2a748f08-49ec-41d8-8e72-82e5bc151bc0-epub-67710b16-8d2a-4caa-be30-f5ebeb130f9c

by Rebecca Paisley

  “Where are your ribbons?”

  She pointed to the pile of them on the table.

  He selected a red one.

  “That color don’t go with this dress.”

  He looked at her gown again, then selected an ivory one. “Put it on.”

  She took it from him and tied it on, patting the bow on the top of her head. “We goin’ out to eat?” she asked again.

  He handed her her new reticule, took her hand, and led her into the hall.

  “Santiago, are we goin’ out to—”

  “You are.”

  “You ain’t goin’ with me?”

  He helped her down the stairs, steadying her when she tripped, then escorted her into the lobby. “No, I’m not going,” he finally answered.

  “I’m goin’ alone?”

  Santiago took her to the door and peered out of its little oval window. What he saw outside made him clench his jaw for a few moments. Struggling to conceal his seething emotions, he turned and took hold of Russia’s shoulders. “You aren’t going alone, Russia. Your escort is outside waiting for you.”

  “What? Who is it?” She looked out the window. Leaning against his shiny black coach was Ben Clayton. “Ben?”

  Why didn’t she recognize the man as Prince Charming?

  Santiago wondered, then decided that maybe she needed more time to see the similarities. “Go on now, Russia. He’s waiting. And don’t worry about anything. Ben looks real decent to me, and you… Russia, you look— You look decent, too.”

  She did look decent, he thought, looking her up and down. She looked like any prim and proper woman in the town, except that her beauty far surpassed theirs. True, her gown did nothing at all to hide her lush curves, but Russia couldn’t very well help having such a lovely body. No one in Whispering Oaks would condemn her for that. Still, he hated the thought of Gentleman Ben enjoying the sight of those lush curves all evening.

  Russia turned from the window, so bewildered she couldn’t think straight. “You—I—Ben—Santiago, we—”

  “Have a good time. You can tell me all about it when you get back.”

  Before she could argue, he opened the door and gently nudged her out of it. She turned, fully intending to go back inside and discuss the situation with him.

  But Ben was suddenly by her side, pressing his lips to the top of her trembling hand.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Even if there had been twenty other restaurants in town, Mama Melly’s would still have been the best. One had only to smell the delicious aromas that filled the warm, cozy establishment, and one knew the food was not only excellent, but also prepared by loving hands.

  As Ben accepted the menu from the young waitress, she grinned at him. Her big blue eyes glanced at Russia for a moment, then settled on Ben again. “Evenin’ Ben,” she said softly, her face glowing.

  He returned her smile. “Cherry, this is Russia Valentine.”

  “Welcome to Whispering Oaks, Miss Valentine,” Cherry murmured, her luminous gaze never leaving Ben.

  Ben took it upon himself to do the ordering. Russia had a mind to tell him she could pick out her own dinner, but decided not to say a word. Ben was a proper gentleman, and since she knew very little about polished behavior, she was determined to learn all she could from him. Decent manners were good things to know.

  While watching him pick and choose from the menu, she wondered how her evening with him had come about and why Santiago hadn’t come along. She wanted to ask Ben himself, but thought that maybe that wasn’t a proper thing to do. The man was buying her dinner, and she realized she should just enjoy the night.

  Still, she missed Santiago.

  “Your napkin, Russia,” Ben murmured to her from across the table after Cherry had brought their meals.

  “My napkin?” She picked the square of linen up from the table and ran her fingers over it. “Yeah, it’s real nice. I jist cain’t remember ever seein’ a nicer napkin than this one.” Smiling, she laid it back on the table.

  “It goes in your lap,” he advised tenderly.

  Quickly, she placed the napkin in her lap, embarrassed by his instruction. Santiago never told her to do stuff like that. In fact, he didn’t put his napkin in his lap, either.

  “Wine?” Ben asked. Without waiting for her answer, he poured them each a glass.

  Russia examined the fragile wineglass. A drugging emotion swept through her when she remembered the last time she’d tasted wine. Not from a glass.

