Keegan's Lady (15 page)

Bending his head to hers, he began by saying, "I am so very sorry about this. Please believe I never meant for things to turn out this way."

No response. Brittle and expressionless, she glided with him across the floor, her motions jerky, her fingertips pressed tautly into his shoulder. An overweight couple bounced by, doing a dance step that looked like a cross between the waltz and a polka. The woman's rump collided with Caitlin's back, knocking her forward. With a startled umph of expelled breath, she melted against him for a moment. He couldn't help but notice how nicely she fit or how right she felt, almost as if her soft curves had been molded especially for him.

He shoved the thought aside, more than a little appalled. First, last, and always, this girl was Conor O'Shannessy's daughter. Judging by the way she jerked erect to put some distance between their bodies, the distaste was mutual.

Forcing his thoughts to the matter at hand, he said, "We need to talk."

She gave a stiff nod, the curls at her temple tickling the underside of his jaw. She smelled of soap, sun-dried cotton, and lavender, a scent that was uniquely her own. Innocent. That was how she smelled. Innocent, and incredibly sweet. The kind of girl who tempted a man even as she brought out all his protective instincts. Ace closed his eyes on a wave of regret. He would have killed any man who dared to treat
Eden
the way he had treated this girl.

"The other night, I. . ."

His voice trailed away. Usually straightforward, he found himself dry-mouthed and feeling awkward. Because of him, her entire life was in a shambles. Somehow, his carefully rehearsed apology no longer seemed enough.

Then, all too soon, the dance ended. Or at least it seemed that way to him. If her relieved expression was any indication, she didn't share the sentiment.

Not relinquishing his hold on her, he said, "The other night, when I was over at your place, I should never have left things unfinished between us like I did. I've regretted it ever since."

Her eyes grew even rounder. "Not here. Please, let's not discuss it here."

If not here, then where? Before Ace could ask that question, she twisted from his grasp and disappeared into the crowd.

"Caitlin, wait!"

She didn't look back, never so much as broke stride. Determined to finish what he had started, he moved, after her. Unfortunately, several individuals chose that moment to speak to him, either welcoming him to the; community or extending sympathies over the loss of his bull. As politely as he could, Ace extricated himself from each conversation.

Even so, by the time he reached the door and exited 1 the building, Caitlin was nowhere to be seen. Joseph was still standing with the group of ranchers. Ace called to him. "Did you see the O'Shannessy girl come this way?"

Joseph grinned and saluted Ace with a flask of whiskey. Jabbing a thumb toward
Main
, he said, "Saw a woman run by. Hellbent for breakfast thataway. Can't swear it was Caitlin O'Shannessy, though."

Ace looked up the street just in time to see a wagon careen around the corner and disappear. He suspected the driver of that buckboard was Caitlin.

His first inclination was to rush after hw, but he quickly thought better of it. The farther from town he let her get, the more privacy they would have to talk when he finally caught up with her.

She couldn't escape him forever.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Ha! Ha!" Caitlin slapped the reins across Penelope's rump. "Giddyap."

Despite her efforts, the fat old mare lumbered along at the same slow speed. Glancing over her shoulder, Caitlin tried to see if anyone was following. Sadly, she was almost as blind as Mrs. Etler in the dark. If Keegan was pursuing her, she wouldn't see him until he was almost on top of her. A lovely thought.

After several minutes, during which nothing happened, Caitlin relaxed. As slowly as she was driving, Keegan would have caught up with her by now if he were coming. Thank you, God. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic rattle and shake of the wagon soothe her.

Suddenly, the conveyance lurched and listed heavily to one side. Scrabbling to keep her seat, Caitlin glanced back to see what on earth had happened. Her heart fluttered and seemed to drop to her knees. Keegan. He had already jumped from the saddle into her wagon and was tying his horse's reins to her tailgate. The rattle of the wheels must have drowned out the sound of his approach.

"I hope you don't mind," he called politely, "but I really do need to talk to you, and I can't see much point in putting if off until later."

Mind? If she'd had a gun, she would have shot him.

