All at once she recalled his hands on her, stroking her back, grazing her breasts, molding to the curves of her behind. Perhaps he wasn’t being polite at all.
“I…I couldn’t manage all—” she gestured to her back, struggling to get the words out “—the hooks.”
She felt her cheeks blaze as she turned her back to him, unable to hold his simmering gaze a second longer. For a moment, he didn’t react, and she thought perhaps he would refuse to help her. Then she felt his fingertips graze her bare back as he gently fastened the remaining hooks in place. Her skin prickled with anticipation.
“There,” he said. “All done.”
She couldn’t bear to face him yet, and busied herself clearing up the oilskin wrapping and string strewn across the bed. “What do you plan to wear?” she said absently.
“Who, me?”
“Aye.” She wound the string into a tiny ball and placed it and the oilskin on one of the shelves over the stove.
“What’s wrong with this?”
She turned and surveyed his garments: greasy buckskin trousers, flannel shirt, and his well-worn fringed and fur-trimmed jacket, which he took off and hung on a hook by the door.
“That’s fine for everyday. But I thought, perhaps, since…” She looked down at the fine silk dress, then immediately dismissed the thought. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. What you’ve got on is grand.”
“You want me to change?” He moved toward her, studying her face, making her more uncomfortable than she already was.
She shook her head. “No. Besides, you’ve nothing else to wear.”
He nodded at the door leading to the darkened store.
“I could borrow something from the inventory. Like last time.”
“True. But don’t dress up on my account. It really—”
“Just give me a minute.” He lit another lamp and strode toward the store, flashing her a half smile before he pulled the door closed behind him.
It was the shortest minute of her life. While he was gone Kate pulled at the bodice of the gown, trying to work it higher. No good. It wouldn’t budge. She hiked up her skirts, making certain her dark wool stockings were fastened tight, then smoothed the blue silk over her legs again.
This was all a bad idea. What, did she think she was Cinderella going to the ball? Yesterday she’d all but let him take her right there in the woods. In the rain. And now tonight, here she was, parading around in front of him in a wicked dress, her breasts thrust up like ripe fruit ready to pick.
“How’s this?” Will stepped into the room, working a tie around a stiff collar pinned to a white shirt. He wore black trousers, which fit a bit tight around the hips. Struggling with the tie, he tossed a matching black suit coat across the bed.
“Here, let me help you.”
Her father had never worn a tie in his life, but Kate had seen shop girls tying them on manikins in high-priced store windows in Dublin’s Grafton Street.
“I’ve got it,” Will said.
To her astonishment, he tied it perfectly on the very first try. And with no looking glass to guide him. She approached him slowly, marveling at the way he took on the air of a gentleman in the new clothes.
“You’re not really a fur trapper, are you?”
“What?” He’d been preoccupied with the tie, and hadn’t noticed her scrutiny until just now.
On impulse she took one of his hands in hers and ran a finger over his scarred palm. He allowed it, though she felt him tense under her touch.
“From the traps?” she said, tracing the line of a scar running the length of his forefinger.
“Yeah. What of it?” He narrowed his eyes a bit, and the warmth she’d seen in them moments ago iced over.
“And this?”
He flinched as she ran her finger across the wicked-looking scar on his cheek. He moved her hand away, his jaw tight, his lips thinning to a hard line.
“Was it a bear? A fight, perhaps. Aye, a fight.”
His expression grew increasingly wary, and Kate knew she’d struck a chord in him. Since the day she’d met him, she’d had the strangest feeling he was something more than the man he made himself out to be. His discomfort fueled her curiosity and made her overbold.
“But not here in the wild. In a pretty drawing room somewhere. Say…Philadelphia.”
The murderous look in his eyes startled her. Unconsciously she stepped back.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He ripped the tie from around his neck and hurled it to the floor.
She’d been wrong to prod him like that. She was sorry, now, that she’d done it.
“I’ll take you to Vickery’s on the horse. And the loose-tongued bastard can walk you back himself.”
