Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage Agreement\Cowgirl for Keeps\The Lawman's Redemption\Captive on the High Seas (7 page)

“I could make you happy.”

Yes, he thought, she could. But he might very well destroy her in the process. She mattered too much to take the chance. “You want a conventional marriage. You want a happy, normal home full of children. And I want those things for you, too.”

“But not with you.”

The look of shattered dreams swimming in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. “You know why.”

“Why must you persist in thinking you'll become your father?” She practically hissed out the words, her tone fierce, her face a little ruthless. “Why? When evidence to the contrary is in everything you do?”

“Joshua Greene and I share the same blood.”

“There are other examples in your life. Men who've mentored you. Marc Dupree, for instance. And, of course, there's the best example of all, our Heavenly Father.”

There it was again, that unfailing faith in him. She couldn't know how badly he wanted to be the man she deserved.

In that instant, he allowed himself to believe in the impossible. “I like the man I see in your eyes.”

He closed the distance between them, but still had the sense not to take her into his arms. A slight movement on his part, a shift on hers, and their lips would meet. He shouldn't kiss her. It would be the same as making a promise.

A promise he couldn't keep.

When clouds covered the moon, casting them in shadow, he didn't have the strength to push her away. The inevitability of this moment had been coming on for months.

There was still one small hope left. “Go back inside, Fanny, before I do something you'll regret.”

Showing the stubborn streak he'd once admired, she stayed firmly rooted to the spot. “I'm perfectly happy right where I am.”

A man could take only so much temptation.

Jonathon placed his hands on her shoulders, prayed for the strength to set her away from him.

“Leave me, Fanny.” He gritted out the order through clenched teeth.

“Oh, Jonathon.”

The way she said his name, so soft, so full of affection, he wanted to—

Suddenly, she cupped his face and pulled his head down to hers. At the same instant, he drew her against him.
Inevitable.
The word echoed in his mind.

The moment their lips touched, he was lost.

Inevitable
.

By sheer willpower, he kept the kiss light, still on the edge of friendly, but barely. He tore his mouth free and lifted his head to stare into her eyes.

She blinked up at him in wonder. He'd done that to her. He'd put that dreamy look in her gaze. He was too much of a man not find satisfaction in that.

With his hands still on her shoulders, his breathing as unsteady as hers, he said, “We must get back.”

She didn't argue the point. “Yes.”

At the same time she lowered her hands from his face, he attempted to release his hold on her shoulders.

Only one of his hands came away. The other, or rather, his cuff link, was caught in her hair. He tugged as gently as possible. They remained connected.

He tugged again.

“Oh!” she cried out. “You...your sleeve...it's—”

“—stuck in your hair.”

He reached up with his free hand.

Her instinctive flinch only managed to twine her hair more securely around his cuff link. “Hold still.”

“I'm trying.”

Additional clouds moved in, swallowing what was left of the already meager light. Jonathon leaned in for a better look.

With his forehead practically pressed against Fanny's ear, he was finally able to discern that her hair had curled around his cuff link in a counterclockwise fashion. “I see the problem.”

He slowly, carefully, unraveled each strand.

Just as he managed to pull his hand away, a female gasp sounded from behind him—followed by a distressingly familiar giggle.

He knew that sound. One of the silly Ferguson sisters stood at his back. The question was, how much had she seen?

The giggle turned into two, interspersed with titters, followed by overexcited, feverish whispering.

Both
Ferguson sisters had come upon him and Fanny.

Jonathon told himself to remain calm. The shadows may have sufficiently hidden them from sight, or at least covered their identities.

Bracing himself for the worst, he gave Fanny an apologetic grimace, then pivoted to face the consequences of his actions.

His gaze fell on empty air.

Whoever had come upon them was now gone.

He turned back to Fanny. “I'm sorry.”

Her lips quivered. “We are both to blame, I more than you, since I initiated our kiss.”

Wishing he could take back the last half hour—not for his benefit but for hers—he refused to let her feel a moment of guilt.

“No, Fanny, the blame falls solely on my shoulders. I should not have escorted you outside. I should have at least insisted we return to the ballroom sooner.”

