CAROLINE AND THE RAIDER

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Now who’s making threats?” Caroline retorted, raising one dark eyebrow.

  Not since his early teens, when one of Jacob’s girl cousins had taken his favorite slingshot and thrown it down the well, had Guthrie yearned so fiercely to turn a female over his knee and blister her bustle. He smiled, baring his teeth. “May I remind you, once again, that you’re the one who wants a favor here?”

  Her bravado visibly deserted her—she paled and retreated a step—but her pride was still very much in evidence. “Like I told you last night,” she said, in a voice low enough so passersby wouldn’t hear, “if I can’t get you to help me, I’ll go alone.”

  Guthrie knew he ought to tell her to go ahead and do that, but he couldn’t stand the thought of her taking such a crazy chance. “Why don’t you just find yourself a nice man to bedevil,” he whispered, painfully conscious that folks were looking at them, “and forget that polecat down in Laramie?”

  Her eyes flashed with fury as potent as a summer thunderstorm, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “The school term ended yesterday,” she told him, “so that the boys could help their fathers with spring roundup and branding. There’s no reason I can’t go to Laramie.”

  With that, she turned and walked on down the street toward the post office, and Guthrie was afraid to touch her, even to grasp her arm. He spat an expletive, causing Tob to give a startled yelp from the back of the buckboard, then whirled on the heel of one boot and stormed back into the store.

  After Caroline had seen Guthrie leave the mercantile and stride down the street to the Hellfire and Spit Saloon with that ugly dog at his heels, she left the post office and crossed the street to the dress and millinery shop.

  Hypatia Furvis greeted her with a sly smile. “Well, Caroline,” she trilled. “What brings you in? Are you needing a dress for the spring dance?”

  No one had asked Caroline to the dance, and Hypatia darn well knew it. She liked nettling her old schoolmate because she’d never forgiven her for winning the eighth-grade spelling bee and getting her name in the newspapers clear down in Laramie and Cheyenne. Besides that, Hypatia had had her own hopes when Seaton Flynn came to town and set up his law practice.

  “Yes,” Caroline said, with sudden resolution, even though she usually stitched her clothes instead of buying them ready-made or having someone else sew them up for her. “I want a dress.”

  Hypatia, who was small and plain, with big teeth and frizzy hair just the color of a field mouse’s hide, looked quite taken aback. “I suppose that seedy miner’s asked you,” she said with a sigh, as she sorted through a rack in search of something in the proper size. “People are talking. They’re saying you’re entirely too friendly with that man.”

  Caroline widened her eyes at Hypatia. “Are they? I had no idea ‘people’ were so concerned with my private business.”

  Hypatia had the good grace to blush. “He spends a great deal of his time in the saloon,” she said in a rush of daring. “And he wears that dreadful patch over his eye, like a pirate in a dime novel. I can’t think what you’d want with him.”

  A frothy concoction of pink lace presented itself, and Caroline took the gown from the rack to look at it. Normally, she wouldn’t have looked twice at something so fussy, but she felt a little leap in a corner of her heart when she held the dress in front of her and peered into the stand-up mirror nearby.

  The color brought out a rose tint in her cheeks and made her dark eyes dance. If she wasn’t mistaken, the ruffles on the low-cut bodice just might make her appear buxom. “How much is this?” she asked thoughtfully, forgetting Hypatia’s comments.

  “More than a schoolteacher could possibly afford,” Hypatia said smugly.

  After that, nothing could have kept Caroline from buying the dress, even though it required most of her last month’s wages. “I’ll take it,” she said.

  Hypatia’s mouth dropped open, then she narrowed her eyes and snatched the dress out of Caroline’s hands. “Very well, then,” she fussed, “but don’t go trying to bring it back tomorrow, after you’ve worn it.”

  Caroline might have smiled as she followed Hypatia to the counter if it hadn’t been for the fact that she didn’t actually have an escort for that night’s dance. She couldn’t very well show up alone.

  In a state of distraction, she paid for her dress out of her hard-earned salary and left the shop carrying it under one arm in a large white box.

