The Courting of Widow Shaw (23 page)

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered, and judging from Steven’s long labored sigh, she knew he’d heard the answer with her unspoken words.

Glory moved away from Steven, jumping down from the fence, confused by her own desires, unable to banish the memories of being with a careless, inconsiderate man. She headed for the house.

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Glory.”

Steven’s firm resolution put a halt to her steps. She peered at the ground, wondering if she misunderstood.

Steven came up behind her. He didn’t touch her, but only whispered so softly that the words nearly drifted away in the night air. “Making love can be tender and gentle. Something to cherish.”

She shook her head, because she’d never known lovemaking to be that way. She’d never had any comparisons, any way to trust in what Steven declared. Nothing in her life had turned out as she’d hoped. She’d lost almost everything of importance, but most
of all, she’d lost her ability to trust. Her faith had been all but shattered.

Steven came to stand in front of her, his dark eyes filled with understanding. He reached out to caress her cheek, his finger gently stroking her skin. “You should know that kind of tenderness.”

Glory looked into Steven’s eyes, searching his face for the truth. This man, who had saved her life and then shown her nothing but compassion and patience, was the last man on earth she should have dealings with. He’d been the enemy in her mind for so long and yet he’d become so much more to her. Steven Harding had become her savior—a devilishly handsome man who’d protected her, ready to give up his own safety for the sake of hers. “I hated you, Steven,” she said quietly, with regret and reproach.

Steven’s lips curled up. “I know.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers lightly. The kiss had been quick and soft. “But I don’t believe you hate me now.”

Heat flamed her face. Mercy, she didn’t know what she felt for Steven Harding. She wanted to blame and resent him. She’d lashed out at him, accused him, been a thorn in his side whenever she could, foolishly believing her actions would ease her pain in some small way.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her carefully, like one would a delicate budding rose. “I want you, Glory. I have for a long time.”

She heard the soft whinny of the mare and the stallion’s snort as their hooves beat at the ground. Steven’s words when he’d spoken of Black Cloud, echoed in her head. “And if I agree, you’ll take what you’ve waited so long for?”

His eyes bored into her and he shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I’ll give to you and you’ll give to me and we’ll take whatever pleasure there is together.”

Glory’s heart lurched. If only that were true. If only she could believe him. Indecision waged a battle in her head.

“Let me show you, Glory,” Steven offered, his voice silky with persuasion. He kissed her again, just as gently as before, his lips a combination of teasing torture and sweet regard. “Let me show you the tender side of loving.”

Chapter Fifteen

S
teven cursed under his breath when a fiery ash swirled up to burn his hand. He poked a stick into the fire in the parlor’s hearth and flames ignited, brightening the darkened room, lending a measure of warmth. The night air had chilled considerably, bringing a draft into the house. For Glory’s sake, he’d built the fire.

He didn’t need the extra heat. His body still hadn’t cooled from his exchange with Glory earlier. He’d offered her all that he could, all that he had to give, but it hadn’t been enough.

Glory still didn’t trust him. She’d been scarred by the brutality of a man who should have protected and loved her, but until this night Steven hadn’t realized to what grave extent. He’d witnessed fear and misgiving, her emotions evident on her face and in the light that had vanished from her eyes. Steven hadn’t pressed her, hadn’t tried to seduce her to his will.

That’s not the way he wanted Glory. The decision was solely hers to make and he’d told her that very thing. While his body ached painfully and his heart nearly crumbled, he had stood firm. “I won’t press
you,” he’d told her, “but I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

Glory had gone to sleep a short time ago. He knew the exact moment when she’d lowered the lantern and climbed into bed. She creaked the door open once, giving Steven a smidgen of hope, but it was only to invite Buddy inside.

Steven had worries about Glory and his own fears came to light. Had Glory’s uncertainty tonight been tied directly to him? Did she still see him as the enemy? He held no hope of a future with her. She’d never compromise her belief that a life with him meant a deep and perhaps lasting betrayal to her father. But he’d wanted to give her one night. He’d wanted to make tender, sweet, slow love to her. He wanted to help erase that part of her memory that held her hostage to help her heal.

