Western Ways

by Tysche Dwai

  John wanted to learn more about why she hadn’t married but felt it inappropriate to ask.

  “Why not attend school?” he said encouragingly.

  “Lack of funds, for one thing.”

  “And if you had the money to pursue an education, what would your area of study be?”

  “Writing—perhaps history, or literature.”

  John caught the vivid sparkle in her eyes. He thought of several books he would recommend her to read in the future. In the short time since they met yesterday, he’d made up his mind to pursue Grace. Everything in his life was new. New job, new home.

  He saw no reason why he couldn’t have a new woman in his life, and Grace fit the bill exquisitely. If he went slowly, maybe he wouldn’t frighten her off. “I’m an awful host not to have offered you something to drink. Would you like coffee or a cup of tea?”

  “Tea, please.”

  John rose to his feet and smiled down at her. “Have you eaten supper?”

  “Yes. I ate at the boarding house earlier.” She tilted her head to one side and gave him an assessing look that made him blush. “Can you cook?

  “Yes.”

  “Truly?”

  “Believe it. My mother insisted I learn right alongside my three sisters.”

  “Unheard of!” she cried.

  He laughed as he headed toward his small kitchen, saying, “Mother always said I’d make a woman a wonderful husband if I did.”

  He turned back to see her smile.

  He brewed a pot of tea, glad it was Friday. His first day of teaching wasn’t until Monday. He had a few days to tour the city before beginning his work. He looked forward to his first day of teaching, but tonight he looked forward to enjoying the company of a beautiful woman. Perhaps, since Grace was also new in town, she’d allow him to escort her about town during the next few days.

  He carried the teapot and two small cups into the parlor. For a moment, he thought she’d left him. But he found her sitting before a chess game by the window.

  After setting down the pot, he poured them each a cup of tea and ambled to her side. She never took her gaze from the chessboard. Carefully, he nudged her hand with the saucer and she took it from him. He sat down opposite her, watched her study the board and the position of the chess pieces. He’d been playing against himself earlier—something he did when there was no one else to share his appreciation of the game.

  “Tell me you play.”

  She glanced up at him, then leaned back in her chair and gave a nonchalant shrug. “A little.”

  “Enough to offer me some competition?”

  A pensive expression crossed her face. “Probably not, but I’m willing to try—if you don’t...”

  Watching her closely, he waited for her to finish her comment. When she didn’t, he said, “If I don’t what?”

  “Make fun of me and the moves I make.”

  John frowned. “Now, why in the world would I do that?”

  She shrugged again. “It’s happened before, that’s all, and then I lose all my confidence.”

  Reaching out, John took her free hand. She gave him a startled look and started to pull her hand back. He kept it in his grasp until she stopped tugging. Smoothing the palm, he stared down at the soft, fair skin. “I’d never make fun of you. Truly. Perhaps some day you will tell me who did.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied.

  He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes and stifled his groan. Someone had hurt her—and had done a damned good job of it. He was beginning to realize so much of Grace’s persona was false—purely bravado when she was a beaten down little soul.

  With a curt nod, she bit her lip.

  “Since you’re sitting on the white side, it’s your move first.”

  Grace was an unseasoned player but she played with a passion he admired. Midway through their game, she stretched her arms high above her head and arched her back.

  John’s breath caught at the sight. Her breasts jutted out against the fabric of her man’s suit jacket. Then she collapsed against the back of her chair. “I’m exhausted!”

  He folded his hands between his knees and leaned over the chessboard. “Thinking can be tiring.”

  Her laughter exploded in the silence of the parlor. “Oh, for certain it can be.”

  “Have you plans for tomorrow?” John inquired as he sank against the back of his chair.

  “Aside from touring the town a bit, not particularly.”

  “Allow me to show you about.”

  Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Then you know Bozeman?”

  “No. But I’d enjoy learning about it and seeing it through your eyes, too, with your delightful companionship.”

