"Joey..." Ben murmured against her hair. "You're lookin' fine as rain." He took a deep breath, untangled his arms from hers, and held her away from him so he could look at her.
She cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder, but blushed like a schoolgirl at his compliment. "You old flirt," she scolded. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Ben." Her gaze took in the others standing beside him now. "And Clay, too." She crossed the space between them and gave him a quick affectionate squeeze. "Where in tarnation you been fer the past few years?" she asked, turning to Ben. "We missed ya."
"Here and there," Ben answered noncommitally, surveying the dimly lit store. "DuBecque still around?"
At that moment, a heavyset man carrying an armload of boxes appeared at the door.
Joey tipped her head in his direction. "In the flesh. Henri," she called, "look who we got here."
Henri DuBecque, six feet two inches of brawn and silver-streaked black hair, unloaded his burden and straightened. "Sacre Bleu!" he cried, seeing his old adversary. "Ben, mon ami..." He extended his hand and clasped Ben's firmly. "It has been too long, no?"
"I reckon so," Ben answered with a smile.
"You have been well?"
"Life's been good to me," Ben admitted.
"Ah," DuBecque answered warmly, "and to us." He looked with affection at Joey. "But still we struggle, eh? C'est la vie." He shrugged, looking around at his shop. "Mieux vaut sagesse que richesse. Wisdom is worth more zan money, no? Are we wise yet, my friend?"
"Wiser than we were twenty years ago, I hope."
"Oui," DuBecque chuckled in agreement. "One can only hope." With a warm handshake, he greeted Clay and was introduced to Kierin and Dove. He turned back to Ben, his expression suddenly puzzled. "You are not wiz ze train, yes?"
Ben guffawed loudly. "I see you still ain't learnt English, Henri. I am with the train—yes," he answered with a broad smile. "Hard to believe, ain't it? But me and Dove here run into Clay and his friends a ways back on our way to the Abrasokas. We decided to hitch up with 'em fer a spell."
DuBecque eyed the pregnant Indian girl with a sly smile. "Oh-ho, I see ze old grizzly bear still growls."
A quick look passed between Ben and Joey, but it was gone as soon as it came.
"Henri," Ben said, good-naturedly, neither acknowledging DuBecque's implication nor denying it, "are ya of a mind to do some serious dickerin' here or do ya plan to flap that jaw of yours all afternoon?"
DuBecque hadn't stayed in business all these years by being dense. He was quick to pick up on Ben's reticence to discuss the girl and he promptly dropped the subject. "Ah, oui, mon ami. My humble store eez at your disposal."
Ben and Clay gave DuBecque their lists, which included additional supplies of flour, sugar, and coffee and Jacob's requests as well. Joey helped another customer in the busy store, but Kierin noticed the woman's eyes strayed often to Ben. Were they in love once? It would explain the bittersweet look she'd glimpsed in both of their expressions.
While Dove examined the bolts of yard goods, Kierin's fingers trailed enviously over the fine-textured spools of satin ribbon on the table. Her hurried departure from Independence had precluded bringing along such small luxuries as hairpins and ribbons. Most days, she simply tied her unruly tresses back with a rough leather thong.
She glanced up to find Clay's eyes on her from across the room. The unfathomable expression in his smokey eyes caused her heart to race and, suddenly trembling, she forced herself to turn away. She let out a small cry of surprise when she ran smack into the solid bulk of a man.
"Whoa, little lady," a voice said just above her ear.
A man's hands caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. The rank odor of his unwashed body and the stale smell of chewing tobacco assailed her before she even got a look at his face. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.
"Excuse me," she said, glancing up at him. A chill went through her and she shrugged off his hands. He wasn't a tall man, but he was built like a bull. No shirt covered his dirt-stained long johns and the placket lay open, exposing a mat of hair the same reddish color as that of his scruffy beard and thinning hair.
His sharp blue eyes narrowed fractionally when he caught sight of her face, and he made a quick assessing perusal down the rest of her. Absently, he touched the brim of his battered hat to her.
