by Nancy Bush
“All I thought over is how truly jealous and despicable you are.”
“Jealous?”
“You don’t like anyone who shows me the slightest attention. You never have. I think it’s a flaw in your personality. You can’t stand being second best.”
“You know, I’d never thought of it that way,” he responded coolly. “I think you’re right.”
Celeste grabbed onto Tremaine’s arm as they approached and looked up at him meltingly. “I thought you’d never get back to me,” she moaned.
“Just dancing with little sister,” he said mockingly, the barb plunging deep into Lexie’s breast. With a nod at Lexie, he guided Celeste onto the floor where her arm crawled around his and his hand rigidly held the small of her back, pressing her tightly against him.
Lexie hoped Miss Everly would swoop down and pry them apart.
Peter was there with more punch. “I hope you like scotch?” he said with a grin full of evil mischief.
Lexie gazed at him blankly, for all she could see were images of Tremaine and Celeste. “Scotch? I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
“I’m afraid you just did. I confess to doctoring the punch. It’s a tradition, you know. Miss Everly is a confirmed teetotaler, so all of us invitees make certain there is a supply of alcohol on hand.” He leaned forward confidentially. “It’s why the Winter Ball is so popular.”
It did seem to Lexie that the room had acquired a dangerous new edge of gaity. The thought of liquor made her stomach revolt, but she accepted the glass of punch anyway. “I’ll drink it as long as you keep your hands to yourself,” she said with a bold pseudo-sophistication she hadn’t known she possessed.
Peter quickly crossed his heart and held up one palm. “On my honor, ma’am.”
Why was it, Lexie wondered dismally as she sipped the scotch-laced punch, that she could handle men like Peter, but she couldn’t handle Tremaine? It was befuddling and more than a little irritating, and as Lexie finished her drink, she said, “Wonderful beverage, scotch. Thanks, but no, I don’t want any more.”
All she wanted, as it turned out, was to drop her head on her pillow and sink into oblivion. She wanted to forget the entire evening. With an effort, she focused on the fact that she would soon be going home to Rock Springs for Christmas break.
“It’s midnight,” someone said, and Lexie straightened.
“That’s my cue to leave,” she remarked, but her legs felt decidedly wobbly.
“Be careful,” said Peter. “Remember, that wasn’t your first glass of scotch.”
“How many have I had?” she asked, slightly aghast.
“I’m not sure. A few.” He lifted his shoulders apologetically.
She tried to mentally calculate how much alcohol she’d actually consumed, but the task proved too great for her dulled wits. She’d been so absorbed by Celeste and Tremaine that she’d drunk the punch without even tasting it. “Shame on you, Peter,” she scolded.
“I know.” But he looked anything but penitent.
Tremaine and Celeste materialized in front of them. Lexie had an impression of Tremaine’s blue eyes peering down at her, a frown creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Who said anything’s wrong?” Lexie smiled up at him, and was seized by a nearly uncontrollable desire to laugh, one which took all her willpower to fight.
Before she knew what was happening, Tremaine had her cloak and she was whisked through the door into the frigid winter night. A numbing, drizzling rain was now pouring down from the eaves of the massive stone building that Miss Everly had rented for the dance.
“Are you drunk?” he asked in amazement.
“Good Lord, no. Although I’ve been infarmed — informed — that the punch was doctored, Doctor.” Hearing herself, her lips twitched with mirth and a chuckle escaped despite the hand she pressed to her quivering mouth.
Tremaine shook his head. “Come on. I’ll drive you back.”
“What about your date?” Lexie asked, stealing a look at him through half-lowered eyes as they waited for the groomsman to bring his buggy around.
“I don’t really have a date. Celeste had already invited someone else first. She can catch a ride home with him.”
“She won’t like it,” Lexie predicted in a singsong voice, wagging her finger in front of his nose.
“That’s her problem,” he said, helping her inside the buggy and swinging lithely in beside her.
“Ladies should never drink scotch,” she announced airily, swiping rain from her hair as the buggy lurched forward, throwing her off balance though she fell backward.
