"If I were in London tonight..." he replied slowly, "I'd be at the theater in the West End, or the symphony or opera. Or I might be dining in the home of a titled family, followed by a grand ball...."
Her eyes were wide, sparkling like sapphires. "Truly? But if that's so, why did you come here? We don't even have a phonograph, let alone the sort of entertainment you're used to."
"I'd really rather not discuss this—"
"Are you in disgrace?" Bracing her hand on the trunk, Shelby leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Were you forced to flee to America to lie low until a shocking scandal dies down?"
A lazy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but—no, I came to Wyoming by choice. I don't expect you to understand, but I found those pastimes in London to be excruciatingly boring."
She studied him as he spoke, taking in his profile, etched in the glow of the lamplight, and the keen intelligence in his brown eyes. He was every inch a person of breeding, of quality: it was apparent without hearing his cultured accent and speech. Yet, Geoffrey Weston was acquiring a harder edge. Stubble glinted on his jaw, and his hair was tousled, curling behind his ears and over the collar of his tan flannel shirt. But though he might be toughening into a cowboy, he clung to certain civilized habits, like the washing up he'd done before supper tonight.
Shelby found herself powerfully drawn to this man who was determined to follow his own star, even if it meant straddling two worlds.
"Why shouldn't I believe you?" she said at last. "I may like culture, and I miss the books and art and music and drama sometimes out here—but I don't like pretension, and that's what your life in London sounds like. I'd be bored stiff with all that posturing, too!"
Geoff could scarcely believe his ears. He almost reached for her then, but Shelby was skittish. She finished her little cup of cabernet and began rifling through the trunk again. Discoveries were exclaimed upon and sorted through. They traded opinions about literature until the shadows multiplied around them in the little room and Shelby shivered, reaching for the wine and helping herself.
"I know that we should check on Mr. Manypenny again, and you're probably bored with my chatter—"
"On the contrary," Geoff interjected. Reaching out, he tipped up her chin. The sight of a slow blush creeping into her cheeks sent a fresh shock of desire through him.
"Before we pack up," she said shyly, "I have an idea—for sort of a game. I used to pass evenings with a college friend this way."
"A game?"
"Will you choose a favorite poem and read a bit of it to me? It's very revealing."
Geoff didn't hesitate. He plucked a slim volume from those Shelby had heaped on the rug and leafed through it. "It's not a definitive choice, merely one that reflects my mood."
"Better yet," she decided, scrambling over to sit beside him so that their arms touched. Happiness welled up from the depths of her soul. Could it really be that she had spent these last hours with a man who enjoyed the same mismatched pleasures as she? Of course, it was all too good to be true, but for now Shelby meant to enjoy the moment.
"What poet?" Her voice throbbed with anticipation.
"Tennyson."
"Spectacular! Let me guess... 'Locksley Hall'? 'The Lotus Eaters'?"
"Keep quiet, scamp." His long fingers found the page, then and he read slowly, clearly, portions of the long poem called "Ulysses."
"How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life,
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved...
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."
Shelby closed her eyes and whispered along when Geoff reached the passages that she most adored: "Come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world... To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
Silence, rich and full, reigned until Shelby opened her eyes and found him gazing at her in a way that made her feel hot and then cold. Her breasts tingled and so did her heart. "That was beautifully done."
"The wine's made you effusive," he mocked gently.
"Yes."
"Go on. It's your turn."
Beaming, Shelby opened the tiny volume that lay waiting on her lap. "I choose Fitzgerald's 'The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,' " she announced.
"Smashing. I must confess, I'm enjoying this game. It's an excellent change of pace."
"I'll only read a little." She began then, her voice warm with regard for the words:
"Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—'While you live,
Drink!—for once dead, you never shall return.'
"I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss'd
How many Kisses might it take—and give!"
When her voice trailed off, Geoff mused, "Do you think it's about drinking? There's a lot of talk of wine in the Rubaiyat."
