Montana Renegade Page 4

  He chuckled. “I would like you to begin to feel at home here. To begin to feel comfortable around me.” He perched on the edge of his desk, his frown deepening as he failed to see her expressive eyes. “I want you to stop feeling like a prisoner and to come and go as you please.”

  She chuffed out a laugh. “No one in this town will ever view me as respectable again.”

  “They will if we marry, Helen. They will because you would be my wife, and they would soon understand all you suffered in your mother’s home.” He rose, tugging on her arm and pulling her into the light. He froze as she jerked her head to the side to conceal half her face. With gentle firmness, he gripped her chin and tilted her face up so he could see her fully.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked in a low growl. His soft fingers traced the reddened area on her cheek. “Don’t think to lie and say you fell into a door.” He met her resigned gaze. “Trust me.”

  “My mother,” she whispered. “If she’s not using her words, she’s using her hands.”

  Warren cradled her against his chest. “Forgive me.” He kissed her head as he rocked her in his arms. “Forgive me for nursing my wounded pride and not finding a way to convince you to marry me all those years ago.”

  “You didn’t really want me. You wanted to forget your loss. Forget yourself for a moment. And I knew that.”

  “Never imagine, for one moment, that I didn’t know what I was doing or who I was with.” He released a frustrated sigh as she struggled against him and backed away. “I wish you would believe me.”

  She held a hand over her cheek. “Do you expect me in your bed tonight?”

  “What? Helen, no.” His hand grabbed her arm as she moved to run out of the room. “What did I say wrong now?”

  “Why go through that farce at the Boudoir if you don’t want me?” she asked with head bowed. Her wheat-colored hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and fell halfway to her waist. Tendrils had come free and framed her face.

  He brushed at them as he cupped her face. “You must stop listening to your mother. To your brother. They are filled with venom, and their only goal is to control you with their words.” He waited for some sort of acknowledgment and then huffed out a frustrated breath. “I know you’ll believe me no better than they are as I am a lawyer and make my living by arguing and speaking, but I promise I’ll never use words to hurt you. To control you.” He kissed her forehead. “Someday I hope you’ll believe me and not them.”

  He kissed one eyebrow and then the next. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. You still are.” He stumbled backward when she pushed on his shoulders, landing with a grunt as his bottom rested against his desk.

  “Stop spinning your lies. Your fairy tales. I know what I am. A fat, stupid woman who will never satisfy you.” She spun on her heel and raced from the room, the door slamming behind her.

  Warren ran a shaking hand through his hair and sat again behind his desk. He ignored the paperwork awaiting his attention and focused on the riddle that was Helen and how he could successfully woo her.

  Chapter 3

  Warren ambled to the livery, by all appearances without a care in the world. He smiled to those he passed, laughing and joking with the townsfolk as they ribbed him about the Boudoir auction. He deflected inquiries about Helen, their upcoming wedding and the sleeping arrangements at his house. When he arrived at the livery, he let out a relieved sigh to be inside the quiet space, darkened in the early afternoon. The large two-story building had a central corridor down the middle with stalls on either side. To the far end was a tack room and an office, while overhead was a large loft for storing hay. On the rear wall were two doors that opened, allowing easy access to the paddock. The scent of fresh hay, manure and warm animals competed for supremacy.

  The elder MacKinnons held majority ownership of the livery with Cailean and Alistair controlling one-third each. The third partner, John Runs from Bears Renfrew, or Bears, had become their partner the previous summer. Bears had an easy way with animals and preferred their company to humans on most days. His father, Jack Renfrew, had been a well-known trapper who had married a Salish woman. Bears’s mother had died when he was young, and his father had passed away the previous summer. At thirty, Bears had more knowledge of horses and trapping than most men twice his age.

  Warren glanced out the open door leading to the paddock and saw Bears working with a skittish horse there, using soft words and a gentle touch to ease its fear of humans. Warren wandered by a stall where Alistair crooned to a horse, slinging his arms over the stall’s railing. After scratching the horse’s long snout, Warren said, “You’re in a good mood today.”

