Jane Goodger

by A Christmas Waltz

  Boone gave her the job of cutting up onions into tiny pieces, something she found was an utterly painful and noxious job. Her eyes stung brutally, and teared to the point that she was nearly blinded.

  “Goodness, I never realized what Cook went through each evening,” she said, wiping the tears from her face.

  Boone just shook his head, slightly bewildered to be in the presence of a human being who’d never cut an onion.

  “Roy used to make this chili for me,” Boone said.

  “The man who owned this store?”

  Boone nodded as he sliced up a slab of beef.

  “You lived with him?” she asked, remembering what Agatha had told her about Boone being raised by the old store owner.

  “For a time.”

  Amelia made a face at his back. She was getting rather annoyed with his cryptic answers. “Did Carson live here, too?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “He was raised by wolves, perhaps?”

  “Close enough.”

  Amelia let out a little growl and he looked up, a completely innocent look on his face. “Either you may participate in this conversation or else I will proceed to talk about something you have absolutely no interest in. Like flower arranging. My stepaunt taught me all there is to know about it, and I will share every bit of information she imparted to me.”

  Boone’s only answer was to let out a sigh.

  “Roses.” Amelia said with a nod, and cleared her throat as if preparing for a lengthy diatribe. “They are often the centerpiece of arrangements because of their wonderful scent, hardiness, and variety. One shouldn’t overcrowd a rose arrangement with other competing scents, as that would…”

  Boone stopped chopping and turned around. “My father beat the living hell out of me on a daily basis and I came to live with Roy. Carson stayed with my father because he wouldn’t let him leave. You want more detail, then talk to Carson.”

  Amelia felt a sudden wave of regret, so strong her stomach actually felt a bit queasy. She wouldn’t have asked if she’d known the answer would be so horrid. “Oh.” She stared at his back as he began cooking the meat, his movements angry and tense. She’d known all was not quite right with Boone’s childhood, but she’d had no idea it had been so awful. In her experience, parents loved their children and whipped them only when they were very, very bad. Her own father had swatted her behind when she was five years old because she’d wandered into the path of a speeding carriage without bothering to look into the street. And then he’d hugged her so fiercely she couldn’t breathe. It had been her one and only spanking, and she still remembered it.

  What could a little boy have done to deserve to be beaten daily? Boone, who was so kind and quiet. It didn’t make sense.

  “Did he beat Carson, too?”

  “No.”

  “Why you, then?”

  Boone let out a sigh and stopped stirring for a moment, tilting his head so she could just see his pained expression. “I guess it was because he loved Carson. He was a cute kid.”

  Amelia stared down at her onions, feeling her eyes prick with tears that had nothing to do with the vegetable she’d been cutting. Amelia had been lonely as a girl, but she’d never felt unloved. “Mr. Johnson was a good man,” she said finally.

  “He was.”

  “When my parents died, my brother joined the military and left me behind. Do you know what I missed the most?”

  “Talking.”

  Amelia laughed, and was gratified to see Boone smiling again. “Yes, talking, but it was more than that. It was feeling that I mattered to someone. Sometimes in those days I thought I could disappear and no one would miss me. Our servants were very kind, but there is a sort of gap, you see. They don’t tuck you in or give you hugs. There’s a distance that’s always maintained. I would go months at a time without touching another human being. It was very lonely.”

  Boone didn’t say a word, just looked at her with his solemn gray eyes and nodded, as if he understood precisely what she was saying.

  “And then my uncle died and suddenly I was surrounded by children and a woman whom I now love like a mother. You see, my uncle never had children of his own and so he married a woman with six! I suppose he was hoping for number seven. Then he died, and she stayed on when my brother became earl.” She laughed aloud. “It was so chaotic compared to my quiet life, but I loved it. We were constantly running about, having adventures, playing games. Their favorite was statues. Do you know it?”

  “No.”

  “The children run about crazily until someone shouts ‘statue,’ and then you must freeze as if you’ve instantly become a statue. It’s great fun, because you must stay frozen for as long as possible or you lose the game. I was dismal because I always started laughing. You should try it.”

  Boone felt his cheeks flush slightly. “I don’t think so.”

  “You must. It’s a parlor game.”

  “There you go. I don’t have a parlor.”

  Boone watched as she made a face at him. Following her expressions was nearly as entertaining as listening to her talking. As she chattered away, he showed her the various spices for the chili, and felt warmth flow over him, like a comfortable old blanket that had been missing but was finally found. He liked having her here with him, talking away and not even caring whether he talked back. She baffled him, going from melancholy to laughing in a matter a minutes.

  While the chili cooked, they went outside and sat by the fountain, and she continued to talk about this or that. He swore he would recognize every member of her family if they walked through the door, so vivid were her descriptions. He found himself liking her brother, feeling sorry for poor cousin Janet who couldn’t keep any food down, and wishing he could meet the mischievous Mary.

  Boone pulled the small table out into the courtyard, and she’d clapped her hands in delight as if he’d offered her the greatest gift. She ran back into the house and grabbed the chairs and he felt a tug on his heart so strong, it scared him to hell. He had a terrible feeling that, though he’d felt alone most his life, when she was gone, he’d really understand the meaning of loneliness.