  From lips. Warm, sensuous lips. And then, wine still clinging to his lips, Santiago had kissed her. The memory of that potent kiss brought a rush of desire. She had to restrain herself from closing her eyes and reliving that night of passion.

  Ben smiled indulgently. “How prettily you blush, Russia,” he said softly, giving her a knowing nod. “Shyness becomes you. I suspect you’ve known very few men in your life, but there’s no need to feel timid with me.”

  Russia almost choked. After the feeling had passed, another came, and she felt a case of the silly giggles. Those, too, she managed to hold back.

  Ben adored the impish grin she gave him. “To you, Russia,” he said, holding up his glass. “And to our night together. May it be but the first of many to come.”

  What a nice thing to say, she mused. Perhaps tomorrow Santiago would join her and Ben. Smiling, she clinked her glass to his. After sipping the wine, she reached for a piece of bread lying on a small plate.

  Ben cleared his throat. “That’s my bread plate, Russia. Yours is to your left.”

  As if the bread had stung her hand, she dropped it back on the small plate, her cheeks aflame with humiliation. Try as she did, she couldn’t understand what difference it made which bread she ate. Nevertheless, she selected bread from her own plate, then picked up her fork and began to eat her meal. The food was good, but much to her great surprise, she found she had no appetite. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, she found it difficult to be herself around Ben. She didn’t know what to talk about with him.

  She began missing Santiago even more.

  “Ain’t you hungry, Ben?” she asked, noticing all the food he’d left uneaten on his plate. Santiago, she mused, would have eaten it all and then ordered more.

  “I was very hungry. I’m satisfied now.”

  Her feelings were a little hurt when he didn’t ask her why she hadn’t eaten much. Santiago would have asked immediately.

  “I thought the meat was a bit off-taste,” Ben commented. “Melly must have a new girl working in the kitchen.”

  His statement made her wonder what he would say about the meals she and Santiago made out in the middle of nowhere. The meat was almost always charred, and it often had sand in it when the wind was blowing. She smiled, remembering the time she’d dropped a whole roasted rabbit in the dirt. Santiago had simply washed it off in the stream and eaten it anyway.

  “Do you like poetry, Russia?” Ben asked, enjoying the sight of her rich beauty.

  “I like fairy tales. Y’know, them happily-ever-afters in fairy—”

  “Fairy tales? Why, those are for children. Tomorrow, I’ll read some very inspiring poetry to you.”

  She bit at her bottom lip. So what if fairy tales were for children? That didn’t mean adults couldn’t get some kind of meaning out of them, too.

  Santiago had read the tales to her several times, and he never told her they were childish.

  “Fairy tales give folks hope fer the future,” she blurted out, determined to make Ben understand why she liked the stories. “The bad guys always git jist what they deserve fer bein’ so mean, and the heroes and heroines always find love and live happily ever after. Ain’t you never wanted nothin’ like that, Ben?”

  His heart began to beat faster. Her question was obviously a hint. It made him bolder. “Of course I have. And though it might be much too soon for me to say this, you’re just the sort of girl I’ve always dreamed of finding. When you came out of the doctor’s office yesterday, I was s
truck speechless for a moment. You’re a very beautiful woman, Russia. And I’m extremely honored to be with you tonight.”

  She tried to feel flattered. The words Ben spoke were words she’d always wished she’d hear someday from a man. A decent man. A real gentleman, just like Ben was.

  Although the words were sweet-sounding, they didn’t settle inside her. It was like they couldn’t find a place to be. They sort of floated around in a meaningless way, touching no part of her.

  But other words came. Words that were rooted deeply in her heart. Words that grew and flowered every time she thought of them.

  I like you, Russia.

  He liked her. Santiago did. She never put her napkin in her lap, she ate bread straight out of the food bag, and she knew nothing about poetry, but he liked her.

  From beneath her lowered lashes, she peered at Ben and saw he was waiting for a reply to what he’d said to her. She didn’t know how to respond. “I… You ever seed a herd o’ wild mustangs, Ben?”

