The Drifter

by Lisa Plumley

  Several of the men grimaced. Graham bit back a smile. He had his chance to leave and should be taking it, ’twas true. But somehow, seeing Julia again made a new batch of trail dust seem a lot less appealing.

  “No, the plans for the Spring ball didn’t quite work out, I’m afraid,” Julia said. “In truth, I’ve come—”

  “To make us all wear neckties?” asked another man, yanking at his shirt collar. “That town dress code idea of yours darn near caught on, Miss Julia, ’cause the ladies were so taken with it. But speaking for me and the boys—”

  “—we’re not having it!” said the night man.

  “We don’t care what those books of yours say,” interrupted someone else. “We ain’t layin’ down on horse dung just so our wives can keep their shoes clean!”

  A chorus of approval rose to the rafters. Looking abashed, Julia stared down at her parasol for a long moment. Although the men loomed closer, clearly a little aggravated by her activities in town, she did not back down.

  “That was a metaphorical example, Mr. Chasen,” she told the last man, raising her head to look him bravely in the eye. “I merely meant to illustrate the proper lengths to which a gentleman will go to shelter his companion from the unpleasantries of urban life. Nothing more.”

  Chasen shifted and spit, clearly unhappy at being corrected in front of his friends. The anti-necktie brigade shuffled their feet and murmured about “bunch of damn dandies, that’s what we’ll be!”

  The man nearest Graham’s spot in the shadows nudged his neighbor. “No wonder my Myrna didn’t want her in the ladies’ sewing circle,” he said, tipping his head toward Julia. “She’d like to drive a person crazy, with her highfalutin’ ways. Got more book-learning than is right for a woman, that’s the trouble.”

  “She made my Annabel all wrathy, too,” agreed the second man, “correcting her figuring of the prices on fabrics down at the mercantile. Too good for the likes of us, that’s how Miss Julia sees herself.”

  In the doorway, Julia jerked her head sideways. She gazed with pretend interest into the depths of the stable, chin held high as the men’s conversations picked up speed and swirled around her. Despite her proud posture, though, Graham detected a wobble in her lower lip and a gleam of moisture in her eyes, and knew she’d heard their thoughtless comments.

  He recognized the stiff set to her shoulders, felt it as his own. He heard the telltale rasp in her voice before she cleared it away, and understood the pure stubborn will that let her speak at all.

  “I have not come here to harass you, gentlemen,” she said. Her knuckles showed white on her parasol handle. “I’ve merely come to make an inquiry, if you please.”

  Tom, the livery stable owner, stepped up. With a compassionate look, he inclined his head toward her. “You’d better say your piece and leave, Miss Bennett. These knucks are still all worked up over your marriage scheme from a month ago, and that editorial piece you wrote for the newspaper didn’t help matters none. They didn’t like hearing you lambaste ’today’s gentlemen’ for being too cowardly to wed properly.”

  Graham edged closer, intrigued by the mention of her marriage scheme. Had Julia approached many men before turning to him? The notion was nearly unthinkable…except for the fact that he’d learned, when dealing with her, that most anything was possible.

  “I meant that remark in the most general of terms,” she returned tightly, the doodads on her hat quivering. From beneath its brim, she examined the faces surrounding her. “How dare they take offense?”

  “Well, ma’am,” Tom replied soothingly, “you did call unmarried men past the age of thirty spineless, indolent, lack-witted cretins, too afraid to assume responsibility for the well-being of—”

  “Yes. Well. I may have been feeling a bit passionate toward my subject on the day I wrote that editorial,” Julia admitted. She bit her lip, continuing to search the group of men. “There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. Like you, for instance, Tom. You’re a wonderful man.”

  She patted the stable owner’s arm, seeming to cheer a little. Then her gaze lit upon Graham’s gloomy corner. Instinct kept him still…that, and a feeling he was in over his head with her, and it was likely to get worse if he stayed here much longer. Surely she couldn’t see him. It was too dark, too—

  Her gaze swept on.

