Home? Yes, this cabin felt like home.
Cal was here.
She fed him hot bread and thick, meaty stew, with turnips and carrots and spuds fighting the chunks of venison for abundance. Afterward there was a dish of clabbered cream and stale bread laced with brandy--he'd forgot about that half-bottle--and sweetened with honey.
"I left the milk in the barn," he said, reminded.
"I know, and I forgot to pour any for the cats. They'll take care of it, and we've enough for tonight and morning."
"They'll make a mess of it," he grumbled.
"Easier to clean up the spill frozen than wet. Stop fussing and have some more tea."
When she set a full cup before him, he scooted his chair back and stretched his still cold feet towards the fire. His boots and hers were standing close enough to dry inside, where melting snow had wicked down their pants' legs , but not so close they'd stiffen in the heart.
"How are your feet," he said, when he remembered hers were brand new.
"A little sore. I had a wrinkle in the right sock, and it rubbed." With a fond look at the tall boots standing beside his, she said, "Those are the best boots I've ever had. They fit and they don't leak. I'm obliged, Merlin."
"You're welcome." The corners of his mouth kicked up in a grin. "I remember those shoes you had the first time we met. Where on earth did you get them?"
"They were my cousin Jim's. When I told Uncle Walter and Aunt Sadie I was going to live with Pa, they insisted on outfitting me. My everyday shoes were old, and they were girl shoes--thin-soled and flimsy. Uncle Walter wasn't rich, but he was bound to see me dressed proper. He said nobody would notice a girl wearing boy's boots."
"He didn't know you were going to disguise yourself as a boy?"
"Heavens, no. He'd have had three kinds of conniptions if I'd told him. And maybe I wouldn't have, if somebody hadn't stole my grip when I got off to buy food in Evanston."
Once again he marveled at how she'd managed to get so far on her own. Evanston was a good ways west of Cheyenne, but still at least a hundred miles from Ogden. She'd ridden the freights, and survived. Something he'd not have bet on, had she been twice as old and three times as wise.
"I'll take a turn around before we settle for the night." He bent to reach his boots. Just as he straightened, she reached past him for his cup.
His head landed on her breasts, and they felt like the world's best pillow.
She caught at his shoulders, as if she'd lost her footing.
Spice and yeast and woman. That's what he smelled. It galvanized him, made him feel like he'd just awoke from a good night's sleep. When he caught her arm and pulled, she came easily around to face him.
Even though the wool of her new shirt was scratchy, he burrowed into it, breathing deeply. Again she clutched at his shoulders, but she wasn't pushing herself away from him. She was more like...waiting.
Merlin pulled back just enough so she'd understand his words. "On second thought..."
"Merlin?"
"I'm asking, Cal. I'm asking to share your bed."
"But you did... Oh!"
"There's sleeping together for warm," he said, speaking with his lips against the scratchy wool, "and there's coming together for something else." He wasn't sure what to call what he wanted from her. More than simple sex. Less than a lifetime, at least right now.
He might not be ready to choose the shape of the rest of his life, but he knew what he wanted for today and tomorrow and a while after that.
"I'm asking you, Cal. Will you let me come to your bed?"
He felt her breath hitch in her chest, her fingers dig into his shoulders. "I... I don't know... I--"
Releasing her, he stood and caught her fluttering hands in his. "Cal, I'm not sure what I want to do with my life yet. So I promise I won't take what should rightfully be your husband's"
She made a small sound. Distress? Disappointment.
He hurried to explain. "You'll make some man a loving, faithful wife. It might be me, but... Consarn it all, Cal. I ain't ready to settle yet. But I want you. I want you so bad I forget how tired I am. So bad it's an ache in me. Here..." He fisted his hand over his gut. "And here." He laid his other hand fingers spread, over the center of his chest.
"Will you lie with me, Cal, just for tonight? I promise you'll rise in the morning still a virgin."
And if that hadn't been the hardest promise he'd ever made, he couldn't think of one harder.
"You promise?"
