by Caroline Lee
It sure looked different in the evening. As she stepped inside, she was momentarily overwhelmed by the way the flickering lamps reflected off the shined surfaces, and the din from the piano and yelling cowboys, and the smell of liquor and unwashed bodies. Her eyes widened to take it all in, and while a small part of her shrank from the cacophony, Zelle found herself smiling.
An adventure!
And there, seated around a table along the back wall with his brothers Terrell and Jerrell, was the object of her chase this evening. Merrell Gruff really was the most handsome of the brothers, but she was disappointed to see that he hadn’t waxed his mustache tonight. Maybe he only did that for church, when he got dressed up? For that matter, it looked like he hadn’t even bathed today, either. None of them did. But it was a Thursday, and she knew some farmers only bathed for church, so she supposed that made sense.
It was a little disappointing, to see him in his natural element. But when he slapped his poker hand down on the table and laughed at something one of his brothers said—Zelle couldn’t tell which one, because they were, after all, identical—she admired the way he had most of his teeth. That had to be a positive, right? Good dental hygiene was probably very important to kissing.
Yes, she was definitely getting a kiss tonight.
So, squaring her shoulders, Zelle sauntered—or at least, did her best impression of a saunter—over to the bar. She ordered a beer, completely ignored the way Ernesto’s brows rose when he realized who she was, and smiled sweetly in thanks. It was her intention to bring the beer to Merrell, to offer it to him as a subtle overture to conversation. Surely, if a beautiful woman showed up bringing him alcohol, he’d leave his brothers to their own devices and step over to whisper sweet nothings in her ear? And then she’d convince him to walk her home and get him to kiss her and then she’d have quite the story to tell Briar, wouldn’t she?’
But she didn’t count on the stranger. She’d just picked up the beer—gosh, it was heavier and slipperier than it looked, wasn’t it?—and was turning toward the Gruff brothers when she saw…him.
There were plenty of newcomers to Everland every day, but how had she not seen him before? Golden hair swept back, a perfectly strong jawline, and a jacket that was far finer than most she’d seen here in town. He certainly was striking, wasn’t he? And…oh goodness. And he was staring right at her. Zelle resisted the urge to turn around, to see what he was looking at; she could feel his gaze all the way down into the pit of her stomach, and the fluttering she felt made her smile. An adventure!
Without any help from her mind, her feet began to move towards the stranger. Maybe she could just sort of pass by his table on her way to Merrell’s, so that she could tell what color eyes he had? She owed it to Briar, after all, to find out as much as she could about this handsome creature. That’s right; just walk by his table. And maybe her skirts would brush against his boots—tall boots! in Wyoming?—and she could tell Briar about that too.
And maybe it might’ve worked, her casual brush with the stranger. Except that, as she passed his table, he lifted one elegant hand and crooked his finger, calling her to him.
That’s when her feet apparently forgot how to work.
CHAPTER TWO
When the pretty little barmaid stumbled as she passed his table, Dmitri was already reaching for her. He’d had his eye on her since he’d noticed her talking to the bartender. She was better-dressed than most barmaids were, in his experience, but Dmitri was willing to admit that there was plenty about America he didn’t know. Maybe she was the proprietress of this particular saloon, or something.
So when she picked up that beer mug and began walking this way, of course he smiled winningly and beckoned her over. He wasn’t blind, after all. He’d seen her welcoming smile, seen the way she sashayed those hips.
What he hadn’t seen was how clumsy she was. She hadn’t just stumbled; after he’d beckoned, she’d tripped over her own feet and launched the beer towards him. Only his years in the saddle, reacting without hesitation to dangers and obstacles, allowed him to dodge most of the liquid; his coat got splashed, which was irritating, but completely ignorable compared to what was still coming towards him.
He caught her in his lap. Really, there wasn’t anything else he could do. He just pushed away from the table when he saw her falling, heard her slight “oof” when her chest slammed against his, and then allowed her momentum to push them both back down into his seat. And he had an armful—and lapful—of warm, breathless female, who smelled a lot better than the beer currently dripping onto the floor.