“But—”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the back door. “Come on. Where’s your cloak?”
“Let me go!” She jerked out of his grasp, her own anger rising.
“Damned supper parties. I came out here to get away from them, not—” He stopped, swearing under his breath, and batted at the garments hanging on pegs near the door, apparently searching for her cloak.
She saw it lying on the chair by the table and snatched it up. “I’m sorry if I reminded you of your old life. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“I’m not angry. I’m just not going.”
“Fine. I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Aye, fine then, I don’t.” She’d learned not to argue with him when he was in a foul temper. She wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, wishing she’d never brought the subject up. “But I won’t be carried to the Vickerys’ and dumped on their doorstep like a child. I’ll walk, thank you, and I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”
“The hell you will.”
“You swear too much.” She strode to the bed, reached under the mattress and yanked out her father’s pistol.
“So do you.”
“Me?” She turned on him.
“Watch that thing.” He nodded at the six-barrel pepperbox. “Yes, you. On the horse, yesterday.”
She remembered. “That was your fault.” She pocketed the pistol and made for the door.
“It’s dark. You’re not walking over there alone.”
“Watch me,” she said, and didn’t look back.
Chapter Nine
She didn’t understand him at all.
Kate stormed down Main Street in the dark, cursing herself for not thinking to carry a lantern. No matter. The night was clear and cold. Stars flickered in the velvet sky, and a splash of moonlight lit her path.
Behind her she heard a door slam and the brash tinkling of a bell. Will meant to follow her. That was grand. Let him.
At first, his chivalry had thrilled her. But now that she knew him better, she realized his protective behavior wasn’t fueled by any particular feelings he held for her. He was simply being a gentleman. And gentlemen didn’t allow women to dash off unaccompanied on a dark night in a place as wild as Tinderbox.
In her heart she felt strangely disappointed.
She marched on toward the edge of town, passing the clearing where they’d married, and where young Father Flanagan said the mass on Sundays if the weather was good. Behind her she heard the sucking sound of Will’s boots in the mud.
She turned onto the path leading down into the ravine and out again, skirting the miner’s camp near the graveyard where her father was buried, and where she’d first asked Will Crockett to marry her.
The Vickerys’ cottage lay just up the hill. Warm lantern light peeked at her through thick stands of trees. Kate quickened her pace.
As she climbed out of the ravine, skirts hiked to her knees to protect her gown, a branch snapped to her left. She froze, remembering what she’d heard about bears and other dangerous creatures. A shape lurched toward her in the dark. A second later, her father’s pistol was in her hand.
The shape stopped dead, wheezing.
A rush of
heavy footfalls, snapping twigs and the unmistakable click of a Colt revolver, told her Will was right behind her. His hot breath on her hair a second later confirmed it.
The shape hiccuped loudly.
Will yanked her behind him and leveled his revolver at the man.
“Howdy, Will,” the shape said, and hiccuped again. “Miz Crockett.”
Kate blinked to adjust her eyes as the man tripped forward, wavering on his feet. She breathed in the strong odor of whiskey, sweat, and other awful smells that made her nose crinkle.
“Son of a—” Will clicked the revolver’s hammer back into place. “Is that you, Floyd?”
Kate took a step back, covering her mouth and nose with her hand.
“Uh…hiccup. Yep. It’s me.”
Floyd Canter was one of the local miners who seemed to be permanent fixtures in Tinderbox. Kate had no idea how these men lived. They didn’t appear to be doing any mining, only drinking and card playing at the nightly game Mei Li’s father ran at the Chinese camp.
“Go to bed, Floyd,” Will said. “You’re drunk.”
Kate pocketed her father’s pistol. Before she could proceed up the hill, Will’s hand closed over her arm like a vise.
“Come on,” he said, and pulled her along with him.
She knew better than to argue with him. All the same, she refused to be treated like a child. “I didn’t need your help. It was only Floyd.”
“Next time it might not be.”