She didn't immediately respond. With her finger tapping her chin in thoughtful reflection, she glanced to her right, then to her left. “You know, the Ferguson sisters may not have any idea who it was they interrupted. We may yet be safe.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, although he didn't hold out much hope for that, especially since he and Fanny would be returning to the ballroom together. He would not allow her to face alone whatever censure awaited them. He would stand by her side and assume the bulk of the blame.

He feared his efforts wouldn't be enough. Fanny's reputation would soon be in tatters. At a time when she'd nearly broken free of the previous scandal, she would once again be the center of ugly gossip.

Mere days ago, Jonathon had promised himself his legacy would be different from his father's. He'd vowed no woman would suffer because of his actions. Now, because of his actions, the one woman he most wanted to protect was good and truly ruined.

As far as he was concerned, that didn't make him as bad as his father.

It made him worse.

Chapter Seven

F
anny held Jonathon's unwavering gaze with one of her own. As a matter of honor, she refused to be the first to look away. Because she watched him so attentively, she knew the precise moment their relationship took another critical turn. There was an invisible link between them now.

The anxiety roiling in her stomach calmed, then returned full force when Fanny thought of her mother. Mary Mitchell was just beginning to manage her devastating illness. Would another scandal attached to her daughter's name stifle her efforts? The doctor had warned that stress worsened the asthma attacks.

Something dark moved through Fanny, something that felt like guilt, or perhaps even shame. It appalled her to feel tears gathering in her eyes. She hadn't once thought of her mother when she'd convinced Jonathon to leave the ballroom, nor when she'd coaxed him farther along the terrace, and certainly not when she'd kissed him.

Jonathon had tried to send her back into the safety of the ballroom. Instead of heeding his warning, she'd dragged his head down to hers and melded their mouths together.

She was not innocent. She was not good. She'd earned every bit of the censure awaiting her in the ballroom.

To think, but a few hours ago, Fanny had convinced herself tonight would change the way people in town saw her. She'd certainly accomplished her objective. Clearly, she'd learned nothing from her past mistakes. Now others would suffer the consequences of her actions. Her mother. Jonathon. The rest of her family.

What have I done?

Another spurt of guilt squeezed the breath from her lungs. “I am completely at fault,” she choked out between inhalations.

“Not completely, no.” Jonathon's deep voice poured warmth over her cold heart. “We share the blame, and will face the consequences together, no matter how dire or life-altering.”

He did not say marriage, but he was thinking it. The evidence was there, in the grim twist of his lips and the stern set of his shoulders.

She'd dragged this man to a place he'd vowed never to go.

What have I done?

“Come.” He tugged her toward the ballroom. “Time to face the good people of Denver.”

He guided her to the very edge of the French doors. A few more steps and they would cross over the threshold, into a future neither of them truly wanted.

The faint strains of a waltz floated out of the ballroom. One, two, three. One, two, three. The notes were simple in structure, but a mockery of the complex emotions pulling at her composure.

What have I done?

She shot a glance at Jonathon from beneath her lashes. Even in the dense, flickering shadows, she recognized the resolve in his eyes, the willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect her from another scandal.

She could not let him compromise his future for hers. “We should enter at separate times. Give the gossips less fodder to build their stories upon.”

He lowered his gaze to meet hers.

“No, Fanny. We are in this together.”

We are in this together
. Jonathon Hawkins was proving to be a man of integrity—honorable, upright, noble. Was there any wonder she'd kissed him? And wanted to do so again?

For his sake, she once again grasped at a single thread of hope. “Perhaps Penelope and Phoebe didn't see us kiss. Perhaps they will only tell the tale of my hair stuck in your cuff.”

The shake of his head said he didn't believe that any more than Fanny did. “More likely they will embellish what they saw with a decided lack of decorum. We'll find out soon enough.”

He released her hand, moved in beside her, then offered her his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. Her throat seized shut.

What have I done?

If she walked inside the ballroom so thoroughly allied with him, there would be no turning back. For either of them.

“Take my arm, Fanny.”

The request was kindness itself. Still, she hesitated. “I have weathered gossip before. I am not afraid to do so again.”

