“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Callie patted Clara’s back, her touch frantic and awkward. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some laudanum? There’s some still about—”
“No! No, I’m fine, I promise.” Clara brought her apron up to wipe at her face, still chuckling. “I’m just extremely relieved and happy that we are of the same opinion.”
“And are we?”
Clara studied Callie’s face. Vulnerability stared back at her, hopeful yet suspicious, preparing to wince away if the situation called for it, to shore up the weak points in the inner wall that she’d erected. Clara cupped Callie’s cheek. “Yes, we are.” She struggled against a bout of nerves, and leaned close to kiss Callie on the lips.
Though she’d kissed Emma on the lips upon occasion, this was different. Callie’s lips remained stiff and still for an instant before she returned the favor. Her lips were rough from windburn and exposure, yet simultaneously soft and yielding. Clara vaguely wondered if this was how a man’s lips might feel before the thought was whisked away on the crest of desire.
Of the two of them, Clara had a better intellectual idea of what to do. Callie, for all her confident outward appearance, hadn’t a clue. Clara teased Callie’s lips with her tongue, surprising Callie to stillness for another brief moment. Clara attempted entry again, and Callie cautiously opened her mouth. Fire burned through Clara as she entered Callie for the first time, echoing her groan as their kiss became much more than a simple connection between them.
Clara explored Callie’s mouth with her own, thrilling at the sensation of calloused hands in her hair, thumbs along her throat and ears and neck. She caressed Callie’s tresses and throat, luring Callie’s tongue toward her. The feel of it when Callie complied was like nothing Clara had ever felt before.
Several minutes passed before they broke apart, breathless, heads bent together. “Oh, my.” Clara swallowed and licked her lips.
Callie chuckled, the sound of it rusty. “I take it you weren’t expecting that?”
“No. Were you?”
“No. But I certainly enjoyed it.”
Clara smiled. “As did I.”
“Well, that’s good. It would be a shame if you didn’t benefit from it too.” Callie dipped in for another kiss but didn’t prolong the connection. “I think I could do that all day.”
“And I think I’d let you.”
Callie gave a hearty laugh as she sank back onto her heels. She took Clara’s hand in hers. “So what happens now?”
I take you to my bed, supper be damned. Despite her desire, despite the knowledge that Callie shared her attraction, Clara felt a sliver of circumspection. It would be easy to tumble into bed and slake their desire, but could fondness bloom into love? Would it have with Jasper? I came here knowing I might never actually love my husband. Why that mattered now, with Callie, when it hadn’t with Jasper, confused her. Clara patted Callie’s hand. “Now I finish making supper. We’re both starved.”
Callie became vaguely befuddled at the change of subject. “Of course.” She released Clara and stood. “How long will it be?”
Uncertain both about herself and about Callie, Clara wiped her hands on her apron for something to do. “The fry bread shouldn’t take but a few minutes, and the beans are already heating.”
“How about I draw more water and clean up then?”
Relief eased Clara’s tension. “That would be fine.”
Callie brought Clara’s hands to her lips and kissed the knuckles. “I’ll be right back.”
Clara felt a sense of loss and confusion as Callie left. What in blazes is wrong with me? She woodenly returned to the stove. She pulled the fry bread pan from the warming shelf and set it to the heat. After several days of visualizing this very instant, she’d fled from the possibility of consummation. Her heart was full to bursting with joy and trembling with outright terror.
What would happen now?
* * *
Rather than approach the well in the yard, Callie drifted toward Jasper’s gravestone. She dropped to her usual place, seated with her back to the cabin.
What the hell had happened back there? Callie had regretted allowing Clara to rebandage her ribs as soon as Clara began acting funny. Terror had raced through Callie, the same terror she’d felt when the bear had mauled Jasper. But there was no weapon against an attack on her heart, an attack that she’d instigated. Why didn’t I turn my back to her like I usually do?
