by Anna Murray
Ned would have been happy to stand there all evening, staring at the little spinster teacher. People waiting in the line behind them started to get edgy. Cal cleared his throat, gave Ned a nudge, and they moved away.
Then Sarah realized what made Miss Geneva Grayson unique. It was her eyes. The left was brown and the right was green. She wondered if Ned had noticed.
The group moved further down the line, nodding to the school committee members as they introduced themselves. Last was Jack Dullen.
"Well, well, it's the Easton clan," Dullen sneered low. "Brought your fancy ladies too."
Sarah vowed inwardly that the man wasn't going to spoil her evening.
Cal's hands turned to fists. Roy stepped in front of his brother. "Dullen, I see you're still an ass. That's no surprise."
At that moment Sam Owens and the preacher slipped up behind the Eastons. Dullen spied them and smartly locked down his tongue. "Miss Anders," he crooned. "Perhaps you'll give me the pleasure of a dance tonight."
Sarah's answer was an icy glare.
Roy saw the preacher and decided he didn't care.
"Yah, she never danced with a four-footer before. Say Cal, when you gonna have kids to send to the new school?"
Cal grinned at his baiting brother. "Heck Roy, you know I'm workin' on it."
Sarah reddened, and before she could squeak Cal took her arm and made a hasty excuse to move on.
Cowboys were queuing up at the food table. But Sarah and Emily were so excited for the dancing they could hardly eat. The men piled plates high with potatoes, beef, biscuits, beans, custards, and cakes. After the crowd finished eating two women brought out empty embroidery hoops and began a tossing game with the younger girls. Another group gathered younger children to play "Drop the Handkerchief". Emily joined in the hoop tossing game.
A band arrived, tuned up, and started to play. Couples stepped out and tentatively danced a waltz.
By the second number the piano roared and the fiddle blazed. The floor bounced and creaked with dancing cowboys, miners, ranch girls, and town women, all swinging each other -- a staccato of stomping boots softened by swishing skirts. Roy whirled by with Ella Wright.
Cal turned his large frame to Sarah.
"Shall we dance?"
"Why not?" She peered at him sideways and smirked.
Their first steps together were stiff, but Cal pulled her closer and Sarah relaxed, and soon her movements beat to his rhythm.
"You dance well."
"My father taught me when I was a little girl." It was a warm memory for Sarah. She remembered her eyes were no higher than her father's chest, and she had to tilt her head back to look up at him because she liked to see his broad smile as he led her through the steps.
"Lucky man." His hand slid across her back.
"Who?"
"Your father. And me, just now," he added. His tone rolled intimate. "You know what I like about your eyes?"
"W-what?"
"How they grow when I'm lookin' at you. And the little wrinkles at the corners when you smile." He laughed. "They're doing it." He wanted to kiss her. He hauled her up closer instead.
Why not make the most of the time we have? Cal's boldly uttered words echoed through Sarah.
"Do you know what I like about your eyes?" She flushed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Was she flirting with him? She couldn't be, because sure as hell accepts sinners, she didn't know how to do that. "I like the gold flecks," she blurted. "I thought they were grand the first time I saw you."
He inhaled tightly, and drew her into him, shockingly close to his body. His chest rubbed up against her breasts and their thighs were touching. He buried his face in her hair until his lips were a bare inch from her ear. Sarah heard him sigh contentedly.
She took stock of her surroundings. "Cal, other people are here. My sister—"
"Do you think they care?" His voice was lazily seductive, and his warm breath caressed her neck.
Heart beating wildly, she looked around the hazy room. Indeed, everyone else seemed absorbed in activities. Doctor Rutherford was corraled by several older women. The poor man looked trapped. Children played tag along the edges of the crowd. Sheriff Aiken strolled among the groups, trying to look official. And Ned was fetching a cup of punch for Miss Grayson, who was sitting and chatting with an overly stimulated Emily.
Sarah's eyes froze and locked with those of Jack Dullen. Three men were gathered around him, and he gave every appearance of being engaged in the conversation. But he wasn't.
