Justin's Bride. Susan Mallery
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her that she could deal with Justin better if she stopped letting him think that his comments had any power over her.
“I form my opinions after reflecting on the Lord’s, the laws of the day and dictates of society,” she said calmly and set her hat down. She turned to him. “Despite your urgings, I don’t believe I should place my opinions above theirs.”
“That’s always been your problem. You need backbone, Megan.”
Her temper began to burn at the edges of her self-control. She firmly gripped the singed edges. “In your absence, I seem to have survived the loss of my father and kept the store running successfully. Rather large accomplishments for someone with no backbone, wouldn’t you say?”
He stepped toward her. “But everything you do, every thought, every action is dictated by what other people think. What are you so afraid of?”
“Harming my reputation,” she snapped. “Something you wouldn’t care about, being a man. But I’m a single woman in a small town. If I expect to keep my place, I must concern myself with others’ thoughts. If you don’t share my concerns, you should at least understand them. After all, your mother had a bad reputation and look what happened to her.”
The second she spoke the words, Megan wanted to call them back. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.
Justin froze in place, halfway between her and the stairs. The flame from the lamp danced with some slight draft, casting shadows on his face. His mouth straightened into a grim line and the muscle in his right cheek twitched. Something dark and ugly stole into his eyes.
She stepped away. Not out of fear, but out of shame. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to say that. It was wrong of me. Completely wrong. I know you loved your mother and that she was a good woman. You made me angry.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her waist and shrugged slightly. “That’s a stupid excuse, isn’t it? It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t try to say that it is. It’s mine. I’m sorry.”
He blinked and it was as if he’d never heard her slight. His face relaxed into its original mocking expression. “Don’t apologize on my account. I’ve heard worse in my time. Your comments weren’t original, or even harshly spoken. I don’t care enough about you to be wounded by your opinions.”
He’d changed so much in the time he’d been gone. The young man who had taught her about kissing and passion had been replaced by a dark stranger. Just as well, she told herself. The old Justin would have tempted her too much. This man was unknown to her. If she kept it that way, she wouldn’t be at risk.
“Wounded or not, I do apologize.” With a sigh, she moved past him into the parlor. The last rays of afternoon light slipped through the drapes and outlined the large pieces of furniture in the room. She moved to a corner table and lit a lamp. She placed the smoldering match in a small metal tray, then turned to him.
As she’d suspected, he had followed her into the room. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked around at the furnishings. She followed his gaze, wondering how the parlor would appear to a stranger.
Overly furnished, she thought, glancing from the three settees, to the scattered tables and covered chairs. Her father had had a fondness for expensive things. There were lacquered boxes and silver candy dishes. A beautiful ivory fan bought in New Orleans from a ship that had been nearly around the world. Cream-colored wallpaper and heavy, dark blue drapes provided a backdrop for the ostentatious display.
“Who would have thought I would be so blessed as to finally see the inside of the famed Bartlett mansion?” he said. He raised his eyebrows. “You must be very proud living here.”
“I’m not. You know that, Justin.” She glanced at one of the settees and thought about sitting down, but she was afraid he would sit next to her. With her heart already pounding in her chest and her palms damp, she didn’t think she could deal with the consequences of him being so close. “This house means nothing to me. It is still my father’s home, not mine.”
“Yes, of course. You could be happy in a small sod hut somewhere out west. Fighting snakes and scorpions, watching your children die from the elements.”
“You twist my meaning.”
He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. The smile pulling at his mouth was anything but pleasant. “Are you saying you would be content in a single room above a saloon? Like my mother? You could hear the noise from below, you know. The yells of the drunken men, the squeals of the saloon girls. And the smells. Tobacco, sweat and—”
“Stop!” She moved toward him until she was directly in front of him. “Please, stop. I’ve said I was sorry for what I said about your mother. It was thoughtless and cruel. I have no excuse except for the truth.” She dipped her head slightly and stared at the center of his broad chest.
“Which is?”
He had been in town less than a day and already her life had been turned upside down. “When I’m frightened, I tend to speak without thinking. It’s a failing. I beg your indulgence.”
“Beg” had been a poor choice of words. She saw that instantly when she risked meeting his gaze. The fire had returned, but it wasn’t fueled by anger.
He had the most beautiful eyes, she thought, staring into their deep brown depths. Thick lashes framed the pure color. The dark slash of his eyebrows added to his handsomeness, making him look sardonic one minute, gently teasing the next. Justin’s moods changed like the surface of the stream, quickly and without warning.
She blinked several times and looked away. Yes, the anger was gone, but that which replaced it was much more dangerous.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.
“Your return.”
She turned away and walked over to the fireplace. Logs and kindling were kept stacked in readiness for guests. She crouched down and lit the fire. When the smaller pieces had caught, she rose to her feet and motioned to one of the settees. “Please, have a seat.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to be here that long. Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, then smiled. He was the least of it, really. She was the problem. Being around him, thinking of him, made her act differently, as if the respectable woman she worked hard to be was just a false covering, like a storefront. As if the world saw her as a gracious two-story mercantile, but inside she was just a squat saloon.
She smiled at the analogy. He seemed to addle her brain as well as her senses.
“So, you’re going to be here for a year,” she said.
His gaze moved over her face, then dipped lower. She told herself to be insulted, but the frank appraisal left her feeling warm and tingling. Justin had often looked at her like that in the past. The appreciation in his eyes had made her proud to be female and that which he desired. It had frightened her a little, for her inexperience had left her with more questions than explanations. But in his arms that hadn’t mattered.
He’d tempted her with his soft kisses. Despite his time away and the changes in both their lives, he still tempted her. Pray God he chose to ignore her.
“Yes. As I told you earlier this afternoon, I have a one-year contract with the good citizens of this town.” The mocking tone had returned.
“Why did you come back? To punish them?”
He shook his head. “To make peace with the past, although that doesn’t seem to be working.”
“What are your plans while you’re here?”
He raised his eyebrows again. “I’m the sheriff. I’ll enforce the laws, try to keep people out of trouble and generally make my presence known.”
She bent down and picked up a lacquered box from the table. The smooth surface felt cool against her heated fingers.