Shelby leaned close, until she could smell his hair and skin, a mixture of fine-milled soap and, faintly, the scent of dust and horses. It was a heady, arousing blend. "I thought that, too, when I was very young and naive. Now I believe that he's speaking of life. 'Drink' means live."
"And 'kiss'?" Geoff heard himself whisper hoarsely.
"I think he means... this." Shelby slipped her arms around his neck and crawled onto his lap. "I've never done anything so bold before," she confessed, even as his arms took her prisoner. "Please don't misunderstand."
"Far from it," he assured her in muffled tones, then his mouth was slanting across her lips, so hungry to taste her sweetness, aching to be satisfied. It seemed that he'd wanted Shelby since that first moment in Purcell's Saloon. Somehow, despite her ludicrous disguise, he'd been captivated even then.
Shelby meanwhile was realizing that she had surrendered utterly to the man who was supposed to be her nemesis. Clearly she had no pride anymore, only this powerful urge to get closer and closer to the person who'd tricked her out of the Sunshine Ranch.
Kissing was one thing; being relentlessly curious, she'd kissed her share of boys in Deadwood, but none of them had been in a league with Geoff. His mouth was warm, firm, deft, demanding. His body was lithe yet hard-muscled, his hair ruffled when she ran her fingers through it, and he was caressing her with those fingers that looked like they'd been sculpted by Michelangelo.
Shelby was so intoxicated with sensation that she was almost overcome. The feeling of his strong male hands on her back, through her shirtwaist and chemise, was exciting not only for the caresses, but even more for the promise of other pleasures that she had only imagined.
Geoff, meanwhile, was lost in a spiral of passion. For years he'd simply gone through the motions, and sensations that had once been fresh seemed to deaden over time. Now, kissing Shelby's extravagant mouth, breathing in her fragrance and holding her in his arms, he realized that he'd forgotten what true passion was.
Dimly, Geoff realized that Shelby's enchantment went far beyond the physical. It was as if a light shone from within her, kindling an answering spark in him.... He was burning to open her blouse and find her breasts, to unfasten her skirt, to carry her to his bed, but that wasn't possible. Passion was one thing, but Shelby was gently bred, inexperienced, and Geoff knew that the wine had helped push her into his lap.
Eventually he managed to draw back and find his voice. "Shelby."
"What?" Her cheeks were flushed.
Realizing that she'd lost her head, he forced himself to behave like a gentleman. "Look—we can't just go on like this without... going forward, you understand, and of course that's simply out of the question—"
"I'm ove
r twenty-one," she protested.
"Most impressive." He kissed her brow. "You may be of age, but you're innocent. I'd hazard a guess that you aren't even sure what you might find yourself doing if I didn't have the presence of mind to stop. Now." With a grim smile, Geoff lifted her away from him, then helped her to her feet. "I've already taken advantage of you."
She watched him run a hand through his hair and longed to touch it again herself, to lay her cheek against the roughness of his, to taste his mouth and feel the pressure of his hard chest on her soft breasts. She sighed. "You're being very stuffy, I think."
He arched a brow. "Hardly. And if you imagine that you can control me the way you are clearly accustomed to controlling everyone else, you are quite mistaken." The distant sound of Manypenny coughing made Geoff cock his head. "I'll see to him while you choose the books you'd like to borrow."
Watching him leave the room, Shelby looked down at the priceless books that were strewn, helter-skelter, across the rag rug and the wide-planked floor. Her eyes stung. Had she been rejected? It was hard to know for certain, but her heart was in conflict: on one hand she felt confused and even embarrassed, but on the other hand, she was euphoric.
Every nerve in her body sang with awakened passion and the heady joy of budding love.
* * *
Marsh, Cal, and Lucius turned up about midnight, after the rain died away. Seeing the light burning in the kitchen of the ranch house, Cal knocked at the back door, soaking wet, clutching his sodden Stetson in both hands.
