Lips That Touch Mine

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Chapter Fourteen

  Claire and Anna hung their coats, then headed into the main room of the hall. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows dressed with garnet-colored velvet draperies lined the north and south walls. A massive, gas lit chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room and casting a warm yellow glow on the crowd gathered below.

  The excitement of the evening was palpable in the air, and Claire breathed it in. She was so thankful not to be spending another evening alone in her boardinghouse. The cavernous hall hummed with excited chatter and the rustling of evening gowns.

  Anna tapped her elbow. "Our neighbor has spotted you." She gestured to a small cluster of men and ladies standing less than ten feet away.

  Claire looked straight into Boyd Grayson's seductive eyes. A hint of a smile lifted his lips, and he nodded his head.

  She returned his silent greeting, but noticed a female hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  Her gaze shifted up to a tantalizing bare shoulder and a delicate, exotic face. The woman's hair was piled high on her head in a mass of ebony curls that spilled down her neck to her shoulder blades. She smiled at one of the men beside her, and the sharp claw of jealousy clutched Claire's chest. The woman was beyond beautiful.

  An odd sickness filled her stomach, and she dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. So what if Boyd was with a lady. Despite the woman's beauty, she was probably just one of many for him. Beautiful women flocked to men like Boyd. Like Jack. Claire had given up trying to compete with those ladies long ago.

  She wouldn't deny that she was attracted to her handsome neighbor, but she was smart enough to ignore it.

  Boyd lifted his hand and beckoned her and Anna to join him and his group of friends. Claire didn't want to meet the pretty lady on Boyd's arm, but she forced herself to move forward.

  Boyd clasped Anna's hands. "You're breathtaking, Anna. Marry me," he joked.

  She glanced at Claire. "This really is a magic dress."

  Claire smiled, glad that Anna hadn't flinched away from Boyd's gentle teasing.

  "How are you, Anna?" he asked, concern replacing his flirtatious smile.

  "Fine," she said quietly. "Claire is good medicine for me."

  "I'm sure." He reached out and caught Claire's hand. "I'm glad to see you out this evening."

  The woman he was standing with turned and eyed Claire with open curiosity.

  "This is Anna Levens and my neighbor Claire Ashier. Ladies, this is Martha Newmaine from Buffalo." Martha shot a sidelong glance at Boyd, then greeted Anna, but her gaze lingered on Claire. "Are you the lady who started the movement to close the saloons?"

  "Dr. Lewis did that, but I'm doing my best to help him succeed."

  To her surprise, Miss Newmaine smiled. "I've heard that your...efforts are upsetting the saloon owners." She turned her beautiful brown eyes toward Boyd, a teasing smile on her face. "Are you going to close your saloon for her?"

  A lazy grin touched his lips. "I'm afraid not. I wouldn't even do it for you, darling."

  Her smile widened and she rubbed the sleeve of his suit coat. "What if I threaten to spill our secret?"

  "Then I'll return you to Buffalo."

  She laughed and turned back to Claire. "I'm not ready to take a train home just yet, so I'm afraid you'll have to fight this battle on your own."

  "On the contrary, Miss Newmaine. There are over three hundred of us working for temperance in our community. We'll succeed."

  Martha flashed a stunning smile at Boyd. "If that's the case, you'll have to come to Buffalo to open a saloon."

  Unwilling to witness their flirtation, Claire nodded to Martha and Boyd. "If you'll excuse us, the cantata is about to begin," she said.

  "I'll escort you ladies to your seats," Boyd suggested, capturing Claire's hand. He tucked it into the crook of his elbow, then glanced at Martha. "I'll be right back for you." She nodded, and he gave his other elbow to Anna, who took it willingly.

  Claire tried to pull away, but he drew his elbow against his side, trapping her fingers against his ribs. He tipped his head and put his mouth near her ear. "You're stunning tonight."

  "So is your companion, Mr. Grayson."

  "She is magnificent, isn't she?"

  She was, but Claire was too shocked by his blatant admission, and her own hurt reaction, to answer.