His stride was longer than hers by half, and she had to practically run to keep up with him.
“I have a weapon and I know how to use it.”
Will snorted and stepped up his pace, practically dragging her up the hill. Her cloak caught on downed branches. At one point she stepped in a hole and nearly lost her footing. Will’s grip on her tightened.
As they reached the cottage, Kate dug her heels in and jerked her arm backward against his grip. “For pity’s sake, stop!”
To her surprise, he obeyed.
“Just let me catch my breath a bit.”
The light from the Vickerys’ cottage illuminated his hard features and those dark eyes she knew had the power to both heat her blood and chill her heart.
“So,” she said, “what’s it to be, then?” He released her and she felt the circulation return to her arm. “Are you stayin’ to supper or not? I want to know before we get to the door.”
They both turned at the sound of rattling hardware coming from the Vickerys’ front porch. A bright wash of lamplight illuminated the surrounding woods as the cottage door opened.
“Mr. and Mrs. Crockett! Look, John, they’re here!”
Kate squinted against the light silhouetting the enormous woman wedged in the doorway. The mystery of why John Vickery’s wife could no longer use the elegant silk evening gown was solved.
“Do sit down.” Gladys Vickery indicated two chairs opposite each other at the small dining table Kate remembered from her first night in Tinderbox under the Vickerys’ roof.
She marveled at the table setting. Never in her life had she eaten off a table draped in cloth, white linen at that. China and silver sparkled. Crystal goblets reflected the candlelight. Perhaps she was Cinderella after all.
“I’d hoped that gown would suit you, and it does. You look lovely in it, my dear.” Mrs. Vickery beamed. “I haven’t been able to wear it for years now.”
Kate wondered that she’d ever been able to wear it at all. Even on Kate it was tight. She couldn’t imagine even a young Mrs. Vickery squeezing into it.
“It’s too dear, really, Mrs. Vickery. After tonight I’ll return it to you.”
“Oh, gracious, no. I won’t hear of it. It’s yours now.”
Kate thanked her for her kindness.
Will beat them all to the table and, to Kate’s surprise, he pulled out a chair for her to sit down. There’d been a tense moment on the front porch when she wasn’t certain if he intended to join them for supper or not. Stealing a glance at him as she settled into the chair, she could see that he was resigned to the evening, though clearly not happy about it.
Mr. Vickery hung up Kate’s cloak and joined them at the table. Will held out Mrs. Vickery’s chair for her, too, and it creaked as she sat. Kate stifled a smile as he tried, in vain, to scoot the enormous woman closer to the table.
Squinting at Will behind his spectacles, Mr. Vickery said, “Don’t fret about it, Mr. Crockett. It would likely take three of you to move her.”
“Oh, John!” Mrs. Vickery let out a titter, apparently not offended by her husband’s remark.
Will mumbled a gracious response and took his seat.
“Well now, here we all are!” Mrs. Vickery swept her napkin into her lap and Kate followed her lead. The food was already laid out under covered dishes, and in a whoosh of passing plates and clanking silver, Mrs. Vickery doled out large portions to them all.
The food looked marvelous, and Kate was starved. Will seemed to relax a bit now that they were here and seated. She didn’t understand what all the fuss had been about. The Vickerys were nice people, and it was generous of them to invite Will and Kate to share their food and finery.
“The very moment I returned from San Francisco,” Mrs. Vickery said, “John told me about your arrival, and that you and Mr. Crockett had married.”
Kate smiled at her. “Aye, it all happened quite fast. You see, I had no idea my father had…”
She’d tried not think about his passing, had fixed all of her energy on getting home. But tonight as she’d passed the graveyard on her trek up the hill, Kate was reminded of how much she’d loved her father, despite all his faults.
“We were all so sorry.” Mrs. Vickery lifted a fork and pointed it at a pile of mashed potatoes. “Mr. Dennington was a fine man. As is Mr. Crockett.” She flashed Will a tiny smile. “I’m so glad you two found each other. And so quickly, too!”