“You’re really going to think so tomorrow.”
The ride back was little more than a blur and, before she realized it, Lexie was swaying on her feet in the center of Miss Everly’s parlor, blinking in consternation. “Where is everybody?” she asked, looking around the barren room.
“At the dance. Do you need help up to your room?”
Lexie focused on him, trying to revitalize some of the anger she’d felt earlier. “Why would I need help to my room?” she asked suspiciously.
He laughed. “So you won’t fall flat on your face.”
“I am not drunk.”
“Oh really?” He drew her into his arms until her hands were trapped against his chest, her legs brushing his. Alarmed, Lexie pulled back. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t kiss me again.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop me all on your own…”
Lexie clung to his lapels, her head whirling. His mouth plundered hers. For a moment she felt as if she were standing outside of herself, watching. Her mind was fuddled. She felt the sweet touch of his lips and responded. Then she remembered all the terrible things he’d said about Jace. Her heart ached.
“Jace…” she murmured.
Lexie was fast losing touch with consciousness. A steel arm surrounded her, lifting her. She was carried upstairs, limp and wanton. She felt the soft bed against her back and then…
¤ ¤ ¤
A cold whipping wind brought her to instant wakefulness. With a start she found she was lying on her bed, fully clothed, her jaded brocade dress crumpled beneath her. The window was wide open.
Fragmented images crossed her mind. Tremaine’s kiss. His strong arms carrying her upstairs. A softly whispered good night.
Had Tremaine been with her, or had it been a dream?
Shakily, Lexie climbed out of bed and went downstairs in search of a glass of water. She drank thirstily in front of the kitchen washbasin and tried to calm her rioting stomach. If she’d dreamed it, why did her mouth feel as if she’d been kissed hungrily, starvingly? Why did her lips feel swollen, her skin sensitized, the secret part of herself throbbing from some nameless ache? Why was there a melting, liquid sensation playing havoc with her lower limbs?
“Too much liquor,” she moaned on a shudder, tossing the remainder of her water into the washbasin. Swearing off alcohol for the rest of her natural life, she carefully mounted the stairs and returned to bed.
¤ ¤ ¤
The buggy rattled over the cobblestones, and rain beat persistently against its drum-taut roof. Tremaine stared through the thick darkness and fought a losing battle with desire. He’d told himself after the night in the buggy that he would have to move more slowly. He didn’t want to frighten her. He’d planned a chaste, good-night kiss, but then she’d hung onto his lapels and stared up at him through limpid emerald eyes, her mouth parting provocatively.
Instead of Lexie dressed in a rustling, shimmery green gown, he’d suddenly seen her as she’d been at the hot springs: bare and beautiful, her sun-dried hair a tangle of gold, her body glistening with sweat, her limbs long and seductive.
His resistance shattered, he bent his head and captured her lips, his hand pressing into the small of her back. She fit easily and perfectly against him, igniting him with primitive desire.
Her lips opened
sweetly, naturally, innocently, under the power of his. The strain of his hold on her forced her breasts to peek over the top of her bodice. Groaning, hating himself for his lack of control, his hand slid agonizingly upward, cupping one ivory mound through her dress.
His tongue plunged into her mouth and she responded with a soft moan. His fingers rounded her breast, caressing her perfect skin. She clung to him, her eyelids fluttering, and it took all his willpower not to toss her onto the couch and press his overheated body against hers. He was gripped by a passion so desperate he could scarcely think, consumed by a dangerous, licking fire that threatened to burn down his paltry resistance and sear bare an open path for his desire.
He held her quivering body close and let her feel his need.
And she’d sighed and murmured, “Jace…”
Sanity returned then, brutally swift, excruciatingly painful. She thought she was with Garrett!
Now Tremaine laughed bitterly, savagely snapping the reins so that Fortune, poor beast, redoubled his efforts. Even after he’d told her about Betsy, she still fancied herself in love with that bastard! God, women were foolish creatures. Grinding his teeth, he vowed never to see Lexie again until he got over this consuming desire. He’d been right to avoid her so long.