  Guthrie was coming out of the saloon when she stepped onto the sidewalk. The dog, Tob, trotted along at his side, licking his muzzle.

  Caroline drew a deep breath for courage, looked both ways, and walked across the street.

  “I have a favor to ask,” she said forthrightly, coming to a stop right in front of Mr. Hayes. “But I’d be willing to pay you if necessary.”

  Guthrie sighed and raised his hands to his hips. His manner conveyed distinct suspicion. “What now?” he asked.

  “There’s a dance tonight at the schoolhouse,” Caroline said bravely, her voice trembling slightly, “and I’d like you to be my escort.”

  His green eyes twinkled, and she thought she saw his mouth twitch before he spoke. “You’d pay me to take you to a dance?” he asked. “You like me more than you’re willing to let on, Miss Chalmers.”

  “I don’t like you at all,” Caroline maintained staunchly. “It’s just that—well—I have my reasons for wanting to go.”

  “I imagine you do,” he replied dryly. “You probably haven’t done anything spontaneous since the day you were born.”

  Caroline struggled to hold her temper in check, and the task was made all the more difficult by the fact that Guthrie was clearly enjoying her dilemma to the utmost. “Well, will you go or not?”

  Guthrie sighed and removed his hat respectfully. “I’d be honored, Miss Caroline,” he said, and his lips were quivering again, almost imperceptibly, while his eyes danced. “And I’ve never allowed a lady to pay me for my attentions in my life. I’m not about to start with you.”

  Caroline’s face burned at the implications of that last remark. “Thank you,” she said uncertainly.

  He put his hat back on, still grinning at her discomfiture, and there was something very cocky about his manner. “I’ll be by the house to pick you up around seven,” he said. “Be ready.”

  Caroline couldn’t meet his eyes because she knew she’d see laughter there and she was capable of only so much self-control. She nodded briskly, turned, and walked purposefully away. All the way home, her cheeks pounded with color.

  Miss Ethel was digging happily in a flower bed, but she rose awkwardly to her feet when she saw Caroline come through the gate. Her gaze touched the dress box, then swept to her charge’s face. “You’re going to the spring dance after all. Sister and I had about given up hope, since you didn’t mention it—”

  “I was trying to forget the dance,” Caroline confessed, with a rueful sigh. “But Hypatia Furvis made that impossible.”

  Miss Ethel beamed. “Wonderful,” she said, missing the reference to Caroline’s arch enemy entirely. “Who is escorting you? I hope it’s that marvelous young man who came to supper last night.”

  Caroline couldn’t help smiling, since Miss Ethel’s pleasure was so obvious. “Yes,” she said, embracing the fragile woman with her free arm and kissing her forehead. “I’m going with Guthrie.”

  The spinster gave a twittering laugh. “He’s got that smooth Virginia way of speaking.” Her earnest little face turned solemn. “Say what you will about their politics, those southerners do seem to know how to turn out a gentleman.”

  In order to keep from laughing aloud at the concept of Guthrie Hayes as a gentleman, Caroline bit her lower lip and nodded. Then she excused herself to hurry inside.

  Upstairs, in her bedroom, she took the luscious dress from its box and shook it out. It made a delectable whispering sound as it settled against her body.

  Caroline admired the creation for a few minutes, then hung it carefully in her
wardrobe and sat down at her vanity table. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was flushed with eagerness, eyes shining.

  Reaching back with both hands, Caroline undid the heavy chignon at her nape and shook her head, letting her dark hair tumble around her breasts and shoulders. She ducked her chin and practiced the sultry stare she’d seen other women use with men.

  As far as Caroline was concerned, it made her look dyspeptic. She lifted her head back to its usual proud angle and began brushing her mahogany-colored hair. The framed drawing of Lily and Emma distracted her, and she went to the bureau and picked it up. In her mind, she heard three childlike voices singing.

  Three flowers bloomed in the meadow,

  Heads bent in sweet repose,

  The daisy, the lily, and the rose …

  Close to tears again, she gently touched each little face in turn, then set the picture down again. Lily would be nineteen now, and Emma twenty. She tried to imagine how they would look, all grown up, and silently prayed that they’d found strong, decent men to love them.