Shelby wore a long dressing gown over a muslin nightdress with a ruffled collar, and her hair hung down her back in one thick braid. Opening the door, she beamed at the dripping cowhand. "Don't be scandalized by my appearance, Cal, but I had to wait up for you and I wanted to be comfortable. Where are the others? You all must put on some dry clothes, then come in for stew and tell me everything!"
"They've gone to the bunkhouse, ma'am." He nodded to Geoff, who had appeared behind Shelby. The Englishman had donned trousers, an untucked shirt, and thick socks. "We found a cave up in the mountains, one we'd seen before, and waited the storm out there. There was too much lightning to do anything else. I'm no fool!"
"Of course not! And we felt quite sure that was where you were. Now then, go and fetch the other boys and I'll dish up the stew. I've kept it warm all evening."
Cal's bloodshot eyes became even more pained. "Much obliged, ma'm, but everybody's awful tired, an'—"
"Shelby," Geoff spoke up, to her surprise, "why don't you serve the stew and Cal can take it over to the bunkhouse to eat while they get to bed."
Licking his lips in anticipation, the cowboy agreed, "That'd be a real godsend! That is—if you wouldn't mind, ma'am...."
"Of course not." She bade him wait, then gave Geoff a quick glance en route to the stove. After assembling a basket of dishes and forks, Shelby brought it along with the Dutch oven that had a swinging handle on it for easy transport.
"It sure does smell good," Cal said as he accepted the food. "Good night, Miz Shelby, Geoff..."
When she was alone again with Geoff, Shelby went past him to clean up the drips of gravy on the stove. "I still can't believe that he calls you Geoff! What would your subjects say?"
He laughed. "I don't have subjects and you know it. I think you're just annoyed because you're used to doing things your own way and you resent interference from me, no matter how inconsequential."
She scrubbed harder at the nickel-plated stove.
"Well, can you blame me? After all, it is my house!" And then the truth returned with a sting, reminding her of how little she did control these days. Everything was topsy-turvy, even her heart. "Well, it was my house. I'm... very tired."
"I will leave you then." He stopped in front of her and gently put a hand on the sleeve of her dressing gown. "Good night."
Shelby suddenly felt tears threaten. She was afraid that if she looked at him, he would see the truth in her eyes. Instead, she only nodded and turned back to the stove.
Geoff withdrew. He went to see that Manypenny was sleeping peacefully, then on to his own room and closed the door. She's far too volatile, he thought. Mercurial! He pulled off his clothes. It seemed he'd been possessed earlier, but now had come to his senses.
"Thank God," he muttered aloud for emphasis, and put out the light. Getting into bed he lay wide-awake for the next hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to remember the sharp sweetness of Shelby in his arms.
* * *
In the morning, Shelby was stirring Irish oatmeal into a pot of boiling water when she noticed lacy flakes of snow gliding past the window. Eyes widening, she put a lid on the oatmeal and removed it from the flame, then went to the front door for a better look.
When Geoff came out of his room, his first glimpse was of Shelby, fresh and lovely, standing in a doorway a-swirl with snowflakes. She wore her oldest boots and a divided skirt made of worn leather, which signaled her intention to ride with the men that day. From the waist up, however, she was classically feminine in her crisp white shirtwaist with its high embroidered collar, and newly washed upswept hair, fastened with pearl-studded pins. Hearing his footstep, Shelby turned, her expressive face alight with pleasure.
"Look, Geoff! It's snowing—in May! Can you believe it?"
When he drew near, she reached out and took his arm, all affection.
"Quite lovely," he agreed, looking at her as he wondered about her mood.
"I wish there were enough to build snowmen and go sledding." She leaned her cheek against his shoulder for a moment, then the back door flew open and Cal, Lucius, and Marsh stamped into the kitchen. Shelby caught Geoff's sleeve before he moved to join them. "Did Mr. Manypenny have a good rest? I thought I'd let you have the first visit, to protect his pride and modesty."
