The Colorado Bride Page 3

  Bess was right, but Rebecca couldn’t admit it. “It’s not a simple matter anymore. Too much time has passed.”

  “Can you live with yourself after it’s all said and done?”

  For an instant, Rebecca wavered. “I’ll have to.”

  Bess remained silent.

  Her friend’s silence magnified her guilt. “Men like Cole or Curtis aren’t the father type. They grow tired of responsibility and leave.”

  “Rebecca, I don’t like this.”

  She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “Please, don’t argue. I need your help.”

  Bess’ worry lines softened. “You know I’ll stand by you.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Then help me pack.”

  “All right.”

  The bell on the front door rang. Rebecca started. Fearing it was Cole, she peered down the hallway through the screened front door. She saw four women from the sewing circle. In front of the group, stood a short, portly woman dressed in black and wearing a hat sporting a jaunty feather.

  Rebecca groaned. “Mrs. Applegate and her army. What do they want?”

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” Mrs. Applegate called out.

  Bess snorted. “Likely she’s heard about Cole.”

  “I suppose I better find out. Take Mac up the back stairs and start pulling out clothes. As soon as I get rid of her, I’ll join you.”

  “Sure thing, dear,” Bess said.

  Mrs. Applegate called out louder, “Is anyone home?”

  Rebecca hurried down the hallway. Gladys Applegate was the unofficial leader of the town women and ran the ladies’ church circle with an iron hand. No one disputed her word.

  Behind her was Prudence Weatherby, a reed thin widow with piercing close-set eyes who was the town schoolteacher. Next to her stood Madeline Richards and Olivia Farthing. Sisters, they were both short and stocky with rosy cheeks and red hair.

  Rebecca managed a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

  Mrs. Applegate swept into the foyer, her eyes sparkling with an uncommon twinkle reserved for those times when she had an unusually good piece of gossip to share. “Have you heard the news? Cole McGuire is back.”

  “Yes. I ran into him at the saloon.”

  Mrs. Applegate looked vaguely disappointed. Gossip spread fast in White Stone and Mrs. Applegate enjoyed delivering it. “I was hoping to spare you any unnecessary shock.”

  “Thank you.”

  Olivia cleared her throat. “My Stan told me Cole’s at the Rosebud Saloon right now, likely drinking whiskey like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Prudence wrinkled her nose. “You’d have thought ten years in the army and a handful of medals would have straightened that man out, but I guess not.”

  Madeline pursed her lips. “Once a bad seed, always a bad seed. But then, what can you expect with a ma like his?”

  Fresh fears churned inside Rebecca. “Mrs. Applegate, ladies, can we talk later? I’ve got to—”

  “Does Cole know about Mac?” Mrs. Applegate said.

  “No, not yet.”

  The women sighed collectively and nodded. Mrs. Applegate leaned closer. “Good. We’ve come to help.”

  Rebecca frowned. “There’s nothing you can do. Mac and I are leaving town.”

  The ladies stepped into the foyer. They stood side by side, like Amazons ready to do battle.

  Prudence thrust out her bony chin. “You can’t leave White Stone. This is your home.”

  “I have no choice,” Rebecca said.

  “Of course you do,” said Mrs. Applegate. “Is it true you told him the baby died?”

  Bunched muscles in her back tightened another notch. “Yes. But it’s just a matter of time before he finds out I lied.”

  Mrs. Applegate cocked an eyebrow. “Not if we tell everyone to keep quiet. One word from us and your secret is safe forever.”

  Rebecca pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. “Do you think they would?”

  “It won’t be hard to convince everyone to keep silent. Cole made too many enemies when he lived here.”

  Rebecca drew in a deep breath. “Should I help?”

  “No. He’ll surely guess something is wrong if he sees you running around talking to folks. I’ll go over to the dry goods store and have a talk with my husband. He’ll pass the word to anyone I miss. Prudence can reach the rest of the sewing circle and Madeline and Olivia can start talking to the folks on the street.”

