Just Her Type Read online

  She pulled a pillow off her bed and wrapped the extra quilt over her arm. As always, she avoided looking at the wide bed. Each night, it stared at her like an accusation. She had tried to help Douglas accept what she could not, because nothing lessened the pain of losing his father … and hers.

  Mackenzie dropped the pillow and quilt on the sofa. Only then did she look at Luke who was pouring a second cup of coffee. She wondered when he last had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. Or when she had.

  “I met Connolly at the station,” Luke said. “He looks like a big spender.”

  “He’s one of the three cattle ranchers Douglas calls the ‘Terrible Trio,’ although I think it’s more accurate that Connolly and Aaron O’Grady are the ‘Diabolical Duo.’”

  “So who’s the third?” He sat at the table. “This Rutherford you were talking about?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “You’re very perceptive.”

  “I have to be.”

  “I’ll have to remember to watch everything I say.” Slowly she sat, grimacing as she moved her aching shoulder.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just sore,” she answered, smiling at his unexpected sympathy. “From an obstinacy that convinces me I must keep putting out two issues of the Bugle each week, although the staff is just me and Douglas.”

  “And me.”

  “Maybe.” When he scowled, she hurried to add, “You are a novice. Tomorrow, after you get yourself some decent working clothes, I’ll start you on the basics.”

  He rested his arms on the table. “Which are?”

  “Cleaning the type.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “Did you think it went back into its slots all by itself? It has to be soaked to wash out any ink. If you work hard, you might get it done before nightfall.”

  “That’s absurd! I’m a reporter, not a housemaid.”

  She picked up her cup. “I thought you were a newspaperman.”

  As she listed the tasks ahead of them tomorrow, she saw his frustration fade. There was little glory in her work. The sooner he learned that, the better.

  When Douglas came in, sweat discoloring his shirt, Mackenzie sent him back out to wash up. “And bring in a bucket of water for the morning!”

  “I bet you tell him that every night,” said Luke.

  “I do, but how—?”

  He chuckled as he stood and stretched. She lowered her eyes before he could catch her watching his fluid motions. “I used to be a boy,” he said. “Mothers have a habit of reminding a boy to do things he’d rather forget.”

  “I didn’t realize we were such beastly characters.”

  “Only when a boy wants to be a man.”

  She did not have a chance to answer as Douglas bounced into the room to tell them good night and endure a kiss from her. He scurried up to the privacy of the loft.

  As his footsteps thumped overhead, Mackenzie spread the quilt on top of the ragged blanket on the sofa. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave the blanket over the cushions. If you don’t see the holes, you might be more comfortable.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic! It’s not as if I were expecting a guest.”

  He held up his hands. “To be honest, the thought of sleeping on something other than a train bench is intoxicating.”

  “Forgive me.” Apologizing to him was not as difficult as she had imagined. “I forget that Douglas is the only one accustomed to how grouchy I am after I’ve put together a stubborn issue.”

  Luke plumped the thin pillow. “Have you always lived up here?”

  “I grew up here. Douglas and I’ve lived here for the past three years or so.”

  “Since his father died?”

  When she glanced at a photograph hanging next to the window, Luke knew the man must be Douglas’s father. Despite the stilted pose, he had the same hint of a smile as the boy.

  She turned away to pick up the dirty dishes. “Yes.”

  “Where did you live before that?”

  “I am not the subject of one of your investigations.”

  He shrugged as he sat on the sofa. When it groaned beneath him, he bit back a curse. “I’m trying to be friendly. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s your business.”

  “There is nothing to talk about. When Cameron died in that accident, we moved back here with Pa. After Pa died, we stayed here.”

  “Cameron?” he asked as he rested his elbows on his knees.

  “Cameron McCraven.”

  “I didn’t realize you and McCraven lived together.”

  “Don’t wives live with their husbands back east?”