  "I'm surprised to see you and Anna here," he went on.

  She found it more surprising to see him here, and with that gorgeous female hanging on his arm, but she said nothing. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want another word with the charming, self-satisfied flirt. Because every word hurt.

  He stopped and guided her into the row where Anna had quickly seated herself. Claire sat in the end seat beside her. She breathed a sigh of relief when Boyd left, but to her irritation, he guided Martha into the seats directly across the row. He sat in the end chair and nodded to Claire who was sitting a mere three feet away from him.

  To avoid looking at him, she turned and engaged Anna in conversation, hoping their chatting would calm both of them.

  Suddenly, forty people gathered at the front of the hall. Their joyful singing filled the room and flowed through Claire. She closed her eyes and listened with her whole being, letting the song lift her. This was worth her precious money.

  The solo singer Estella came on stage, singing with such power and beauty, Claire was mesmerized by the performance. Estella hosted a make-believe party, and invited the male singers. To entertain the ladies, the men battled with pretend snowballs, which made Claire think of her childhood and of the unfettered joy she had once felt romping in the snow with her sister and friends.

  The talented group of singers and their performance captivated her.

  Estella's true love William, defeated Jenkins, the man who was planning to propose to Estella. Watching Jenkins try to win Estella's affection made Claire and the audience laugh.

  Later, when Estella and William slipped away to express their love for one another, Claire's heart felt achingly empty. Despite her hoydenish ways as a young girl, she'd dreamed of a dashing prince who would fall in love with her. She imagined him to be tall with dark hair and sparkling eyes that promised passion. He would be her strength and her weakness, her lover and her friend, her slayer of dragons. He would enjoy her too-forward manner, and laugh at her dry sense of humor. Their days would be filled with sunshine and laughter, their nights with whispers and passion.

  The young girl in her still believed that man existed, still hoped that he could rescue her from living a scared, dull life.

  But the woman in her knew it was a fairy tale, a dream, and that any joy in her life would be of her own making.

  As the cantata was ending, William and Estella came upon Jenkins, who, not succeeding in gaining Estella's heart, concluded to marry Araminta, one of the singers. The audience smiled and sighed with satisfaction as forty voices rose in a good night chorus to finish the performance.

  Claire slipped her hand into her pocket and squeezed the little carving in her palm. She listened to the singers' beautiful voices while she dreamed of love, of a more youthful and hopeful time of her life. What if Jack had been kind, if he'd really loved her? Would she, like her grandmother and Estella, still feel drawn to another man? Would she still feel drawn to Boyd Grayson, or would she be content as Jack's wife?

  The gas stage-lighting cast a glow across the audience's upturned faces. Claire glanced at Boyd, but he wasn't watching the performance. He was looking at her.

  Warmth surged through her chest, and she clenched her hand around the carving. Why was he looking at her when Martha was sitting beside him?

  His face was half in shadow, and his eyes were dark, but she saw his lips lift in a smile—for her. There was no one else in the shadowed room he could be smiling at.

  With his dark coloring and handsome face, Boyd could be the prince she'd once imagined. But the prince she imagined would never have taken her to a cemetery on Christmas Eve. Of all
the unromantic things in the world to do, Boyd had chosen the one thing that had touched her the deepest. Somehow he was finding every way possible to wrench open her heart. He was giving her gifts she couldn't refuse, making her laugh when she wanted to cry, filling her lonely house with his and Sailor's silly antics.

  What she had once felt for Jack in the earliest days couldn't come close to all the ways Boyd had already touched her heart with his smile, his charm, his silly dog, and his art.

  She was older and wiser now. She understood the difference between real life and make-believe. But she wondered what her life would have been like if she'd met Boyd instead of Jack.

  "Beautiful," Anna said with a sigh, rising to her feet with the rest of the audience and clapping vigorously.

  Claire shook her head and got to her feet. She was still an idle dreamer. Boyd was with Martha. When Martha returned to Buffalo, Boyd would find another beautiful lady to cling to his arm.

