by Pam Crooks
She hid her smile. “He is anxious to learn. He comes to see me and asks many questions.”
Reese rolled his eyes and hauled the heavy saddle off, swinging it onto the top rail next to Liza. “Yeah, I'll bet.”
“He has been a gentleman. His intentions are most honorable.”
“He's a man with a man's desires.”
“He is only a boy.” Mentally, she compared Hank's rangy frame with Reese's hard-muscled bulk, his youthful features to Reese's chiseled planes. “A boy,” she insisted.
“He'd best not lay a hand on you, if he knows what's good for him. I'll not stand for it.”
“He has not.” Reese's jealousy was most endearing. No other male in Liza's life had been afflicted with that sweet malady. She found it quite pleasant to be at the center of not one man's attentions, but two. “I do not think he likes my cooking, though.”
“Really?”
“Too spicy.”
After removing the bridle, Reese pulled off the saddle blanket and waved it at the stallion, spooking him into a run toward the other side of the corral. He draped it over the fence, then stood in front of her and hooked both thumbs into his hip pockets.
Liza looked down at him expectantly.
“Not only is he a pest, but he doesn't appreciate a good cook when he sees one,” Reese said roughly. “Maybe that's for the best. Leastways, he won't come to call when he's hungry.”
The air tinkled with her laughter, and she reached for him, her hands grasping his broad shoulders. He took her waist and swung her from the fence, gently settling her to the ground.
“You are the only Gajo that matters to me,” she said softly. “I cook for no one else but you.”
“An easy promise to make, sweet lady, until another man claims you.”
“I speak the truth.”
“So do I.”
She cocked her head and wondered at his change in mood. “You will believe me when you see that I have planned a special supper for us. Roasted pork with applesauce. Maudeen gave me her recipe and showed me how--.”
A shadow crossed his features. His glance fell away, and he released her.
“I won’t be eating here tonight,” he said.
She blinked.
“I have an appointment with Rebecca Ann for dinner at the Grand River Hotel.” He frowned into the sky. “I pick her up at seven.”
His quiet explanation rocked her. He did not have to tell her why.
“I see.” She pasted a brittle smile to her face. “It does not matter, Gajo. I will eat my share of dinner and save yours for lunch tomorrow.”
Liza stood in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by the delectable aromas of seasoned meat and fresh-baked bread, and could find no appetite for them. Her stomach churned. Her heart ached. Her head pounded with resentment.
Tonight, Reese would ask Rebecca Ann to marry him. What a fool she had been to fall in love with him when all along she knew he could never be hers. Of course he would choose a woman of his own world, one beautiful and sophisticated. Why would he want a simple Gypsy?
Her lip curled. Rebecca Ann. Pah! She could not heal a horse or pluck a chicken or climb trees to pick apples for sauce. She was too fragile, too perfect. She would only melt in the sun.
Liza snatched a knife and a fresh carrot and began scraping with a vengeance, her pique flying free with the peelings. Did Rebecca Ann worry when Reese worked too hard? Did she fret over his railroad and Silas McCrae? Hardly! She would not know to do such things.
Liza's hands slowed. She bit her lip.
What could she do? She did not know how to keep him. She had not learned the tricks a woman used to win a man. Reese would be ready to leave soon. Any minute. How could she make him stay?
She must try before it was too late.
The knife and carrot fell to the table with a clatter. She spun about, flaring her skirts in a blur of turquoise, and left the kitchen.
The door to his bedroom stood open. At least, in that regard, he had not shut her out, had not clung to privacy. She walked in without hesitation.
He stood at the mirror buttoning his shirt, the tails hanging outside his black pants. Their gazes met in the glass. Liza could not think of a thing to say,
She turned and plopped on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the coverlet, and watched him finish dressing. His scent reached her, bay rum and soap, all in preparation for his proposal to Rebecca Ann.
She drew in a breath and let it out again. “The child, Margaret Michelle. She is feeling better?”
