“Oh, hell,” Carrigan muttered. Then louder, “It’s safe to come down.”
In a moment the sisters appeared in the doorway, their matching blue eyes like delft saucers. Obsi stood between them.
Carrigan gestured to the counter. “Helena, your damn bottle of starter yeast exploded.”
“What . . . ?” Helena moved closer, Emilie’s hand in hers. When she saw what had happened, her mouth fell open.
Emilie began to laugh. “Lena! Why, you had us all petrified!”
The sizzle was the yeast running out of what remained of the bottle.
“And I was going to make bread tomorrow,” Helena declared, her hand over her heart.
Carrigan put his gun down and picked up the prominent pieces of glass before he stepped on one. “You ladies ought not be in here without shoes on.”
Emilie laid her hand on Helena’s shoulder, her eyes shining in merriment. “This is the first time this has ever happened. What will Ignacia say when she sees what a mess you’ve made in her kitchen?”
“She won’t see,” Helena said, sniffing and reaching for the broom. “I’m going to clean it up so she can’t find out. You go on back to bed, Emilie. The excitement’s over.”
Emilie gave Carrigan a light smile, then took off down the hall, her soft laugh filling the house.
Obsi went to the door and wanted to be let out for a while. Carrigan obliged, then faced Helena.
“I can’t believe this,” she said in an agitated tone. “Of all the things to happen.” She took a step forward, but didn’t get far. The starter yeast made a great hissing sound and spattered on a big gust of warm air. In a quick inventory, Carrigan saw that it was everywhere. Even on her nightgown and down the front of his underwear.
With her hair braided and falling down her back, her mouth open with astonishment, and despite her face spotted with doughy dots, Helena looked beautiful to him. Her gown was white as sugar, and just as sweet. Helena glanced at herself, brows furrowing while she inspected the speckles of gooey yeast that covered her. When she lifted her eyes to Carrigan, he met her gaze with a wry smile of his own.
“I’m . . . sorry,” she said without much of a straight face. “This is terrible. . . .” Then she began laughing. Her voice, like sunshine, brought daylight into the room. He joined her, laughing deeply. It had been years since he’d given himself over to a good laugh.
Before long, Helena was tipsy with laughter, shaking her head and saying she had to clean it up before the rooster’s first crow. “I’ve got to get a cloth,” she said in between wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Ignacia will have my hide if she sees what I’ve done.”
Helena opened one of the cupboards and withdrew a stack of towels. “You may admonish me now or later for what I have to ask, but could you please go outside and pump some water?”
“It’s cold out there.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And I’m barefoot.”
“I’m aware of that. But you’ll get the water for me?”
Carrigan shifted his weight off one hip. “I’ll get it, but it’s going to cost you.” Before she could ask him what, he’d grabbed the bucket off the worktable and slipped outside. Dashing across the frigid ground to quickly prime the pump and fill the bucket, he ran back before his feet could get too numb. Once inside, he fended off the brittle cold and set the bucket down.
“Where do you want to start?”
“You’ll help?”
“I’m awake. Why not?”
“I . . . I appreciate the offer. We’ll start with ourselves.” She wiped off her face, and as much of the sticky mess as she could from her nightgown. He did likewise, then they began on the room.
After numerous dunks into the water and wiping down walls, cupboards, the stove plates and pipe, and even taking the curtains from the rod and rinsing them as well, the place was cleaner than it had been before the yeast detonated.
Helena squeezed her cloth out and set it on the counter with the others. “She’ll never know,” she said on an exhausted sigh, crossing her arms beneath her breasts—an innocent gesture that pulled at his attention.
“Time to pay up,” he reminded while enfolding her in the width of his arms. “You can either do me a favor or give me a kiss.” He brought his mouth close to hers. “But I’ll warn you now, I want them both.”
Helena felt soft and yielding, her body warm next to his. Her chin tilted, the light in her gaze reflections of the lamp that burned behind him. “What kind of favor can I do for you?”
“Then you won’t give me the kiss?”
Her smile was soulful. With eyes half-obscured by the thick lashes of her lowered lids, she whispered, “Oh, Jake, you know I want to give you the kiss . . . for nothing.”
