Squire's Quest

by Judith B. Glad

  "Tell me what you want. I'm never sure. You won't let me help in the barn, or bring in wood--"

  "I didn't complain when you did."

  "No, but yesterday when I offered, you said it wasn't woman's work."

  "It's not, when there's a man handy. You're doing the cooking. I can haul wood and water." Rising, he pulled her up with him. He set both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, straight on. "You trouble me. The girl I left behind in Virginia City seven years ago was as feisty and independent as she could be. You still show a sign of feistiness now and then, but mostly you're..." He sought the right words and didn't find them. "You're like a servant, always trying to please."

  Her jaw set, but she still wouldn't look at him.

  "What sort of woman did you work for? Was she mean to you?"

  "Oh, no. Mrs. Flynn was kind. Strict, but she never hit me or made me do without supper. But she yelled at me when I did something wrong. I hate being yelled at."

  "Can't say I blame you. So, your pa beat you?"

  "Ye-- No, of course not."

  "Cal? I told you a long time ago the one thing I wouldn't put up with was being lied to. Did your pa beat you?"

  "He hit me. 'Twasn't really a beating, but he did hit me good, more than once. Pa's not a patient man."

  "Anything else?" When she looked puzzled, he stopped being so worried. "Did he lay hand on you any other way?"

  "Sometimes he'd grab me by the hair and jerk. Once or twice he kicked me. On the train," she said quickly, when he frowned. "There were folks around, but they couldn't see the kicks. They didn't hurt much." But she leaned over and rubbed one shin.

  "Huh." The one thing that had puzzled him, ever since she'd told him how her pa had showed up one day and told her they were leaving was why. "He never told you where you were going or why when you were coming this way?"

  "I told you. He just said he had business and it was my duty to come with him. I told him I'd rather stay with Mrs. Flynn, and he slapped me good. He said now I was grown up, I could be useful, but he didn't say how."

  Was she really so innocent? Or was he that suspicious? As lovely as she was, he could just imagine what use her father would make of her.

  What was the going price for an eighteen-year-old virgin who was slavishly obedient?

  He sure wished his Aunt Soomey was here. She'd take Cal in hand and teach her to stand up for herself.

  * * * *

  The wind found every tiny crack between logs, every gap twixt wall and floor. Even though Callie had pulled her old coat on top of the heavy comfort and the thick wool blanket, she was like to freeze to death. Before they'd gone to bed, Merlin had tied back the canvas curtain, saying, "I'll get this out of the way so the warm air will circulate better."

  It did, but so did the wisps of icy wind that came with every gust outside.

  A shiver took her, and she fought to keep her teeth from chattering. She had to pee, but just the thought of her feet on the cold floor kept her curled in a tight little ball.

  Finally she could wait no longer. She skinned out from under the covers, hoping they'd hold the heat until she came back. The chamber pot was tucked behind where the curtain was fastened to the wall, private enough so she didn't feel exposed. All she had to do was find it. The fire was nearly out, just dimly glowing coals giving little light.

  The lid clattered against the pot when she replaced it, loud enough to be heard over the howling wind.

  "Cal?"

  "It's me. I just..."

  "Oh, r-r-right."

  She was about to dive under the covers when she stopped to think about the funny sound to his voice. Not sleepy. His teeth were chattering.

  His bedroll was a long, skinny tarpaulin and a couple of blankets. Rolled up it wasn't a foot through. Her covers were nearly that thick, if she counted the heavy wool coat.

  It wasn't as if they'd never shared a bed before. Before she could have second thoughts, she said, "Merlin?"

  "Y-y-yes?"

  "I'm awful cold. Would you come sleep with me? I'd be lots warmer with you to snuggle up to."

  He didn't answer for the longest time. Finally, when she was wondering if he'd somehow gone back to sleep, he said, "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Why not? I'll bet you're cold too, down there on the floor. Why, I can feel the drafts on my feet right now."

  "I'm not c-c-cold."