He stretched his chin to manage his tie. “Bram tells me she is. I haven't seen her myself.”
“Oh.” She plucked at the coverlet. Then, “You must be looking forward to having dinner at the hotel.”
“Not really.”
“I am sure it is a lovely place to go.”
“Nice enough. I'll take you sometime.”
She snorted at the impossibility of it. “Do not make a promise you will not keep, Reese.”
His brow rose at the snap in her tone. “If I say I'll take you, then you can be sure I will.”
“After you are married, or before?”
Her wounded heart could not stop the words, and as soon as they were out, she regretted them. With slow, measured movements, he faced her and leaned back against the dresser, gripping the edges until his knuckles showed white. “So that's what this is all about.”
She could not look at him. “I am sorry. I did not mean to say that.”
A heavy breath left him. “It's time for me to take a wife, Liza. I'm not getting any younger. I want a family. Children.”
“Of course.”
“I've given this a lot of thought. She's the best--she'll be good--.” His teeth clamped tight. Hot and fierce, his gaze raked her, as if demanding her to deny it, to give him reason not to see it through.
But she could say nothing. From the moment Liza had met him, Rebecca Ann had been his, an important part of his life. How could she deny him what he wanted most?
The air strained with their silence. Abruptly, Reese pushed away from the dresser and snatched the suit coat lying on a corner of the bed.
“I'll be late tonight. Don’t wait up,” he ground out, and shoving his arms into the sleeves, he left.
She flinched at the front door's slam. A sudden panic gripped her that all of her time with him would be lost, all her happiness gone, the tender feelings nurtured in her heart these past weeks forgotten, trampled beneath another woman's feet.
She could not allow it. Saints in heaven, she could not!
Bolting from the bed, she lifted her skirts and dashed down the stairs. She feared she might not catch him in time, that he might already have left, that he would forget if she did not make him remember. The front door swung open with the same loud bang with which it had closed.
“Reese!”
He halted from his climb into the buggy and turned toward her.
She had little to give him. She was only a poor Gypsy, but she had herself, did she not?
Liza flew to him, then, in a blur of skirts and beads and bare feet. His arms opened, an instinctive action, and he took her weight against him, falling back a step to regain his balance. She gave him no time to speak, but wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, pressing her mouth to his with all the love and fervor she possessed.
Like a spark to flint, passion ignited between them. He crushed her to his chest, lifting her, her toes clearing the ground by inches. Her lips opened, his tongue thrust inward, invading the moistness with ardent demand, until she was consumed with the taste, the feel, the want of him.
He groaned deep in his throat and set her down again. He could not seem to hold her close enough, or tight enough, or long enough. His hands roamed her spine, roughly, passionately, never still, sliding down to her buttocks. His palms opened, and he cupped the rounded flesh, kneading them against him. His male arousal pressed against her feminine softness through the layers of skirts, and a new kind of fir
e raged inside her.
His brazen possession burned her senses. She had not expected his response; she could not have guessed the strength of it. A sound trembled in her throat.
“Say the word, Liza,” he rasped against her mouth, as if he could not bring himself to break away even for a moment. “Say it, and I'll stay. I'll call everything off.”
Her bosom heaving, she twisted from his kisses.
“I cannot,” she whispered, her pulse thundering inside her. “I cannot.”
She pushed from his embrace, knowing her lips were ravaged and swollen, that he was as shaken as she, and just as tormented.
But he must decide without her. He must learn for himself when there was no passion between them, when his head was clear, his mind rational.
Only then, would he know the truth in his heart.
Reese leaned back in his chair and swirled the whiskey in his glass. He stared broodingly at the amber liquid, spinning and whirling like a golden tornado, reminding him of her, the golden temptress with golden skin who made him lust with the fury of golden fire.
He lifted the glass, tossing back the whiskey in one gulp, and relished the heat in his throat. It matched nicely with the heat in his loins that refused to go away.
He scowled and tried not to think of her.
