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“You’re a teacher,” he said. “What makes you think you know anything about keeping a bunch of miners, ranchers and who knows what kind of riffraff happy in bed?”
Color flared on her cheeks, but she didn’t otherwise respond to his gibe.
“Mr. MacIntyre, I have traveled extensively along the Eastern Seaboard and abroad. I have stayed in exquisite hotels in dozens of cities. In addition, I have a head for figures and I’m not afraid of hard work. I know I can make the hotel a success. I also understand your reticence in allowing me to open my business above your saloon. Let me assure you that in addition to a modest rent, I would be willing to pay you a percentage of the profits.”
“Generous,” he muttered, taking a step back from her.
She wasn’t ugly, he told himself, despite what the miners at his saloon had said earlier. She was a bit on the plain side, but she had big blue eyes he kind of liked. Her skin was pretty—all soft looking and smooth, with a hint of color at her cheeks. Her mouth was a tad pinched, but maybe if she didn’t stand so stiff all the time, the rest of her would relax.
His gaze moved to her body, and what he saw there made him shake his head. She was skinny and didn’t have even one decent curve. No breasts, no hips and he would bet a ten-dollar gold piece that she had bony knees. Lucas was more enamored with plump knees. He liked to kiss the crease in the back, then nibble around to the front, all the while listening to the lady giggle and feeling her squirm. Emily Smythe didn’t strike him as the giggling, squirming type.
But she was a single woman, and that was what he needed right now.
“Stay right there,” he said, then realized it was a stupid thing to say. Where was she going to go?
Ten minutes later he’d talked Wilson into springing her. He led the proper Miss Smythe onto the sidewalk in front of the jail.
“Let’s go talk in my office,” he said. “It’s around back of the saloon. We won’t be disturbed there.”
Excitement glinted in her blue eyes. “So you’ll consider my proposition? How wonderful, Mr. MacIntyre. I’m sure you won’t regret it for a minute. I’ve done the calculations and I expect the hotel to be turning a profit within the month.”
He held up a hand to stop the flow of words, then led the way onto the muddy street.
It was spring in Defiance, which meant plenty of rain, flash floods and mud. Fortunately the Silver Slipper was only a couple of blocks away. The single horse and wagon in the street in the late afternoon was on the far side of the river of mud and they barely got splashed at all.
When they arrived at his saloon, he walked around to the rear of the building. The small door to his office was set under the stairs leading to the second floor that so interested her. Lucas wondered how crazy she was going to make him and how much he would regret what he was about to say. He thought about his current carefree existence and wished it could be different. But it couldn’t. Damn Uncle Simon and his meddling.
He unlocked the door to his office and motioned for her to precede him. She did so, moving with a regal grace completely out of place in this mining town. Despite the fight and her time in jail, she looked as crisp and fresh as she had first thing that morning. Of course the black eye added a rakish touch to her otherwise perfect appearance. If only her gray dress weren’t so ugly.
She paused in the center of the small room until he pulled out a chair for her. Then she settled stiffly on the wooden surface, her back as straight as it had been on that cot in jail. He wondered if she ever bent or relaxed. He had a feeling that if a man tried to have his way with her, she would snap in two, like a fragile twig.
“About the hotel,” she said, as he came around to his chair behind the desk.
“Yeah, well, it’s not that simple.”
Despite owning a saloon, Lucas wasn’t much of a drinking man. Still, he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his bottom drawer and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass on his desk. He ignored Miss Smythe’s start of disapproval and downed the whole thing in one swallow. Heat burned to his belly, giving him a false sense of warmth and courage. He was an idiot. But he didn’t have a choice. Uncle Simon had trapped him good and tight.
“I can show you my figures,” she said, leaning toward him. “I have them in my room.”
“I’m sure you’re prepared to do things real proper like.”
