Forever in My Heart Read online

  "He, my dear sister, shows the measure of just how difficult this was. Connor Holiday is a very handsome man. Very handsome. He was considerate, too. And polite. A trifle cool perhaps, reserved really, but that was to be expected. Playing the fool in front of him was rather like cutting off my nose to spite my face. Teaching Father a lesson about interference has never been so painfully humiliating."

  "If you've taken a liking to Mr. Holiday then perhaps you should..."

  Skye held up her hand, cutting off her sister. "Oh no, I worked too hard making my point to do an about-face. Besides that, I don't think Connor would have me as a gift."

  Since her sister was a beautiful, and an often-sought-after companion, Maggie knew Skye must have made a horrible impression. "Then neither of us is going to have him."

  "You'll have to make a stand. Jay Mac and Rushton are still plotting."

  "How do you know that?"

  Skye shook her head in disbelief. "Maggie?" she asked impatiently. "How can you not know that?"

  * * *

  Rushton Holiday stubbed out his cigar. "Where do we go from here?"

  Jay Mac had long since finished his drink. He contemplated another one then decided against it. A clear head was called for. "Do you still want to sell the land?"

  "I've never wanted to sell it, but you know the market. I need the funds."

  Jay Mac nodded. He had been lucky to sell some stocks early, anticipating the most recent downturn by only days. "Rennie says the tract of land leading from the mountain ridge through the valley is all she needs."

  "It's the best grazing area. That's why Connor is so opposed. It cuts across the waterway and splits the property. Granted, it's a small strip when held against the entire acreage, but it's the most valuable—to your railroad and my son."

  "Rennie has found another route that would be acceptable."

  "Acceptable, but not ideal."

  "True, but if you weren't willing to sell I'd have to take what I could get."

  Rushton rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "We've done business before, Jay Mac. We've been fair and honest traders and I'd like to think I know you a little better than most of our colleagues. You're not certain you want the land any longer. I can hear it in your voice."

  "If you'll recall, Rush, I was never certain I wanted that strip. It was what Rennie wrote about Connor that intrigued me. She was impressed by his commitment to the land and more than a little impressed that the money she offered didn't turn his head. Connor thinks Rennie went to the deed office on her own, but I sent her there. I recalled you once saying something about property in Colorado; it seemed unlikely that the name Holiday was strictly coincidence.

  "I continue to be more interested in Connor as a husband for my Maggie than in the ranch. If he were to marry her I'd settle the deed on him and we would forget all about using any part of the ranch for the line."

  Rushton poured himself another drink. His jaw was set hard. A small furrow had appeared between his dark brows. "I'm not so desperate for money that I haven't thought all this through. I explained it all to Connor. He knew what was expected of him."

  "But he didn't agree right away."

  Rushton's mouth lifted in a half-smile, remembering. "No. He's my son, after all. Would you have respected him if he had?"

  Jay Mac knew that he would not have. "You never told me what changed his mind."

  "I suppose I didn't think it mattered." He tipped back a third of his drink. "After I talked to him he was angry. I think you can imagine how the interview went. You've seen how my son and I are together. There's no love lost between us." He shook his head, clearing it. "Afterward he went out and tied one on. He'd brought enough money east with him to stake himself in a poker game somewhere in the city. Don't ask me how he did it, but he swears he won an entire twelve thousand that evening."

  "He swears it? You've never seen the money?"

  "I've never seen it. He was feeling a little full of himself, or perhaps he was still angry, I don't really know. He went to a brothel. He says the woman he was with that night stole his money." Rushton watched Jay Mac carefully to see what reaction he had to the story. Jay Mac's expression was contemplative, not judgmental. "He agreed to meet your daughter later, after it was clear to him that his money wasn't going to turn up."

  "I see. Then he came here tonight feeling as if there was no other choice."

  "Very much so. You neglected to tell me the name of the daughter you had in mind for him. We've never done business on such a personal level before. I'm afraid I assumed you meant Schyler. I'm certain Connor must think the same."

