by Judith Pella
What was he thinking? He couldn’t even dance, for heaven’s sake! He would trip over his own feet and hers as well. Was civilized dancing the same as he’d done in cantinas and bawdy houses? He’d learned a few things about dancing from those gals. But it couldn’t be the same, could it?
“Hey, Tom,” Micah said, “you think they dance the same at a respectable ball as they do in a saloon?”
“Ain’t as much holding on to the gals as you might do in a saloon,” Tom answered thoughtfully.
“So you’ve been to a ball like the one tonight?”
“Once or twice,” Tom replied rather shortly, then turned his back to Micah.
Micah had the feeling Tom was holding back. Not that he was the most ebullient of men, but it seemed as if he was leaving something very important unsaid. Micah also sensed from Tom’s suddenly solemn demeanor that it was best not to probe further.
Jed, not as sensitive to subtle changes in temperament, started laughing once again. “You, Tom?” He snorted. “Show us, Tom! Show us how they dance respectable like.”
“Micah’s right!” Tom growled, “you got a mouth bigger than the Palo Duro Canyon. Now shut it up!”
Still laughing, Jed urged, “Come on, Tom, you’re supposed to be our teacher. Teach Micah to dance!”
In a mere blink of Jed’s eyes, Tom snatched his Bowie knife from its scabbard and held it threateningly before Jed’s face, which had paled a shade or two in response to the sudden action.
“Shut up, or I’ll ram this down your throat!” Tom growled.
Jed backed up a step. It was clear the usually mild-mannered ranger had a dangerous side that Jed had seriously stirred.
“All right, all right,” Jed muttered, “I was just funning. Can’t no one have no fun!” He stalked away with his head jutted forward, still muttering as he went.
Tom sheathed his knife, tied his horse, then said, “I’m going to the river.”
Securing Jose, Micah followed Tom. He still saw no way he could attend the dance, but he needed a bath nonetheless. On the way they met a couple dripping rangers.
“Reckon you got the water all muddy for the rest of us,” Tom grumbled.
“What’s got into you?” asked one of the men.
“None of your business!”
The rangers just rolled their eyes and continued on. Micah caught up to Tom. He knew it was risky, but he asked, “What’d Jed do to set you off, Tom?”
“Nothing.”
They reached the water’s edge and stripped down to their long johns. There were already two or three men splashing around in the water. Micah and Tom joined them. The water was muddy but cool in the summer heat. One of the other swimmers offered the use of a hunk of lye soap. Micah lathered up his hair, and as he ducked under the water to rinse he thought he would smell like lye, but at least he’d be clean. But why did it matter? He wasn’t going anywhere.
A few minutes later he sloshed out of the water and onto the shore to dry in the sun before donning his clothes. Tom came up the bank a couple minutes later.
“Can’t go to no dance in these,” Micah said, picking up his shirt with two fingers and giving it a shake, sending a cloud of dust all around.
“Yeah, they do look pretty sorry,” Tom offered.
“Maybe they can stand one more wash.”
“Won’t help.” Tom gave his shaggy wet hair a shake, sending a spray of water to join the dust. “I’m sorry ’bout what I said to Jed,” he added.
“Don’t tell me. Tell him.”
“I’m also sorry for needling you about going to that dance.” Tom sat down on a rock, stretching his legs out before him. “I nearly forgot something that happened to me a long time ago. When it come to my mind, Jed’s words were just like rubbing a raw nerve.”
“What happened?”
“I been to only one dance, so I ain’t that much of an expert. It was just before I come to Texas.” He scraped a hand over his chin. “Actually, it was kind of your fault I went. I was pretty content hunting and trapping and living on my own, but when I seen your family and especially you and your little sister when I guided y’all to Natches . . . well, it just put a hankering in me to have a family of my own. I was only thirty years old, so I figured I wasn’t over the hill yet.”
Micah gaped openmouthed at his friend. “You was only thirty years old! I remember thinking you was an old man.”