  “Husband? I thought—”

  “That Cameron and I weren’t married because I’m Mackenzie Smith?” She wrung a cloth over the bucket and wiped the table. “I kept my maiden name for two reasons. One is the sign outside. It was cheaper to add ‘and Son.’ The second is that I never wanted to be Mackenzie McCraven.” Her face softened as she dropped the rag into the bucket. “I almost told Cameron I wouldn’t marry him because of that.”

  Luke took her damp hand and drew her to sit next to him. He noticed the light scent of perfume that had been lost beneath the odors of ink. He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa behind her. When she tensed, he did not touch her, although he was tempted to discover whether her lips tasted as good as her soup.

  “So that solved the problem except for thickheaded people like me?” he asked.

  “Except for thickheaded people like you.”

  “You didn’t have to agree so quickly.”

  “I always agree with the truth.”

  He put his finger against her chin and brought her face toward him. A flurry of emotions stormed through her volatile eyes. His fingers uncurled along her face, and those wondrous eyes closed for a single heartbeat.

  Then she drew back. Her shoulder against his arm, stiffened. When she folded her arms over her shirtwaist, his gaze was drawn to her beguiling curves. If he tasted the curve of her ear or ran his lips along her neck, would she melt to him or toss him out? He could not remember the last time he had been this curious about someone who had nothing to do with a story he was writing.

  Maybe Carter was right. Maybe he had been concentrating too much on work. But there was no maybe about his longing to pull this vixen with the golden-brown hair into his arms. Just as there was no maybe, he realized with a silent sigh, of how she would push him away.

  “I do appreciate you taking in this tenderfeet,” he murmured.

  “Tenderfoot, “Mackenzie corrected tightly and rose. “Don’t worry, Luke. You’ll learn. That is the way it is out here. You learn and learn fast, or you’re dead.” Not giving him a chance to reply, she said, “Try to get a good night’s sleep. In the morning, you’ll be getting lesson number one.”

  “What’s lesson number one?”

  She turned in the doorway. “Always listen to someone who knows more than you do. Even if that someone is a woman.”

  Closing the door, Mackenzie took a deep breath as she leaned against it. This was not going to be easy. Luke Bradfield was stubborn, but so was she. She must keep control of the newspaper and of herself. As she recalled his warm breath on her face, she wondered which would be harder.

  THREE

  Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Mackenzie lurched toward the bedroom door. She had no time to linger in bed when the papers needed to be delivered and a pile of other printing waited. She groped for her flannel robe. Flinging it over her shoulders, she fumbled for the sash. She cursed when her toe struck the bench by the table. Usually she lit the lantern, but she did not want to disturb Luke.

  Outside, birds announced the coming dawn. The long days of spring were a relief after winter. She set the coffeepot on the stove. Opening the firebox, she reached for a log. It slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor. Hearing the creak of the sofa’s tired springs, she said, “I’m sorry I woke you, Luke.”

  “I h
eard you tiptoeing about. I—” He yawned.

  Mackenzie lit the lantern. Putting it on the table, she turned the wick up slowly.

  “Do you always get up this early?” he asked.

  “Yes. We …” Her voice faded as he stretched. Her gaze moved along his bare chest. A matting of hair, as dark as on his head, accented the muscles across his abdomen. As he stood, she could not keep her eyes from following the quilt as it slipped toward his hips.

  She spun to face the stove. “Put some clothes on!”

  He chuckled, but she heard him reach for his trousers. “Don’t act shocked, Mackenzie. You’ve seen naked men before. After all, you were married.”

  “Not to you!”

  “All men are pretty much the same.”

  “Just get dressed!”

  After a moment, he said, “All right. I’m decent.”

  She turned and stared at his bare chest. Her breath caught anew. Luke was as strongly built as a cowboy, although he did not have the deep tan from years of working in the sun. What was wrong with her? He was just trying to upset her. And he was doing too good a job of it!

  “I don’t know how you do things back east,” she said, “but here we sleep in clothes. What if Douglas had come down?”