  Jay Mac nodded wearily. Children should not be so difficult, he thought. "Before we agree to make this strictly a business transaction, let's see if we can't think of a way to bring Connor and Maggie together."

  * * *

  Beryl was finding Moira pleasant company, not as silly or frivolous as her youngest daughter. "Really," she said, laughing lightly over the rim of her coffee cup. "It's beyond me why anyone thought Rush's son and your daughter would be a good match. She's terribly young for him."

  Moira took no offense in the remark, although she found it interesting that Beryl Holiday would cast her stone in that direction. Moira didn't think she was too far off the mark by putting the difference in Beryl and her husband's age at two dozen years. She was certain Beryl was younger than Rushton's son. "I doubt either Jay Mac or Rushton thought it through," she said easily. "It's very much like Jay Mac to do so in personal matters, though I can't say about your husband."

  "And I don't think I can say about Rush. We've not been married all that long."

  "I'd forgotten, though you're obviously well suited. One would never suspect that it's been less than a year."

  "Just under eight months, actually."

  "Under eight months? Why that's quite hard to believe." Moira added a dollop of cream to her coffee. "How did you and Rushton meet?"

  Beryl realized the question was asked in all innocence but it still caught her off guard. "Didn't you know?" she asked in an attempt to recover her composure. "I thought everyone knew. I met Rushton when he came to visit Connor a year ago."

  Moira didn't understand why that would have caused Beryl the slightest discomfort, yet it was clear her guest was flustered by the question. "I'm sorry," Moira said. "Have I put my foot in it somehow?"

  "Oh no," Beryl said, forcing a smile. "I'm so used to people knowing... I just assumed..."

  "Dear, you don't have to explain yourself—I'm sure I don't need to know."

  "No, it's quite all right. You're bound to learn it, and it's nothing I'm ashamed of. You see, I was Connor's fiancée when I met Rushton."

  "I see," Moira said slowly. And she did see. A lot more than Beryl Holiday thought she had revealed.

  * * *

  "I don't want to hear any more, Skye," Maggie said. "You did wonderfully well and I'm envious and grateful, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't know what I can do." She ignored Skye's pouting lower lip. "I think I'll go to the library. I have more reading to do." She raised her book, which still held her index finger captive. "You're welcome to join me as long as you'll be quiet."

  "I don't think so. Jay Mac says you spend all your time in books and for once I'm inclined to agree with him."

  Maggie smiled. "Careful, Skye. I could use that against you." Her sister's musical laughter followed her into the hallway.

  Taking the back stairs to avoid the company, Maggie slipped into the library quietly. A feeling of calm overtook her almost immediately. The smell of the leather bound volumes, the stillness in the air, the expectancy of adventure and knowledge to be pried free of the pages—Maggie sensed it all. This was the room that signified home for her and she would miss it most of all.

  She found a bookmark and laid aside her reading on the table inside the door. The fire in the hearth was a welcome surprise. She had expected to have to light one herself. Intent on stoking the flames, M
aggie skirted the pair of large wing chairs facing the fireplace. She picked up the poker and tapped it against the marble apron. The voice that came from behind her caught her completely off guard.

  "I swear to God I should beat you with that."

  Chapter 4

  She was precisely as he remembered her. There was some small satisfaction in knowing that his memory hadn't betrayed him. There had been a whore, just as there had been twelve thousand dollars.

  He waited for surprise to give way to recognition as his dark eyes took her in. The fire behind her cast her delicate features in shadow and created a penumbra about her head, streaking her hair with gold and copper. She wore it pulled back, loosely caught with a grosgrain ribbon. He could see that her full mouth was parted, that her cat-green eyes were widened a fraction larger than usual. She gripped the poker like a weapon, holding it up near her shoulder to get a full swing.

  Her dress was plain navy blue, more for service than fashion. The high neckline was buttoned modestly to her throat, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and an apron tucked neatly about her waist. When she moved suddenly, intending to dart out of the way, he noticed that the toes of her shoes were scuffed. Whatever she had done with his money, it hadn't been spent on herself. Yet.

