagine gas heat or electric lights.

Only when the coffeepot was empty did she send Douglas to bed. She began to collect the dirty dishes.

“Why don't you let me do that?” Luke asked. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Didn't you sleep well?”

She flushed, vexed that such an innocuous question betrayed her. “Not too well.”

“Then let me wash the dishes.”

“I appreciate that.” She handed him the plates.

When he took them, his fingertips grazed hers. A sizzle exploded along her skin. His hands were broad enough to be a rancher's, but as finely tapered as an artist's. They were a contradiction, another puzzle she should not be tempted to solve.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “You look as gray as the walls.”

“I'm fine.” That he had not experienced the same remarkable sensation warned her not to mention it. “I am just tired.”

Pouring water into the small tub she had taken from behind the stove, he smiled. “Then relax. It'll give me a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed reading the
Bugle
today.”

She sat on the couch. “You enjoyed reading the
Bugle
?”

“Just said so, didn't I?” He scraped gravy from a fork. “You've got a succinct writing style that would please my editor.”

“I guess that's a compliment.”

“It is. I particularly liked your editorial. You don't pull punches with this ‘Terrible Trio' you take care never to call by name.”

She chuckled. “Libel's a very expensive proposition.” She watched him wash the dishes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa, fascinated by the thin line of foam along his muscular forearms. “Did Douglas show you around Bentonville?”

“He took me to the mercantile, to outfit myself properly; then we stopped at the saloon for a drink.”

“You what?” She grasped the thin cushions.

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “From the look on your face, I'm not sure I want to repeat that. Douglas said his grandfather took him there.”

“And you believed him?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

Slowly she rose. “We'll discuss this downstairs.”

“Why?”

“I don't want my son hearing what I have to say to you!”

Snarling a curse under his breath, Luke looked for a towel. He repeated the obscenity louder as he wiped his hands on his new trousers and followed Mackenzie into the dark shop. He grunted when his knee struck the press.

“Where are you?” he growled. “Turn on a lamp.”

“What I have to say to you will not take long, and I do not want to waste kerosene on you,” she said from behind him. “Why did you take my son to that place?”

With a laugh, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer.

“Let me go!” she cried.

She tugged away. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back to him. She tried to escape again.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “This is far too much fun, Mackenzie.”

“What—?”

“Keep wiggling, and you'll find out.”

She gasped, and her breasts brushed the unyielding wall of his chest. To stop would be to admit defeat, but to continue might be more dangerous.

“Let me go!” she repeated.

“Why should I when you'll slap my face as soon as I do?”

“I've never slapped a gentleman, so if you will—”

He bent to place his mouth close to her ear. “I don't want to be a gentleman. I would rather—”

“No!” She had been wrong. She was not the only one experiencing these fascinating feelings.

“There are some things that need to be said between us. If I—”

“Ma?” Douglas's uneasy voice came from the stairs. “Ma, are you all right?”

Mackenzie glared at Luke and pulled away. “I'm fine, Douglas,” she called. “I just saw a rat.”

“Do you want me to get the broom?”

She smiled coldly as she imagined her son beating Luke with the broom. “I'll take care of it. Go to bed.”

“All right. Good night, Ma.”

She waited until she could hear him climbing the ladder to his loft. Then she said, “Mr. Bradfield, I suggest you take the early train out tomorrow.”

His moonlit shadow overlapped hers. “Are you firing me?”

“I don't need a rat. Not only are you involving my son in things he isn't ready for, but I have yet to see you do a lick of work. Your paper may be paying your wages, but I've been feeding you. Good night, and good-bye.”

“I am staying, Mackenzie.”

“Stay then. Just get out of my house.”

His fingers glided along her arm, and she tried to halt her shiver. She should not want to be touched by this intolerable man, but she yearned for his arms around her, her mouth so close to his that even a whisper would touch both of them.

“Why are you so anxious to get rid of me?” he asked. “Is it because you are afraid of me?”

“I'm not afraid of you!”

“But you are.” His husky voice stirred her emotions to a froth. “Isn't it time to stop being coy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You're one husband too old for that silliness.” His arm encircled her waist again as he drew her back to him. Sensations which once had been familiar burst from the mists of forgetfulness. The strong line of a man's body, eager fingers caressing her back, her face burning with the craving he brought back to life.

She put up her hands to push him away, but pulled them back as a spark leaped from him to her fingers. To fall prey to Luke's tantalizing touch … She could not—must not—allow that.

