Keegan's Lady (20 page)

She wasn't about to dignify that with an answer.

Two elderly women followed Guthrie into the parlor. Caitlin recognized one as his wife Florrie and guessed the other was his mother-in-law. Both ladies wore blue nightgowns and wrappers that had been cut from the same bolt of cotton. Their gray hair hung down their frail backs in braids gone fuzzy from sleep.

Pushing a wing-backed chair out of the way, Guthrie grabbed a black book from the mantel and beckoned Ace and Caitlin to stand in front of him. Meanwhile, his wife made busy opening a mahogany secretary that stood in the corner and laying out papers on the drop-down leaf. The couple had clearly been officiating at weddings for a number of years and had the procedure down pat.

Her shoulder bumping Keegan's hard arm, Caitlin walked over to face the unlikely-looking justice of the peace. Unfortunately, it didn't matter what Guthrie looked like, only that he was empowered by the state of
Colorado
to perform marriages. Her stomach felt as if she'd eaten some of those newfangled Mexican jumping beans she'd seen yesterday at the general store.

A lifetime as Ace Keegan's wife . . . The thought came unbidden into her mind, then refused to leave. Oh, God. Claustrophobic and breathless, she glanced frantically around the room, her one clear thought to escape. As if he sensed her rising panic, Keegan curled a large hand around hers, the grip of his fingers unbreakable.

Sweat broke out on Caitlin's face. A loud humming vibrated against her eardrums. For an awful moment, she thought she might faint. But, of course, she didn't. Fainting would have been too easy.

As if from a great distance, she heard Guthrie intoning the nuptials. The words made no sense. Numbly, she responded when bidden. Just as numbly, she heard Keegan say, "I do," in a low, steady voice.

A nightmare. She was having a nightmare. One of those particularly awful ones, where nothing made sense. That was why she yearned to run and couldn't. Why her brain refused to function.

Suddenly, the fog of unreality parted, and for a moment, everything went sharp with clarity. His expression solemn, Keegan turned toward her. His dark eyes holding hers, he removed an onyx and diamond ring from his little finger and slipped it onto her left hand.

"I know it's too large," he said in that gruffly tender voice she was already coming to despise. "I’ll buy you another as soon as I can."

Not if Caitlin had anything to say about it. Pray God, before he had a chance to visit the jeweler, this marriage would be nothing but a memory. An annulment. Once Patrick passed out, she would convince Keegan to give her an annulment. That was her only hope.

Muttering something about the state of
Colorado
and the power vested in him, Guthrie concluded the brief ceremony with "I now pronounce you man and wife. Mr. Keegan, you may kiss your bride."

An awful feeling of weakness attacked Caitlin's legs as she looked up at Ace Keegan's darkly burnished face. Amber lamplight glistened in his wavy black hair and gilded his strong features, enhancing the muscular hollow along his jaw and the bold thrust of his bladelike nose. Black, winged eyebrows lifted as he gave her a slow perusal with twinkling brown eyes, the color of which made her think of mulled burgundy spiced heavily with cinnamon.

He grasped her chin. The hand that bracketed her jaw was warm and incredibly hard, the fingertips slightly calloused. With firm but gentle pressure, he tipped her head back. Caitlin wanted to close her eyes, needed to, but for the life of her, she couldn't. She held her breath as he bent his dark head to hers.

She expected wet, slippery lips. She got moist velvet.

She expected teeth to grind against hers. She got a featherlike caress so fleeting she couldn't be certain it even happened. Surely this wasn't all there was to it?

She blinked and almost lost her balance when he released her. He caught her from falling with a proprietorial hand on her arm.

Proprietorial. Now there was a word to keep a woman awake nights. It was also one Caitlin couldn't chase from her thoughts as he turned her toward the secretary where Guthrie was filling out the marriage documents. There was an unmistakable difference in the way Keegan touched her now.

The words had been said. The unthinkable had occurred. She belonged to him.

