Thea Devine (10 page)

And now, somehow, Dennis was trying to interpret its terms to mean that Frank would have blessed a marriage between them!

It was so outrageous a thought it defied belief. And yet he obviously believed it.

She didn’t know quite where to go from there. He was the executor and the man to whom she was bound by the terms of the will to turn to for advice and money, which was allocated to her at his discretion.

She wondered what his discretion would be after this rejection of his advances. He wasn’t a man to take such a rebuff lightly. He took his duty to Frank—and to her—very seriously.

He
could
make her step down from the paper.

No, he could fight her to take control of the paper, and she would go down battling with every ounce of strength.

He wouldn’t do that.

He was a decorous man who was proud of his standing in Colville and of his service to Frank while he was alive and to his widow after his death. He would never censure her publicly. He would never do anything that would reflect badly on him.

What
could
he do?

She supposed, in a blinding moment of insight, she ought to reread the terms of the will; she thought she knew them by heart, but possibly there
was
something there that he could use against her.

Unless … unless he was content to bide his time and wait her out or doggedly pursue her in spite of her protestations. Yes, that would be just like him. He might very well pretend that he had shocked her by his proposals, that he hadn’t waited long enough, or phrased things delicately enough so that she could consider them completely.

He was powerless, she thought, unless he became vindictive. And then he would be a formidable enemy. But she refused to consider that. She could win him over somehow. The events of the day were explosive enough without her mulling over just how vicious an opponent
Dennis Coutts might make. It didn’t warrant the effort. Things weren’t that bad.

They weren’t …

“Well, Miss … you took long enough.”

“Long enough for what, Mother Colleran?” she asked, looking up blindly, never having heard her mother-in-law’s approach.

“You know what,” Mother Colleran snapped. “And with that Dennis Coutts! Honestly, Maggie, you think someone didn’t see you or that the whole town won’t be talking about you tomorrow?”

“Well, fine,” Maggie retorted. “It will replace Reese’s living with
us
as the topic of conversation around Bodey’s store.”

Her mother-in-law looked horrified. “But Reese is
family
, not some upstart who wants to seize an opportunity.”

“What opportunity is that, Mother Colleran?”

Her mother-in-law sent her a smug look. “Everyone knows that Dennis Coutts has had his eye on you ever since Frank was laid to rest. You’re not that simple, Maggie. Surely you could see that?”

“Why no. Dennis is a good friend and trusted advisor, Mother Colleran, who somehow read into the terms of Frank’s will that Frank’s indigent mother should have a home and a stipend. I believe we owe him a great deal of gratitude for his sensitivity.”

“He’s a rotten advisor and friend,” Mother Colleran hissed, “if he didn’t convince Frank to change his will before he died.”

“But we all have to live with that, Mother Colleran, including me.”

“I don’t see where
you’ve
come off so badly, my girl. I would go so far as to say it looks very suspicious.”

“You have said it before, Mother Colleran. I am now waiting to see how Reese is going to prove it.”

She caught her; she caught the old witch, and it was gratifying to watch her sputter to find words that would deny the charge that both of them knew to be true. Maybe the thing the old crow hadn’t counted on was Reese liking her so much. Good. She liked him too, and if he had other plans she could learn to dislike him very fast.

“Nonsense,” Mother Colleran said sharply, finally regaining a sense of what she should say, “Reese is here to visit me, nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s fine, Mother Colleran. I’m glad. I’m glad you were able to hunt him down, and I’m glad he was able to come at your request. But over and above that, I’m glad you understand that his presence here makes no difference to me whatsoever.”

She was stunned to see that complacent look settle on her mother-in-law’s thick features.

“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” she said placidly, as if the implicit threat meant nothing to her at all. “We’ll see, my dear Maggie, we’ll see.”

Chapter Seven

It became, finally, a day she wished were well over by the time her mother-in-law left her alone. Instead the thought occurred to her that she had yet to see Logan this day as he had promised, and she was wary of seeing him at all.

No, she didn’t want to see him. She had had enough of men and their wants and wishes today. Logan had very definite wants and wishes, and she did not have the stamina to cope with another dictatorial man.

But as the afternoon wore into evening, she began to feel petulant about the fact that he did not come. Instead, she ate a solitary dinner in the apartment while Reese and her mother-in-law dined at the hotel after she declined to join them.

She made her mind utterly blank, pushing away thoughts of the afternoon and what Reese had said, and Dennis Coutts, and Mother Colleran; all of it she relegated to a little waste basket in the back of her head and concentrated instead on the coming week’s work, on where she wanted to go and the things she wanted to know, and how much or little she ought to dog the steps of the engineers as they laid out the plan for the track. How much or little she ought to let Reese help, if he
really were sincere in his offer to help—and what kind of help he could give her that she would willingly accept.

And so she came back to Reese and Dennis and the magic of Logan’s presence the previous night, and what she had felt, and … what she wanted to feel again.

So …

She made the admission. In spite of exigencies of the day,
and
her feelings about Reese and Dermis, she wanted to see Logan. She just wanted to
see
him. She had had the feeling the morning of Frank’s memorial service—she needed to see Logan.

