Read Online McCrory's Lady by Shirl Henke Henke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirl Henke Henke
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off limits, her body and her soul locked securely away ever since that bloody Southern gigolo had betrayed her.
What a bittersweet joy it had been to become her mentor. How eagerly she had learned, so thirsty to know about the vast world outside the harsh life she had been forced to live. He had taught her about art and literature, history and the sciences, even taken her to Europe a few years ago while the mines were still booming and profits were especially good. He'd still hoped she might share his bed back then. Maybe, he had never really given up hoping.
“Foolish man,” he said to himself, looking into the mirror at a tall, elegantly slim body and a gauntly handsome face framed by graying blond hair and an immaculately trimmed mustache and Vandyke. Clear ice blue eyes mocked the reflection as he raised his glass. “To Megs.” Then, realizing it was empty, he refilled it and drank deeply.
A sense of foreboding hovered in the hot noon air as hoof beats sounded down the street. A pack of stray dogs yipped at the heels of the approaching party, drowning out the muffled plopping of their mounts' hooves in the thick reddish dust. Fletcher was at the front door of the Silver Eagle as they dismounted. His eyes swept from Maggie to the girl standing beside her, an exquisite blonde, very young, pale and nervous-looking.
“Bart, you made it back,” Maggie called out in greeting.
“I might say the same for you, Megs. Where the bloody hell have you been? I couldn't get any sense out of Emilio.”
“It's a long story, but first I have to get Eden a room and a hot bath.” She smiled reassuringly at the girl. “Eden, this pompous gentleman is my partner, Bartley Wellington Fletcher.”
“Your servant, Miss—?”
“McCrory. Eden McCrory,” Maggie supplied as he bowed gallantly. “And these formidable gentlemen are her father, Colin, and Wolf Blake,” she added as the two dusty riders climbed the steps onto the cantina's front porch.
Leaving the men to sort out further introductions, Maggie and Eden disappeared up the stairs.
Colin studied the tall, gaunt Englishman whom he knew must be the partner Maggie had spoken of, Bart Fletcher. Were they also lovers? Probably. The idea bothered him, and even more upsetting was the very fact that the thought had occurred to him.
What the hell difference did it make whom Maggie Worthington slept with? He'd be damned if he'd marry her. Every woman like her had a price, and he would pay it. After all, he did owe her for Eden.
Wolf watched the two older men take each other's measure, both wary and irritable as grizzlies in spring.
“So you're Colin McCrory, the man looking for his lost daughter,” Fletcher said in clipped British tones.
McCrory's burr thickened in response. “She's not lost anymore.” He felt an instant antagonism that went beyond the man's Sassenach ancestry.
“Bloody good show, getting her back. I daresay I'm relieved to see Maggie returned safely, as well.” He paused and stroked the point of his beard. “I don't like having her put in harm's way.”
Colin shrugged. “She insisted.”
Fletcher turned from the Scot to the half-breed gunman and smiled. “I assume you gentlemen would appreciate something to wash away the trail dust?”
* * * *
“You simply can't be serious, Megs.” Bart Fletcher stared at Maggie in shocked amazement as they faced one another across the big desk in the upstairs office.
“I'm serious, Bart. You've known for the past couple of years that I wanted out. You even talked about pulling up stakes yourself. You said Fernando Gomez was willing to buy the Eagle.”
“But why now?” His eyes narrowed to icy slits. “This has something to do with that
What a bittersweet joy it had been to become her mentor. How eagerly she had learned, so thirsty to know about the vast world outside the harsh life she had been forced to live. He had taught her about art and literature, history and the sciences, even taken her to Europe a few years ago while the mines were still booming and profits were especially good. He'd still hoped she might share his bed back then. Maybe, he had never really given up hoping.
“Foolish man,” he said to himself, looking into the mirror at a tall, elegantly slim body and a gauntly handsome face framed by graying blond hair and an immaculately trimmed mustache and Vandyke. Clear ice blue eyes mocked the reflection as he raised his glass. “To Megs.” Then, realizing it was empty, he refilled it and drank deeply.
A sense of foreboding hovered in the hot noon air as hoof beats sounded down the street. A pack of stray dogs yipped at the heels of the approaching party, drowning out the muffled plopping of their mounts' hooves in the thick reddish dust. Fletcher was at the front door of the Silver Eagle as they dismounted. His eyes swept from Maggie to the girl standing beside her, an exquisite blonde, very young, pale and nervous-looking.
“Bart, you made it back,” Maggie called out in greeting.
“I might say the same for you, Megs. Where the bloody hell have you been? I couldn't get any sense out of Emilio.”
“It's a long story, but first I have to get Eden a room and a hot bath.” She smiled reassuringly at the girl. “Eden, this pompous gentleman is my partner, Bartley Wellington Fletcher.”
“Your servant, Miss—?”
“McCrory. Eden McCrory,” Maggie supplied as he bowed gallantly. “And these formidable gentlemen are her father, Colin, and Wolf Blake,” she added as the two dusty riders climbed the steps onto the cantina's front porch.
Leaving the men to sort out further introductions, Maggie and Eden disappeared up the stairs.
Colin studied the tall, gaunt Englishman whom he knew must be the partner Maggie had spoken of, Bart Fletcher. Were they also lovers? Probably. The idea bothered him, and even more upsetting was the very fact that the thought had occurred to him.
What the hell difference did it make whom Maggie Worthington slept with? He'd be damned if he'd marry her. Every woman like her had a price, and he would pay it. After all, he did owe her for Eden.
Wolf watched the two older men take each other's measure, both wary and irritable as grizzlies in spring.
“So you're Colin McCrory, the man looking for his lost daughter,” Fletcher said in clipped British tones.
McCrory's burr thickened in response. “She's not lost anymore.” He felt an instant antagonism that went beyond the man's Sassenach ancestry.
“Bloody good show, getting her back. I daresay I'm relieved to see Maggie returned safely, as well.” He paused and stroked the point of his beard. “I don't like having her put in harm's way.”
Colin shrugged. “She insisted.”
Fletcher turned from the Scot to the half-breed gunman and smiled. “I assume you gentlemen would appreciate something to wash away the trail dust?”
* * * *
“You simply can't be serious, Megs.” Bart Fletcher stared at Maggie in shocked amazement as they faced one another across the big desk in the upstairs office.
“I'm serious, Bart. You've known for the past couple of years that I wanted out. You even talked about pulling up stakes yourself. You said Fernando Gomez was willing to buy the Eagle.”
“But why now?” His eyes narrowed to icy slits. “This has something to do with that
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