"Ma'am."
Kierin breathed a sigh of relief as she edged by him. Something about the way the man looked at her made her uneasy. She could still feel his eyes on her back.
Kierin shook off the feeling. It was probably just her imagination. Still, she decided to put as much distance as she could between them. On the opposite side of the store, she stopped at a glass case near the front of the shop to admire the trinkets there. Silver-edged hand mirrors, fine-cut crystal bottles of perfume, and trinkets of jewelry lay against a green felt cloth, looking utterly out of place in a post so far from civilization. Her gaze roamed over the fine things slowly, like a child examining a forbidden plateful of cookies.
"Like 'em?" Joey asked at her shoulder.
Startled by her voice, Kierin jumped then laughed at her foolishness. "They're beautiful."
"Got more if you're interested. I keep 'em under the counter," she said, already reaching for them.
"Oh, no." Kierin put a hand up to stop her. "I couldn't possibly buy any of them."
"Who says you gotta buy? Lookin' can be almost as much fun." She set a tray on the counter and pulled away the cloth cover. "Henri scolds me fer tradin' fer these things 'cause we hardly ever sell 'em. I tell him that bein' a woman gives me the right to do foolish things now an' then."
Kierin smiled and looked down at the delicate pieces on the tray. There were gold rings with precious stones, silver-filigree pendants, and even a few plain wedding bands which had been parted with, she guessed, at great sacrifice.
Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze fell on a gold locket on a thinly braided gold chain. With trembling fingers, she reached out to touch it.
"Like that?" Joey asked. "Me, too. Simple but elegant, ain't it?"
Kierin nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She looked up at the older woman. "I... I know this locket."
Joey's face flattened with surprise. "You do?"
"It used to be my mother's... before it was mine," she murmured, fingering the piece.
Joey had a doubtful look on her face. "You sure, honey? Yer a long way from home."
Kierin looked up at the older woman. "I gave it to my brother before he left for California. It has a picture of me in it."
"You don't say? If that ain't the dangdest thing..."
Clay walked up beside Kierin. "See something you like?"
Joey pried the locket apart. Inside were two tiny photographs: one was of a young boy whose expression spelled mischief, and the other was of Kierin.
"That looks like you," Clay announced redundantly, a perplexed frown drawing his brows together.
"Where did you get this, Joey?" Kierin asked with a note of quiet desperation. "Do you remember?"
Joey scratched her wild gray hair. "Well, now lemme think. I've had it a spell. Least a year."
"Kierin, is that you?" Clay persisted.
Both women ignored him. "Did you buy it from the boy in the picture?" Kierin asked.
Joey was thoughtful for a moment. "No... I seem to recall it was an older feller who sold it to me, but now that I look at the picture, I do remember there bein' a boy with him."
"You do?"
"Yep. Dark-haired lad? Freckles? Yea high?" She angled a flat hand across her throat to approximate his height.
"Yes!" Kierin clasped her hands together under her chin. "That's him. That's Matthew! Oh, Joey—was he all right when you saw him? Did he look well? Was he-"
"Whoa.. "Joey laughed. "Near as I kin recall, the boy was just fine. Healthy and cute as a button."
Kierin pressed the locket to her heart. "Thank God. For a minute, I thought..." She pushed
the worry from her mind. "I gave that locket to Matthew so he would have something to remember me by. Why would my father sell it?"
Joey shrugged. "Same reason as most folks, I expect. Need food more'n they need trinkets."
"Of course." Slowly, Kierin untangled her fingers from the chain and replaced it on the tray. Though it broke her heart to return it, she had no money to buy it back from Joey.
Clay rested a hand on Kierin's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Joey, tell me how much you want for it." Kierin's eyes darted to his in surprise.
Joey shook her head with a warm smile. "Some things oughtn't to have a price on 'em." She pressed the locket into Kierin's palm. "You take it, dearie. Let's just say I was holdin' it for ya."
Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she squeezed Joey's hand in thanks. "I don't know what to say..."