  “I do realize Small Fork doesn’t have a lot of inhabitants, but I have noticed your practice doesn’t see many patients,” she said, as he was spooning out the chili.

  “By the time I see them, they’re already dead most times,” Boone said, and enjoyed watching the shock on her face. He chuckled, and even to his ears it was a rusty sound. “Texans are fiercely independent and are disinclined to come see me until it’s usually too late. I did set a couple of legs before the drives this year, but people in these parts mostly tend to themselves.”

  To his surprise she clapped, as if delighted. “Oh, I adore Texans,” she gushed, laughing. “My brother would send for the doctor if I had the sniffles. I allowed it after what happened to my parents. You see, he came home from school sick and gave the sickness to them and to me. They both died, of course, and I nearly did. After that, Edward became rather overprotective of me. I still can hardly believe he allowed me to travel here with just a maid. I know if he discovered that Anne abandoned me in New York, he’d be on the next ship.”

  “I think I’d like your brother,” Boone said darkly.

  Amelia waved a hand. “Men should realize that women are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.” After a thoughtful silence, she added with her characteristic honesty, “Although perhaps I’m not a good example of that.” She gave him a sheepish grin, then looked down at her chili as if it were yet another insurmountable obstacle.

  “It’s good,” he urged. “And not nearly as spicy as usual.”

  She bravely dipped her spoon in and took a rather delicate mouthful, her eyes widening in happy surprise…until the heat kicked in. “Oh,” she said, swallowing. “Oh, goodness. I do believe my mouth is on fire.” She waved a hand in front of her face as if that would keep the heat at bay, while Boone poured her a glass of water.


  “It’s not hot,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You keep saying that, about the weather and now this. It is hot.” Then she smiled. “But also rather good. I think I might actually like this.”

  “Praise the Lord.”

  She took another spoonful, squeezing her eyes shut and taking another drink. “I don’t know quite why, but I find I like the heat. The chili, not the weather.” She held up her hand to stop him. “And it is hot, Dr. Kitteridge, no matter what you say.”

  “Boone.” He was grinning at her like an idiot, like a man who’d never been completely charmed by a beautiful woman before. Which, in fact, he had not. As he watched her take spoonful after spoonful of his chili, her eyes watering with the heat of it, he felt his heart give another odd and painful tug.

  When they’d finished, they went back inside and washed the dishes together, Amelia washing and Boone drying, like a couple who had been doing such mundane things together for years.

  Amelia was finding she liked doing little chores; it made her feel useful in a place where she felt utterly useless. She’d never given much thought to how her homes had been cleaned. Of course she’d seen the servants and appreciated what they did, but never thought of it beyond the general acknowledgement that the work was being done.

  “Do you think you could sweep the floor while I go get the table and chairs?”

  “Of course,” Amelia said, taking the broom from him with a smile. As soon as he was out the door, she frowned. It was the first time in her life she’d held a broom. She knew how it worked; she’d simply never done it before.

  And so, she began sweeping, bringing the dust and bits of debris into a pile with remarkable ease, and sweeping it up into the dustbin. It was, dare she think it, fun. Her brother would fall over laughing if he could see her now. Feeling ridiculously proud, she held the door open for Boone so he could maneuver the table through.

  “When I get home I think I shall shock everyone with my newfound domestic skills,” Amelia said.

  “I hope I haven’t been working you too hard,” Boone said, and Amelia couldn’t tell whether he was being sardonic or not, so she peered up at him suspiciously. He was teasing her, she could tell from his eyes.

  “I’m not completely useless, though I’m certain you think that’s the case.” She was slightly miffed. Just because she hadn’t done physical labor didn’t mean she was not a capable woman.

  “I was just teasing. From what you told me you were running your brother’s household from the time you were twelve years old.”

  Amelia was instantly appeased and inordinately happy that he’d actually been listening to her as she’d prattled on about her everyday life back home. “I don’t know what I shall do when I return. I will become one of the most dreaded creatures in London society.” When he gave her a questioning look, she answered. “I shall be an unmarried relative living on the kindness of my brother and his wife.”

  “I suppose I should ask you to explain. But I’m not going to,” he said, making Amelia laugh.

  “Are you saying, sir, that I talk too much?”

  “My ears are getting a bit worn out. I’m not used to so much noise.”

  Amelia was delighted. “You are getting rather good at teasing, Boone.”

  His cheeks turned ruddy, and that made her smile fade. For some reason, every time his cheeks flushed it made her heart wrench a bit. Perhaps it was because he was so unused to ordinary things, like teasing or calling a girl pretty. My goodness, some men could spout poetry for hours without a hint of self-consciousness. But give Boone the barest compliment or hint of flirtation and he blushed. It seemed impossible that a man as handsome as Boone Kitteridge would be so unused to female companionship, but clearly he was.

  “I have something to show you,” he said, and he gave her one of his rare smiles. “I didn’t want you to leave Texas thinking only bad things about it.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  He ducked down so he could look out the window. “Follow me.”