  The rumblings around him grew louder, punctuated with random curses. Graham saw Julia’s face go pale, saw her hands tremble slightly as she grasped her parasol.

  “I’m looking for the bounty hunter, Mr. Corley,” she said, raising her voice to be heard. “Has anyone seen him?”

  Instantly, all the men around him shifted so their bodies shielded him from view. Or would have, had any of them been tall enough. Before Graham could so much as clear his throat to reply, a half-dozen denials were heard.

  “He don’t want spittoons or neckties or dancing lessons, neither,” said one of the men. “So you might as well head out.”

  It was true. Graham wanted none of those things. But he did want the woman who’d tried to organize their presence in Avalanche, however unsuccessfully. And no matter how much he tried to make himself leave, he hadn’t been able to hit the trail yet. There had to be a reason for it.

  He hesitated for an instant, feeling himself in sudden danger from something he could not name. ’Twas true that Miss Julia was bossy and opinionated, with a penchant for paying his boardinghouse bill and invading the town’s sole male sanctuary to find him…but he couldn’t be in danger from her. And although the place was strange—Graham was sure he’d seen three little girls carrying pet chickens on the way to the livery stable this morning, and the druggist’s delivery boy somehow kept popping up everyplace Graham did—Avalanche was not a hazardous place.

  Except maybe to his heart.

  For in the next moment, Graham shifted his hat and shouldered forward through the crowd, and went to meet his fate.

  “I’m here, Miss Julia,” he said. “What do you need?”

  Graham had looked so masterful, so welcome, coming toward her from the shadows, Julia mused a bit later. She’d been so relieved to see him that she drank in the sight of his tall, rangy frame, his fine-looking face, and even his rascally growth of whiskers. Watching him approach her had filled her with a sense of gratitude so profound that she’d nearly released the tears she’d been so diligently holding back.

  He hadn’t left. She’d made it in time. And he seemed strong and cheerful, too, compared with the silent man who’d left her standing alone in her foyer two nights ago.

  Yes, she’d been wondrously happy to see him and to hear his voice…until Julia had remembered the livery stable had but one entrance. Which meant that Graham Corley had listened to the men in town attack her, merely for her efforts to bring some much-needed culture to Avalanche. He’d listened, and hadn’t tried to help.

  He’d listened, and worse. Now he knew the full extent of how she was shunned in town. She would never live it down.

  But that had been nearly ten minutes ago, and now Graham strode through one of Avalanche’s side streets, headed alongside her toward the Emporium. His face was dark beneath his hat, his expression stormy, and if she hadn’t known better, Julia would have sworn he still hadn’t forgiven her.

  “You said you accepted my apology,” she pointed out, hurrying to keep up with his powerful steps. “You said you forgave me.”

  “I did.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so…you don’t look like you did. In fact,” Julia mused further, “you look as though you’d like to peel off the mercantile sign and conk me over the head with it.”

  He gazed at the sign in question as they passed by. The speculative gleam in his eye did not comfort her.

  “I’m trying to be polite,” Graham said.

  “You’d make a more convincing impression,” Julia said, “if you’d stop gritting your teeth.”

  The bounty hunter bared them instead, in a toothy smile.

  Ju
lia yelped. “Now you look as though you’d like to take a bite out of me!”

  “I would.” His swift, heated glance set her blood atingle. “Once I simmer down, I might.”

  Julia shivered. “I had to say something to those men. They would have wondered why I came down to find you.”

  “Let them wonder.”

  His bad attitude was unrelenting. With a sigh, Julia touched his arm. Graham stopped instantly, leaving her scattering dust beneath her skirts as she scrambled to match him.

  “I care about my reputation,” she said. “Deeply.”

  Understanding flashed on his face. Steeling his features against it, the bounty hunter looked at the buildings surrounding them, the clear blue sky above them, the mounted riders and wagons passing by them in the distance—anywhere but at her. Finally, he spoke.

  “I know you do,” he said. “But you didn’t have to say you wanted to discuss the delivery of a remedy for mmmmph.”