With amazing agility in so large a man, he navigated the length of the lurching wagon and settled onto the seat beside her, a looming shadow dressed all in black. He looked a yard wide across the shoulders and twice that long in the leg. Propping one boot heel on the kick board, he draped an arm over his knee. When he turned to regard her, she noticed that he'd opened the collar of his shirt and rolled his sleeves back over his corded forearms.

Kerwhump!

Caught staring, Caitlin was nearly pitched off the seat by the sudden lurch. She jerked hard to the right on the reins. Penelope snorted at the rough treatment and took a lumbering sidestep, drawing the wagon over another patch of uneven ground. Dust billowed up, stinging Caitlin's nostrils.

"Are you trying to hit all those chuckholes?" Keegan asked dryly. "Or does your phenomenal driving skill just come naturally?"

Struggling to keep her seat, Caitlin craned her neck to see the road. Even on a bright night, she had trouble seeing her hand at arm's length, let alone potholes twenty feet ahead of her. "If you don't like my driving, Mr. Keegan, you're welcome to get out at any time."

She immediately regretted those words. An intelligent woman would be doing everything in her power to stay on this man's good side.

"I may bounce out," he said in that same dry tone.

When she glanced back over at him, the shadow of his hat so obscured his face that she could determine very little about his expression. At least she could be thankful he hadn't offered to drive. Her fingers felt frozen around the reins.

With her free hand, she drew her shawl more closely around her and asked, "What is it you wish to speak with me about?"

As if she didn't know.

His firm mouth quirking at one corner, he said, "Now there's a question."

What kind of response was that? A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic creaking of the wagon and the steady cloppety-clop of the horses' hooves. The silence wore on Caitlin's nerves.

He plucked a match from his breast pocket and clasped it between his teeth. Then, shifting position, he braced his arms at his sides, propped his opposite boot on the kick board and sat forward, his hands gripping the seat. Though she knew she had to be misreading him, he looked almost as nervous as she felt—as if he wanted to say something and was having trouble getting it out.

If that wasn't absurd. Ace Keegan, nervous? Somehow, she doubted it.

With burning eyes, she stared out into the darkness. Though she couldn't see much, she knew the terrain. from here to the ranch by heart. To the east were endless stretches of green plains. To the west was hilly shrub land where dense thickets of glossy-leafed oak were interspersed with occasional clusters of dull-leafed mahogany. In short, nothingness. Miles and miles of it in all directions.

She looked back over her shoulder. The dim glow of No Name's lights had already vanished. She was alone with him. Completely and utterly alone. On Saturday nights, Shorty, their other hired hand, always went into town with Hank. That meant no one would be at the ranch when they got there. Absolutely no one.

Caitlin had never felt quite so helpless. To protect her brother, she had struck a bargain with this man. If she reneged, Patrick could end up dead. She couldn't take that chance. That being the case, it only made sense to get this distasteful business over with quickly.

Quickly—that was the key word. Hopefully, Keegan would cooperate. A few minutes. That was all it would take. A few awful minutes.

Panic fluttered in her stomach. She quickly squelched it. Nothing could be as bad as she was imagining. Besides, experience had taught her that no matter how unbearable a situation might seem, it always passed and things eventually got better. Sometimes, that was all a person had to cling to, the knowledge that tomorrow would come.

The important thing—the only important thing, for now—was to keep Keegan happy so he wouldn't retaliate against her brother.

Just as Caitlin reached that determination, the man shifted on the wagon seat and bumped her shoulder with his arm. She felt as though she'd collided with a mountain of solid rock, not a reassuring feeling, given the situation.

His mouth tightening around the match he held between his teeth, he nudged up the brim of his hat to regard her. Fleetingly, she wondered if the reason he seemed to have a penchant for holding something between his teeth was to camouflage the paralysis in his cheek.

Then his gaze caught hers and all thought of his cheek fled her mind. The color of coffee and lined with long, thick lashes, his eyes made her skin tingle wherever they touched.

