“I’ve got a beautiful black shawl you can wear with the gown,” Emma said, warming to her self-appointed task as she led Sarah next to the shoes.
A pair of black kid slippers, the only dress shoes in the store, were easily decided upon, and Sarah was soon standing before a table that contained ladies’ undergarments. With a sinking feeling, she watched Emma hold up a narrow-waisted corset, stiff with bone stays.
“I don’t wear those things,” she began in protest.
“Nonsense.” Emma waved her silent. “These are the height of fashion and a must under an evening dress. We don’t want Ashton’s society maids and matrons looking down on Nick’s future bride, do we?”
The image of Allis’s simpering face smiling up at Cord filled Sarah’s mind. If she could garner even half the interest he seemed to shower on Allis, she’d shackle herself hand and foot. Suddenly, in light of her determination to win over Cord, the corset looked pretty innocuous.
“Whatever you say, Emma,” she said, resolutely nodding her acceptance.
An acquaintance of Emma’s entered the store just then. The housekeeper left Sarah to decide upon a new chemise, underwear, and stiff taffeta petticoat. Sarah idly sorted through the various unmentionables, her glance straying to where Emma stood talking animatedly with a rotund, gray-haired woman. As she casually continued to look around the mercantile, a light tapping gradually intruded into her consciousness.
Sarah turned to the source of the noise. It came from the window directly behind the undergarment table. For an instant she just stared, startled by the face she saw grinning back at her.
It was her brother Caleb.
9
Sarah glanced around the store. Dougal was ensconced behind the counter, settling a customer’s account. Emma was still busily engaged with her friend. Sarah relaxed. No one else had heard the tapping. She looked back out the window.
Caleb was pointing down the building, motioning for her to come. Her gaze followed the direction of his hand and noted a door. With a last, furtive glance to see if anyone was looking her way, she slipped down the narrow hallway to the back door.
“What are you doing in town?” she whispered as she shut the door behind her. “Gabe Cooper’s back. If you’re not careful, you’re sure to get caught!”
Caleb’s answer was a broad grin and outstretched arms. “Now, is that any way to greet a brother you haven’t seen in over a month? Come here, little sister.”
With a low cry, Sarah went to him, her misgivings fading in her joy at seeing her brother again. “Oh, Caleb, I’ve missed you so!” She leaned back to stare up into warm green eyes. “How’re Noah and Papa?”
He frowned. “Noah’s okay, but Papa, well, he hasn’t been doing so good since you and Danny left. It was bad enough when you got caught, and then when Danny joined you . . .”
Caleb shook his head. “Papa’s health seems to be getting worse and worse. And then there are the rages he goes into these days with hardly any cause. When he’s really mad, he starts yelling about how you ran out on him, turned coat to side with the Wainwrights.”
“Did he get my note?”
“The one asking us to return the money? Yes. That set off his worst attack of all. How could you have asked him to do that? How could you hurt him like that?”
Stung by the reproach in her brother’s words, Sarah pulled back. He really believes it’s all my fault.
For a moment a frustrated anger washed over her; then reason returned. Trying to right an injustice was the real issue here, not her father’s misguided feelings or her righteous indignation.
“He’s wrong about this, Caleb. Surely you can see that.” She grasped her brother’s arms to emphasize her point. “And we all know he’s not been thinking right for a long while. I mean, how is this suddenly my fault? I’m the one who he’s abandoned rather than give up that money. And of all of you, only Danny so far has tried to come to my aid. Yet I’ve still managed to find a way to get Papa and you and Noah out of the trouble over the robbery. Cord Wainwright has agreed to drop charges if Papa returns the money. He’ll let Danny and me go. What more can Papa want?”
Anger darkened her brother’s features. “What’s happened to you, Sarah? Has that fancy life at the Wainwrights’ addled your brain? Papa’s got his pride. To return the money would be to admit he’s beaten, that he’s wrong. He did it for us, you know? To make us all proud, so we could hold up our heads again.”
