Anthology - BIG SKY GROOMS

by DAVIDSON, Carolyn. MALLERY, Susan. WILLIAMS, Bronwyn (in) Montana Mavericks

  A brother? Or the man who had left her at the Double Deuce? The man who, sooner or later, would return to reclaim her.

  The fragment of thought disappeared as he became sharply aware of the warm hand on the back of his neck, the slender body crushed tightly against him. Despite a momentary stiffening, she wasn’t struggling to escape.

  Despite his own stiffening, neither was he. When her lips parted slightly, he pressed his advantage. With the tip of his tongue he began to explore the satiny interior, savoring the taste of her, the sweetness. His tongue touched hers and she made a kittenlike mewing sound, then tentatively joined in the play.

  Easy, easy there, friend, this is not the kind of kiss you give a woman unless you’re planning on taking things a lot further.

  And he wasn’t. He couldn’t, not and keep his honor intact.

  Reluctantly, he began to ease away, allowing his hands to move from her slender back, where he could practically count her ribs, to her shoulders. He withdrew his mouth, and then, acting on impulse, went back for a second serving, this time limiting himself to merely rubbing his closed mouth gently against hers.

  Finally setting her away from him, he stared down at her small, dazed face, at her awful hair, and thought, Man, you are losing your mind!

  “There now, that’s a nice way for friends to part, don’t you think so?”

  His smile was painfully forced. If God smote him dead on the spot, it would serve him right. Without another word, he turned and strode across the weedy ground to where he’d left his mare. He managed to put a safe distance between them before he turned and waved, the sick smile frozen on his face.

  She was still there. A small woman, she looked even smaller seen against the gaunt facade of his house. She didn’t return his wave. She didn’t return his smile. It was all he could do not to race back to reassure her that he’d meant no disrespect. That her being a saloon girl and his buying her freedom and then offering her a handsome salary didn’t mean she was in any danger from him in that way.

  Now all he had to do, he thought morosely as he headed into town, was to convince himself.

  WITH THE PLUMBING being installed and the last of the walls ready to be painted or papered, Lizzy was busy from morning to night, with scarcely time to think. She had done all the thinking she could afford to do once she’d realized what had happened—that she had gone and fallen in love with a man who thought of her as—

  She didn’t know what he thought of her. As a saloon girl? A paid employee? A charity case?

  She was all of the above to one degree or another.

  She had to believe Cicero would come back for her any day now, she simply had to. He would go directly to the Double Deuce, and Cam would tell him where to find her, and then he would come and take her home.

  Or at least, take her somewhere far, far away, so that they could start over again.

  Violet Gibson was a godsend. Not only did she bring out a catalog for Lizzy to immerse herself in during the long, lonely nights with only Ruby for company, but she taught her things. Useful things, such as soaking the beans and leaving off the salt until the last hour of cooking. She taught her how to test the oven for biscuits by holding her hand in the open door until she felt her fingernails begin to draw. If it happened too quickly, the fire was too hot. Not quickly enough, and her round little blobs would be dry inside and as hard as chalk. Perhaps she could find work as a cook when Cicero returned for her and they moved on to another town.

  “We could go ahead and order the curtain rods,” she suggested as the two women worked side by side in the kitchen after the men had eaten and gone back to their various tasks.

  “Might as well order the curtain material while we’re at it. If I know Mr. Will, and I’ve knowed him since he was a young scamp, he’ll not want to mess with picking out all the foofaraws.”

  Foofaraws, Lizzy had come to realize, meant anything that involved style, color or pattern. Which included walls, rugs, furniture and draperies. “Maybe we should wait. If he decides to marry, then his wife will want to choose, don’t you think?”

  Violet Gibson shot her an odd look and stacked the plain white crockery plates back inside the cabinet. “I reckon,” she allowed. “Leastwise, we can get on with washing the rest of the windows and waxing the woodwork.”

  Which is what they did. Lizzy felt a restlessness that lent her energy. The house was as clean as they could make it until the floors and the walls were finished, and still she needed to be doing something.