  He poured himself another glass of wine. “Once. I could barely breathe for all the dust they stirred up.”

  “Santiago got me a mustang mare. Little Miss Muffet. You shoulda seed him, Ben. He catched that horse with love and kindness; then he commenced readin’ her mind. He says you gotta understand what horses are thinkin’ before you can win ’em over. He treats her jist like she was a little girl. I ain’t never seed such gentleness betwixt a man and a horse. He’s gonna train her and teach me to ride.”

  Ben shook his head disapprovingly. “A woman as beautiful as you should have a carriage, Russia. Riding horses is for men.”

  “You don’t ride one.”

  “I prefer my carriage. It takes me where I want to go, and I arrive clean.”

  Russia shrugged and began to scrutinize him more closely than she had before. He really wasn’t a bad-looking man. He had nice hair the color of a walnut shell. But it was very short. Cut above his ears. She wondered how it would look if it were black. Black and so long that it fell past his shoulders and whipped around when he moved.

  His skin was whiter than hers. It even looked softer. He wore a large diamond ring on his right hand. It was pretty, but she couldn’t really tell just how pretty it was because it sort of faded away to nothing special on his white skin.

  He had good eyes. Big and green. But his lashes were too long. They looked like girl lashes. He had the habit of batting them. They were pale lashes, and she could hardly see them when they were against the skin under his eyes. And when they gazed at her, she didn’t feel touched. She couldn’t feel his eyes on her at all. They were just plain, simple eyes, and she reckoned the only thing they were really good for was letting Ben see.

  He had a small mouth. It wasn’t an ugly mouth, it was just little. His teeth sort of sparkled, but not really, because his skin was so white. In fact, she mused, his teeth and his skin were almost the same shade of white. And although his smile certainly wasn’t unattractive, it didn’t light her up inside. It didn’t make her feel the least bit fluttery.

  He smelled like bayberry soap. She knew what bayberry smelled like because she’d sniffed a bayberry candle once. Inhaling the fragrance now, she decided it smelled better in a candle than on a man. Men, she decided, were supposed to smell like men. Like hot sun and cold steel and horses and leather and sweat and warmed dirt and cool streams. Like men.

  His suit was very elegant. But it seemed so loose on him. She figured it was supposed to fit like that, because she didn’t think Ben was the kind of man who would put on an ill-fitting suit. But she wondered if it would look better if it clung to him here and there. Of course, she amended mentally, there wasn’t much about him for the suit to cling to.

  She decided at that moment that she liked tight breeches. The kind that hugged every curve of muscle they covered. Black breeches. Black, saddle-worn, and tight.

  Ben was tall. A head taller than she, but not as tall as Santiago. She wanted to decide that he was scrawny, but that wasn’t very nice, so she didn’t decide that. He was a banker, she reminded herself. He had no need for wide shoulders, bulging arms, a broad chest, or thick and sinewy legs. Ben didn’t need to be strong. And since he wasn’t, she realized he’d look like a licorice string if he wore tight black breeches.

  She watched him pat his mouth with his napkin. His nails were the cleanest things she could ever remember seeing, and she wondered if he soaked them in alcohol to get them that white. Well, she told herself, all he did all day was count money. A man couldn’t get very dirty doing that. Still, a little smudge here and there on those white, twiglike fingers of his wouldn’t be terrible.

  “Would you care for some dessert, Russia?” Ben asked, extraordinarily pleased that she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. “I’m sure Melly has your favorite, whatever it might be.”

  Russia smiled and shook her head. “Melly prob’ly has a whole pile o’ desserts to pick and choose from, but I bet she don’t have my favorite.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “Cookies shaped like my own hand. I ain’t had no hand cookies in years, but I ain’t never fergitted how good they are.”

  “Hand cookies?” Ben repeated. “No, I don’t imagine Melly has any of those. But I’m sure if you were to try some of her fresh pastries, they would become your favorite dessert. Why, you’d more than likely forget all about hand cookies if you were to taste Melly’s raspberry tarts.”

  She wondered if there was something wrong with hand cookies being her favorite. Maybe they weren’t a very decent dessert. “No, thanks, Ben. I jist ain’t hungry tonight.”