She had wide green eyes, a green that reminded him of the spring meadows back home. And a sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones, and an elaborate hairstyle. She was staring up at him in a way that made him feel like the only man in the world, sort of a rapt anticipation, and that’s when his opinion about who she was began to change.
Leisurely, he let his eyes roam over her face, and down her body. She was dressed for a man; that much he could tell. Red lips, wide eyes artfully accentuated with kohl. A neckline that had probably been demure once, except she’d removed the traditional lace collar and was now showing off quite a bit of skin. Dmitri tightened one arm around her, and lifted his other hand to brush across the exposed creaminess; she shivered when he caressed the tops of her plump breasts, but didn’t look away.
She was bold. He liked that in a shlyukha, a woman who offered men pleasure for a fee. None of the simpering and pretending they both didn’t want what was about to happen. No, she just watched him, her breath coming in little pants that made her breasts jump under his palm. Her little tongue flicked out in what must have been a carefully calculated way to moisten her lips, and he felt his body react, like she’d known it would.
He would taste those lips.
Suddenly, this town didn’t seem too terrible after all. There wasn’t any vodka, but the beer wasn’t horrible, and this shlyukha was certainly a pleasant lapful. Maybe being stuck here a while wouldn’t be so bad.
Right before his lips met hers, he felt her suck in a breath, but didn’t have time to think about it, because—bozhe moy!—she tasted as good as he’d hoped. Like strawberries. At first, he contented himself with just pressing his lips against her, getting used to the feel and the scent of her. But then, when she made a little noise in the back of her throat that sounded a bit like a kitten’s purr, he deepened the kiss. And after a moment where she’d frozen, not even breathing, she began to respond enthusiastically. Another one of those sexy moans, and he felt her fingers twining in the hair at the base of his neck. When had she wrapped her arms around his shoulders? Did it matter?
Pulling her tighter against his chest—knowing that she could feel his interest already—he caressed the bare skin along the smooth column of her throat. Creamy, but sun-kissed, in a tantalizing combination he hadn’t seen at home. This shlyukha was a true American beauty, and Dmitri decided that maybe he would stay here in Everland for a few extra days, for the sake of learning all that he could…about America, of course.
He didn’t think he’d ever eat a strawberry without remembering her, and the enthusiastic way she responded in his arms. After a million heartbeats, he pulled away from her, not at all satiated, but just wanting to look. Sure enough, her lips were swollen, her eyes wide in wonder, and her chest heaving in what he knew was passion. As his thumb stroked her cheek, marveling at her softness, her lips pulled into a smile. A sweet smile that was more beguiling than any look any other shlyukha had ever given him.
“You look like a cat who’s just found the cream.” Her voice was surprisingly husky. Or maybe it was just the way the kiss left her.
He had to smile at the analogy, because it was true. “And you look like a woman who knows what she wants.” Green eyes widened at his accent, but she nodded. So he pressed her. “And what is it you want?”
“A kiss.”
“Another one?” he teased. But he was already pulling her sweet lips tow
ards his, more than willing to oblige her. Hopefully she had a room upstairs, so that they didn’t have to go far; he wasn’t sure that he could walk far, in his current state.
Her gaze fastened on his lips, and her tongue darted out again. She was leaning towards him, and he was more than ready to feel her again, when a sharp voice cut through Dmitri’s thoughts.
“Miss Carpenter? Is that you?”
The shlyukha in Dmitri’s arms stiffened at the voice, and turned her face towards the wall. Irritated at the interruption, he glanced up at the man who was standing uncomfortably close, and his two nearly identical companions. “Can I help you, gentleman?”
The spokesman ran his fingers across a mustache that looked like a small ground squirrel glued to his upper lip, and nodded quickly. His brothers—they had to be brothers, or cousins, they looked so similar—began to nod in unison, like some sort of trained-pony act. “Yeah. You’ve got no right to mosey into this town and start handling our women like that. Miss Carpenter’s a real lady.” The way he was dressed and stood told Dmitri that this…this cowboy wouldn’t know a “real lady” if she stepped on his foot.
