Justin's Bride (5 page)

He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He'd often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she'd crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They'd laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he'd sent her inside because he'd wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he'd known that Megan Bartlett wasn't the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he'd proposed.

The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn't want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.

He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she'd taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She'd fallen asleep in his pocket. He stroked the soft fur on her head. She stirred, blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Her tiny teeth made him smile. She sniffed his finger, then closed her eyes. Her soft purr faded as she went back to sleep.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up. He could see Megan approaching. She carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The other swung freely at her side. She looked up at the house and came to a complete stop.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to apologize.”

“Why don't I believe you?”

“I don't know. It's the truth.”

She started walking again, this time moving quickly toward him, then up the stairs. “Nothing is ever simple with you, Justin. Do you know the kind of gossip there would be if someone spotted you here?” She opened the front door and ducked inside. “Hurry. Get in here before someone sees you. You might not care about the talk, but I do.”

He rose slowly and stepped onto the porch. For the first time in his life, he was going in through the front door. He should have been pleased, but he wasn't. He'd been a fool to come back. Nothing had changed. Megan Bartlett still cared about her reputation more than anything in the world. And he was still just that bastard Justin Kincaid.

M
egan held the door open impatiently as Justin slowly stepped inside. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was taking as long as possible. Probably to punish her, she thought, shaking her head. She'd seen the anger in his eyes when just moments ago she'd accused him of not thinking of her reputation.

As soon as he was in the foyer, she slammed the door shut and adjusted the curtains on the side window. Her father had built the house on the far edge of town, opposite where all the new buildings had sprung up. He'd bought the surrounding land and enough of the woods to ensure privacy. Megan didn't get many visitors, but it would only take one to see Justin sitting on her front porch. Within hours, the entire town would know he'd been there and her reputation would be ruined. Not that he cared.

She glared up at him. His brown eyes met hers and flashed with equal fire. The tension between them crackled. She wanted to stomp her foot with irritation.

“Aren't you going to invite me to take a seat in the parlor?” he asked, his lazy drawl a direct contrast to the stiff set of his body and the angry, thin line of his mouth.

“No,” she said curtly, even as the reminder of good manners made her feel guilty. It was wrong to keep a guest standing in the foyer. But Justin wasn't a guest. Thank goodness her father wasn't alive to see this moment. Why he would have—

She swallowed hard as she met his stare. The tension she'd been aware of moments before charged the air. Like a summer electrical storm, when bolts of lightning ripped across the sky and loud claps of thunder echoed so forcefully the house shook. But during those storms there was no rain for relief, no soft patter of individual drops to provide counterpoint to the violence and beauty. And so it was in this room. There was the combination of anger and the past with nothing gentle to ease the intensity between them.

The skin on her arms puckered and a shiver raced down her spine. She lowered her gaze from Justin's dark brown eyes to his mouth, then to his broad shoulders and chest. His thick coat only made him look more powerful. And masculine.

He was a man, a man who had always been able to make her forget what was right and proper. He'd always been able to make her forget herself and all her good intentions. The ticking of the clock in the parlor suddenly sounded very loud. The steady sound seemed to echo in the house, reminding her she was completely alone with him. There were no witnesses, and no one to come to her rescue.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and quavering.

He shook his head, as if coming out of a dream, then moved away from her. There was very little light penetrating the curtained windows and soon they would be in darkness. Justin walked to the lamp she kept by the front door. Without asking her permission, he lit it. When the wick caught, he adjusted the flame until it burned brightly. Casually, as if he had the entire evening, and more time besides, he unbuttoned his coat.

Megan clutched at the fasteners at her throat. He hadn't done anything untoward, but she suddenly felt vulnerable, as if he'd started to undress. It's just a coat, she told herself. Most people took them off indoors. But most people hadn't kissed her on summer nights while sitting on the bank of the stream. Most people hadn't touched her waist and then moved higher to delicately caress her—

Don't think about it, she commanded herself. What she'd done with Justin had been a madness born of youth and the night, and that bit of whiskey she'd sipped from his flask. It had been a dream. In the light of day, she'd felt ashamed.

Liar,
a voice inside of her whispered.
You felt wonderful.
She ignored the voice.

“I told you, I came to apologize.” He paced to the bottom of the staircase that circled gracefully toward the second floor, then turned and glared at her. “God knows why I bothered. I should have remembered nothing is more important to Miss Megan Bartlett than what the rest of the world thinks.”

It was a familiar argument, one they'd had countless times. “Not everyone enjoys flouting convention.”

“Maybe, for once, you could figure out yourself what matters instead of letting other people tell you,” he said.

She clenched her teeth together and unfastened her cloak. After setting it on a hook on the hall tree, she stepped in front of the mirror and pulled the pin from her hat. She could see the flush of anger on her cheeks. It reminded her that she could deal with Justin better if she stopped letting him think that his comments had any power over her.

“I form my opinions after reflecting on the Lord's, the laws of the day and dictates of society,” she said calmly and set her hat down. She turned to him. “Despite your urgings, I don't believe I should place my opinions above theirs.”

“That's always been your problem. You need backbone, Megan.”

Her temper began to burn at the edges of her self-control. She firmly gripped the singed edges. “In your absence, I seem to have survived the loss of my father and kept the store running successfully. Rather large accomplishments for someone with no backbone, wouldn't you say?”

