And he most certainly would have no interest in the daughter of the man he believed stole his homestead. She had no attributes to attract a man like him.
Still, she barely suppressed a heady anticipation as she thought about seeing him again.
Chapter Seven
SETH ARRIVED AT his old home about noon to ?nd only Elizabeth McGuire and his sister at home. He had expected her father to be home after the mishap yesterday. He wore his gun, though he’d hoped after the war that he would never have to use it again.
Elizabeth opened the door, her face puckered in an uncertain frown. It caught him by surprise, confusing him. His heart kicked and his stomach clenched. She had always been so certain in previous encounters, even after being attacked yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as his gaze shot beyond her shoulder to the interior of the house. “Marilee?”
“She’s ?ne. I thought…” She shook her head and opened the door for him.
He entered, looking around for his sister. “Thought what?” he probed, even as his gaze continued to search for Marilee. “Where is she?”
“She’s… reluctant to see you. I thought perhaps a picnic would help. Marilee loves picnics. I…well…I prepared a few things. Not much. If you don’t want…”
A picnic, by God. The last one was the day before he’d left for war. The church had hosted a picnic to say goodbye to those going off to ?ght.
They’d all thought they would be back before year’s end.
It wasn’t nearly ?ve years ago. It was a lifetime.
Elizabeth McGuire continued to watch him with an uncertain expression. She obviously expected him to turn her down.
A picnic with his sister-and Miss McGuire-suddenly sounded very good. “Thank you,” he said simply, humbled suddenly by her attempt.
He glanced at a basket that was sitting on a table just inside.
“Where’s your father?”
“He and Howie are looking for strays. We’ve been losing cattle.”
“Does he know I’m back?”
“Why should he care?” The lie was in her eyes. She had not told him. She had probably even encouraged him to leave today. She had guessed far more than he’d realized. He had been in the mood to confront McGuire if he had tried to keep him from his sister.
Her gaze met his. Damn but her eyes were pretty. Appealing in their uncertainty. He had learned she was not an uncertain woman. Something intense ?ared through him. A combination of desire and attraction.
Hell, she was the last woman in the world that should arouse such a reaction.
“I’ll hitch the buggy,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her.
Moments later, Elizabeth McGuire emerged from the house, one hand holding Marilee’s, the other holding the basket and a blanket.
He took the basket and blanket from her, placed them in the buggy, and went to swing Marilee into the buggy.
Instead, she shied away. At least, he comforted himself, she didn’t run from him in terror.
He steeled himself against the hurt and moved away. He’d already decided to ride Chance. Now he knew it was a good decision.
Elizabeth helped Marilee into the buggy. Then Elizabeth accepted his hand in stepping up. A pair of very shapely legs showed as her dress hitched up. Her hand felt warm in his.
Warm, hell! It was burning.
He stepped away as if burned. She looked just as startled.
He mounted Chance and followed her as she drove to a spot along the river. The water was down now, barely more than a stream, but it was shaded by cottonwoods and spotted by wild?owers.
He knew every foot of this bank. He and his brothers used to swim here when it was swollen, and ?shed when it carried only a trickle of water. For a moment, those scenes ?ashed back. He saw Dillon teasing the twins, daring them to swim across. They tried, and he had to jump in and keep them from being carried downstream. He had given them only a few more years.
He dismounted and hobbled Chance. This time he didn’t try to help either Marilee or Elizabeth McGuire down. He’d realized he couldn’t force himself on Marilee. He might lose her forever if he tried.
Instead, he stood aside until they were both down, then he reached in the buggy and picked up the picnic basket and blanket. He found a spot under a cottonwood and spread the blanket on the ground.
Still, Marilee looked at him suspiciously.
He knelt in front of her, so his eyes could meet hers. He did not want to be a giant. “I’m Dillon’s brother, you know,” he said.
Marilee looked at him with wide eyes. “Dillon went away.”
He wanted to say he had seen Dillon, but he couldn’t. Not in front of the woman.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I’m here. I used to hold you when you were a baby. I used to sing you songs.”
Marilee backed into Elizabeth McGuire but her gaze didn’t leave his.
Progress.
“What songs?” she ?nally asked.
He hummed a lullaby he used to sing to her, then voiced the words, feeling them strangling in his throat. He had loved music. His entire family had. How many nights had they sat together, he and his father playing their guitars, his brother a harmonica. He hadn’t seen that guitar in almost ?ve years. It was something else still at the home which had been his family’s.
He ?nished the song, a French lullaby his mother had taught him.
“Dillon used to sing that to me,” Marilee said slowly. Though her body still leaned into Elizabeth’s, some of the reserve had left her expression.
He looked up at Elizabeth and saw tears hovering in her eyes.
Those eyes were so clear, so damnably honest.
The tears weren’t there for herself. Certainly not for him. They were there for his sister.
He sat down on the blanket. “Your mother used to sing it to Dillon and me,” he said. “She died not long after you were born.”
“Where are my other brothers? Papa said there were four.”
“Two died. They are in…heaven.” He didn’t really believe in heaven. Not after visiting hell on earth. “But they loved you. And they are looking after you.”
“Why didn’t they look after Papa?”
“I don’t know, sweetpea. Maybe it happened before they could do anything.”
She looked at him with skepticism, even as she kept as close to Elizabeth as a shadow. “Dillon called me sweetpea,” she said.
“We all did,” he said gently. “We all loved you.”
A rustling sound came from the trees beyond. He spun around, rising to his feet in one fast movement, his hand going automatically to the gun in its holster.
He heard a child’s scream behind him.
But he couldn’t holster the gun. Dillon had warned him. Delaney’s men were not above an ambush. They had not been above frightening-perhaps killing-a woman by making her horse bolt.
No one was going to harm one of his again. No one!
“Mr. Sinclair?”
Elizabeth’s soft voice was full of questions. He hadn’t realized how soft it was.
“I heard a noise,” he said as his gaze moved around the brush and trees. He heard another sound, this time
