by Honey
She merely arched her brow at him; he said nothing.
"Tug-of-war is next," Noodles said, drawing up to them. "Who's in?"
Camille spoke up quickly. "Not me."
Cub grunted. "It's not for ladies. Only men."
"Oh. Well, good." She adjusted her sleeve cuffs. "I'll watch from the shade of that tree."
And so she did, glad to be on the sidelines. Alex took part in the rope pull, his muscles straining as he held on. He smiled, his white teeth contrasting with his tan face. He actually joked around with Cub when their team won against the opposing side. This was something that would not have happened at the start of the season. She noted that Alex had been welcomed into the club somewhere along the miles of train travel and was no longer considered an outsider, an intruder.
With that thought, she wondered about her role with the Keystones. A disciplined manager was never supposed to form an emotional attachment to the players. At least that's what her father always went on about. Camille feared it was too late for that advice. Fondness made her smile as she watched Specs wiping his spectacle lenses on the tail of his shirt before putting them back on—only to squint. Cupid and his bald head with the sun sinning up the top after he removed his hat. Doc casually perusing the field grass for clovers. Duke and Bones limbering up for the tug-of-war by touching their toes. Yank, Jimmy, and Noodles laughing at a joke. Charlie and Deacon drinking lemonade. Yes, it was too late to heed her father's advice. She was unable to prevent herself from keeping her distance. She'd already invested her heart into this team.
At first, she'd wanted to take them to the pennant to show her father she could do the job. But she now wanted the players to see just how good they could be, how deserving they were to play for the coveted prize. They could do it. Boston proved that. What happened in Chicago... that was disappointing.
As she pondered how to get the spirit of Boston back into the team, her gaze fell on Alex. It would seem he held the key to their success. When he wanted to be, he was a brilliant player. And so much more.
"Folks, next is the bicycle races," Mayor VanHorne announced through a megaphone. "Five people to a race, on account of we only have five bicycles in the whole town—compliments of Mr. E. Whippy... who has said that after the race he'll be renting them out for fifty cents an hour." The mayor's stars-and-stripes suit flashed beneath the sun as he waved his arm. "So come on over and sign up."
Camille waved to Specs, who secured one of the bicycles and was giving it a test run—right into a picnic table.
Several of the town ladies stood by a soda fountain stand and Camille wandered over to get a cool drink. She watched the bicycle races play out in groups. Jimmy was rather good at it—good enough to win. Alex rode one as well, the wind billowing his shirt as he pressed for the finish. He lost by a small margin, got off, and waved Yank in, who wobbled and finally tumbled before coming close.
The bicycle races wound down, and were followed by performances by a band on a decorated stand. For the past few minutes, they'd been playing their renditions of "Stars And Stripes Forever" and "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Then the mayor introduced a young woman by the name of Miss Idella Appleby who wore a flowing white toga, a grape wreath in her high-piled hair. She sang "My Country 'Tis of Thee" with such flourish, she'd stunned the crowd into silence. As soon as she quit, an encore was quickly called for—and received. She sang the song once more. When she came to "let freedom ring," she raised her arm high and her voice shot up an octave.
Most of the Keystones practically tripped over one another to get a better look at the woman whose bare arm resembled pure alabaster. Camille opted to bow out on the fourth encore. She wouldn't be missed.
She began to walk toward the hotel, the music fading behind her. She had barely reached the boardwalk when an elongated shadow crossed from behind her. She turned to find Alex grinning at her from a bicycle. The spoke wheels gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight, as did the buckles on a leather basket that had been attached to the back fender. Alex's thumb rang the bell on the handlebars.
"Get on, honey, and we'll go for a spin."
She gazed at him askance. Actually, she gazed at the bicycle. She'd never ridden one in her life, but she knew that there was only one seat. And it was occupied.
"Yes, certainly," she quipped. "I'll sit on your shoulders."
She had no intentions of sitting anywhere on that thing.