  Caught up in her daydream, Lizzy didn’t know when Mrs. Gibson left to go home. She wasn’t aware that outside, the hammering had stopped while the men waited for a lone rider to join them. The first hint she had that someone had arrived was when Ruby lifted her head, flapped her tail and looked expectantly toward the door.

  Only then, with an inner sense all its own, did her heart began to pound. It had been three days since Will had waved goodbye and ridden off toward town. Three days since he had kissed her. Three whole days, during which she had turned the situation over and over in her mind and concluded that the only way to deal with it was to pretend it had never happened.

  To pretend he had never kissed her, that he had never held her in his arms, with her smelling of lye soap and burned sausages, and him smelling of clean linens and healthy male sweat, with a faint hint of some citrus-scented hair dressing.

  To pretend she hadn’t tumbled headlong, heartfirst in love with the man, never mind that he was a large, handsome banker, a member of a prominent Montana family, and she was a—

  Well, for starters, she was homeless. A vagrant. An ex-saloon girl.

  The last thing Will Kincaid needed to establish his reputation as a respectable businessman was someone with her qualifications. Even if it became known that she was a member of one of Charleston’s best families, her father’s reputation had been tarnished long before he had died, owing a king’s ransom in gambling debts.

  And now Cicero seemed fated to follow in his footsteps.

  Schooling her features not to reveal the turmoil inside her, Lizzy dried her hands on her apron and hurried to the front door.

  “Sissy?”

  Cicero? “Cicero!” With a joyful cry, she caught her breath, then raced out to meet him. “Oh, Cicero—oh, look at you, you’re all dressed up! Where have you—come inside and tell me everything!”

  The handsome young man in the dandified three-piece suit lifted her off her feet and swung her around, laughing even as he took in the mess she had made of her hair, and the apron that enveloped her slight form.

  “You little scamp, I had a heck of a time finding you. What are you doing way out here? No, don’t tell me, let me tell you something, instead.”

  Lizzy wanted to hear it all, but as usual, Cicero took his own sweet time, drawing the tale out so as to place himself in the starring role. “See, I knew Cam would take good care of you, because he knew if I came back and found out you were unhappy, he’d never get his money.”

  “You paid him off?”

  “Every last penny. And you know what? I’ve still got enough to make a down payment on that ranch of ours. It’s down in Wyoming, more land than you’ve ever seen—grassland, the prettiest creeks and everything. There’s a house and some barns, only we’ll have to share it with Sam Douglass—he’s the old geezer I’m buying out, on account of he doesn’t have any family left, so you see, he needs us as much as I—that is, we—need a place of our own.”

  And she did see. Eventually. Cicero had found his cowboy dream. That her own dream would have to be sacrificed was hardly an issue. It had never stood a chance. “That’s wonderful, Ro—I’m so glad for you. I’ve been working here as a housekeeper, and I’ll have to—”

  “Yeah, Cam told me. He said you were pretty much a liability serving drinks—said the breakage alone set him back more than you were worth.”

  “Did he tell you he—” Lizzy lowered her head, unable to meet her brother’s eyes. It would kill him i
f he knew what had so nearly happened to her. He’d trusted Cam. A large part of the reason they could never get ahead was that he was too trusting, playing cards with hardened gamblers who made a career of pretending to be good-natured amateurs just so they could fleece young innocents of their money.

  “Yeah, he said this fellow hired you away from him, and he let you go before you cost him any more money in breakage.”

  “I wasn’t all that bad.”

  “Remember that dishwashing job we had in Kansas City?”

  “That wasn’t my fault, that wicked old man pinched me!”

  “Yeah, well, I told you if you’d only agreed to sing for our supper, we’d have been eating high on the hog.”

  “And I told you—” Lizzy began, but he cut her off.

  “I know, I know—you hate performing in public, but back home in Charleston—”

  “I sang for friends. My throat would close tight if I had to sing for strangers—for money.”

  “Once we’ve bought into my friend’s ranch, you won’t have to worry about your throat closing up. You’ll be the owner’s sister. You can sing your heart out, and the hired help will have to answer to me if they so much as look at you crossways.”