  He laughed as he shook wrinkles out of his shirt. “Why would how I sleep bother him?”

  She clasped her hands so he would not see that they quivered. “If you cannot obey my rules, you’ll have to leave.”

  “I was obeying your so-called rules. You told me to sleep here.” He buttoned his shirt. Drawing his suspenders over his shoulders, he smiled. “You came sneaking out here. Did you hope to see something?”

  As she walked to her bedroom door, she called over her shoulder, “Breakfast will be in ten minutes. If you want to shave, there’s water out back.”

  “How about that?” He pointed to the bucket Douglas had brought in.

  “That’s for me.” She closed her door. In spite of his attempts to infuriate her, she must keep her temper. Or had making her angry been his intention? She must end this. She might not be able to force Luke to leave Bentonville, but she could force herself to stop reacting to every glance.

  Once she was dressed and had confined her hair in a sedate bun, Mackenzie went back into the other room. It was empty. She called up the ladder for Douglas to hurry. The stove had heated too fast, and the eggs were scorched.

  “Good morning,” she said when Douglas kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you wash up?”

  “You’ve got breakfast ready, don’t you?”

  “For Luke.”

  Douglas glanced around her shoulder. “You’re going to feed him that?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll scramble you an egg.”

  “With toast?”

  “Certainly.” Her smile vanished as she heard him shout a greeting to Luke.

  When Luke came into the room, he pulled out the bench. “Douglas is in fine spirits this morning.”

  She set the dish in front of him, being careful her arm did not brush his. When he glanced at her, she said nothing. It was his fault the egg and biscuit were burned. She would have had time to pay attention to heating the stove if …

  Mackenzie’s hands shook as she broke the last egg into the grease. It sizzled. She chased it around with a spatula, glad to ignore Luke. When the egg started to solidify, she dropped a slice of bread in the pan.

  Douglas bounded into the room and onto the bench.

  “Slow down,” Mackenzie said.

  “Yes, Ma.” He grinned and reached for the plate she held out to him. “Eat up, Luke! It’s delicious.”

  “I’m sure yours is.” As Mackenzie put a cup of coffee beside his plate, Luke asked, “Is this some sort of punishment for not obeying your rules?”

  “It’s the punishment given to whoever distracts me from what I am supposed to be doing.”

  He caught her wrist. She gasped as shivers raced along her arm. Slowly he smiled, and she realized how stupid her answer had been.

  “Did you consider that you might have distracted me when you came out here all doe-eyed and tousled?”

  “No.”

  His fingers climbed her sleeve. Boldly they toyed with her high collar which drooped from the heat. “You’re a lovely woman,” he murmured as his fingertip traced her jaw, setting her skin to quivering anew. “A lovely woman isn’t easy to ignore when a man’s still half in his dreams. He wants that dream woman to be real.”

  “Luke, watch what you’re saying! My son is here.”

  “So he is.” Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “Don’t you think your mother is pretty, Douglas?”

  “I think Lacey Langhorne is prettier.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Mackenzie snapped, “The doctor’s daughter! Will you let me go? I want some breakfast, too.”

  He held up his plate. “Have mine.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Maybe I can get an edible meal at the hotel.” He snatched his hat off a peg.

  “If you come back, make sure you have some working clothes.” As he opened the door, she added, “And some decent nightclothes as well!”

  He rested one shoulder on the door. “I shall find something that will meet with your approval, my dear editor. I can’t afford to eat out every morning because of your frontier puritanism. See you later, Douglas.”

  Mackenzie wanted to throw the plate after him, but she sat. When Douglas grinned, she found her lips tilting upward, too.

  Propping her chin on her fists, she nodded when Douglas rushed out to school. She should open the print shop, but she had to think of a way to get rid of Luke Bradfield. Somehow she had to convince him to take an eastbound train. Soon.

  Douglas McCraven swung his slate as he strolled along the wide street. Most of the students lived outside Bentonville. That free life was surely so much better than being confined to the newspaper shop.