  “Aye, better than some,” Alistair said with a raised brow as he ran a brush over the horse’s withers. He nodded to his brother Cailean who joined Warren.

  “How’s your bride-to-be?” Cailean asked.

  Warren grunted. “Unconvinced of our need to marry.” He met Alistair’s shocked gaze and Cailean’s troubled frown. “Seems to believe she and I should continue as we are.”

  “You’ll be fine. Men are.” Cailean sighed. “But she’ll become a pariah. God help her if she ever decided to shop at the Merc. Tobias is rarely merciful.”

  Warren’s jaw ticked as he clamped it tightly shut. “I know what you say is true.” He stepped back as Alistair joined them outside the stall. They moved to the doorway that faced the paddock, not the street or town. They pulled out stools and sat.

  Warren twirled a piece of straw between his fingers. “How do you convince a woman you are sincere?”

  “Have yer actions match yer words,” Alistair said without a moment’s hesitation.

  Warren rubbed at his temple. “There’s a riddle for you,” he muttered.

  Cailean nodded. “It’s true though. When you say one thing but act in another way, women will believe you are insincere.”

  Warren crossed his arms over his chest as he studied his friends. “How do you show her respect while convincing her that you find her the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen?” He flushed when the brothers burst out laughing.

  “That’s the true riddle,” Alistair said. “And sometimes ye have to redefine yer words.”

  Warren frowned as he puzzled through Alistair’s comment and ignored Cailean’s snicker. “Is Sorcha home? I need a favor.”

  Cailean shook his head. “Go to the bakery. She’s there with Belle. Seems my wife has come up with another way to earn money.”

  Warren laughed and slapped his friend on his shoulder. “Not every man would sound glum as he said that. Thanks.”

  He crossed the dirt street, passing the large Mercantile, the Sunflower Café and continued on toward Annabelle’s Sweet Shop. Since she had opened the store, she had been a success. Townsfolk and miners visited daily for her cookies, breads and cakes. Annabelle had recently begun to bake with Leena Ericson, the sister of the local sawmill owner, and the popularity of the Sweet Shop had only grown. Cailean had told him that, as the birth of their first child approached, Belle wanted to ensure the bakery would remain open, even with her absence. Thus her partnership with Leena had been the perfect solution.

  Warren glanced across the street as a man was pushed out of the Stumble-Out. Warren shook his head at the argument between men with more money than sense. He hoped it wouldn’t turn into anything serious, as he already had enough work without another lawsuit between drunken miners.

  When he opened the door to the bakery, he stilled. Glass-enclosed shelves for baked goods stood empty, but new wooden shelves to the right of the door were mounted, with room for more. He heard hammering and muttering from the rear, and he peered around the door that led to the kitchen and the back room.

  Annabelle lumbered through to the storefront and smiled when she saw Warren. She held one hand to her back while the other rubbed at her very pregnant belly. “Hello, Warren. I’m afraid we’ve sold out today.”

  “What
’s going on?” he asked.

  She laughed. “As you know, I’ll take time off when I have my baby. Leena will continue to bake. However, I want to use the space to also highlight Sorcha’s tremendous talent with her wools and Fidelia’s fine needlework during my absence.”

  “Why the construction?” Warren asked as he followed her into the kitchen. He saw Ewan through a window measuring boards before he cut them.

  “I want shelves along one wall where I can permanently display their work.” She smiled. “I fear that, after I have the baby, I won’t have the energy or the focus for such projects. Thus, I’d better complete it now.” She motioned to the wall she shared with the neighboring business. “Leticia is encouraging me to expand, but first I want to see if there is a sufficient demand.” She watched him with friendly curiosity. “What brings you to my bakery? I know you don’t have a sweet tooth.”

  “Is Sorcha here?” He looked around but failed to see her.

  Annabelle waved to the back door. “Yes. She’s outside, needling her brother.”