"Interesting idea. But not what I had in mind." He circled her tightly, keeping her trapped in place. Each pass he made, he jingled the ringer like a child. The picture he made on that bicycle—long legs pumping the pedals, Stetson hat sitting high on his forehead, sleeves rolled up to his elbows—had her smiling. "Get on the handlebars."
Her eyes flew to the narrow bar of metal. "What?"
He stopped pedaling and put his right foot on the ground to hold the contraption steady. Extending his hand, he waited for her to take it. "You can do it. Just climb on."
"I'll fall off."
Her protest fell on deaf ears. "No you won't. I won't let you get hurt."
Her heartbeat slowed and her gaze drifted to his lips.
"You'll enjoy it," he said, his voice like gravel.
Her eyes shot up, her heart racing. She couldn't possibly enjoy the ride. She'd be scared to death. There was no place to hold on. "I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"You're not going to dare me into anything again."
"I think so." She grew keenly aware of his eyes seeking hers. A slow and thorough assessment of her was clear in his expression. Her heart took another perilous leap; she couldn't let him affect her this way. "That night in my room you trusted me. Why can't you now?"
Biting her lip, she looked past him to the hotel. "I don't want to talk about what happened in your room." Then she said, "It shouldn't have happened. I..." She could say no more.
Alex reached out and took her hand. His fingers closed over hers. "I'm glad it happened. And I'm glad you felt the way you did. Not every woman does."
It took her an awkward moment to comprehend what he meant. When she did, she was shocked by his words. Not only were they blatant but they were alarming. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel such passion in her and not all women did? She'd assumed her feelings were normal... but such a topic was just never discussed. She'd never asked another woman in her life about the details of lovemaking. Not even her mother, with whom she shared a close relationship.
Heavens, he was saying she was overly passionate! Suddenly she didn't know which was worse—the fact that she'd encouraged him to touch her or the fact that she had found release in his touch.
"Honey." His voice lowered and he brought his face close to hers. "Don't tell yourself you shouldn't have."
Camille drew in her breath. Why was it he could read her thoughts so perfectly at times?
"Now get on." His arm bent, pulling her to the bicycle, and she scooted closer. "I've got good balance on this thing. You won't fall off."
She looked at the handlebars, then at Alex. "I wouldn't even know how to get up there."
"Hike your skirt a little and hop up. I'll keep the bike steady."
"I'm suspicious. This is the second activity today where I've had to hike up my skirt."
"And it may not be the last," he said with an easy grin.
She'd walked right into that one.
Looking over her shoulder, Camille bit her lip. The group was still at the field beyond the plaza listening to Miss Appleby. None of the players would see her if she and Alex kept to the back streets and she took only a short ride.
She turned her attention back to Alex and the bicycle. Then she gave a soft sigh and grabbed her skirt and petticoats in her hand. That done, she stared at the handlebars and the large wheel just under them. What was she supposed to do now?
"Straddle it." Alex motioned to the tire. "Back up over it and then hop up."
If she was supposed to straddle a tire, she have to do more than h
ike her petticoat up. She'd practically have to bunch it to her waist. Lifting the fine blue fabric higher, and then even a smidgen higher, she gazed at the bottom edge of her pantalets. Gingerly, she backed up over the wheel, standing on tiptoe so she'd clear the rubber. Her skirt dragged over the sides of the wheel and caught on a spoke. She managed to free the hem.
"A little higher."
She shot Alex a dark frown, then inched her skirt higher.
"More."
She moved it up a tad more.
"More."
Exasperated, she blurted, "I might as well take my dress off."
"You could do that. But wait until we're alone."
She didn't comment on that as she stood taller and clutched the hand grips so that she could hoist herself up. "We'll go only down that street and back. All right?"
"Yeah, sure."
"You promise." She gazed at him. "Just right over there, then back here and you'll let me get off."
His inky hair fell over his collar, his ears, and his forehead. She never tired of looking at his face, the way he smiled. Even when she doubted his sincerity. "Absolutely."