“And since when is stealing something to be proud of?”
At her worst fears come to life, nausea churned in Sarah’s gut. Caleb, her beloved brother, was becoming as stubbornly blind about things as was Papa. The truth behind their father’s silence regarding the money’s return, an unpleasant reality she’d fought against over the past month, slammed home this time with sickening clarity. His pride mattered more to him than his children.
“You’re a Caldwell, Sarah,” Caleb said. “You know the answer as well as I.” He turned to go, tugging on her arm as he did. “No more talk. It’s not safe here.”
She dug in her heels. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home. At least Papa will have one of his children back.”
“No!” Sarah twisted free of his grip. “I-I can’t.”
He halted. “And why not? Sooner or later, we’ll find a way to get Danny free.”
“Because . . . because I’ve already made my decision.” She forced out the words before they strangled her. “Danny and I are staying with the Wainwrights.”
Caleb took a step toward her, his voice gone taut with rage. “You’re doing what?”
“Danny needs a place where he can get good food, good care.” She gazed up at him with pleading eyes. “Be honest, Caleb. You know we can’t give him what he needs, never have. At the Wainwrights’ he has a chance. Try to understand.”
“Oh, I understand all right,” he spat out furiously. “You got a taste of the good life and now we’re not fine enough for you. You sold yourself to them, didn’t you—you little tramp!”
He slapped her. Sarah reeled back from the stinging blow, her hand moving to her cheek. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away.
She wouldn’t cry; she just wouldn’t. Caleb would see it as an admission of guilt. And she wasn’t at fault here. She wasn’t!
“Get out of here,” she cried. “Get away from me!”
“Is that your answer then? Is that what I tell Papa?”
“I don’t care what you tell Papa. He can’t see the truth anymore, and neither can you. Just . . . just go away, Caleb.”
He stared at her in disbelief, then shook his head in disgust. “Have it your way, little sister.”
As she watched him walk away, an impulse to call him back rose to her lips. An impulse she fought with each retreating step, for her choice had already been made. There was no hope for Danny and her if they went back home. As hard as it was to accept, any hope of a future now lay with the Wainwrights.
The Wainwrights . . . their lifelong enemy. Sarah turned and walked back into the mercantile.
Twelve days later, Sarah drew up short, the low rumble of male voices emanating from the parlor the night of Ashton’s fall dance shattering her barely contained resolve. “I-I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.
“And why not, child?” Emma brushed a stray curl back into place on Sarah’s forehead. “You look lovely. Cord and Nicholas’s eyes will pop out of their heads when they see you. And Edmund, well, maybe it’ll finally make him realize what a fine lady you really are.
“Get on with you,” she then urged, giving Sarah a small push forward. “We’ll never get to Ashton if you hide out here in the hall. I, for one, am ready to do some dancing.”
But you don’t understand, Sarah thought. Tonight’s the night I’ve decided to confront Cord and make him admit he loves me—or forever give it up as a lost cause. And I don’t know how to do it or what to say. Oh, Emma, I’m so scared!
The words never f
ound voice, however, for Sarah instead gathered up her courage with her skirts and walked into the parlor. Three pair of eyes turned to greet them. In the resultant appreciative hush, the men’s conversation died an ignominious death.
Blessedly, in the embarrassment of the moment, Sarah barely noticed their reaction. Her nervous gaze instead skittered across the room until it found Cord.
Like his father and brother, he was dressed in a loose-fitting suit, single-breasted style, unbuttoned with a black jacquard vest and four-in-hand tie beneath it. The black wool suit cloth only enhanced his dark good looks.
For an instant, Sarah could only stare. Standing there, tall and foreboding, as unapproachable as some stranger, Cord presented a dangerously attractive but daunting appearance.
She wrenched her glance from his, but not before noting the flare of something intense as his gaze boldly raked her. A heavy warmth flooded her. It was all she could do to turn to where Nick sat.
