Spirit of Love

by Duncan, Alice

  He removed his hat with a flourish and bowed. “Good morning, Miss Witherspoon. Miss Murphy.” It seemed to Georgina that it was an effort for him to remove his gaze from Georgina long enough for him to acknowledge Vernice’s presence in the buggy. “Where are you lovely ladies off to this morning?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Georgina saw Ash Barrett—who had been striding down the boardwalk—stop, turn, and frown at them. Good. She kicked her smile up a notch and offered it to Pierce. “We’re headed to Mrs. Bailey’s house, Mr. Pierce. Today is quilting society day.”

  “Why, that sounds like a fine, productive occupation on such a beautiful summer day.”

  He gazed up at her, reminding her of Bossy the cow after she’d been milked and was feeling happy and contented. Ash, on the other hand—she could still see him out of the corner of her eye—looked like he’d just eaten something that disagreed with him. He veered from his path and began stomping toward the buggy. Georgina felt a surge of triumph.

  “What are you doing out on such a beautiful day, Mr. Pierce? I should think you’d be in the bank counting your money.” She gave one of the trilling laughs she’d been accustomed to using at parties back home in New York. It sounded out of place here in Picacho Wells, but she didn’t care.

  He laughed, too. His laugh sounded almost as silly as hers. “Ah, even bankers are men, Miss Witherspoon. We enjoy a brisk walk on a warm summer day.”

  “How nice.” Now what was she supposed to say?

  Pierce took the responsibility from her shoulders. “Er, Miss Witherspoon, Reverend Voorhees tells me that there will be a dance at the church on the Saturday evening after next. It would be an honor and a privilege to escort you to the festivities.”

  Before Georgina could come up with an appropriate answer, Vernice clasped her hands to her bosom and cried, “Oh, isn’t that the sweetest thing? Why, how kind of you—isn’t that the nicest—oh, Georgina, you must thank Mr. Pierce for his kind—such an amiable thing to —”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pierce,” Georgina said, interrupting her poor aunt’s incoherent ecstasies. “A dance at the church sounds lovely.”

  Pierce bowed. “Of course, I shall escort your aunt and grandmother, too, Miss Witherspoon.”

  Vernice gushed out an, “Oh, how thoughtful!”

  Georgina smiled at him, this time honestly gratified. At least the man didn’t seem to have ulterior motives or wicked designs upon her person, which was a good thing since Georgina had recently decided she preferred muscular men to skinny ones.

  “Indeed. How very kind of you, Mr. Pierce.”

  Ash had arrived at the buggy. He ripped the hat from his head and frowned at Georgina It looked as if it took a good deal of effort for him to turn his frown into a smile for Vernice.

  “Morning, Miss Vernice. Quilting day, is it?”

  “Oh, my, yes, Mr. Barrett. It’s such a lovely—why, it’s warm as toast—quilting is such a worthwhile—so amusing, too—don’t you know, when we all get—it’s much nicer to have company.” Vernice ran out of breath and beamed at Ash very much as she’d beamed at Payton Pierce. Georgina took that as a bad sign, because it meant Vernice liked both men.

  “And Mr. Pierce has just asked our dear Georgina to the dance on Saturday night. Isn’t that a considerate thing to do, Mr. Barrett?”

  Georgina gritted her teeth. Vernice was talking of her as if she were a charity case, and Georgina didn’t appreciate it especially in front of Ash Barrett.

  “Did he now? Slick worker for a banker, isn’t he?” Ash’s smile for Vernice vanished when lie looked at Georgina. He didn’t spare a peek at Pierce. “Miss Witherspoon.”

  Georgina imagined that he’d have used the same tone of voice to tell a villain he was under arrest. She gave him the sappiest smile in her repertoire, hoping to unsettle him “Good morning, Sheriff Barrett. Did you ever get the milk out of your trousers?”

  For a second she thought he might holler at her or slap the horse’s rump to make him bolt, but he didn’t. His lips flattened out, though, and he looked angry enough to commit mayhem. Georgina was delighted.

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Witherspoon.”

