by Carol Cox
She settled back against the leather seat and watched Mitch round the front of the car and step into the driver’s seat. She enjoyed watching him, she admitted to herself. He moved with the easy grace she was used to seeing in the cowboys she’d grown up with.
Mitch released the parking brake and let out the clutch. He was a careful driver, concentrating on guiding the little roadster over the dirt roads rather than making conversation. That suited Catherine just fine. Dusk had settled a thin veil of darkness across the valley. She turned her head slightly so she could watch him without making it obvious.
In the dim light that still remained, she could make out the clean lines of his chin, set at a determined angle while he steered the car along the rutted roads. The sight of his profile and the warmth of his shoulder pressed against hers in the narrow front seat made her heart race right along with the engine. The engine ran more smoothly, though—her heart seemed to be making some strange skips and leaps.
Face it, Catherine. This is one handsome man. The admission didn’t help a bit toward calming her racing pulse. Her fingers toyed with the fringe of her shawl, combing through the loose strands of fabric with far greater ease than her mind could sort out her tangled thoughts.
It wasn’t only Mitch’s good looks that made her attraction to him grow stronger by the day. The more she got to know him, the more she saw his strength of character, his unwavering integrity, the more she felt drawn to him like a nail to a lodestone.
But did Mitch feel the same way about her? She struggled with that question on a daily basis, even while reminding herself of her purpose in coming to Phoenix and the dangers of getting sidetracked from her goal.
With caring came commitment. If she let herself get involved with Mitch, it would take away from the time she could devote to helping the cause of statehood. She might miss out on an opportunity that would never come again. Given all that, did she want him to care?
She wanted him to; there was no getting around that. Not when she caught herself daydreaming about him a dozen times a day. More, if Mattie’s count was correct. Catherine’s lips twisted in a wry grin.
The road smoothed out, and Mitch took advantage of the respite to turn and meet her gaze. A slow smile lit his face. Catherine’s heart picked up its pace even more. The pounding of blood in her temples threatened to drown out the thrum of the engine altogether.
What’s the matter with me? In spite of her runaway pulse, she had to laugh at herself.
Growing up in the rough country of Lonesome Valley, she’d faced more than one dangerous situation in her lifetime. She could hold her own with a cantankerous horse. She’d once faced down an ornery bull. While she was just a little girl, she helped track down a band of rustlers. And through it all, her spirit never wavered.
Now one man’s nearness was enough to reduce her to a quivering jelly.
The road reclaimed Mitch’s attention, and Catherine let her restless thoughts resume their dance through her mind. What did Mitch feel for her? The question grew more important to her with each passing moment.
His face lit up every time she came in sight. Then again, he smiled at Mattie, too. Mitch had shown himself unfailingly polite in all his dealings with women. Could the pleasure he showed in her presence simply be a matter of courtesy? The thought rattled her more than the roadster’s jouncing.
But what about tonight? Would he have accepted her invitation with such alacrity if he didn’t feel something more than mere friendship for her? She discounted the notion that he merely needed a pleasant way to spend his Christmas Eve. Mitch was both good-looking and popular. She had seen the way both men and women responded to him. No, it couldn’t be a matter of him not having other possibilities for the evening’s entertainment. That was one mark on the plus side of the ledger.
Then there was that moment at the Johnsons’ Thanksgiving dinner, the time when he spoke of being thankful for special friends. That hadn’t been her imagination. Neither had the pressure of his fingers on hers beneath the shelter of the table.
The car jolted in and out of a pothole that must have been large enough to hide a jackrabbit. Catherine grabbed at the side of the seat to keep from banging her head on the roof.
“Sorry. I didn’t see that one coming.” Mitch’s jaw tightened as he wrestled the car back under control.
“It’s all right.” More than all right. What were a few potential bumps and bruises when everything in her mental tally added up to Mitch having feelings for her?
Before her jangled thoughts could settle back down, they reached their destination. Bright lights shone from every window in the large house and spilled outside.
Vehicles lined both sides of the street. Mitch parked the roadster behind a Daimler touring car and gave a low whistle. “Looks like your boss runs with some pretty high rollers.”
“Some of the most important people in the territory will be here tonight.” Catherine could hear the pride in her voice. She waited while Mitch set the parking brake and hurried around to her side of the car to help her alight. When he touched her arm this time, the chill was replaced by a ripple of electricity that reminded her of the tingle in the air that presaged a thunderstorm.
But the sky was clear tonight. The only danger of a storm lay in her wayward, tumultuous heart.
“It looks like things are already under way.” Catherine took Mitch’s arm and let him help her across the uneven ground. When he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her around a small bush, she caught her breath in a quick gasp, then tried to collect herself. She couldn’t go in there behaving like a smitten schoolgirl! Somehow she had to get her emotions under control.
She risked a glance up at Mitch and saw something in his eyes that made her heart threaten to pound right out of her chest. Their steps slowed as if by mutual consent, and they stood just outside the pool of light, staring into each other’s eyes.
Mitch reached out and traced the line of her jaw with his forefinger. Catherine’s eyelids fluttered closed. Even without the benefit of sight, she sensed him drawing nearer. Her lips trembled, and she had to concentrate in order to breathe.