The beat of his pulse a hot rhythm, he could only focus on her mouth when replying. “Then kiss me. Now.”
She brought herself onto tiptoes. Lithe arms lifted over his shoulders, hands locked behind his neck, and her open mouth touched his with tantalizing persuasion. His fingers wove into the silky hair at the back of her head, and he thought it a waste she’d bound the glorious length from his exploring hands. Her hair was too pretty to plait, even at night.
Carrigan wanted her. There was no lying about that. It was desire, pure and simple. She’d been a responsive and gratifying lover, and she was his wife. No amount of convincing could talk him out of pushing her back on her feet. This was right. It felt right. Her kiss was sultry, invading his every sense.
His fingers tightened their hold in her hair as he kept her slender body to his with a hand moving down her back to press her pelvis closer. The scent of her, heated from passion, filled his head with a hundred poetic verses he’d read. Yet he could not quote a single one of them.
Her knees buckled, and he claimed her kiss with one of his own. An anxious, openmouthed kiss that had him thinking with his heart instead of reason. He was willing to take her on the kitchen table. Breaking the kiss, he thought it only fair to tell her what the favor was before he took things too far and she accused him of using her.
Passion-filled blue eyes gazed up at him while a lush mouth parted.
“I think you should know what I’d like you to indulge me in before we decide what we’re going to do next.”
Through her quickened breath, she asked, “What is it?”
“Let Emilie go to the dance.”
The ardent expression on her face dimmed.
“Let her go, Lena. Let her go.” He kissed her, hoping to recapture the languid gaze in her eyes. “I’ll even go, too. We’ll watch her, together, and make sure she’s all right.”
Helena’s voice was a vibration against his lips. “You’d do that for my sister? For me?”
“Yes, I would.”
Her lips nuzzled his. He pulled back a little to peer down at her. “What do you say? Let her go. . . . You’ll have to sooner or later. Do it now, before it’s too late.”
She whimpered over the loss of his mouth. “I hope I’ll never regret changing my mind.” He gave her a soft kiss, her last words dying on his lips. “She can go.”
Carrigan lifted her in his arms and spun her in a circle. Helena buried her face in his neck, kissing him in the curve and holding on to him as if she’d die if he let her go. He felt the same way, clinging to the satisfaction she gave him with a smile, a look, a laugh.
Urging her closer with a fervent kiss, he nibbled and bit the flesh of her lower lip with playful, thorough kisses. He would have bent her over the table, lifted her gown and taken what he so craved, but Helena had to say where. He didn’t want to risk Emilie discovering them should she return downstairs. She was a young girl, and such an impression as the image of lovemaking was best left for her wedding night.
Helena’s moist whisper raised the flesh on his arms. “We can’t go upstairs. . . . Emilie might hear.”
“Where do you want to go?”
Her forehead creased, then she took his hand while a hal
f smile touched her mouth. “Would you think me debauched if I suggested the pantry?”
“Not at all.”
She took his hand and they hid themselves in a muted world of semidarkness behind the curtain of worn blankets. The cool fragrance of stored apples, spices, and the lingering tartness of preserves seeping through wax coverings filled the small space.
In this tiny cubicle of concealment, between feverish kisses, Carrigan undid the buttons on his drawers. Then he lifted her into his arms, kissing her soundly and without breath.
“Lift your hem and put your legs around my hips,” he said in a ragged voice. “Hold on to me.”
She did so, the outline of her breasts through the fabric of her nightgown searing into his partially covered chest. He found her wet entrance and plunged deep inside of her. His strong fingers cupped her buttocks as he thrust deep and rapid, her own body squirming against him in wild abandon. He was so close to climax, he had to slow things down. But when he did, Helena was digging the blunt ends of her fingers into his back.
“Don’t stop.”
His eyelids flew closed, and he let the release come when he felt her pulsating next to him. They clung to each other, their breathes mingled and the smells of dried fruits and herbs filling their lungs. The sex and been totally uninhibited, rapturous and satisfying.
With a tender kiss to his wife’s mouth, Carrigan was reluctant to let her go. Now . . . and forever.