"Tolerable," he replied, leading the way back to the stove, where strong coffee simmered in an enamel pot. "He seems to sleep most of the time, so he's spared the conscious knowledge of how sick he is."
Over a gigantic breakfast of oatmeal with fresh cream, raisin muffins, eggs, and ham, the group discussed the need to make up for lost time and get the fences finished. When Ben and Titus returned in a few days, it would be time for the first roundup, and Ben expected the fences to be in place. Until every animal they owned was branded, or fences were finished, their claims of ownership were fairly empty.
No one expected the snow to continue. Even Lucius, who'd lived in Wyoming all his life and had seen some serious spring blizzards, scoffed at the idea that this would amount to much.
It seemed a lark at first, bundling up and going off to work outdoors in the snow. Shelby put on longjohns and two pair of socks under the leather skirt and boots. Adding a thick knitted sweater over her blouse, she donned Titus's oilskin duster. Since he was a small man, it fit her.
To Shelby's surprise, when she came into the house's big room she discovered that Geoff had done more shopping in Cody than she'd realized. His new red longjohns were visible under a gray plaid flannel shirt. Chaps covered his dungarees, and last but not least, he unfolded a new duster and displayed it for Shelby's inspection.
"Magnificent!" she assured him. "Much nicer than this one of Titus's!"
Geoff laughed and put on the duster while she watched. It seemed that the long garment had been designed with him in mind, for the heavy white ducking complemented his tanned skin, and its loose, double-breasted cut, split up the back to facilitate horseback riding, was rakishly flattering. He added his white Stetson and drew on cowhide gloves, while Shelby followed suit.
"Did Mr. Manypenny eat his oatmeal?"
"A bit." Geoff held the front door for her and they went out into the storm.
"I must say, this would be a lot more fun if I felt more... myself." She glanced up at him, adding, "I think I may have drunk a bit more wine last night than was... prudent."
Geoff blinked once as he realized that she meant to dismiss it all, then he gave Shelby his oldest world-weary look. "S
ay no more. I drank so much wine myself that I barely remember what occurred."
Her burden lightened, she scampered ahead of him into the thickening curtain of snowflakes. Arriving at the corral, Shelby found that Gadabout had already been saddled and was prancing to and fro in anticipation.
For several hours the adventure held, and all five of them had fun. They'd eaten so much at breakfast, and they were so busy all day, that no one wanted to return to the house for lunch. Instead the men toiled over fences at the far reaches of the property while Shelby did what she could to help, like unrolling coils of barbed wire or holding a post still while a man pounded it into the mushy ground.
The previous day's rain made working conditions less than ideal, for though it was cold enough to snow, it wasn't so cold that the mud had hardened. Sometimes they got tired of slogging around in sloppy boots, but then Shelby would hit someone with a playfully tossed snowball, or they'd realize how close they were to finishing the fence once and for all, and decide to work on. "Just a few dozen more yards!" became an oft-heard yell.
Everybody pretended not to notice that the snow had begun to stick to the ground and was falling harder by the hour. When Lucius snapped at Cal at about three o'clock, Shelby diplomatically suggested that everyone was hungry and tired. She would go back to the house and get some food.
She was in the kitchen—packing rolls and ham into saddlebags, and heating lots of coffee—when Cal burst into the back door, accompanied by frigid gusts of snow, and more snow.
"It's a whole lot worse!" he exclaimed, red-faced and gasping for breath, Cal added, "Geoff says I should tell you to stay put right here, where you'll be safe 'n' dry. We're doin' our best to round up the cattle and bring 'em back—"
"What about the fence? Did you finish?"
"Yes'm." Snow dripped off his hat, reminding Shelby of the storm he and the others had endured the night before. Exhaustion creased his gaunt face. "I b'lieve so. The only part that wasn't done was way out to the south, beyond the grazin' land your cattle favor. We'll do our best to round 'em all up and get 'em in anyways, so they don't freeze."
Wildblossom Page 8