  Desmona Edwards was looking straight at Anna. Claire moved forward to shield her friend from the gossip. Desmona was too nosy. She would ask too many questions. Anna needed peace and privacy, not an interrogation from the prying old crone.

  They moved into the congested aisle ahead of Boyd and Martha. They couldn't hurry because of the crowd filling the hall, but Claire felt Boyd's tall body shifting behind hers. She imagined him looking at her while he held Martha's hand in the crook of his elbow.

  Some men did that. Jack had. Those men held one woman on their arm and ogled others.

  Jack's arm had been reserved for her, but every woman in the crowd had been his. He'd admired them, winked at them, cast lascivious gazes that made them giggle. He was tall and golden and gorgeous.

  Claire had believed she would feel proud on his arm. She'd felt like a ball and chain.

  Boyd touched her arm and stopped her. "Beebe's Saloon was loud earlier, so pay attention on your way home."

  Claire thrilled to his unexpected touch, and immediately called herself a fool. He only wanted to caution her to be careful. He wasn't flirting with her. He was simply being considerate.

  She nodded to Martha. "Good-bye, Miss Newmaine. Perhaps we'll meet again."

  "I'm sure we'll see each other soon, Mrs. Ashier." The woman turned to Anna. "That dress is lovely on you."

  "It's a magic dress," Anna said again, with wistful smile that made Claire's heart ache.

  They chatted and shivered all the way home. Inside, they took off their coats, made tea, and carried their cups to the parlor.

  "What was your favorite part?" Anna asked, as Claire knelt to stoke the fire.

  "When William confessed his love for Estella," she said. "What was your favorite part?"

  "I couldn't possibly choose." Anna released a dreamy sigh. "I loved every minute. It was wonderful to escape life for a while. Thank you for taking me. And thank you for letting me wear this dress."

  "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

  "I did," Anna said. "Did you?"

  "Of course."

  "I thought you might have been uncomfortable with Boyd watching you all evening."

  Claire brushed her hands across her skirt. "He wasn't watching me."

  "He most certainly was! His eyes barely left your face during the whole performance."

  "Nonsense. Martha had his full attention."

  "No, Claire. You did." Anna sighed. "That man is definitely attracted to you."

  "Twaddle." She flapped her hand and sat in the rocker. "Boyd Grayson is attracted to every woman."

  "That's not true. All women are attracted to him, but few of them can get his attention. Believe me, you've got his full attention."

  "Only because he's playing games with me, hoping I'll stop marching and badgering him to close his saloon. This is sport for him, Anna. "

  Anna sipped her tea in silence, but her downcast eyes reflected her disagreement.

  "Why would Boyd bother with me when he has women like Martha swooning at his feet?" Claire asked

  "Because you're beautiful, and because you aren't swooning at his feet."

  "Then he's pestering me because he sees me as a challenge?"

  "Possibly." Anna lowered her cup. "Although I think he's genuinely attracted to you. He can't keep his eyes off you."

  "That's because he's a rake."

  Anna leaned back on the sofa. "Rake or not, that man is smitten."

  Bosh. Ridiculous. Utter nonsense. Boyd Grayson was smitten with Martha. Even now he was probably seducing the lovely woman

  The thought pierced Claire's heart with such pain, she shoved the image from her mind and took a large gulp of tea. The hot liquid scorched her throat and made her eyes water. Served her right for being such a ninny.

  How on earth had she let that reprobate sneak beneath her guard?

  It was that damned carving. That little gift from him had been the beginning of her downfall. The exquisite piece of art had elicited her curiosity about the man. From the first, she'd been awed by his talent and attracted to his good looks. But it was the way he tended her injured foot, the way he loved his dog, the way he built that astonishing snow castle just for her, that had touched her heart.

  And now he was probably making love to Martha.

  Had he given Martha one of his carvings?

  Were they laughing and flirting with each other? Or were they whispering and touching and...doing all the things that lovers did when they were alone in their bedchamber? The thought of him loving Martha carved a chunk out of Claire's heart.

  How had she allowed herself to have feelings for Boyd?