He, too, looked devastatingly handsome in his dark brown suit. A smile of affection touched her lips as she walked over to him, the rustle of her taffeta petticoat beneath the velvet overskirt the only sound in the silent room. She halted before him.
“Please, say something, Nick,” Sarah pleaded, her voice gone husky with her nervousness. “I feel like I’ve grown horns out of the top of my head or something.”
Nick reached up to take her hand. “Forgive my poor manners, Angel. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I was momentarily struck speechless by your beauty.” He turned to his brother. “Don’t you agree, Cord?”
At the sound of his name, Cord jerked himself from his unabashed perusal. His gaze moved to his brother. “Yes. Sarah looks quite lovely,” he managed to choke out.
The dress was elegant, the deep, shimmering blue of the velvet setting off Sarah’s pale coloring to perfection. The off-the-shoulder ruffles and full sleeves only emphasized the warm, shapely throat and slender arms, the trim bodice accented with the ornate black braid and softly flaring skirt drawing his gaze downward in an inexorably sensual flow. Cord knew he was staring far past the point of good taste, but he couldn’t help himself.
Did this woman standing before them have yet another tantalizing aspect to her? Youthful beauty, just embarking on the path to womanhood, he’d thought he could deal with, as well as boyish little wildcat and gently devoted sister and friend. But this . . . this sophisticated, exquisitely bewitching creature . . .
With the greatest of efforts, Cord throttled the dizzying current racing through him. He glanced around to find all eyes riveted in his direction. At the realization of how ludicrous he must appear, standing there gaping at Sarah like some . . . some love-besotted schoolboy, anger swelled. He set down his brandy snifter with a loud clink.
“It’s time we were on our way.”
The brusqueness of his voice seemed to galvanize everyone to action. Emma brought over her and Sarah’s shawls. Cord proceeded to wheel Nick out to the front porch, Sarah following. Behind them, Cord heard his father’s bemused voice.
“What in tarnation’s the matter with Cord? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s mad because the girl looks so good.”
“Hush, Edmund,” Emma whispered. “Just let those two work it out among themselves.”
“Work what out?” came the peevish reply. “What’s going on here anyway? I thought Sarah and Nick—”
“Edmund!”
His voice faded to a gruff rumble.
The lilting strains of a waltz drifted to their ears as the carriage drew up before the new town hall. Cord quickly jumped down and assisted Emma and Sarah from the conveyance. Then, together with his father, he helped Nick from the carriage and into his wheelchair.
The entourage entered the hall. It was all Sarah could do to keep from halting in her tracks, a sudden rush of shyness again overwhelming her. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she’d be part of such a gala affair.
The women, for all their distance from the fashion centers of the East, were arrayed in the most elegant gowns in every color of the rainbow, and all the men looked dapper and proud in their fine suits. The large hall was decorated in autumn-hued ribbons and paper lanterns. A small band of fiddlers played quite competently upon the makeshift stage.
As she followed her companions into the room and over to a spot near the punch table, Sarah felt like an actress playing a part. Like an actress who didn’t really belong and would soon be discovered in her role . . .
“Cord, do your brotherly duty and ask Sarah to dance.”
Nick’s request wrenched Sarah from her wide-eyed staring. She looked down at him. He smiled up at her, taking her hand to offer it to Cord.
Her glance reluctantly rose to meet that of the man whose hand now accepted hers. A dark, unfathomable gaze stabbed into Sarah, sending an apprehensive tremor through her. Oh my, she thought, then steeled herself to return his stare.
“Shall we dance?”
The deep voice, soft but so richly timbred, sent a pang of longing through her. Dance? Oh yes, Cord. And may it go on forever and ever.
The words, though, never passed her lips. Sarah’s only reply was to nod and follow him onto the dance floor.