Her mind was awhirl with private castigation as well as the touch of soft lips, the near-hysterical laughter, the sight of Clara dancing about the cabin with happiness. She’s a tom, just like me. She feels something for me as I do for her. Then why did it feel like Callie had been chased out of the cabin?
She sat at the engraved stone, stern. “This is all your fault, you know.” She leaned closer to Jasper’s grave and lowered her voice, “You’re the one who wanted her.” Jasper didn’t answer.
It didn’t matter; Callie knew who wanted Clara now. She could torment herself with guilt over lusting after Jasper’s bride, but what would be the point? He wasn’t here and never would be. Any right he had to feel betrayal had left with him on his angel wings. For a change, the thought of his absence didn’t bring the familiar rush of agonizing bereavement. The hollowness was still there—like a sore tooth that she couldn’t help but poke at—that empty place in her heart that would never fully heal—but the sorrow didn’t seem as unfathomable as it had before.
Besides, Jasper hadn’t had a mean bone in his body. If he looked down upon her to see if she was all right, he’d be happy that his little sister had found someone to care for and to care for her, regardless of how that person had arrived in her life. He wouldn’t begrudge either his sister or his former bride some measure of happiness; he’d be pleased that it had come about.
Callie looked at the cabin. Does she care for me? The memory of the kiss blindsided her. That had been one hell of a kiss, one that Callie had never experienced before. It left her wanting more kisses and more…something. But she couldn’t figure out what that vague desire was for, couldn’t suss out what to do next. Had she ever had the courage to hire a woman at one of the brothels in town she’d know for certain, but for now she was at a loss.
An image of Clara dancing around the cabin assailed Callie, Clara’s arms wide in joyous celebration as she understood who and what she was. A tom. She’s a tom like me.
Callie reached down to pull at the scrub beneath her fingers. She’d realized early in her life that she wasn’t like other girls—eschewing dresses and preferring to work the farm with her father to keeping the house. Her best friends had been all boys. Like them, she’d found girls incomprehensible. Eventually she’d heard rumors naming her a tom, delicious whispers among her classmates and fellow townies. They had begun not long after she’d kissed Adelaide behind the schoolhouse. It took some time to figure out the word’s definition, but she remembered when the truth of it had hit her. The knowledge had engendered both an epiphany and a penal sentence as she discovered a core truth about herself, one that forever released her from ignorance but also condemned her to shame for the rest of her life.
She straightened from her slump. “That must be what Clara’s feeling.” Again she confirmed she was alone. Clara remained in the cabin, though Callie couldn’t hear her. Chances were good she was as confounded as Callie right now, working through this new knowledge about herself.
Clara may have always suspected she was different from other girls. She’d as much as said so a few minutes ago. But there was a world of difference between reckoning and reality. Now that she’d come to realize the truth of her deviant nature, she’d need time to work through it all just as Callie had so many years ago. Callie didn’t know if it was the natural order of things but her experience was all she had.
Feeling less befuddled, she brushed scrub from her hands. She’d give Clara time to sort through the morass of feelings. Clara was her friend; she deserve
d to be treated with respect and care. If and when Clara was ready to explore something more than friendship, Callie would be…amenable. She tamped down a surge of animal arousal with an iron will. Standing, Callie dusted her butt and turned toward the well to fetch water.
Chapter Seventeen
Clara entered Skagway, a firm sense of accomplishment raising her spirits. She’d made it through the wilderness without a guide for the first time. Hooray for me! She’d discussed the trip with Callie but had waited until her housemate left for the traplines before loading up the packhorse. Callie was of the opinion that Clara shouldn’t go alone—she’d lose her way, run into a bear—or worse, a woodsman with a gun and a lecherous attitude. Rather than argue, Clara had utilized the same tried and true method she’d used in Boston with her father—she’d waited until Callie had gone and continued upon her course of action anyway.
Clara observed the sky to gauge the time, boisterous with success. There was more than enough time to reach Hansen’s Butchery, stop by the general store for a few essentials, and return to the homestead before Callie even noticed her gone. Clara would greet her friend with evidence of her accomplishments, thereby assuring Callie that she needn’t worry so much for Clara’s safety.
