Keegan's Lady (21 page)

The well-muscled black stallion snorted and nudged Keegan's shoulder affectionately. After giving the animal a quick scratch behind the ears, he turned back to Caitlin. Before she guessed what he meant to do, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. Her flared skirt and petticoat hiked clear to her knees, revealing her bloomers.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting you on my horse."

"No, I mean—" Caitlin took a deep, calming breath. "Mr. Keegan, we absolutely must talk."

"About what?"

"About this sham of a marriage!"

"Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but this marriage isn't a sham."

So furious she forgot to be intimidated, she leaned down so their faces were mere inches apart. "You are being deliberately obtuse!"

He smiled up at her. "
Ob
what?"

"Obtuse! And, please, don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what that means." She jerked angrily at her dress. "This is an outrage." She made an attempt to stick her foot in the left stirrup and swing down, but the confines of her bell-shaped skirt wouldn't allow that much freedom of motion. "A lady doesn't ride astride in a dress! Get me down from here this instant."

"Everybody in town is over at the social. Who's going to see?"

"You!"

Shoving his hat back to regard the display, he seemed to consider the point. "That's true enough, I guess. But where's the problem? I'm not complaining, and since I'm your lawful husband, you shouldn't be either."

"I want down from here right this—"

He effectively cut her off by grasping the saddle horn and thrusting a booted foot into the stirrup.

"What are you—?"

Once again, he cut her short by swinging up a leg and settling into the saddle behind her. The hard juncture of his thighs shoved her high on the pommel. Grasping the reins in his left hand, he encircled her waist with his other arm—an extremely hard arm—and drew her firmly back against him.

"Mr. Keegan?"

Ignoring her, he nudged the horse into a brisk walk.

"Mr. Keegan!"

He finally relented with, "What?"

"We have to talk. Please, stop the horse!"

"We can talk while we ride," he replied calmly. "We need to hurry and get out of town. Your drawers are shining, remember?"

Right then, the least of Caitlin's concerns were her bloomers. She grasped his broad wrist, trying without success to pry his hand off her midriff. "Mr. Keegan, please."

He tightened his hold on her. "That hand's not going anywhere, Caitlin. Try to relax, hm? I'd move it. But sure as the world, if I did, Shakespeare would take it into his head to buck."

That she should be so lucky. As for her relaxing, how on earth could he possibly expect anything of the sort? There wasn't enough space between their bodies to insert a sheet of parchment. With exaggerated patience, she said, "You have to listen to me."

"Honey, I have been listening. It's just that you haven't said a damn thing that makes sense."

Taking another deep breath, Caitlin gathered all her courage. Then, not allowing herself a second to agonize over what she was about to do, she blurted, "This marriage is totally unnecessary."

To her dismay, she saw they were riding past the farrier's, one of the last businesses they would pass before reaching the north end of town. There would be nothing but open country from that point westward. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, but I didn't dare. Not as long as Patrick was drunk out of his mind and still conscious. I was afraid the two of you would get into a fight and you'd shoot him." She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at him. "Anyway, better late than never, right? I'm telling you now. You needn't feel obligated to marry me."

"Really?"

His sarcastic tone set her teeth on edge. "Yes, really." Her next words didn't come easily, but desperation drove her. "I'm not the virginal young lady you believe me to be. I was compromised by another man years ago."

She expected him to jerk back hard on the reins and stop the horse. Instead, he kept right on riding.

"Mr. Keegan?"

"Hmm?"

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, Caitlin, I heard you."

"Well, then?" She twisted around to look at him again. "I realize you're probably a little angry. And, honestly, I don't blame you. But if you'll just stop and think about it, you'll realize I couldn't possibly have divulged the information earlier. This way, no one got hurt, and even though we went through the motions of getting married, no lasting harm has been done. Come morning, we can have the marriage annulled. Patrick will have sobered up by then, and I'll be able to reason with him. No offense to you, but if he were sober, you'd be the last person on earth he'd ever choose as my husband."

Letting the reins slip through the fingers of his left hand to give himself the necessary slack, Keegan reached up to push his hat back. Relentless dark eyes impaled her. "Did you love him?"

"Patrick?"

"No, not Patrick. The man."

"What—? Oh, that man. No, of course, I didn't love him. What has love to do with it? The important thing— the only important thing—is that there isn't any need for you to feel responsible for me. Though it isn't common knowledge, any chance I may have once had to make a good marriage was destroyed long ago."