  He'd complained about her being obedient, not feisty any more. Well, she'd show him feisty. "Merlin Lachlan, you get yourself over here and into this bed. It's plumb crazy for both of us to be shivering when we could keep each other warm." Her feet were like ice by now, and she could feel shivers trying to climb up her backbone. "I'm going to build up the fire, but it's not going to help much, not with the drafts blowing in."

  She scurried to the wood bin. As soon as she opened the small door, a gust of wind finished what the drafts had started. She shivered all over and her teeth started chattering again. Clenching her jaw, she dragged four fat pieces of wood out of the bin and slammed the small door. "How come the wind comes in there when it's blowing from the other side?"

  She hadn't expected an answer and nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, from just behind her, "It's like an eddy in a creek. It works its way around whatever's in its way. Here, give me that wood. I'll tend the fire. You fill the kettle."

  They huddled near the fire while the water heated, both of them bundled in their coats. Merlin had suggested portable soup instead of tea, and she'd scraped some off a cake into two cups.

  "You didn't take off your clothes," she said, and could have bitten her tongue as soon as the words left her mouth. That wasn't something to say to a man in the middle of the night, especially not a man she'd just invited to her bed.

  He promised he wouldn't kiss me, wouldn't try to talk his way into my bed.

  She'd been thinking about those words ever since he'd said them to her. Not thinking like she wanted him to do it. Just thinking about what went on between a man and a woman. She had a pretty good idea, having seen dogs and cattle and chickens mating. It didn't look all that comfortable for the wo--for the female, but the males sure did like to do it.

  She knew it was sinful, for Mrs. Flynn had made her go to church and she'd heard a whole lot of sermons against fornication and adultery. Mrs. Flynn had warned her she shouldn't let anyone know Lemuel Smith was her father. Now she knew he'd owned the bawdyhouse in Virginia City, she understood why.

  They'd known anyhow. She'd heard some of the nice young ladies at church saying how she was probably no better than the women who worked for her father.

  So had the men. The way some of them had eyed her in a hungry sort of way had scared her to death. Whenever she'd gone on an errand, to the grocer or to the post office, she'd walked fast and kept her eyes on the ground. "Mind you act the lady. You don't want to end up like those girls of your father's," had generally been Mrs. Flynn's last words before she walked out the door.

  The hot, salty broth warmed her from the inside out. When her cup was empty, she set it on the table and stood. "I guess I'd better--"

  "I'd be obliged if you would share the bed with me. It's like sleeping in an ice cave, there on the floor." He sounded stiff, like he was embarrassed. Or shy.

  "Oh, well, yes. Um..." Wondering if she should feel like a rabbit with a hawk about to swoop down, she froze halfway between the fireplace and the bed. Swallowed. Cleared her throat. "Uh, do you want the inside or the outside?"

  "The outside. That way I won't wake you when I get up."

  She doubted if she'd be asleep. Even though it had been her idea, she just knew she'd lie there the rest of the night waiting for him to pounce.

  Hadn't Mrs. Flynn told her men were slaves to their passions?

  Merlin knew it was a mistake before he ever got to the bed. If the floor hadn't been so cold. If he hadn't heard every rustle of covers, every sigh of breath for two nights already, he might have been able to resist.


  If he hadn't smelled her faint spicy scent when she'd sat next to him before the fire. Where'd she get that fancy soap, anyhow? And most of all, if it hadn't been nigh a year since he'd had a woman, he might have stayed on the floor and froze to death.

  Instead, he followed her across the room and sat on the edge of the box frame while she spread his blankets atop what was already there. Tried not to watch while she crawled in and settled herself.

  You didn't take off your clothes. No, he hadn't, because every layer was more protection from the cold when he was sleeping on the floor. But now, with his two blankets on top of the two already on the bed, he'd be plenty warm in his union suit.

  And plenty tempted. His heavy black britches are were like armor, hard to get out of. His shirt was sweat-soaked and stiff, for even in the cold he'd worked hard, getting the wagons moved into a drift fence, the tired mules brushed down and fed.

  That's probably for the best.