She mulled over her favorite topic as she pushed through the crowds, idly noting more new establishments that had been erected since her last visit two weeks ago. Callie hadn’t kissed her since that first one a week ago, and Clara couldn’t figure out why. Callie hadn’t given any indication that the intimacy had been anything other than an exquisite experience, one that Clara wanted to repeat despite her personal skittishness. But Callie had done a gentle backtrack, avoiding situations that might trigger a delightful recurrence. While she’d kept her distance in that regard, she hadn’t reverted to the nondemonstrative ways she’d exhibited at the start of their friendship. There were still touches and soft expressions, even caresses, but nothing more.
At first Clara had been relieved. The lack of pressure on Callie’s part gave Clara time to think her way through her feelings about the situation. Despite having always known about her attraction for women, Clara had never confronted or accepted that draw until she had an avowed lesbian before her, one for whom she’d begun to deeply care. She supposed her hesitation was caused by the idea that such thoughts were no longer an abstraction, but a reality. She’d yet to come to terms with it. Callie had helpfully shared her life experiences so that Clara could better comprehend her own.
But a week had passed. Clara was beyond the initial stage of fearful discovery and well into frustration. No matter how much she schemed, pushed, and outright raged, she’d been unable to cajole Callie into another kiss. That was part of the reason Clara had decided to take this solo trip into town. She couldn’t help but think that Callie viewed her as a helpless damsel, a ninny who needed rescuing rather than an equal partner in life. That Clara had developed and maintained her own trapline might have raised Callie’s opinion of her somewhat but apparently not enough for her to view Clara as a peer, not a child. That had to be the root of why Callie had been reticent to explore any more intimacies. She needed a life partner, not a child to protect.
So Clara strolled alone along Main Street in Skagway, a packhorse with her personally caught hides and meat at her side. Perhaps when she returned home, Callie would understand that Clara didn’t need or want a nanny. What Clara wanted was Callie.
A scruffy man blocked her path. “Well, good morning to you, sweetheart!” He briefly touched the brim of his hat and snatched her hand, pulling it to his mouth.
Appalled, Clara yanked her hand away, aborting his rustic chivalrous attempt. Had he been a handsome rogue, she might not have responded in such a brusque manner, but his abrupt and shabby appearance had startled her manners into flight.
Her insult caused a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A thin mustache swooped down to bracket his mouth, failing to hide a pronounced overbite. He took a single step back, and doffed his hat to reveal slicked-down hair, as dark as his eyes, painfully parted in the middle. When he spoke, he revealed a sizable gap between his front teeth. “My apologies! Allow me to introduce myself—Billy Quinn, at your service.” His dead eyes left a greasy sensation as they roamed over her.
Years of propriety prevented her from a strident reaction. Besides, he’d taken a firm grasp of the packhorse’s bridle, making immediate escape problematic. She drew herself up into the haughtiest of stances. “Miss Stapleton. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on a matter of urgent business.”
“Miss Stapleton!” Quinn seemed to taste her name as he returned his hat to his head and closed the distance between them once more. A sour cloud enveloped them, an odor of sweat and stale beer. “And from the sound of your accent, you’re from Boston way, yes?” He licked his lips as he examined her.
His unwanted engrossment felt shameful, confusing Clara since she’d done nothing of which to be ashamed. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the rancid scent of him, staring over his shoulder as heat rushed up her chest and throat to warm her cheeks. “Yes. Now excuse me.” She attempted to squeeze between him and the horse, but he sidestepped to block her.
“I’ve been to Boston once or twice. More likely once.” He laughed. “Have you ever been involved in a Boston marriage? I bet you have, haven’t you? Are you one of those wild New Women?”
Clara hardly comprehended the leer on his ugly face. The term “Boston Marriage” referred to two single women building lives together, something the author Henry James had written ten years earlier, and described exactly what Clara had been attempting to build with Callie. Clara didn’t know which was more implausible—this unlettered malcontent having the intelligence to read a work of literature above the third grade level or that he’d approach her without any knowledge of who she was and who she knew with such insinuations.