* * *
The Saturday of the dance was a beautiful spring day with a mild, pleasing temperature in the air, and an exquisite azure sky with clouds rolling calmly past a brilliant sun. Helena had spent her morning helping Emilie in the store, and her afternoon mucking the stables and taking stock of the root cellar. By the time the supper bell rang, she was a sight. Dirty from head to toe and in no condition to sit at a table. Washing up as best as she could from the rain barrel, she joined the others.
Jake didn’t show up for the light meal. Earlier in the day, she’d seen him mending one of the western fences. He’d had to go to the lumberyard for supplies and returned a while ago. But when she’d come into the house, she hadn’t seen him in the far corner anymore.
“Has anyone seen Jake?” she asked nonchalantly.
“He said he had to go to his cabin for a few things,” Eliazer supplied. “He’ll be back before the dance.”
Helena nodded, thoughtfully chewing a bite of hominy cake but wondering just the same. Jake didn’t like crowds or town functions. Was he reconsidering putting in an appearance? She doubted that, as they’d just been together at sunrise out in the corncrib shed. Ever since the night in the pantry, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. Secret rendezvous were daily. Kisses were stolen at every private opportunity, and a touch of hands whenever possible. Hours in each other’s arms were spent beneath midnight stars or the scarlet mist of a sun just rising over the horizon.
Parting with Jake was going to be the hardest thing she ever did. She didn’t want to watch him ride away, only to have him periodically come back into her life and make her wonder if the splendor had all been nothing but a dream. She’d been able to reconcile letting her parents go because she knew they weren’t coming back. With Jake’s leaving, it would be like a death, but he was free to return. It would be torture of the worst kind.
Because she’d fallen in love with him.
He’d come to mean more to her than all the flourishing Express stations, dowry parcels, and profitable general stores. Attaining success with material things wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted Jake more. But he was bent on leaving, and she’d told him he could go.
Helena would have asked to go with him if she could work out a way to be in two places at once. Horses were her livelihood. She would gladly work hand in hand with Jake to capture and break them. But there was Emilie. The Pony Express. And the many responsibilities she couldn’t just walk away from, despite wanting to in the worst way. She was duty-bound to her family and her business. They had to come before anything else.
If only Jake would consider staying. She hadn’t asked him. From the beginning, she’d made it clear she didn’t want him to. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with him. Maybe if she explained how she felt, he would remain. After the dance tonight, she’d tell him she wanted him with her.
“Don’t fret, Lena,” Emilie said, her enthusiasm spilling a bubbly tone into her voice. “He’ll be back.”
Helena smiled at her sister, taking comfort in the fact that today Jake truly would come back for many days to follow. And she intended to make the most of them all. “I know he will,” Helena replied.
Emilie was so excited, she was pushing her food around her plate, unable to eat any of the soup and corn cakes Ignacia had prepared. Emilie’s face when Helena had told her she could attend the dance after all had been filled with pure joy. Her expression had been so full of life and love, it had touched a note inside Helena. She never should have said no in the first place. It wasn’t her right, and she was glad Emilie could finally revel in the tunes of a fiddle while twirling on a dance floor with the man she’d set her sights on.
“I’ll have Ignacia alter one of my Pennsylvania dresses for you,” Helena had offered that afternoon in the store when she’d approached Emilie with her change of heart. “There’s not enough time to make a new one.”
“That won’t be necessary, Lena,” Emilie had replied in a breathless voice as sweet as a lark’s. She’d nearly dropped the bottles of elixirs she’d been inventorying. “I don’t need anything new. I’m just happy to be going. I . . . I can’t believe you’re letting me go.”
Helena had nodded, feeling nothing but goodness well inside her. “Believe it, Emilie. You’re really going.”
Looking at her sister now, it was clear Helena had made the right choice. She wouldn’t have done so without Jake’s wisdom. Unburdening her secret had been the best thing for her. Jake understood where her fears rested. But he’d made her see the error of her ways and accept that holding Emilie back would only make her race forward. Perhaps by little steps, the two women would come together once again. And hopefully return to the camaraderie they’d had while growing up.