Resisting the urge to point out that the shlyukha didn’t mind the way he’d been handling her at all—she would be used to it, after all—Dmitri sighed as he lost the last of his pleasant arousal. He nudged her off his lap and stood up, careful to keep his body between the threatening trio and the woman with whom he hoped to spend the night. He towered over the men, but that wasn’t surprising; he towered over most people. These three just kept nodding. Maybe they were too stupid to see the threat in the way Dmitri held his shoulders and fists.
Sure enough, the cowboy in the front had the audacity to ignore Dmitri, instead trying to peer around his bulk to the woman behind. “You alright, Miss Carpenter? You want us to fetch your Daddy?”
Dmitri thought he heard a little groan from his sweet-tasting companion, and he didn’t bother to think about the spokesman’s words. “Gentleman, I don’t believe she wants to talk to you. If you’ll be so good as to allow us our privacy…”
“So you can touch her again?” This started a new batch of head-bobbing from the other two, in some sort of mechanized choreography. “No sir, I don’t think so.” With that, the churl actually put his hand—had he bathed recently?—on Dmitri’s shoulder, as if to force the large man out of the way.
Dmitri smiled. At last.
He was still smiling when his fist connected with that horrendous bushy mustache, and the other two foul-smelling men launched themselves at him. He was still smiling when he took a punch to the gut and another to the chin, because if it was one thing a Volkov liked, it was a challenge. And he was still smiling when he felt the shlyukha’s hands on his back, pushing at him. Was she urging him on, or trying to get out from behind his bulk? He didn’t have time to find out, because he was too busy making sure no stray fists came her way.
In fact, he didn’t stop smiling until the roar filled the saloon, and the cowboy in his grasp went limp. In fear? Dmitri slowly straightened, loosening his opponent, and turned his attention to the man in the suit standing in the doorway.
He wasn’t quite middle-aged yet, with a full head of thick black hair. He carried a little black bag and wore what probably passed for a suit in this uncivilized town. And he was very, very angry. “What do you think you’re doing? Fighting around my daughter?” His face was red and his fists were clenched and Dmitri thought that he could see veins standing out on the man’s neck. The Russian raised a begrudging brow in admiration, at the way this older man could control a room. He obviously understood power.
The cowboys were all staring at the ground, except for the one who was nursing not one, but two swollen eyes. Dmitri heard a chorus of “Sorry, Doc Carpenter”, and a horrible suspicion began to creep its way up the back of his neck.
Turning slightly, Dmitri allowed the woman to step out from behind him, which she did reluctantly, her hands gripped tightly in front of her stomach. Seeing her discomfort made Dmitri uncomfortable for some reason; made him want to destroy the cause, to keep her safe and smiling again. But she didn’t look scared exactly, just nervous.
That’s when she raised those bright green eyes and met the doctor’s across the room, and smiled. Maybe Dmitri was the only one close enough to see the smile waver slightly, to see that it was only bravado. But still, she made a good show of it, uncurling her fingers and waving pertly to the other man. “Hello, Papa.”
Dmitri groaned as the man stalked across the room, glaring at the combatants, and grabbed his daughter by the elbow. Right before he dragged her out of the door, she glanced back over her shoulder at Dmitri, and the smile she sent him didn’t waver in the least bit.
And chert if he couldn’t feel that smile tugging at something deep in his stomach. It probably had been a mistake to kiss her without knowing more about her, but he couldn’t regret it.
And as he righted his chair, gesturing for another beer, and watched the trio of cowboys slink back to their table, all Dmitri could think was Had she been a shlyukha, I would’ve liked this town very much indeed.
“So? Did you get in trouble? What did your father say?” Briar was sitting on Mother’s stone bench, idly swinging her legs and watching Zelle kneeling beside her herb garden.
“He just lectured me. Forever, it felt like.” Zelle ripped out a weed that had found its way into her thyme patch, taking great satisfaction in dropping it beside the others. “His usual line about how it’s a dangerous world, and men can’t be trusted, and I need be careful about where I go and who I see.” Another weed, another yank. “I swear, it’s like they would prefer to keep me locked up in a tower, sometimes. What harm would having a little adventure do?”
