Running Wild

by Denise Eagan

  “You’ll miss the train, Star,” Mother said. As if on cue, the train whistle cut shrilly through the dull winter air, and the conductor walked past them calling, “All aboard!”

  How, oh how could Nicholas be satisfied leaving her with a short, public goodbye? After all they had shared, he must have something personal to say, mustn’t he?

  In the end, though, they’d actually shared very little.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she marked Mother’s wary expression. She didn’t approve of Star’s attentions to Nicholas, but had yet to reproach Star. “She has five more minutes, Morgan,” Father said, firmly grasping Mother’s arm and guiding her down the platform. As they walked, he whispered something in her ear, and Mother’s answering chuckle floated back to Star.

  Star focused on Nicholas again. The tightness in her chest and burning in her eyes threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Your Ma’s right,” Nicholas advised in a low, harsh voice. “You don’t want to miss the train.”

  Not a personal farewell or even a cheerful bon voyage. More like Good riddance, ma’am, glad you’re leaving. Essentially the same response as when she’d offered herself as his lover. Contrary to the words, though, his throat worked, as if trying to dislodge a lump.

  She held out a gloved hand. “It’s been a pleasure and an experience, Nicholas,” she said, trying to keep her sentiments from her voice. A wasted effort, for it emerged high and pained, and she blinked several times to force back tears.

  He regarded her hand as if it was a snake waiting to spring. Then he drew a deep breath, took it, and reached for the other as well. Even through the leather of his gloves and the cloth of her grey gloves, she could feel his heat. Thrills flew across her skin, warming her against the winter chill, while simultaneously every fiber in her being wailed, mourning the loss of that remarkable touch. For a short spell, he stared down at her hands, a muscle jumping in his cheek. When he raised his head to hold her gaze, she found longing in those beautiful eyes. Her heart leapt, then started to flutter. That emotion was far too deep to be sudden. He’d hidden it from her.

  “Yes, ma’am, it has been a pleasure and an experience, and an honor too. You are. . .” He swallowed, while a wry smile twitched on his lips. “One of a kind, and that’s a fact.”

  She tilted her head, instinctually resorting to flirtation to ease the heaviness falling over them. “One of a kind? You know, I am not at all certain that’s a compliment. And really Nicholas, you ought to know better than to insult a woman as she is leaving you.”

  He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and then dropped them. “It’s a compliment. Seen some things in my life, ma’am, but never anybody like you. Not too many people can surprise me.”

  “Then you must come East as Mother requested, for I assure you we are near to bursting with surprising women like me!”

  Smiling, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his black leather duster and shook his head. “Not hardly likely. Reckon the Northeast couldn’t take more than one Star Montgomery. I’m gonna miss you.”

  A sob rose in her throat, and she swiped at a wayward tear as her composure began to crumble. Oh, but she couldn’t leave! This was far more painful than any unrequited emotion. “I’ll—” Her voice cracked. “I’ll write.”

  He sucked in his breath. “I’ll answer,” he replied in a low, harsh voice.

  A kiss, a hug, anything!

  The train’s whistle blew and the conductor yelled “Last call!” He turned to her. “That means you too, ma’am,” he said kindly.

  “Thank you,” she answered. She looked back at Nicholas. “I must go.”

  He nodded. “Take care of yourself.” Something dark flickered in his eyes. He frowned. “And if that Romeo hombre keeps at you . . . . Well you just watch out for him, you hear? Talk to your Pa, he’ll handle him.”

  “Romeo’s merely an admirer. Nothing to—”

  “Just do it,” he said. “Now go on.” He nodded to the train. “Quick, the conductor’s climbing aboard.”

  The conductor was, in fact, extending his hand to her as the train started to move. No more time—she ran and climbed the steps. On the top step, she turned to wave one last time, but Nicholas was already gone.

