by Crooks, Pam
“Of course.”
“I've given this a lot of thought. She's the best--she'll be good--.” His teeth clamped tight. Hot and fierce, his gaze raked her, as if demanding her to deny it, to give him reason not to see it through.
But she could say nothing. From the moment Liza had met him, Rebecca Ann had been his, an important part of his life. How could she deny him what he wanted most?
The air strained with their silence. Abruptly, Reese pushed away from the dresser and snatched the suit coat lying on a corner of the bed.
“I'll be late tonight. Don’t wait up,” he ground out, and shoving his arms into the sleeves, he left.
She flinched at the front door's slam. A sudden panic gripped her that all of her time with him would be lost, all her happiness gone, the tender feelings nurtured in her heart these past weeks forgotten, trampled beneath another woman's feet.
She could not allow it. Saints in heaven, she could not!
Bolting from the bed, she lifted her skirts and dashed down the stairs. She feared she might not catch him in time, that he might already have left, that he would forget if she did not make him remember. The front door swung open with the same loud bang with which it had closed.
“Reese!”
He halted from his climb into the buggy and turned toward her.
She had little to give him. She was only a poor Gypsy, but she had herself, did she not?
Liza flew to him, then, in a blur of skirts and beads and bare feet. His arms opened, an instinctive action, and he took her weight against him, falling back a step to regain his balance. She gave him no time to speak, but wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, pressing her mouth to his with all the love and fervor she possessed.
Like a spark to flint, passion ignited between them. He crushed her to his chest, lifting her, her toes clearing the ground by inches. Her lips opened, his tongue thrust inward, invading the moistness with ardent demand, until she was consumed with the taste, the feel, the want of him.
He groaned deep in his throat and set her down again. He could not seem to hold her close enough, or tight enough, or long enough. His hands roamed her spine, roughly, passionately, never still, sliding down to her buttocks. His palms opened, and he cupped the rounded flesh, kneading them against him. His male arousal pressed against her feminine softness through the layers of skirts, and a new kind of fire raged inside her.
His brazen possession burned her senses. She had not expected his response; she could not have guessed the strength of it. A sound trembled in her throat.
“Say the word, Liza,” he rasped against her mouth, as if he could not bring himself to break away even for a moment. “Say it, and I'll stay. I'll call everything off.”
Her bosom heaving, she twisted from his kisses.
“I cannot,” she whispered, her pulse thundering inside her. “I cannot.”
She pushed from his embrace, knowing her lips were ravaged and swollen, that he was as shaken as she, and just as tormented.
But he must decide without her. He must learn for himself when there was no passion between them, when his head was clear, his mind rational.
Only then, would he know the truth in his heart.
Reese leaned back in his chair and swirled the whiskey in his glass. He stared broodingly at the amber liquid, spinning and whirling like a golden tornado, reminding him of her, the golden temptress with golden skin who made him lust with the fury of golden fire.
He lifted the glass, tossing back the whiskey in one gulp, and relished the heat in his throat. It matched nicely with the heat in his loins that refused to go away.
He scowled and tried not to think of her.
Next to him, Rebecca Ann dabbed at the milk her daughter spilled over the hotel's starched tablecloth. Margaret Michelle couldn't sit still through the meal, which further grated Reese's patience. Conversation was near impossible; the child had neither the discipline nor inclination to obey her elders. And Bram just sat there, puffing on his pipe with a grandfather's indulgence, smiling at his granddaughter's antics. Reese glowered at him.
He hadn't intended on the dinner being a family affair. He had wanted to spend the time with only Rebecca Ann in a quiet meal to discuss their future. Up to now, the subject had never even come up, and as the evening wore on, Reese wondered if it would.
Margaret Michelle poked a finger into a dish of peach tapioca pudding. Ignoring the spoon nearby, she pulled out a dripping slice of fruit and stuffed it into her mouth. A plate of diced roast beef and potatoes sat untouched, save for the gravy smeared on the front of her blue crinoline dress.