  “What?” Courageously—or foolhardily, depending upon one’s point of view—Julia leaned closer. The breeze tugged at her hat, forcing her to clap one hand atop its crown. “I can’t understand you.”

  “Mmmmph!” Louder, this time.

  “Honestly, Mr. Corley. You’ll have to enunciate, if I’m ever to—”

  “Male troubles!” he yelled. “You told them I needed Doctor Whittaker’s patented remedy for male troubles!”

  “But—”

  “I think I can hear them hooting and hollering, still,” he grumbled, setting himself in motion again. With a muffled curse, he sent her another scathing look. “I do not have male troubles.”

  “I’ll admit you don’t seem to.” Julia lifted her skirts and scurried after him. “Why, you must be one of the most virile, masculine-seeming men I’ve ever seen.”

  Hardly mollified, he kept walking.

  “But even you must agree,” she went on, “that I needed a valid reason to come searching for you. Saying I’d come to deliver your Whittaker’s remedy was perfectly reasonable.”

  “I liked it better when you were prattling on about my manliness.”

  “Very well. You’ve a fine growth of whiskers, there.”

  He grunted.

  “And…and a powerful set to your shoulders. An exceptionally lengthy stride.” Julia hurried to keep up, searching for something else to please him. “And, er, your gun belt coordinates quite nicely with that shirt.”

  She beamed. Graham turned, saw her smile, and shook his head. “Coordinating gun belt,” he muttered. “You don’t know what Doctor Whittaker’s formula is designed to cure, do you?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “Mmmm?”

  His rumbled inquiry only served to set her off. “Aside from curing general neuralgia, it’s designed to remedy any man’s weakness of body or limb, give strength and vitality, and generally invigorate the male constitution.” Pleased with her answer—recited in part from the bottles on her father’s shelves—Julia raised her parasol and gave him a self-satisfied smile. “So there. You’ll find, Mr. Corley, that I’m knowledgeable about a great many things.”

  “Not this one, you’re not.”

  “I resent that!”

  “I know you do.” The bounty hunter swiveled abruptly, smoothly, placing his body directly in her path. He searched her face. Just as she was about to ask what was wrong, Graham raised his hand to sweep a lock of hair from her brow, and his blunt fingertips lingered, just for a moment. She might have sworn, daft a notion as it was, that his attention centered on her lips.

  Why that should make her feel so breathlessly excited—especially given the Castile soap incident—Julia did not know.

  “But don’t worry,” he told her. “One of these days, I’ll demonstrate to you exactly why I don’t need Dr. Whittaker’s remedy. You’ll see it’s got nothing to do with my gun belt.”

  His gaze fairly smoldered as he said it. Julia was left with the indisputable impression that Mr. Corley’s promise meant far more than his words suggested. Curious, she leaned nearer. But he only ran his hand lightly down the side of her face and then turned away with a rueful look.

  “I’ll have plenty of time for it, too,” he said as they began walking again, “since I seem to have an unbreakable commitment here in Avalanche.”

  Elation rushed through her. “Do you mean you’re staying after all?”

  His grumbled reply was surely meant as agreement.

  “Because I wouldn’t want to have to seek you out each day, inventing a new malady to cure you of as an excuse each time. That would be most inconvenient.”

  Graham raised his eyebrows. “A jest, Miss Bennett? That’s so unlike you.”

  Julia twirled her parasol and gave him a grin. “You’ll find I can be quite unpredictable, Mr. Corley. Quite unpredictable.”

  “I know.” They reached their destination, the shed behind the Emporium. The bounty hunter held open the door, and ushered Julia inside. He followed her into the secluded space. “You’ll find I carry my share of surprises, too,” he said, and then moved closer. “Here comes one, now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Inside the abandoned building, sunlight beamed in through the gaps in the shutters. The scents of lemon oil and soap lingered in the air as though the place had been recently cleaned, and the orderly placement of blankets atop the stacked crates—forming a seating area and table—confirmed that it had. In the center of the room, Julia propped her parasol beside a crate topped with a stack of books.