  Once again, he saw her biting her lower lip as she pondered his suggestion. Finally, she raised her gaze to his and said softly, “I think I’d enjoy that.”

  John grinned. “Excellent. We’ll have breakfast together then stop by a ladies shop so that you may purchase a set of clothing. We don’t want Mrs. Couture growing suspicious, do we?”

  A mischievous look crossed her face. “Oh, then you don’t believe my not coming home for the night would provoke any suspicions, do you?”

  He kept his face as bland as he possibly could, replying, “Not a chance.”

  She burst out laughing again and he joined her.

  “No, you will escort me back to St. Angel’s early in the morning. If Mrs. Couture tells me I must leave, so be it. I will then be obliged to find another domain.”

  “How will you get into your room, though?”

  “Through the front door, which I should have done tonight, instead of making you climb that tree.”

  “You didn’t twist my arm you know.”

  She smiled. “I know, and it was very kind of you to come to my aid.”

  “If Mrs. Couture gives you any trouble then we shall spend the day looking for another place for you to stay.”

  Grace sighed. “I’m afraid I can afford little by way of rent.”

  “We’ll find some place you can afford,” he stated firmly.

  He rose from his chair, took her elbow and helped her to her feet. “Come, it’s time to rest.” Even in the parlor’s dim lighting, he saw her face color a charming shade of pink. “You may take my bed. The divan will be fine for me.”

  Grace stopped and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Oh! I’ll take the divan. Besides, you are much too tall for it.”

  “Absolutely not. You are my guest. What sort of host would I be if...?

  “No. I won’t stay if you insist, John. I won’t.”

  Lord but the girl was stubborn!

  “All right, then, I’ll make up the divan for you.”

  “Just a pillow and light blanket should suffice.”

  When John returned from his bedroom with a blanket and pillow in his arms, he stopped dead in his tracks. Grace had removed her jacket and was in the process of shrugging out of her waistcoat. Her back was to him and he found himself greedily staring at her womanly backside clad in the plaid men’s pants and the narrow tapering of her waistline in a crisp white shirt that was still tucked into the waistband.

  Lord, how had she fooled anyone into believing she was a man? With her pretty curves, it was impossible.

  John cleared his throat and she turned to him and took the blanket and pillow. “Thank you,” she said softly, proceeding to make up her bed.

  “I feel terrible about this,” he murmured.

  She whirled to face him. “Why?”

  “As I said, you are my guest.”

  “Not by your choice but by chance. Thank you for the offer.” She sank down on the divan and added awkwardly, “Well, then, good night, John.”

  “Yes, good night,” he said, hearing the reluctance in his own voice. Stepping back a few steps he stared down at her as she lifted her legs and curled onto her side, her head on the pillow. It was only then he noticed she’d removed her shoes. His heart lurched when he saw the holes in her white stockings—
women’s stockings. Her dainty feet and sweetly feminine body deserved much better attire.

  John tossed and turned, in one moment pulling the covers to his chin, in the next yanking them down. Hot and cold tore through his body, all because of the beautiful woman asleep on his divan. God, what did she think he was, a bloody saint? No more, he decided, wrenching himself into a sitting position.

  His conscience warred with his upbringing. He was a gentleman, but a gentleman had limits. He shed the guilty feelings as he thought of her in his bed, making love to her. Immediately, his excitement faded. She hadn’t shown any romantic interest in him whatsoever and he sank back on his bed, feeling low and irritable.

  John shot up in bed though when he heard voices calling to him, and a banging on his apartment door. Donning a long velvet robe, he tied the belt as he left the bedroom. With a quick glance, he noted Grace sitting up on the divan, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

  “John? Someone is at the door.”

  “Yes, I know,” he gritted out, “and they’d better have a damned good reason for waking us in the middle of the night.”

  She didn’t need to know he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

  He unlocked the door and yanked it open, surprised to find the President, Randall LaFoy, and Professor Roger Carlson on his doorstep.

