Just Her Type Page 6

  Knowing this was not the time to think of how she yearned for his kisses, she said, “Jamison Rutherford, I’d like you to meet Luke Bradfield. He’s working at the Bugle.”

  “Good to meet you,” the cattle baron said as he extended his hand. “I’d heard Mrs. McCraven had a new assistant. In Bentonville to stay, Bradfield?”

  “No, sir,” Luke answered, surprising her with his courtesy. “Just a temporary assignment.”

  “Mr. Bradfield is doing a series of articles for The Albany Independent,” she explained.

  “If you’d be interested in visiting the Lazy Bar R, I’ll be delighted to show you about personally.” Tipping his hat in Mackenzie’s direction, he strolled out of the office and toward the center of town.

  “So that’s the third of your Terrible Trio.” Stepping over the pages, he grimaced when they fluttered beneath his feet.

  She settled them back into place. “Luke, careful what you say.”

  He knelt and pointed to her editorial. “You’ve written this, but ask me to be careful?”

  “The readers expect controversy in my editorials. Give the public what they want, right?” Before he could answer, she continued. “Will you go to the station and arrange for the newsprint to be brought over here? The station master can help you.”

  “I thought I’d help with the setup.”

  Although she understood his contempt for the errands she sent him on, she could not let his kisses change anything. He needed to learn all aspects of running the Bugle. “Getting the newsprint is important. Without it, we can’t publish.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  “Mackenzie, I think—”

  “Will you go so I can finish here? When you come back, we can start setting the type.”

  He rose, grumbling an oath. As he walked toward the front door, she bent to her work. She could not bear the dissatisfaction on his face.

  When her arms were grasped and she was tugged to her feet, her eyes widened as they met Luke’s fury. She stared at him, unsure if he would kiss or shake her.

  He released her. “If you weren’t so easy to look at, it’d be a lot easier to stay angry at you. Why can’t you be as ugly as a bull terrier, like Carter?”

  She did not answer the unanswerable. Clasping her trembling hands behind her so she did not put them on his arms, she said, “The station office closes early on Fridays. If you don’t get it today, we may run out. I don’t want to chance that.”

  He stormed out.

  She went to the window and pressed her fingers to the glass below the gold letters she had painted a week before her father’s death. She watched Luke stride away along the street.

  She turned away, losing herself in the work necessary to make each issue of The Bentonville Bugle better than the previous one. As she bent over the pages, she wondered if this haven, which had helped her survive the most horrible times of her life, would protect her heart this time.

  With a tired sigh, Mackenzie dropped onto the sofa. She flexed fingers which had become cramped from hours of setting type. If Douglas had not made sandwiches for supper, she doubted she would have eaten.

  Luke had not returned. At first, she had been concerned, but Zared, the telegraph operator, had stopped by with the news from the syndicate which kept the Bugle supplied with information from back east.

  “Sure, I saw him,” Zared had said as she deciphered his scrawl. “Stopped by to send some stuff to Albany. Asked if I wanted to go to Stub’s with him.”

  She flinched. That Luke planned to take refuge at the saloon hurt, but she reminded herself that history was not repeating itself. She did not care what he did.

  That was a lie. She did care. Very, very much. Perhaps, if she had explained, he might have stayed away from the saloon. She sighed. Requesting that would make him even more eager to go there.

  She closed her eyes. She did not open them when she heard footsteps. Douglas should be in bed by now, but she was too exhausted to admonish him. When a cup of tea was pushed into her hand, she whispered her thanks.

  “You’re welcome.”

  At the deep voice, she looked up at Luke. “I thought you were newspaperman enough to know I needed you for today’s deadline.”

  “You’ve handled it before without me. What I’ve been doing was more important.”

  “More important than a deadline?”

  “Forget the Bugle for a minute.” He sat beside her and took a deep drink from his cup.

  Her nose wrinkled at the odors of sweat and horseflesh. His clothes were dusty. Where else had he been?

  “I’ve been out asking a few questions,” he said as if she had spoken.

  “About what?”

  He smiled. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he drew her closer. “Much better.”

  She rested her head against his brawny shoulder and brushed dust off his shirt. “Where have you been riding?”

  “How …?” He chuckled as he sniffed his sleeve. “I do smell, don’t I? I thought it was time I saw more of the countryside.”

  “But why today? I needed your help. I—”

  He gripped her shoulders and brought her to face him. When tea splashed from her cup, he took the cup and placed it on the table. “Forget the Bugle! I want to know why you’ve been lying to me.”

  “Lying? About what?”

  “About Cameron.”

  Confusion narrowed her eyes. “Luke, I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve been honest about Cameron.”

  “Everything but what happened the night he died.”

  “No!” she whispered in horror. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  His hands framed her face as fury tightened his mouth. “We’re going to talk about this, sweetheart. Is it true that your husband was found dead with a prostitute from the saloon?”

  She closed her eyes. “That’s what Pa told me. Pa was the one who found him—them.”

  “Why did you tell me it was an accident?” He stroked her quaking shoulders. “Sweetheart, I want to help.”