  “Very well.” He helped Russia out of her chair.

  The hem of her skirt snagged on the leg of the table. “Damn!” she cried when she heard the fabric tear.

  Ben’s eyes widened, but he was amused. “Russia, it’s only a dress,” he said, smiling down at her. “Surely there’s no need for such language over a simple gown.”

  His statement told her immediately that proper people didn’t swear. She felt really awful over her lack of manners and her brand-new dress. “I jist got this dress today, Ben,” she tried to explain. “Santiago got it fer me. What’s he gonna think when I git back with it all ripped up?”

  Ben patted her shoulder. “The dressmaker’s shop is closed, but Lotty’s probably still open. Shall we go see if she has a gown to replace the one you’re wearing?”

  Russia gave him a warm smile. He acted a bit stuffy, but he really was a kind and considerate man. One couldn’t help but like him. “I’m poorer’n a snake without no pit to hiss in, Ben, so I cain’t buy another gown.”

  He chuckled over her statement, delighted by her refreshing way of expressing herself.

  “I still got four more dresses at the hotel plus my scarlet satin, though,” she added.

  “Scarlet satin?”

  “With black lace. It’s the purtiest thing I got.”

  Ben looked at her carefully. “I assume it must be a ball gown.”

  She blinked several times, realizing she shouldn’t have mentioned her scarlet satin to a gentleman like Ben. Decent women didn’t wear that sort of thing. “Um…yeah, it’s a ball gown.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps I could see you wear it sometime.”

  She almost choked again. If Ben ever saw her in her working gown, he’d know immediately what kind of work she did. She didn’t reply.

  When Ben led her out of the restaurant, he held her hand. His hand felt cold and clammy, as if there weren’t a shred of warmth in his entire body. It felt too smooth, and too little, and too weak, and she didn’t like holding it, but she held it anyway. Ben was trying to be real nice to her, and the decent thing was to cooperate. She wondered, though, if a little exercise outside might make his skin warmer. If it might make it feel more like a man’s.

  “Since you don’t want to see if Lotty has any dresses, let’s walk for a while, shall we?” Ben asked. “There’s a grove of beautiful oak trees nearby. Sometimes there a
re a lot of ants, but if we’re careful we’ll avoid them. Ant stings make me swell up terribly.”

  She wondered if Ben would have helped her the morning she’d awakened with all those red ants on her. Santiago had gotten every one of them off her and had been stung numerous times in the process.

  “Lovely moon,” Ben murmured, his thumb caressing the top of her hand. “Don’t you enjoy walking in the moonlight?”

  She nodded. But makin’ love in it is even better, she added silently.

  “Ah, here we are,” Ben announced. “Didn’t I tell you these trees were gorgeous?”

  “Yeah, they’re real purty, Ben.”

  Suddenly, Ben snatched out his derringer. “Did you hear that noise?”

  She strained to hear some kind of horrible sound, some evidence of approaching danger. She did hear something, but it didn’t sound hazardous. Peering into the dark shadows, she saw something move. In the next second, a rabbit hopped away.

  Ben exhaled a sigh of relief. “You never can tell out here, you know. Peril lurks everywhere. I’m a quick draw, though, so you’ve nothing to fear. You can and should feel as safe with me as you do with Santiago.” Proudly, he held up his derringer for her to see.

  Russia almost laughed. His little pistol made Santiago’s guns look like cannons.

  Ben felt encouraged by the small smile playing on her soft mouth. His boldness grew when he realized how attracted Russia apparently was to him. He slipped his derringer back into his coat and took both her hands. “Russia, please don’t think me forward, but—I—I’m in such a romantic mood. I have been ever since I first met you. I tried to tell you while we dined, but you changed the subject.”

  He brought her left hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. “I’ve lived in Whispering Oaks for going on three years. I know every woman here. But I’ve never known a more beautiful one than you. You’ve a simple charm I find impossible to resist. Russia, I— It’s so soon to tell you this. I can’t believe I feel this way after knowing you for so short a time.”