  How could she be so utterly pathetic?

  Anna yawned and stretched like a cat." I'm exhausted and relaxed and truly happy for the first time in ages. If you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed before I start dwelling on my life again."

  "Good idea." Claire placed her teacup on the stand beside her, then followed Anna from the room.

  Her gentleman boarders opened the front door and entered the foyer holding large goblets of whiskey-colored liquid and laughing uproariously.

  "Ah, our lovely hostess," said the taller of the two men.

  "Good evening, Mr. Carver. Mr. Hosington," Claire said, exchanging a wary glance with Anna.

  "George and I were hoping to see you ladies this evening," Mr. Carver said in a too friendly manner.

  "Why?" Claire asked, then cursed herself for allowing her suspicion be so obvious. "Was there something you gentleman needed?"

  "Just your company. Join us," he said, gesturing toward the parlor with his glass.

  Anna backed toward the stairs, and Claire gave her a discrete nod. "It's been a long day for the both of us," Claire said. "We'll bid you gentleman a good night."

  "Don't spoil the evening, ladies." Mr. Carver stepped forward and captured Claire's hand. "Stay," he said earnestly, the whiskey on his breath assaulting her nose. "Let us enjoy your company for a while."

  Claire retracted her hand. "I provide a room and meals, Mr. Carver. Not companionship. Goodnight, gentlemen!' She turned to head upstairs, but Mr. Carver caught her shoulder and forced her back toward him.

  "How much?"

  She frowned. "How much for what?"

  "Your companionship."

  The insult burned through Claire and ignited her fury, but she remained outwardly calm.

  "Don't play coy, Mrs. Ashier. The bartender next door told us about your extra amenities. We're willing to pay you ladies," he said.

  Anna gasped, but Claire forced herself not to slap the man's face. Without uttering a word, she walked to the closet, opened the door, and pulled out her revolver. She turned and pointed it at Mr. Carver.

  "Get your bags and get out."

  Mr. Carver scowled. "How dare you point a gun at me."

  Claire shifted the nose of the barrel toward his chest. "Anna, go upstairs and gather their bags for them." Anna hurried upstairs.

  "This is ridiculous," Mr. Carver said, exchanging a glance with Mr. Hosington, who seemed as up
set and uncomfortable with the situation as Claire was. "You can't toss us out at this time of the evening."

  "The Taylor House is just down the street by the Common. I'm sure they can put you up for the duration of your stay."

  Anna hurried down the stairs clutching two large valises. Clothing spilled from the bags and fell onto the floor as she plunked the bags at Mr. Carver's feet.

  "Take your bags and leave," Claire said, keeping the revolver pointed at the man.

  "Fine." Mr. Carver reached down, stuffed his clothing into the bag, and picked up the valise. "The hell with you ladies. You probably wouldn't have been worth my money anyhow." He stormed out the door, leaving Mr. Hosington to gather up his bag and mumble a brief apology before he followed his nasty friend outside.

  Anna locked the door, and Claire put the gun back on the shelf in the closet. "Remind me not to rent to men who drink liquor," she said.

  "You shouldn't rent to any men," Anna said, her quavering voice revealing her upset.

  "I'd rather not, but I have to." Claire sighed and hooked her arm around Anna's waist, turning her toward the stairs.

  "Let's try to forget this insult and remember how much we enjoyed the cantata this evening."

  Lord, her life was becoming a mess. She had men propositioning her like a common harlot. She was attracted to an unsuitable man who served liquor to men like Mr. Carver, and she had taken Anna and her dangerous situation into her home. Claire had lost her common sense for certain. She had only just freed herself from a tyrant. She didn't have the strength or the will to face men like Mr. Carver or a devil like Anna's husband.

  But she couldn't stop taking in boarders any more than she could send Anna away, not when she needed the money and Anna so desperately needed an ally. Besides, she genuinely liked the woman. Their relationship was the closest Claire had come to having a friend in years.

  Whatever the cost, Claire had to find the courage to open her door to strangers and to help Anna.