Attending the Candy Dance was as much of an event for Helena as it was for Emilie. Helena hadn’t been to a dance since she was in the Kansas Territory. She wasn’t even sure she recalled the fancy footwork necessary for quadrilles and schottisches. Did Jake know his way across a floor? Or would she embarrass the both of them?
After supper, Helena and Emilie made use of the bathtub, and Helena retired to her room to dress. Yesterday she’d gone through her trunk and unfolded several of the dresses she hadn’t worn in years. These clothes had been so inappropriate for Genoa, they were ridiculous, and Helena had packed them away. There was nothing wrong with any of the dresses—they were just the ordinary clothes of a girl living in Pennsylvania. Her traveling dress was a dark blue camel’s hair with a velvet jacket. The others were a black silk, a navy day dress with layers of flounces, a halfway sensible blue serge, and a white poplin gown trimmed with broad, black velvet bands. There had been the blue with the tiers that had worn out straightaway before she’d given up dressing in eastern clothes. These four had been stuffed in the trunk ever since without even a glimpse.
But this morning Helena had decided to have Ignacia iron the white poplin. It had been a long while since she’d worn a light color. Even before Father had died, she’d worn somber colors in memory of her mother. She hoped her father’s spirit saw no disrespect in her going against the dictates of mourning. It was time she learned to live again.
An hour later, Helena slowly descended the stairs, feeling awkward and self-conscious in the abundant white skirt that brushed both sides of the stairwell because of her wide crinoline. On her feet were a pair of fashionable slippers trimmed with appliqués that pinched her instep in comparison to her work shoes. She’d heated her mother’s curling iron in the lamp and had painstakingly tamed her curls in
to springy ringlets that she’d adorned with a headdress of ribbon mingled with sprigs of leaves and white lilies. Only twice had she burned herself with the hot rod. Not used to the confining entrapments of party wear, she felt too frothy being dressed so fancy. The whalebone nip of her satin corset—relaced ever so much tighter in order for her to fasten the front closures of her dress—barely enabled her to breathe. She wouldn’t be able to swallow one bite of food, which was just as well since she was nervous beyond comprehension.
Once in the sitting room, she found no one there. In a surprised lift of her brows, she realized she was the first one ready. And it had taken her forever. Earlier, she’d asked Emilie if she required help, but her sister had said she could dress herself without aid. Helena had given her a brand-new corset from the ladies’ goods counter. She’d shown Emilie how to mold it without stretching the laces too tight; but Emilie already knew how to fit the garment. Then Helena proceeded through the store and gave her sister a pair of lightweight stockings, lace petticoat with double ruffles, pink-trimmed camisole, and kid leather shoes of smooth, white hide. Emilie had asked if she could take a bundle of the dried flowers. Helena had nodded in agreement.
The tiny, glass-domed clock on the mantel chimed the quarter hour. Fifteen minutes to seven. It was time to go or they would be late. Jake hadn’t shown his face since leaving for his cabin, and Helena couldn’t quell the trepidation in her stomach.
Helena glided toward the room’s doorway and asked, “Emilie, are you almost ready?”
The call in return was delayed, but came out as an eager “Yes. Almost.”
A knock on the store’s front door caused Helena to frown. They’d closed two hours ago. As she walked toward the drawn shades of the windows, she had to hold her skirts at an angle so she wouldn’t snag the fabric on any sharp merchandise cluttering the aisle. As she minded her steps, she told herself whoever needed anything would have to return tomorrow. As she grasped the knob with her gloved hand, the bulb spun beneath her slick fingers.
“Oh . . .” she sighed, not accustomed to the sheer gloves. She gripped the knob with a steadfast hold and swung the door open before lifting her gaze. “I’m sorry, but we’re . . .” The words died in her throat as she raised her eyes and met Jake’s clean-shaven face. “It’s you.” But she could say nothing more, as her heartbeat was an endless pulse of flutters. Suddenly she grew very insecure about her appearance. She didn’t want him to think she was unappealing, so she couldn’t meet his eyes just yet in case she saw he thought she looked preposterous.
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