He leaned back in his chair and glanced around the small office, at the crates of liquor stacked in the corner and the barrels of ale. The bare wood walls weren’t much, but they were his. He’d taken the Silver Slipper from a run-down place with a reputation for watered drinks and trouble to a successful, honest saloon. He ran clean tables, served decent liquor and never cheated anyone. If he lost the saloon, he lost the ranch. Without the ranch, he lost everything.
He returned his attention to Emily. She wasn’t who he would have picked, but then he hadn’t planned on this at all.
“I’ll let you open your hotel,” he began.
“Oh, Mr. MacIntyre, you won’t be sorry,” she assured him.
“You might be,” he said dryly. “Because there are a couple of complications. You can open your hotel, if you cut me in for fifty percent of the profit. And if you agree to marry me, I won’t even charge you rent.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_f11e350c-5af6-5ff7-b01e-0ddfd0410196)
Emily stared at the man sitting in front of her and had the most unreasonable urge to cry. Since they’d left the sheriff’s office, she’d allowed herself to hope that Lucas MacIntyre was going to listen to her plan, understand and let her open the hotel. She’d thought she’d convinced him of her abilities, her business sense and her sincerity.
She’d been wrong. He had no interest in her plan. Instead he was humiliating her for the humor it brought him. She was disappointed, hurt and determined that he would never know how her insides trembled and her throat felt all tight and sore.
“How interesting,” she forced herself to say, keeping her voice low and even. “A proposal of marriage.”
She wanted to stand and walk out, but she didn’t yet have the strength. Was he doing this because she was a woman or because she was a plain woman?
Emily sighed. All her life she’d longed to be pretty, like other women. However the simple truth was that she was plain. Sometimes she wanted to scream out loud, proclaiming that her looks were not her fault. God had blessed her with many other fine qualities. She was intelligent, loyal, honest and caring. Why didn’t people—men, mostly—care about that? Didn’t they know that a pretty face aged with time, but that the heart and character of a person lasted forever?
Obviously not. She recalled what the miners in the saloon had said. How she was so skinny and unattractive, they couldn’t possibly ravish her in the daylight. They would have to wait until it was dark. Probably they would have to be very drunk, as well.
Familiar pain filled her. The ache for a husband and children. She would never have either. She’d learned that lesson well over the years. Wishing for the impossible was a sign of weakness, and she’d always prided herself on being strong.
Remembering that, she stiffened her spine and drew in a deep breath. But before she could open her mouth, Lucas spoke.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, leaning toward her and resting his hands on the desk in front of him. “But I doubt it reflects well on me.”
She rose to her feet. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time, sir. I can see I misjudged you and the situation completely. I apologize for that.”
“Hold on there.” He stood and moved toward her. “What’s got your tail feathers in a twist?”
She blinked at the vulgarity of the question, then raised her chin. “I hadn’t thought of you as a cruel man. I have provided you with an afternoon’s entertainment. That should be enough. If you’ll excuse me?”
“What are you talking about?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You could have simply told me no. Instead you have chosen to mock me.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded surprisingly like a swearword. Emily willed herself not to react. If she wasn’t going to be conducting business with Mr. MacIntyre, there was no point in taking him to task on his language.
“I’m not mocking you,” he said, then lightly touched her arm. “I’m completely serious. Please, don’t go. Give me a chance to explain.”
She wanted to tell him no. She wanted to jerk her arm free of his distasteful touch and stalk out of his office. But she couldn’t. For one thing, she didn’t find the light pressure of his fingers the least bit distasteful. Instead they were warm and caused a most disturbing tingling sensation that crept up to her shoulder. Her chest tightened a little, the way it had when she’d seen him smile in the saloon.
Unable to do more than keep breathing, she allowed him to lead her back to her chair where she settled onto the seat.
Once there Emily touched her temple to see if she had some kind of fever. Her skin felt cool as ever. Perhaps something at her noon meal had disagreed with her. Regardless of her brief physical ailment, she seemed to have regained her senses.
