Keegan's Lady (18 page)

She retreated a step, her face so pale it frightened him. "In the b—barn someplace."

"Remind me to find it before I leave so I can show it to you." Bending forward on one knee, Ace gathered more cookies. Tossing them onto the table, he said, "As for my behavior toward you, Caitlin, I have no excuse. For reasons it's probably best I don't get into, I went a little crazy for a while. All I could think about was getting revenge. Your father wasn't around to take the brunt of it, so I took it out on you."

His voice was gravelly with regret. Pushing to his feet, he stepped to the stove to take the whistling tea kettle off the heat. Then, moving back to Caitlin, he said, "That's no excuse, I know, but I swear to you, I never would have gone through with it. The truth is, I figured you were just like your father and brother, that promises meant nothing to you and that you'd run the first chance you got."

He glimpsed a flash of anger in her eyes at the slur he had cast upon the menfolks in her family. Since he couldn't in good conscience retract the statement or apologize for it, he rushed on to say, "When I started to realize you had no intention of running, that you meant to keep your word—well, to my shame, I didn't realize that until it was too late."

The incredulity in her gaze remained, only now Ace sensed it was for an entirely different reason. "Does this"—she moistened her lips—"mean you're releasing me from our bargain?"

"What?"

Mouth atremble, she waved a hand. "Does this mean—you know, the raincheck?—does this mean that you and I aren't going to—that you don't. . ." Her voice trailed away. "Are you releasing me from our bargain?"

It hit him then, like a fist between the eyes. Dear God. No wonder she'd been so nervous all evening. For the past three weeks, while he'd been trying to think of some way to apologize, she'd been waiting for him to appear on her doorstep, to collect on that stupid raincheck.

Ace's first reaction was anger that she would think him capable of being so slimy. Then he realized that he'd led her to believe exactly that. Amazement edged away his anger as he digested what all this meant, that she had invited him in here tonight with every intention of honoring her word. God only knew why. When a woman was being victimized by a man, especially in such a way that it might compromise her virtue, no one expected her to deal fairly with him.

All the same, he couldn't help but admire her for it. Caitlin O'Shannessy was as different from her father and brother as she could possibly be. Unfortunately, in his blind obsession with revenge, he had ruined any chance she might have had for a normal life, a fate that she was far from deserving.

Staring up at him in obvious disbelief, she gave a shaky little laugh. "You don't—you didn't come here to—you don't expect me to—" She broke off, clearly too embarrassed to continue.

"No," Ace assured her. "No, Caitlin, I don't. All I wanted was to apologize and make amends somehow." He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "I guess I've done a damned poor job of it, haven't I?"

She touched her fingertips to her lips and squeezed her eyes closed, clearly so relieved she was nearly weak with it. When she looked at him again, some of the color had returned to her cheeks. "Amends," she repeated faintly. "I see."

Only, of course, she didn't see. She didn't see at all. How could she? Ace sat back down on the wobbly chair, braced an elbow on the table, and splayed a hand over his face. "Caitlin, I swear to you, I had no idea that was what you were thinking." An awful—and undeniably inappropriate—urge to laugh came over him. Do you mind if we have tea first? "Ah, Caitlin. I'm so sorry."

Sounding almost giddy, she said, "It's all right. Truly."

As he lowered his hand and focused on her sweet face,

Ace knew he was lost. He couldn't just apologize and leave. Maybe Southern gentlemen were a dying breed, but Joseph Paxton's values were still strong within him. A man didn't destroy a girl's reputation and then abandon her to deal with the consequences. Especially not when the young woman was someone like Caitlin. She deserved better, no question about it, and by God, she was going to get it.

"Caitlin, the more I think about this mess, the more convinced I become that the only solution is for you to marry me."

"What?" She made tight little fists on her skirt. "What did you say?"

For the second time in a very short while, Ace had cause to wish he were a little more silver-tongued. Perversely, her appalled expression only made him all the more determined. "You heard me. I think you should marry me. It's the only solution that makes any sense. My actions the other night were inexcusable, and the backlash is going to affect you for years."

Splaying a hand over her heart, she stared at him in horrified silence, not moving, not even seeming to breathe. "Are you out of your mind?"

Possibly. Hell, probably. "It's not such a crazy idea if you think about it."

She fell back a step. "I'm not marrying anyone, not to mend my reputation or for any other reason."

"Now, Caitlin . . ."

"No!" She held up a hand. "As for the backlash?" She shook her head. "I don't intend to stay in No Name long enough for that to matter."

He bent to retrieve a cookie he'd missed on the floor. "Oh? And just where are you going?"

"
San Francisco
, I think."

Convinced he couldn't possibly have heard her right, he said, "Say what?"

"
San Francisco
. As soon as Patrick gets the ranch back on its feet and can pay back the money he—um— borrowed from my savings last month, I intend to leave for
San Francisco
."

"
San Francisco
?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes. I had nearly a thousand dollars saved. That should be plenty to hold me over until I can get settled and find employment."