Watching her, Reese frowned. “It might be a good idea if she ate her meat and vegetables first, Rebecca Ann. Having dessert now will spoil her for the rest of the meal.”
Rebecca Ann merely smiled and pulled a smashed pea from one of her daughter's perfect blond ringlets. “She has always had a sweet tooth, just like her daddy. Why, I remember when Michael and I were married, he took all the leftover cake with us on our wedding trip.”
“Ate it all, too, as I recall,” Bram said, chuckling around the pipe stem.
“Yes, he did.” A faraway look stole into her china-doll eyes. “And he was as trim and fit as ever. Right up until the day he died. Do you remember, Papa?”
“I sure do, honey. He was a mighty handsome man. For as long as I knew him.”
A quavering sigh left her. She blinked rapidly and sniffled. Bram murmured something compassionate, and Reese nearly rolled his eyes heavenward.
They'd abandoned him to the outside of their private circle of memories, and he chafed at it. With a grim certainty, he realized he'd forever compete with a dead man's ghost, like it or not, and he'd damn well better get used to the idea.
He reached for the bottle of whiskey.
“Mama! Out! Out!” Margaret Michelle howled.
In her determination to be done with her dinner and out of her seat, the child toppled a glass of ice water and pushed at the table, yanking the starched cloth and sending the lighted candle in the centerpiece swaying. All three adults leaped to their feet. Reese lunged for the taper, Bram right-ended the water glass, and Rebecca Ann grabbed for her daughter.
“Rebecca Ann,” Reese said in a low voice, his patience at an end. “I don't claim to be an expert on child-rearing, but she needs a firmer hand. She's getting a mite too much to handle.”
Clearly aghast at his opinion, Rebecca Ann's gaze darted to Bram, then back at Reese.
“She's tired,” she said defensively. “She's not yet totally recovered from the measles, you know.”
The disease had long since run its course. Margaret Michelle had returned to her usual contrary form, but he said nothing more and gestured to the nearest waiter to bring them a damp cloth.
“I think it's best we go to our room now,” Rebecca Ann said, washing the little girl's wiggling fingers as best she could. “I'm taking an early stage back to St. Louis tomorrow.”
“You're what?” Bram and Reese asked in unison.
“Being cooped up in this hotel has driven me near to madness,” she pouted, oblivious to the unexpected detour she'd caused in Reese's plan. Her gaze drifted to her daughter who wandered among the other diners. “Margaret Michelle needs to be back in her own house and playing with her own toys. Niobrara City is so small, why, there’s nothing to do here, and with that train whistle blaring all the time--I'm sorry, Reese, I know it's your train, but in St. Louis, we don't have trains so close to our home.”
Bram cast him a pointed glance. “I'll take Margaret Michelle for a walk. Wear her out some before bed. That'll give you two time to yourselves.”
“But--” Rebecca Ann said, her perfect brows furrowed.
Obligated to see this through now that Bram had troubled to arrange it, Reese cleared his throat. “I'd like a few minutes with you, Rebecca Ann, if you don't mind.”
“Of course not.” But her eyes followed her daughter and father out into the lobby.
He took her elbow and
led her from the dining room to a tiny rose garden at the back of the hotel. Niobrara City had little to boast of by way of romance; it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
“Reese, is there something special you wanted to talk to me about?” She peered up at him, a vision of perfection in the gathering dusk. He detected no coyness in her, or even a true desire to be outside. Beneath the hem of her plum-colored dress, her toe tapped impatiently.
He pushed his hands into his pants pockets. Countless times he'd planned this conversation, practiced it and relived it. Now all the right words evaded him.
“Have you given any thought to living anywhere besides St. Louis?” he asked finally, taking a coward's road.
She appeared perplexed. “Oh, no. Why should I? St. Louis is my home.”
“Niobrara City will grow in time. The people here are good, God-fearing citizens who work hard for a living.”
“Reese, are you saying I should live in Niobrara City?” She seemed appalled at the thought. “You've got to be joking.”
