by Ana Morgan
He practiced with Stormy until the first tune ended. Then, he tossed her cape into the back of the buckboard and laced his fingers between hers. “Keep your chin up and smile. You’re the belle of the ball.”
~ ~ ~
Stormy tried to shake free as Blade towed her into the dancing circle, but he ratcheted his grip until her fingers threatened to go numb. She wanted to hover near the edge for a quick getaway when the teasing became too much to bear. And, she wanted more time to figure out why he’d kissed her.
People began to point and whisper behind their hands.
She knew what they were saying. Here comes Stormy Hawkins. Never acts like a lady. Can’t catch a man. Can’t dance, neither. Get ready for a laugh.
One by one, the musicians stopped playing. Even Brownie. He’d said she looked nice, but family always did that. Blade had just called her beautiful, and she knew why. He’d bought her dress. It was lovely.
Blade didn’t stop until he was right in front of the musicians’ platform. He turned her around to face the gawking crowd. “Good evening,” he shouted. “I’m Blade Masters, the new hand at the Hawkins Ranch. Miss Stormy and I have come to dance.”
Titters and one loud guffaw ricocheted through the air.
Face on fire, Stormy stared at the ground and prayed for a hole to swallow her up.
After a silence that seemed to drag on forever, caller Ibra McSweeney clapped his hands. “First dance is Pop the Weasel, folks. Grab a partner. Six couples to a set. Line of ladies and one of gents.”
Blade tugged her into a set headed by Anna Lee and her husband Andrew.
“Mercy me.” Anna leaned close. “Where have you been hiding that dress?”
Before she could answer, the music started. Ibra called, “First couple down the line. Come right back. Come right back.”
Holding hands, Andrew and Anna danced down the line and back.
“Take lady number two and circle ‘round, circle ‘round. Then, pop her home, pop her home.”
Anna and Andrew joined hands with Stormy and circled in time with the music. Then, they raised their arms and popped her back in line.
Blade was next. Despite her nervousness, Stormy laughed along with everyone in their set when he had to duck low to pop under Andrew and Anna’s upstretched arms.
“Now a waltz,” Ibra called, “to get the old folks off their duffs.”
Blade stepped close. “Remember, I lead and you—”
She gulped. “Follow.”
His fingertips pressed on her waist. She stepped forward, silently counting one, two, three.
After several successful quarter turns, she didn’t feel like the hind end of a steer. Her body responded to Blade’s signals, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t dance like a peg-legged pirate.
People standing under the soft, magical glow of the lantern lights pointed and smiled as she and Blade glided past. She looked up to see him grinning at her.
“See,” he said. “There’s nothing to it. Now, let’s have some fun.”
They sashayed past Zed and Ginny Dunn. The thought that she should order Zed to sit down vanished when he waved with one finger. He looked as happy as she felt, ready to dance with Blade all night.
When the waltz number ended, Emil Anderssen tapped Blade on the shoulder.
She flashed Blade a pleading look, but he stepped away and gestured for Emil to take his place.
It took all her concentration to avoid Emil’s toes until she figured out he bent his knees before he stepped forward, and blew through his mouth before he went backward. He never turned.
Calvin Farber rushed up and asked her to dance next. His crisp white shirt was buttoned up to the collar, and his hair was slicked down with smelly eau de quinine. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
“Calvin, are you nervous?”
“Yes. You have improved much more than I.”
“There’s a trick. Want me to show you?”
“Oh, yes.” A grateful smile brightened his well-scrubbed face. “I’d like to dance with Julia Janklow at least once this evening.”
After some pushing and pulling, Calvin allowed her to lead. She lifted her elbow and squeezed his arm, repeating in a hushed voice what each signal meant. When the music stopped, he thanked her for the lesson and rushed off.
Stormy drew a sigh of relief. Leading was nice, but she wanted to follow Blade again. Feel her skin tingle under his touch and have everyone notice that she was singled out by the handsomest ranch hand at the dance. She rose high on her tiptoes and scanned the dancing circle.
Charley Beedle stepped directly in front of her, his pudgy face level with hers. She angled her head to evade his stare and spotted Blade dancing with Constance Freeport.
Coupled together, Blade and Constance could have won a dance contest. Their legs moved effortlessly. Their glides seemed well rehearsed. Blade lifted his hand, twirled her twice, and drew her back into his embrace, laughing at something she must have said.
The music stopped, and she realized Charley was speaking to her.
“I said, you look like a lady tonight.”
“Thank you, Charley.”
“And, I said Mother and I want to call on you tomorrow.”
“No!” The word flew from her mouth before she could stop it.
The shocked look on his face pained her conscience. A mule had kicked Charley in the head five years ago, and he’d never fully recovered.
“I’m sorry, Charley. I know your mother doesn’t work on Sundays, but there’s a bad break in the fence in the northwest pasture. I have no idea how long it will take to fix it.” She let her voice trail off. She’d never had to fend off his attention when she wore her own clothes to Founders Day. “Charley, would you excuse me?”