  "Those britches look uncomfortable for sleeping, especially with the belt."

  He didn't turn around. He didn't have to. He could see her in his mind, clear as day. Her nightgown was buttoned clear up to her neck, and its sleeves drooped over her hands. Except when she raised her arms, and then the soft flannel slid down, showing white forearms, sweetly rounded and probably satiny smooth.

  He'd just take off his shirt and belt and unfasten his britches. More comfortable that way.

  A draft hit him as he slid his arms from the shirt and he shivered. He loosened the belt and unbuttoned his fly.

  Oh, the devil with it.

  He dropped his britches and crawled into bed. As tired as he was, Cal's virtue was in no danger from him.

  The next thing he knew, she was wrapping herself around him, burying her nose between his shoulder and chin. "This will be so much warmer."

  The next moment he felt her go limp, as she slipped into sleep.

  * * * *

  She woke with a hand cupping her breast, a knee tucked between hers, and--

  Oh goodness! Is that what I think it is? Callie held her breath and hoped Merlin was still asleep.

  If he was awake, he'd have noticed how she'd stiffened. He'd know she knew what was prodding her in the backside.

  She took several deep breaths, imagined herself lying in a sunny, flower-bright meadow. Once she was as relaxed as she could be, she rolled onto her stomach and let out a little snore. His arm was still draped across her shoulders, but that was the only place he was touching her now.

  Is it time to get up?

  She'd closed the shutters early last night, hoping to keep the cabin warmer, so there was no telling. No matter. She'd not sleep another wink.

  She wished she could see. If it was light, she could look her fill at him, like she never could when he was awake. Looking at him made her feel...safe. Not just safe, though. It made her feel like she was worth something. Like she was smart and...and maybe something more than a bother.

  He'd never said anything about her being plain, or built like a beanpole. He'd even said she was pretty, that time he'd promised to wait for her to invite him into her bed.

  Oh, goodness! Did he think... No, he couldn't. He had to know she was worried about him sleeping on the cold floor. Nothing more.

  But his hand had been...and his leg was...and his...

  Living in a rough mining town, she'd heard a man's thing called many names, but all of them seemed crude and nasty.

  I wonder what he calls his.

  He moved then, turning away from her. After a bit he moved again, and made a sound.

  She lay still, frozen in place. Would he turn back? Would he--

  A draft of icy air flowed under the covers as he sat up. She heard him yawn, then groan softly. After a while his feet thudded on the floor, and a moment later he tucked the covers tightly around her.

  I should probably get up and make his coffee.

  Instead she stayed snug in bed, and listened as he dressed and moved around the cabin, building up the fire, pouring water into the kettle.

  Pa would have made her get up and do for him while he laid in bed. He'd have expected her to have his breakfast cooking before he got up. Those few days she'd stayed in his cabin, he'd done nothing. "Now you're here, the house is your job," he'd told her. "A man shouldn't have to do for himself when he's got a woman around."

  She'd been proud to be called a woman, and had not minded taking care of Pa. Only she'd turned out to be such a terrible cook he'd apprenticed her to Mrs. Flynn. "Teach her a trade so she can make her own way," he'd told the town baker. "And while you're at it, make sure she knows how to feed a man. She's useless now."

  Merlin doesn't think I'm useless. He never did.

  The realization gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. She just hoped he liked her for more than her cooking skills.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "Cal?" He knew she was awake, or had been. He'd heard the change in her breathing, felt how she'd stiffened when she realized he was wrapped around her.

  Maybe he shouldn't have pretended not to notice.

  She stirred, rolled to face the room. "Hmmm?"

  "I'm heading for the barn soon as I've drunk some coffee. Can you fix some breakfast? I don't reckon oatmeal will hold me today."

  "How long will you be? Do I have time to make bread?" She started to push the covers back and hesitated. "Um, can you turn around?"

  "I can do better than that." He pulled the curtain halfway across. "It'll probably take me an hour or better to clear ice out of all four troughs. I sure hope they're not froze solid."