“You are a strong woman, there is no doubt. However, you were not alone in the kiss we shared.” His tone was resolute, but when he touched a fingertip to her cheek, the contact was gentle, a mere whisper of skin to skin. “I was thoroughly present then, and I will not abandon you now.”

Without pause, with one single, fluid motion, he scooped up her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow.

They entered the ballroom side by side.

Every head turned in their direction. Significant glances were exchanged as people separated off into groups and began whispering over the music.

So the Ferguson sisters had done their worst.

Mrs. Singletary bustled through the crowd, her stride full of purpose. She met Fanny and Jonathon at the edge of the dance floor just as the final notes of the waltz played out.

“Ah, Mr. Hawkins, Miss Mitchell, there you are.” She gave them each a pointed look, silently urging them to follow her lead. “I thank you for ensuring all is ready for the next portion of our evening.”

Before either Jonathon or Fanny could respond, the widow positioned herself between them. The move was full of easy familiarity, as if they'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times over.

“Smile,” she ordered under her breath.

Fanny managed a tentative smile, but feared she failed in her attempt to fully hide her nerves. A quick glance to her left and she saw that Jonathon had no such problem. His smile actually looked genuine.

Mrs. Singletary nodded to the staff lined up against the walls. With wicker baskets in hand, they took up strategic positions throughout the room.

The widow drew in a slow, dramatic breath, pulling every eye to her. An expectant hush fell over the room. “Mr. Hawkins, would you do the honor of calling for donations?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He asked for the crowd's attention. A ridiculously wasted effort, as all eyes were already on him. “As most of you know, Mrs. Singletary hosts her annual charity event to raise funds for one of her favorite causes in town.”

As he spoke, he leveled a gaze over the assembled group, silently daring anyone to interrupt him.

No one dared.

Not even Fanny's brothers, who glared at Jonathon with the kind of disgust they reserved for poachers and horse thieves. Their wives held on to them with white-knuckle grips, as if holding them in place.

Ice lifted from Fanny's stomach, setting up residence in her lungs, stealing her ability to take a decent breath.

Jonathon continued his speech. “Tonight's proceeds will fund a long overdue remodel of the new kitchen at Charity House.”

He went on to explain why the orphanage needed the upgrade, but Fanny was only half listening now. She circled her gaze around the room, stopping at various clusters of wide-eyed guests staring back at her.

She soon found Penelope and Phoebe. They stood among a group of their friends, looking smug, triumphant even, and completely unrepentant of the gossip they'd already spread.

Fanny leaned forward, counted to five silently in her head, putting a number to each second, then pointedly moved her gaze away from the troublemaking sisters.

She searched for her parents next, found them almost immediately.

No.
No!
Her father appeared to be supporting the bulk of her mother's weight. The once active, vibrant woman looked so small, so pale and vulnerable. Her breathing was coming too fast. Any moment she could suffer an asthma attack.

Fanny was the cause of her mother's distress. She'd given her reason to worry, the very thing Dr. Shane had warned against. Right then, in that moment, Fanny vowed to do anything,
everything
, to ensure Mary Mitchell suffered no setbacks because of her.

Jonathon's speech came to an end. “We thank you for your contributions to such a worthy cause.”

Moderate applause broke out among the guests.

A single lift of Mrs. Singletary's chin and the hotel staff moved through the crowd, baskets extended. Despite the tension in the room, donations flowed in quickly.

The orchestra struck up a lively country reel. Some of the assembled men and women took to the dance floor, others resumed their private conversations.

Fanny didn't have to guess at the topic of their discussions.

She sighed. “Thank you, Mrs. Singletary. You quite literally saved the day.”

“No, dear, I merely forestalled the inescapable.” She patted Fanny's hand sympathetically, leveled a speculative glance over Jonathon. “The rest is up to the two of you.”

She made to leave.

Fanny forestalled her departure a moment longer. “I'm sorry we ruined your ball.”

“On the contrary.” The widow fluttered her fingers. “I'm quite delighted with this turn of events. Tonight's ball will be talked about for months to come.”

While that
had
been the intended goal, Fanny had hoped the talk would be for far different reasons than her scandalous behavior.