  Warren smiled his thanks and headed outside. “Sorcha,” he said with a deferential nod. He nodded at Ewan who stopped working to study him. “I was hoping I could have a word?”

  Sorcha bit back a smile and then looped her arm through his. “I was hopin’ to have an excuse for a chat. Ewan’s taciturn this afternoon. Seems J.P.’s upset with his reporter abilities.”

  “She is no’,” Ewan protested as he swiped at his sweaty forehead, smearing wood dust. He stood in a cleared-off area with piles of snow around him. “She’s jealous she was no’ there to witness the goings-on at the auction.”

  Warren chuckled and shared a look with Ewan. “I fear she’ll always be barred from the Boudoir after the fight she caused.”

  Ewan grumbled and returned to work.

  Warren walked with Sorcha a few steps down the alley. “As you know, I’m with Miss Jameson now. We are to wed soon.” He spoke in a low voice, and those nearby were unable to overhear them. “I hoped you’d be able to help her with her clothes. The dresses I obtained are ill-fitting.”

  Sorcha bit her lip as she fought a laugh. “Aren’t ye something? Worryin’ about the fit of yer lady’s dress?” She squeezed his arm. “Of course I’ll help. But dinna expect me to be friends with that woman. Not after how she treated my brothers and their wives.”

  Warren stiffened as though affronted and then nodded. “I understand. My only hope is that you will one day come to realize that she is not who she has appeared to be.”

  Sorcha studied him. “I hope ye ken what ye’re doin’, Warren.”

  He sighed. “So do I, Sorcha. So do I.” He muttered his thanks before slipping down the alley and then back to his office.

  Helen sat at a small desk in the parlor in Warren’s house. Although midafternoon, it was already dark inside the room, and she had lit a small lamp on the desk corner. She leaned over a heavy tome, concentrating on the text and taking notes in a neat hand within a journal beside her. She jerked as her brother, Walter, sauntered into the parlor. “What are you doing here?” she stammered. “You have no right to enter here.”

  “Of course I do. My whore of a sister lives here. I have every right to visit her.” He sneered at her. “Did you believe Mother would be pleased with your antics?”

  Helen rose, closing the book and moving to the center of the room and the settee. She sat, tugging a pillow to her chest. “Mother hasn’t been pleased with me in too long.”

  Walter walked to the fire, warming his back as he faced her. He ran a hand over his new jacket and waistcoat, the black satin trim shimmering in the firelight. His brown eyes lit with disappointment when she remained silent. “I’m having a run of luck.”

  “And you’ll lose it all as quickly as you attain it.” She jerked back as her brother yanked the pillow from her and threw it to the side.

  He loomed over her, breathing heavily, his greasy too-long brown hair falling into his eyes. “Don’t you dare disparage me. I’m the only success on our side of the family. You couldn’t even manage to hold onto the lawyer when you thought he was your friend and would court you all those years ago.”

  She frowned but then yowled in pain as he cuffed her behind her ear. He had long ago learned where to strike that would leave no discernible bruise. She pushed at him, her show of defiance startling him enough to allow her to rise and put the settee between them.

  “Did you have a debt with the Madam? Was there any reason for me to work there?” Helen asked, rubbing the side of her head and trying to ignore the ringing in her ear.

  He chuckled. “Of course not. I’m one of her best customers, and she adores me. I think she wishes she were young enough to tempt me. But I have my own favorites there.”

  Helen shuddered. “Would you have saved me from such a life if Warren hadn’t spoken up?”

  His chuckle transformed into a belly laugh. “Hell no. I enjoyed watching your downfall. And how easily it was to make a little money.”

  She paled as she ran his words through her mind again. “You were working with the Madam?”

  He shrugged. “When I heard you were leaving Mother’s, it was easy to find a way to entice you to a life you had yet to contemplate. I knew the type of woman you truly are.” He leaped, gripping her wrist and twisting painfully so she could not ease out of his hold. “Leaving our house at all hours of the night. Secret communications.”

  She shook as his hold on her tightened.