The gray-haired woman waved away Kierin's thanks. "Nothin' needs sayin'. Now,"—she caught Clay's eye—"are you gonna hook that thing around this pretty little lady's neck or am I?"
Clay responded with a laugh. "You're a peach, Joey." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek and took the locket from Kierin.
His fingers brushing her skin, Clay fastened the necklace around Kierin's throat in one deft movement. She felt her heart skip a beat at his closeness. He stayed behind her, hands bracketing her shoulders while she gazed at her reflection in the small hand mirror Joey held up. The locket settled against the cotton fabric of her dress like an old friend. Wearing it, she felt suddenly whole again, as if a piece of what had been torn away from her had been restored. Matthew had made it this far and a little part of him was back with her again.
Having concluded his business with another customer, Henri walked over to admire her selection. "Ah, tres belle. A wise choice, madam." He gave Joey a quick wink for her salesmanship. Joey's self-satisfied expression gave away nothing of her secret. She passed the wink on to Kierin when Henri turned away.
"You will come to the fandango at the fort tonight, mes amis? The young lady needs a place to wear such a trinket, no?"
"Fandango?" Clay said.
"It's Saturday," Joey offered in explanation. "We have a dance every Saturday night as long as there's trains comin' through. Keeps all these blue boys on their toes—if you know what I mean."
"What time?"
"Sundown, or thereabouts." Joey tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "There's two other trains camped up on the river. Mormons in one—don't expect we'll be seeing much of them. The others will be here, though. Pass the word among your folks, will ya? The more the merrier."
Clay hefted a crateful of supplies into his arms and glanced at Kierin. "We'll do that. I think we can all use a break from trail dust for an evening."
"Should we bring something?" Kierin asked Joey.
A lively smile touched her lips. "You won't see any of them soldiers tumin' away home-cooked sweets," Joey hinted, "but for their part, I can pretty much guarantee you won't be dancin' with a dry throat neither."
Evening's long shadows slanted across the camp by the time they heard the first strains of music coming from the fort across the meadow. Jacob, Ben, and Dove walked on ahead, leaving Clay to pace near the fire, waiting for Kierin to finish dressing. He slid an index finger along the inside of the collar of his white chamois shirt, then straightened his black string tie. He felt vaguely uncomfortable in such trappings of civility, but then it had been a long time since he'd bothered with them.
"Kierin?"
A long pause. "Mm-hmm?"
"Are you, ah... almost ready?"
"Mm-hmm," came the muted reply.
He nodded silently to himself, absently twirling his flat-crowned hat between his fingertips. "Ben, Dove, and Jacob already went on ahead..." He heard her murmured response and cast a furtive glance back at the wagon. Bending low over the sweet fragrance of the dried-apple cobbler Kierin had made this afternoon, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. With mischievous resolve, he poked a surreptitious finger into a vent at the top of the crust, then popped the sweet-tipped digit into his mouth. Clay let out a sigh of pure pleasure.
"Perhaps I should have made two cobblers. One for the party and one for you."
Clay straightened guiltily at her words, let out a little laugh, and turned to meet the smile he heard in her voice. "I think that would have been a good i—" He stopped as he caught sight of her. His teasing words gathered at the back of his throat in a lump.
As he had hoped, she wore her green calico dress—the one the color of newborn leaves. The drop-shouldered sleeves were gathered at her slender wrists with the same tiny seed pearl buttons that ran down the front of her gown. The gold locket caressed the hollow between her breasts and caught the bronzed glimmer of the fireglow. In her loose auburn hair was the emerald satin ribbon he'd bought earlier from DuBecque and left in the wagon for her to find.
"You look... beautiful, Kierin." Clay tightened his fingers around the brim of his hat. It was an effort not to cross the short distance between them and gather her up in his arms.
Two telltale splotches of color rose in her cheeks at the look of undisguised hunger in his eyes. Her dark lashes fluttered down, casting long shadows across the delicate planes of her face. "Thank you," she said. Smoothing the bodice of her dress with the palm of her hand, she let her eyes stray back up to his. "And thank you for this, too." She touched the satin ribbon she'd threaded through her hair. "You didn't have to do that."
