“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