What have I done?

Her head grew light. Little spots played before her eyes. She swayed. Jonathon was by her side in an instant, hand at the small of her back, supporting her.

She lifted her gaze up to his. His attention was no longer on her, but trained at the back of the ballroom. Fanny swiveled her head in that direction, connected her gaze with Judge Greene. The odious man had the nerve to smile at her, the look far from polite.

Feeling suddenly unclean, she tore her gaze away.

Rising onto her toes, she caught sight of her father leading her mother to a chair. “I must go to my mother.”

“I'll escort you.” Jonathon shifted his hold to her arm.

They'd barely taken a step when Mrs. Singletary's voice halted their progress. “Brace yourself, Mr. Hawkins. Your moment of judgment is fast approaching.”

Fanny nearly groaned aloud. Her brothers strode through the crowd, seemingly oblivious of the stares following them. Hunter led the charge, his menacing gait reminiscent of the ruthless gunslinger he'd once been.

Jonathon met the silent challenge with his own personal brand of grit. Not a blink. Not even a twitch. His eyes were as hard as Hunter's, and an equally threatening smile curved his lips.

Both men's dark pasts were evident in every fiber of their being. The two would be formidable foes under normal circumstances. These were
not
normal circumstances, Fanny realized with a jolt of terror. They must not fight over her.

She would not allow them to come to blows. With swift, sure steps, she hurried forward, slapped her palm on Hunter's chest. His feet pounded to a stop.

“Out of my way, Fanny.” He glared hard at her hand. “This doesn't concern you.”

She held her ground. “On the contrary, this is completely about me.”

Logan and Garrett stood beside Hunter, flanking him, their eyes trained on Jonathon. He held their stares without flinching.

“You will not hurt Jonathon.” She included all three of her brothers in the warning. “I will not allow it.”

“Step aside, Fanny.” This from Jonathon, spoken in a flat, unemotional tone. “Your brothers will have their say, and then I will have mine.”

Jonathon's face was calm, almost stoic. She recognized that look, had seen it several times in the past year while working closely by his side. He would not tolerate her interference.

She would give him no other choice.

Just as she opened her mouth to explain her position, he shifted to stand in front of her, shielding her body with his, literally protecting her from her own brothers.

A sweet gesture, but unnecessary, especially when he was the one at the greatest risk.

She scrambled back around him. Again, he put himself between her and her brothers.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “You cannot think that I—”

She broke off, realizing the crowd was pressing in on their unhappy little group. Switching tactics, she carefully modulated her breathing and aligned her shoulders with Jonathon's.

“I can count on you to be reasonable?” She directed the question at her brothers. When none of them responded, she repeated herself.

They nodded, with very little enthusiasm. Nevertheless, she took them at their word. “I will hold you to your promise.”

The next few moments passed in a blur.

Hunter officially requested to speak with Jonathon in private. Jonathon agreed, then suggested they continue their discussion in his office.

Fanny barely had time to blink after their retreating backs when Mrs. Singletary came up beside her. “Well, well, well, what I wouldn't give to be a witness to
that
conversation.”

Fanny could not say the same.

* * *

The moment the men left the ballroom, Fanny was surrounded by her brothers' wives. They huddled around her, their physical presence and sympathetic smiles evidence of their unconditional love.

Each woman took a turn pulling Fanny into her arms. Annabeth spoke for the group, her words of encouragement reminding Fanny that she was not alone, never would be alone, and could turn to any of them in the next few weeks for whatever she needed.

“You can even move out to the ranch with Hunter and me,” Annabeth assured her. “If it comes to that.”

Fanny would never allow it to come to that.

More promises of a place to call home came from the others, then, at last, Fanny stood before her parents. Renewed panic stole her ability to take a decent breath. Her mother's face had gone white as the moon, her breathing labored, but not a full wheeze. Yet. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“Not now, Fanny.” Her father laid a hand on her shoulder, cutting off the rest of her words. “Not here.”

He was right, of course. Too many people closed in around them, prepared to spread pieces of conversation they overheard.

“Let's get you upstairs, Mary, my love.” Her father helped her mother stand.