And selfishly, he admitted, he wanted to experience the joy and beauty of their joining, at least once.

Steven straightened, lifting up from the hearth, too perplexed to sleep, his body still wrought with desire.

He sat down on the sofa, stretched out his legs and contemplated Boone Shaw’s death. He had to clear Glory’s name. He had to prove her innocence. He owed Glory that much, then she’d be free.

It was the only way either of them would find any peace.

Through the kitchen window Glory watched Steven up on the ladder, hammering in long planks on the roof of the barn. The morning sun beat down with ferocity, bronzing his face to a golden hue, with little regard to the hat perched atop his head. She stifled a gasp when his hammer missed its mark, pounding his
hand instead. He’d let out a loud curse and his expression, even from this distance, appeared more than grim.

He’d been keeping busy these last three days, building kitchen cabinets, completing the barn, grooming his horses, and for the most part, ignoring her.

He rose early, often refusing breakfast and grabbing only a biscuit or two to take with him outside. He worked from dawn to dusk, it seemed, and by the time he came in for supper, he’d been too tuckered out from exertion to pay her any mind.

They’d spoken little since that night with the horses, but whenever Steven did address her, he’d been friendly and kind. Glory wondered if she’d overstayed her welcome. She wondered if he wanted her gone from the ranch. Nothing in his manner pointed to it, but Glory’s gut told her Steven had something on his mind.

So when he entered the kitchen later that morning, surprise registered. She couldn’t quite keep her expression steady. “Oh. Hello.”

Grabbing a cloth, she wiped cherry stains off her hands. She’d woken up determined to put a smile on Steven’s face today, hoping that cherry cobbler, made from dried cherries she’d found in the newly-dug-out root cellar, would see to that.

When he noted her creation, he cocked his head and cast her half a smile. “I love cherry cobbler.”

“It’ll be ready by supper.”

“I hope to be back by then.”

“Are you leaving?” Glory asked, tamping down her alarm. He hadn’t made mention of going anywhere,
but then, he hadn’t been confiding in her lately.

“I have to make a trip into town. Is there anything you need?”

“Oh.” Glory darted glances around the room. Steven had the kitchen well stocked. She couldn’t think of one thing that she needed. “No, not this time. Will you be stopping by Rainbow House?”

“Wasn’t planning on it. But if you need something from there, I can—”

“No, it’s not necessary,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “I wondered if there was news of Merry…and the other girls.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.”

“Are you picking up suppl—?” Glory began, then noticed his bruised hand. “Oh!” She stepped closer and reached out to lift his hand carefully. “You’re injured.”

Steven glanced at their joined hands. “Stupid of me. Takes a fool to hammer his own hand.”

Glory stood there, with his hand in hers. This was the closest she’d been to him in days. She felt his perusal, his dark eyes roving over her, and tingles of awareness shot straight through her. His breath touched her cheeks as he continued to gaze at her. Glory’s senses awakened fully. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “It needs tending. Let me wash it and wrap it with a cloth.”

She made a move toward the water pitcher on the table, but Steven reached out with his other hand, stopping her. “No need. I’ll be fine.”

“But the hand is bruised so badly, it’s turning color. It must be painful. You won’t be able to hang on to the reins without it being wrapped.”

Steven sighed. “If you insist.”

“I insist,” Glory said, glad the stubborn man had given in. She led him over to the dry sink and poured from the pitcher, washing the hand gently. She took up a clean cloth and wound it around his hand with utmost care. “You know, you’re not such a good patient.”

He grunted. “I’ve never had anyone…” he began, then cleared his throat. “I’ve never needed to be any sort of patient.”

Glory looked up from beneath her lashes. “It’s the least I can do. Heaven knows, you’ve tended me enough times. I can’t even begin to repay you.”

Steven pulled his hand from hers and when she glanced up, his eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t want your gratitude, Glory.”

Glory opened her mouth to speak. No words came out.

“I have to go,” he said, quietly. “You keep that gun handy.”

“I will.” But Steven didn’t hear her reply. He’d already departed out the back door.