All he had to do was get through Christmas.
Chapter Eleven
Eliza stood slim and straight, a lone figure on the widow’s walk, her cloak whipping around her in the December wind. She waved and Lexie felt a lump grow in her throat. She’d thought Christmas would never come. As Pa pulled the buggy to a stop beneath the portico, her gaze swept the frost-crusted fields, the whitewashed house, the stables, the barn.
“I’ve missed it all,” she said achingly.
“We’ve missed you, too, Lexie,” Pa answered, helping her down. “Sugartail’s about to foal. Doc Meechum’s already had a look at her,” he muttered, almost apologetically. “He assures me that everything’s fine with her, but after the last one, I’m not so sure.”
Lexie banked down her automatic antagonism at the mention of Meechum. “Sugartail’s dropped lots of healthy foals. One stillborn shouldn’t make a difference.”
“Why don’t you have a look at her?” Pa suggested, his lips fighting a smile.
Lexie’s heart warmed. “I might at that.” She pushed open the front door, then stood dazzled in the entryway. The sconces had been lit even though it was still afternoon, albeit a gloomy one, and garlands of cedar were wrapped around the stairway banister. The house smelled of cedar and cinnamon and in the parlor, at the edge of Lexie’s vision, rose a twenty-foot Christmas tree.
It was Jesse who greeted her first, and she surprised a flash of amazement on his darkly handsome countenance. “Lexie?” he asked as he came into the foyer.
Mischief entered her sparkling eyes as she moved forward in a rustle of midnight blue sateen. “Good afternoon, Jesse,” she murmured formally, extending both hands.
His deep blue eyes narrowed. “By gum, girl,” he drawled, in a perfect imitation of Cook. “Ya up and done it, din’t ya?”
They convulsed in fits of laughter and Samuel, who’d come to stand behind his brother, said in pretended shock, “Why, she even looks like a lady!”
“Very funny,” Lexie said affectionately, dropping all her good intentions and hugging them each in turn. To hell with being a lady if it meant she couldn’t express her feelings.
In the midst of this reunion Lexie saw her mother begin to descend the stairs. There was an unsteady smile on Eliza’s lips, and Lexie well understood her mother’s worry at seeing what changes had been wrought.
Lexie walked to the bottom of the stairs, smiling. Eliza’s gaze was admiring. “You look so beautiful,” she said. “I hope you’re not totally miserable.”
“Not totally,” Lexie allowed. “After all, I only have six months left.”
Eliza’s gaze anxiously searched her daughter’s face. Seeing the lurking humor in the corners of Lexie’s eyes, her own mouth twitched just a little. “The Lord does grant us His blessings,” she murmured sardonically, and everyone, including Eliza, laughed.
Lexie had to hide her homesickness behind a pair of over-bright eyes, rather than make a complete fool out of herself. Miss Everly’s School for Young Ladies wasn’t nearly as awful as the wrench of being away from home. But there were only a few months left. She would survive.
“Where’s Harrison?” she asked.
“He won’t be able to come,” Pa supplied unhappily, hauling in Lexie’s valise and carrying it upstairs. “Your Dr. Breverman knows how to work a man, it seems.”
“That’s not the half of it,” Jesse put in before Lexie could respond. “Breverman’s moving to Denver, and Harrison going with him.”
“Denver?” Lexie’s heart sank. “Why?”
Jesse shrugged. “Ask Pa. Harrison told him Breverman’s been planning to move for a long time. Harrison’s sticking with him until he’s learned all he can.”
“We’ll just have to make do without him, then,” said Eliza briskly, effectively turning the conversation.
“And — Tremaine?” asked Lexie, her tone light.
For the first time since she’d greeted her daughter, Eliza’s face molded into cool reserve. “We are not certain when he’ll arrive, but he’s in Rock Springs.”
“And up to no good,” Jesse added irrepressibly, earning a long look down his mother’s aristocratic nose.
