“Easterners,” Hunter said with some disdain. “Out here, we’d just set them free. We’ve got a few extra horses at the ranch. You can ride one of them. Just let me know when you feel like riding and I’ll take you out.”
She frowned. “I would prefer not to be restricted to your schedule. I’d like to ride out when I feel like it—alone.”
“Can you shoot a gun?”
“No.”
“A rifle?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you don’t ride alone.”
She would have argued if his tone hadn’t suggested it would be pointless. Perhaps she could learn to shoot a weapon. No, why bother when she wouldn’t be here that long.
Then it occurred to her: “If you have extra mounts, why didn’t you bring one for me today?”
He chuckled. “And miss you sitting in my lap for the trip back? Hell no.”
So he’d planned this uncomfortable situation she found herself in? He was grinning at her, obviously patting himself on the back for arranging this intimacy. Why? Was he like this with every young woman who crossed his path? More to the point, was he enjoying some innocent flirtation or was he actually bent on seducing her—Jennifer, she corrected herself. She ought to find out, but how could she if she kept taking offense at his style of friendliness. She could be nicer to him, she supposed, perhaps even go along with his flirting just to see where it would go. No, that smacked of tempting him to be unfaithful. She couldn’t in good conscience use that against him to get out of this arranged marriage, not if she provoked it. It had to be his idea and serve as proof of his philandering nature that she could present to her mother.
Lost in her thoughts, she realized she’d absently been gazing at Hunter all the while, long enough evidently to make him think she might welcome an overture from him now because he was slowly leaning down toward her, his eyes locked on hers, so blue, so sensual. Her stomach flipped over, her breath caught, and she couldn’t stop what was happening, couldn’t even move. She inhaled his masculine scent—a mixture of leather, pine trees, and something she couldn’t identify. But she liked it and wondered what he would taste like. Her world would change drastically if she let him kiss her because she might like it. He might like it . . . and he might want more. It would be business as usual for him, a daily seduction or two. And she was probably right on the mark with that number because she remembered Pearl’s arm wrapped around his shoulder in town. . . .
That memory ended the alarmingly hypnotic state she’d been in the grip of. “Stop!”
She meant to stop him from kissing her, but he must have thought she wanted him to stop the horse! Patches did stop. Tiffany was too frazzled to upbraid Hunter yet for trying to kiss her. She looked around and saw that they were near the lake and not far from the abandoned house.
After taking a deep, calming breath, she said, “I saw that house yesterday. Could I take a closer look?”
“Jenny.”
That’s all he said, yet she knew he was still thinking about kissing her. Now that she’d gathered her wits, she had to nip that idea in the bud.
“Don’t mention what shouldn’t have happened—and don’t let it happen again. I may work for your family, but that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
Every word she’d said had been building up steam and she couldn’t seem to stop the tirade now. “And never mind my curiosity about the house. Just take me back to the ranch. You and I shouldn’t be keeping company like this—alone. It’s beyond improper and do you see why? It gives you the wrong idea!”
“It must be the red hair,” he said under his breath, and slid her off his lap to the ground before he dismounted. “Come on.”
With the reins in one hand, he grabbed her hand with the other and he led her through the trees toward the water, and the building that was no longer being built. She tried to get her hand back. Twice.
He must have noticed she was still annoyed because he actually said, “Shake it off. There’s no call to get in a snit over a harmless kiss—that didn’t happen.”
Did he see it that way? Harmless? Without meaning? Maybe she did overreact. She needed to have a care about how she dealt with this man. Mindful of who she really was tempered with who he thought she was, she needed to juggle the two identities so she didn’t lose her job—or a possible ally. Because it occurred to her that if Hunter Callahan was as carefree and generous with his affections as it was beginning to appear he was, then if anyone could help her avoid this marriage, it would be him.