Raucous laughter burst out behind them. Two couples stepped out of a touring car and made their way up the front walk.
The fragile moment shattered like splintered glass.
Mitch drew back. “I guess we’d better go in.”
Catherine could only manage a nod in response.
He led her to the front door, and they stepped into a party already in full swing. Festive decorations hung from every available surface, and a din of chatter filled their ears. Catherine felt her spirits rise as she viewed the swirl of activity, delighted to see a number of prominent personages among the guests.
Two months ago, they would have been nothing more than names mentioned during a discussion of territorial events or read about in newspaper articles. Now she recognized the faces that went with those names, both from living in the capital and from meeting a good many of them at Nathan Showalter’s evening and weekend meetings.
Some of them recognized her, too. One of the territorial legislators looked her way and smiled in acknowledgment. Catherine nodded in reply, trying to mask the thrill of excitement she felt. That would never have happened if she’d stayed in Prescott. In only two months she had gone from a little nobody tucked away out on the T Bar to a person known by some of the most important people in the territory. She glanced up to see if Mitch had noticed.
He hadn’t. He stood halfway turned away from her, looking in the opposite direction. A pang of disappointment shot through her to be replaced by pleasure when she realized their host was approaching.
“Brewer! Good to see you.” Nathan Showalter slapped Mitch on the shoulder before turning to Catherine. His eyes lit in a gleam of approval, and she blessed Mattie for helping her pick out her new aqua dress during their last foray to Goldwaters’. The gown’s sleek lines made her look more like someone used to this type of gathering than a m
ere office worker.
“And Catherine! How lovely you look. I’m sure your escort, here, would agree. It looks like that interview netted you more than just an article, eh?” He nudged Mitch with his elbow.
Mitch frowned and made an abbreviated gesture, as though he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. The front door opened again, and a stream of people flowed into the room.
Mr. Showalter turned to greet the newest arrivals, and Catherine let Mitch guide her toward the refreshment area, festooned with holiday bows and imported German glass decorations.
Eyeing the other women in the room, she took note of their dresses and compared them to her own. A sense of delight took hold of her at the knowledge that her gown was the equal of any of them. The aqua fabric could have been created especially to set off her coloring to best advantage. The gored skirt, gathered in the back, swayed gracefully with every step she took, and the bodice’s ivory dot lace inset and the teardrop lace trim around the cuffs and neckline provided the perfect finishing touches.
No longer the frumpy little country girl, she could hold her own in this elegant crowd. The realization was sweet.
Catherine moved along in a happy daze, hearing snatches of bright conversation but not really taking any of it in. She felt the warm pressure of Mitch’s hand on her arm, her anchor to keep her from floating right up to the ceiling. Here she was spending Christmas Eve in the company of all the right people with the most handsome man in Phoenix as her escort. Could anything make her life more ideal?
Her mind flitted back to their unfinished conversation on the front lawn. Had Mitch been about to kiss her? Every instinct confirmed it, but she couldn’t know for sure. And it was hardly the kind of thing she could ask him.
If he had, what would she be feeling at this moment? Would her life change for the better, or would a romantic entanglement bring chaos in its wake? She had no way of knowing.
“Shall I get us some punch?” Mitch’s voice jolted her back to the moment.
“Yes, please.” His expression gave her no clue as to whether he regretted the earlier interruption as much as she did. She watched him walk to the punch bowl, then turned her attention to the heavily laden table in front of her. Maybe the lavish assortment of delicacies would help take her mind off a string of what-ifs for which she had no answers.
Mr. Showalter had spared no expense in providing a sumptuous repast for his guests. Dates and spiced pecans tempted her sweet tooth. Farther along the table she saw platters of sliced ham and pheasant, plus an array of foods she couldn’t name.
Intrigued by a bite-sized tart, Catherine picked it up and popped it into her mouth. One bite set her taste buds tingling. She closed her eyes and savored the wonderful fruity taste.
Moving down the table, she sampled a slice of hothouse melon. If her family could see her now! Wouldn’t they be amazed at the way their little girl had adapted to life among the elite? Her appetite whetted, she picked up a plate and angled toward the sliced pheasant.
“Here you go.” Mitch stood at her elbow, a cup of punch in each hand. He held one out to her, and her fingertips touched his when she accepted it.
Once again she sensed that some powerful force was about to be unleashed. She heard the plate clink against one of the platters when she set it back on the table, her interest in food suddenly vanished.
The cup trembled when she lifted it to her lips. Steeling herself, she raised her gaze to look across the rim into Mitch’s eyes and felt like she was plummeting off a precipice with no one to catch her.
She waited for Mitch to speak, but he didn’t say a word, just stared back as if he could read the very thoughts of her soul.
Despite the punch, her throat felt as dry as the desert sand. What thoughts lay behind those gray eyes? Could she be wrong in believing she saw her own longing reflected there?
The continued silence unnerved her. She willed him to speak, to say anything. Instead, he took the cup from her nerveless fingers and set it on the table next to his.
