A Promise of Roses by Heidi Betts Page A

swing shut."
    In silent, helpless mirth, Lucas slapped a hand on the table, causing the silverware to jump and jingle.
    Megan sat back, crossing her arms in front of her chest in vexation. What had come over him? She didn't find a brain disorder at all humorous.
    When his booming guffaws subsided to hiccuping chuckles, Megan focused once again on her meal. The outside of the thick steak looked burned, but the inside was pink and tender. She popped a bite into her mouth and stoically ignored the arrogant man sitting across from her, chuckling now and again.
    Long minutes passed, and they had all but cleared their plates before he said, “Always."
    She raised her eyes and stared at him. “Excuse me?"
    "Annie always wore dresses,” he clarified.
    "Oh.” Megan had almost forgotten that she'd asked. “She must have been a real lady."
    "She was. I don't remember her ever looking mussed or tired. Even after a full day of backbreaking work."
    Megan's fingers tightened around her fork. She didn't know why it should matter, but she suddenly felt like a scruffy waif overshadowed by the beautiful, always proper Annie McCain. Then a stab of guilt hit her midgut . Good God, how could she possibly feel inadequate compared to a dead woman?
    But then, Annie had evidently been so wonderful. Beautiful, gracious, soft-spoken, kind. She'd won Lucas's heart and borne him a son. Megan had thus far called him every vile name she could think of and slowed him down in his race for vengeance. Oh, yes, comparisons were called for. And clearly, compared to Megan, Annie McCain was like a sparkling new yellow-fringed surrey parked next to a pile of horse manure.
    Megan waved a hand in front of her face, suffering the sudden, overwhelming sense that flies were buzzing around her head.
    "It's too bad you're stuck with me,” she said, a hint of bitterness entering her tone. “I'm sure you'd rather pass the time with a lady."
    "And you aren't?"
    "Do I look like a lady to you?"
    "That depends. If I were to judge by your clothes, I'd have to say that the outfit you're wearing is plenty pretty. The skirt brings out the red in your hair and the sparkle in your eyes. But then, it is a mite less extravagant than what most ‘ladies’ would wear. And your trousers—no lady would be seen in them."
    "There you have it,” Megan said grimly, draining her goblet of wine.
    "Of course,” Lucas continued, “anyone with an ounce of sense would know you're a lady just by the way you carry yourself."
    His words caught her attention. She glanced up. His eyes shone like sapphires, deep and fathomless.
    "Your spine is always ramrod straight. Even now, with one leg tucked underneath you, you're not touching the back of the chair. You hold your head high and look people in the eye when you address them—whether it's with polite words or foul names."
    She had the courtesy to blush at the mention of her rude language.
    "And I happen to know you were brought up to be the most proper of ladies, living in New York City until you were sixteen."
    "How do you know so much about me?"
    "Brandt Donovan filled me in. I don't like surprises.” He waited a moment, then continued. “Maybe it's the West that tarnished your image a bit. Made you thicken your skin to protect yourself. Wearing trousers ensures that you're taken seriously as owner and operator of the Adams Express. I'll bet it also protects you from the attentions of certain men."
    "What men would those be?” she asked sardonically.
    "The ones who would be pounding down your door if they ever saw you cinched up in a proper gown."
    " Hmph ."
    "You don't believe me?"
    "No one's come knocking at my door for some time now."
    "How about Evan and the boys?"
    "I told you that was all a lie. I made it up to convince you that the idea of me being involved in the robberies was ridiculous. Unfortunately, it failed."
    "Miserably"
    "Yes."
    "So tell me about the men in your life. Other than ‘the boys’ that is."
    "No."
    "No?"
    She