  Sickened, Rebecca wished there was another way. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

  “Absolutely.” Mrs. Applegate clapped her hands together. “Ladies, we must be off. We’ve got a lot to do in a short period of time.”

  A hum of whispers buzzed around the women as they hurried down the front steps.

  Rebecca lingered at the doorway, her head resting against the doorjamb. The encounter with Mrs. Applegate and the other ladies left her feeling drained, lifeless. As much as she hated the lies, she feared the truth more and what it could do to her family.

  She walked down the hallway to where the musty leather pieces of luggage sat. The day she’d bought them in Denver, she’d been so filled with hope and happiness. She thought then that nothing could stand in her way.

  Now she knew differently. Her life barely resembled the dreams she’d once had. She touched a small tassel hanging from the satchel’s smooth handle. She tightened her fist around it.

  Surrender was not an option. Mac depended on her and she didn’t have the luxury of sequestering herself in this house and locking out the world. She had to fight, use whatever weapon she could to keep him safe, and if that meant lying to Cole, then so be it.

  A loud knock on the front door startled her out of her thoughts. She turned, expecting to see Mrs. Applegate and the other ladies.

  It was Cole McGuire.

  Chapter Three

  Rebecca caught her breath.

  Cole McGuire stood on the porch, just on the other side of the screened door. His muscular frame dominated the space around him, his gray range coat tucked carelessly behind his holster. She felt as if the ground shifted under her.

  For an instant, her worst fears were realized.

  Dear Lord, he’d found out the truth.

  Cole, no longer a lanky boy, was a man now, with muscular legs and shoulders, a desperado, ready to fight, even kill for what he wanted.

  He’d been daunting back in the saloon; now he looked truly menacing.

  She swallowed, her throat as dry as dust.

  Rebecca considered barring the door and running. But as tempted as she was, she knew he’d catch her. There was no place to go; no place to hide.

  She clenched trembling hands at her sides and rose to her feet. As she walked toward the door, she prayed Bess would keep Mac upstairs until she could get rid of Cole. The less he saw of the boy the better.

  She didn’t open the screened door, unwilling to let him in her house. “I didn’t expect to see you again, Mr. McGuire. I thought you were leaving town.”

  He smiled slowly, as if he were the cat and she the mouse. “I changed my mind.”

  She moistened her dried lips. “What made you change it?”

  He grinned. “You.”

  Light-headed, she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Me? Whatever did I do?”

  “I reckon it was your kind words back at the saloon. I can’t say I’ve had many good words tossed my way in White Stone.”

  She imagined a patronizing glint in his green eyes. “It was nothing.”

  “Losing a son, even one a fellow never met can cut a man to his soul. I doubt I’ll ever forget the look on your face when you spoke to me. You understood.”

  Cole’s words pierced her heart.

  “I was just being neighborly,” she said softly.

  His eyes were devoid of compassion. They were the eyes of a hunter.

  God made men like Cole for a reason. They were the warriors. But she knew men like him weren’t meant to be fathers. She wondered if he wa
s even capable of love.

  He stepped back and surveyed the front porch and rockers. “This sure is a fine place you got here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He flicked the Vacant sign with his gloved finger making it swing. “I was thinking about staying a week or two.”

  “In White Stone?” she croaked.

  “Yea. And I’m gonna need a room.”

  She almost choked on the words. “A room?”

  “You do have one don’t you?”

  The Vacant sign creaked back and forth puncturing the silence. “Yes, of course.”

  “Then I’ll take one. How much?”

  Her heart thundered in her chest. Go away!

  She cleared her throat. “The rate’s three dollars a night. Breakfast and dinner are extra. And I expect the first night to be paid up front.” She’d just tripled her daily rate to discourage him.

  “Kind of high.”

  “Everything’s expensive in Colorado.”

  He stared at her. “So, it seems.”