  He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of her skirt as she attempted to dash past him. Connor yanked her hard, sending her off balance. She dropped the poker harmlessly on the floor and came crashing over the arm of Connor's chair to land squarely in his lap.

  Maggie pushed at his chest but he held her fast, locking his arms about her waist and pinning her wrists with his hands. She quieted only when she recognized the futility of struggling, and Connor was patient enough and strong enough to wait her out.

  Summoning the threads of her dignity, Maggie said, "Please let me go, sir."

  "In time."

  Maggie frowned, turning her head to look at him fully. His voice was soft and rough and somehow dangerous. It was also vaguely familiar. She didn't understand how that could be. Uncertainty caused a shiver.

  He felt her tremor. "The fire's warm enough," he said. "I doubt you're cold. That leaves scared. Have I frightened you?"

  Though she didn't understand it, it seemed to Maggie that he would have been satisfied by her fear. She merely blinked at him.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "I... I came for a book."

  Connor gave her a little shake. "Don't be stupid."

  "I don't know what you mean." She pulled impatiently, trying to free her wrists. "Please let me go. You're hurting me."

  "I'm not," he said. "But I should. I should beat you within an inch of your life, and unless you answer my questions, I just might do it."

  "I'll scream."

  He laughed at her threat. "That's not the sort of thing you generally announce. You simply do it. Anyway, try it. See what happens."

  Maggie looked down at her captured hands. To stop her from screaming he would have to let her go. Hadn't he realized that?

  He had, of course. As soon as Maggie opened her mouth to scream, Connor jerked her lower in his lap and covered her mouth with his own. She was too surprised to clamp her teeth closed against his intrusion. His tongue pushed, his lips moved across hers. He deepened the kiss even when there was no response from her. He drew it out until he felt her sag against him, not submissive, merely resigned.

  Connor pulled back and studied her. Except for the swollen ripeness of her lips, her face was devoid of color. Her eyes were awash with unshed tears. Her breathing was shallow and light and where once he had thought she was only frightened, he now saw she was terrified. Connor released her completely and gave her a push off his lap.

  Maggie scrambled to her feet and out of Connor's reach. She stared at him mutely, her vision blurred by the tears that would not fall.

  "You're not going to faint, are you?" he asked.

  Was she? She didn't know. She'd never done it before. "I don't... I don't think so." Why was it so difficult to catch her breath? She could barely hear for the slamming of her own heart. "You're not going to do that again, are you?"

  "Are you going to try to scream?"

  She shook her head.

  "Well then, I won't do that again," he said roughly. He pointed to the wing chair at an angle beside him. She dropped in the seat like a stone. Connor nodded approvingly and yanked the chair closer, turning it so she was facing him directly. "Tell me what you're doing here. And not that nonsense about getting a book. I want to know what you're doing in this house."

  "I live here."

  "Do your employers know about your other profession?"

  "My employers?" Maggie's head began to pound. The ache behind her eyes was nearly blinding her. "You're confusing me. I don't think I want to—"

  "Where's my money?" Connor demanded tersely.

  Maggie bowed her head and began to rub her temples with trembling fingers. Tears finally slid over her pale cheeks.

  Connor was unmoved. "My money," he repeated harshly.

  Maggie looked at him helplessly. She started to get up, but he grabbed her by the wrists again and jerked her back into her chair.

  Leaning forward, Connor rested his forearms on his knees. His eyes were intent on hers, his features coldly set and unsympathetic. "You can call out for anyone you wish," he said, "but are you prepared for what I'm going to say when they get here?"

  She frowned. "What... what would you say?"

  "That you're a thief and a whore."

  Maggie sank back into the chair, revolted. "I think you're a horrible man, Mr. Holiday."

  Connor had a long way to go before he felt any shame for anything he'd done since Maggie entered the room. He actually smiled at her pathetic pronouncement about his character. "So you do know who I am."

  Maggie impatiently brushed away her tears. "Of course I know who you are. Everyone's been expecting you, and I saw you arrive earlier tonight. You didn't come in the carriage with your father and stepmother."