  “Gentlemen?” John said as he moved outside, closing the door behind him.

  LaFoy stood directly below John, a scowl in place. “Professor? You’ve yet to start your first day of work and I’ve heard some unsettling news about you.”

  Frowning, John replied, “I don’t understand.”

  Before John could react, Professor Carlson moved up, jostling past LaFoy, storming into the apartment. John followed him, groaning when Carlson stopped directly in front of the divan where Grace lay buried beneath her blanket.

  “See!” Carlson accused, pointing at her huddled form. “He’s been caught red-handed, President LaFoy! It appears our illustrious new professor is a lover of men.”

  John felt light-headed at the man’s condemning words. Damn! Why hadn’t he followed his own feelings earlier in the evening?

  Meeting the accusing look on LaFoy’s face, John said, “Allow me to explain, sir.”

  “Go ahead,” President LaFoy said.

  “This is all quite innocent.” John moved to stand in front of Grace, blocking her from their view.

  Before he could continue, he felt a nudging against the back of his leg. Looking behind him, he groaned when he saw Grace had thrown off her blanket and was sitting up. Then she stood beside him and wound her arm around his waist.

  “Allow me, darling,” she said, her sweet voice filtering through the parlor.

  Chapter Five

  “John and I wondered how long we could keep our secret.” Grace shrugged and added, “Unfortunately, not long enough.”

  John’s heart skipped a beat at the genuine look of adoration on Grace’s face—or she was an actor blessed with incredible skill.

  “Shall we tell them of our upcoming nuptials?”

  Stunned by her words, John could only give a slow nod in response.

  “A week from now we’ll be marrying at...at...” Oh, Lord, I have no idea of the name of any churches in the vicinity!

  “Old St. Mary’s Cathedral next Sunday,” John inserted.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she murmured.

  LaFoy glared at Carlson. “What is this? This is the third time you’ve screwed up in the past year. I have half a mind to force you to leave, Professor.”

  Carlson blustered, “But you can see why I believed he was a man!” He pointed at Grace’s attire, his lined faced crumpling.

  “I don’t understand,” John said.

  “Professor Carlson believed you had invited a person—no matter the gender—to stay in your apartment, which of course is against the college’s rules.”

  “But we’re marrying, sir, and I couldn’t live another moment without Grace being with me,” John protested.

  Grace thought how easily he’d said the words and she felt her cool heart melting further toward John. But it wasn’t possible to fall in love with someone in such a short time—was it?

  LaFoy smiled at Grace. “Of course you love her. I don’t blame you a bit, and I am glad to see you were being a gentleman by having her sleep on the divan. I will not inquire as to why she’s attired in men’s clothing.” His smile slipped when he added, “Unfortunately, I cannot bend the school’s rules. I’m afraid you will have to go, Mr. O’Connell.”

  “I’ll leave, of course. I knew the consequences of my actions beforehand.”

  Grace protested, “But that’s not fair!”

  She caught the warning look John sent her when he added, “Providing you write me a letter of recommendation.”

  “How can I when you’ve not actually put in a day of work with us?” LaFoy asked.

  “You hired me, didn’t you? Based on letters from professors at the University of Minnesota. No one need know I didn’t actually fill the position.”

  Eyeing John a moment, LaFoy turned to Professor Carlson. “Leave us. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Almost feeling sorry for the elderly Professor, Grace watched him draw himself up, yank down his waistcoat and leave the apartment. Her gaze fixed now on President LaFoy, who seemed to be sizing up John.

  “You know, I like a man of integrity, a man who faces up to the consequences of his mistakes, which you’ve done quite admirably. I’m keeping you on, Professor O’Connell. You start Monday, as usual, unless you’ve some objection to staying?”

  “No objections, sir,” John replied.

  “Good.” The man turned and headed for the door. After opening it he paused on the threshold, looked over his shoulder and gazed at Grace. “I can’t allow your fiancée to stay here however, so you will need to escort her home.”