“What did you want to explain, Mr. MacIntyre?” she inquired, because trying to leave again would look foolish.
He grinned. “Considering what I’m about to say, you might want to call me Lucas.”
Her mouth went dry and she could feel her eyes widening. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more—his improper suggestion that she use his Christian name or the way his mouth had parted in that luscious, sinful smile.
Inside her sensible black shoes, her toes curled. Her knees actually seemed to bounce off each other in a most peculiar way. The chest tightness returned. But before she could put a name to her condition, he was speaking again.
“It’s all because of my Uncle Simon,” he said, settling onto a corner of the desk.
His left…limb…swung back and forth, nearly brushing against the fullness of her skirt. She shifted slightly in her seat in an attempt to pull back from the contact.
“My parents died when Jackson and I were pretty little. Jackson’s my brother. Uncle Simon raised us right here in Defiance.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a town back then. Just a few mining shacks and an outpost that served as the general store.”
She didn’t think it was much of a town now, but if Mr. MacIntyre had grown up in the West, he couldn’t possibly understand about the beauty of a large city.
“There’s a mine up in the mountains,” he continued. “Jackson sees to that. We bought this saloon about eight years ago and I run it. We also bought a ranch, just outside of town. We’re going to catch wild horses, plus breed our own. For the army. We own the land free and clear, but we have to build corrals, barns, a house, plus pay for feed and stock. That’s what the income from the saloon and mine are going for.”
“That’s all very interesting, Mr. MacIntyre,” she said impatiently, “but I fail to see—”
“Lucas.”
She pressed her lips together. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to call you that.”
He smiled at her again. His mustache twitched slightly. “I bet you can. Why don’t you kinda roll your tongue around the word? Come on. Say it. Lucas.”
She felt heat on her cheeks. Had he actually said that word, the one naming that inner part of her mouth? Next he would probably name her limbs or something even more intimate. The man was impossible.
She thought about leaving, but she knew if she did she would never get a chance at the hotel. And then what choice would she have but to find another teaching position? At that rate of pay, it would take several lifetimes to save enough to open her establishment. She knew that she would never return home—at least not as a someone who had failed. She couldn’t bear the humiliation.
Which meant she was going to have to humor Mr. MacIntyre.
“Fine,” she said through only slightly gritted teeth. “Lucas.”
He winked. “I knew you could do it. Now as I was saying, Jackson and I have this plan for the ranch. The money from my share of the profits of the hotel would really help. The problem is Uncle Simon died.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“He left a will.”
Emily frowned. “That sounds more responsible than problematic.”
“You’d think. But there’s the matter of what’s in the will. You see he’s the actual owner of the mine, the saloon and the ranch. According to the terms of his will, if Jackson and I haven’t each married within three months of his death, we lose everything.”
“That can’t be right,” she said without thinking. Why on earth would a family member put that kind of restriction on his only relatives?
It was as if Lucas read her mind. “I know what you’re thinking, Em,” he told her. “But Uncle Simon had his reasons. He wanted the family name to continue. For the past nine years he’d been waiting for Jackson and I to up and marry. I guess he finally figured that wasn’t going to happen, so he decided to force our hands. The old coot.”
The last sentence came out as a grumble, but Emily—who couldn’t believe the man sitting in front of her had had the audacity to call her “Em”—heard the affection in his voice.
She wanted to ask why he and his brother had never married. She silently counted back nine years and realized Uncle Simon’s expectations had started in 1866. The year the war ended. Of course, Lucas and his brother were of an age where they would have fought. When they returned safe, their uncle had wanted them to start a family. Why had they both resisted?
“So you can see that I’m rightly serious about my proposal, Em,” Lucas said cheerfully. “You get your hotel and I get to keep what’s mine.”
“But why me?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “There are other women you could marry.”
“Single ladies aren’t that easy to find.”
“But there are those…” She cleared her throat. “What I mean is there are nearly a dozen attractive young women who would suit your purpose.”
