Keegan's Lady (32 page)

"Caitlin, about this morning."

She shot him a wary glance, her eyes going dark with emotions he couldn't define.
He coughed and ran a hand over his hair. "I, um ... I’ve done a lot of thinking about what happened, and I've decided I owe you an apology."

She looked at him as if he'd just told her pigs could fly. An incredulous, fragile sort of look that said, "You're pulling my leg, right?" He had a strong urge to slip an arm around her shoulders and give her a hug. Anything to wipe that disbelieving expression off her face.

Instead he smiled slightly. "Hasn't a man ever apologized to you before?"
"Patrick," she replied softly.

Patrick again. After glimpsing some of her diary passages, Ace was better able to understand her devotion to her brother. But after seeing Patrick strike her, it still didn't sit well. The youth had obviously changed, and for the worse. Ace hauled in a deep breath. "I'm very sorry I broke my word to you, Caitlin. It's not a very good way to start a marriage, making you promises and then breaking them before the hour is out. I feel really bad about it."

She shrugged one shoulder, the gesture conveying that she had never really expected him to keep his word.

Her offhanded attitude made Ace feel more guilty than if she'd ranted and raved. It drove home to him that she wasn't feeling disillusioned by his actions, because she had no illusions—and no grand notions. People were never going to disappoint her. Not if she never allowed herself to believe in them.

An enigma, that was Caitlin. A girl who would go to any length to stand behind her word, even if it meant staying married to a man she didn't love. Yet she didn't seem to expect him or anyone else to abide by the same moral precepts.

He had originally come out here to tell her he meant to go see Patrick this afternoon and to try to justify why he'd nearly knocked the young man's teeth down his throat. Instead, he heard himself say, "A promise should be kept, no matter what, Caitlin. If a man doesn't stand behind his word, he isn't much of a man."

Under the circumstances, it was about the stupidest thing he'd ever said. He may as well have asked for a little more rope so he could hang himself.

She fastened a bewildered gaze on him. Not that he blamed her for feeling bewildered. What the hell was he saying? That he wasn't much of a man?

He rubbed a hand over his face and blinked. The situation hadn't much improved when his vision cleared. This girl had kept her word to him, at great cost to herself, and he'd broken his to her. No matter what his reasons, he felt like a shit.

"I, um ..." It was his turn to stand with his palms turned up. Tracing the lines, there with his gaze, he wondered which was his wisdom line and decided he probably didn't have one. "I've never been a great one for expressing myself," he told her ruefully. "Alter you've been around me a while, you'll learn I think tact is something little boys put on chairs for the teacher to sit on."

He paused a moment, waiting for her to laugh. Nothing. So much for a touch of levity.

"The only way I know to say things is pretty much straight out, Caitlin. I'm really sorry for breaking my promise to you. But sometimes things happen that make it difficult to keep your word. When Patrick hit you, I saw red and just reacted."

He glanced down and saw that she was raking her fingernails over her palms. There was anger in her. A great deal of anger. Yet her expression revealed not a trace of it. He wondered how it felt to be that furious and not feel free to vent it. The concept of holding one's feelings back was completely foreign to him.

In his family, everyone expressed themselves, sometimes loudly, sometimes destructively, always honestly. He remembered Joseph and Eden getting into it one night over whose turn it was to clean the kitchen. By argument's end, they'd broken every dish in the cupboard. It had cost Joseph fourteen dollars to replace all the china, and
Eden
had had to make his bed for six months to reimburse him for her half of the damages. To this day, whenever a loud argument broke out, his mother would cry, "Not my crystal! I don't care about the rest, but don't you dare touch my crystal!"

Anger. In the Paxton household, it was as common as eggs and bacon for breakfast. You got mad. You yelled and pitched an unholy fit. Then it was over. In contrast, Caitlin seemed to think expressing her feelings was some kind of sin. Either that or she was afraid to. Neither sat very well with him.

Ace didn't know what possessed him, but the question sprang to his lips before he could swallow it back. "Do you want to hit me, Caitlin?"

She flashed him a startled look. "Of course not."

"You're very angry."

For a moment, he thought she would deny it. Then her mouth twisted tight at the corners. "Yes."

"With me?"

Her mouth tightened even more.

"It's all right to admit you're mad at me," he assured her. "The sky isn't going to fall on you."

She flashed him another disbelieving glance that spoke volumes, but said nothing.

Ace knew on some level he probably shouldn't press her. But he felt compelled to get his point across. "I asked you a question, Caitlin, and I'd like an answer," he said, his tone a little more stern than he intended. "Are you angry with me?"

She stopped raking her nails over her palms and made trembling fists. "Yes!"

The admission was more a hiss than a word, its sibilance hanging in the air. After making the confession, she went rigid and withdrew from him a little, as if she expected him to smack her. In fact, she seemed braced for it.

"Is that all?" he asked her softly. "Just 'yes'? If you're mad at me, Caitlin, let fly. Give me a dressing down. Scream at me. Knock me up alongside the head. I'd rather that than for you to just stand there. At least then it'll be out in the open, and we can finish it."

"Finish it?" she echoed in a high-pitched voice.

Judging by the way her voice shook, he'd almost pushed her beyond caution. Instinctively, he gave her another nudge by saying, "Yes, finish it. I'm a firm believer in clearing the air. Otherwise, misunderstandings fester and cause far more heartache than they ever would otherwise. Talking things out may not solve everything, but it can go a long way toward calming the waters."

"This can't ever be finished. Not until you bury me. Until death do us part, remember? Between you and Patrick, I've been put in a position that will never be finished!"

Ace avoided her gaze, afraid she'd see too much reflected in his eyes. He had her talking, at least. That had to be a good start, now, if he could just keep prodding her. It wasn't a particularly admirable way to go about things, but he'd take what he could get. "So you're angry with Patrick, too?"