  His eyes narrowed, pinning her back with the force of his stare. "If you hope to avoid another nasty confrontation, then don't refer to my father's wife as my stepmother. Her name is Beryl."

  "All right."

  "You're very compliant," he said, watching her closely.

  "I don't know what else to do." There was a ball of nausea in the pit of her stomach. She folded her arms across her middle as if she could keep it in place. The back of her throat stung with rising bile that she forced back. "Are you going to hurt me?"

  "Not if I get my money."

  She felt tears creeping back into her eyes. She shook her head, biting on her lower lip. "I don't know about any money."

  "Liar."

  "I don't." She swiped at her eyes. "Please, I want to go upstairs now."

  Connor had no difficulty ignoring her plea. "I suppose you don't know about Mrs. Hall's house either."

  Maggie stared at him blankly.

  "And you never prostituted yourself there."

  She blanched.

  "You never spread your thighs for me, never crawled all over my body, never took me in your mouth, and never left with my bag filled with more money than you could make in four lifetimes."

  When Maggie stood this time, he didn't stop her. She held one hand over her mouth, certain she was going to be sick. It wasn't until darkness was upon her that she realized she was fainting.

  Connor caught her before her head hit the floor. She slumped against him, a dead weight in his arms as he lifted her. There was a chaise on the far side of the library and he took her there and laid her down. He tapped her cheeks lightly with the back of his fingers. She didn't stir and the only color in her face was the hue he forced there.

  Shaking his head, disgusted, Connor stepped into the hallway and strode toward the dining room. He poked his head in the door. Jay Mac and his father were still deep in discussion and didn't notice him until he had been standing there a full ten seconds.

  Jay Mac sa
w him first. "Connor, come in. I'm glad you've decided to join us. Your father and I were just—"

  Connor held up his hand, interrupting his host. "I need your assistance in the library. One of your hired help has fainted."

  Jay Mac was on his feet instantly. Rushton followed. Connor preceded them back to the library, ushering them in. He was closing the double doors and was unaware that Jay Mac had stopped in his tracks only a few feet inside the room.

  "I thought you said it was a servant," Jay Mac said, his eyes fixed on his daughter's pale face.

  Connor turned. "She is, isn't she?"

  Jay Mac shook his head and went to Maggie's side. "Rushton, will you find Mrs. Cavanaugh, our housekeeper? Ask her for smelling salts, but don't alarm her. She'll alert Moira, and there's no reason for that yet."

  Rushton left the library, a sinking feeling in his chest as to the identity of the unconscious girl. He gave his son a hard, accusing stare in passing.

  "What the hell happened?" Jay Mac demanded. He sat on the chaise at the level of his daughter's waist and took her hand in his, rubbing it. "Maggie's always been delicate but she's not prone to fainting."

  Maggie. Connor had wondered about her name. "I believe I frightened her, sir. She wasn't expecting to see me in the library." It was the truth as far as it went, and Connor had no qualms about saying it.

  "That doesn't sound like Maggie." He tapped her cheeks the same way Connor had earlier. "But then she hasn't been quite herself these past six weeks. I don't know what's been wrong." He was hardly aware he was speaking aloud. "She insists it's nothing, but I wonder."

  Connor stepped closer to the chaise. He could just make out Jay Mac's whispered and strained voice, and each word was another nail in his coffin.

  "A father can't help worrying."

  That last nail slammed home. Connor looked past Jay Mac's shoulder to Maggie's composed and still features. His thief, his whore, was the daughter of John MacKenzie Worth.

  Rushton appeared at that moment with the smelling salts. Connor took them from his father and knelt beside the chaise. He took the stopper from the ammonium salts and waved it slowly beneath Maggie's nose. She responded almost immediately, wrinkling her nose and trying to get away from the sharp, pungent odor. Connor pulled back his hand and waited. Her long lashes fluttered and when she saw Connor leaning over her she said the first thing that came to her fuzzy mind: "I don't need a doctor."