She didn’t wait for his approval. If she wore the cape over her dress for the rest of the evening, maybe people would leave her be.
Laura Boe stopped her. “Land sakes, child. You look fine this evening.” The seamstress reached out and fussed with the shoulders of her dress. The gesture was soothing, almost motherly. “Clothes don’t make the woman, but they shore do help. Next time you need another dress, you just come to me. I’ll sew you up.”
“There you are.”
Blade’s voice sent a sensual ripple through Stormy’s body. She tried to appear nonchalant as he approached, though her heart boomed like a kettle drum.
He reached for the seamstress’ hand. Two coins fell into her palm. “I think you’re going to get more sewing orders after tonight.”
Stormy swallowed a lead lump of disappointment. Blade liked the dress, not her. “I hope you do, Mrs. Boe,” she said with false cheerfulness. None of those orders would be hers. She wasn’t a fancy-dress girl or even a dress girl. Her wardrobe was boots, shirts, and denims. Working clothes for a woman who worked like a man.
Emma Schultz danced by.
Laura launched into a detailed explanation about the differences between Emma’s dress and Stormy’s. Neither she nor Blade seemed to notice when Stormy backed away.
Stormy skulked though the shadows near the buckboard. Her temper was ready to explode. This dress was Blade’s idea, not hers. She’d only worn it to make Zed happy.
‘Miss Stormy and I have come to dance.’ Bah. Blade had used her to make a grand entrance. By rights she should jump on his mare and make him hitch a ride home with her father.
A carriage pulled up. Four women wearing short red dresses and blue-feathered shawls stepped out. Making far too much noise, they paraded toward the dancing circle.
Stormy tied on her cape and unhooked Belinda’s reins.
“Leaving so soon?” Jonathan Vance startled her.
Chapter 11
Vance smoothed the front of his strawf
lower blue suit jacket. “You look ravishing tonight, Stormy. Your hair, your gown. Exquisite.”
Stormy swept her gaze over the bed of the buckboard looking for something heavy or sharp. She spied a hammer way up front but she’d have to climb in to reach it. “You keep away from me.”
He pressed his hands together in a gesture of supplication. “I acted badly the last time we met. I’m a man of action, used to taking what I want. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
She eyed him guardedly, calculating if she could reach for the hammer over the side of the buckboard without ripping a shoulder seam in her new dress.
“Let me prove myself. Dance with me.” He reached for Belinda’s reins, slid his hand to where she gripped the smooth leather strap, and frowned. “This is Masters’ horse.”
“I’m borrowing it. He can ride home in the buckboard.”
“I don’t think so.” Vance pointed toward Blade, who strolled toward the hotel with his arm around one of the whores. “He reserved a room when he heard about Founders Day. He’ll need his mare come morning.”
The air around her head thundered like she stood in the middle of a stampeding herd of wild horses. Vance’s lips moved, but she didn’t hear what he said. Her foolish hope—that Blade secretly cared for her—withered and died.
“And, that’s why I don’t trust him,” Vance said with a decisive nod. “Now, let’s go show ourselves off. You, me, dressed in our fine new clothes. We’ll walk, and when you’re ready, we’ll dance.”
Determined to shake off the wooden feeling in her limbs, Stormy decided she wanted to dance now. Vance made a great show of bowing before drawing her into his arms. She emptied her mind and followed his lead without much effort.
After several dances, Vance suggested a short promenade down Main Street. “You’re finer than any of those whores. The hired hands waiting their turns at the hotel will be jealous. Including Masters.” He tucked her arm under his.
Stormy shook free. The last time she was alone with Vance, she’d had to fight her way out.
“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman. We’ll walk as far as the hotel and come right back.”
Stormy wasn’t sure she believed him, but if she went along, she might discover an excuse to fire Blade on the spot. Moreover, there were people milling about on Main Street.
She’d handled Vance before. She could do it again.
As they strolled, Vance commented on how spry Zed appeared tonight. He inquired after the health of her steers. She answered with single syllable words. “Yes. No. Fine.”
She stopped abruptly when she heard a whoop and a holler inside the hotel. One voice was definitely female. The other didn’t sound like Blade.
“Whores and hands deserve each other, don’t you think?” Vance sniffed as they crossed to the other side of the street. A light glowed through the window of his Land & Loan office. “I’ve been saving a bottle of single malt scotch for a special occasion.” He patted her hand. “I’ll run in and get it.”
Relieved to have a few moments alone, Stormy stared outright at the hotel. Blade wasn’t milling on the front porch or dancing on a balcony. She wondered which room he was in, and what he was doing.
Vance spoke in her ear, startling her. “He’s in six, the room with no lights, bedding his whore. Forget about him. We’re celebrating.” He held up the bottle like a prize. “Come inside.”
“Why?” She blinked away angry tears. Her heart felt hollow and useless, like an abandoned paper wasps’ nest.
“Because, this is very expensive whiskey, and because you don’t want to risk spilling a drop on your lovely gown,” he said reasonably. “One drink, then we’ll head back to the dance.”
Hoping a shot would heal the hurt in her chest, she followed Vance as far as the open door. “I’m staying outside.”