  “I’m so glad.” She lifted the reins, preparatory to starting the horse moving again. Ignoring Ash, she said, “Good day, Mr. Pierce. It was so nice to see you again. I look forward to the dance the Saturday after next.” She elected not to mention Vernice’s delight at the prospect. Let the sheriff think Pierce was escorting her alone to the dance.

  Pierce bowed and smiled like a moonstruck schoolboy. “Good day to you, Miss Witherspoon. Miss Murphy.”

  Georgina heard Ash Barrett snort as she drove off down the road, and felt better than she had earlier in the day. She was so elated that her sense of satisfaction was only slightly diminished when she drove past the Turquoise Bracelet Saloon, and a ruffianly fellow who was leaning against the building leered at her. She merely lifted her chin and drove on, secure in the knowledge that nothing untoward ever happened in Picacho Wells. At least not in the daytime. Well, except for the occasional bank robbery.

  She stopped thinking of villainies when they arrived at Betsy Bailey’s house. She was eager to learn how to quilt. Her proficiency in frontier skills was growing by leaps and bounds.

  Chapter Seven

  Payton Pierce plopped his fancy derby hat back onto his slicked-down hair and smiled a superior smile at Ash. Ash wanted to pop him one. Damned banker thought he’d stolen a march on Ash, didn’t he? Well, he hadn’t. Ash wouldn’t have asked Georgina Witherspoon to the church dance if she was the last female on the face of the earth.

  “It doesn’t look to me as if Miss Witherspoon likes you much, Sheriff.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t like her, either.” It was childish. Ash wished he hadn’t said it when Pierce smirked. “I’m happy to say that she seems to find my own company welcome.”

  “Good for you.” Ash stamped off, grumpier than he could remember being since he was married to Phoebe. His mood hadn’t improved much by the time the church dance rolled around two weeks later. He’d intended to ask one of the other single ladies in Picacho Wells to attend the dance with him, but he hadn’t worked up the enthusiasm. So he went alone.

  Such behavior wasn’t unusual. The dances at the church weren’t romantic affairs. They were social get-togethers where people were as apt to sit around drinking cider and swapping farming tips as dance. It was mainly the youngsters who danced. Youngsters and courting couples.

  Ash swigged down a gulp of cider and wished he hadn’t thought about that last part. He’d seen Payton Pierce arrive with Georgina and the Murphy ladies about a half-hour earlier, but he hadn’t gone over to say howdy yet. Hell, he wasn’t about to give Miss New York City Witherspoon the idea that he was interested in her.

  Except maybe to argue with. She was kind of fun to rile. Even if she did fight dirty. He grinned, despite himself.

  Unfortunately, Georgina Witherspoon looked good enough to eat tonight. She was wearing one .of her fancy New York dresses, Ash guessed, because he’d never seen a female out here wear anything quite like it. It was kind, of purplish—maybe the color was lavender: Ash wasn’t up-to-date on ladies’ fashions—and it was made from some shiny, crisp fabric.

  Taffeta? Hell, he had no idea. And it had short, lacy sleeves that came down to about her elbow, with short sleeves of the same lavender taffeta capping the lace.

  There was some of the same shiny fabric bunched across her bosom with a little bit of lace down the front. Ash would like to have a peek down there just to make sure her bosom was decently covered. He didn’t notice any of her partners leering down her front, so he guessed it was. Good thing, too. He had a feeling if anything, could provoke a disturbance, it would be Georgina Witherspoon’s bosom. There was also some fancy beadwork on the front of her skirt, and she held a fan made of some kind of lacy stuff that was about the same color as her dress.

  She looked good. Damned good.

  He’d l
ike to think she was trying to lord it over her new acquaintances in the territory, but he couldn’t believe it. When she wasn’t being attacked by men asking her to dance, she was chatting amiably with the other ladies in town. And none of them looked to Ash as if they were being catty, either. Maybe they liked her He glowered at her thinking she must be some blamed good kind of actress if she’d hoodwinked everybody in town but him into thinking she wasn’t a stuck-up, snobby city girl.

  She was a good dancer, too. So far she hadn’t missed a dance. No sooner did the fiddles quit playing one tune than men lined up beside her to ask her for the next dance. Ash disapproved mightily as he watched her whirl around the church basement.