In that whiskey and smoke voice she remembered so well, he said, "It's one hell of a situation we've got here, isn't it?"

Caitlin couldn't have agreed more, though why he should complain, she didn't know. She was the one in a fix. "Yes."

Just then, the wagon hit another pothole, pitching her sideways against him. He huffed softly at the impact, whether with laughter or from getting the breath knocked out of him, she wasn't sure. Encircling her waist with a strong arm, he drew her against his side. She flinched when she felt his large hand claim a resting place just above her right hip.

"Sorry," he said. "On a stiffly sprung wagon seat like this, a little gal like you should avoid the chuckholes or put some rocks in her drawers for ballast."

She cast him such a startled look that Ace went back over what he'd just said. Rocks in her drawers? A suave talker, he definitely wasn't. Christ. He'd followed her out here to apologize. So why didn't he just do it and get the hell out of here?

"Caitlin . . ." Even in the moonlight, he couldn't miss the tension in her slender body or deny that he was the cause of it. An awful, suffocating sensation lodged in his throat. "Caitlin, I—"

Whatever Ace intended to say, it fled his mind. Never in his life had he seen such eyes. Huge and luminously blue, they revealed her every emotion. How could a man look into eyes like that and tell a woman he was sorry for having destroyed her life? Essentially, that was what he was doing, offering her a crumb when he owed her the whole loaf.

In the distance, he saw the O'Shannessy spread rising against the horizon. House, barn, a few ramshackle outbuildings. Even the moonlight wasn't kind enough to make the place look like much. From gossip his brothers had heard in town, he knew Caitlin had been doing most of the work around the place since her brother had taken to the bottle. Try as he might, Ace couldn't imagine her having the strength to push a plow or run a hay baler. What troubled him even more was that she'd found it necessary to try.

As Caitlin drove the wagon up in front of the barn, he glanced around the dark service yard. As he'd noted the last time he visited, junk was strung from hell to breakfast. Rusted old balers. Broken wagon wheels. A cylinder washing machine someone had used for target practice. There was even a Studebaker road cart with a cracked axle, its one-person seat cocked at an angle. Other stuff sat in the shadows of the barn, too indistinct to make out.

After tying off the reins and setting the brake, she twisted from his grasp and, snatching up her skirts, vaulted from the wagon, as agile and surefooted as a boy. Feeling big and cumbersome, Ace jumped down beside her.

She stepped around him to unhitch the horse. "I'll only be a minute," she said in a tight little voice. "Then we can—" She broke off and threw him a look. "First, I'd like to take care of Penelope, if you don't mind."

"Here, let me get that," he said, brushing her hands aside.

To say she stepped back to allow him better access to the traces was an understatement. Leaped was more like it.

He was glad for the busywork of unhitching the horse and was pleased she didn't demur about letting him help. Until he decided what to do about her, he didn't want to leave, and he was quickly running out of excuses to stay.

After he released the old mare from the traces, the animal was so eager to reach her stall he wasn't sure who was leading who on the way into the barn. "Which space is hers?" he called.

Lantern light flared, then bobbed toward him. "The second one on the right." There was an unmistakable note of hesitation in her voice. "Mr. Keegan, I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own horse."

"What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do the heavy work?"

The look she gave him said more clearly than words that she'd never thought of him as a gentleman.

He glanced back to see that she was still holding the lantern high. As he looked around the shadowy barn, it struck him like a fist between the eyes exactly where he was. The place rang with accusations, all directed at him.

"I'll get her grain and water." After hanging the lantern from a hook out in the alley, she stood fidgeting at the entrance to the stall. "A quick rubdown will do, Mr. Keegan. I'll curry her in the morning."

Ace had a feeling the girl's sole aim was to hurry him on his way. He wished he could oblige her.

After snubbing the horse, he grabbed an old rag from the dividing rail between the stalls and looked toward the back of the barn where he and Caitlin had stood the other night. Even now, with the memory so clear, he couldn't quite believe it was he who had done such a thing. A quick glance at Caitlin's pale face told him she was remembering, too.