Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (11 page)

Sarah took a deep breath, uncertain why her hands were trembling and why her heart was pounding so fast. That he had supported her in so important an issue stunned her. But that he honestly believed in the cause was truly astonishing.

Donovan finally managed to separate himself from Mrs. Castor, and Sarah grabbed her chance. He crossed to where his horse was tied to a tree, waving in response to greetings and accepting hearty pats on the back with a smooth yet distant smile. She could tell that he wanted to get away from the adulation, but there was something she wanted to say to him first. Grasping her skirts, she hurried over to him, stopping a few paces away as he untied Senseless.

“Mr. Donovan.”

He paused, the reins dangling from his hands. “Evening, Sarah.”

“I want to thank you for what you did in there.” She clenched her fingers into the sturdy brown material of her skirt.

He shrugged. “I did what I had to, nothing more.”

“You did something wonderful,” she said, stepping closer. “You can’t know how I feel right now. You’ve done this incredible thing, supported my argument in there and offered to pay a teacher’s wages for a whole
year
—”

“I had my reasons, sassy girl, and I’m sorry to say it really had nothing to do with getting in your good graces.”

She flushed. “I didn’t think it did.”

“The fact is, I never got schooling when I was a boy. And if I had…” He let the words trail off. “The town needs a school. And since I’m going to be getting married and having my own younguns, I reckon I should be sure that they have the chance for the education I never had.”

“Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful to you,” Sarah said with a soft smile.

“I don’t want your gratitude, Sarah.” His expression tightened as he reached out and traced a finger along her jaw. “Fact is, I don’t know what I want from you.”

She touched the hand that caressed her face. “Friendship?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Is that possible?”

“It has to be,” she said. “By your own intentions, it’s all we can have.”

He rubbed his thumb against her cheek. She closed her eyes and savored the contact for the briefest moment before looking at him again. “I think we need to make a new start, Jack.”

“If it isn’t too late.”

“I don’t think it is.” With an effort, she took a step back, away from his touch. “I’m sorry I was so bull-headed about prying into your past. You were right when you said that a man’s past is his own business. I won’t pester you anymore.”

He blinked. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she responded. “Your secrets are safe from me.”

“Sarah.” He came forward and took her hand. “Since you’re giving something to this…this peace treaty of ours, I want to do the same thing.”

“You don’t have to.” She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too firm.

“I want to.” He paused, scanning her face. “I promise not to tease you anymore, sweet Sarah. I know you haven’t had it easy, and I think lately I’ve made things worse for you.”

She flushed and looked away. “It hasn’t been that bad.”

“Nevertheless, I promise not to do it anymore.” He turned her face until she met his gaze. “Friends don’t make each other uncomfortable, right?”

“I…I suppose.”

“Good. Then we’re agreed.” He took his hand from her cheek and held it out for her to shake. “Friends?”

The sincerity in his expression squeezed her heart. She so badly needed someone who would not judge her. Someone, like him, who saw through the facade she maintained every day to the real woman beneath.

Somehow that prospect didn’t seem so scary anymore. “Friends,” she agreed and shook hands.

Friends.

Donovan watched Sarah walk away with a sense of wonderment. Something amazing had just happened. She had agreed not to pursue his past anymore. He had agreed not to try and seduce her when they both knew he had no intention of marrying her. They had settled their differences like civilized people and agreed to get along.

In a way, it didn’t seem odd that they could be friends. Deep down, they’d always understood each other. No, what felt strange was that he already missed the pleasure of touching her, of teasing her and watching her get riled up and embarrassed. But a promise was a promise. And Jack Donovan kept his promises.

He turned to mount his horse.

“Not so fast, Donovan.”

Ross Turner approached him, and Donovan wondered if the man had witnessed his discussion with Sarah.

“I wanted to wait until Sarah was gone,” Ross said, answering Donovan’s unspoken question. “There’s some things I want to say to you.”

Resigned, Donovan looped the horse’s reins around the tree branch again, then turned to face Ross. “Go ahead.”

“I never had any problem with you before, Donovan, but it looks like that might be changing.”

“I’d hate to see our friendship ruined over a schoolhouse.” Donovan tensed, something untamed uncoiling within him. He tried to maintain an expression of polite attention.

“It’s not the schoolhouse,” Ross answered, stepping closer. “The town can build a dozen schoolhouses for all I care, as long as they don’t expect the cattlemen to pay for it.”

“That’s a sorry attitude to have,” Donovan said. “But I figure every man is entitled to his opinion.”

“Well, this isn’t about opinions, Donovan.” Ross narrowed his eyes. “This is about you and me. And Sarah.”

Donovan raised his eyebrows. “What about Sarah?”

“I’ve lived here for twenty years, Donovan. I’ve known Sarah since she was born. And I don’t cotton to a newcomer like yourself toying with her affections.”

“I’m not
toying
with anything.” His voice lowered ominously, despite the twinge of guilt. “That’s an insult to both me and Sarah.”

“Sarah’s a good woman,” Ross returned. “She’s had a hard time of it, and her judgment in the past hasn’t always been sound. I mean to make sure that she doesn’t make another bad decision.”

Donovan scowled down at the shorter man. “Who’s to say she will?”

Ross thrust a finger at him. “You’re new here, Donovan. Nobody knows where you came from or who your family is, and I find that mighty suspicious.”

“I’m not wanted anywhere. That’s all you or anyone else needs to know.”

“Well, that’s not good enough. I mean to find out about you, Donovan. Who you are and where you come from. And if I don’t like what I find out, you can be sure I’ll be saying so. Publicly.”