Most men would have looked away when a woman caught them staring, but not Jack Dullen. His face was a study in steely contempt. Sarah moved closer into warm Cal. She wrapped her arm as completely as she could around his waist.
Her sweet response to his body drove Cal heavenward. Reluctantly, he handed Sarah over when Roy asked for a dance, and he moved along to waltz with Emily, who giggled and whirled girlish energy. The hours flew by.
* * *
Geneva Grayson was tired. Making a favorable impression on the friendly folks of Wounded Colt had been taxing. Now Geneva rose, smoothed her skirt, and made to leave with the Smithsons, the couple she roomed with just outside of town.
She touched Ned's hand lightly, tentatively, as she bid him goodbye.
"I can't remember when I've spent a finer evening, Mr. Kingman."
Ned's bronzed face hid his flushed cheeks. "Well . . . I'd of asked you to dance, but I got a bad leg," he admitted ruefully.
"Gosh, I didn't notice. I suppose we were too busy talking about the author, Mr. Jules Verne."
"Yes, yes, I 'spose." The corners of his mouth turned upwards.
Her heart reached out. "We're both different, Mr. Kingman. M-most surely you saw that my eyes are not the same color."
Geneva didn't know why she'd said that, as if she wanted him to know she was flawed, to put it on the table straight away. Her schoolchildren never cared about such things. Oh, they made mention of it, but she had long ago learned that children looked at oddities in a completely different light. They thought it made her special. Adults were another matter. Her grandfather had called her eyes the mark of the devil. Now she colored, cast her eyes down to light on her new serviceable shoes, and considered she should have purchased something fancier for the occasion.
It was a trivial point, likely of no importance to Mr. Ned Kingman. She might as well mention she was an old spinster while she was about it. But that was glaringly obvious.
"Do tell. I didn't notice it t'all. Alls I saw was how they smiled so pretty." Ned squinted and his voice lowed softly.
In that moment, possibly the most intimate she'd enjoyed with a man, the schoolteacher felt like she was sixteen again. But the feeling galloped away. She knew that romance was a foolish notion, only meant for simpleminded young girls. And no doubt Mr. Kingman thought so too. They were both too old for such foolishness.
Yet he was the only man who'd paid her any attention that evening, at least anything much beyond a simple hello. And it wasn't difficult to figure: Mr. Kingman couldn't dance, so he'd drawn the lot of sitting, chatting, and making her feel welcome. Likely she wouldn't see him again, except at the occasional social, because, as he'd said, he lived out on a ranch. And after all was said and done, Geneva was well past the age to be considered as a mate, even if they did have a fine time together.
But he was the first real friend she'd met in the town. Genuinely funny, quick witted and well read, he was a man fully able to converse on many topics. He'd turned out to be something of a surprise . . . and his face lit up whenever he smiled. In fact, she thought, Ned Kingman was rather extraordinary.
Pushing aside her unruly thoughts she turned, muttering last goodbyes. Then Geneva rushed quickly out the door, scanning to find her ride home with Edna and Bill Smithson.
After a few steps she turned around and spied Ned. He'd limped out behind her. What's more, the man insisted on helping her into the wagon, which was quite unnecessary, since B
ill Smithson was standing at the ready.
Geneva flushed vividly, not knowing what to make of Ned Kingman's attentions. Thoughts wildly thrashed and stuttered. He doesn't have anything better to do. It was simple: He was charged with making the schoolmarm from Indiana feel special because schoolteachers, especially those with experience, were hard to come by in the territories.
Lightly Ned took her trembling arm, and helped her into the wagon. Mr. Smithson slapped his draft horse into motion. The wagon jolted and wheels creaked.
When Geneva looked behind, Ned was still standing there, hands hitched on his hips, watching. After a few moments he turned and strode back into the town hall. He hadn't taken a shot of whiskey all day, and yet somehow the usual dull throb in his leg had subsided.
Ned wasn't as interested in the social after Geneva left. Emily was falling asleep on her feet, and he jumped at the chance, eagerly offering to take her home in a wagon.