He hadn't missed the way she'd stumbled over the word "borrowed" a moment ago, which led him to suspect that good old Patrick had stolen the money from her savings. As much as Ace abhorred thievery, he couldn't help but think that, in this instance, Patrick had done Caitlin a service. A young woman alone in one of the most dangerous cities on the West Coast?

"You can't be serious.
San Francisco
? You'd be penny less and destitute within a week of your arrival."

Ace refrained from adding that there was only one type of employment a young woman could find quickly in
San Francisco
. Judging by Caitlin's pallor at the mention of marriage, he seriously doubted she was cut out for that particular line of work, though God knew she'd been blessed with all the right equipment for it.

Taking a quick assessment of that equipment and imagining some lowlife scoundrel putting his filthy hands on her, Ace decided that, come hell or high water, he wasn't about to let this girl take off anywhere alone. In her naivete, maybe she didn't understand how cutthroat men could be, but Ace did. The waterfront in
San Francisco
was where he'd learned to play cards and handle a gun—a place where predator preyed upon predator and only the strong survived.

As if she guessed his thoughts, she said, "I am not a child, Mr. Keegan. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, I assure you."

Ace agreed with her wholeheartedly on one point; she definitely was not a child. Unfortunately, it was her maturity, or perhaps a better word might have been "ripeness," that made her so vulnerable.

Before he could think of a way he might successfully argue his point without embarrassing her, a hoarse shout from outside broke his train of thought.

"Keegan! Goddamn you, get out here!"

Her eyes going wide with alarm, Caitlin pressed a hand to her throat. "Oh, no! It's Patrick!"

She whirled and fled from the kitchen, Ace right on her heels. At the front door, she swept the window curtain aside to peer out. Bending to look out over her shoulder, Ace saw Patrick O'Shannessy standing in the moonlit front yard, feet spread, six-shooter drawn.

"Christ! The crazy kid. As if he can go up against me with a gun?"

"Oh, my God ..."

Not liking the way O'Shannessy was waving his weapon, Ace seized her by the shoulders. "Caitlin, I want you to go back to the kitchen. I'll handle this."

She jerked free of his grasp. "I'm not going anywhere! That's my brother out there. Do you think I'm going to hide in the kitchen and let you shoot him?"

Ace could hope. "You're the one who's liable to get shot." He grabbed her by the arms and spun her around, putting himself between her and the door. "Now, dammit, do what I say. Go to the kitchen. The way he's swinging that gun, it's liable to go off accidentally."

"Keegan!" Patrick yelled. "Get out here, you no good son of a bitch! You can't dishonor my sister and get away with it!"

"Oh, God, he's drunk!"

"Drunk and very dangerous. Go to the kitchen."

With a broken sob, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. "Swear to me you won't shoot him!"

"Caitlin, he's got a gun. If he starts firing, what choice will I have?"

"But you can't shoot him! He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing! Promise me you won't shoot him."

Her panicked expression made him wish he could make her that promise. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite that gallant. "Drunk or not, those are real bullets he's got in that six-shooter. I'll try not to kill him, but that's the best I can offer."

"Keegan!" The sharp report of a rock striking the door punctuated the summons, making Ace jump nearly out of his skin. "Get out here, I said. You've ruined my sister's reputation, you hear me? Everybody in town is talking about her. By followin' her home tonight, you've made things even worse!"

"I hear you!" Ace called back. "Put that gun back in its holster, Patrick. Let's talk calmly about this. There's no point in anyone getting hurt. Your sister is in here, don't forget. You fire that gun, and she could be the one you hit!"

"That's right, she is in there, you rotten, miserable lowlife. I caught you red-handed, didn't I? Maybe you can get away with compromising some other man's sister, but not mine. You understand?"

Caitlin released the front of Ace's shirt and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. "Oh, dear Lord. Oh, my God ..."

Ace swept aside the door curtain again. Patrick was still swinging the gun around and staggering to keep his balance. Drunk didn't describe his condition.

"You think 'cause you're fast with that gun you can do whatever you want?" he cried. "Well, come out here, you arrogant asshole. I'll show you different. You'll either make an honest woman of my sister, or I'll blow your goddamned brains out!"

Ace was about to tell Patrick O'Shannessy he might die trying when it suddenly occurred to him exactly what the younger man had said. Fate, he realized, had just dealt him the proverbial royal flush. He arched an eyebrow at Caitlin. "Did you hear that? Even drunk, your brother seems to have better sense than you do."

Her expression totally bewildered, she said, "Pardon?"

Looking down at her pale face, Ace wished there were another way. But there wasn't. Someday, she would be able to see that. "Unless I misunderstand him, Patrick is giving me a choice. I can either marry you or get my brains blown out."

Her eyes went wide. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious, all right."

So fast he scarcely saw her move, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt again. He had a feeling she had nearly gone for his throat. "Don't you even think it! Do you understand me? I won't be blackmailed into marrying you or anyone else."

His chest aching with regret, not for what he was about to do, but for the manner in which he meant to accomplish it, Ace nonetheless managed to smile. The way he saw it, there were no choices. Not for either of them. The sooner she accepted that, the better off she would be. "Would you rather I shot him?"

CHAPTER NINE