They moved together stiffly at first, their eyes never quite seeming to meet. Yet even as they whirled about the crowded room, the world existed only within the space of the few feet surrounding them. Though he maintained a most proper distance, Sarah could still feel the heat emanating from Cord’s big, strong body, smell the scent of the bay rum he wore. The very touch of his hands sent tingling bursts of fire rippling through her. And she wanted, oh, how she wanted, to draw closer, to bury herself in the haven of his arms!
But it was impossible, here, in front of the whole town, knowing how rigidly Cord kept himself from her. Somehow, she must find a way to get him to relax. She forced a merry smile to her lips.
“My, but aren’t you awfully formal tonight?”
He arched a wary brow. “Oh? And how so?”
“Well, for one,” Sarah forged on, a teasing light dancing in her eyes, “you’ve got the most forbidding scowl on your face. And, for another, you’re holding me like I’m made of glass. After sharing a rough-and-tumble mud bath, not to mention a vegetable fight in the cellar, I’d hardly have expected that of you.”
A small grin of remembrance twisted Cord’s mouth. He chuckled.
“So, you think I’m too formal, do you? And how would you have me act with you all dressed up like this? Throw you over my shoulder and twirl madly about the room?”
Sarah laughed, warming to their now lighthearted banter. “What a novel idea! I only wonder if Ashton society could survive such a scandalous display.”
“Shall we find out?”
She immediately rose to the dare. “Why not? I hardly think—”
A hand clapped down on Cord’s shoulder. “Time’s up, boss. No fair hoarding the most beautiful belle at the ball.”
They stopped and turned to face the owner of the voice. A brown-haired man of medium height, his thin mouth curved into a cynical smile, stared back at them. Sarah immediately recognized him as the foreman of the Wainwright ranch.
“Well, Spence, it didn’t take you long to set your sights on her, did it?” Cord asked as he handed over Sarah. “Better not let Allis see you dancing with her, though. Your courting days will be over if she does.”
Spencer Womack laughed. “Oh, I’m no fool. She hasn’t arrived yet. Fashionably late as always, you know. Be a pal and keep a lookout for me, will you? Allis has quite a temper when she wants to, though as much as she flirts with every eligible bachelor, you’d hardly think I’m even in the running.”
Cord chuckled and stepped away, leaving Sarah to face the ranch foreman. Spence grinned down at her.
“Shall we dance, little lady?”
Before she could reply, he swept her into his arms, pulling her much closer than she cared to be. She leaned back against the encircling strength of hi
s arm, but it did little good. Womack apparently noticed the action. His grin widened.
Irritation surged through Sarah. She hardly knew the man, yet there had always been something about him she didn’t like. His possessive clasp right now only fueled her distaste.
She glared up at him. “Kindly loosen your hold on me. I don’t care for the familiarity of it.”
“And why is that? Does my name have to be Wainwright for you to like it? Well, believe it or not, I’ve got a little money of my own, and plan to have a lot more soon. So,” he said, pulling her even nearer, “be careful who you turn up your nose at. Women like you can’t afford to be so choosy.”
Sarah jerked away from him but couldn’t escape his iron grasp. She glanced around for signs of Cord or Nick, but the dance floor was so crowded it blocked them from view. There was no escape from Spencer Womack unless she decided to make a scene. She turned back to face him.
“You’re an obnoxious boor, Mr. Womack. I see no reason to continue this dance. Let me go.”
“But we’re not done, little lady.” His flat gray eyes roved over her face before sliding down to the creamy expanse of her bosom. “For all your upbringing, you’re a fine-looking woman. Still, the Wainwrights are eventually bound to tire of you. When they do, you’ll need a ‘friend.’ If you play your cards right . . .”
“No, thank you, Mr. Womack. Now, let me go or I’ll—”
“You’ll do what? Make a fuss? Slap my face and accuse me of improper behavior? But the whole town knows you and knows what you’ve been doing at the Wainwrights’. Do you really want to draw even more attention to yourself?”
High color tinged her cheeks. “I don’t care what you or any of this town thinks! And if you don’t let me go this instant, I’ll do more than slap your face. I’ll—”
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 14