Always and Forever

by Beverly Jenkins

  After receiving a sincere thanks for their efforts from the Wildhorses, Grace and the ladies walked back to the main camp.

  That evening, as Grace sat in her tent writing a letter to her aunts, a familiar voice called, “Knock, knock.”

  Grace set her pen aside. “Come in, Jackson.”

  She rose from the empty barrel she’d been sitting upon and when he entered asked, “Are the Wildhorses settled in?”

  He nodded.

  Grace had been among the women who’d witnessed the lawman carry his wife over the threshold of the tent. The traditional romantic gesture had evoked hearty cheers from the brides looking on and been the talk of the camp at dinner. “They seem like a happy couple.”

  “They will be,” he said.

  Grace thought that a rather odd response but didn’t press for more details. “What can I do for you?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Grace observed him for a moment. “About what?”

  “Us.”

  Their eyes held as she asked quietly, “What about us?”

  “I missed you, Grace.”

  The soft-spoken statement made her heart spin. She looked away, lest he see the emotional response in her eyes. She missed him, too, but she was still simmering from this afternoon’s driving lessons. “Two of the women want to go back to Chicago.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Partly. They don’t think they’re measuring up.”

  He sighed. “Do you think they’re measuring up?”

  She shrugged. “You’re the one in charge.”

  “Would it help if I spoke to them?”

  “Not if all you’re going to do is yell. Jackson, believe me when I say everybody understands why you’re so stern, but we are women. We take yelling very personally, and as my aunts are fond of saying, you get a lot more done with sugar than with vinegar.”

  He nodded his understanding, but added, “It’s hard to be sugary when you have to explain the same thing fifteen times.”

  Admittedly, he had far less patience today and believed it stemmed from knowing they were just a few days away from pulling out. He wanted everything they needed to learn learned today, if not yesterday. Although Grace had warned him from the beginning that the women might be inexperienced, he thought they’d at least have rudimentary skills, but there were women who’d never handled a tool in their lives, women afraid of the mules, and women who spent most of the morning lessons brushing mud off their skirts, as opposed to listening to him explain, for the fifth time, how to adjust the tack. Yes, he’d yelled; any man would’ve. Any man with sense wouldn’t’ve taken on this detail in the first place, but he’d been so mesmerized by Grace. Looking at her softened his mood.

  “Can I have my kisses now?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “What kisses?”

  “The ones you’ve been itching to give me.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “We did, now I want to kiss.”

  “I missed you too.”

  A heartbeat later she was in his arms and being kissed as if their separation had been weeks, not days. They shared kisses filled with longing and passion, kisses that lingered sweetly and swept them both away. When they finally came up for air, her hair had fallen and her heightened breathing mirrored his.

  Jackson would’ve given all he owned for enough privacy to make love to her, but the camp held no such place. Were she his wife, such wishes wouldn’t be necessary, he realized. Inwardly his eyes widened. Where in the world had that thought come from? He readily admitted to having some feelings for her, but that he’d actually contemplated wanting to take Grace as his wife hit him like a cold bucket of water in the face.

  Grace noticed the change in him right away. “What’s the matter?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, I just remembered I promised Dix we’d go over maps this evening.”

  Grace had a feeling he wasn’t being truthful. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yep. In the morning.”

  Without a further word, Jackson gave her a chaste peck on the forehead and exited. Grace stood there wondering what had come over him.

  Jackson stalked across camp at war with his feelings. One part of himself wanted to go back and finish what he’d started, but other parts were asking him if he’d gone loco. The differences in their circumstances were bad enough, but having to clear his name made proposing to her out of the question. Yet he wanted her like the desert craved the rain.

  Over the next few days, Grace found herself impressed by the way smart, witty Katherine Wildhorse fit into the group. She was a journalist, of all things. None of the women had ever met a newspaperwoman before. Everyone had advised her to ease into the work, after all, the brides had at least two weeks of hard labor under their belts and had grown the muscles to handle all that needed to be done, but she hadn’t listened and paid the price. She had to be given some of Loreli’s magic salvein order to drag herself back to her tent those first few nights.

  Grace wanted the details of the journey chronicled and asked Katherine if she would write the wagon train’s story. Katherine thought it an excellent idea and began interviewing the women at dinner that evening.

  Grace saw very little of Jackson. He and Dixon Wildhorse were most often sequestered in the supply tents plotting the route the train would take, catching up on their friendship and making sure there were enough supplies. She sensed he might be avoiding her, but attributed his rare interactions with her to being too busy getting everything ready.

  True to his word, however, he had changed his tactics somewhat. When the Mitchell sisters backed their wagon over the corral, he’d thrown his hat to the ground but he hadn’t yelled. Instead he made them rebuild it. The sight of the fussbudgets struggling with the wood, hammer, and nails put smiles on the faces of every woman in camp.

  Two of the women did go home and were soon replaced by two new candidates recommended by another of the brides. They were cousins named Beth Grimsely and Melody White. Melody was an accomplished pianist and arrived at camp with one of the biggest and grandest pianos Grace had ever seen. Jackson refused to let her take it along, citing the weight, and even though Grace tried to get him to change his mind, he refused.