Tom snorted a laugh. “Thirty looks a lot older when you are twelve than when you are twenty-one, I suppose. Anyway, I figured to find myself a wife. I didn’t fancy a squaw or a hurdy-gurdy woman, so when I heard about a respectable dance in town, I gussied myself up and went down from the hills to attend. There was a gal there who gave me a sweet smile, and I thought for sure she might take a shine to me.” Pausing, his eyes glassed over momentarily, as if it were no longer Micah’s grubby face before him but rather that of a pretty freckle-faced, blue-eyed dream. “I asked her to dance, and we did okay while the music was slow and easy. I didn’t know the steps but could keep up, just tramping on her toes once or twice. Then the band struck up a fast reel. I got overconfident, forgetting I was just a clumsy mountain man. Somehow my feet got tangled up, and I went flying to the ground. Out of pure reflex I grabbed on to her, and we both went stumbling and tripping. I tore her dress in a most immodest way. She screamed and cried and started hitting me. Then her pa got in the act and began beating me up. I barely got out of there with my life. Swore I’d never go to another dance again.”
The two men fell silent. The hot sun felt good baking on Micah’s face and wet body. His underwear was drying out quickly. His hair was also dry, and to keep the glare of the sun from his eyes, he grabbed his hat from his pile of clothes and pressed it on his head. In the moody quiet that hovered over him and Tom, Micah considered the older man’s sad story. His friend’s experience seemed as good a reason as any to keep away from places where one did not belong, and Micah instinctively knew he would be as out of place at the dance tonight as Tom had been at his. Micah had lived wild for too many years to consider mixing with decent folks now.
“I’m glad you told me that story,” he said at length. “You probably kept me from making a first class fool of myself.”
“That’s not why I told you about my experience,” Tom said. “I just thought you ought to know why I was acting the way I was. Just ’cause I made an ignoramus of myself don’t mean you’d do the same.”
“I don’t get it. You still saying I should go to that dance?”
“I ain’t saying nothing, you dunderhead!” Tom snapped. “Make up your own mind.”
“Well, maybe I would go if I had decent clothes.”
Tom jumped up and strode to the pile of clothes. He picked up an item between two fingers as if it were diseased. “It’ll take another wash.
And you won’t look half bad once it’s clean.”
“I don’t want no wife,” Micah suddenly declared.
Tom stared at him, then laughed. “First things first, boy.” He dropped the garment back into the dusty heap. “Who knows? Maybe she don’t want no husband.”
“Isn’t that what all respectable women want?”
Tom shrugged. “Going to a dance isn’t a marriage proposal. But I’m thinking a man ought to go to at least one dance in his life. I figure it has more in the way of making a man out of you than killing Comanches.”
“Maybe. If it turns out the way your dance did.” Micah smiled as he thought again of Tom’s story. When Tom allowed himself a smile, Micah knew the tension was dispersed. “Give me a Comanche attack any day!”
“Go wash these duds of yours.” Tom picked up the pile and tossed them in Micah’s face.
Laughing, Micah gathered the clothing in his arms, rose, and marched resignedly to the river. He didn’t know what he was doing or why. Even as he knelt by the water and began scrubbing his shirt, he still hadn’t made up his mind about the dance.
CHAPTER
14
BIL
L MCBROOME HAD A BOTTLE of toilet water stashed among his belongings. In a moment of extreme stupidity, Micah let the man convince him to splash some on himself. Now as he strode toward the hall where the dance was to be held, Micah was certain he smelled like a bordello.
Music emanated through the open doors and windows of the place. Inside, it looked very festive, with garlands hanging from the ceilings and candles and lanterns lit all around the room. The hall was crowded with at least a hundred people. It was hard not to be self-conscious of his shabby appearance, since almost everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. There were a few other rangers present, and some of them looked no better than Micah. A couple of them were sharing a suit jacket between them, taking it in turns to dance when they had the jacket.