Next to him, Rebecca Ann dabbed at the milk her daughter spilled over the hotel's starched tablecloth. Margaret Michelle couldn't sit still through the meal, which further grated Reese's patience. Conversation was near impossible; the child had neither the discipline nor inclination to obey her elders. And Bram just sat there, puffing on his pipe with a grandfather's indulgence, smiling at his granddaughter's antics. Reese glowered at him.
He hadn't intended on the dinner being a family affair. He had wanted to spend the time with only Rebecca Ann in a quiet meal to discuss their future. Up to now, the subject had never even come up, and as the evening wore on, Reese wondered if it would.
Margaret Michelle poked a finger into a dish of peach tapioca pudding. Ignoring the spoon nearby, she pulled out a dripping slice of fruit and stuffed it into her mouth. A plate of diced roast beef and potatoes sat untouched, save for the gravy smeared on the front of her blue crinoline dress.
Watching her, Reese frowned. “It might be a good idea if she ate her meat and vegetables first, Rebecca Ann. Having dessert now will spoil her for the rest of the meal.”
Rebecca Ann merely smiled and pulled a smashed pea from one of her daughter's perfect blond ringlets. “She has always had a sweet tooth, just like her daddy. Why, I remember when Michael and I were married, he took all the leftover cake with us on our wedding trip.”
“Ate it all, too, as I recall,” Bram said, chuckling around the pipe stem.
“Yes, he did.” A faraway look stole into her china-doll eyes. “And he was as trim and fit as ever. Right up until the day he died. Do you remember, Papa?”
“I sure do, honey. He was a mighty handsome man. For as long as I knew him.”
A quavering sigh left her. She blinked rapidly and sniffled. Bram murmured something compassionate, and Reese nearly rolled his eyes heavenward.
They'd abandoned him to the outside of their private circle of memories, and he chafed at it. With a grim certainty, he realized he'd forever compete with a dead man's ghost, like it or not, and he'd damn well better get used to the idea.
He reached for the bottle of whiskey.
“Mama! Out! Out!” Margaret Michelle howled.
In her determination to be done with her dinner and out of her seat, the child toppled a glass of ice water and pushed at the table, yanking the starched cloth and sending the lighted candle in the centerpiece swaying. All three adults leaped to their feet. Reese lunged for the taper, Bram right-ended the water glass, and Rebecca Ann grabbed for her daughter.
“Rebecca Ann,” Reese said in a low voice, his patience at an end. “I don't claim to be an expert on child-rearing, but she needs a firmer hand. She's getting a mite too much to handle.”
Clearly aghast at his opinion, Rebecca Ann's gaze darted to Bram, then back at Reese.
“She's tired,” she said defensively. “She's not yet totally recovered from the measles, you know.”
The disease had long since run its course. Margaret Michelle had returned to her usual contrary form, but he said nothing more and gestured to the nearest waiter to bring them a damp cloth.
“I think it's best we go to our room now,” Rebecca Ann said, washing the little girl's wiggling fingers as best she could. “I'm taking an early stage back to St. Louis tomorrow.”
“You're what?” Bram and Reese asked in unison.
“Being cooped up in this hotel has driven me near to madness,” she pouted, oblivious to the unexpected detour she'd caused in Reese's plan. Her gaze drifted to her daughter who wandered among the other diners. “Margaret Michelle needs to be back in her own house and playing with her own toys. Niobrara City is so small, why, there’s nothing to do here, and with that train whistle blaring all the time--I'm sorry, Reese, I know it's your train, but in St. Louis, we don't have trains so close to our home.”
Bram cast him a pointed glance. “I'll take Margaret Michelle for a walk. Wear her out some before bed. That'll give you two time to yourselves.”
“But--” Rebecca Ann said, her perfect brows furrowed.
Obligated to see this through now that Bram had troubled to arrange it, Reese cleared his throat. “I'd like a few minutes with you, Rebecca Ann, if you don't mind.”
“Of course not.” But her eyes followed her daughter and father out into the lobby.