Donovan didn’t even blink. If he had a penny for every threat made against him in his lifetime, he’d be an even richer man than he already was. “Is it really Sarah you’re concerned about, Ross?” he asked softly, baring his teeth in a smile that made the other man step back. “Or is it that you don’t like the fact that someone else in this town has just as much influence as you do?”

Ross’s face reddened, but to his credit, he didn’t explode. He jabbed his finger at Donovan again. “You just watch your step, Donovan. And I’ll be watching you.”

Ross spun on his heel and stalked away.

Donovan watched him go, tension coiling in him like an angry rattler. He had just managed to get Sarah off his trail, and now he had Ross Turner to worry about. With a muttered oath, he turned and mounted his horse. He kicked Senseless into a gallop, speeding down Main Street and out of town.

He urged the bay faster, the countryside passing by in a blur. Already the sun had settled behind the mountains, casting a golden glow across a sky painted with pinks and oranges and lavenders. He barely noticed.

He rode as if pursued by screaming Indians. Senseless hit his stride, eating up the ground yards at a time, and Donovan urged him on.

Finally the ranch came into view. Donovan slowed up and eased Senseless into a gentle walk.
 

The house glowed gold, gilded by the setting sun, and the outbuildings shone white against the dark mountains. Donovan stared at all of it, suddenly overwhelmed by his accomplishment.

Who could have known that the bastard son of a saloon girl would end up like this? Who could have foreseen that the greatest tragedy of his life—his mother’s murder—would lead him down a path that would bring him here, to his own land, his own home?

How he had longed for a home. A place to belong. Every night as he had lain on his pallet above the saloon, listening to his mother in the next room with the men who paid her for “company,” he had dreamed of having a real home. One with a cheery fire and a mother who baked cookies. As he grew to manhood, that dream had shifted. He’d started craving his own land, his own house. And a wife who would cook his meals and bear his children. And maybe bake cookies.

Now he had the land and the home. All he needed was the woman.

After Sarah had approached him this evening, he had started to wonder if he hadn’t been a little too vehement about not considering her for a bride. Heat like they had generally didn’t just go away. Perhaps they could have worked something out.

But now he had another problem. He hadn’t lied to Ross. He wasn’t wanted anywhere. He had never committed a crime or been to jail. But he
had
killed. In the name of justice.

He thought back to the sixteen-year-old boy he had once been. That man in a child’s body who had discovered his mother dead one morning, strangled by a no-good son of a bitch who had a taste for knocking around women. That youngster who, fired up on more grit than sense, had taken a horse and tracked down his mother’s murderer.

And Jack had killed him, when the bastard had come at him with a knife as long as his forearm, stabbing the man with his own weapon.

He remembered being sick. He smiled with bittersweet nostalgia as he thought of it. He had lost his dinner, then dragged the dead criminal back to town on a litter tied to his horse. The man had been too big for him to lift over the back of the animal.

He brought the body to the sheriff, with the idea of seeing justice done for his mother’s murder. Now the sheriff didn’t think much about the untimely death of a whore, but it turned out the dead man was wanted for robbing a stage. Donovan found himself wealthier by five hundred dollars and wiser in the ways of the world.

When the sheriff had asked his name, Donovan had been too humiliated to tell the lawman that he was the son of the whore the man had just disdained. Instead, he had looked down at the ten-inch bowie knife he had taken from his mother’s murderer and then met the sheriff’s gaze squarely.

“Blade,” he had said.

And Blade he had become.

For the next fifteen years he had pursued fugitives from justice. He had become wealthy from the bounties he collected and legendary for the blade he wielded so well. Until a year ago.

He closed his eyes as if to shut out the images that crowded his brain. His last bounty. The one that had gone so horribly wrong.

He had lost everything that night. The hostage. His horse. His confidence.

He knew then that it was time for Blade to retire. He took back his real name and collected all his considerable savings from several banks. Then the bounty hunter Blade rode west one day, never to be heard from again.

And Jack Donovan had arrived in Burr, determined to build his dream.

Chapter Eight

TOWN COUNCIL VOTES TO BUILD SCHOOL

LADIES’ AUXILIARY SPONSORS BOX SOCIAL TO RAISE FUNDS

At the town council meeting on Friday, May 12, the council voted to build a schoolhouse and hire a teacher for the children of Burr.

To raise the funds necessary, the Ladies’ Auxiliary for the Betterment of Burr has decided to sponsor a box social at one o’clock on Sunday, May 21, at Miller’s Pond. All the unwed ladies in town are asked to prepare a picnic dinner to be auctioned off to the bachelors of Burr. The gentlemen will receive not only a meal for their donations, but they will also share the company of the ladies who prepared their respective baskets for the afternoon. The proceeds will go toward the cost of building materials for the schoolhouse.

During the meeting, there was some argument as to whether Burr can afford both a teacher’s salary and the materials for construction. However, thanks to the generosity of Jack Donovan, this is no longer an issue. Mr. Donovan has offered to personally pay the teacher’s salary for a year if the town can construct the building.

“Mama, how many times must we discuss this?” Sarah snapped the reins over Matilda’s back and steered the buggy toward Miller’s Pond.
 

“I still think you should have made up a basket, Sarah.” June smoothed her skirt of pale green gingham. “I’m certain Ross Turner would bid on it.”

“Mama…”

“Sweetheart, the man has come to sit on our porch with you these past two Saturday evenings. And he’s talking about marriage. Of course he would bid on your basket.”

Sarah sighed and didn’t answer, not wanting to prolong the discussion. Ross Turner
had
come calling these past two Saturday nights. They had sat outside on the porch and carried on conversations that mostly centered around Ross and cattle. It had been pleasant to listen to a man talk about his dreams while watching the sunset, though cattle was not necessarily her favorite topic of conversation.