They’d reached the house, or rather, the framing. Its layout indicated it was going to be much bigger than it appeared from a distance. She was going to ask him about his engagement and what he thought about it, now that Degan had mentioned it to her, which is why she’d asked to see this house. Discussing the house and whom it was for was a perfect opportunity to get him to talk about that betrothal, without her own anger getting in the way. But if she couldn’t calm down, then maybe this wasn’t such a good time, after all. No, anger or no, she had to learn his thoughts on the matter.
“I’ve heard this house is being built for you and your fiancée. That’s another reason why I don’t want you trying to kiss me.”
He let go of her hand and gave her a sharp look. “Who told you about that?”
“Degan mentioned it, when I asked him about the feud this morning while we were in town. It’s true then? You are engaged to a Warren?”
“So? I’m supposed to stop living while waiting for that woman to show up? I’ve never met her, Red. There’s no attachment.”
“But you’re going to marry her.”
“Now that remains to be seen. My pa hopes I’ll like her, but he won’t force me to marry her if I don’t.”
“It sounds like you’ve always known it would be your choice in the end. And what? That everyone expects it to happen is just too damn bad?”
“Exactly,” he snapped. “And I sure as hell won’t pretend I’m married before I actually am!”
His attitude amazed her. She hadn’t expected this. He was talking about the impending marriage as if it were a noose around his neck.
But he must have noticed how surprised she was because he continued in a calmer tone, “I’ve had this burden all my life. The day I started noticing girls, Pa pulled me aside to tell me, ‘You can touch, just don’t get attached, you got a wife handpicked for you.’ What the hell, this is the nineteenth century. Who the hell gets stuck with a handpicked wife these days? And for what? Because two men can’t sit down and say this ain’t our fight, why the hell are we still shooting each other? And why are you smiling now? You think this is funny?”
She was surprised she wasn’t laughing, because what he’d just said echoed her own thoughts, but she couldn’t say that. “Not at all. I was just wondering, what if your intended feels the same way you do?”
“I can sure hope,” he mumbled.
“But have you never considered that?”
“No, can’t say that I have. I figured she’d do as she’s told.”
“Maybe you figured wrong,” she snapped, and started to turn away.
He stopped her. “What’s your hurry? Do you really think she won’t like me?”
“If she’s anything like me, she’s used to refined city gentlemen, not brash, overconfident cowboys who don’t know when to give up.”
He gave her a half grin. “Overconfident with reason.” He stepped inside the framing. He stood there, his hands on his hips, gazing around at the beginnings of a house that might never be finished. She started to follow until she noticed how dark his expression had turned. She’d never seen him look like this. Angry. Very angry. Not at her—well, actually, maybe at the real her. This might not have been the right place to discuss the betrothal, when the house was such a blatant reminder of it.
That thought was reinforced when he suddenly raised his leg and kicked at a corner post. It took two more kicks before it c
racked in two. He got out of the way as framing from overhead started coming down, though nails kept it from falling all the way to the floor. It just hung there now, misshapen. Ruined.
Incredulous, she asked, “Why’d you do that?”
“Because the damn thing never should have been started when it might never be lived in. I’ve been meaning to tear it down.” Then he grabbed her hand again. “Come on, it was a mistake stopping here. Let me get you back to the ranch.”
She didn’t object. He didn’t know it, but he’d just given her the best news she’d heard since arriving in Montana. He hated the betrothal as much as she did. Then why wasn’t she ecstatic? Was she so vain that she could be annoyed that he didn’t want her?
Chapter Twenty-Three
HUNTER’S MOOD DIDN’T IMPROVE in the short distance they had to travel to reach the ranch. Tiffany’s feet were on the ground in front of the porch before she noticed Zachary leaning against a post there. Glancing back and forth between Hunter and her, the older man didn’t seem too pleased that they had ridden in alone. Did at least someone here besides her realize how improper it was?
“My Mary’s been asking after you, gal,” Zachary said gruffly to Tiffany. “Go on up and make her acquaintance.”
“Certainly.”
“I’ll introduce you,” Hunter offered.