  “Hey, McCraven!”

  He looked at a larger boy. Douglas scowled and continued along the street. It had not been a good day. Miss Howland had made them do additional mathematics problems, but he’d used the quick way Luke had shown him to solve them before recess. To add Jesse Loudon to the day seemed too much to bear.

  “Hey, McCraven!” bellowed Loudon. “I’m talking to you, McCraven. Your ears stopped up with old newspapers?”

  “What do you want, Loudon?”

  The taller boy swaggered toward him, accompanied by two cronies. “Hear your ma’s taken in a stranger right off the train. She tired of whoring for O’Grady?”

  Opening and closing his fists, Douglas knew if he moved, he would be pummeled into the dirt. Then he would have to devise another lie for wrecking his clothes. He would not tell Ma what Loudon had said, or she would insist on going out to talk to old man Loudon. Douglas did not want her alone, halfway to the foothills, with that lazy troublemaker.

  “You want to hit me, don’t you?” Sticking out his chin, Loudon jeered, “Go ahead, McCraven. Scared, Craven McCraven?”

  “I don’t want to dirty my hands on your greasy chin.”

  “You little—” He froze and looked past Douglas. Muttering a curse, Loudon whirled and raced up the street.

  Shocked, Douglas turned. Who had saved him? His eyes widened as he saw Luke standing on the porch connecting the telegraph office and the sheriff’s office. “Thanks.”

  Luke smiled. “I didn’t do anything but show your friend that two against three are better odds. I remember a kid like him. The only thought he ever had was that he should get me to do his schoolwork. He had a fist like a ham.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “At first, I did his schoolwork.” With a laugh, he draped an arm over Douglas’s shoulders. “Then I got tired of doing it, so I found the courage to tell him I wouldn’t do it anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “He broke my nose.” His smile became wicked. “And I became a hero because I dared to stand up to him.”
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  “But he beat you up!”

  “But he didn’t beat me down to his level. I heard what you said to your taunter.”

  “Loudon. Jesse Loudon.”

  “Never let them get you angry. Cowards like Loudon push, push, push until they can force you over the edge. Then they win.”

  Douglas folded his arms on the fence by the print shop. When his slate struck his side, he dropped it into the yard. Quiet swelled between them.

  Luke smiled when he realized the lad was deep in thought. He wondered if Mackenzie knew about her son’s troubles. She was as protective as a mother cat.

  “You really know what it’s like to be a boy,” Douglas said softly, bringing Luke’s attention back to him.

  “I was one, remember?”

  Douglas laughed. “Do you have a son?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t have a son.” He flashed Luke a knowing grin.

  “I don’t have any children.”

  “How about a girlfriend?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy with the newspaper.”

  “You sound like Ma.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  Douglas shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I suspect we are quite a bit alike.”

  “Maybe, but you won’t ever be as good with a newspaper as she is.”

  “I’m here to learn. I want to find out what makes this town special. I want to talk with cowboys and Indians and the folks at the saloon and your schoolteacher.”

  His nose wrinkled. “Miss Howland spends all her time thinking up work for us to do.”

  “I’ll be sure to ask her about that.”

  “If you’re going to stay in Bentonville, you can’t dress like that.”

  “What do you think I need?”

  Douglas cocked his head to the side. “You need some denims and flannels and boots.” His face brightened. “That’s it, Luke! You need boots!”

  “So where can I buy such things here?” He struggled not to laugh at the boy’s fervor.

  “The mercantile. C’mon. I’ll show you.” Douglas took him by the arm and led him past a narrow porch below a set of stairs.

  Glancing up them, Luke guessed they must lead to Mackenzie’s bedroom. Maybe she had her lovers skulk in and out of the house this way. He was startled when his hand clenched. Was he crazy? Even though she had looked enchanting this morning, he was here to get stories, not tangle his life up with hers. But, even as he thought that, he was remembering how her golden-brown hair had curled.