  Maybe they hadn’t survived to adulthood, though, Caroline thought glumly. After all, a lot of children didn’t, especially when they’d never had proper care or enough to eat.

  The sun was shining and that night she was going to dance, even if it was Mr. Hayes’s arms she’d be in, instead of Seaton’s. Caroline refused to believe that either Lily or Emma had perished.

  After winding her hair into a single braid, she took pen and paper to the porch swing and began a letter to Seaton. She wanted to reassure him, without giving away her plans to anyone who might censor his mail, but beyond Dearest Mr. Flynn, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Although his funds were getting low, Guthrie took himself to the saloon for a regular bath, and then he went to the barber for a shave and a haircut and a splash of bay rum that made his cheeks sting. He even bought a ready-made suit and a shirt over at the mercantile, though he didn’t imagine he’d wear the get-up again until he and Adabelle stood before a preacher.

  Adabelle.

  It was on the way home, with Tob hunkered on the seat beside him because the wagon bed was loaded with supplies, that he remembered the letter.

  Guilt swept over him as he took it from his pocket and opened one end of the envelope with his teeth. A thin blue sheet of writing paper slid out, and he snapped it open, annoyed now. It wasn’t like he was betraying Adabelle by taking Caroline to the dance.

  Frowning, he read the neatly written words on the page. She loved him. She missed him. She could hardly wait until they could get together and start a family.

  Normally, such a direct mention of the natural ramifications of marriage would have drawn the fabric of Guthrie’s trousers tight across his crotch. Now all it did was make his conscience smart.

  Caroline Chalmers, for all her contentious nature and skinny framework, stirred something inside him. Something profound.

  Guthrie bunched the letter back into its envelope and stuffed it into his shirt pocket again. He’d known that schoolmarm was trouble when she called him out of the Hellfire and Spit in the broad light of day.

  Beside him, Tob whimpered sympathetically, as though following the train of his thoughts. He reached out and patted the dog idly on the head. He’d take Caroline to the dance, since he’d gone to all the trouble to bathe and buy a suit and get himself barbered, and he’d ride down to Laramie to talk with that Flynn character face-to-face. He’d practically given his word. But after that, he was going to head straight to Cheyenne, fetch Adabelle, and bring her back to Bolton.

  A slow smile spread across his face. Once Adabelle was with him, wearing his wedding band on her finger, thoughts of that troublesome little schooimarm would finally leave him alone.

  Reaching his camp, Guthrie unloaded his supplies, storing most of them inside the opening to his mine shaft. He hung his new suit carefully on the clothesline and admired it. His grin faded when he imagined his wedding and the woman standing beside him was Caroline and not Adabelle.

  He couldn’t distract himself with work, not without spoiling the whole effect of the hot bath he’d taken in town, anyway, so he got out the volume of Swinburne and went down by the creek to read. Since he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, after that verbal battle with Caroline, he ended up sprawled on his belly in the soft grass, snoring.

  When he awakened, Tob was licking his face and most of the afternoon had passed. Swearing, Guthrie hoisted himself to his feet and made his way back to camp.

  The fire was going out, so he built it back up again. Then he cut off a piece of the salt pork he’d bought in town that day and threw it into a skillet to fry. It was going to seem like sorry fare, he thought grumpily, after the chicken dinner Caroline had served him the night before.

  Damn that woman, anyway. He was beginning to wish he’d never seen her face or heard her name.

  He ate some of the salt pork without tasting it and gave a generous portion of the leftovers to Tob. Then he went down to the creek and brushed his teeth with baking soda.

  He arrived at Caroline’s right on time, having chastised himself every mile of the way for squiring one woman to a dance when he meant to marry another. When Adabelle came to Bolton, she was bound to hear rumors about him and the schoolteacher …

  Then Caroline answered his knock, wearing a lacy pink dress that raised her breasts and thrust them toward him like a sweet offering. Her hair was a gleaming puff of ebony around her face, and her skin glowed like moonlight trapped in milk glass. Guthrie knew he was supposed to be in love with another woman, but he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him.