  "It was probably cold enough. Brrr. Listen to the wind."

  She came out from behind the curtain just as he was putting on his coat. "I wish you didn't have to go out." She'd put her ugly dress back on, and had her threadbare shawl wrapped around her. Her hair was pulled back, tied with a strip of cloth.

  He shivered when he stepped outside, for all he was well bundled up. Drifted snow blocked the path to the barn. Instead of making sure the mules had water, Merlin spent the next hour digging his way to them. By the time he reached the barn door, he was ready for breakfast. The mules could wait, would have to.

  He ate quickly, telling her the situation in short bursts of speech between bites of fried potatoes, scrambled eggs and thick, crisp slices of bacon.

  She poured him a second cup of coffee, and he allowed himself the luxury of leaning back and relaxing while he drank it.

  He wasn't paying much attention to her as he sipped, just thinking of how he'd water a hundred-odd mules with melted snow. "Wish I'd ordered that coal. If this lasts more than a couple of days, we'll be out."

  "I'm ready whenever you are."

  He looked up, startled. Cal stood before him, dressed in her britches, the red plaid shirt. She had her new coat in one hand, gloves and a wool cap in the other.

  "Ready? For what?"

  "Two of us will make the work go faster. I can bring in the mules while you tend to water."

  "The hell you say." As soon as the words burst from his lips, be wished he'd bit them back. A man who'd cuss in front of a lady needed his arse kicked.

  "I haven't forgot how to tend mules," she said. "You taught me yourself."

  So he had. "You never worked in cold like this," he said, knowing it was a last ditch argument.

  "Thirty below, one winter in Virginia City. Everybody who could carried water and firewood for the folks who couldn't."

  Grateful for her offer of help, but wishing he didn't have to accept, Merlin gave in. "Wrap a scarf over your hat. You don't want to lose an ear."

  They both clung to the rope as she followed him to the barn. New snow had all but blocked the path he'd cut no more than an hour earlier.

  Wonder how bad the path to the woodpile is. The bin's close to empty.

  Cal milked while he got the forge going. One look at the corral told him he had more shovel work ahead, for most of the feed troughs were drifted over. Once more he silent
ly cursed the idiot who'd forgot which way the wind blew. Or hadn't cared. "Sure you can manage the mules?" he said, once he had the first tub of water ready and a second one of snow melting.

  "'Course I can. And if you've got a spare shovel, I can fill the tub when it's empty."

  He'd seen a short spade among the tools in the forge and he dug it out for her. "Let me know when you're ready for me to lift it onto the forge."

  Her hands fisted on her hips. "Merlin, I'm no weakling. I just won't fill the tubs fuller than I can lift. You go on about your business and let me tend to mine."

  Mostly he did, but he still checked on her whenever he came inside to warm his hands. Today he'd give anything for a pair of the boiled wool mittens Ma used to make every fall. The elkhide gloves he'd found so handy when he was on the trail drives were the next thing to useless once they'd gotten damp.

  Caring for the mules took them all day, with a short break for dinner. They ate leftover stew, warmed-over tea, and were back at work in less than an hour. Just before dark, when they led the last four mules back into the corral, he knew they'd done all they could. The snow looked to have slacked off some, and the drifts along his makeshift snow fence had built up so the wind didn't sweep as cruelly into the corral. "Come spring, I'm going to see to building a new corral downwind. This setup is plumb stupid," he muttered as they put their tools away.

  Cal's answering smile was a mere flicker. He knew she must be twice as tired as him, and he felt worn clear to the bone.

  The cabin was cold. Only a few sullen embers remained of the banked fire. While Cal broke the thin film of ice in the bucket and filled the kettle, Merlin fetched more wood to restock the bin built against the cabin wall. For some reason, the drifts hadn't built up as high between the cabin and the woodpile as they had toward the barn. But he still needed the shovel to open the path.

  He pushed the door open onto warmth and light a good hour after they'd returned to the cabin. The aroma of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air and he came close to laughing with relief. Coming home after a miserable day was what kept a man working.