He tilted her chin. “I'm not leaving Bentonville, Mackenzie. I came out here to do a job. In the morning, I shall prove to you how hard I am willing to work for my bed and board. Tonight …”

As his words vanished, she watched his mouth lower toward hers. She averted her face, afraid of the desire that left her defenseless. Again he caught her chin and smiled as he tilted her lips beneath his. Her eyes closed as she surrendered to what she could not fight any longer.

His lips touched her cheek before he released her and chuckled. “Tonight, I'm going to get a good night's sleep. I suggest you do, too. Good night, Mackenzie.”

As he climbed the stairs, she dropped onto the chair by her desk. She leaned her cheek against her fist. Tomorrow she must find a way to make him rue staying at
The Bentonville Bugle
. She had to make certain he left before he seduced her into giving him more than a kiss.

FOUR

Mackenzie made no comment when she discovered Luke awake and dressed when she came out to start breakfast. All she did was thank him for putting on the coffee and then hurry to prepare pancakes.

As soon as they had eaten and Douglas was on his way to school, she led the way down the stairs to the printing office. She tied on her stained apron. Pulling a page from her desk, she said, “There are buckets and soap and brushes in the storage closet under the stairs, Luke. Please wash the ink from the type in that box first.” She pointed to a wooden case. “I'll need it to do the posters for Mr. Rutherford.”

“Rutherford?” He opened the door beneath the stairs. “That name sounds familiar. Isn't he one of the Terrible Trio?”

“I need their business to keep the
Bugle
from bankruptcy.”

“And how they make that money doesn't concern you?”

“It concerns me greatly, but speculation without facts concerns me more.”

He paused, surprise on his face. “Who taught you that?”

“Pa and common sense.”

He grinned. “Maybe so, but you sounded just like Carter.”

“Didn't you tell me you were willing to work hard? Jawing in the doorway is not hard work.”

Straightening, he snapped a salute. “Yes, Madam Editor.”

As she heard the door close, she let her smile fall away. Luke's arrival could not have come at a worse time. The three-way tug of war between the cattlemen had never been tranquil, but the situation was heating up.

She stared at the page in front of her. Jamison Rutherford, who owned the largest ranch south of Bentonville, wanted the letters to be at least four inches high. Guilt surged through her. Mr. Rutherford retained the class of his father, who supposedly had been a banker back in Boston. But he still was one of the Terrible Trio.

She looked at the painted card tacked over her desk. It was a picture of Notre Dame. Mr. Rutherford had sent it from Paris last winter. He was the gentleman Connolly aspired to be and Aaron O'Grady abhorred.

A shiver fled along her spine as she looked at the letters she had set in place.

TRESPASSERS—HUMAN OR ANIMAL

SHOT ON SIGHT

THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!!!!!!

By order of Jamison Rutherford

Owner Lazy Bar R Ranch

There must be six exclamation points, she had been told. Why, she was not sure, but Mr. Rutherford was precise.

“Friendly folks around here.”

Mackenzie met Luke's twinkling eyes. “The only thing I have editorial control over is the
Bugle.
”

He dropped the type, with a succession of loud plops, into the bucket. He sat and tossed the bar of soap in the water. Rubbing it between his hands, he created a foamy meringue.

She laughed as he fished for the type which was the same color as the bucket. She would have told him, if he had asked, not to put the pieces in uncounted. When she had made that mistake as a child, she had spent hours sifting the water through cheesecloth to find every period and
i
.

“You have a perverse sense of humor,” he grumbled as he tried to push aside the bubbles to see.

“I only laugh at what's funny.”

Luke watched as Mackenzie worked with the efficiency that she demanded from him. The wheels of the turtle table squeaked as she pushed it to the press.

He asked, “Do you want some help with that?”

“And deny you the chance to finish cleaning that type? Besides, this isn't very heavy. Not like the
Bugle
's pages.”

The door to the street opened, and a tall man, his face shadowed by his Stetson, entered the office. When he took off his hat, his blond hair caught the sunlight. His boots attacked the floor as he came forward to lean on the low wall. He glanced at Luke, and his smile vanished.

“Aaron!” Mackenzie opened the door. “I didn't expect to see you in town in the middle of the week.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she gestured to Luke. “Aaron O'Grady, this is Luke Bradfield.”

“O'Grady?” Luke asked.

Mackenzie shot him a warning frown. This was not the time for questions.

“C'mere, Mackenzie.” Aaron's brogue was as Irish as his name. “I want to speak with you.”

“I have to print up these posters before noon. Can't it wait?”

“No, darlin'.” Putting his hand on her arm, Aaron drew her out onto the porch. He closed the door. Anger tainted his voice. “I heard you'd taken some drifter in. How can you be so stupid?”

“Luke's a reporter working for me.”

“And living with you?”