His hackles rose. “You'll not find a nicer town anywhere. The N & D offers prosperity and respect, not only to Niobrara City, but to the state of Nebraska, as well.”
She studied him, as if trying to understand his way of thinking.
“You're so much like my father,” she mused. “Perhaps it's the railroad you built together. I don't know.” She shivered and crossed her arms over her small bosom. “I shall never leave St. Louis, Reese. My house is there. I remember vividly the day Michael and I decided to buy it. We shopped for weeks for just the right neighborhood.” She shook her head. “Before he died, Michael chose the school he wished our daughter to attend when she's old enough. Of course, I’ll honor his wishes.”
A man of Reese's years should not have been so blind, so stupid. From the beginning, he’d closed his eyes to the truth, so obvious now, so implacable. All along, he he’d been a first-class idiot.
“Of course,” Reese said quietly. Inch by inch, a heavy burden slipped from his shoulders. Rebecca Ann's decision freeing him from his own.
“Was there anything else, Reese? I'm cold.”
“No, nothing.” A small smile formed on his mouth. His well-laid plan gone awry. Or had it? “I'll take you inside.”
They met Bram waiting in the lobby. Margaret Michelle was busy turning somersaults in the middle of the floor, but went willingly enough to her mother. They made proper good-byes, and pensive, Reese watched Rebecca Ann head toward the stairs.
She hadn't reached the top before Bram spun toward him.
“You didn’t ask her to marry you, did you?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
Reese narrowed his eyes at the insistence in his tone. “She doesn't want to be married to anyone but her husband, that's why.”
“What're you talking about? He's dead.”
“I know it. So do you. But to her, he's still alive. Leastways, in her head.”
A deep red crept over Bram's cheeks. Rarely did Reese see him this angry. “You're making a big mistake. Rebecca Ann is perfect for you and the N & D. You said so yourself. But you're letting her slip through your fingers because of that troublemaking Gypsy you've been shacking up with all these weeks.”
“Leave Liza out of this.”
“Deny it, then.”
“Damn you, Bram.”
“Damn you!” Bram fairly shook with rage. “That's the end of it between us, Reese. I'm pulling out of the cartel. Finance the N & D on your own. You're not using Kaldwell money to keep your lousy train running on its track!”
“Bram, listen to me!” Reese grabbed his friend's arm, but Bram jerked free with a snarl and stormed from the hotel.
He might as well have landed his fist into the pit of Reese's belly for the wind it took out of him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak to beg reconsideration. For one irrational moment, Reese thought of Rebecca Ann, of marrying her after all, of finding a way to make it work. His glance shot to the stairs, but she was long gone to the shelter of her room. A sick feeling of defeat washed over him.
In the dining area, the clatter of dishes penetrated the lobby. A waiter busied himself clearing their table, dumping dishes and glasses into a large metal pan for washing. Only the whiskey remained.
Reese strode over and snatched the near-full bottle. “I'm not through with this yet,” he muttered and tossed a bill onto the soiled tablecloth. “Here's payment for the meal. Keep the change.”
And he strode out of the hotel.
By the time he braked the buggy to a stop on his front lawn, he'd given the whiskey a good share of business. He stepped from the rig carefully, testing his legs, and once down, dragged in a long breath of air. The cold helped clear his head.
The house loomed dark in front of him, but a shadowy, white-clad figure huddled on the stairs drew his eye.
“I told you not to wait up.” His voice was harsher than he'd intended, his mind already envisioning the picture she made whenever she wore his shirt for a sleeping gown. His step faltered, whether from liquor or from wanting, he couldn't be sure.
“I could not sleep,” she said softly.
He grunted and managed his way toward her. He kept a firm grip on the bottle neck with one hand; with the other, he pulled his tie loose and let the ends dangle down, then fumbled with the top button of his shirt and managed that, too. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tucked the whiskey into the crook of his arm and leaned against the stair rail.
“You've ruined me for other women, y'know that?”
Her faint gasp reached him; she eyed him warily through the darkness.
