Justin's Bride. Susan Mallery
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have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time apologizing.
He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan’s father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.
“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”
“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”
Justin didn’t bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.
When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.
He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He’d often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she’d crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They’d laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he’d sent her inside because he’d wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he’d known that Megan Bartlett wasn’t the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he’d proposed.
The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.
He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she’d taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She’d fallen asleep in his pocket. He stroked the soft fur on her head. She stirred, blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Her tiny teeth made him smile. She sniffed his finger, then closed her eyes. Her soft purr faded as she went back to sleep.
The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up. He could see Megan approaching. She carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The other swung freely at her side. She looked up at the house and came to a complete stop.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to apologize.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know. It’s the truth.”
She started walking again, this time moving quickly toward him, then up the stairs. “Nothing is ever simple with you, Justin. Do you know the kind of gossip there would be if someone spotted you here?” She opened the front door and ducked inside. “Hurry. Get in here before someone sees you. You might not care about the talk, but I do.”
He rose slowly and stepped onto the porch. For the first time in his life, he was going in through the front door. He should have been pleased, but he wasn’t. He’d been a fool to come back. Nothing had changed. Megan Bartlett still cared about her reputation more than anything in the world. And he was still just that bastard Justin Kincaid.
Megan held the door open impatiently as Justin slowly stepped inside. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was taking as long as possible. Probably to punish her, she thought, shaking her head. She’d seen the anger in his eyes when just moments ago she’d accused him of not thinking of her reputation.
As soon as he was in the foyer, she slammed the door shut and adjusted the curtains on the side window. Her father had built the house on the far edge of town, opposite where all the new buildings had sprung up. He’d bought the surrounding land and enough of the woods to ensure privacy. Megan didn’t get many visitors, but it would only take one to see Justin sitting on her front porch. Within hours, the entire town would know he’d been there and her reputation would be ruined. Not that he cared.
She glared up at him. His brown eyes met hers and flashed with equal fire. The tension between them crackled. She wanted to stomp her foot with irritation.
“Aren’t you going to invite me to take a seat in the parlor?” he asked, his lazy drawl a direct contrast to the stiff set of his body and the angry, thin line of his mouth.
“No,” she said curtly, even as the reminder of good manners made her feel guilty. It was wrong to keep a guest standing in the foyer. But Justin wasn’t a guest. Thank goodness her father wasn’t alive to see this moment. Why he would have—
She swallowed hard as she met his stare. The tension she’d been aware of moments before charged the air. Like a summer electrical storm, when bolts of lightning ripped across the sky and loud claps of thunder echoed so forcefully the house shook. But during those storms there was no rain for relief, no soft patter of individual drops to provide counterpoint to the violence and beauty. And so it was in this room. There was the combination of anger and the past with nothing gentle to ease the intensity between them.
The skin on her arms puckered and a shiver raced down her spine. She lowered her gaze from Justin’s dark brown eyes to his mouth, then to his broad shoulders and chest. His thick coat only made him look more powerful. And masculine.
He was a man, a man who had always been able to make her forget what was right and proper. He’d always been able to make her forget herself and all her good intentions. The ticking of the clock in the parlor suddenly sounded very loud. The steady sound seemed to echo in the house, reminding her she was completely alone with him. There were no witnesses, and no one to come to her rescue.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and quavering.
He shook his head, as if coming out of a dream, then moved away from her. There was very little light penetrating the curtained windows and soon they would be in darkness. Justin walked to the lamp she kept by the front door. Without asking her permission, he lit it. When the wick caught, he adjusted the flame until it burned brightly. Casually, as if he had the entire evening, and more time besides, he unbuttoned his coat.
Megan clutched at the fasteners at her throat. He hadn’t done anything untoward, but she suddenly felt vulnerable, as if he’d started to undress. It’s just a coat, she told herself. Most people took them off indoors. But most people hadn’t kissed her on summer nights while sitting on the bank of the stream. Most people hadn’t touched her waist and then moved higher to delicately caress her—
Don’t think about it, she commanded herself. What she’d done with Justin had been a madness born of youth and the night, and that bit of whiskey she’d sipped from his flask. It had been a dream. In the light of day, she’d felt ashamed.
Liar, a voice inside of her whispered. You felt wonderful. She ignored the voice.
“I told you, I came to apologize.” He paced to the bottom of the staircase that circled gracefully toward the second floor, then turned and glared at her. “God knows why I bothered. I should have remembered nothing is more important to Miss Megan Bartlett than what the rest of the world thinks.”
It was a familiar argument, one they’d had countless times. “Not everyone enjoys flouting convention.”
“Maybe, for once, you could figure out yourself what matters instead of letting other people tell you,” he said.
She