  ***

  Nick reviewed the letter spread across the polished surface of his desk. Ward’s careful handwriting, once again requesting that Nick and the family come East for an extended visit. It was, Ward wrote reasonably, the least they could do after Nick had so obligingly offered them his hospitality and saved Lee’s life. An exaggeration that, but Nick understood that a man needed to pay his debts, especially a man like Ward.

  Nick sighed and, running a hand through his hair, leaned back in his chair. For all that, he’d rejected the idea several times over the last few months. He’d never been wild about travel, and when Melinda had announced that she was in the family way it’d pretty much put the kibosh on travel plans. It’d been a brutally cold winter, too, killing who knew how many head of cattle. Granted, matters were a helluva lot worse in Kansas after the January blizzards, but all of cattle country had suffered. It looked like prices might take a dive, too, crowding the mourners. No, he’d explained to Ward, he couldn’t leave all of that on Jim’s doorstep, even though Ward knew full well that Nick didn’t have much to lose. A few years back Lilah had predicted the drop in cattle prices, and both he and Rick had been cutting back on their stock. Ward never pointed that out, though, just kept repeating his request with the greatest civility. And Nick kept denying him, with equal civility.

  Lately, though, Nick had started reevaluating his decision. Lately the quiet peaceful life he’d spent so many years fighting for had felt dull. And his books, which had taken him all over the world, seemed flat. Literally. His mind had been everywhere; his body hadn’t followed. He could picture the ocean’s rolling waves clearly, but he’d never heard it, smelled it, touched it or tasted it. Reading and experiencing, he acknowledged grudgingly, were entirely different things.

  His eyes drifted to the books and magazines at the corner of his desk, sent by Star. Could she be the cause for his change of heart? If he were contemplating touring the East without seeing her, would he still want to do it?

  The answer came quickly. Yes.

  And just as quickly. No. Not as much. What good was knowledge without somebody to share it with?

  It’d been enough before. Nick had long ago accepted that people out West would never much credit book-learning. It sure wasn’t the kind of thing a man talked about over beer on a Saturday night. Nick loved reading and learning; one of the first things he’d ever learned was to keep that love to himself.

  Until Star had come along. That woman kept nothing to herself and demanded his knowledge and opinion as well. Before her, he’d never much talked to women because they’d never much interested him. With Star, though, conversation flowed like a mountain stream, sometimes in rushes of enthusiasm and discovery, like when the spring was swollen by melting snows, and sometimes easy and comfortable, like on a lazy summer day. She was never at a loss for words, always had something to stir his interest or tug at his funny bone. In talking with Star, he discovered bits of wit, wisdom and silliness in himself that he’d never known existed.

  He focused again on the reading material she’d sent him: The Bostonians by Henry James, a serial in The Century Magazine, and the latest book by Robert Lewis Stevenson, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The latter, she said, was for “light” reading, to balance out his Platonic studies. He’d finished the book in two days, but he wouldn’t call it light, more a study in the different sides of human nature. Smiling, he reached for one of the magazines and opened to the front page where she’d scrawled a note. “I cannot own to liking the ending, or James’s caricature of my fellow reformers, but it is certainly worth the read.” Smiling, he ran his fingers over the words. Over the months, he’d begun looking forward to her letters and packages almost to the point of obsession. Every word brighten
ed his day. Her personality came through in her writing—strong, bold, and marbled with her irrepressible humor.

  He missed her.

  He missed Ward, too, whose letters touched Nick in a different way altogether, and brought a different kind of longing, an ache for a long-lost fatherly bond. He wanted to go to Boston for Star, but also for Ward and Morgan and Lee and Jess, and even Port.

  A rapping on the door rang out and Melinda entered, carrying a tray. “I brought you some coffee and cake, Nick.”

  As usual, Nick’s heart warmed at the sight of his sister-in-law. True, most days her chatter drove him into his library, but she made Jim the best of wives and happy as a lark to boot. For almost ten years she’d cared for Nick, too, without a thought of complaint, never mind any actual words. “Sure, Mel. What kind of cake?”