“Well? What harm did it do?”
“None!” Zelle flushed slightly, remembering the way it felt to be held—to be kissed!—by the handsome stranger. “Besides, what kind of trouble could I get into, around here?”
Briar snorted, and began to braid a clump of pine needles. “Living here, in this little town, is like being kept in a tower anyhow. Nothing exciting happens.”
“I know!” Zelle sat back on her heels, rearranging the canvas she knelt on to keep her skirt clean. Able to reach her chamomile now, she went to work pruning and checking. Her mother had taught her to garden from a young age, and while Meri Carpenter grew mostly vegetables, her daughter had focused on herbs. And not just cooking herbs; Zelle’s medicinal herb collection was varied and special. Both of her parents relied on it. “Papa didn’t punish me, but he mentioned three different times how ‘disappointed’ he was in me, and you know that’s worse.”
“What was he so upset about?”
“That I saw the fight.” That I was part of the fight. That I was the cause of the fight, but he doesn’t know that. “That I was in the saloon. He went on and on about how dangerous men can be, and how I should’ve been more careful.”
Her friend didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when Zelle finally glanced up, it was to see Briar eyeing her speculatively while her fingers flashed nimbly. One dark brow rose. “You saw the fight, huh? The one the Gruff brothers were talking about yesterday afternoon? With that fancy-pants foreign stranger?” Zelle’s heart began to pound at her friend’s words, and she bent back over her chamomile. His accent had been foreign, but she hadn’t been thinking about his voice after that kiss they’d shared. “And you know, the Gruff brothers never did mention why they were fighting.”
Zelle could hear the smirk in her friend’s voice. “Yes. That fight.”
Luckily, Briar changed the topic. “So what did your father say about the cosmetics? Surely he didn’t think those were normal?”
Zelle’s chuckle was a little forced. “He never noticed. Mother probably would’ve noticed the charcoal, but Papa isn’t very attentive to women’s fashions.” She’d sat in that dining room chair while he’d paced around the room, his hands clasped behind his back, and dreaded the sound of her
mother’s footsteps. But she’d been out delivering a baby most of that night, and Zelle had been able to rush upstairs and wash when Papa’s lecture was through. “He might’ve noticed the lip rouge, but…”
“But what?” Zelle heard the excitement in Briar’s voice, and smiled down at her chamomile. She’d been looking forward to telling her best friend all about the kiss; after all, she’d spent every waking hour of the last two days thinking about…him.
“Buuuuutttt…” Briar gave a little huff of impatience at the way Zelle drew out the word. “But there wasn’t any left. It all came off—“
“With the kiss?” Briar squealed. “I knew it! Tell me all about it!”
Zelle was giggling when she sat back again, and wiped her hands on the rag. Taking great care to look in both directions, as if afraid of being overheard, she giggled again when Briar leaned forward on the bench, intent on the answer.
“It was…wonderful.” Both girls sighed together. “He held me in his arms, and his lips! Oh, his lips, Briar.” Zelle clasped her hands in front of her chest, staring at the garden fence, remembering what it felt like to breathe the same air as a gorgeous man. “They were firm, but somehow soft, and they made me want…” They made her want to do all sorts of things that she shouldn’t even be thinking about. Things that made her squirm a bit to consider, but in a good way. “He touched me.” At her friend’s gasp, Zelle’s attention darted back to her friend. “Oh, not in a bad way. Just my neck.” Her fingertips found the spot where his had lingered, and she wondered if she could recapture that feeling of warmth, of safety, he caused. “My cheek. His palm was so…it was rough, but made me feel protected.”
Briar exhaled, and seemed to melt back onto the bench. “Wow. Wow, Zelle. You…that’s quite the kiss.”
Zelle smiled, maybe a little dreamily. “Yes.” It was one that she’d remember forever. “Yes, it was.”
“Your first kiss, and it was that special. And from Merrell Gruff, no less! I wouldn’t have thought it to look at him.”