It was crazy.

Reese and Mother Colleran returned and roundly castigated her for passing up a good meal and the unexpected and welcome company at the table: friends of Mother Colleran’s, at which Maggie looked askance, who had wanted to meet Reese, were so happy to meet Reese, and would have loved to see Maggie, even if they did disagree with her railroad politics. Yes, they had wanted to tell her so, too.

And Dennis was there, and that Logan Ramsey, Mother Colleran was not loath to tell her. All her friends except the Mapes, and everyone knew they couldn’t afford the luxury of having a hotel dinner anyway.

Logan was in town. Her heartbeat accelerated with alarming speed. But he hadn’t come, and there was nothing to say he might come later. Maybe later? Maybe the same time as the night before?

She was going crazy. She didn’t want to see him after all. He had nothing to offer her except the very same words she had heard from Reese and Dennis; he wanted the very same thing, and he had no compunction about being blunt about it either.

All his fine talk about “other ways” …

Her body stiffened instantly at the thought, and she almost felt as though her mother-in-law could see it and
knew exactly what was on her mind.

She could not allow Logan to do this to her, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about his words and his kisses….

The discouraging thing was Mother Colleran’s self-satisfied expression as she sat and listened and did a bit of knitting that she kept by her parlor chair. It was an elegant device, the knitting; she never got beyond the first ten rows or so, and yet her preoccupation with it gave her an air of concentrated intelligence that she did not really possess. Maggie was sure she ripped out half the rows she made every night.

It was a sweet family scene, with the kerosene lamps shedding a soft warm light over the room and a fire crackling in the fireplace and sending out a wispy, smoky heat that did not warm the air at all. Reese somehow took on the stance of the man of the house, deferring to his elderly mother, playing to the pretty lady who sat in a side chair by the fire—the woman of the house in the steel engraving. It was perfect—and specious.

They had to go to bed sometime, she thought, and she waited them out until Mother Colleran’s head began drooping and her gnarled fingers dropped the knitting into her lap.

Only then did Reese stop talking. With a conspiratorial smile at Maggie he took charge of waking his mother and seeing her comfortably to bed.

And after … “Maggie?”

“I’m wide awake, Reese. Don’t let me stop you though.”

“I’ll keep you company for a while.” He sounded eager, too eager, and she curled up inside in resignation. It wasn’t that he wasn’t an entertaining talker. He had a hundred stories, both amusing and hair-raising, about his travels, and he took gentle swipes periodically at the family situation that had sent him from the bosom of his family when the Collerans were one of the pillars of San
Francisco society.

Maggie listened to them and did not hear them. Eventually, she thought, he had to become tired of the sound of his own voice. Or perhaps he was testing her, or waiting for some kind of invitation he must know would never come.

And what if Logan were waiting for her?

Let him wait.

She almost couldn’t bear the thought of it. It was as if the events of the day were telescoped in her mind to something minuscule and meaningless in comparison to the fevered excitement of the thought of being with Logan.

Except of course he apparently did not want to be with her. He hadn’t come, and she had only the drone of Reese’s pleasant voice to keep her company.

“I believe I am getting tired,” she said finally.

“All right then. But I must tell you, Maggie, I could really warm up to this familial feeling you exude very easily. I am very much at home here, and I hope you don’t mind my telling you, in spite of what we said this morning.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she said, but the thought crossed her mind that he would be comfortable around anyone who was willing to listen to him for as many hours as she had.

She touched his shoulder as she passed him on her way to her room. He was still so likable and harmless—so far. His candor sat well with her, and she even thought she felt a little affection for him, especially after he had defended her to his mother.

She sank onto her bed wearily, feeling the weight of a massive disappointment sink into her bones as she listened for the tell-tale thump of Reese’s boots that would indicate he was on his way to bed.

But his footsteps receded instead, and moments later,
she heard their measured tread down the outside stairs. She ran to the window in time to see him emerge from the apartment door, and head down the boardwalk, back in the direction of the hotel.

She felt an irrational fury that he had the freedom to go and come back like that while she was tied to her room by the rules of propriety. She almost thought she should run after him and seek Logan out herself, but that, she thought, would make her no better than Melinda Sable, who by virtue of her reputation had the latitude to do the things that she, Maggie, yearned to do.

God, it was so unfair.

She could run a newspaper and support her mother-in-law, but she couldn’t walk abroad at night, couldn’t make love with impunity and without consequences, couldn’t eat alone at the hotel as Reese was no doubt doing now: having a midnight tidbit along with his whiskey, damn him.

All she could do was wait, and it seemed to her, as she stared into the blackness of the night, that a woman’s life was compounded of so many small moments of waiting. She did not know how it was possible to endure the uncertainty.

The only way was not to place her reliance on anyone but herself; it was the only way. Anything else led to disaster. Look at her braying at the window, wishing for something with Logan that she knew she could not have.

It was better that he had not come, better for her. After tonight she would never be caught waiting again.

And then a dark shadow moved and her heart felt like it would shatter. She knew if she made her way down the inner stairs to the office that she would find Logan at the door.