  Jackson really had been avoiding Grace, his hope that distancing himself would decrease his ardor worked as long as he didn’t see her, but he couldn’t avoid it. When she wasn’t trying to convince him to take along pianos, she was marching around camp keeping the women’s spirits up and everything else in order. Her energy amazed him, as did her optimistic outlook on life. The night they had the rabbit-gutting classes, she’d turned up her nose like most of the other women when confronted with the tasks of skinning and removing entrails, but she’d set her jaw and gone at it while encouraging the others to do the same.

  As he watched her now striding across the glade intent upon taking tea to one of the women not feeling well, he remembered that night in her study when he’d thought her too refined and delicate for a trip like this. At that time he’d been unable to imagine her covered with dirt and sweat, but now? Every time he encountered her she had dirt somewhere on her face and her flowing skirts were always caked with mud, as were the boots on her small feet. As he watched her now, he envisioned her sitting in a large tub, with him, soaping her skin while he washed her hair. He could almost feel his hands playing over the tight buds of her breasts and how it would be to slide his touch down to the warmth between her thighs.

  “Jack?”

  Dixon’s voice brought him back to reality. “What?”

  “I asked if this route on the map would be faster.”

  Jackson looked down at the map spread on top of the crate. “Uh, yeah.”

  Dixon peered into the face of his old friend. “You really should talk to her, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “The hellion.”

  “Grace?”

  “No, Molly Mitchell,” the sheriff
replied sarcastically.

  “Why do I need to talk to Grace?”

  “Because you’ve been watching her like a puma watching a fat rabbit. You can’t keep your eyes off her.”

  “Sure I can,” Jackson said, rolling up the map and setting out another. “Grace is destined for a man who can buy her carriages and jewels, not a broken-down Texan like me. Besides,” he added sagely, “since when did you become such an expert? Aren’t you the one who had to force Katherine to marry you?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I forced her.”

  “Dix, you told the woman you’d throw her daddy, Bart Love, in jail if she didn’t say yes to you. I call that forcing, even if you don’t.”

  “Maybe so, but at least I’m not scared to talk to her.”

  Jackson tried to explain, “The situation with Grace is a lot more complicated.”

  “It’s only as complicated as you make it. Believe me, I know.”

  The next day, Grace looked up from her laundry tub and stared at the man striding across the camp in her direction. Surely that can’t be Garth Leeds? she said to herself. But it was. For the life of her Grace couldn’t imagine what he was doing here.

  He was dressed in a fine blue suit and a starched-collared shirt. His good looks drew quite a bit of attention. Women all over the valley stopped and stared as he passed. Grace looked around for Jackson. He and Dixon were working on the axle of one of the wagons and he’d evidently seen Leeds too, because he left what he was doing and began walking toward the laundry.

  Chapter 7

  As Garth neared, Loreli asked, “Does anyone know this handsome man?”

  “I do,” Grace offered tersely. She noted he had the nerve to be smiling at her as he made eye contact.

  Trudy cracked, “First Blake and now this one. How come you have all the luck, Grace?”

  “Believe me, this one you can have.”

  Garth’s steps slowed as he came abreast of Grace and the rest of the laundry detail. “Well, hello, Grace. I found you.”

  “Yes, you have. What do you want?”

  Her chilly manner seemed to throw him off balance. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

  “Garth, why are you here?”

  As if sensing Grace had no intention of thawing out, he said, “I’d like to speak with you, if I might.”

  “Concerning?”

  Aware that the other women standing near Grace were eyeing him curiously, he declared, “It’s a personal matter.”

  Grace didn’t think she and Garth had anything even remotely personal to talk about, but she took the bait. “Follow me.”

  She led him up the hill to the old church. When they reached it, she was just about to ask Garth again why he’d come when Jackson walked up. She could see him viewing Garth suspiciously as he asked, “Problems, Grace?”

  She shot Garth a baleful glance and replied, “No, Jackson, there’s no problem so far.”

  As if he planned to make certain the situation stayed that way, he took up a position at her side. She was glad to have him there. “Jackson Blake, meet Garth Leeds.”

  The two men silently evaluated each other before sharing a brief handshake.

  “So, Garth, again, why are you here?” she asked.

  “Just thought I’d come and check on you, Grace.”

  Grace told him in an even voice, “There was no need, Garth. I’m fine.”

  She watched Garth assessing Jackson Blake before he asked pointedly, “May Grace and I have some privacy?”

  Grace countered quietly, “No, we may not. If you’ve something to say, please do so in his presence.”

  Anger flashed across Garth’s ivory brown features, an anger he directed Blake’s way. In response, the dark Texan made himself comfortable against one of the church’s weathered wood walls, then calmly folded his arms across his chest.

  “Well?” Grace asked.

  A tight-lipped Garth turned away from Blake to face Grace. “He your new beau?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “You saying you don’t care if people think you’re carrying on with a cowboy?”

  “Why do you care? Because of you I have very little reputation left.”

  He seemed to take a moment to think about what he wanted to express, then stated, “I should’ve married you, Grace.”

  Grace chuckled coldly. “And what am I supposed to say to that?”