At least Micah had shaved, and one of the Mexican rangers who had been a barber before joining up had trimmed his shaggy hair. He was also wearing his buckskin coat, the one made for him by his stepmother shortly before he left home. It was probably the only reminder he had kept of his home, and he told himself he only kept it because good coats were hard to come by. It was stifling hot, but it was the nicest thing he owned, and it somewhat camouflaged his other worn garments.
He headed toward the punch table, where a couple of rangers were standing. He tried not to scan the crowd for the face of Lucie Mac-callum. In fact, he was trying so hard to keep his eyes fixed on the punch bowl ahead as he skirted the edge of the dance floor that he failed to maneuver around a dancing couple. It was a reel, and they were moving fast. The woman slammed forcefully into him.
“Ugh!” he grunted.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said.
“Watch where you are going, fellow!” her partner said.
“I’m sorry. It was my fault,” Micah said when he gathered his wits about him.
Only then did he see he had bumped into Lucie. Visions of Tom’s debacle jumped into his head.
“Why, Mr. Sinclair, you did come!” She seemed not in the least disturbed by his clumsiness.
“Yeah, I did,” he said obviously enough.
“Who might this be?” asked the gentleman a bit unsociably.
“This is Micah Sinclair. He’s a ranger.” Then to Micah, “This is Grant Carlton, a local rancher.”
The two men nodded, and Micah sensed immediate hostility from Carlton. They did not shake hands.
“Come, Lucie, let’s finish the reel.” Carlton put an arm around Lucie and nudged her back to the disrupted reel.
Micah thought Carlton acted rather possessive toward Lucie. Fleetingly he thought about leaving right then. But with a dogged determination he could not explain, he instead headed to the punch table. So Lucie had a beau. Well, that pretty much let him off the hook. Why didn’t he feel relieved, then?
He ladled himself a glass of punch and frowned when he realized the sweet concoction had not even a drop of wine in it. He could use something a little stronger right now. But he gulped the punch, realizing as the liquid slid down his throat that his mouth was as dry as sand—from nerves, not exertion. He casually watched the dancers and, he thought just as casually, let his gaze rest upon Lucie. She was wearing a frock of a deep red wine color, and now that he had let himself observe her, she was all that he could see except for her partner, whom he was forced to take note of as well.
He was a handsome man, Micah supposed, in his fancy suit and black cutaway coat with its velvet collar and his striped silk vest. He complemented the lovely Miss Maccallum quite nicely. And they danced well together, too. Lucie was smiling and laughing while Carlton’s hand took every opportunity it could to rest upon her trim waist. Micah’s throat got even dryer as he watched. He gulped another swallow of punch.
Bill McBroome sidled up to him. “Ya want a little fortification in that punch?”
“I’d like more than a little,” Micah said wistfully.
McBroome took a flask from his pocket and poured a measure into Micah’s glass. Micah never expected his wish to be fulfilled, but he grinned his appreciation. Several glasses of Bill’s punch later, Micah was emboldened to stride onto the dance floor, right up to Lucie and her partner.
“Ahem!” he said politely, tapping a finger on the fine fabric stretched over Carlton’s shoulders, for indeed it was Carlton dancing again with Lucie.
Carlton ignored him, but much to Micah’s pleasure, Lucie didn’t.
“Mr. Sinclair, are you ready for that dance I promised you?”
“I reckon so.”
Carlton glared at him as Lucie stepped between the two men. “You have been monopolizing me, Grant.”
So Grant, was it?
“People will talk, you know,” she added.
“I wouldn’t mind that, Lucie, my dear.”
The way Carlton emphasized “my dear” set Micah’s teeth on edge.
Lucie gave Grant a rather coquettish smile, then grabbed Micah’s hand. “Come, they are starting up a new reel.”
As they moved deeper onto the dance floor, Micah drawled quietly, “I ain’t the best dancer.”
“Just follow my lead and watch the other men. You’ll catch on.”
He did as she instructed and managed quite well. All the while, though, he kept track of his own feet. No way would he trip and tear her pretty dress.