  Squirming under his gaze, she reached for the front door handle. “Seth’s got rooms at the saloon. They’re more reasonable. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there anyway.”

  “You don’t seem too anxious for my business. Something wrong?”

  Her throat tightened. “It’s not that. I just thought you didn’t like this place.”

  He stepped closer; only the unlocked door separated them. “You never imagined you’d have a saloon brat sleeping under your roof, did you Rebecca Sinclair Taylor?”

  His bitterness surprised her. A denial sprang to her lips, but she caught herself before she spoke it. She deserved his wrath, if not for snobbery then for deceit.

  Mac’s laughter echoed through the house. He sounded close. Afraid he’d come thundering down the stairs, she opened the door and stepped outside to put a barrier between the boy and Cole. “Don’t be silly.”

  He smiled, or rather snarled. “Since I arrived in White Stone, I’ve felt real unwelcome.”

  Rebecca dug her fingernails into her palms. “There was a time when you stirred up a lot of trouble.”

  “A lifetime ago.”

  “Folks have a long memory in White Stone.”

  He pinned her with his gaze, again the hunter closing in on his prey. “So it seems.”

  Inches separated them. The smell of whiskey and an earthy masculine scent filled her senses.

  She didn’t dare ask what thoughts lurked behind his dark eyes. Guilt welled inside her. “I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you about your son.”

  He stepped back. “Me, too.”

  Grateful for the distance between them, she stepped away from the door. “I’ve got work to do. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He looked past her and saw the luggage. “Going somewhere?”

  “A little spring cleaning.”

  “It’s nearly July.”

  “I’m late.”

  His gaze shifted back to her. Seconds passed like years. Then he pushed past her into the house, his shoulder brushing against hers. Every muscle in her body constricted.

  He acted as if he owned the place. He pulled off his hat. “The house was half built when Ma and I moved to White Stone. I used to sit for hours and watch the workmen craft this house.”

  Rebecca followed him. “I wouldn’t know. Papa left me in Chicago until the house was finished.”

  He smoothed a gloved hand along a strip of chair rail molding. “Shame. It was a sight to behold. The men who built this place were artists.”

  She glanced up the stairs, her nerves stretching tighter by the minute. Stay upstairs, Bess and Mac.

  “I never would have imagined you’d have turned this place into an inn,” he said.

  She let her own bitterness show. “My husband didn’t leave me much choice.”

  He stared at a delicate blue-and-white vase sitting on a cherry side table. “Still, with all the money your pa had, I’d figured you’d be fixed for life. Your daddy was a king in these parts.”

  “My husband took all of it.”

  “So you opened your house up to strangers?”

  She blinked at his implied criticism. “Like I said, I didn’t have a choice.”

  He frowned and took a step toward her. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body. “You ever worry about having strangers sleeping under your own roof? There’s no telling what could happen to a woman alone with a small child.”

  The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, making her feel small and vulnerable. She’d never worried about boarders in her house—until now. “I’ve never had trouble before.”

  “Then I’d say you’ve been lucky.”

  “I do screen my guests.”

  “That so?” He sounded amused.

  Anger ignited, making her forget her fear. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Mr. McGuire.”

  “You got a gun?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Do you have a gun?” he replied as if talking to a child.

  “Yes.”

  “You know how to use it?”

  “It belonged to my father and it’s old.”

  “That mean no or yes?”

  Frustration ate at her. “My safety is none of your concern, Mr. McGuire. My son and I got along just fine before you came to town and we’ll do just fine after you’re gone.”

  A flash of fire sparked in his eyes. He obviously wasn’t used to hearing no. “I’m making you my business.”

  “I don’t want to be your business.” She walked to the front door and opened it. “Do us both a favor and leave now, Mr. McGuire.”

  “Not until I see the gun. I want to make certain you know how to use it.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “Too bad, you’ve got it.” He tossed his hat on a Hepplewhite chair, staking his claim.