  She’d danced the first reel with Pierce and then taken a spin around the room with Frank Dunwiddy, who was a fair dancer in spite of his nose. Ash decided to ignore her for a little while longer. He walked up to the Murphy ladies, who were sitting on the sidelines chatting with some other maiden ladies and matrons.

  He bowed in front of Vernice. “May I have the next dance, Miss Vernice? I understand Sam’s going to strike up a waltz next.”

  “Oh, Mr. Barrett!” Vernice tittered.

  Maybelle Murphy pursed her lips into a moue of distaste. “No need to simper, Vernice. Tell the man yes or no.” She took a swig of whatever was in her cup. Ash suspected it was something stronger than cider.

  “Mother!” Vernice cast an annoyed glance at Maybelle, then looked up at Ash again.

  Ash grinned at Maybelle. “It’s a good thing your ankle’s still got you laid up, or I’d make you dance with me, Miss Maybelle.”

  Maybelle snorted. “A likely story.”

  “I do so love to dance, Mr. Barrett. So does Mother, although she won’t admit it.”

  Maybelle snorted again.

  Vernice’s eyes were shining like stars, and Ash was glad he’d asked her to dance before he asked Georgina. Oh, he’d dance with Georgina eventually, but he aimed to wait until the chit knew he didn’t care one way or the other and that he was only asking her to be polite.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’d be very happy to dance with you.”

  She got up, blushing, and walked to the floor with Ash. He had the satisfaction of seeing Georgina glance at the two of them and frown before she looked up at her partner, a tall, good-looking cowboy named Pete Fanslowe, and smile. She sugared her smile for Pete in order to annoy, Ash; Ash could tell. Well, to hell with her.

  The party had been in full swing for an hour and a half before the sheriff finally asked Georgina to dance. Her feet were sore, she was perspiring, her hair had come undone in spots—and the first time she had an opportunity to sit down and rest for a moment, the blasted man asked her to dance. If there was one person in the universe whom Georgina didn’t feel like sweating in front of, it was Ash Barrett. The wretch.

  Fanning herself furiously, she frowned up at him “I’m resting at the moment, Mr. Barrett.”

  He grinned down at her. “Mind if I join you?”

  Before she could think of a snappy retort that would send him on his way with a flea in his ear, he’d snagged a chair, and dragged it up beside hers. “It looks as if I have no choice,” she snarled as soon as he was seated beside her.

  “True enough, but look. I brought you some lemonade.”

  She sniffed. “Mr. Pierce just left to fetch me a glass of lemonade.” Thirst compelled her to add, “However, I appreciate your courtesy.” She took the glass and forced herself not to gulp it down. She was so dry, she wished she had another three or four glasses to follow this one up with.

  “Feel better?”

  Georgina eyed Ash to see if he was being sarcastic or if he was actually asking after her welfare. She decided she’d play it safe unless he forced her into doing something drastic. Fortunately, since her glass was empty, she couldn’t douse him with lemonade even if he got her mad enough to do so. “Yes, thank you.”

  She patted her hair, took out a hairpin, tucked up a loose tress, and stabbed the pin back in. She wished there was a ladies’ withdrawing room around here. But there wasn’t. A frontier church-basement dance was certainly nothing like the grand balls she used to attend back home in New York City. Neither Georgina nor her parents had ever aspired to be numbered among Mrs. Vanderbilt’s famous four hundred, but they did belong to a very respectable echelon of society. In other words, she’d never danced in a church basement sprinkled with sawdust and with fellows who were farmers and cowboys providing the music.

  “Are you enjoying the dance?”

  Georgina eyed Ash suspiciously. He sounded gracious, so she figured he was up to something. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. I don’t suppose it’s anything like the parties you attended in New York City.”

  She weighed his statement, trying in various ways to make something out of it. He didn’t sound disparaging, but she didn’t trust him “No, it’s not.”

  “We have a good time, though, even if it isn’t fancy.”

  “Indeed. It’s a very lively gathering.”

  That was the truth. In fact, as Georgina glanced around the room, it seemed to her as if these westerners were having a better time than she and her friends generally did back home in New York. She decided it was because folks in the territory had fewer opportunities to socialize than people in more settled parts of the country; therefore, when they got together, they genuinely had fun and didn’t try to look bored and dissatisfied.