“She can manage,” Zachary disagreed. “I want a word with you, boy.”
“I’ll be back in a minute, Pa,” Hunter said, and ushered Tiffany inside and straight upstairs.
“Wait!” Tiffany said when he was about to knock on Mary’s door. “I need to at least make sure I’m presentable before I meet your mother.”
He smiled. “You’re beautiful. Relax, she isn’t going to bite you.”
“I didn’t think she was, but first impressions—”
He lifted her chin to examine her face, then pretended to wipe a few smudges of dirt from her cheeks. She knew he was pretending because he did it too slowly, too gently, his hands practically cupping her face, his fingers caressing her rather than wiping. Heat spread all over her. Caught by his eyes, so intense, Tiffany sucked in her breath.
She heard Hunter groan as he pulled his hands away from her. He turned and opened the door to his parents’ bedroom, mumbling, “Trust me next time I say you look fine.”
That wasn’t what he’d said at all! He’d thrown her off-balance by telling her she was beautiful. Abruptly, she was escorted into the large corner bedroom. So much light flooded into the room from the two walls of windows, all of which were open and had their curtains drawn, that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to it. The room was big but was cluttered with furniture. Tiffany was delighted to see that vanities weren’t foreign to the West after all. Mary had a frilly one, and a writing desk, and a small, round dining table where she and her husband probably shared meals on occasion while she was recuperating. The room also contained bookcases, several straight-back chairs, and one comfortable-looking stuffed chair that had been drawn up next to the bed, no doubt for Mary’s visitors.
Hunter’s mother was sitting propped up in the big four-poster bed, a half dozen pillows at her back. Her long brown hair was braided, one braid on each side. She was wearing a long, plain white, short-sleeved nightgown designed for comfort. It was too warm to be under the covers. Even her feet were bare. Rose had said Zachary had a pretty wife. She was still a handsome woman, sturdy, not delicate at all, with keen blue eyes. Hunter’s eyes.
Hunter went straight to the bed and leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek. “I’ve brought you Jenny, Ma. If she seems a little stiff, remember she’s an Easterner.”
He said it in his usual teasing tone, accompanied by a grin, so Tiffany didn’t take offense. Mary grinned, too. “Run along and let us get acquainted. She’s not going to be reserved with me.”
He was no sooner out the door than Mary said, “I heard what you did.” Tiffany’s heart skipped a beat until Mary added with a smile, “Zach says you did an amazing job, getting the downstairs back into shape. I didn’t know it had gotten so bad, though I should’ve expected as much, with Pearl away so long. To be honest, I never would have thought to ask the hired hands to help. Sit and tell me how you managed that.”
Tiffany was amazed at how quickly her nervousness vanished with Mary’s friendly manner and smile. She even chuckled before admitting, “I don’t think it had anything to do with me. I asked the cowboys if they would help and they were about to laugh, but then Degan Grant said he’d help. Suddenly they were all willing to help, too.”
“Well, that explains that. That man can be a powerful motivator. Polite, can’t deny that, but I’m glad he won’t be needed after the wedding and will be moving on.”
“Your son’s wedding?”
“Yes. You and I will have a lot to do to smarten up the place before then. That Warren gal is rich, was raised in the lap of luxury. We just hope she hasn’t been so pampered and spoiled she can’t settle in here—well, I do. My menfolk expect the worst, but they’ve never had a kind thing to say about her family, so that’s to be expected. Her father sure is looking forward to seeing her again, though.”
Tiffany managed not to sound incredulous. “He told you that?”
Mary tsked. “Haven’t spoken to him in years. Heard it from the town gossips who visit me from time to time. It’s all he’s been talking about for months now.”
“You’re—worried about impressing her?”
“Hell yes, I am. I’ll be treating her with kid gloves. A lot rests on this wedding, gal. A lot. Which is why I’m so glad you’re here to help with it. So tell me why someone who looks like you isn’t married yet?”
