Territorial Bride. Linda Castle

think it is a good idea, Ellen,” Patricia said suddenly. “We must do our best to persuade Miss O’Bannion to come as soon as possible.”

      “Good idea, Mother,” Rod agreed, in spite of Donovan’s growing frown. He fussed too much over his wife and whether or not she was overdoing. “After all, Missy is family now.”

      “It would be nice to be in a place where I could dress like this every day,” Missy said wistfully.

      “You are charming no matter what you are wearing,” Patricia assured Missy. “Isn’t she, Donovan?”

      “What? Oh, yes, charming.” Donovan replied absently. Patricia had purposely avoided his suggestion about interfering.

      “Oh, do say you will come soon. You would have a lovely time in the city.” Ellen brightened with every word. “We could have some new gowns made. It would be great fun and I would love the company.”

      “Yes, my dear, we insist.” Patricia smiled inwardly. The girl was always clomping around in men’s trousers and boots—she would be a challenge. But she did have good bones, and with a little work…

      

      Curiosity nipped at Brooks as he watched his family. He allowed himself one more pull from Clell’s bottle before he started threading his way across the floor. He side-stepped to avoid dancing boots and whirling skirts and finally reached the other side of the room.

      “That’s awful nice of you, ma’am, but…” Missy began.

      “What’s going on?” Brooks whispered to Rod.

      “Ellen has almost persuaded Miss O’Bannion to come to New York,” Rod answered. “I think it would be a marvelous idea for Ellen to have some female company.”

      “What? You can’t be serious!” The loudness of his voice brought Missy’s head around with a snap.

      “Is something wrong, Brooks?” She frowned at him. He swayed a little as she glared at him. It was obvious he had been sharing Clell’s bottle.

      “Nothing, nothing at all.” Brooks shook his head.

      “Good. For a moment I thought you might have been upset about the invite.”

      Brooks gave her a lopsided grin. “Nothing to be upset about. The whole idea is ridiculous. I know you are too sensible to even consider such a thing.”

      “And just why is the idea of me going to New York so comical?” Missy pressed.

      “What?” Brooks tried to listen to what she was saying, but Clell’s whiskey had brought a buzz to his head and a ringing to his ears. “Well, little lady, wearing boots and hats in New York drawing rooms is not the thing this year.” Laughter bubbled up in the back of his throat as he imagined Missy sitting down to tea in her form-fitting chaps.

      “So you think I ain’t got sense enough to learn to act like a lady, is that it?” Missy’s dark eyes narrowed with anger.

      “Not exactly.” Brooks blinked a couple of times and tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

      “You learned to be a cowboy…”

      “That’s different.” He blinked and steadied himself.

      “What’s different about it? If you could learn to be a cowboy, why is it so hard to believe that I could become a lady?”

      Even in his half-looped state, Brooks was intelligent enough to recognize a loaded question when he heard one. “You just can’t go. Now let’s stop all this silly talk.”

      “I can’t? Did I hear you right?” Missy shook her head in disbelief. “Did you just tell me that I can’t go to New York?”

      Brooks sucked in a breath, tried to catalog his own thoughts into a proper order while he looked at Missy. Indignant fire burned in her brown eyes. She had lovely eyes when she was spitting mad. A part of him wanted to tell her that, but that kind of talk was the sort of thing that got men tangled up. He bit back the compliment, not wanting to do anything that would upset his plans of having no entanglements, no commitments. He had to keep a cool head. Then he could remain free as the wind. “Now, Missy…”

      “Don’t you ‘now Missy’ me. And just when, oh-so-mighty Mr. James, did you start tellin’ me what I can or can’t do?” She advanced on him, and to his utter astonishment, he retreated a step. She raised herself up on her slippered toes, but even then the top of her head barely reached his chin. She was narrow eyed with fury now.

      He felt the current of excitement arc between them. This was what he wanted, what he liked—a hot channel of interest running between them like a river of fire.

      “I know you have an overblown notion of your importance, but I didn’t think it went so far as to include the whole of New York City!”

      “That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Brooks began, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The whiskey was dulling his senses and slurring his words, but he was still acutely aware of her.

      She would be bored in a brownstone instead of under a wide, azure sky. Patricia and Ellen, and especially women like Violet, would never—could never—understand the restless energy of Missy. He wanted to tell her that her spirit would wither without the wind in her face and a gallop each morning.

       You would be unhappy.

      “I should’a known you’d have something nasty to say.” Missy inhaled a long breath. “Thank you for invitin’ me, Mr. and Mrs. James. I’d love to come. Right now.” She lowered herself back to the soles of her feet and glared at Brooks again.

      “I was goin’ to say no, but since you seem so all-fired determined that I can’t go, I have changed my mind.” She turned once again to face his parents. “I’ll start packing and will be ready to leave with you at the end of the week.”

      Brooks frowned and tried to steady himself. Until this moment he had not realized how many toasts he had drunk to his sister’s marriage. But the shock of Missy’s words had begun to sober him up—real fast. This whole thing had gotten out of control.

      “Now, Missy, calm down a minute.” He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “I meant to tell you—”

      “Don’t you touch me, you sidewinder.” She shrugged his fingers off, turned on her heel and stomped away in a flurry of peacock blue satin.

      Brooks stared at the rigid set of her shoulders as she left. He made no attempt to go after her. The best thing he could do was wait until she cooled off before he tried to talk to her. Besides, she would be her old self in the morning. By noon they would back to their usual thrust and parry. There was nothing to worry about.

      He had it all figured out. He had the perfect arrangement.

      

      Missy tore at the tiny buttons running down the front of her dress. The touch of the beautiful fabric against her flesh was suddenly hateful to her, reminding her of the disdainful look in Brooks’s crystal blue eyes.

      Tonight when he had held her close she had allowed herself to think there was a feeling of tenderness between them. Now she realized it had been the whiskey, the sound of fiddles and the allure of the firelight.

       Damn him.

      The expression on his face when he’d heard she had been invited to New York had told her the truth. He considered her an embarrassment. It was obvious he thought his mother was setting herself up for humiliation by inviting a bumpkin from the Territory into her home.

      Missy unlaced the hard-boned corset and flung it into a corner. The springs creaked and groaned as she flopped down on her bed.

      Her pride had been badly bruised. She had tried to wear the clothes like a lady, and act like a lady, yet it had not been enough.

       For him.