“Suit yourself.” He broke the wax seal on his bottle, pulled out the cork, and half-filled two squat tumblers, sitting on his desk. He held one out to her.
“Bring mine out here,” she ordered.
“Your wish is my command.” He came almost within reach.
Playful shrieks pierced the evening. A ranch hand wearing unlaced boots and a red union suit chased a scantily clad whore down the front steps of the hotel.
“They’ll go on like that all night.” Vance sighed. “Might as well drink up.”
Stormy inched close enough to take the glass. She drank the whiskey, and when it didn’t numb her lips, she held out her glass for more.
Vance poured full measures this time. “Stormy, I could do so much for you. Forgive your note. Buy you dresses that would make this beauty look like an old rag. Hire cowboys to tend your cattle.”
The cowboy I want doesn’t want me. She downed the drink as if it were water and stared morosely across the street.
“Pay attention to me.” Suddenly cross, Vance grabbed a fistful of her hair and manhandled her into the Land & Loan.
“Let go!” She struggled to claw his fingers loose, but her fingernails were trimmed short for work. “Somebody, help me!”
“Yell all you like.” He turned the lamp down low. “Everyone at the hotel is drunk or busy, and we’re too far from the dance circle for anyone to hear.”
Twisting her hair savagely, he forced her down onto her knees with his back toward the door. “Unbutton my pants.”
Eyes blurring, fingers shaking, Stormy touched the fold of his fly. Slender and stiff, his rod lurked underneath. She patted it clumsily, stalling, praying he’d let go.
“That’s right.” He quit twisting, but still held tight. “As soon as we’re done here, you’ll tell Zed we’re enga—”
“Let her go, Vance, or I’ll shoot.”
Blade? Oh God, let it be him. She forced her head past Vance’s hip, stretching her scalp to its limit. Anymore, and she’d tear out her hair. She glimpsed someone Blade’s size looming in the doorway of the Land & Loan.
Vance yanked her back and pressed her face against his crotch, muffling her sob of pain. “One-hour whores are at the hotel, friend. This one’s mine for the rest of her life.”
Click.
“Stormy, stand up and come here.”
“Blade!” Her high-pitched cry sounded foreign in her ears. “I can’t. He’s got my hair.”
Vance turned, forcing her to scramble on her knees.
The bodice of her new dress clamped her shoulders until the cloth gave way. The sound of the rip sickened her. She flailed for a foothold that would lessen the pain searing her scalp.
“You’re too late, Masters. She’s as good as mine, and so’s her land.”
“Right eye or left, Vance? I’m a real good shot.”
Vance abruptly let go of her hair and shoved her toward the potbelly stove near the door. She landed hard on her hands and knees.
Reaching over her back, Vance snatched the fire poker from a bucket of kindling and swung at Blade’s head.
“Watch out!” she cried.
Blade ducked like a professional boxer and rammed his fist into Vance’s stomach.
Vance doubled over, gasping for breath. The iron poker crashed to the floor.
Blade kicked the poker away and hauled Stormy to her feet. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
She clutched his arm until the room stopped spinning. Her head ached, and she had so many questions. Wasn’t he with the whore? Why did he come to save her? Where did he learn to fight like that? Was there anything he wasn’t good at?
She searched his eyes for answers, but they were dark and unreadable. He breathed heavily, as if he were trying to chain an inner fury.
Vance straightened, waved his hands in surrender. Then, he snarled and charged again.
Blade thrust a derringer into her hand and pummeled Vance with a b
arrage of blows to his abdomen.
The banker’s eyes bulged in their sockets. He crumpled to the floor and lay still on his back.
Blade straddled his head. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Vance uttered a strangled groan.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Blade took back his gun and tucked it into his boot. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her outside.
“Bring her up here.” A drunken ranch hand waved from a third-floor window.
Blade bounced her lightly and reinforced his hold on her hips and thighs.
Was he going to take her up there? “Oh, no you don’t.” Stormy pushed against his chest and kicked.
“Be still,” he said sharply.
“I can walk.”
“And, give you another chance to run off? Not on your life.”
As he carried her toward the circle of wagons, she regained her senses and wondered what people would think when they got there. The ends of his western tie hung loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Her hair was tousled, and her dress torn. Surely, they looked like they’d just made passionate love in some isolated shadow.
She longed to be Guinevere to his Lancelot. His scent scrambled her thoughts. The heat from his body—not the malt whiskey she’d just drunk—made her want to kiss him.
He set her down beside the buckboard. His eyes held no tenderness, and his jaw clenched.
Did he intend to tow her back to the dancing circle? She gripped the side boards and tried to imagine what the gossips would say about that.
Grim-faced, Blade tied her mother’s cape around her shoulders and unhooked Belinda’s reins. “Mount up.”
“Zed’s expecting me to ride home in the buckboard,” she protested.
“No, he’s not.”
“First the dress. Then, one dance. Did you and Zed plan this entire evening?” Her voice grew uncontrollably shrill, and she trembled with indignation. “When were you going to tell me?”