Lucie was glad to be rid of Grant Carlton, but she knew that accounted for only part of her joy at the moment. Micah had decided to come to the ball! And he had mustered the courage to ask her to dance. She well appreciated it must indeed have taken some courage to break in on another man and risk refusal. But he had done it, and now they were hand-in-hand, stepping to a lively Virginia reel. He was a bit awkward on his feet and had stepped on her slipper more than once, but she supposed he had not been to many balls such as this. At any rate he was picking up the rhythm and the steps well. He seemed to be enjoying himself if the smile on his face was any indication.
Too soon the music stopped, but the leader of the musicians had an announcement to make. “We’re gonna try something new. A waltz. I heard several of you know the steps. Everyone else can watch and learn.”
“Shall we give it a try, Micah?”
“Sure.”
Glancing around, she saw Grant heading toward them. Quickly she placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder, drawing him close. Then the music began, and it was too late for Grant.
“Put your hand here.” She took his hand and placed it on her waist.
“Whoa!” Micah breathed. “They allow this sort of thing?”
Lucie giggled. “It is currently very popular. Now listen to the beat of the music. One, two, three . . . one, two, three.” She moved her free hand in an approximation of the rhythm. “Let me have your other hand.”
Free hands clasped, she nudged him into step with the music. His boot nicked her slipper once or twice, but she bit back a cry of pain even though it did hurt some. It was easy to overlook pain when she concentrated on his nearness. His hand on her waist was warm and oddly secure. The touch of his other hand in hers sent a tingle through her entire body.
“D-do you like it?” she asked, her voice cracking a little as she looked up at him. They were barely an arm’s length apart.
“Yes,” he replied.
Lucie sensed he wasn’t talking only about the dance. The way he was looking at her made her knees rather weak. He was so handsome, but not in the polished, slick way of Grant Carlton. She could tell he had spruced himself up for the dance, but there was still something very rough-cut about him. And thinking in those terms, she thought of an uncut gem. That’s what Micah Sinclair was. Wild, her father had said, but even he had to admit there was something solid beneath the untamed exterior. Remembering his tenderness with that orphaned baby only reinforced her conclusion. And that was the difference between Micah and Grant. Grant was a diamond, cut in all its glory. But what shined on the surface was all there was to him. She thought of the quote she’d read in The Merchant of Venice: “All that glitters is not gold.” How true in this case.
Lucie was certain the real gold dwelt beneath worn cotton and denim, not serge wool and silk.
“I’m glad you came to the dance,” she murmured.
“So am I.” There was a very slight tremor to his voice. But his gaze was so steady, almost boring into her like a shaft of blue light. His hand tightened on her waist, and she thought he had eased her ever so slightly closer to him.
Neither of them noticed when the music had stopped. Lucie was certain it was several heartbeats before that fact penetrated. He dropped his hand first and stepped back, obviously flustered.
“That was nice,” she said dreamily.
“I gotta go now.”
“What?”
He turned and all but fled the dance floor. In another moment he had disappeared among the crowd. She strained to see over the heads of those pressing in about her and thought she caught a glimpse of him exiting the building. She would have gone after him, but Grant came up to her.
“That was rude of him to leave you standing here like that,” he sneered.
“He . . . he . . .” She didn’t know what to say or what to make of Micah’s surprising behavior.
“What more can you expect from trash like that,” Grant droned on. “As I waited for the dance to finish, I was told by one of the gentlemen that he was a horse thief who barely escaped hanging by joining up with the rangers. Had I known that, I would never have let you in his company.”
“I . . . I think I need to freshen up.” She was feeling a trifle flushed and warm, but it wasn’t really the seclusion of the ladies’ parlor that she wanted.
Without waiting for a response, she headed across the room in the direction of the parlor, passing her father on the way. She smiled at him—at least she offered a thin disguise of a smile—then continued on her way. She stepped into the corridor that ran at the rear of the ballroom and, seeing a woman exit a door, noted the location of the parlor. But Lucie went down the corridor, past the parlor door to the end, where she found another door she knew led to the outside. This she opened and plunged into the cool night air.