"I see."

Now that he knew, Caitlin waited patiently for him to turn the horse back toward town. Instead he kept heading west. She twisted in the saddle again. "Mr. Keegan, where do you think you're going?"

That infernal eyebrow of his shot up again. "I thought you'd probably like a few changes of clothes. I'm taking you by your former home to collect them, along with any personal things you'd like to take with you to the
Paradise
."

Convinced he couldn't possibly have understood her, Caitlin slowly and succinctly said, "Mr. Keegan, didn't you hear what I said? I... am . . . not. . . a ... virgin. I was already ruined before you ever met me."

His firm mouth tipped into a disarmingly crooked grin. "I’m not exactly uncharted territory myself. If you can accept my past, I reckon I can accept yours."

CHAPTER TEN

Two hours later, Caitlin’s clothing and cherished personal possessions had been stowed away in two satchels, the handles of which were tied together with rope so they could ride saddlebags fashion over the rump of Ace's horse.

Up ahead, Ace saw his ranch rising in silhouette against the moonlit horizon. The sprawling log house stood on a rise, holding court over a newly constructed barn and several outbuildings. This being a Saturday night, his brothers and all the other workers except Mike, the elderly stable hand, were still in town. In Ace's opinion, that was just as well.

Until tonight, Ace had believed his mother and sister would be the first women to live at the
Paradise
. For an instant, his thoughts drifted to them. He should write to his mother at the first opportunity to inform her of his marriage and to tell her he had discovered the truth about his half-sister Eden's parentage. The catch might be in finding a private moment to do so. He couldn't take a chance that Caitlin might see the letter. Eventually, when she'd grown to trust him a little, he would have to tell her that Conor had sired another daughter. But now was definitely not a good time to open that particular can of worms. She already suspected that his motives for marrying her stemmed from hatred. If she learned the truth about
Eden
, it would only add fuel to the fire.

Keeping secrets from his wife was no way to start a marriage, and Ace knew it. For the moment, though, he had more immediate concerns. Her brittle tension worried him most of all. This being their wedding night, he had to decide fast how he meant to proceed from here.

Given the circumstances, Ace was willing to wait on consummating the marriage—if waiting would be easiest for Caitlin. The question was, would it be? On the one hand, she scarcely knew him and could definitely use some time to adjust. On the other, there was the possibility that waiting would only prolong her agony. How did a man best handle a situation like this?

On the tail of that thought, another struck Ace. The longer he waited, the longer Caitlin would be able to get that annulment. If it came to a choice between consummating the marriage or letting her take off for
San Francisco
alone, he'd have her in bed so fast her head would spin.

Ace decided to play it by ear. God knew it would be no great hardship if he had to make love to the girl. He recalled how she had felt in his arms on the dance floor, how incredibly right, as if her slender shape had been molded just for him. A woman who felt that good had to have passion smoldering within her somewhere.

The thought left Ace burning low in his guts. As he drew the horse to a halt in front of the house, he said a little more abruptly than he intended, "Well, this is it."

Beginning to feel disgruntled by her wariness, Ace swung down from the horse.

After pulling her bags from Shakespeare's rump and dumping them on the porch, he reached up to help her down. He saw her hesitate before putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Caitlin, try to relax," he said as he swung her to the ground. "It's going to be all right, sweetheart. Honestly."

Judging by her pallor, Ace didn't think she believed that. No matter how either of them circled it, this marriage gave him certain inalienable rights. If he chose to exercise them, there wouldn't be a whole hell of a lot she could do about it.

After wrapping Shakespeare's reins loosely around the saddle horn, he slapped the stallion on the rump to send him on his way to the stable. To forewarn Mike that the horse was coming, Ace pressed a thumb and forefinger against his teeth and whistled shrilly. Within seconds, Mike signaled back.

"My stable man," he explained to his bride, who had given a noticeable start when he whistled. "He'll rub Shakespeare down and give him his grain."

Fishing under the fringe of her shawl, he grasped her by the elbow and guided her up onto the newly constructed porch, the floor of which was made of planed boards, the framework of sapling pine. The sharp scent of the newly sawed wood filled the chill night air.

Before opening the door, he paused to regard her. Still as pale as milk, her small face glowed up at him in the filtered moonlight, her wide, wary eyes filled with unvoiced questions. Now was definitely not a good time to carry her over the threshold.