Julie Garwood - For the Roses

He'd been too young when he'd last seen Lady Agatha to remember significant details now about her physical appearance. He had been only ten when she and her husband left for America to attend the grand opening of their plant near New York City. He remembered foolish little-boy things about her, such as the wonderful way she smelled, like flowers after the rain, and the way she smiled at him, with such love and kindness in her eyes. He remembered the warmth and tenderness of her hug, but all of those memories, treasured though they were by a boy who had lost his own mother, weren't going to help him.

He had never seen Lady Agatha again. After her return to London, she'd stayed in her bedchamber day and night, clothed in black, he'd been told, and closeted away in darkness while she mourned the disappearance of her four-month-old daughter.

Was the woman walking toward him Lady Victoria? God help him, he didn't know.

His mind frantically sought for a way to find the truth. Then he remembered what Dooley and the other men had told him about Mary Rose Clayborne. She was the champion of the weak. Hadn't Dooley also told him that she drove her brothers crazy because she was constantly dragging misfits home with her? Harrison suddenly had a new plan.

He was no longer going to be the meanest son-of-a-bitch who ever hit town. That charade had gotten him the information he needed and acceptance by the men in the saloon. The pretense wouldn't work now, at least not with Mary Rose Clayborne. She liked odd ducks, and so he decided to become just that. He was going to be a bumbling, naive city boy who didn't have enough common sense to stay alive. He only hoped he could pull the deception off.

Mary Rose Clayborne noticed the stranger almost immediately. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was leaning against the ledge of Morrison's window. He was a giant of a man, impossible, really, not to notice, with dark brown hair and wonderfully expressive gray eyes. He was handsome, she supposed, in a rugged, outdoors way, but appearances weren't important to her. He certainly looked unhappy to her. Honest to heaven, he looked pale enough to make her think he'd seen something very distressing.

Like a ghost, she thought to herself. She smiled then, because it was such a silly notion. Only Ghost ever saw spirits from the other world, and only after he'd dipped into his homemade brew that guaranteed visions. A ghost, indeed.

Still, she wished he didn't look so unhappy. She decided to introduce herself to him. Perhaps he would tell her what was worrying him. She might be able to help.

Just as quickly as the idea to meet him came to her, she decided against it, because she'd finally noticed he was wearing one of those fancy gunbelts around his hips. A six-shooter was neatly tucked into the holster. Mary Rose realized the stranger could very well be just another gunfighter in town for the sole purpose of antagonizing her brother into a gunfight, and, by God, if that was the case, she wasn't about to be gracious or helpful. Why, she might even shoot him herself.

She knew she was jumping to conclusions. She decided her best course of action was to ignore him. She reached the entrance and tried to open the door for her brother. Cole was right behind her, but his hands were occupied holding the sack on his shoulder.

Harrison quickly moved to block her exit. He leaned against the door and waited for her to look up at him.

She took her sweet time.

"I wouldn't go outside just yet, ma'am."

"You wouldn't?"

He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't."

She stared stupidly up at his face. He finally smiled. She almost smiled back. She stopped herself in time. She stood only a foot away from him and, therefore, had to tilt her head all the way back so she could get a close-up look at his eyes. There was a definite sparkle there, she noticed. She couldn't imagine what he found so amusing. His color was back as well, and he smelled quite nice to her. Like the outdoors and leather, she decided, and because his skin was so bronzed, she knew he spent a good deal of time in the sun.

Mary Rose shook herself out of her stupor. "Why don't I want to go outside?" she asked.

Harrison knew he was going to have to quit staring at her so he could answer her question. God, she was pretty. He noticed her scent, so light and faint, very like the scent her mother used to wear, and, hell, he knew he was behaving like a schoolboy, but he couldn't make himself stop. He couldn't stop smiling down at her either, because she was so damned lovely, of course, but also because it was both possible and impossible for her to be Elliott's daughter.

Reality was quick to bring him back to the present.

"Open the door, Mary Rose," Yellow Hair ordered. He was staring at Harrison when he muttered the impatient command.

"This gentleman doesn't want us to leave just yet," she answered. She turned to her brother and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know why."

Cole glared at Harrison. His tone was scathing when he said, "Look, mister, there are easier ways of getting an introduction. If you want to meet my sister, wait until I unload this. Then maybe I'll let you talk to her."

Mary Rose couldn't let the stranger be misled. "He won't let you talk to me though," she explained. "My brother never lets me talk to strangers. My name's Mary Rose Clayborne. And who are you, pray tell?"

"Harrison Stanford MacDonald."

She nodded. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. MacDonald. May I go outside now?"

"I'd like to talk to your brother first," he said.

She backed up a space and stepped on her brother's foot. "Are you a gunfighter?"

She made the question sound like an accusation. She didn't give him time to answer, having obviously concluded that he was. She frowned up at him and shook her head.

"You can just forget about getting my brother into a draw. He isn't at all interested. I suggest you leave Blue Belle, sir. You aren't welcome here."

"For God's sake, Mary Rose. I can talk for myself. You a gunfighter, mister?"

Harrison shook his head. He was thoroughly bewildered by the turn in the conversation. "No," he answered. "I'm not a gunfighter." He turned back to Mary Rose. "Exactly what is it you think I'm here to draw?"

Her eyes widened. "Cole, he doesn't know what a draw is. Where are you from, Mr. MacDonald?"

" Scotland."

She frowned over his answer. "Why are you in Blue Belle?"

"I'm looking for a place to settle down."

"Then you aren't here to fight my brother?"

She stopped frowning at him, but her voice was still filled with suspicion. It was apparent she wasn't completely convinced.

He decided to answer her question with one of his own. "Why would I want to do that, ma'am. I don't even know your brother."

She let out a happy sigh. "Well, then," she whispered. She brushed her hair back over her shoulder, in an action he found utterly feminine, and smiled sweetly up at him.

"I didn't think you were a gunfighter, but I couldn't be absolutely certain. When I think…"

Cole wouldn't let her finish the complaint she was about to make. "For God's sake, Mary Rose. Open the door."

"But I haven't introduced you to Mr. MacDonald yet," she protested.

"I don't need to meet him," Cole muttered. " Douglas is waiting out front with the wagon. Just open the door."

Mary Rose didn't seem to be at all affected by her brother's surly tone of voice. She continued to smile up at Harrison and acted as if she had all the time in the world to talk to him. "My brother's name is Cole Clayborne. He has a middle name, but he's sensitive about it, and he'd kill me if I told you what it was. Cole, I'd like you to meet Mr. Harrison…"

"Mary Rose, I swear to God I'm gonna drop this heavy sack of flour right on top of your head."