"You promise?"
"I do." His eyes held hers. He was quite convincing.
She nodded, then faced forward and gave a bouncing leap so that she sat between the grips, where her hands held on with a death-clutch. The bicycle momentarily wobbled under her weight, but true to his word, Alex kept them from tipping over. Her backside wasn't very comfortable at all on the thin tube, but when she leaned back a little and got her balance, she felt all right.
"Okay. Just down there and back," she repeated in a shaky voice. Her skirt and petticoat were stuffed into the shallow dip of her lap, and her legs were open too immodestly. But if she brought them in any farther, her clothing would wind up in the spokes and then they'd certainly crash.
"I'm going to bring my foot up now, just hold on."
As if she'd let go.
His voice was deep and reassuring as he said, "Don't lean left and don't lean right."
"I won't."
He pushed off, bringing his feet to the pedals. In a matter of seconds, they were rolling smoothly down the street. Alex aimed them toward the end of the block, pushing hard on the pedals and gaining them speed. A breeze tickling her cheeks, her hat ribbons making fluttering noises on top of her head, and a smile on her mouth she was unable to contain, Camille laughed. Her voice held a giddy quality that was uncharacteristic of her. She was acting ridiculously unrefined.
But she didn't care.
Once at the juncture of the road where it forked east and west, Alex didn't turn around. He veered right.
Camille had let herself have fun because she knew the ride would be short. Now it didn't look that way and a quiver of panic made her elbows ache. "Where are you going?"
"Down here. Over there. A little of everywhere."
"But you said we'd go back."
A rich rumble of laughter came from his chest and rose to her ears. "I lied."
Chapter 17
Camille opened her mouth in dismay as the bicycle sped on. "Well, unlie. Take me back."
Alex only chuckled as the scenery rolled by.
"But—"
"I don't think so" was all he said as he pedaled them past the closed-for-the-holiday buildings on Main Street. The boardwalks were empty, no horses at hitching posts. They passed a white-spired church and weathered buildings. The dwellings went by in a soft blur of grays and browns—red brick for the firehouse. At the end of the street, the road turned into a lane marked by wildflowers on either side.
Alex turned the bicycle into a meadow of black-eyed Susans. The trail was narrow, only about a foot wide, as if it was used for horses. As the bicycle cut through the meadow, the hip-high flowers waved, their petals orange-yellow and their centers dark purple, lending a light fragrance to the air.
The wheels hit a rock and the bicycle bumped and rattled. A squeal left Camille's throat. Surely she was going to fall off.
"I think we ought to turn around," she suggested. "It's too rocky."
"Sorry. No place to turn around."
There would be if they both got off the bicycle and faced it the right way—back to town. "We could—"
"Nope. Don't think so."
Camille adjusted her death grip on the handlebars, too scared to worry that her skirt might slip down her knees. "Are we going much farther?"
"Just a ways."
"How much of a ways?"
"See that barn over there?"
Tilting her head so that the brim of her hat kept the last remnants of blinding sun from her eyes, she viewed a red-and-white barn surrounded by outbuildings and a fenced pasture that held cows.
"That looks like private property."
"It is."
"But we—" Another bump jarred the two-wheeler, this time strong enough to loosen the pin from Camille's hat. "Oh, my hat's falling off! We have to go back."
"Yeah, looks like it's going to take flight."
Holding tightly for fear of falling into a rut, she felt her hairpins in her hair begin to slip. "I don't think you meant that very nicely."
"I didn't."
The fact that he wouldn't deny it proved he was the wrong type of man for her. A gentleman would have begged her pardon. A gentleman would be respectful of her wishes to turn around. A gentleman... would have been a lump of boring stuffiness.
Black-eyed Susans thinned out, taken over by rolling hills alight with warm orange color and rich greens. There was a hay pasture and sporadic sunflowers. Alex turned onto a wagon wheel-grooved road and steered them to the barn's drive. At the top of the incline, he stopped the bicycle. She quickly hopped off.