  “Pound cake,” she said, laying the tray on the edge of his desk.

  As he made room for the tray, his stomach took a joyous leap. Melinda made the best pound cake this side o’ the divide, from a recipe passed to her by their former cook, Barbara. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. She handed him a cup of java, stomach-burning strong, mixed with plenty of cream and sugar. Most of the time he took it black as sin, like a man and rancher ought to. Melinda, though, knew how he really liked it—sweet and creamy. It was their secret.

  “My monthly quilting club came this morning,” she said. “Is that a letter from Ward?”

  “Yup,” he said. He took a bite of cake. The first taste was all sugar, which slowly melted into butter, coating his tongue. Nothing better in the world, except to chase it with coffee. He sighed in pure gastronomic delight. “It’s like pieces of heaven, Mel. Barbara couldn’t have done better.”

  “Why thank you, Nick! That what she said at the meeting today. I didn’t tell her I’ve added a little something special to the recipe.”

  Another miraculous bite, and he closed his eyes to savor the moment. When it melted away, he focused on her again. “Marvelous. How’s Barbara?”

  “Her joints still pain her, but Lilah’s remedy helps enough so that she gets around. What does Ward have to say?” Her hand rested lightly on the desk as she looked at him with bright, curious eyes.

  “Same ol’ thing. Askin’ me to come visit.”

  “And your answer will be the same old thing too, I expect.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t feel right leavin’ with you in the family way.”

  She patted her belly and smiled down at it gently. “It’s still early, Nick. At any rate, Jim and I can handle it just fine. I’ve delivered three babies with no difficulty.”

  “True. But there’s the ranch to run and it’s been a miserable winter. Doesn’t seem fair leaving Jim to manage that load too, with cattle prices dropping and—”

  “Nicholas McGraw,” Melinda interrupted, her tone turning severe. “Jim has been working this ranch since he was fifteen. He’s more than capable of running it without you. Besides, you know full well that should every last cow die tomorrow, we’d all have more than enough money to live comfortably from now ‘til doomsday.”

  “Ok,” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Maybe I oughta study on it some?”

  Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly. “You surely could put some thought into it.” And then, because over the years she’d learned a mite of caution with her nagging, she turned to leave the room. He couldn’t miss the lightness in her step, though. She’d been “encouraging” him to go for months.

  “Mel?” he asked as she reached the door.

  Her hand on the knob, she looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “All that etiquette stuff. The table settings, and which wine to drink, and what to do with calling cards, and what to wear to balls and teas and such. I don’t know a damned thing about it. I’d most likely make a pure fool outta myself.”

  She dropped her hand and leaned against the door. “Well I did spend three years in finishing school back East. I have several books on etiquette for the girls as well.”

  “Think you could teach me, then?”

  She beamed at him. “I know I could. Your manners are already very good, Nick. It’s a matter of refinement, that’s all.”

  Refinement. Sure. He rubbed his neck, and grimaced. “And the clothes, too.”

  “We’ll take a trip to Denver. We found some very fine tailors when we were planning Lee’s wedding. Even Port agreed that he could find no better in New York.”

  “If Port liked ’em, they’ll cost me a pretty penny.”

  “You can afford it.”

  He could. Hell, with Lilah’s advice investing in the stock market, they could all afford it a couple hundred times over. “O.K. O.K., we’ll do it,” he said, and even while his stomach clenched in anxiety, his heart jumped and his blood started to sing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

  Sextus Propertius, Elegies

  Ten minutes outside of Boston, Nick finally gave up trying to finish The Bostonians. His heart had started acting strangely just east of Syracuse. He’d dismissed it until the porter announced that they’d crossed the Massachusetts border. Since then he’d read the same five paragraphs ten times over because thoughts of Star kept distracting him. Not recollections of her letters, but of those weeks she’d spent at the Bar M. Of her smile, her laugh, her scent. Her kiss. Especially her kiss.

  Damn.