The band stopped playing. People wandered back to their homes. The sky was clear; stars and moonlight shone so brightly that the people and horses and buildings cast long dim shadows. As she rode with Cal and Roy in the carriage, Sarah reflected on her first social. It had been magical. On Cal's arm she was accepted, without question, by all the decent men and women. All had smiled politely as she was introduced, and the ladies had spoken to her as if she'd never ridden on the white pony. Indeed, not one backhanded comment was uttered in her presence. The older women had kindly asked about Mama, and a few even complimented her on the quality of the cakes she brought.
Were they sincere or simply tolerating her for Cal's sake? It was impossible to tell.
Chapter 23
Taking care not to wake her sister, Sarah held her skirts to quiet the rustle as she stepped into their shared bedroom. Now she was faced with a dilemma. She needed help to unfasten all the tiny buttons running down the back of the fancy lavender dress.
After reluctantly kissing her goodnight Cal had retired to his room.
Sarah opened her bedroom door a crack and peeked up the stairs. A fragile light was shining from under Cal's door. He was still awake. Sarah decided it would only take a minute for him to help, and then she'd be on her way.
Setting her jaw Sarah scampered barefoot up the stairs. Hesitating a moment she tapped a knuckle lightly on his door.
"Something wrong?" He whispered as he pulled the door open a foot. Sarah looked past him to a pretty hand-stitched counterpane tossed haphazardly across a big bed. A lamp burned low on a table near the window.
She croaked. "Well, no, not really, I—"
She stopped abruptly. His wide chest was naked. His feet were bare. Suddenly keeping eyes focused on his face was a mighty struggle. "Oh. Oh. I didn't want to bother you, but Em is fast asleep, and I need help with the buttons on this dress. C-could you just undo them?"
Cal's chestnut eyes widened and he arched one brow. "Sure," he drawled, "it's no problem 'tall." His lips turned slightly at the corners. "Come in here where the light's better."
She moved just inside and spun around to give access to her backside. Cal reached over her shoulder, and his bronzed bare arm lightly flicked the door closed. Then he positioned himself close, so close Sarah could smell his masculine musk, so close his body heat touched her, and the feather of his breath caressed her neck.
Cal's eyes fixed on the curve where neck met shoulder, and he unhooked each small ivory button, starting at the top. His fingers ambled lazily from one to the next; they were in no particular hurry to get the job done.
His thoughts whirled about kissing the nape of her neck, just below her silver combs. The idea had barely trotted through his brain before another followed. As he worked his way down the button column, exposing her thin camisole, his mind galloped on until it was near to an unruly stampede. Steamy notions had formed into full-blown fantasies; each one featured him as close to Sarah as a man could get to his woman.
Meanwhile Sarah was fighting her own battle of personal restraint. Cal's strong fingers trailed pleasing warmth, lightly caressing along her spine as he worked each fancy round out of its loop. He was maddeningly quiet; the total silence forced her mind to focus on his gentle touch.
She recalled his words of that day in the parlor. Why not make the most of the time we have? Her dream of having Cal was slipping away, and it grated, painfully. This magical evening was ending, sliding into the abyss of fond memories. Soon it would be another dried and pressed flower, lurking between the pages of her life book.
It had been a night full of wonderful 'firsts': Her first social, and her first dance, with a man who could be, and in fact had been, her first suitor. A man who might have been her first real lover.
Her first lover. The idea grew stronger with each ragged breath she took, and soon a voice from within insisted that she give herself to this man to make another perfect "first".
It was her right. Crane didn't deserve her whole. She shuddered at the thought of bearing Crane's children. But having Cal's child -- that would be treasure.
Could it be wrong? No more wrong than giving herself in marriage to a man she didn't love. And not wrong at all when compared to being forced to succumb to Crane's inevitable blackmail.
Cal finished unhooking the buttons but Sarah's feet were stuck in place. She could not quit his bedroom.
Sarah pulled her arms from the dress and lowered the bodice until it hung loosely around her waist. She heard Cal's sharp intake of breath as she pulled at the camisole.
"Sarah?" he barely breathed.
She felt clumsy. Her hands trembled. Naked to her hips, her mind made up, she boldly turned back to face him.