On firm ground, she looked around. The knoll on which the farm stood was just high enough so she could see over the rooftops of Dorothy. They'd gone away from the crowd, but occasionally, Camille could hear a shout or laughter as it drifted up from the flatlands. Horses grazed on alfalfa in one pasture while tan cows did in another. A house was tucked behind a copse of cottonwoods. The barn had been freshly painted and a sign hung above its high double doors.
E. WHIPPY FARM
RENTALS: BUGGY, SURREY, BICYCLES
STUD SERVICE
Alex laid the bicycle on its side and came to stand beside her. His gaze followed hers to the sign. "You think he's talking about himself?"
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "No, I don't think so. I saw him in town and he didn't look like a ladies' man."
He tucked a wisp of fallen hair behind her ear, sending an avalanche of tingles across her skin. "What does a ladies' man look like?"
With him this close, she could hardly think. She could fib, but there was no point. He knew it. She knew it. The cows probably knew it. Conceding, she said, "You."
"Is that so?"
The way he looked at her, he might as well have kissed her. She didn't know why he was doing this to her. "Do you want me to write it down?"
"Maybe you already have in that notebook you keep." He left her side and went to the bicycle's basket and undid the straps. "You say it's just for lineups and stuff. But there might be some good reading in there."
"I can assure you, there's not." Her mind quickly raced. Had she not once doodled a heart on one of the pages and put Alex's name in it? Or did she dream that she did that? Either way, it was mortifying that he'd come close to the truth. "What's that?" she asked as he revealed a small canvas bag. She hoped to distract him from the topic.
"Dinner."
"Dinner?" she blurted.
"Yeah. Come on."
"But I... that is, we can't just barge in here and make ourselves at home."
"Sure we can." Alex started up to the barn—more precisely, to the ladder anchored on its side. "I paid for the use."
"Paid for it?"
"I rented the bicycle for the night. And the barn."
"The barn?"
"Vantage point."
"For what?"
He pau
sed, foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. "Fireworks." With a hand on one section of the rail, he extended his other. "Come on. You go up first. I'll be right behind you."
She took his hand, noting the calluses that had formed from months of holding the shaft of a pine-tarred bat in his grasp. "Afraid I'll run away?"
"Thought about it."
She ascended the ladder, wondering if he was looking at her ankles as she rose... or worse, at her underclothes. But he'd once seen them both in plain view. And more.
Once at the top, she stood on firmly planted feet. The roof was quartered, each section with its own pitch. Alex came up behind her and motioned to a flat section just below a weathervane. She went to it and sat.
She tucked her knees level with her breasts and looked out at the view. She had to admit, it was inspiring. The sun was setting, its orb of yellow like a burst of summer dahlias. She didn't mind that some of her hairpins had given way, leaving curls to dangle loose in places. This was nice. Quite thoughtful. Very sweet.
It was her first kidnapping. A shivaree without the fuss and noise. Or wedding license...
Alex opened the bag. She realized now that she was hungry for dinner after such a long day on the train. "What did you bring?" she asked.
"Cornflakes and beer." He came up with a box of Kellogg's cornflakes and two amber bottles of crown-capped beer.
"Cornflakes and beer?"
"It travels well on a bicycle." Running his finger beneath the fold of the box, he opened it. "Cereal's good. Do you eat it?"
"Yes. With milk and strawberries. In a bowl. For breakfast." She lowered her legs when he tapped her knee to indicate that he wanted to pour cornflakes into her lap. "I don't drink beer, though."
"Have you ever?"
"Well, no. But I've had sipping whiskey before." She remembered the time she'd snuck a splash of her father's when he hadn't been home—just to see the appeal in the liquor. She'd found none, although she'd definitely felt the whiskey go right to her head, along with a shiver of revulsion up her spine. "I got a little glow from it."
"Glow?"
"A lady of character doesn't refer to overindulgence as being drunk. The better word is glow, which indicates a combination being tipsy and not being oneself."