The wagon lurched, chugging up Six-Mile Canyon. It was an arduous road that led to Virginia City, the elevation a challenge even for a strong team of horses. But the vista more than made up for the tedious ride. Steven always loved the way the town nearly reached up to touch the white puff clouds, the sky seemingly more blue from up here. And the city itself, as he peered out from his vantage point, bustled with life, each long street slightly more elevated than the next, creating a town tiered in steps.

Once he reached the heart of town, he left his
horses and wagon at the livery, taking off on foot. And although there were only four churches of various denominations in Virginia City, there were more than six dozen saloons and gaming houses in the area. Steven hoped he’d get lucky today. He’d investigate the biggest and the best, hoping to catch sight of Ned Shaw. He didn’t know the man personally, but he’d seen him around town enough to recognize him. Steven had a gut feeling that Ned Shaw held answers to many questions. This time around Steven wanted to listen to what he had to say.

He found him two hours and ten saloons later, in a small but extravagant Irish pub next to the Young America Fire Company. Steven ordered a drink and stood in the corner of the bar, hat riding low on his forehead as he pretended disinterest. Ned sat at a poker table, with his back to him, puffing on a cigar.

The Rainbow girls hadn’t exaggerated. Ned Shaw cut a fine figure, wearing a tailored suit, polished boots and a bowler hat that most likely cost more than a ranch hand’s weekly salary.

“You lose again, Shaw,” one of his opponents gloated as he raked in cash from the table. “Good thing you’ve got yourself a rich claim. Good thing for me, that is.”

Shaw took a puff on his cigar. “Don’t count me out just yet. Deal the cards,” he demanded, “the day is long from over.”

“Sure thing. I’m willing to take your money.”

An old miner seated next to Shaw, holding a pair of queens, commented dryly, “Don’t know why you ain’t pullin’ that ore outta your stake right now, instead a sittin’ here all day. Hell, in my day, ain’t nothin’ woulda stopped me from workin’ my claim,
no matter that none panned out worth a darn.
Borrascas
they were, every dang one.”

Ned turned to the older man. “That ain’t any of your business, old man.”

The miner spit a wad of tobacco onto floor. “Maybe not, but even a sourdough knows you can’t leave your claim for too long. Someone might just get a jump on you. And nothin’ the law can say about it. It being legal and all.”

“I know the law, Judd. Now are you finished giving me the schoolmarm lesson?”

“Ah hell, I’m done, Ned. It’d be a dang shame to see you lose your claim.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Are you folks in or out? Last I checked, we was playing poker,” the fourth player said with impatience.

“I’m in,” Ned said.

“Me, too,” Judd replied, “I got nothin’ but time.”

The game broke up thirty minutes later. Steven hightailed it out of the saloon before Shaw could get a look at him. Steven hadn’t gotten what he’d expected out of listening to Shaw. He’d only made one reference to Glory, calling her that bitch his brother married and how he hoped she was dead. Steven’s jaw clenched then, but he held back, realizing listening in would be more productive than pulling Shaw up by his collar and slamming a fist in his face.

But he had gotten something worthwhile from this trip. He banked on a hunch and had one more stop to make, to the Claims Office before he could return home to Glory.

Steven pushed through the kitchen door, eager to see Glory cooking up a meal, wearing that dress that
matched his curtains and smiling up at him when he entered. To his disappointment, she wasn’t there.

“Glory?” he called out.

The house seemed to embrace the silence, where not a clatter, a creaking, not even a tiny sound could be heard.

“Glory!” he shouted again, rushing through the empty parlor, opening her bedroom door, checking the root cellar, then striding out the front door to the barn and then the chicken coop.

There was no sign of her or the dog anywhere on the ranch.

Glory and Buddy were missing.

Steven controlled his panic, though his heart raced with dread. He searched the grounds once again, and only after long minutes of probing, did he find Buddy’s pawprints alongside of what could be Glory’s footprints. God, he hoped so.

He followed them out past the back of the house until the earth became a low-growing meadow, grazing land for his horses.

There the trail ended.

Steven followed his instincts and headed north toward a cropping of trees far off in the distance, glancing around all the while, hoping to catch sight of her in the fields somewhere.