"With both of you." Her whole body was beginning to shake. "He got drunk and crazy, and you took advantage of it, the two of you railroading me into a marriage I abhor! Then this morning, he came staggering over here, all in a huff, as if it's entirely my fault? To add insult to injury, he slapped me. My own brother! And then you jump in and beat him up? You're both acting like barbarians, and I'm trapped in the middle!"

Ace tightened his grip on the fence rail. Slap wasn't the word to describe the blow Patrick had dealt her, but he guessed now wasn't a good time to split hairs. "Are you angry because he slapped you?"

She looked at him as if he were an imbecile. "Of course I'm angry. If I liked being slapped, Mr. Keegan, I would have found myself a husband years ago to do the honors."

She started to push down from the fence. Ace snaked out a hand and grabbed her arm. "Oh, no, you don't. Rule number one in this marriage, no storming off in the middle of an argument. We're going to settle this."

She clenched her teeth and tried to wrench free of his grasp. "Settle it, finish it! How can you possibly believe either is possible? As for your rule, I'm not storming off. I'm simply ending a conversation that's going nowhere."

Taking care not to bruise her, Ace maintained his grip on her arm. "If you dislike being hit," he asked in a low voice, "why have you stayed there and taken it?"

Her eyes went wide and filled with sparkling tears. She tried to jerk her arm free again. Ace could see he'd touched a real sore spot. Her indignation was almost palpable as she twisted to escape him.

Though she'd said nothing, his question had been answered with far more eloquence than she probably realized. "So you did try to leave?"

One of her feet slipped off the fence rung. She scrambled for purchase, then threw him a hate-filled glance. Her mouth thinned into an uncompromising line.

"What happened?" he asked gently. "Tell me, Caitlin."

"The same thing that would happen if I tried to leave here. People fetched me home, or he came after me. The end was always the same."

"People took you home to your brother?"

There was that look again, as if he didn't have brains enough to fill a thimble. "Not to my brother! To my father. Patrick was always with me."

"With you? Trying to run away, you mean?"

The fight went out of her, and her expression became closed again. Ace had an unholy urge to shake her. Secrets. Her eyes were dark with them. Secrets he sensed she would never willingly divulge. He would have to pry them out of her, one by one, like rusty nails out of seasoned oak.

"Caitlin, how can I help you if you won't talk to me?"

"Help me?"

Ace could have bitten his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that. "We're married. Somehow we have to make it work. We can't do that if you erect a wall between us."

Her expression remained shuttered. "Making this marriage work is your problem. If you're beginning to realize what a stupid move it was, I'm perfectly willing to rectify the situation by getting an annulment."

"No annulment."

She averted her face and dragged in a quavery breath. "You'll undoubtedly change your mind, probably after it's too late. Then where will I be?"

She said it with such certainty. Ace leaned around slightly, trying to see her expression. "Why on earth do you think I'll change my mind?"

She flashed him another bitter glance. "The merchandise, remember? You haven't seen it yet."

The words were like a slap. He remembered saying them to her that first night in her barn. An insult calculated to shame and intimidate. He relaxed his grip on her elbow slightly. It was all the opportunity she needed. With a violent twist of her body, she leaped off the fence and tripped away from him in a tangle of skirts. He watched her go for a second. Then he struck off after her.

As he rounded the corner of the barn, he saw her disappear into the building. It occurred to him she had no place to run. His brothers were in the house, so she couldn't seek sanctuary there. The realization drove home to him how trapped she must be feeling.

Ace leaned against the barn door, his shoulder smarting where a bent nail in the crossbuck poked him. He ran a hand over his face again. Why he indulged in the habit of trying to blink away his frustration, he didn't know. It never seemed to help.

The merchandise. There was nothing quite like having your stupidity thrown back in your teeth. He'd forgotten all about saying that to her. She obviously hadn't. He guessed because the words had hurt—maybe more deeply than he'd ever dreamed. You place a very high price on yourself, Miss O 'Shannessy. It remains to be seen if you're worth it.

He closed his eyes, feeling slightly sick. Maybe it was just the opposite. Maybe she didn't place much value on herself at all. The merchandise. Thinking back on it, that was one of the crudest, rottenest things he'd ever said to anyone. And it was only one in a long list of mean shots he'd taken at Caitlin in the short time he'd known her.

Like father, like daughter? He'd raised that question so glibly last night, recognizing her weakness and capitalizing on it. Using it against her to keep her at the
Paradise
. Why did he never stop to think that where there was weakness, there might also be pain? Maybe a pain that ran too deep for tears.

He recalled all she'd done since he'd known her. Scraping together eight dollars and nine cents, payment made well in advance of the stipulated month. Her willingness to sacrifice herself to save Patrick. Her decision to stay at the
Paradise
because he'd taunted her about keeping her word. Everything the girl had done screamed that she was trying to prove something to herself, and maybe to everyone else. It didn't take a genius to figure out what that something was—that she was nothing like her bastard of a father.

Her reasons didn't really matter. What did was that he'd recognized the weakness and used it against her. Thoughtlessly. Heartlessly. Winning the game had been all that counted to him.

As a gambler, it was a talent he had, reading other people.
Reading
. Gauging. Moving in for the kill. He was so damned good at it. So well practiced, it came second nature. Only this wasn't a game. And Caitlin wasn't a pot of money. She was a person with feelings, and to suit his own ends, he'd trampled all over them.

Did she feel below standard? Did she truly believe that once he began to peel away her layers and saw who she really was, he wouldn't want to be married to her anymore? Crazy, so crazy. She was a beautiful girl. With that flaming red hair, those lovely blue eyes and creamy skin, she was probably the most striking young woman for a radius of a hundred miles. What man in his right mind wouldn't want her?