  He’d thought he’d permanently demolished those memories. Pulled them out, stuck them on a target and shot them to hell with his Winchester. But an hour out of Boston the memory of her kiss whispered in his ear like a ghost.

  Ten minutes out of Boston it was completely resurrected.

  He remembered the feel of her lips on his, remembered drinking in her sweet, spicy taste. His body responded to both as it had months ago, with a deep, pants-tightening hunger. From a kiss, for the love of God. Just a kiss.

  One helluva kiss.

  He hadn’t thought about kissing for years. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last woman he’d kissed before Star. Not Eva or May for sure. He went to them for a lot more than kissing; he paid ’em—and well—to get straight to the good parts. After Star’d left, though, he’d thought maybe he’d been missing something, maybe he should try kissing. But he’d been wrong about that. Kissing Eva and May was nothing like kissing Star. It lacked excitement, thrills, heat. The tonic of anticipation? He wasn’t sure, but after a couple times he’d given up. Gone home, taken Star’s kiss out of his memory and shot it to hell. Cool clear mind, once more.

  Until he was an hour out of Boston.

  He’d been a fool. He’d persuaded himself that his interest in Star surrounded her lightning-quick brain and frothy wit. The truth was, his interest went a whole helluva lot deeper than that. He didn’t want to just talk to her. He want to kiss her again, and follow that up with everything she’d asked for but he’d denied, because a man didn’t fool with his friend’s daughter. ’Specially not when she was sleeping under his roof.

  Or the man was sleeping under his friend’s roof either, like he’d be doing these next weeks.

  The train came to a squeaking halt and Nick took a deep breath. Time to face the music.

  A short time later, he stepped onto the platform and peered through the crowd of passengers, moving in a myriad of directions, all looking like they knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t know what to do next. He’d taken the time to send a telegram from Syracuse, but who knew if the Montgomerys had received it. Would they meet him, or should he find his own way to their house? He had the address, but how a man got around a city as big as Boston, he’d no notion. Walk? Hire a hansom cab? He didn’t―

  The crowd parted suddenly and there she was. The world went silent as she walked toward him with that floating grace he recollected so well, as if her feet never touched the ground. She smiled and his heart stopped. She was perfect. Perfectly beautiful, with that lush body, those brandy-
gold eyes, that bright smile. He’d traveled a thousand miles, sitting stiff and unbending for hours on end, wondering why in hell he was doing this. Then Star smiled and just like that, it was all worth it.

  Halting in front of him, she extended her hand. “Nicholas! How splendid to see you again.” Her voice was the same too, deep yet feminine, cultured and worldly but laced with singsong merriment. Lord almighty, how he loved that voice.

  “Nicholas. You look wonderful.” Morgan Montgomery’s voice.

  His heart started again as he turned to look at her. The noise of the depot rushed at him. Sonuvabitch, what was wrong with him? Star was just a woman, he reminded himself, clutching at the reins of reason. A woman who liked playing games, too, and months of letters didn’t change that fact. He hadn’t come a thousand miles to be some cat’s mouse, even if that cat was the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d come as her friend. He’d for come Ward and Morgan too, who reminded him so much of his parents sometimes it hurt, and for Lee and Jess and Port, and for experience, and because even after a winter of crippling cold, he had more money than he knew what to do with.

  “How was your trip?” Morgan asked. “I daresay the trains run so well these days that sometimes traveling is truly enjoyable! Oh, here’s Gus. Gus, can you take Mr. McGraw’s bag there? Do you have a trunk as well?”

  “Yes, ma’am, two, in the baggage car,” he said. “Sure is good to see you again. And you too, Miz Montgomery,” he said tipping his hat.

  She lifted one delicately arched eyebrow. Her eyes gleamed with that familiar carnal promise, grabbing him down below. “Is it really? I see your manners haven’t improved any. I’ve requested several times, Nicholas, that you address me as Star. I shall look the perfect fool in front of all my friends if you don’t. They’ll no doubt accuse me of putting on airs.”