Free McCrory's Lady by Shirl Henke Henke Page A

and Bart moved around each other like a pair of stallions ready to fight for a herd of mares. Only Wolf seemed to be taking the evening in stride, watching the interplay across the dinner table with detached amusement. Occasionally, Maggie did notice his black eyes linger on Eden; but as soon as the girl looked his way, he feigned disinterest.
           Maggie had debated about including him in the invitation, knowing how Eden must feel about any renegade gunman, even her rescuer. But Maggie liked the quiet younger man whose past, like her own, hid a great deal of pain. He had learned impeccable table manners—or had some inbred ability to observe what others did and follow suit with practiced ease.
           Maggie had warned Bart not to say anything around Eden regarding the marriage plans. He had already exhausted the conversation with a series of amusing anecdotes about his boyhood foibles in England and travels abroad. “So, you're a cattleman, Mr. McCrory.”
           “A stockman. I run cattle and breed horses.” Colin volunteered nothing else.
           Bart turned to Wolf. “And you, my young friend, will you be working for Mr. McCrory now that this dangerous assignment is complete?”
           “I've hired on for the timber mills,” Wolf replied, no more forthcoming than Colin had been.
           “Lumbering, too. What else does your father dabble in, Miss McCrory?”
           His guileless smile and English charm had taken Eden's mind off her misery for a bit—and also provided a distraction from the disturbing presence of Wolf Blake. She was grateful. “Father has some mining interests. He owns a stage line and he's backing the railroad coming into Arizona Territory,” she replied.
           Maggie was stunned at the extent of his wealth. She had believed he was just an ordinary rancher, perhaps prosperous; but she had never imagined he was filthy rich. She could feel Colin's whiskey eyes boring into her. He probably thinks I'm a fortune hunter now.
           Fletcher's hand stroked his beard as he, too, looked at Maggie. “Well, Megs, did you have any inkling our guest was so well fixed?”
           Her eyes flashed a warning, almost a plea; then she lowered them. “No, I didn't.”
           “Well, all things considered, we haven't done badly ourselves. I don't know how I managed before you came along, love.”
           “You've always managed, Bart. You always will,” she replied quietly.
           “This is excellent Riesling,” Colin interjected, holding up his stemmed glass to catch the golden reflection of the wine in the light. “The other night Miss Worthington served me fresh oysters and champagne. Your own business is obviously highly profitable.”
           Colin's eyes met Fletcher's, but he was aware of Maggie's reaction to his implications. He gathered she had told Fletcher she was leaving him. The man was certainly acting the part of a jilted lover.
           “I imagine you'll miss Maggie a great deal, Mr. Fletcher, since she's traveling to Tucson with us. I know I'll be ever so grateful for her company,” Eden said, pointedly ignoring the two men's veiled comments about Maggie's most unrespectable past.
           Colin swore to himself. Damned if he wanted his daughter knowing about the sordid marriage agreement he had with Maggie Worthington. He must buy her off—the sooner the better. Eden was growing altogether too attached to the madam. He didn't want them spending two weeks on the trail together.
           “I'll have a modest nest egg coming to me...when I leave here,” Maggie replied, raising her wineglass. “Here's to new beginnings in Arizona Territory.”
           Everyone joined the toast, but Colin hesitated, watching Bart touch Maggie's glass with his own and seeing the intimacy between them occasioned by years of living and working together. Finally, when everyone else had