  She was ready to scream with frustration. Then she heard the squeal of Mac’s voice upstairs. “What if I promise to take the gun by to Sheriff Wade later today and have him take a look at it?”

  He didn’t budge, as immovable as the Rockies. “Better to take care of it now.”

  His tone brooked no arguments and Rebecca realized if she were to get rid of him, she’d have to let him look at the gun.

  “I keep it under the stairs.”

  Wordlessly, he watched her walk to a small hatchway and kneel in front of it. She could feel Cole loom over her, waiting.

  She reached for the old latch and to her frustration couldn’t open it. She shook it, rattled it, but it didn’t relent.

  Then Cole’s strong hand brushed past her. Gloved fingers nimbly flicked up the latch and the door swung open.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “Anytime.”

  From the darkened alcove she retrieved the double-barreled shotgun, covered in dust and cobwebs. Bits of rust marred the barrel her father had always kept well oiled.

  He removed his gloves, tucked them in his belt, and then reached for the gun. His fingers grazed hers. Her skin tingled and burned. She quickly straightened, stepped away and rubbed her palms over her skirt.

  He studied the gun with a frown. “You’re right. It’s old. And in bad shape.”

  Rebecca felt slightly embarrassed as if the sewing circle had called and found breakfast dishes still in the sink. “It’s been in the closet since my father died.”

  Cole shrugged. “I’ve got oil in my saddlebag. Once I’ve bedded down my horse and settled in my room, I’ll see to cleaning it right away.”

  Rebecca willed her hammering heart to slow. He possessed an energy that rattled her senses. “But I thought if I showed you the gun, you’d leave.”

  “I’ll be needing that room now.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Seth’s rooms are cheaper.”

  “I like it here better.”

  Bess called down the stairs. “Rebecca, everything all right down there? I thought I heard a m
an’s voice.” She stopped halfway down the stairs when she caught sight of Cole. “Cole McGuire.”

  Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Mrs. Gunston,” he said softly.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced at the shotgun in his hand and then at Rebecca. “What’re you doing with that?”

  “I suggested Mrs. Taylor keep the gun handy.”

  “Mr. McGuire was concerned about me accepting strangers into my house,” Rebecca said.

  Bess grimaced. “I won’t deny, I’ve worried about it a few times, myself.”

  Rebecca groaned, “Bess, please.”

  Cole smiled. He had her. “Mrs. Taylor, you should be grateful you haven’t had trouble here before. Maybe it is a good thing I’m staying on for a while.”

  Bess coughed. “You’re staying? Here?”

  Rebecca shot her friend an overbright smile. “That’s right, Mr. McGuire will be needing a room.”

  Bess looked as if she’d swallowed castor oil. “How nice.”

  The thunder of tiny feet echoed in the upstairs hallway and before either Bess or Rebecca could stop him, Mac appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Alert, Cole’s gaze shot up, pinning the boy. His expression remained cloaked, but Rebecca sensed he took in every detail about the child. Mac stared back, blatantly curious, then he stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Father and son stood only a dozen feet from each other and neither knew it. Shame rushed through Rebecca even as she prayed Cole didn’t sense his connection to Mac.

  Bess looked at Rebecca. Her expression screamed, “Tell him”. “I thought I’d take Mac for a walk. It’s such a pretty day.”

  The boy rolled onto his belly and slid backward down the stairs, thumping nosily over each polished wood stair.

  Cole moved back, giving the boy extra room to run past him to Rebecca. Mac clung to her skirt and stared at him. The boy pointed at the shotgun. “Gun.”

  The edge of Cole’s mouth kicked up. “You know that guns are dangerous?”

  Mac nodded.

  Cole knelt down and held the shotgun out. “You can look at it if you like. Just don’t touch it.”

  Rebecca held Mac back. “I don’t want him near that gun.”

  “It’s best to tell the boy about dangers than to shield him from them.”