  Curious, Amelia did. When she reached the courtyard, she let out a gasp. The sky was a breathtaking mix of the most vibrant colors she’d ever seen in her life. Even the sunsets she’d seen across the Irish Sea could not match the one she was gazing at. The light bathed the courtyard in pink, making everything soft and lovely, almost magical.

  Amelia grasped his left hand, overcome with happiness at the site of something so exquisitely beautiful. “Thank you, Boone,” she said, holding his large hand in both of hers. Amelia didn’t give the slightest thought to holding his hand, until he slowly pulled away from her grasp, leaving her feeling foolish and somehow forward.

  She cleared her throat. “It is lovely. Thank you,” she said, suddenly awkward when she’d never felt that way with him before. She held her hands tightly together in front of her and moved slightly away from him, feeling confused and in a small way, hurt.

  Next to her, Boone let out a sigh and wiped a hand through his wavy brown hair. “It’s just that I’m not used to…”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting him, but she had no idea what she was sorry for.

  “I’m not used to being touched,” he said, his eyes still on the sky. “Oh.”

  He looked down and she watched him quickly clench and unclench his fist. “I promise I won’t touch you again. Not without warning anyway,” she said with a teasing note. She dipped her head to see his expression. He smiled, but it looked like such a sad smile.

  “Boone?”

  “What.”

  “I’m going to touch you again,” she said, with a teasing lilt. “On your arm. And then I’m going to kiss your cheek. A small little kiss to thank you for showing me this beautiful sunset.” He darted her a quick look but remained silent. “Are you ready?”

  Again, his mouth curved in a smile.

  She touched his arm and got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but instead found her lips against his. It was her turn to pull back. “That was cheating,” she said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It was such a small kiss, really, not one that should shoot desire through her like a bolt, but it had—right to her toes.

  “I suppose I should have warned you first,” he said without even a hint of apology in his tone.

  She gulped. “Yes, that would have been nice.”

  He looked down at her, his gray eyes intense with an expression she could hardly read. “Miss Amelia, I’m going to kiss you.”

  A little thrill went through her, and she lifted her chin. “All right.”

  And he did, bringing his mouth against hers, a slow, wonderful kiss that made her knees instantly weak. Carson’s kisses had been full of blatant lust, but Boone’s was more like warm, dark chocolate spreading slowly through her. Delicious, and beyond divine. He didn’t touch her, didn’t draw her against him, though she would have willingly gone if he had, but touched only her lips with his.

  He pulled back after only a few seconds, an oddly happy expression on his handsome face. “That’s better,” he said.

  “Better than what?” she said, her brain quite foggy, her lips still tingling from what was nothing more than an innocent kiss. Except it didn’t feel innocent.

  “Better than I imagined,” he said, his voice low, and Amelia shivered as her body became intensely, embarrassingly, aroused.

  “I think I’ll be heading to the hotel now,” he said, but he didn’t move, and she knew he wanted to kiss her again. She shouldn’t want him to, but she did.

  “I wish you didn’t have to.” Oh, goodness, that sounded very much like a wanton invitation, and it was her turn to blush. “I mean, I feel badly that I’m taking your home and forcing you to…I didn’t mean that I want you to stay or…I wouldn’t want you to think that I…” She stopped miserably. “You should go,” she said, finally.

  “I will. I’m finding you far more tempting than I should, Miss Wellesley.”

  After he’d gone, Amelia went back to the kitc
hen and sat down at the table, her hands folded in front of her. She shouldn’t have kissed him. Shouldn’t have flirted at all. Boone was not used to such easy banter, and she did not want him to get the wrong idea about her, about them. Flirting had always been such a natural part of who she was, she had never really given it much thought. Perhaps it was because in London society, flirting was a pastime, as much as playing statue or shopping.

  Did he really find her so tempting? She didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to like his kiss or think him handsome, either, but she did.

  She let out a little groan. Why was nothing turning out the way she’d wanted it to? Why couldn’t it have been Carson watching the sunset with her from their front porch? It was a mistake, spending so much time with Boone. She was starting to like him too much; she found him far too attractive. The kiss was a mistake, and must not be repeated.

  Boone stepped into the saloon and wished, not for the first time, that he was a drinking man. Wouldn’t it be nice to disappear for a while, to forget about what a complete idiot he was? Carson wasn’t at the bar, for once, and he was glad. He couldn’t face his brother just minutes after kissing the woman he’d been engaged to marry.

  Instead he saw Enrique Benavente, Agatha’s husband, pulling back a whiskey. Enrique, or Ricky as he was known to George’s regulars, was a good enough man, though about as lazy as a man could be and still run a chicken farm. He’d grown rather fat in the past few years, a rarity among Texans, who were known for their sinewy bodies brought on by hard lives. Maybe when he was younger he’d had an ounce of ambition, but now he left that particular trait to his two grown sons, both of whom seemed happy enough working from dawn to dusk to eke out a living.

  “Hey, Doc.”

  “Enrique.” Boone gave the older man a sharp look; he didn’t look well.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you that one of my boys claims he saw Sam Benson over in Hanover. Still mean as a snake, he said.”