Does he know Jamie Perkins? She cast around with a jolt of fear to confirm Perkins and his muscle men didn’t observe from the sidelines with lubricious grins. Suddenly, the idea of a solitary trip to Skagway didn’t seem a good one. If Perkins would beat Callie with little provocation, what did she think he’d do to her? I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. She’d been too busy searching for a way to prove herself to Callie to listen to the warnings Callie had given.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Quinn lightly caressed Clara’s upper arm with the back of one finger. “What Callie Glass don’t know won’t hurt us.”
The use of Callie’s name confirmed Clara’s suspicions, and a shock of horror took her breath away.
“Whaddya say we have a little fun? I can show you things that Callie sure can’t.” Quinn wiggled his eyebrows and eased closer until a hair’s breadth separated them.
Clara searched for assistance but no one paid them heed. Terror vied with revulsion as she realized that she was on her own. She cringed back from his face, smelling the onions upon which he’d recently dined.
Who is he to do this to me? A man? More like a rodent. Fury bloomed in her heart, a fierce and righteous anger. This was the sort of behavior Callie suffered whenever she came to town—the remarks and innuendos, the suggestions that she didn’t matter because no man had claimed her, that she was deviant because she wore men’s clothing and refused to succumb to the “proper” society. With Jasper gone, no one could protect Callie from the dregs of society that had abused her. Eventually the Jamie Perkins’s of the world would utilize more than words and the occasional brawl to put Callie in her place.
Clara couldn’t have that.
Her knee shot up into Quinn’s groin. The action wasn’t swift, her legs catching in the folds of her dress, but it was enough to get her point across as he grunted, a gust of foul breath blowing into her face. His hands shot to his crotch and he’d bent slightly at the waist, turning his hips aside to thwart a second attempt. As much as she hated to touch him, Clara grabbed his collar and pulled him closer until she growled into his ear, bits of ear wax and dandruff sickening her farth
er. “Now you listen to me, you little rat. If you ever talk to a lady like that again, I’ll use my shiny new hunting knife to gut you like a deer. Do you understand?” She pulled back just enough to glare at him.
It was Quinn’s turn to stare at her, open-mouthed, his eyes now filled with pain and dread.
When he didn’t respond, she shook him, marveling at the strength her terror had given her. “Do you understand? Or should I take your ear right now?” She pulled her knife from its sheath at her waist. “Perhaps an eye instead.”
“I understand!” Quinn’s head swiveled about to see if anyone in the vicinity had noticed his abrupt emasculation.
Clara cast a swift look around as well. The potential witnesses were more concerned with their business than a man and woman in close discussion on the street. She shoved him away, and he stumbled as he minced. Without another word, she sheathed her knife, took the packhorse’s bridle in hand and marched past.
The street seemed louder than usual as she strode away with a stiff back and expectant of retaliation. The animal part of her brain urged her to flee, to run as fast as humanly possible to escape danger. She’d be damned if she’d give Quinn the satisfaction of thinking she was scared, however. Instead, she panted and hung onto the bridle to keep from stumbling, ears open for any sound of approaching revenge. None came.
At the corner, she looked back. Quinn was nowhere in sight, and no one appeared to be after her. She continued onward, her emotional buoyancy at having navigated the wilds of the Alaskan bush gone. Would Billy Quinn scuttle away and hide? Would he run to Jamie Perkins and spill his guts? She gave a brisk shake of her head as she mulled over her thoughts. No, he’d not want other men to know a woman such as her had bested him. If he went for reinforcements at all, he’d trump up some sort of lie to gain their help.
Clara forged her way to Hansen’s, keenly aware of her surroundings. Men seemed to stare at her wherever she looked, fueling her paranoia. Her nerves were shot by the time she reached the butchery. Get the deed done, pick up the supplies, and get home. You’ll be safe there.
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