“You might be interested to know Rebecca Ann won't be my wife. Not now or ever,” he drawled. “It'd never work, anyway. We don't agree on child-rearing, and I’m not a part of her past. She clings to it and won't let go.”
“Oh.” She sat very still, her knees hugged to her chest. “I am sorry.”
“Don't be. I'm not.” He doubted she understood his ramblings, but it didn’t matter. “I do blame you for the mess I'm in, though.”
She stiffened. “Me?”
He scowled darkly, a fine testament to his mood. “Kiss me like you did and expect me to forget it. To act like nothing ever happened between us, then ask another woman to marry me. Hell.” No other man deserved this punishment, this torture. Why should he? “You haunt me wherever I go, y'know that? Whenever I sleep, you're there. I think of you every minute of every day. Not Rebecca Ann, Liza, but you. Always you. From the moment I saw you take my damned horse.”
Her jaw lagged open prettily. She stared at him.
“There'll never be a woman like you in my life again.”
She was the reason his world was falling apart. He'd lost an entire railroad over her. Years of work and dreams gone. His life would never be the same.
But if his world were shattered, he wanted her at his side to pick up the pieces again.
“Will you marry me?” he asked quietly.
Her breath caught, the only sound in the night save for the beating of his heart.
“You have had too much of the whiskey,” she said, her voice a trembling whisper. “It has befuddled your mind.”
“My head has never been more clear.”
“But your people, Reese. Your town.” Her fingers touched her mouth. “Bram.”
“I don't care about them. Only you matters to me.”
She made no reply. After an eternity, she stood and walked to the door. One hand took the knob. She faced him.
“This is what you want?” she asked. “Truly?”
“Yes,” he said huskily. “Truly.”
She didn’t move for a long time. God, so long.
“Then it is what I want, too. Yes, Gajo. I will marry you.”
Chapter 15
They were married on Saturday afternoon. Liza wore the green henrietta, the crisp folds and shimm
ering luster transforming her from a shabby Gypsy to a beautiful Gajo bride. She treasured her new clothes, worn by no one before her and fitting to perfection, for she had not shamed Reese by wearing them. He had clearly been proud to have her at his side, but God's saints, the looks he gave her seemed to strip every thread from her body.
Afterward, there had been a wedding supper on Reese's lawn. All of Niobrara City came, with only Bram Kaldwell conspicuously absent. Maudeen outdid herself in planning the celebration. Everyone helped, new friends whose names Liza struggled to remember. Gaje who accepted her as Reese's wife out of respect for his prominence and influence in their town.
Now, the celebration was over. The games of roundball, horseshoes, and wrestling matches had ended. Tables dismantled, gifts opened, food put away. Everyone had left, tired but smiling, leaving nothing behind but a trampled lawn and a heart full of memories.
Liza stared out the bedroom window and relived each one. It had been a wonderful day. A day carved from a lifetime of dreams. But a dark cloud shadowed her joy.
She missed Mama. And Paprika. And Nanosh. Her brothers, cousins, the entire kumpania . She wanted them here to rejoice in her new husband and to take part in her wedding day, for it had been an occasion to rival the finest of ceremonies practiced by her people.
Except Mama would be horrified.
Liza had no need of divining or palming to know that. No tea leaves or sticks and stones were necessary. From the deepest recesses of her soul emerged the awful worry that she had made a terrible mistake marrying a Gajo. And Mama would be devastated.
The sun had long since faded into the night. A full moon took its place, a bright globe in the blackness. Its brilliance escaped her, as did a worried sigh of dismay that maybe her mother was right. She should not have married Reese Carrison.
He waited for her downstairs, giving her the time she needed to prepare herself, a wife for her husband on their wedding night, but here she stood, fully dressed and pensive.
He would come to her soon, and she would not be ready.
Her pulse pounded a dull throb inside her head. To be with him in his magnificent bed and consummate their marriage . . .. She would be ostracized from her people, forever marhime, the final shame for marrying a Gajo.