  “I cleaned everything myself, and arranged it, too,” she said in a businesslike tone. “I thought we’d begin with the McGuffey First Eclectic Reader, just to see where your skills lie, and then…did you say, surprise?”

  She stopped, only just then seeming to realize what he’d said upon their entrance into the building. “What kind of surprise?”

  She seemed alarmed. Likely, ’twas due to his earlier attempt to seal their bargain with a kiss—not a mistake Graham would be likely to repeat. He meant to move gradually but surely with Julia, now that he’d decided to stay.

  “’Tis not so dangerous as your wide eyes suggest,” he told her, stifling a grin. “Come closer, and find out.”

  Julia narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick?”

  “Ah!” He pretended to thrust a dagger into his heart. “You wound me. Do I seem a man given to deception?”

  “You seem a man given to improprieties and stolen kisses,” she answered crisply, but came nearer, all the same. Her curiosity shone in her eyes, and in the inquisitive tilt of her pert, fine-boned face. “But I suppose I must trust you, given our arrangement.”

  “You must,” he agreed. “Now hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

  After a moment’s pause, Julia ducked her head and then raised her arm, gloved palm upward. He found himself staring at a brilliant red velvet flower at the crown of her finery-bedecked hat, and couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “I’ll not be fooled by your hat brim,” Graham said, unable to hide his grin. “Raise your head, and this time, close your eyes.”

  As he’d suspected, she’d been gazing steadily at her hand from beneath her hat. She made a face, and did as he’d asked.

  From his duster coat pocket, Graham withdrew the slender box he’d been carrying for the past two days. His heart hammered oddly as he carefully set it on her upturned palm, then closed her fingers around it. “Open your eyes.”

  She did. “A gift? Oh, Mr. Corley!” Julia said, hugging the box against her bosom. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “This is no time for false humility,” he said, pleased at her expression of astonishment. “Open it.”

  “No, I mean you really shouldn’t have! As I said clearly in Miss Julia’s Behavior Book, volume one, the only proper gifts for a young man to give the lady he fancies are trifles such as flowers or candy.”

  With dismay, she jerked the box out at arm’s length again and examined it, as though continuing to cradle it close might endanger he
r sense of propriety even further.

  “A lady must not allow herself to be compromised with a less-perishable gift,” she went on. “After all, what if our relationship should end?”

  “It will end. And you’ll be one bauble richer.” Exasperated, Graham nodded toward the box. “Open it, and let’s go on.”

  She bit her lip. “It is a lovely gesture on your part.”

  “Don’t make it more than it is. I saw it, and thought of you. Nothing more.”

  “That is a great deal.” Julia raised her face to his, and the open gratitude in her expression humbled him. “To think of me, when most times…well, let’s simply say I was not missed greatly when I left Avalanche for the States.”

  “No one is missed for long.” Graham had learned as much, himself. Sometimes painfully.

  Her gaze met his. Suddenly, it was as though she could read the truth of his wandering days. Cold beds. Strange faces. Always, always keeping his back to the wall. Somehow, Julia saw inside him…and he wanted to confide in her further.

  But then she looked away, and their connection was lost.

  “I know,” she said. “And I thank you for wanting to make me feel better. But soon I’ll be gone again, and none of that will matter. Getting away from here will be my salvation.”

  Determinedly, Julia squared her shoulders. She squinted at the box. Then she drew in a deep breath, and visibly battled with herself over opening it.

  “As a drifting man yourself, you of all people must understand how freeing it is to rely only upon yourself,” she went on. “To surround yourself with only those who have no part in the running of your life.”

  “Yes,” Graham said. But here in this cozy, warm space, with Julia by his side and the promise of more time together to come, his reply felt strangely false. He’d struck to the trail apurpose, time and time again, yet now…now his wandering life had lost its luster. “And to surround myself with those who won’t open a simple gift.”

  She smiled. “Clearly, it would be a greater social sin to make a friend unhappy than to accept an improper gift. Wouldn’t you say so?”