He stepped toward her. “But everything you do, every thought, every action is dictated by what other people think. What are you so afraid of?”

“Harming my reputation,” she snapped. “Something you wouldn't care about, being a man. But I'm a single woman in a small town. If I expect to keep my place, I must concern myself with others' thoughts. If you don't share my concerns, you should at least understand them. After all, your mother had a bad reputation and look what happened to her.”

The second she spoke the words, Megan wanted to call them back. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Justin froze in place, halfway between her and the stairs. The flame from the lamp danced with some slight draft, casting shadows on his face. His mouth straightened into a grim line and the muscle in his right cheek twitched. Something dark and ugly stole into his eyes.

She stepped away. Not out of fear, but out of shame. “I'm s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn't mean to say that. It was wrong of me. Completely wrong. I know you loved your mother and that she was a good woman. You made me angry.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her waist and shrugged slightly. “That's a stupid excuse, isn't it? It's not your fault and I shouldn't try to say that it is. It's mine. I'm sorry.”

He blinked and it was as if he'd never heard her slight. His face relaxed into its original mocking expression. “Don't apologize on my account. I've heard worse in my time. Your comments weren't original, or even harshly spoken. I don't care enough about you to be wounded by your opinions.”

He'd changed so much in the time he'd been gone. The young man who had taught her about kissing and passion had been replaced by a dark stranger. Just as well, she told herself. The old Justin would have tempted her too much. This man was unknown to her. If she kept it that way, she wouldn't be at risk.

“Wounded or not, I do apologize.” With a sigh, she moved past him into the parlor. The last rays of afternoon light slipped through the drapes and outlined the large pieces of furniture in the room. She moved to a corner table and lit a lamp. She placed the smoldering match in a small metal tray, then turned to him.

As she'd suspected, he had followed her into the room. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked around at the furnishings. She followed his gaze, wondering how the parlor would appear to a stranger.

Overly furnished, she thought, glancing from the three settees, to the scattered tables and covered chairs. Her father had had a fondness for expensive things. There were lacquered boxes and silver candy dishes. A beautiful ivory fan bought in New Orleans from a ship that had been nearly around the world. Cream-colored wallpaper and heavy, dark blue drapes provided a backdrop for the ostentatious display.

“Who would have thought I would be so blessed as to finally see the inside of the famed Bartlett mansion?” he said. He raised his eyebrows. “You must be very proud living here.”

“I'm not. You know that, Justin.” She glanced at one of the settees and thought about sitting down, but she was afraid he would sit next to her. With her heart already pounding in her chest and her palms damp, she didn't think she could deal with the consequences of him being so close. “This house means nothing to me. It is still my father's home, not mine.”

“Yes, of course. You could be happy in a small sod hut somewhere out west. Fighting snakes and scorpions, watching your children die from the elements.”

“You twist my meaning.”

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. The smile pulling at his mouth was anything but pleasant. “Are you saying you would be content in a single room above a saloon? Like my mother? You could hear the noise from below, you know. The yells of the drunken men, the squeals of the saloon girls. And the smells. Tobacco, sweat and—”

“Stop!” She moved toward him until she was directly in front of him. “Please, stop. I've said I was sorry for what I said about your mother. It was thoughtless and cruel. I have no excuse except for the truth.” She dipped her head slightly and stared at the center of his broad chest.

“Which is?”

He had been in town less than a day and already her life had been turned upside down. “When I'm frightened, I tend to speak without thinking. It's a failing. I beg your indulgence.”

“Beg” had been a poor choice of words. She saw that instantly when she risked meeting his gaze. The fire had returned, but it wasn't fueled by anger.

He had the most beautiful eyes, she thought, staring into their deep brown depths. Thick lashes framed the pure color. The dark slash of his eyebrows added to his handsomeness, making him look sardonic one minute, gently teasing the next. Justin's moods changed like the surface of the stream, quickly and without warning.

She blinked several times and looked away. Yes, the anger was gone, but that which replaced it was much more dangerous.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.

“Your return.”

She turned away and walked over to the fireplace. Logs and kindling were kept stacked in readiness for guests. She crouched down and lit the fire. When the smaller pieces had caught, she rose to her feet and motioned to one of the settees. “Please, have a seat.”

He shook his head. “I'm not going to be here that long. Why are you afraid of me?”

“I'm not afraid of you,” she said, then smiled. He was the least of it, really.
She
was the problem. Being around him, thinking of him, made her act differently, as if the respectable woman she worked hard to be was just a false covering, like a storefront. As if the world saw her as a gracious two-story mercantile, but inside she was just a squat saloon.

She smiled at the analogy. He seemed to addle her brain as well as her senses.

“So, you're going to be here for a year,” she said.

His gaze moved over her face, then dipped lower. She told herself to be insulted, but the frank appraisal left her feeling warm and tingling. Justin had often looked at her like that in the past. The appreciation in his eyes had made her proud to be female and that which he desired. It had frightened her a little, for her inexperience had left her with more questions than explanations. But in his arms that hadn't mattered.

He'd tempted her with his soft kisses. Despite his time away and the changes in both their lives, he still tempted her. Pray God he chose to ignore her.

“Yes. As I told you earlier this afternoon, I have a one-year contract with the good citizens of this town.” The mocking tone had returned.

“Why did you come back? To punish them?”