“Well, I didn’t really have a ch—”
“Oh, do try the butter beans. I carried them all the way from San Francisco in my bag.”
Will sat silent, his expression unreadable. Mr. Vickery shot Kate a tight smile, then poured them all a tiny bit of wine. Mei Li once mentioned that the Vickerys made it themselves from the elderberries up on the ridge.
Kate grasped her fork, then stopped. There were two of them. Why on earth were there two forks? She couldn’t tell which one Mrs. Vickery was using to shovel mashed potatoes into her mouth.
She looked to Will for help, raising her brows in question while discreetly fingering each of the forks at her place setting. Will grabbed the outermost fork at his place and nodded once to her. Kate followed suit.
As they ate, Mrs. Vickery jabbered on about every imaginable topic. Her trip to San Francisco, the progress of the railroad, rumors of new gold strikes and how much she loved it here in California, despite the hardships.
Kate marveled at how comfortable Will seemed with all the finery. He grasped his crystal goblet with authority, used each piece of silver as if he normally ate with a half-dozen utensils instead of one or two.
The black wool jacket and snow-white shirt suited him. He’d apparently retrieved the tie he’d shucked off in the cabin. It fit snugly around his starched collar, finishing the ensemble.
His jet hair was combed back off his face. Kate remembered running her fingers through it when he kissed her yesterday on the ridge. He seemed an entirely different man tonight.
Will glanced up and caught her staring. His eyes swept over her figure, lingering for a second on her breasts. Perhaps he wasn’t so different, after all.
“The royal-blue suits her eyes, don’t you think, Mr. Crockett?” Mrs. Vickery paused her fork in midair and waited for Will’s response.
Kate met his gaze and waited, too. For all the world she wondered what he was thinking.
“Yes,” he said evenly. “It does.”
Mr. Vickery forced a smile, Mrs. Vickery tittered in delight, and they went on with the meal. When their plates were
clean, Mr. Vickery whisked the dishes away, dealt clean ones like a deck of cards, and Kate discovered what the second fork was for.
“Raw greens,” Mrs. Vickery said, unveiling another dish. “It’s French, you see.”
Kate had never been to France, nor had she ever in her life eaten raw greens. She was already full, but continued eating so as not to upset their hosts. Will didn’t miss a beat.
A half hour and several additional helpings later, just as Kate was concluding that Mrs. Vickery might never stop eating, the woman put down her fork and said, “Have you chosen any names for children yet?”
Will’s face drained of color.
“Ch-children?” she said.
“It’s never too early to plan these things, you know.”
“Gladys,” Mr. Vickery said, “I don’t think—”
“We weren’t blessed with any ourselves. It would be so nice to see little ones scampering around town.”
Will drew himself up in his chair, his back stiff, his expression hard. He’d barely said a word all evening. This was three times now that talk of infants or children seemed to agitate him.
“Gladys,” Mr. Vickery said again, this time emphasizing each syllable.
Mrs. Vickery looked from her husband’s pointed expression, to Will’s stony one, then back to Kate. Clearly the woman had no idea of the circumstances under which Kate and Will had married. Mr. Vickery must not have told her. Either that, or she chose to ignore the facts.
“You do want children, of course?” Mrs. Vickery said.
Kate felt suddenly overwarm in the small room. Will was staring at her, waiting.
“Aye. Of course I do. It’s just that…”
“John tells me you have four brothers, and that you’re the oldest.”
“That’s true,” Kate said, thankful for a reprieve from the topic.
“Well, then, you’ve had plenty of practice raising young ones.”
Desperate to change the subject, Kate said, “Michael’s the eldest boy. He’s married now. Then there’s Sean, and the twins, Patrick and Frank.”
“Twins! How wonderful.”
“Y-yes,” Mr. Vickery said. “Your father told me all about them.”
Kate looked down at the fine china place setting and crystal goblet tinged pink from the Vickerys’ elderberry wine. “I miss them,” she said. “More than anything.”
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