  “I just thought—” He seemed at a loss for words.

  “You thought what?” she asked, in a voice as chilly as January.

  “I—made a mistake walking out on you like I did. I just thought you should know, is all.”

  Grace did not pull her punch. “Is Amanda a bit more strong willed and forceful than you assumed?”

  Squirming under the force of her steady gaze, he looked away, so she continued, “They’re not going to let you anywhere near their fortune, Garth, I hope you’re aware of that. Beatrice loved her husband very much, and when he died, she swore she’d go to her grave with his fortune intact. And when she goes, Amanda will get it all. I know this because my father and I handled the will.”

  When he didn’t reply, Grace continued, “Amanda and her mother may be rude and boorish, but they are not fools. You underestimated them, Garth. That was your mistake.”

  His eyes sparkled with anger. He looked over at the now smiling Blake, then to the stiff-backed Grace, who told him, “I hope you and Amanda will be very happy. Is there anything else?”

  “Well, yes,” he replied tightly. “I came out here to see if your bank would broker a loan for me. That clerk of yours, Lionel Rowe, refused.”

  “Are you gainfully employed?”

  “Well, uh, no.”

  “Any collateral?”

  “No.”

  “Then that clerk of mine was right to tell you no. Anything else?”

  Evidently he had nothing more to say. He spun around and went back down the hill.

  “Bravo,” Blake crowed quietly, once they were alone again.

  His support made her feel good. “Thank you. And to think I thought myself in love with that bounder. Mistake, indeed.”

  Blake’s chuckle floated on the night breeze. “Remind me to stay on your good side. You sliced him up so politely, he didn’t even realize he was bleeding until it was too late.”

  Grace allowed herself a smile as she felt her anger slip away. “The nerve of him, but he’s getting his just desserts, mark my words. Now that he and his bride have returned from the wedding trip, Amanda’s been parading him around like a farmer with a two-headed goat. There are going to be soirees, dinners, teas. I’m glad I’ll be gone all summer so I won’t have to attend. Once Amanda gets done with him, he’ll wish he’d never met her or her mother.”

  “Is it really going to be that bad?”

  “Trust me. I’ve known Amanda Young my whole life and she never wastes an opportunity to show off a new bauble. When we were seventeen, her papa bought her a bracelet from Paris, and I swear she wore it everyday for six months. She kept thrusting her wrist in our faces, saying, ‘Have I shown you the French bracelet my papa gave me? Have I shown you the French bracelet my papa gave me?’ Everyone grew quite tired of it right quickly, I must say.”

  “Sounds to me like maybe Garth ought to be gone one morning when Amanda wakes up.”

  Grace drawled, “Only in his dreams. Amanda will probably chain him in at night just to keep that from happening.”

  He laughed. “You have a real wicked streak, do you know that?”

  She turned and gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m just a hardworking woman banker, Mr. Blake, nothing more.”

  “You’re also a very beautiful one, Grace Atwood.”

  Grace fought to free herself from the powerful pull of his presence. She told him plainly, “Jackson, the last man who tried to convince me of that just marched back down the hill. Forgive me if I seem a bit skeptical.”

  He nodded his understan
ding, “But what happened between you and Sir Garth has no bearing on my thinking. You are a beautiful woman, Grace.”

  Grace drew in a shaky breath as his finger slowly traced her bottom lip. Bells chimed and she knew good and damn well that she should leave the rise as quickly as her feet could carry her because of the women staring up at them, but his caress made her feel so out of touch with everything but him she didn’t want to flee.

  Her blood was fairly singing with anticipation. “Don’t you dare kiss me in front of all those women down there.”

  “Why not?” he asked in a husky but amused voice. “I’ll bet if I asked them, they’d tell me to go ahead.”

  Before Grace could say a word in response, he hollered down, “Should I kiss her?”

  The brides who were gathered below lifted their laughing voices in unison. “Yes!”

  So he did.

  And when he turned her loose, Grace had a vague sense of people cheering and hooting, but little else. “Wait until I get you alone, Jackson Blake,” she managed to say threateningly, but smiling.

  “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

  Grace playfully socked him in the arm and took off down the hill. The brides greeted her with more hooting and hollering and an embarrassed Grace could do nothing but grin foolishly as she retook her position at the laundry tubs.

  Her laundry companions were all smiles as Trudy cracked, “Now, that’s a man!”

  Grace agreed.

  During the days that followed, Grace and the others learned such things as first aid, harness mending, and how to make smokeless fires. They practiced tying down their wagon canvases in the middle of the night, and compass reading. True to his word, Jackson kept a lid on his temper and answered each and every question, no matter how silly.

  As Grace lay in bed that night, she admitted that Jackson was making her crazy. He hadn’t said more than two words personally to her since the day on the hill. One minute he was kissing her and the next minute he was avoiding her like she had the plague. Was he beginning to lose interest? She supposed it was possible and she found the prospect upsetting. After all, in society’s eyes she was nothing more than a nearly thirty-year-old redheaded spinster. Did he see her that way too? Maybe he had lost interest. Grace willed herself not to think about it and drifted off to sleep.