Without making a sound, she slipped down to the
printing room and lit a lamp. A moment later he knocked at the door and she opened it with trembling hands to let him in.

And then she didn’t know what to do.

But Logan knew what to do. He took her right into his arms and held her tightly. She felt all the tension drain out of her body, then he released her, picked up the lamp, took her hand and said, “Come into the office. We’ll talk.”

He set the lamp down at the far end of the room and put her in her desk chair while he grabbed a plain wooden chair, turned it around, and settled himself opposite her with his arms braced on the chair rail.

She couldn’t say anything for a long while. She couldn’t find a single word to bridge that gap between the events of the day and his arrival at her door. She just stared at him, and his eyes kindled, brighter than the lamplight.

“What are you thinking, Maggie?” he asked finally, with a smile in his voice.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, but she felt that she couldn’t let him believe that she had been
waiting
for him. “I was thinking how fortuitous it was that I just happened to be down here when you arrived.” Well, the lie tripped neatly from her tongue, but she saw she didn’t fool him at all.

“
Are
we going to play those kinds of games, Maggie?” he murmured, extending one hand to touch her face.

“That is all I have been doing all day,” she snapped, rearing back, away from his dangerous, dangerous caress.

“Everyone wants your head,” he said sympathetically, removing his hand immediately.

“And me,” she added testily, this time without considering the effect of her words.

He stiffened imperceptibly and the atmosphere between them altered. He didn’t need any elaboration; he
knew exactly what she meant.

“I see,” he said slowly, “but you weren’t waiting for me.”

“I am rather worn out by men with unrealistic expectations today,” Maggie said tightly, and then she wondered why she was trying to scare him off when her feelings about him were so contradictory.

He smiled. It was an endearing little smile that lifted one corner of his mouth in a conspiratorial salute to her distress. “I can assure you, Maggie, that
I
have no unrealistic expectations whatsoever.”

“I was sure of it,” she said tartly, hating his smile and the companionable warmth in his voice.

“Of course, they haven’t known you as long as I have.”

“That might be a distinct advantage,” Maggie said heatedly. She hated his smugness and her growing feeling he knew exactly why she was so irritated.

He shrugged. “It might well be actually. No one else will ever get to see you in a fit of ill humor. You surely don’t put on your best face for me. On the other hand, I want you in spite of all that, so maybe that’s a distinct advantage to you.”

Oh, and didn’t he turn that around neatly, she thought. But what had she expected him to say? Or was she angry because he had not tried to touch her, or kiss her, or seduce her?

“And I was so sure you would rethink that notion.”

“Which one, the advantage or the fact that I want you?”

“
Both
.”

He shook his head. “No, Maggie. That’s too easy—for you.”

“I beg to differ. It’s too easy for you, and impossibly hard for me.”

The expression in his eyes flickered and softened. “I
told you, it doesn’t have to be.”

“With you.”

“Only with me, Maggie,” he said, examining her tired face. “But you know that. You especially know it today.”

She turned her head away. How perceptive of him. How distressingly clever. She had wanted to hear that, and she hadn’t, and the split in her desire tore her two ways. If he were so astute he would not press her, he wouldn’t touch her, he would never speak of some kind of connection between them.

And if he didn’t, she would brand him a liar and no better than any other man of her acquaintance.

She liked that; her impossible need put him right in a corner where he had to make the right decision—only she could define what it was.

“Do I?” she murmured.

“Don’t evade me, Maggie; you can’t do it.”

“Oh, I guess I can’t, since you know me so well.”

“And I know why I’m here, too, Maggie. Do you want to deny that?”

“I could.”

“I’d leave.”

That abrupt rejoinder made her raise her eyes to his. Implicit in the two words was the no-nonsense warning—
I won’t come back
. Men like Logan didn’t play coy games; they were straightforward and real, and she believed that his feeling for her was genuine. But it had been born out of a common past and his subsequent loss of her to Frank. Now she was not the same Maggie Lynch he thought he knew.

All he knew was that he had the power to arouse her deepest secret yearnings. Her only decision was whether she wanted to explore those feelings or put Logan out of her life altogether.

“Yes, you would,” she said slowly as the light went out of his eyes and his expression closed up. She waited for
him to say something else, but he watched her guardedly and did not say another word.

He was not going to pressure her, she realized; it would be her decision, and she wondered what she had thought he might do.

She knew what, in the darkest place in her heart, she thought she wanted him to do, and she knew what she had to say.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The tension eased from his body and his face. “What
do
you want, Maggie?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “You’ll have to tell me.”

He shook his head again. “I can only tell you what I want, Maggie. I can tell you about my dreams and my fears, and the things I thought about and couldn’t share with you, and everything I imagined could happen between us, and a lot that was just plain daydreams that got crazy out of hand from pain and maybe loneliness. I could tell you about long, long nights trailing cows up to Cheyenne and all the forbidden things I thought about, and I could tell you about aching nights in my own bed. But then, you see, there was never a chance that my wants would be satisfied.”

“And now?” she murmured, spellbound by his voice and the heated images his words conjured up.