“Come on,” he said. “Somewhere in all this frivolity, there must be a place where we can talk.”
A sense of panic caught Catherine in its coils. “Have you noticed the beautiful decorations?” she heard herself say. “Those glass balls were made in Germany. Mr. Showalter ordered them from San Francisco, just for the occasion.”
Enough! she scolded herself, even as she heard herself spouting still more meaningless chatter. “Such a lot of guests! And so many of them are very influential people.”
Mitch didn’t seem to mind. For that matter, he didn’t seem to hear her. He threaded his way through the press of people with Catherine in tow.
At the doorway to the front parlor, he hesitated. “It’s too crowded in here. Maybe we can get outside.” He started toward the exit then pointed to his left. “There’s an alcove over there. Let’s see if we can get to it.”
Catherine looked in the direction he pointed and saw a secluded nook just beyond an archway. An archway from which dangled a sprig of mistletoe.
Mitch spotted the mistletoe at the same moment she did. A satisfied grin slid across his face. “The alcove. Definitely the alcove.”
Did this mean. . . ? Was he going to. . . ? Catherine’s nervousness doubled, and she heard another spate of words burst from her lips. “It looks like this is going to be a special Christmas for us.”
Mitch laughed and glanced at her with a question in his eyes.
Catherine sucked in a quick breath and felt her face flame. “For all of us, I mean. For Arizona. Mr. Showalter says this will be our last territorial Christmas. Next year we’ll celebrate the holidays as the forty-seventh state.”
Mitch, who had been making steady progress toward his goal, froze. His features grew stiff, and his eyes clouded.
“What is it?”
He seemed to pull himself back from a distance. “Nothing.” He looked around as if assessing the routes available. “Let’s see if we can get past this group.” He maneuvered his way between a stocky gentleman and the wall and motioned for Catherine to follow suit.
The alcove lay just ahead. Screened by a large potted palm, it provided a measure of privacy.
Once on the other side of the knot of guests, Mitch drew a deep breath and relaxed. “That’s better.” He captured both of Catherine’s hands and laced his fingers through hers. A tentative smile curved his lips.
But something had happened back there, something that set Mitch on edge. “What is it?” she repeated. “What’s wrong?”
Mitch just shook his head. “It isn’t important.” His thumbs made slow circles on the backs of her fingers, and Catherine felt every nerve ending in her body come alive. He was going to kiss her. Every instinct she possessed told her so.
Much as she wanted that to happen, she couldn’t surrender to the delight of being drawn into Mitch’s arms until she knew what was going on. She slowed her breathing in an effort to likewise slow the beating of her heart, hoping that would help her think more clearly.
Maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Hadn’t her family always teased her about her stubborn nature? She just needed to quit thinking so much and let this magic moment play out of its own accord. She closed her eyes and tried to recapture the electricity she felt earlier.
It was no good. She couldn’t give in to her desire until she knew what put that fleeting glint of steel in Mitch’s eyes.
With a burst of laughter, the knot of people on the other side of the palms broke up and filtered back to rejoin the main group of guests. Silence settled over the alcove like a fleecy blanket. Mitch stepped back and tugged Catherine along with him. He glanced up to check his location then took one more step backward, positioning himself directly under the mistletoe.
He pulled Catherine closer still. “Does this suggest anything to you?”
Catherine gave her head a tiny shake. “It can’t until I find out what’s bothering you.”
“Right at this moment, not a
single thing.” His eyes darkened, and his hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. Closing the tiny gap that remained between them, he bent his head and leaned toward her.
Catherine pressed her palms against his chest. “No, something is wrong, and I need to know what it is.”
Mitch resisted for a moment then settled back on his heels. He looked down at the floor for a moment then heaved a deep breath. “All right.” He gathered her hands loosely in his and fixed her with an unwavering stare.
“You know I’ve been doing some investigating.” He made it a statement instead of a question. “And I may have told you I came across a few things that puzzled me.”
Catherine nodded slowly, wondering what this had to do with the two of them and mistletoe.
“One of those things concerns your boss.”
Catherine drew her eyebrows together, trying to keep up with this unexpected turn in the conversation. “What about him?”
Mitch stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs again in a slow, comforting movement. “Something isn’t right. There’s a big scheme under way that has to do with some of the recent land deals. I’ve done a lot of digging, trying to get to the bottom of it. I can’t prove it. . .yet. . .but everything I’ve turned up points to Showalter having some involvement in all this.”
Catherine’s insides felt like they’d congealed. She tried to make sense out of his statement. “ ‘All this’? You mean the scheme—whatever it is that’s wrong?”
Mitch nodded, misery written across his features. “That doesn’t mean he’s a willing participant,” he hastened to add. “There’s always the possibility he’s just being used. I don’t know by whom yet, but he’s definitely a part of it.”
Catherine snatched her hands free as if yanking them away from an open flame. “Is that why you agreed to come? Was it just some reporter’s trick so you could get inside his home and snoop around?”
Mitch opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t bother to deny it. It must have seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity.” She clenched her hands. “How can you possibly suspect Mr. Showalter of anything like that?”