  Chapter

  It was disturbing, Caroline thought, the way Mr. Hayes seemed to get handsomer every time she saw him. On their first encounter, outside the saloon, she’d thought he was nothing more than a saddle bum. Now, standing on her porch, all dressed up in a suit and about to take her to the spring dance, he had an aristocratic air.

  She was probably imagining that last part, she decided, smiling. “Come in, Mr. Hayes,” she said, stepping back so he could pass.

  Miss Phoebe and Miss Ethel were huddled close together in the parlor doorway, beaming with delight. Caroline guessed she’d probably been something of a disappointment to the sisters, turning away suitors—until Seaton, of course—to concentrate on teaching and writing her book about the orphan train.

  “Don’t you look handsome,” Miss Ethel said to Guthrie, clasping her small, bejeweled hands together.

  Guthrie smiled and bowed slightly. He’d guessed, of course, that the ladies admired courtly southern ways. “You will be at the dance, won’t you, Miss Ethel?” he inquired, with just the right mixture of eagerness and mischief in his voice.

  Miss Ethel blushed, and her eyes shone. “Oh my, no,” she said, laying a fluttery hand to her breast.

  Guthrie looked downcast. “I see,” he said gravely.

  Miss Phoebe took charge. “Do get started,” she said to Caroline and Guthrie. “The dance is about to begin.”

  Caroline handed Guthrie her best shawl, one Miss Ethel had crocheted for her the Christmas before, out of gossamer silken yarn, and he draped it over her shoulders. She was feeling shy and somewhat off-balance, and the fact that she’d invited Guthrie to the dance was like a bruise on her spirit. But then, if he’d asked her, as custom dictated, she probably would have refused.

  Mr. Hayes’s horse was tethered to the hitching post beyond the gate. He’d known the schoolhouse was close by, having visited there once, and had probably seen no reason to bring his wagon.

  They walked along the path at the side of the road, since the sidewalks didn’t extend that far from the center of town, Caroline’s arm linked comfortably with Guthrie’s. The faint strains of fiddle music came from the direction of the schoolhouse, and the stars were like big splashes of silver paint against the dark sky.

  For this one night, Caroline decided, she would forget her troubles and concentra
te purely on the moment. She looked up at Guthrie’s moon-shadowed face and smiled unsteadily. She’d probably been to a hundred dances in her life, and yet somehow this experience was very different.

  Guthrie stopped, in the shadow of Doc Lendrum’s big maple tree, and gently turned Caroline to face him. “I take it back,” he said hoarsely. “What I said about your being skinny, I mean. Fact is, you look so womanly that I’m hard put to behave like a gentleman.”

  Sensing how difficult that confession had been for him, Caroline smiled softly, while her heart soared high above, playing tag with the bright stars. “Thank you,” she said, and though she knew it wasn’t right, with both of them virtually pledged to other people, she devoutly hoped he meant to kiss her.

  As the fiddlers struck up a rousing reel inside the schoolhouse Guthrie dipped his head and brushed Caroline’s mouth with his. She felt a tremor begin inside her and then spread down into the very earth, like the roots of some intangible tree. Her hands fidgeted with Guthrie’s lapels, then met and entwined at the back of his neck, and she stood on the balls of her feet to get closer.

  With a low groan, Guthrie crushed her close to him and deepened the kiss. One of his hands rested just below her breast, and she felt the nipple tingle and then go tight, awaiting his touch.

  But instead of caressing her, Guthrie swore and broke away. “I apologize for that,” he said gruffly, turning his back to Caroline.

  Because she didn’t trust herself to speak—if he’d taken her somewhere private and made love to her, she wouldn’t have been able to protest—Caroline lifted both hands to make sure her hair wasn’t coming down from its pins, then hooked her arm through Guthrie’s. They would just have to make the best of things.

  Light, laughter, and music spilled into the schoolyard through the front doors, which were flung open wide, and Guthrie fairly propelled Caroline up the steps and inside.

  The desks had been pushed up against the walls, and the schoolhouse brimmed with people. It seemed that with Caroline and Guthrie’s entrance, all eyes turned to them. Caroline lifted her chin defiantly, even though her first urge was to turn and flee.