She was speaking, of course, of the ladies of ill repute who lived in the great house across from her rented room. Emily would rather sleep on hot coals than ever admit that she might have, on one occasion or another, peeked out her window and seen men entering that building. She’d seen Lucas go in more than once. And she’d seen the beautiful women inside leaving. While her good Christian heart was appalled by their disregard for righteousness, her woman’s soul envied their easy laughter and pretty clothes.
“Why, Em, you do me proud,” Lucas said with a grin. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d even acknowledge Miss Cherry’s existence, let alone that of her girls.”
“I don’t.” She squared her shoulders and avoided his teasing gaze. Which helped her ignore the tingling brought on again by his smile. “I’m simply saying they might be more suited to your needs.”
He nodded. “You know, I gave it a lot of thought, but there’s a problem. I don’t want a real marriage—I want one in name only. Then in a few months, I can get an annulment. One of Cherry’s girls would undoubtedly tempt me into consummating the marriage and then where would I be?”
He stood up and paced the length of the small room. “I thought I’d solved the problem by sending for a mail-order bride. Actually I sent for two. One for me and one for Jackson. However, mine changed her mind. I received a letter a couple of days ago and now I find myself without a bride and not much time left until Jackson and I lose everything. Then you showed up today, wanting to rent the second floor of my saloon and I knew you were a gift from heaven.”
Had Emily been the fainting kind, she would have found herself crumpled on the floor. His insult had been made so casually, she doubted he’d realized the import of his words. But she’d recognized the meaning and it burned. She clasped her hands together in an effort to hold in her pain and not let him know that she cared what he thought. Did it really matter that Lucas MacIntyre considered her charms so meager that she would be easy to resist in the marriage bed? With her he didn’t have to worry about temptation. He could have his marriage of convenience and keep his inheritance, with almost no trouble.
She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, but that wasn’t her way. Instead she told herself she was going to refuse him.
Except the marriage would help her, too.
The thought came from nowhere. At first she wanted to dismiss it, but then she considered the meaning. If she married Lucas, she could write her family and tell them that she finally had a husband. A rancher would be considered respectable, even romantic, by her sisters and her mother. She wouldn’t have to say anything about him owning a saloon or their marriage being one of convenience rather than affection. When she left Defiance to start her establishment, she could pass herself off as a widow. Again, respectable.
She glanced at the man sitting in front of her. He waited patiently. Yes, there was something in the situation for her, but he needed the marriage far more than she did. Which meant she was in the better bargaining position.
“I might be interested, however, I want to know what’s in it for me.”
Lucas knew he’d won. The prim Miss Smythe was going to agree to marry him, which meant he was halfway to his goal. “What do you want?” he asked. “I said if you married me, I wouldn’t charge you rent.”
“You suggested that before I knew all the facts. However, I know them now. Therefore, I’ll pay you ten percent of the profits, no rent, and I want a cash settlement at the time of the annulment.”
Had he been drinking, he would have choked. “Why?”
“Because you need to marry me more than I need to rent your hotel.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. Em might be a scrawny thing on the outside, but she had the heart of a lion. And she was a damn fine businesswoman. He was in trouble and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that.
He stood and crossed to the door connecting his office to the main room of the saloon. He opened it and yelled for Perry to bring him a pot of tea and two cups. He glanced back at Emily.
“Bargaining is thirsty work.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later Lucas knew he’d been had—cheated by a professional in spinster’s clothing. In exchange for Emily’s hand in marriage, he was getting a mere thirty percent of her profits, she wasn’t paying rent and when the marriage was annulled he would pay her five hundred dollars. He should have been furious. Instead he was impressed.
“I think that’s everything,” she said, rising to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. MacIntyre.”
He shook his head. “Lucas. Or the deal is off.”
She pressed her lips together. “All right. Lucas. And I must tell you, I don’t particularly care for you shortening my name. Emily is perfectly fine.”
“I know, Em. I’ll keep that in mind.”