  She stood and ran her fingers along the table. “It was an accident, Luke. Pa told me that.”

  “Mackenzie, your husband was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” she choked out.

  “And your father lied to you.”

  “No, you’re wrong!”

  He took her hands in his. “No, sweetheart, I’m right. Your father must have been more honest to someone. That explains why he was killed, too. The murderer couldn’t afford to be identified in the Bugle.”

  “Pa wasn’t murdered. He had a heart attack.”

  Fury filled his eyes as he stood. “Are you willing to bet your life on that? What about Douglas’s? Which one of you will be the next one to die?”

  “You’re insane!”

  “To believe that your husband was murdered, or to accuse your father of trying to conceal it?”

  Stamping around the table, she picked up a bottle she had not noticed. Very little whiskey remained. She set it back on the table and pointed at him. “You drink half a bottle of whiskey and expect me to believe your cock-and-bull story?”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Then I was right in the first place. You’re insane!”

  He grasped her wrist. When she slapped his hand, he pushed her down onto the sofa. “If you don’t want Douglas down here to add his two bits, I suggest you keep quiet, sweetheart.”

  “If you don’t want to spend the night in jail, I suggest you release me.”

  His smile did not waver. “And, for the sake of argument, who’s going to go for good Sheriff Roosevelt, who, by the way, was intrigued with what I’ve uncovered?”

  “You went to Horace?” If he had spoken to the sheriff, he must be sure of his facts.

  She wondered why she had never questioned the circumstances. Grief over losing Cameron and then her father was no excuse. She had not wanted to learn why her husband was found dead with the madam from
the saloon’s brothel. Pain cut through her. Belinda had not been Cameron’s mistress, despite the rumors. Cameron had loved Douglas and her.

  When Luke sat next to her, his eager smile warned that he had more to say. “Yes, I spoke to Sheriff Roosevelt, and he told me some things which surprised me. Would you like to hear them?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad, because you’re going to hear them anyhow. I should have trusted my instincts, but I thought your big, blue eyes were honest when you told me how much you loved Cameron.”

  Rising, she put her hands on her waist and glared at him. “If you heard, during your drunken spree, that Pa arranged my marriage to Cameron, you heard correctly. There’s nothing unusual about a father selecting a husband for his daughter.”

  “There is when your father gave him the choice of hanging or marrying you.”

  She laughed coldly. “You make it sound melodramatic. Pa was afraid Cameron was getting in with cowpokes suspected of rustling for Aaron O’Grady. What my father offered Cameron was a chance to work on the paper if he gave up those friends.”

  “He offered him the newspaper along with his daughter?”

  “All of us were pleased by the arrangement.”

  “Pleased?” With a derisive snort, he stated, “I didn’t guess you’d be satisfied with that.”

  “What happened between me and Cameron is none of your business.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  His hands edged her face, bringing her lips beneath his. He cradled her in his arms as her fingers combed through his hair. As his kiss deepened, her breath grew ragged. This was what she wanted. To be in his arms, to have his kisses sweep her away from care and into rapture.

  Softly he said, “Maybe I did hope you’d tell me that you never loved him.”

  “I did love him.” She smiled with sorrow. “I’m sure I’ll love him forever.”

  “Exclusively?”

  “Of course not. I love Douglas.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I know.”

  His thumbs beneath her chin tilted her face to his. When his mouth found hers with the ease which thrilled her, her hands encircled his shoulders. His arm surged around her to tug her tight to him. “I’m just trying to help you, sweetheart.”

  She leaned on him, savoring his strong chest. The heated pulse of his breath tantalized her ear. When the tip of his tongue explored it, she drew out of his embrace. “Don’t try to help me when there’s nothing wrong.”

  “Yes, there is.” He fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  “That’s mine!” she snapped. “How dare you snoop through my trash?”

  “I didn’t snoop.” He smiled grimly. “I found this the other day when I was dumping the garbage into the fire pit.”

  “You had no right to read it!”

  He lifted her hand and pressed the paper into it. “You’re right, but explain it to me.”

  Walking to the stove, she opened the door and tossed it on the embers. She did not shut the cast-iron door until she saw the paper burst into flame. “There’s nothing to explain. Controversy always brings out a few crazy folks.”

  “Crazy folks don’t write death threats which suggest they know what happened to Cameron.”

  “Coincidence.”

  He twirled her into his arms. “Look me straight in the eye, and tell me you’d believe that poppycock if anyone else spoke it.”

  Taking a deep breath, she asked, “All right, assuming it’s not a coincidence, what do you think he will make of Mr. Rutherford’s announcement of the reward?”

  “I don’t care what he thinks about Rutherford. I care about what he knows about your husband’s death and what he plans to do to you.”

  She reached up to trace his jutting jaw. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You are fine.” His gaze roamed along her with yearning. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thing?”

  He chuckled. “You’re the prettiest woman I have ever seen.”

  “Then you must be blind. I’ve seen the ladies in eastern magazines. They’re a whole lot prettier than I am.”

  His coarse palm scraped her cheek, setting her skin tingling. “Looking for compliments?”