“What does that mean?” Lexie asked, certain she didn’t really want to know.
Jesse guided Lexie’s arm toward the parlor, throwing a wicked glance over his shoulder before remarking, “I believe Mother thinks Tremaine needs a year at Miss Everly’s School. His lack of protocol is shocking.”
“As is yours?”
They stood together in front of the Christmas tree. Popcorn and silvery tinsel wound around its fragrant limbs. Tiny brass candlesticks were tied with scarlet ribbons on the feathery Douglas fir branches. Small embroidered doilies threaded with satin dangled softly, turning in the breeze stirred up when Lexie and Jesse had walked in the room.
“My behavior these days is above reproach,” Jesse informed her with a sly smile.
She arched a disbelieving brow. “What has Tremaine done?”
“He spends a great deal of time at Jenny McBride’s rooming house. He is, and I quote, ‘not acting as a responsible gentlemen.’”
Lexie had a quick mental vision of Jenny McBride’s beauty. Feeling as if she were suffocating, she asked, “You mean, he has a — woman there?”
“Among other places, I guess. He’s bound to have a mistress or two in Portland.” Seeing her tense face, he asked, “Shocked?” as if suddenly cognizant of her tender, feminine feelings.
She was shattered! “Nothing Tremaine could do would shock me,” she answered swiftly. She kept her attention directed at the shimmering tree, ignoring her now amazed brother. Jesse was too much like Tremaine for her to ever feel truly close to him. Yet, like Tremaine, he tended to seek her company now and again.
“Look, Lex…” he began uncomfortably.
“I don’t really feel like talking about Tremaine anymore. Tell me what’s been happening around here. Pa says Meechum took a look at Sugartail. Do you think she’ll be all right?”
“What’s going on with you and Tremaine?” he asked astutely, frowning.
“N-o-th-ing.” Lexie stretched the word out, avoiding Jesse knowing gaze. She suddenly wished Harrison were around. She could talk to him. He understood her.
“Come on in to dinner,” Pa said before Jesse could launch another attack. She seized the excuse with relief, sweeping into the dining room, where Annie was just putting the final touches on Cook’s sumptuous meal. Gritting her teeth, Lexie plastered a tight smile on her face and ignored the silly, heart-throbbing misery eating away at her whenever she thought of Tremaine and Jenny McBride.
¤ ¤ ¤
Jenny McBride gazed wistfully at Tremaine’s prone form lying in exhaus
ted sleep across her table. She was dog-tired, too. The life of a country doctor was one of ceaseless hours, drudgery, and despair. The joys and triumphs came much too infrequently.
Why had she thought this would be the way to bring him back to Rock Springs?
Measuring out spoonfuls of freshly ground coffee, she decided she’d been wrong. She’d wired Tremaine about the virulent influenza sweeping Rock Springs and the nearby town of Malone in hopes of spending a few days with him. Once the work was done, she figured, there would be time for pleasure.
But the work had never been done. From the moment Tremaine had appeared at her door, she’d been swept into the demanding job of doctor’s aide — it had been either that or be dumped unceremoniously on her own rooming-house porch. Now she shuddered, recalling some of the worst cases. Even her pragmatic nature hadn’t been able to stand the terrible suffering — especially the children’s. Tremaine had worked unflaggingly, however, and his unfailing humor and expertise had left Jenny feeling something near hero worship. On those occasions when the victim’s family didn’t want her sort inside their home, Tremaine had bluntly told them they had no choice.
She sighed. She was in love with the rebel.
Pouring coffee, she eyed his sleeping form. Somehow, someway, she was going to make him return that love. She just had to figure out what — or who — was keeping him out of her bed.
He stirred, opened his eyes, and regarded her blearily. “Coffee,” he muttered, automatically reaching for his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to Malone and then home. It’s Christmas Eve,” he muttered.
Sensing he was about to leave without so much as a hug goodbye, Jenny sought desperately for some way to detain him. “You’d better sit down,” she said with a deceptive casualness. “There’s something you should know.”
“What?” He hardly heard her.