As though privy to her thoughts, he smiled, took her hand again, and gave it a hard squeeze. "Sweetheart, you're like ice."

Sweetheart? The word burned into her like a brand. She was shaking. Shaking uncontrollably. With a little jerk, she tried to free her hand, but he kept a firm grip and guided her the remainder of the way to the secretary.

Caitlin bent to sign her name on the indicated line, knowing as she did that she might be signing away the rest of her life. What if this man refused to get an annulment? Ace Keegan's property, to have and to hold and to do with as he pleased, until the day she died. The thought was so unsettling, she almost forgot how to spell her last name. Now, of course, it wasn't her last name anymore. Might never be again.

When she finished, Keegan took the pen from her numb fingers and bent to sign his name as well, not with shaky hesitancy as she had, but with a bold flourish.

Guthrie's wife and mother-in-law twittered and gushed as they bent to add their names to the documents. "Oh," Mrs. Guthrie said in a dreamy voice, "you do make such a lovely couple." She stepped forward to hug Caitlin. "My dear, dear girl. I wish you all the happiness." For Caitlin's ears alone, she whispered, "You've landed yourself a very handsome fish, young lady."

Throwing a quick glance at Keegan, Caitlin had to admit that was true; he was handsome. But, then, so was the occasional killer stallion. Big, dark, powerful, and intimidating. From a safe distance, he was fascinating to watch, the play of muscle in his body harmony in motion. But no woman in her right mind would want to get too close.

Keegan chose that moment to curl a hard arm around her waist, his large, heavy hand coming to rest above her left hip. Caitlin couldn't help but grow tense. At her reaction, his grip tightened slightly.

Mrs. Guthrie had it all backward, Caitlin thought a little hysterically. Keegan wasn't the one caught on a hook; Caitlin was. What was even worse, she had the awful feeling he was slowly reeling in the line, that at any moment, he'd throw his net. The thought made her feel slightly sick.

Caitlin glanced at Patrick, who at last count had been standing sentinel over them. Her heart sank when she saw that he'd slid down the wall and was now sitting slumped on the floor, the gun dangling harmlessly from one limp hand.

She whirled back toward the secretary. "Wait! I've changed my mind."

She descended on the drop leaf. Just as her fingers grasped the corner of one marriage document, a large brown hand slapped down in the center of it. She jumped with a start, then rounded on her new husband.

"Patrick's passed out! Don't you see? We don't have to go through with this!"

"It's already done, honey. There's no turning back."

"But I only—" She touched a hand to her throat. "To keep Patrick from getting hurt! That was the only reason I did it. Now he's unconscious and—" Her gaze clung to his. "Please, why can't we call it off?"

"It's too late." He glanced at Guthrie. "I'm right about that, aren't I? It's legal and binding. Correct?"

Guthrie threw up his hands. "I offered to perform a fake one. If that was what you wanted, Miss Caitlin, you should've said so."

"I did say so."

Nudging her aside, Keegan picked up one copy of the marriage document. After folding it in half and then into quarters, he slipped it into his shirt pocket. With a tolerant smile that made her want to grind her teeth, he said to Guthrie, "What we have here is a classic case of bridal jitters."

Caitlin gave an outraged gasp. "Bridal jitters, my foot. I've changed my mind! I don't want to marry you."

Flashing a grin, Keegan withdrew a money clip from his trousers pocket, peeled off a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to the older man. "Keep the extra." At Guthrie's surprised look, he smiled. "By way of appreciation. I'm sorry we dragged all of you out of bed." He turned a warm gaze on Mrs. Guthrie, then took her hand. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, madam. I hope we encounter one another again soon."

The older woman blushed. "Likewise, I'm sure."

So furious she couldn't have spoken if she tried, Caitlin drew away, mildly surprised he allowed her even that much. The yellowed roses in Mrs. Guthrie's wallpaper swam in her peripheral vision, and the rank smell of stale cigar smoke in the room seemed suddenly overwhelming.