He took her elbow and led her from the dining room to a tiny rose garden at the back of the hotel. Niobrara City had little to boast of by way of romance; it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
“Reese, is there something special you wanted to talk to me about?” She peered up at him, a vision of perfection in the gathering dusk. He detected no coyness in her, or even a true desire to be outside. Beneath the hem of her plum-colored dress, her toe tapped impatiently.
He pushed his hands into his pants pockets. Countless times he'd planned this conversation, practiced it and relived it. Now all the right words evaded him.
“Have you given any thought to living anywhere besides St. Louis?” he asked finally, taking a coward's road.
She appeared perplexed. “Oh, no. Why should I? St. Louis is my home.”
“Niobrara City will grow in time. The people here are good, God-fearing citizens who work hard for a living.”
“Reese, are you saying I should live in Niobrara City?” She seemed appalled at the thought. “You've got to be joking.”
His hackles rose. “You'll not find a nicer town anywhere. The N & D offers prosperity and respect, not only to Niobrara City, but to the state of Nebraska, as well.”
She studied him, as if trying to understand his way of thinking.
“You're so much like my father,” she mused. “Perhaps it's the railroad you built together. I don't know.” She shivered and crossed her arms over her small bosom. “I shall never leave St. Louis, Reese. My house is there. I remember vividly the day Michael and I decided to buy it. We shopped for weeks for just the right neighborhood.” She shook her head. “Before he died, Michael chose the school he wished our daughter to attend when she's old enough. Of course, I’ll honor his wishes.”
A man of Reese's years should not have been so blind, so stupid. From the beginning, he’d closed his eyes to the truth, so obvious now, so implacable. All along, he he’d been a first-class idiot.
“Of course,” Reese said quietly. Inch by inch, a heavy burden slipped from his shoulders. Rebecca Ann's decision freeing him from his own.
“Was there anything else, Reese? I'm cold.”
“No, nothing.” A small smile formed on his mouth. His well-laid plan gone awry. Or had it? “I'll take you inside.”
They met Bram waiting in the lobby. Margaret Michelle was busy turning somersaults in
the middle of the floor, but went willingly enough to her mother. They made proper good-byes, and pensive, Reese watched Rebecca Ann head toward the stairs.
She hadn't reached the top before Bram spun toward him.
“You didn’t ask her to marry you, did you?” he demanded.
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
Reese narrowed his eyes at the insistence in his tone. “She doesn't want to be married to anyone but her husband, that's why.”
“What're you talking about? He's dead.”
“I know it. So do you. But to her, he's still alive. Leastways, in her head.”
A deep red crept over Bram's cheeks. Rarely did Reese see him this angry. “You're making a big mistake. Rebecca Ann is perfect for you and the N & D. You said so yourself. But you're letting her slip through your fingers because of that troublemaking Gypsy you've been shacking up with all these weeks.”
“Leave Liza out of this.”
“Deny it, then.”
“Damn you, Bram.”
“Damn you!” Bram fairly shook with rage. “That's the end of it between us, Reese. I'm pulling out of the cartel. Finance the N & D on your own. You're not using Kaldwell money to keep your lousy train running on its track!”
“Bram, listen to me!” Reese grabbed his friend's arm, but Bram jerked free with a snarl and stormed from the hotel.
He might as well have landed his fist into the pit of Reese's belly for the wind it took out of him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak to beg reconsideration. For one irrational moment, Reese thought of Rebecca Ann, of marrying her after all, of finding a way to make it work. His glance shot to the stairs, but she was long gone to the shelter of her room. A sick feeling of defeat washed over him.
In the dining area, the clatter of dishes penetrated the lobby. A waiter busied himself clearing their table, dumping dishes and glasses into a large metal pan for washing. Only the whiskey remained.
Reese strode over and snatched the near-full bottle. “I'm not through with this yet,” he muttered and tossed a bill onto the soiled tablecloth. “Here's payment for the meal. Keep the change.”