  Grace felt the tenseness in the room between the two men.

  “She has nowhere else to go,” John finally murmured.

  Returning to her side, LaFoy took her elbow. “Then you shall return home with me, my dear. My Margaret will put you up until your marriage on Sunday.”

  “I’d like a few words with Grace alone before she leaves,” John said.

  “Of course you do. I’ll be right outside.”

  Once LaFoy left, closing the door behind him, Grace latched onto John’s arm. “I have no desire to go home with him! Why were you so agreeable?”

  John grasped her shoulders and met the panic-stricken look in her eyes. “This is the best solution to your dilemma. You can’t return to St. Angel’s, and going home with LaFoy, where his wife can care for you, is the perfect solution. Besides, I won’t jeopardize losing this job. This is my livelihood, and if I lose it how will I provide for my wife?”

  “What wife!” Grace blurted.

  “I meant my soon to be wife—you.”

  “I’m not marrying you, John, or anyone else for that matter,” she groaned. “This is all make-believe. I’ll play along, as long as I must to save your position, but that’s all.”

  He frowned. “I’m afraid we’ll be marrying then on Sunday, for there’s no other way out of this predicament.” His frown diminished as he said, “It won’t be all that bad, you know.”

  Grace gasped in surprise when he swept her close against his body, until her toes barely scraped the floor. His lips slanted across hers, tantalizing hers softly in one moment, ravaging them in the next.

  They parted when they heard LaFoy outside the door say, “You about done in there, young people?”

  “Just about,” John murmured. He lowered Grace to the floor, his eyes on her the entire time, his lips curved into a smile.

  Grace touched her lips with shaky fingers, her eyes wide. She backed away from him, then turned and ran to the door. Just as her hand covered the knob, his hand came down over it. Heat tore through her when he encompassed her in his arms, pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck with his soft lips as he turned the kno
b, his hand still on top of hers. He released her just before the door completely opened. LaFoy nodded at John as he took Grace’s arm and escorted her away.

  John returned to his bed. Lying on his back, his arms behind his head, he thought about his options; marry Grace and keep his position, don’t and he’d lose it, which he couldn’t afford to do. He’d worked too hard to get to this place and point in his life. She would have to marry him. Afterwards, once he’d proven himself to President LaFoy, they could obtain an annulment, for he’d made the decision not to consummate the marriage. Yes, Grace would cooperate once she knew he meant the arrangement to be a temporary one. With that last thought, he rolled over and fell asleep again.

  John didn’t see Grace the next morning. He appeared on LaFoy’s doorstep to discover she’d gone shopping with Margaret LaFoy.

  John left LaFoy’s home with his hands in his pocket, thinking how he’d better make his way to St. Mary’s Cathedral. Being raised a Catholic, he knew he’d have to gain a special dispensation to waive the typical banns of marriage announced over a month’s time in a parish. Guilt plagued him then. He didn’t feel a bit uncomfortable marrying Grace with plans of annulling the marriage later. Born and raised a Christian man of morally strong values, this idea was not an easy one for him to swallow. But he truly had no other choice.

  Luckily, he found a friend and fellow Irishman in Father Thomas O’Halloran. An hour later, he left the church with the special license in hand. Grace would have no choice but to marry him now.

  That evening they supped together at Johnson’s Eatery. After supper, he ordered a scotch whiskey while Grace drank her tea. He stared at her, now dressed lavishly in a silk gown of Margaret LaFoy’s choosing. John admitted the woman possessed excellent taste. The skirt was fashioned of panels of russet and cream striped satin. The neckline was not too high or too low. It offered just a glimpse of Grace’s creamy skin. His hands itched to reach out and stroke her sweetly curved neck, but he kept them on the table, one hand still holding the glass.

  Irony filled him then. How would he keep his hands off her once they married; once he knew in the eyes of the law and God above she would be his for the taking? He would be strong—he would have to be.