  His smooth face had held the same look of excitement so many times before. It was a little-boy-on-Christmas-morning look. In some ways, her brother hadn’t changed since he was fifteen and had won his first game of draw poker against three older, far more experienced players.

  “I’ll have to give notice so that Wi—Mr. Kincaid can hire someone to take my place.”

  “You can write to him from town. I’m not letting you stay here another night, Sissy. It’s not seemly, living out here all alone with a strange man.”

  Lizzy started to explain, but in the end, it was really better to leave now. Ruby would be all right outside until Mrs. Gibson arrived in the morning. She would leave her the ham, which was too hard to slice, anyway, and a bowl of water. “Just let me get my things together, then.” She managed to smile, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  THERE WASN’T A single reason in all the world, she thought later that evening, why she should be unhappy. Here she was, in the town’s finest—actually, the town’s only—hotel. It wasn’t very fancy, but at least the beds were clean and there was a bathroom at the end of the hall.

  And somewhere under the same roof, Will Kincaid was sleeping.

  She hadn’t seen him yet. Cicero had insisted on having her supper sent up to the room, which was probably best in the long run. The last thing she needed was a scene between the two men. Cicero had a quick temper when he thought his pride was being attacked.

  The meal that had been brought up by a maid was far better than anything she could cook, but it was a far cry from the quail and oyster pie, the shrimp gumbo and the Huguenot torte their old cook used to serve. And so she allowed herself a few tears because she was homesick and heartsick, and whatever awaited them in Wyoming probably wouldn’t quite live up to Cicero’s dreams, and he would grow restless and they would move on again, leaving her own dreams farther and farther behind.

  At least he had repaid what he owed Cam. She was free to leave Whitehorn. However, if they were going to be here long enough, she would like to buy a small gift for Mrs. Gibson. A pretty handkerchief, perhaps, to tuck in her sleeve when she went to one of her church socials. The Mercantile was just down the street. There’d be time to find something in the morning, even if they left on the early stage.

  The letter to Will was more difficult. She was half tempted to say simply, “I’m gone,” and leave it at that, but she owed him more. He had rescued her from a potentially disastrous situation, one she hoped Cicero would never learn about. If he thought for one minute he’d left her with a man who had tried to barter away her virtue, he would never forgive himself.

  “Dear Will,” she began, and pondered even that much. Dear he was, but should she have called him Mr. Kincaid?

  Dear Will,

  As you will have discovered by now, I’ve left your employ. My brother returned for me, and we’ll be leaving for Wyoming, where he was fortunate enough to have purchased a large, lovely ranch.

  There, it was only a small white lie. Cicero had said he’d already made a down payment on a ranch…hadn’t he?

  Thank you again for your kindness. I left Ruby at the Folly because she’s yours, after all, but I have enjoyed her company. I gave her ham and water and left a note asking Mrs. Gibson to look after her.

  Could the woman read? If not, she’d have sense enough to take the note to someone who could.

  Please tell Homer and Millard and all the other men goodbye for me. They were kind enough to eat my cooking, which I’m quite sure was dreadful, if not actually poisonous. Perhaps in Wyoming I’ll learn to do better.

  End on a light note, she told herself. And for heaven’s sake, don’t weep all over the paper and smear the ink!

  Cicero came in just before ten that night. His cheeks were red, his eyes bright with excitement. “Here’s two dollars. In the morning, you can walk down to the Mercantile and buy whatever you think you might need. We’ll be leaving on the noon stage.”

  “Two dollars? Cicero, I’ll need more than that.” Tomorrow would have made two weeks, at which time she’d expected to be paid her salary. “I don’t even have a decent hat after we sold practically every stitch of clothing we both owned to get out of—”

  “Three, then. It’ll have to do for now. Later on, I’ll give you some more, but for the moment, my funds are tied up in, um—an investment.”

  She could only stare at him. “An investment,” she repeated slowly. She knew all about her brother’s investments. He was gambling again.