"That I won't..." He wasn't sure how to say it so it wouldn't sound like he was a rutting bullock. "I won't take your virginity," he repeated. "There are ways we can pleasure each other without..."
Consarn it, Felice, you taught me how, but you didn't tell me what to call it.
He owed the Cajun woman a debt of gratitude, for teaching him how to bring a woman to ecstasy with mouth and hands. He still regretted that he'd had nothing to give her but his body, for all she'd said that she wanted nothing more from him. Felice had first sold herself when she was twelve. By the time he'd met her, she was a courtesan of the highest order, picking and choosing her lovers. How he'd ever gotten into her bed was still a mystery to him.
This is no time to be thinking of Felice.
He drew a deep breath full of Callie's scent. "Come," he invited, pulling her toward the bd.
She held back for a moment before yielding. "Sit there." He guided her to the edge of the rough plank box holding the cornshuck mattress and pulled a fold of comfort over to soften the narrow board. "Let me love you."
Her eyes, green as spring leaves, opened wide. "Tell me what to do." The whisper came hesitantly, softly, but he heard.
"Tell me if I scare you. If I do anything you don't like."
Her nod was tentative, her eyes wide. With fear? Or was it curiosity, knowing Callie?
"The first thing is to get rid of clothes," he told her, echoing what Felice had told him. With fingers that trembled, he unbuttoned her shirt, opening it to reveal the faded pink of her much-laundered union suit. "Your turn," he said, when he'd pulled the shirt loose from her britches.
"M-m-my turn?"
"Uh-huh. Unbutton my shirt."
Her mouth opened, but no words emerged. Instead she took her bottom lip between her teeth and gnawed.
"Don't." He touched her chin. "You'll make yourself sore. Like this."
He unbuttoned his own shirt and stripped it off. His union suit was nearly new, and its bright red was a sorry contrast to hers. He should have made sure she had decent underwear when he was paying for her clothes.
"Do I have to take off my shirt?"
"Nope. Not unless you want to. I admit I'd like to see what you look like without it."
"Faded." To his surprise, her mouth turned up in a small grin. She plucked at her left sleeve and he saw the hole at her elbow. "I was going to buy me new underwear as soon as I got paid this week. Now, well, I guess I'd better save my money."
"I'll buy--"
"No you won't. Merlin, you've done so much for me. Leave me some pride."
It was like a slap in the face. Hadn't Pa once told him gratitude left a bitter taste when it was one-sided?
"I won't then. But you haven't seen faded until you've seen what I had on when I got to Dodge a couple of months back. No knees, no elbows, and the trap door was half gone."
The hint of a smile became a reality. "Half gone? How'd that happen?"
"I got bucked off. We were breaking new stock before we started the drive. One of 'em took offense at having a man on his back and threw me before I was all the way on. I landed in a tangle of mesquite and got hung up on a branch. Before I got loose, I was downright immodest."
"You tore your britches?"
"I lost 'em. And half my trapdoor. I mostly wore the other set but by the time we got to Dodge, it was so filthy it could stand alone. After my bath--the first one in three months--I threw everything in the fire and put on my spares."
"You burned your clothes?
"
"Every stitch, except for my boots. Oh, my, look what I found."
While he'd been talking, he'd kept his fingers busy. Her union suit was unbuttoned to the waist and the valley between her breasts gleamed white in the firelight. One twitch of his fingers and underwear and shirt slid off her shoulder. A second twitch and the other side went as well.
"I swan, Callie, I've never seen such a sight in my whole life," he whispered as he gazed at her high, rose-crowned breasts. His hands itched with the urge to close around them. But he held himself still, waiting to see what she would do.
Her arms came up to cover her chest.
"Don't. Please, let me look. I won't touch unless you want me to. Word of honor."
"Its... I'm cold."
Sure enough, goosebumps pebbled her skin. "Of course you are. Here, get into bed."
"In my britches?"
Laughter got the best of him, so shocked did she sound. Once he'd tamed it, he said, "No, sweetheart, not in your britches. But you might want to keep your Union suit on for now."