No beating around the bush for Mary Callahan, obviously. Tiffany suddenly felt uncomfortable about deceiving the Callahans because Mary had just sounded so pleased about the wedding. Nonetheless, she once more repeated Jennifer’s story, though it was beginning to sound a little trite to her own ears by now. She was even inclined to agree with Hunter’s assessment of Jennifer’s relationship with her fiancé. If they really loved each other, wouldn’t they have opted to marry first and save up for a house later?
But Mary surprised her with a new take on it. “I remember what it was like back East, how things could be thought out and worried to death before decided on. Too many choices were the problem. Here in Montana it’s just the opposite. There aren’t enough choices, so a man has to be impulsive when he sees what he wants or risk someone else snatching it up.”
It sounded as if Mary was describing Franklin Warren’s situation. Was that all her parents’ romance had been? Impulsiveness on Frank’s part because of the scarcity of women out here? Impulsiveness that didn’t work out, she reminded herself. But she hadn’t expected Mary Callahan to be an Easterner, too.
“I somehow assumed you grew up around here like your husband,” Tiffany said.
“Goodness, no, but Zach wasn’t born here either. No one but trappers and Indians lived around here back then. Zachary’s father, Elijah Callahan, was a rancher in Florida; mine was a butcher who did business with him, which is how we met.”
Tiffany was surprised. Why had she thought these people had been here so much longer? Was the feud not that old either?
“So you actually moved here with your husband?”
“Yes, and with his father, with whom we lived. Elijah’s wife had just died. Elijah had no reason to stay in Florida after that, and every reason to leave. Bad blood with his neighbor was what really drove him away.”
Mary had almost whispered that last part, yet Mary couldn’t be talking about Warrens, so why would she add that so quietly, as if it were a secret Tiffany shouldn’t know about? But she wanted to ask Mary about the feud, and this was somewhat of an opening to do so.
Carefully she said, “How . . . ironic, since your son Cole said your neighbors here aren’t friendly either. It would seem it’s the bane of your family to have—”
“Oh, it’s worse than that, but we’r
e hopeful that it will be over soon. Well, I’m hopeful. Zach is more skeptical. Seeing is believing, you know? But who can blame him when it was she who followed us here and instilled that hatred of hers into the rest of her family.”
“Who did?”
“Mariah Warren. Has no one told you about the feud?”
Tiffany choked out, “I was going to ask, since I seem to have landed in the middle of it. Who is Mariah Warren?”
“Elijah Callahan’s one true love. She was Mariah Evans back then when they lived in Florida. Elijah and Mariah were to marry.”
“But they didn’t?”
“No, they surely did not.” Mary sighed. “The night before the wedding, Elijah’s best friend got him drunk and thought it a fine joke to dump him in a whore’s bed so he’d wake up there and think the worst. But Mariah wanted to talk to him that night. Some people think she was having wedding jitters, others think she didn’t want to wait for the wedding night. She spent hours at Elijah’s ranch, waiting for him to come home. Finally, she went to town to find out what was keeping him. When she entered his favorite tavern, looking for him, everyone got quiet. At the point of her musket she demanded to know where Elijah was, and someone told her he was upstairs.”
Tiffany gasped. “She shot him?”
“Not that night. That night she was just in shock. But she shot him the next day when he came to explain. She didn’t believe he didn’t have relations with the tavern floozy. She meant to kill him; she just wasn’t a good shot and left him with a permanent limp instead. But that jealous rage that took hold of her that night never did let go. Within the week she married an old suitor, Richard Warren, just to spite Elijah. That’s when Elijah got jealous, too. It took him longer to find a wife, yet he married for the same reason, just to spite Mariah.”
“Why couldn’t they both just let it go?”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? That would have been the sensible thing to do. But their love for each other was powerful. That’s why it turned into such powerful hatred. Jealousy can do that to a person, you know, when it festers like that, and hers festered for the rest of her life.”