Stay calm, she lectured herself. Keegan will be reasonable once you have a chance to talk to him. And even if he isn't, it won't be the end of the world. You can probably get an annulment without his cooperation, after all. It will only be a simple matter of getting away from him long enough to start the proceedings.

Getting away. The words had a familiar ring. The same refrain, a different man, She'd been unable to escape her father. Pray God that Ace Keegan didn't prove to have so long a reach.

"Well," Keegan said, "I suppose we should get your brother out of here. These good people would probably like to go back to bed."

He fetched his hat from the coat tree, set it on his head at a jaunty angle, and went to collect Patrick. Feeling oddly numb, Caitlin followed him.

Glancing back, he said, "Would you mind getting the door for me?"

After stuffing Patrick's revolver under his belt, he hefted the younger man up off the floor and slung him over his shoulder. Left with no choice that she could see, Caitlin hurried ahead of him. As she swung the door wide, the Guthries began issuing the obligatory congratulations.

"I only hope you two are as happy as we have been," Mr, Guthrie said.

"Thirty-seven years," Florrie said proudly. "I've never regretted a moment."

Just the thought of being married to Ace Keegan for thirty-seven years was almost enough to send Caitlin into apoplexy. Stepping across the threshold, she said, "Please, don't bother to see us out. We've already intruded on your sleep."

"It was our pleasure. Goodnight, now!" Florrie called.

Relieved to be away from them, Caitlin drew the door closed. Keegan made his way across the porch and down the steps, his footsteps resounding on the weathered wood.

Hurrying to catch up with him, she cried, "Mr. Keegan, we need to talk."

"Will the wagon do?"

Having no clue what he meant, Caitlin drew to a stop. "The wagon?"

"Your brother," he said patiently. "Should I put him in the wagon?"

"Oh!" She passed a hand over her eyes, "Yes, the wagon." Hauling in a deep, ragged breath, she nodded. "Yes, that would be simplest, I guess. Once I get him home, I'll just pull the wagon into the barn and cover him with blankets."

He gave her an odd look. "He can sleep it off perfectly well right here,"

"Here? But he'll freeze!"

"Not likely." Caitlin winced when Patrick was dumped unceremoniously onto the wagon bed with little or no regard for his lolling head. After returning the younger man's gun to its holster, Keegan directed another meaningful look at her. "Alcohol doesn't freeze, you know."

"That is not funny."

"Who's joking?"

"I can't leave him here." The moon came out from behind a cloud, revealing the harshness of Keegan's expression. Caitlin wasn't at all sure she liked the look in his eye. "I have to take him home. I—well, that's all there is to it."

Jamming hard fists on his hips, he sighed and lifted a dark eyebrow. "Caitlin, I know you'd prefer not to be reminded, but you're a married woman now. Your place is at the
Paradise
with me, and that's where you're going. Patrick got himself into this mess. He can get himself out."

Caitlin didn't know which point to address first, the fact that he considered this to be a genuine marriage, or that he was insisting she leave Patrick in the wagon all night. In the end, the habits of a lifetime prevailed. "But he's unconscious!"

"Maybe he'll think twice before he starts guzzling whiskey the next time. Regardless, he isn't your responsibility anymore."

Not her responsibility? This was her little brother, whom she'd loved and protected since infancy. "He is my responsibility! Who are you to say he isn't?"

"Your husband." With that, he turned to untether his stallion from the tailgate of the wagon. "Trust me, honey. He'll be just fine. I admit, it's a chilly night. But we haven't had frost on the ground for weeks."

"You are my husband only by the loosest definition of the word."

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "I guess it all depends on how you look at it."

Caitlin noticed the rented gelding Patrick had tethered to the porch post, and seized upon the excuse to stall for time. "Surely you don't intend to leave that poor beast and Penelope here until morning without food or water."

"If I don't, Patrick will come to in the morning and not know where I put them. They'll make out fine for a few hours. Penelope's been fed, and the rental horse probably was as well."