She looked down at her bare breasts and sniffed. "A little late for that. Turn around."
Resisting the urge to ask why, he obeyed. After a moment he heard the rustle of bedclothes.
"Will you take your britches off too?"
"Do you want me to?"
"No. Yes. I don't know."
"I do." He unbuttoned and dropped, slid between the coarse linen sheets before she could see he'd taken off everything, not just his britches.
"This is sinful, isn't it?" Her voice trembled.
"I reckon. But just us being here together is probably nearly as sinful. What's that they say about avoiding the appearance of evil?"
Rolling to his side, he propped his head on one elbow. "I'm likely crazy to say this, but do you want to stop now?"
Even in the dim light cast by the fire and the single candle on the table, he saw her begin gnawing on her lip again. "Cal, you're not going to have a lip left if you don't stop chewing it."
With both hands she covered her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry."
"No need to be. It doesn't hurt me, but it's might hurt when I kiss you." Slowly he leaned forward until his lips touched the back of her hand. "Move your hand."
Up so close, he saw her wide eyes as more of a green blur than anything. Her hand slowly moved to uncover her mouth. He kissed her lightly, let his tongue barely touch her poor, gnawed lip. Tasted blood. "Oh, Cal, are you so scared?"
"I don't want to be."
"But you are." Drawing back wasn't easy, but he managed. After a few deep breaths while he forced his mind into thoughts of icy wind and blowing snow, he felt his body slowly relax. "I'll get the candle and bank the fire. You button up."
Even so, his doowhacker tented his underwear when he crawled back into bed.
Her breathing told him she was doing her best to pretend sleep. Her stiff body told him she lied.
With a deep sigh, he turned on his side with his back to her. Tired as he was, sleep was a long time coming.
* * * *
She trusted him. More than any other living person, man or woman. Only her ma had been more careful of her, more kind to her. Looking across at his face, gilded by firelight, she sought answers.
She could make no decision tonight. She was so tired her thoughts felt as frozen as the ice crusting the mules' backs. She wasn't sure of the shape of her life either, for she'd never been given a choice in it. Even now she had none, for without Merlin she'd be as helpless and as homeless as she'd been the night her father had abandoned her in the depot.
Once she'd thought to marry, for in marriage would be refuge. Then she'd grown older--and wiser--and realized that for some women marriage was a terrible trap. She had applied herself to learning all Mrs. Flynn could teach her, so she'd have a trade instead. Far safer than a husband.
She tasted blood, realized she'd been chewing her lip again. Had she hurt his feelings? Or just disappointed him?
* * * *
Merlin was alone in the bed when he heard someone pounding on the door. Before he could move, it opened, and Cal said, "Good heavens. You look half-frozen. How long did it take you to dig your way here."
"Bit over an hour," Murphy Creek said. His next words were lost in the sounds of a closing door and stomping feet.
"Hang your coat up and don't worry about the drips. I'll pour you some coffee."
"I'm obliged. Where's Merlin?" A chair scraped across the floor. "The boys are in the barn. They'll take care of the mules today."
"Good. It's not a job for just two people." She looked toward the bed, where he'd pushed himself upright. "Good morning. I was beginning to think you'd sleep all day." Her smile was more teeth than dimples.
"Hard to sleep through that racket." He sent a glower toward Murphy. "Pull the curtain, will you?"
Murphy did so, casting a smirk at Merlin as he did. He might have just as well spoken his thoughts aloud.
Once he was dressed, save his boots, he went after coffee. Cal had a cup ready for him, doctored the way he liked it, heavy on the cream and sugar. "We out of tea?" He knew he sounded surly, but maybe he felt surly.
"No, but I thought we both needed coffee today. Guess I was wrong, since Murphy says the men are already working in the barn."
"I heard him." He took his coffee back to the bed where he perched on the edge. "Any chance of getting to town today?"
"I doubt it," Murphy said. "Wind's died back some, and it's stopped snowing, but it's still drifting."
Well, hell. Another day cooped up with Cal and he'd be a crazy man. "We need coal."