  “No, only the truth.”

  He smiled as he brought her a half step closer and lowered his lips until they brushed hers as he spoke. “I’ll tell you the truth, Mackenzie Smith McCraven. I shall go mad if I don’t kiss you.”

  “It’s too late. You’re mad already.”

  “Then there’s no time to waste, is there?”

  He captured her lips, teasing her to reveal her longing. His fingers moved in a light circle along her back to set her afire with the flame in his dark eyes. When his tongue ran along her lips, they parted, and he found the slick secrets within.

  She wanted what she had been denied too long. When he drew her back onto the sofa, she could not resist. He combed his fingers through her hair to loosen it in a cascade around them. Entwining his fingers in it, he whispered her name and brought her mouth back to his.

  “Ma!”

  Mackenzie saw Douglas balanced on the lower rungs of his ladder. She glanced from him to Luke. Surprise was etched into both faces. Jumping to her feet, she brushed her loosened hair back. When she saw pain in her son’s eyes, she wanted to reassure him that she was not betraying his father’s memory.

  Luke asked, “Is something wrong, Douglas?”

  Tears bubbled from his eyes. “You! Leave my ma alone.”

  He rounded the table to stand in front of the boy. “I like your mother very much. Otherwise I wouldn’t kiss her.”

  “She can’t like you. She loves my pa.”

  “Of course she does,” he argued, realizing he was parroting Mackenzie’s words, “but what’s between me and your mother is none of your business.”

  “Luke!” she gasped.

  Taking her hand, he drew her within the arc of his arm. She fit so perfectly against him … as she would beneath him. He had to find a way to get Mackenzie somewhere where they would not be interrupted. He had tasted her lips, but he wanted to feast on every flavor of her skin.

  He forced those thoughts from his head as he said, “I’m not angry at Douglas, and, if he thinks it through, he won’t be angry at me.”

  The boy glared at them and spat an obscenity.

  “Douglas McCraven, go to bed!” Mackenzie ordered. “In the morning, I expect you to apologize to Luke. Good night.”

  “Ma—”

  “Good night,” she repeated tautly.

  He hesitated, then snarled, “Sending me to bed doesn’t make it right for you to be smooching my mother. She’s no whore. If you try to treat her like one, I—I’ll kill you!” He scampered up the ladder.

  Mackenzie said nothing as she groped for the table and sat. She stared at her fingers, which were folded in her lap. When a hand stroked her thick hair back from her face, she heard Luke murmur, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  Rubbing the back of her hand against her wet cheek, she gasped. She had not realized she was crying. “Douglas never said anything like that before.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s being loyal to his father and expects you to be the same.”

  “I realize that, but I thought …” Her son had paid no attention to Aaron O’Grady, but, perhaps, he understood she felt nothing for the cattleman.

  “You thought he liked me.” He shook his head as he looked sadly at the ceiling. “He did, but his loyalty to you and to his father is far stronger than any friendship he might have had with me.”

  When he tried to draw her closer, she rose and collected her scattered hairpins. Holding them like a blossomless bouquet, she whispered, “Good night.”

  She fought to breathe as she went into her room. Now that she was not in Luke’s arms, the horror corralled her again.

  Cameron and Pa had been murdered? No, she did not wa
nt to believe that, but she could not ignore the facts. And, if the murderer had written the note … She pressed her hand over her heart. It beat fiercely, revealing the other truth she could not allow herself to forget again.

  Luke would be gone as soon as Wyoming became a state. She had lost two other men she loved. She must not risk her heart again.

  SIX

  Standing in the last light of the sunset, Luke watched Douglas guide his pony. He realized the boy was training his pinto to cut a calf out of a herd. Douglas stopped near the mounting block by the picket fence and patted the pony’s neck.

  “I think you and I need to talk,” Luke said quietly.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? Afraid of the truth?”

  The boy swung out of the saddle. “I’m not afraid of anything!”

  “Not even Jesse Loudon?”

  Douglas whirled. “I’m not afraid of him or anyone else in Bentonville.”

  “So why are you afraid of listening to me?”

  “About what I saw last night?”

  “No.” Seeing the youngster’s amazement, Luke sat on the lowest step. “Tie up your pony, and come here. I don’t want to be overheard.”

  Luke watched his face. Douglas could not hide his curiosity. He secured the pony and uneasily sat on a step several risers up so that his eyes were level with Luke’s.

  “Did you know that your mother has been receiving threats?” Luke asked quietly.

  The boy’s lips straightened. “I saw that last night.”

  Resisting an urge to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, Luke shot back, “Someone wants her and you dead.”

  “Dead? Us? I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be. If not for yourself, then for your mother.”

  “Ma is a McCraven. We aren’t scared of anything.”

  “Then you’re stupid!”

  When the boy started to rise, Luke clamped a hand on his arm. It was important to have Mackenzie’s son as his ally, if not his friend. “Douglas, do you know what happened the night your father died?”

  “Gramps told me not to bother Ma with questions.” Pain flitted across his face. “I asked her one time. She didn’t cry, but I knew she wanted to. I never asked her again.”