  He thrust her wrist away just as she felt he would crush it into pieces. “Imagine my joy to realize how much you are worth to that lawyer?”

  She wrapped her good hand around her injured wrist. “I believe he regrets his hasty decision.”

  Walter nodded. “You may be right. His interest in Sorcha MacKinnon has not diminished. I saw him today in an alley with her, and he seemed to enjoy her company more than he’s ever enjoyed yours.” He watched her with blatant pity. “Imagine being passed over for the fourth time for another MacKinnon.” He laughed with joy. “I wish the town journalist would do her job and write an exposé on that!”

  Helen shrunk into herself. “I believe she fails to see the humor, or entertainment value, seeing as she just married a MacKinnon and had to deal with Mother’s machinations.”

  Walter waved away her concerns. “If J.P. were a true journalist, she would not let personal interests interfere with her duty to this town. As it is, too many are woefully uninformed.”

  Helen gritted her teeth as she began to shake. She knew the pattern that occurred after one of her brother’s visits. First she was filled with indignation. Then with resignation. Then humiliation. Then finally came abject despair and tears. She feared she was about to slide into the final stage in front of him, and she fought to maintain her composure.

  “Well, dear little sister, I must depart. I know you are always devastated at the loss of my company. However, too many await my presence at the Stumble-Out. We are to have an epic poker game tonight.” He ran a hand over his new jacket again and frowned. “You always were a terrible judge of fashion.” He smirked at her ill-fitting clothes before sauntering from the room.

  Once the door closed behind him, Helen locked it. She returned to the parlor and collapsed onto the settee and allowed the tears to leak out. As night fell, she rose to retreat to her bedroom, having no desire to see Warren.

  That evening Warren sat studying the fire in the parlor, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The MacKinnon siblings’ words ricocheted around his brain, and he sighed with uncertainty. After a moment he rose. He took a deep breath, firmed his shoulders and marched down the hall to Helen’s room.

  He stood outside a moment and then rapped on the door. “Helen? I must speak with you.” He waited a moment, and then the door opened. He saw a flush cover her from head to upper chest, where she clutched the wrapper of her nightgown closed.

  “What do you want, Warren?” She kept her head bowed.

  After a lon
g moment he let out a deep breath. “You. I want you. For some reason you’ve come to believe the worst of me. Nothing I’ve said or done these past few days has dispelled those beliefs.” He grabbed her arms, her hands releasing her gown so it gaped open over her upper chest. “Now,” he said as he looked at her. “Now I want to show you the truth of my words.”

  “I don’t want your pity,” she said, her voice quivering.

  “Good, because you don’t have it. I’d never pity you. You’re too strong, resourceful, smart and resilient to ever need my pity.” He waited until she raised confused eyes to meet his. “I mean what I say, Nell,” he whispered. “I may not remember well the morning after we made love, but I sure as hell remember every moment we were together. I remember the glory of your touch. The wonder of loving you.”

  He swooped forward and kissed her. After a shocked moment, she raised her hands and pulled him closer. She stood on her toes and opened her mouth, inviting him in. He groaned, his hand at the back of her head, digging into her braid as his fingers tugged it apart. His other hand snaked around her bottom and hitched her higher. He spun, backing her into a wall and held her against it as he deepened the kiss farther.

  Her satisfied moan acted like kindling to his passion, and he tugged her legs up until they were wrapped around his waist. His free hand palmed a breast, and he smiled at her gasp of pleasure. “Never doubt my desire for you,” he rasped as he scattered kisses over her neck and upper chest. “Never doubt my devotion to you.”

  He felt her stiffen at his words and grunted as she tugged on his hair. He looked up, meeting her gaze, passion filled but also spiked with tears. “What is it, Nell?” He kissed her nose, her cheek and then her lips as he waited for her to form words.

  “I know you’d rather be with another. I know I am only second best.”

  Rather than release her when she fidgeted and struggled, his hold on her tightened. “Explain what you mean. Tell me who filled your head with such lies,” he growled.