"Plenty of wood. Now we've dug across the road, we can haul it over."
"Coal's better."
"What the hell-- Beg pardon, Callie. What the dickens is eatin' at you?"
"He's tired, that's all." Callie pulled her short coat from the peg and put it on. Next came the hat, with a scarf to tie it down. "I'm going to empty the chamber pot. You men sort out who's going to do what."
She pulled on her gloves and sent a glare toward him. "Just as long as you do it somewhere else."
When the door slammed behind her, Murphy looked at Merlin, then at the bed in which two people had obviously slept. "Ain't you learned anything about women in your travels? She sure don't look well-loved."
"She's not."
"Why--"
"Just shut up, Murphy. Shut up and mind your own business."
Chapter Twenty-Two
The wind was still blowing the next day. The only way Merlin could tell it hadn't stopped snowing was that the drifts grew each time he went out to dig his way to the barn. By the end of the day, his shoulders and arms ached and the skin of his face felt flayed.
The scent of fresh bread filled the cabin when he finally went in for good. A round, golden loaf sat on the small table.
Cal looked around when he entered. "You look like a snowman." There was just the hint of a giggle in her voice. He had to smile himself, just at hearing it. Laughter was not something she seemed in the habit of.
"I did my best to shake it all off, but looks like I didn't succeed." He removed his ice-encrusted coat and hung it on the back of a chair, which he set near the fire. "This be in your way?"
"No. Once I get this set just right, I'm done here for an hour." She scooted the Dutch oven--where had that come from?--into the coals and used the scuttle to heap more atop it.
"I went exploring," she said when she'd placed it to her satisfaction and was brushing ashes off her hands. "There's all sorts of interesting stuff stored up in the loft. Besides the Dutch oven, there's a churn with a broken paddle, a rocking chair, and a cradle."
Her voice changed at the last word, making his ears prickle. She sounded almost...yearning?
He sat to pull off his boots. They were well enough oiled that they weren't exactly wet, but his feet would warm quicker without them. "I looked up there when I was settling in, but didn't pay attention to the truck piled off in the corner. Accordi
ng to Murphy, there's been a series of men living here for the last few years."
"A woman lived here once." She kept her back to him.
He went to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. "Cal, what's wrong?"
"I don't know. Something about the cradle--"
"Whatever baby used it is probably all grown up by now. This cabin's been here a spell."
"Or dead," she whispered.
He turned her and wrapped his arms around her. "That's a pretty pessimistic view of things. What makes you think the baby's dead?"
"My brother died. He was only two months old, and one morning Ma went to get him up and he was dead. In his cradle."
What could he say? She was clearly still grieving . He patted her back.
"Pa didn't know about the baby when he left. He'd been so...peculiar ever since he came back from the War. Sometimes he'd sit at the table and stare into the fire all day long. Other times he'd act happy, laughing and joking all the time. But those times got farther and farther apart. Finally, one day he told Ma he was strangling and he had to go away."
"Strangling? What a peculiar thing to say."
"I've thought so too. I still remember him stranding there in the middle of the kitchen. He looked almost crazy, with his hair standing up where he'd run his hands through it and his eyes kind of wild. "'I'm strangling on respectability, Emma. Out there--in the War--I learned to be a savage, a killer. I learned to plunder and pillage and...worse.'
"He didn't say goodbye. He just walked out. It was a long time before he even wrote. And when he did, it was just to tell us where he was. Ma said he'd send for us, when he got settled. But he never did. When I got to Virginia City he--"
She whispered something.
Nudging her chin up, he said, "What was that again?"
"He said he wished I hadn't come."
What else could he do? He kissed her, in an effort to show her she mattered to him. even if she hadn't to her father.
Because she was nearly his height, he found her mouth without hesitation. Her lips were as soft, her body against his as sweet as he'd remembered. Merlin forgot to comfort and simply enjoyed.
The breath came from her in a small moan. He slipped his tongue between her parted lips and tasted mint and something else. Something uniquely Cal.
Squire's Quest Page 20