"Sarah! What are you--"
She locked her jades on his golden browns. "You said we could be together whenever and however we want." Her face pinched with determination, and her eyes flickered back and forth as she desperately searched for words for the union she'd never known. "I want you to do it. With me."
The longing in her eyes shattered him. Gently he reached his hand to touch soft skin as his eyes devoured the round white fullness of her breasts.
"Sarah, you're sayin' you want to be my woman. Now? You're sure?" His voice was low, hoarse.
She nodded slightly and whispered. "You, you own my heart. Have all of me." She fisted her hands. Despite the threat from Crane, despite the humiliation of the white pony, despite her station in life, she would have him.
Even if it was just this one night.
"Oh honey." He touched her cheek. "You've taken my heart too."
The vows spoken, Cal and Sarah stood frozen for a long minute, eyes locked in the wonder of what they'd said, and what they were about to do.
They inched slowly together, and with quiet searching touches and lips they joined in the most tender kiss Sarah imagined possible, a gentle massage that sent currents of desire throughout her body. Cal's rancher hands moved gently over her face, touching and memorizing her forehead, eyes, nose, and lips. He took her hands and moved them to his chest, silently requesting her to explore his maleness.
Cal promised inwardly that he'd bridle himself -- no matter the pain -- this first time with her. He'd certainly thought about how he'd do it often enough. Since that first moment he'd wanted her. Now he wanted her to soar with him. He aimed to pleasure her completely, to show her heaven in his arms.
Sarah stroked her hands across Cal's chest, through soft curls of dark hair. When he took her mouth again he branded her with passionate intensity, and she felt the ache. Her knees and legs gave way to a sudden weakness. She gripped his shoulders, and Cal supported her up against the bedroom door.
His rough hand ran over the softness of her stomach and up to cover one breast. He rubbed his thumb gently across her nipple, already formed into a tight knot. Sarah gave in to the urge to arch her back and push fully into Cal's eager hands.
Cal's tongue probed and began to thrust sweetly in her mouth as he taught her the rhythm of the lovemaking to come.
Sarah ex
plored new territory. She wanted to savor Cal completely, know every inch of him, to roll a thousand nights of lovemaking into one, because this will be my first and last time, she thought. In the dim light of the kerosene lamp she peered intently into his passion-filled face for a response to each touch, just as he looked for hers. He whispered delightful, honeyed words.
"Sarah, the first time I saw you I wanted you." He kissed her brow lightly and looked into her green eyes. "Tell me if anything hurts."
Slowly and tentatively he put his mouth to her breast and laved gently at her nipple.
His voice, his smell, and the moist, soft touch of his tongue flooded her senses. Sarah threw her head back and moaned deep in her throat.
Each caress, each kiss, each exchange of loving words sent them spiraling to a higher level of arousal. He loved the feel of her silky hair. Constant moans rallied forth from the back of her throat, and his own groans rode on a torrent of unrelenting pleasure.
Sarah's honest response to his touches told him everything he needed to know. Sarah's lips. Sarah's hair. Sarah's touch. He was near panting, as though he had just run all the way home from the creek.
He hesitated only briefly, and then his hands worked her skirts down over her hips. Fingers shaking, he worked the tabs on her drawers.
"I don't have a wagonload of experience at this, honey." The confession was a sweet whisper.
Sarah laughed breathlessly but a flash of a painful memory crossed her face. "N-neither do I."
He flinched when he saw the pain, quickly drew her close and whispered in her ear. "It will be good. I promise."
Then he drew back and helped her remove fullness of the dress. Soon every piece of her clothing was heaped around her on the floor, and Cal gazed at her with open admiration.
She moved to unfasten his pants but he stilled her hands.
"I don't want to go too fast. Sarah, it wouldn't be as good for you, and I want this to be perfect." His voice was strained.
"It's already perfect." The words barely moved past the tightness in her throat.
He pulled her into him again. His lips branded her again and again with his heat. He fondled her peaked nipples and planted kisses along her neck and across her shoulder. "Oh sweetheart, you are beautiful."