  Oh, please, Lord—not now!

  NOON CAME AND WENT. Lizzy had walked down to the Dillards’s store as soon as Cicero had left, wanting to be back at the hotel when he came for her. The sooner they left town, the better. She’d bought the handkerchief and left it in care of Tess Dillard, to be given to Violet Gibson the first time she came to the store, and with the remainder she had purchased a plain straw hat that would shade her face if all they could afford were outside seats. Which might well be the case. Pride alone prevented her from collecting her salary.

  By two o’clock, her stomach was making funny gurgling sounds. She cornered a maid with an armful of linens and asked if she might have a tray sent up from the kitchen. It would go on the hotel bill, and if Ro didn’t have enough to pay, then they would end up washing dishes again. It wouldn’t be the first time. At least it was better than trying to sneak out without paying.

  It was just past three when Cicero barged into her room without knocking. Lizzy knew from the look on his face that something dreadful had happened.

  “Dear Lord, Ro, what have you done?” she asked, her fingernails biting into her palms as she held on to her temper by a thread. “I thought we were supposed to be on the noon stage.”

  “Now, Sissy, it’s not all that bad. I thought if we gave Mr. Douglass more time, he might come down on his price, is all.”

  “You did no such thing, you lost all your money again.”

  Deep breath. Don’t throw the water pitcher at him, it won’t solve anything and you’ll have to pay for the breakage. “Tell me the truth. You tell me what you’ve done or I’m walking out of here and selling my services to the first man who’ll pay me.”

  Cicero rushed across the room, his shamefaced look giving over to one of horror. “Don’t talk like that! It’s just a small setback, honest—a temporary—”

  “Temporary? How temporary? Should I find Mr. Kincaid and see if he’ll have me back?” She had left the letter with the desk clerk. By now, Will would have already read it and accepted her resignation.

  “No, please—that is, I promised Cam—”

  If her blood turned to ice water, she could not have felt any more chilled. “You promised Cam what?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH EXAGGERATED PATIENCE, Cicero desc
ribed how he’d gone by the saloon for one last drink and just happened to notice a table of greenhorns playing draw poker. One of the men—scarcely more than a boy—shoved back his chair and left, and out of sheer idle curiosity, Cicero strolled over to the table to watch the play.

  Lizzy’s face said it all. “You simply cannot pass by a poker table without gambling, can you?”

  “But my luck’s been running so good, and besides, I didn’t do it for me, Sissy, I only wanted to see you arrive in Wyoming in style. Wearing a pretty new dress and riding in our own buggy instead of the hired stage.”

  Feeling as if she’d aged fifty years in the past few minutes, she dropped onto the foot of the bed. “And just who is it in Wyoming you’re hoping to impress? Your Mr. Douglass?”

  He mumbled something about their status as one of Charleston’s first families. Evidently he’d been bragging again. Lizzy cast a speculative eye toward the heavy china ewer, but only shook her head. “And Cam—where does he come into this pathetic tale of woe?”

  Addressing his shiny boots, the young man said, “I, um—lost some money. Cam said he’d take responsibility because it was his place, and I’m pretty sure the cards were marked.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “So Cam said you can work there again until I can get together enough money to—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “He said he’d made more money off you than all the other girls put together,” Cicero said hopefully.

  “And that’s all right with you? For me to act the whore as long as it gets you off the hook?” There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. Glad of the words she had picked up in the saloon and from the carpenters, she cried, “Damn your sorry hide all to hell and back, Cicero Price-Hawthorne, if Mama hadn’t died, you’d have sold her, too, wouldn’t you? How much am I worth? Two dollars an hour? Five dollars a night? Let me warn you in case you didn’t know it—Cam lies! He lied to you when he said I wouldn’t have to work upstairs, and he lied to you when he said he’d made money on me. I broke enough glasses to fill the entire Yellowstone River! Once I even dropped a full bottle of whiskey and it spilled out and Cam turned around so fast he skidded and fell down and knocked over a jar of pickled eggs. And you know what else? I never even had a single upstairs customer!”