  Ennui was quite popular in New York these days. For the first time Georgina felt the stirrings of contempt for her acquaintances in New York City. If they had to work like these people did in order to sustain life, they wouldn’t have time for their airs of boredom and languor.

  Good God, she sounded like Ash Barrett. Georgina was horrified. She glanced quickly at Ash, hoping her thoughts weren’t detectable on her face. He was watching the dancers. Thank heaven. The last thing she needed was for him to know she agreed with him, especially after all the grief he had put her through.

  Bonnie Bailey, Betsy’s oldest daughter, danced by in the arms of her fiancé, Percival Walters. Bonnie waved gaily, and Georgina waved back, feeling warm and happy all of a sudden. These people were so nice to her. She’d feared that they might hate her because she had more fashionable clothes than they had and so forth, but they’d all welcomed her with open arms. In fact, a few of the younger ladies in Picacho Wells had talked her into getting together with them so that they could teach her how to sew and she, in turn, could tell them about the latest fashions from New York and Paris.

  Actually, no one in the whole of Picacho Wells appeared to dislike her, Georgina realized. Except, for Ash Barrett, of course, who seemed determined to loathe her for no reason at all, other than that she came from New York City.

  “Bonnie Bailey looks happy tonight,” Ash observed. Again Georgina eyed him, wondering what contemptuous meaning lay hidden in his comment. She couldn’t come up with one, so she gave him a cautious, “Yes. She does.”

  “Wonder why.”

  She squinted at him, not trusting him an inch, then decided she couldn’t get into too much trouble by telling the truth, so she did. “Mr. Walters has asked her to marry him Bonnie is very happy about it, since they’ve been keeping company for some time. Evidently he had been waiting until his business was well established before he felt comfortable in proposing to her.”

  Oh, dear. She was saying too much. Surely the evil Mr. Barrett would be able to twist her words into something horrid. She braced herself.

  “Honest?”

  Georgina turned in her chair and scrutinized Ash’s face. He’d sounded candidly interested, and now he looked it. She opted for a short, “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I wondered when he’d work up the nerve to ask her.”

  Feeling a bit peeved by his comment, which she considered a slight, Georgina said, “I don’t believe nerve had anything to do with it. He knew it was his responsibility to be able to support a wife before he took one.”
There. Let him rip that up if he dared. Personally, Georgina admired Mr. Walters for his consideration. And his restraint. She understood some young men weren’t so thoughtful. Take Ash Barrett, for instance....

  “Right. Responsibility.” Ash sounded the faintest bit sarcastic but Georgina decided not to quibble with him. “At any rate,” he continued, “everyone looks to be having a good time.”

  That didn’t seem to call for a response, so Georgina didn’t give one. Where was that wretched Mr. Pierce with her lemonade? She was getting nervous sitting here with the sheriff. She was positive he was going to say something outrageous, then she’d get mad and lose her temper, and they’d have a big argument, and as a result she’d do something unladylike in front of the whole town. She’d never had any trouble controlling her temper before she met him. She tried to take another sip of her lemonade and was annoyed to rediscover that her glass was empty.

  “What’s the matter with your fingers?”

  Georgina looked at her fingers. There was nothing wrong with them that she could see. She squinted at him. She knew he was up to something. “Nothing.”

  “Like hell.” Ash reached over and took the hand not holding the glass. Georgina felt a charge like electricity go through her at his touch. Blast the man!

  “They’ve got little wounds all over them.” He sounded accusing. “What happened?”

  She yanked her hand back. “Those are only needle pricks, from the quilting society. I’m learning how to quilt, and since the fabric is thick, I sometimes prick my fingers.” She sounded as defensive as she felt. If he laughed at her for trying to learn to quilt, she just might have to throw her empty glass at him.

  “Ah.” He nodded and didn’t sound sarcastic. “I see.”

  She said nothing.

  Perhaps he wasn’t going to be nasty about her trying to learn to quilt. She didn’t dare let her guard down yet, but she wasn’t about to invite rebuff by speaking.