Seeing the smile it brought to her lips, he was suddenly very glad he had. "I wanted to. Besides, how could I resist?" One corner of his mouth quirked up as he slung a narrow parfleche over his shoulder. "The color matches your eyes." Picking up the warm cobbler, he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
Kierin nodded, but her hand trembled as she placed it in the crook of his arm. His gift had touched her more than she could say. It was so unlike the other men she'd known to think of such small things. She couldn't remember her father ever giving her a gift or putting her needs before his own. She'd come to accept such insensitivity from men, even learned to expect it. But the protective barriers she'd erected against the inevitable hurt it caused were being steadily chipped away by Clay Holt's small kindnesses. The ribbon was only a tangible display of the thoughtfulness he'd shown her all along.
She remembered all the times he'd relieved her of the water-hauling chores when she was so tired from a long day's walk she could barely put one foot in front of the other; all the times he'd let her sleep a few extra minutes and started the morning fire for her. She thought of the small silly things, like the time he'd shown her the prairie dogs and his unexpected laughter when he'd pointed out the artful theatrics of a nesting killdeer.
She glanced up at him as they walked toward the fort in the twilight, and felt her heart swell with love for him. She was as helpless to contain the powerful emotion as she was to deny it. She would just allow herself to enjoy this one evening with him. What could it hurt to put aside their differences for one night? She tightened her hand around the taut muscle of his arm and leaned fractionally against him.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No. Just excited," she answered, drawing in a lungful of the blossom-scented evening air. She watched a red-wing blackbird skim the surface of the grassy sea in pursuit of a fat evening moth. "I think it's only fair to warn you though, I'm... not much of a dancer."
"No?" His face registered his surprise. "Well, that's not a problem," he told her with a cocky grin.
Her expression was doubtful "It isn't?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Because I am."
Chapter 12
Clay's boast was not an empty one, she discovered minutes later. Pole-hung lanterns defined the impromptu dance floor, which was simply a collection of canvas tarps spread across the fort's central parade ground. After depositing the cobbler on the groaning dessert table at the north end of the circle, and dispensing with perfunctory greetings to friends, he swept her o
nto the crowded dance floor.
The musicians played a lively rendition of "Turkey in the Straw." Kierin stumbled several times at first, but as she grew more comfortable in Clay's arms, she forgot to worry about stepping on his toes. He pulled her close, resting his left hand against the small of her back. The fingers of his other hand intertwined with hers. He guided her expertly through the lively two-step, compensating for her lack of expertise with his own skill. His ability on the dance floor shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. He danced the way he did everything else—with an easy, self-assured grace.
Kierin and Clay nodded their hellos to Mel and Elizabeth Watkins as they whirled by and then nearly collided with Daniel Thorp and his young wife, Susan. Daniel kicked his heels up with hilarious gusto, careening across the floor with all the finesse of a runaway wagon. Susan's dark blond hair flew around her face and she let out an unladylike whoop of raucous laughter as she clung to the whipcord-thin shoulders of her husband.
The crowd was quick to pick up on Daniel's enthusiasm and soon even some of the reluctant dancers were out on the floor. Clay spotted Ben and Dove near the refreshment table. Ben wore a happy grin and Dove's moccasined foot tapped out the rhythm of the music against the canvas floor.
Clay shouted to them. "What're you two waiting for? The first snow? Come on out here and dust some canvas."
Ben answered with a booming laugh. "I'm willin'," he called. "It's my bones that ain't." They laughed and Clay spun Kierin away toward the center of the circle.
The song ended a minute later, but they barely had time to catch their breath before the small band struck up a new tune. Jim Kelly, holding a battered old banjo, and Jacob with his mouth harp, had joined the musicians up on the wood-planked platform, prompting whistles and catcalls from Clay and some of the others from their train. The song was "Camptown Races," and Deemer Penry belted out the catchy lyrics as the crowd fell into step.
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